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[solxamber]

Signed, Sealed, Bonded || Jade Leech

Being an Esper is hard. Finding a Guide is harder. Somehow, the only one who can handle you is Jade Leech, who is both the best and worst thing that has ever happened to you.

or: Guideverse AU!

Series Masterlist

So, picture this: You wake up, make yourself some coffee, look outside the window… and BAM—a glowing hell portal is vomiting out nightmare creatures like it’s Black Friday at the Underworld’s Walmart.

No big deal. Just another Tuesday.

This is life now. The universe is one big, unstable loot box, and sometimes, instead of daily struggles like taxes or existential dread, you get eldritch horrors trying to redecorate your city with human remains.

And that’s why Espers and Guides exist.

Espers are the special little guys (derogatory) with godlike powers and a tendency to explode if left unattended. They punch things, obliterate monsters, and generally keep civilization from crumbling like a stale cookie.

But Espers have one teeny, tiny problem. A small, insignificant, itsy-bitsy little flaw—

Espers have a fun little self-destruct feature where, if they overuse their powers and aren’t calmed down properly afterward, they go berserk and start turning cities into craters.

Whoops.

That’s where Guides come in—people with the power to keep Espers from self-destructing and turning the planet into a post-apocalyptic wasteland. They are the Espers’ emotional support humans. Their job is to keep Espers stable, sane, and not prone to going Godzilla-mode on a bad day.

Cool system, right? Makes sense? Keeps society from crumbling?

Yeah, except there’s a problem.

The problem is you.

You are the single strongest Esper on the planet. SSS-Class. Top of the charts. The kind of power that makes scientists scream and military generals start sweating through their uniforms. If Espers were trading cards, you’d be the one people would sell their kidneys for.

There’s just one little issue.

You… cannot be guided.

Like, at all.

Every time a top-ranking Guide tries to do their job, your body reacts like you just swallowed a fork.

S-Class Guide tries to guide you? You feel like you’ve swallowed a beehive.

A-Class Guide reaches out? Your skin crawls like you’re being haunted by the ghosts of bad life choices.

Government’s best, most elite SSS Guide gives it a shot? You feel like throwing up and committing a crime, but you can’t decide which one first.

Basically, your Esper powers took one look at every high-ranking Guide and said, “I’d rather die.”

The entire world is losing its shit over this.

The government is stressed. Scientists are conducting emergency research at 3 AM. High-ranking Guides are offended because how dare you reject their very expensive, very prestigious guidance?

Nobody knows why.

Is it a genetic anomaly? A cosmic joke? Are the gods simply looking down at you and laughing? Science is baffled. The government is stressed. At this point, your mere existence is a “can we patch this in the next update?” level of disaster.

You’re a walking nuclear reactor with no off-switch. And people are starting to panic.

And meanwhile, you’re just standing there, the world’s most unstable walking nuke, trying not to sneeze too hard in case you accidentally vaporize a small country.

It’s fine. It’s totally fine.

It’s absolutely not fine.

Because if they don’t find a Guide who can actually handle you soon…

You’re going to go berserk.

And when an SSS-Class Esper goes berserk? Well. You know those fantasy novels where an ancient dragon wakes up and annihilates an entire civilization in one breath? That, but worse.

You had been this close to blacking out.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. You were an SSS-Class Esper, for crying out loud. You could sneeze and flatten a city block. But that Gate had been a nightmare, and without proper guidance, your body was losing its mind. Your veins felt like molten lava, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and your head was pounding with the kind of stress headache that could legally qualify as an assassination attempt.

So, like any responsible, law-abiding Esper who didn’t want to be put down like an unruly dog, you dragged yourself to the Guidance Center.

The moment you stepped inside, they immediately threw their best Guide at you—a fellow SSS-Class, the crème de la crème, the poster child of the entire system.

“Let’s begin,” they said, voice dripping with confidence, as if you weren’t already suffering. They reached out, their hands warm as they pressed against your skin.

And then.

Oh, God.

It hit you like a truck full of nausea and existential horror. Your stomach flipped so violently you actually gagged. Your muscles screamed in protest, every cell in your body rejecting the touch like a bad Tinder match.

You scrambled backward so fast you almost ate floor.

The SSS-Class Guide stood there, horrifically offended.

"Are you serious?" They demanded, arms crossed like a petulant child. "Again?"

You barely heard them over the sound of your own labored breathing because Wow. That had been unpleasant.

So now you were curled up on the floor of the Guidance Center, shaking from both overexertion and the delightful aftereffects of a guide touch that had made you want to throw yourself into oncoming traffic.

The SSS-Class Guide was still watching you, arms crossed, debating whether they should be more concerned about your wellbeing or their ego.

Which is exactly when Jade Leech walked in.

There was a pause.

Then a slow, deliberate click of polished shoes as he stepped toward you, tilting his head.

“…Are they supposed to look like that?” he mused aloud.

“No,” said the SSS-Class Guide, deeply unamused.

Jade hummed thoughtfully before crouching beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t hesitant.

And for the first time since your powers awakened, you didn’t want to fling yourself off a building.

Your whole body went limp.

The shaking stopped. The nausea faded.

Your mind, which had been screaming at a constant 200% volume since you turned eighteen and acquired your powers, went quiet.

It was the most blissful thing you had ever felt in your entire life.

The SSS-Class Guide was gaping at you like you had just committed high treason.

"Are you kidding me?" they spluttered. "Him?"

And then, with a huff, they stomped away, absolutely furious that you—the greatest Esper in history, the walking apocalypse—had rejected them but accepted some random nobody.

You, meanwhile, felt clear-headed for the first time in years.

You looked at Jade—at his unreadable expression, at the sharpness of his gaze.

And then you asked, voice hoarse but steady, "What’s your name?"

His lips curled into a polite smile. "Jade Leech."

"And your grade?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if entertained by the question.

“B-Class.”

Silence.

You stared at him.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you started laughing.

Of course this was happening. Of course the universe gave you a Guide you could accidentally kill.

What an absolute joke.

And yet…

You didn’t let go.

Jade Leech was the key to your survival.

Not in the romantic, fated, "I would perish without you, my love," kind of way (you weren't that dramatic, despite what your coworkers said). No, this was purely a matter of self-preservation.

For years, you had been operating like a high-powered, government-issued, barely-functioning time bomb.

Every time you subdued a gate, your body veered dangerously close to going berserk, and the only thing keeping you from breaking reality into tiny, apocalyptic pieces was the occasional half-hearted guidance session that felt about as effective as slapping a band-aid on a leaking nuclear reactor.

It was not ideal.

But now?

Now you had Jade.

Jade, the B-Class Guide who had accidentally waltzed into your life, touched your shoulder, and immediately rewired your entire nervous system.

For the first time since awakening as an Esper, you had felt calm. Like your power wasn’t on the verge of ripping itself apart. Like your own body wasn’t actively rejecting the guidance meant to stabilize you.

And it was incredible.

So, being the responsible and absolutely not impulsive person that you were, you did the only logical thing.

You decided to bribe him with a gift and ask him to temporarily bind himself to you.

Look, it wasn’t permanent.

Permanent bonding was a whole different beast.

If you bonded with Jade permanently, that was it. Game over. No take-backs, no re-dos. No guiding anyone else for the rest of his life.

Espers could still receive guidance from others, sure. But Guides? They could never guide anyone else again.

Which—haha, wow,—that had never caused any problems, ever. Definitely not an entirely predictable storm of jealousy and possessiveness among Guides who suddenly couldn’t tolerate the idea of their Esper ever touching another person.

So, no. You were not going to ask him chain himself to you for eternity. That would be both cruel and incredibly selfish.

But a temporary bond?

A temporary bond would greatly reduce the risk of you accidentally draining him to the point of no return. It would give you the stability to actually push your limits without fear of self-destruction. And most importantly, it would allow both of you to thrive.

It was perfect.

Which was why, two days later, you found yourself standing at the entrance of the Guidance Center once again, clutching a neatly wrapped gift like it was a sacrificial offering.

You marched inside with the confidence of a person who had rehearsed this conversation in their head a thousand times.

And then promptly lost all of that confidence the second Jade turned to face you, smiling like he already knew exactly what you were about to say.

"Back so soon?" he asked, his voice perfectly polite. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You cleared your throat and forced yourself to act like a normal human being.

“I wanted to thank you,” you said, shoving the box into his hands before you could second-guess yourself. “For the other day.”

Jade’s eyes flickered with something sharp and unreadable as he took the box, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.

Then, before your already struggling brain could catch up to the recklessness of what you were about to do, you pushed forward.

“I also had a proposal for you.”

Jade tilted his head, looking far too entertained.

“I see,” he said. “Do tell.”

You inhaled deeply.

"Would you be interested in forming a temporary bond with me?"

There. You said it.

Now, all you had to do was wait for him to either:

A) Refuse outright because it was too much effort.

B) Agree immediately because having the strongest Esper in existence on a leash would give him unfathomable influence.

What you did not expect was for him to smile.

Not a normal smile. Not a polite, professional, "oh wow, what a fascinating suggestion," kind of smile.

No.

This was something else.

A slow, deliberate, sharp-edged thing.

Jade stepped closer, gaze glinting with quiet amusement.

"And what," he murmured, voice too smooth, too knowing, "would you be willing to offer me in return?"

You blinked.

Oh.

Oh, you might be in deep shit.

It had been weeks.

Weeks of asking Jade to temporarily bind himself to you. Weeks of bargaining, negotiating, and trying to convince him that this wasn’t some tragic, toxic love story where the frail Guide got used up like an expired battery. Weeks of him smiling at you like you were a particularly amusing lab rat scrambling against the walls of a maze.

And yet.

Despite all of that—he still guided you.

He still stepped in when your brain felt like it was melting from the inside out, still pressed a steady hand against your skin like it was the easiest thing in the world, still whispered, “Don’t fight it. Just relax.”

Which was a very funny thing to say to someone who could literally kill you by accident.

And that was the problem.

Because he wasn’t bound to you.

Which meant that if you drained him too much—if you accidentally pushed him past his limits—there would be no failsafe.

And if that happened—if you were even a fraction too reckless—

He would die.

And you would go to jail.

And, even worse, you would probably cry.

So, obviously, the rational thing to do was to pull away whenever you felt like you were taking too much.

Which brings you to now.

Jade had been guiding you for forty-five minutes.

FORTY-FIVE. MINUTES.

An ungodly amount of time. A suicidal amount of time.

You could already see the signs of fatigue in him. His touch had grown warmer, heavier, his breaths had slowed into something almost too steady.

He was getting tired.

Which meant it was time to get the hell out of here before you became a murderer.

You twisted, trying to sit up, and—like the absolute menace he was—Jade simply… swung his legs over yours, caging you beneath him like some deranged, smug, lanky cryptid that refused to let you escape.

You froze.

He smiled.

That sharp, infuriating, absolutely unhinged smile.

"Now, now," he murmured, voice sickeningly patient, "where do you think you're going?"

You stared at him in horror.

"You've been guiding me for almost an hour," you hissed, your muscles tense with the effort of not launching him across the room. "I refuse to let you die because you’re too stubborn to let me leave."

Jade tilted his head, considering.

"Hm."

You blinked.

"Hm"???

You had just laid out the possibility of a tragic demise and all he had to say was ‘hm’???

"What the hell does that mean?" you demanded.

Jade leaned in slightly, pressing his fingers against your neck, his touch featherlight.

"I wonder," he mused, eyes glinting with something that looked too much like amusement, "do you think perhaps you are underestimating me?"

"Underestimating you?" You nearly choked on your own disbelief. "Jade, you are a B-Class Guide. I could literally snap you in half like a goddamn glow stick."

"And yet," he said smoothly, "I am still here."

Your eye twitched.

"That is not the flex you think it is—"

"Shhh," he murmured, pressing his fingers against your temple. "Relax. Just a little longer."

You wanted to argue. You really, really did.

But the second his touch deepened the guiding, your entire body sagged under the weight of exhaustion.

You hated how much you trusted it.

You hated that, in the end, you let him win.

Because as much as you wanted to fight him, as much as you wanted to break free and flee the room—

You needed this.

And he knew it.

Which was why he was smiling so much.

The absolute menace.

Today, you did something very dangerous.

No, not fighting another Gate. Not risking your life for the safety of others. Not even getting guided by a man who was one unfortunate sneeze away from becoming a tragic obituary.

No, you did something far worse.

You asked Jade Leech what he wanted in return for keeping you alive.

It was a reasonable question! A necessary question! Because at this point, the man was essentially your life support, and it felt a little irresponsible to just assume he’d be happy with some gift baskets and heartfelt thank-you notes. If you were going to keep depending on him, you needed to know what he wanted.

So you asked.

And the menace smiled.

Which immediately sent your self-preservation instincts screaming.

That was never a good sign. Jade’s smiles were like sharks in shallow water—unsettling, unnatural, and a clear warning that something was about to go very, very wrong.

You braced yourself.

And then he said:

"A nature trail."

You stared at him.

And blinked.

And then stared at him some more.

Because surely you had misheard him.

“A nature trail,” you repeated slowly, because there was no possible way that was all he wanted. You had prepared for blackmail. You had budgeted for bribes. Hell, you had been willing to break the bank if it meant keeping him around (not to brag, but the government paid you stupidly well for constantly risking your life). And yet, out of all the possible insane, ominous, power-hungry demands he could’ve made—

He was asking for a casual stroll through the wilderness?

Jade nodded, the picture of serenity. “Yes.”

"That’s it?" You squinted at him, like maybe if you looked hard enough, you’d find some hidden, sinister agenda buried in his expression. "That's all you want? Not money? Not status? Not, I don’t know, government secrets?"

Jade’s lips twitched, his amusement almost palpable. “For now.”

For now.

For now???

You triple checked that he was being serious, eyed him with the kind of deep, unblinking suspicion normally reserved for politicians and people who ate their cereal without milk, but all he did was nod serenely.

And so, finally, reluctantly, completely aware that you were probably walking into some elaborate trap—

You sighed and muttered, "Sure. What the hell."

It was almost alarming how much fun you were having.

For once, you weren’t dealing with the constant, soul-crushing sensation of your own mind and body trying to rip each other apart like two rabid raccoons fighting over a single McDonald’s fry.

For once, you could just exist without the underlying fear of accidentally exploding something—or someone—if you weren’t careful.

And as it turned out, existing was kind of nice.

You took the time to smell the flowers (literally, because Jade had shoved one under your nose and said, “Tell me, do you also detect the faintest hint of decay?” which was an incredibly alarming sentence but a nice flower).

You watched as little woodland creatures scampered through the underbrush, entirely unbothered by the fact that an SSS-Class Esper and a B-Class Guide were just casually strolling through their home like a scenic couple in a nature documentary. And honestly?

It was peaceful. Disturbingly peaceful.

But the real sight—the real discovery—was Jade himself.

You had never seen him like this before. Completely in his element. He had dumped the entirety of your picnic basket into your arms without hesitation and was now roaming freely, examining plants with the intense curiosity of a man who had just found Atlantis.

Every few minutes, he’d pause and rattle off some absurdly specific nature fact at you, like, “This particular plant releases a toxin that causes temporary blindness if ingested. Isn’t that fascinating?” or “Did you know that otters sometimes use tools to crack open shellfish? Much like humans, they have a preference for certain objects. Some even carry the same rock with them for years.”

You had absolutely no idea why you found this so entertaining.

Maybe it was the way he spoke, all smooth enthusiasm and quiet amusement. Maybe it was the way he moved, effortless, unhurried, utterly unbothered by anything except whatever flora had captured his attention next. Or maybe—God help you—it was just him.

Not that you’d ever admit that. You’d rather eat your own boots.

Still, you couldn’t help but watch as he suddenly stilled. His gaze snapped toward something in the distance, eyes gleaming with open delight, and you knew—instinctively, immediately—that something was about to go down.

And sure enough—

"Ah."

That single, quiet syllable was so ominous you had to physically fight the urge to take a step back.

Then, Jade turned toward you, expression eerily composed despite the unmistakable excitement in his gaze, and said, “Do you see that mushroom?”

You followed his gaze toward the completely ordinary-looking tree. And then you squinted.

There, just barely within sight, was a mushroom.

A mushroom that looked like every other goddamn mushroom you had passed on this trip.

And yet.

Based on the way Jade’s entire soul had just left his body in pure, unfiltered joy, you could only assume it was some rare, once-in-a-lifetime god of the fungi.

You watched as he immediately took his phone out, snapping so many pictures you were half convinced he was going to submit them to a mushroom appreciation forum.

Then he paused.

And the exhilaration on his face dimmed—just slightly.

Because, unfortunately for him, the mushroom in question was just barely out of reach.

And you—a fool, an absolute clown, an irredeemable dumbass—

Put your bags down.

Walked up to him.

And lifted him up.

For a single, terrifying moment, there was silence.

Jade froze. His hands hovered in midair, like even he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

Then, slowly, he reached forward.

Plucked the mushroom from its resting place.

And you—practically sweating bullets at the realization of what you had just done without even thinking about it—lowered him back onto solid ground.

The first thing he did was examine the sample like it was the most precious object in the entire world. The second thing he did was glance up at you—not with his usual smug amusement, not with teasing mirth, but something else entirely.

A slow, quiet smile.

Warm. Gentle. Uncharacteristically soft.

And that was the exact moment you thought, “Fuck my life, I’m doomed.”

Without another word, you picked your bags back up and followed him to the next area.

The Gate had been particularly easy to suppress today—by which you meant no spontaneous explosions, no sudden existential dread, and, most importantly, no feeling like your brain had been wrung out like a wet dishcloth. All in all, a successful day.

So when you spotted Jade afterward, you figured you wouldn’t need much from him. A little guidance, maybe. Some grounding. Nothing too serious.

What you did not expect, however, was to immediately slump against him like a Victorian maiden succumbing to the vapors.

At first, Jade visibly tensed. His muscles coiled, and he took a sharp breath—like he had genuinely thought you had just dropped dead in his arms.

But then he glanced down.

And instead of finding you on the verge of unconsciousness due to Esper-induced burnout, he found you…completely at peace.

Relaxed.

Asleep.

And oh.

Oh, this was interesting.

Jade stilled, the way a hunter does when something rare and unexpected steps into their sights. His lips quirked, amusement flickering across his face as he tilted his head, watching you with the same fascination he reserved for poisonous plants and particularly lively prey.

You had just…collapsed. Right into his arms.

Voluntarily.

Slowly—very slowly, like he was testing the weight of a particularly fragile glass sculpture—he adjusted his stance, shifting just enough so you could lean more comfortably against him.

And when you made a soft, barely audible sigh of contentment—an actual sigh of contentment—he almost laughed.

Jade glanced around, taking in the others in the vicinity. There were still a few agents packing up equipment, cataloging monster remains, finishing the usual post-Gate cleanup. No one seemed to be paying particular attention to your current predicament.

He debated waking you.

For about half a second.

Then, instead of nudging you upright, instead of rousing you from your accidental nap, he merely settled in more comfortably, adjusted his grip, and decided:

"A little while more wouldn’t hurt."

The first time you met Floyd Leech was…an experience.

Not in the way people say, “Oh, yeah, skydiving was an experience!” or “That seafood buffet really did a number on my stomach, what an experience!” No. This was more of a “I just survived a category five hurricane with nothing but a pool noodle and sheer willpower” kind of experience.

You knew Jade's twin was an Esper, and you'd heard the rumors about Floyd’s personality. Some people said he was unpredictable, others called him a walking natural disaster with an attention span that could either last three seconds or three months. B Rank Esper Floyd Leech, SSS Rank Menace.

And then, by sheer misfortune (or fate, depending on whose side you were on), you both ended up suppressing the same Gate.

Hearing him laugh as he shredded a monster like it was nothing but a chew toy was unsettling even for you. You had seen horrors beyond human comprehension, had fought creatures made of shadows and teeth, had experienced the kind of pain that would make a lesser being crumble—and yet.

Yet.

The way Floyd’s eyes locked onto you in the middle of the battlefield, the way his grin stretched wider, wider, as if he had just found a new favorite thing to play with—your instincts screamed at you. Your fight-or-flight response hit so hard you almost accidentally activated your Esper abilities on pure reflex.

(And the worst part? You were technically stronger than him. That did not make you feel any safer.)

Then, as if to truly cement his status as an absolute enigma, he took one look at you, tilted his head, and said:

"Ooooh~! A shrimpy!"

A shrimpy.

He just…he called you shrimpy.

And the worst part? It was kind of funny. Actually, it was lowkey adorable.

So you just. Didn’t stop him.

Which he took as an invitation, apparently, because the next thing you knew, he was slapping an arm around your shoulders like you were old friends. And with zero hesitation, he dragged you along as you both exited the Gate, whistling a happy little tune as if he hadn’t just been reveling in combat two minutes ago.

You barely had time to process what had just happened before you saw Jade.

Jade’s gaze looked…sharper.

It wasn’t obvious—he was still smiling, still polite, still the ever-composed Guide who had saved your ass on multiple occasions—but there was a distinct flicker of something behind his eyes as he looked at Floyd practically draping himself over you.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t frown. Didn’t tell Floyd off.

He simply stepped forward, placed a hand on your shoulder, and gently pulled you away.

And just like that, the weight of Floyd’s arm disappeared, replaced by the steadier, more deliberate touch of his twin.

And Floyd?

Floyd just looked between the two of you.

Then, he grinned.

Then, he laughed.

And then, with all the enthusiasm of a man about to cause absolute chaos, he threw his head back and cackled.

"Ooooh, Azul is gonna LOVE this~!"

And before you could even begin to ask what the hell that meant, he waved and walked off toward a Guide—one who was probably prepared to deal with his absolute insanity.

You barely had time to recover before Jade gestured for you to sit.

Guidance was nothing new at this point. Usually, he just held your hand, grounded you with a touch, let his presence stabilize your energy until you were back to normal.

But today.

Today, he touched your foreheads together.

Your breath caught.

His hand was light against your jaw, but firm enough to keep you still. His forehead pressed against yours, close enough that you could feel his breath ghosting against your lips.

Your eyes fluttered shut on pure reflex, your fists clenching as if that would somehow stop the sudden, ridiculous way your pulse spiked.

This was fine.

This was fine.

Your mind was clear. Your energy was balanced. You were not thinking about his breath on your lips.

You absolutely, one hundred percent, were not thinking about how his voice, so soft, so deceptively gentle, murmured:

"Breathe."

You were so, so doomed.

The Gate had been massive—one of the worst ones in years.

It had opened with no warning, no telltale energy fluctuations, nothing. By the time the first responders had arrived, the battlefield was already drenched in blood.

A-class Espers, gone.

S-class Espers, gone.

By the time you had been thrown into the fray, the situation had spiraled so far out of control that your arrival felt less like a strategic decision and more like a last-ditch gamble.

Eight hours.

Eight hours of relentless combat.

Wave after wave, monster after monster, every time you cut one down, another two would replace it.

You had fought until your muscles felt like molten lead, until your vision blurred at the edges, until the very air around you burned with overuse of your own power—until the Gate finally stabilized just enough for you to close it.

And then, you stumbled out.

And everything hurt.

Everything was too much.

The sound of voices, the shifting of energy, the distant cries of the wounded—it all crashed into you like a tidal wave, scraping against your raw, frayed nerves. You were this close to losing control, to snapping under the pressure, to letting your Esper abilities swallow you whole.

But Jade wasn’t here.

Jade, your Guide, the one person who knew how to handle you when you reached your breaking point—wasn’t here.

Apparently, no one had informed him of your involvement in the battle. He was still on his way.

Which meant you were falling apart, and there was no one to catch you.

And so, the SSS-ranked Guide on standby stepped in.

The moment their hands touched you, you recoiled. Their presence was too much, too invasive, too overbearing, like someone trying to force a puzzle piece where it didn’t belong.

But you didn’t have a choice.

Their energy pressed against yours, crushing down, shoving your frayed emotions back into place like jamming a lid onto a boiling pot.

You wanted to throw up.

Your entire body screamed wrong, wrong, wrong.

But if you pushed them away, if you lost control, if you went berserk right here in the aftermath of this bloodbath—people would die.

So you clung to them, shaking, white-knuckled, letting them guide you as best as they could.

And you hoped—prayed—that Jade would get here soon.

When Jade first stabilized you, he had thought of you as entertainment.

It was hilarious, really. The strongest Esper to ever exist, the one the government practically worshiped, the one whose very presence made monsters hesitate—completely helpless without him.

Oh, you could fight. You could tear through Gates like they were made of paper, you could reduce monsters to mist and regrets, but the moment it was over? The moment your power turned inward and tried to rip you apart? Only he could fix it.

Jade had never considered himself sentimental, and certainly not possessive. People were people. They came, they went, they lived, they died. He had met more than a few Espers in his life, had guided his fair share, and yet—none of them had ever needed him. Not the way you did.

And the best part? You were terrified of hurting him.

Absolutely adorable.

Your desperation to keep him safe was comedy gold. You were an SSS-rank nightmare, strong enough to turn city blocks into craters, and yet, the moment he touched you, you flinched like you might break him. You barely let him guide you for more than a few minutes, always watching him like he was made of glass, like he might shatter if you took too much.

Jade had never been one for attachment, so he simply dodged all your attempts at even a temporary bond. What was the point? He liked the little game you two had going on. You kept asking, kept trying to tie him down, and he kept laughing and evading, watching you get more and more frustrated. Too much fun to stop now.

Even when he invited you to the nature trail, it had been on a whim. A little curiosity, a little test. He expected you to sulk in the corner, maybe grumble under your breath about how boring it was, or sigh dramatically like you were suffering for his sake.

Instead, you had participated.

You had followed him through the trees, asked questions, even leaned in close to examine the plants he showed you. And when he couldn’t reach a mushroom, you had—without hesitation, without even thinking—simply lifted him up.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That had been the moment something inside him had shifted.

Jade wasn’t sure he liked it.

It was unfamiliar, uncomfortable. Unsettling. A quiet sort of tug, deep in his chest, something that made him pause when he looked at you.

Before, it had been easy to laugh off questions.

"Jade, what’s the deal with you and them?" someone would ask, and he would smirk, deflect, change the subject.

Now?

Now, when people asked, he had to bite back the urge to say, “They’re mine.”

So when he heard about the Gate—eight hours, a battle, an ambush that had already killed dozens before you were called in—

He didn’t hesitate.

He had barely taken the time to grab Floyd, all but shoving him into the driver’s seat. "Drive."

Floyd, ever delighted by drama, had driven like a man possessed. Jade wasn’t entirely sure how they weren’t in a burning wreck by the time they arrived, but at least they got there fast.

And when he stepped onto the battlefield, pushing past medics, ignoring protocol—he saw you.

Sick. Wounded. Barely standing.

In the arms of someone else.

His stomach turned.

Jade had never experienced jealousy before, not in any real way. He was too patient, too controlled, too much of a sadist to truly be envious of anything. But seeing you there, shaking and exhausted, clinging to someone who wasn’t him—

Something ugly coiled in his chest.

For the first time in his life, Jade Leech felt like throwing up.

The moment you saw Jade, it was over for the poor, unfortunate soul currently keeping you upright.

You shoved the deeply offended Guide off you like they were an inconvenience, a minor roadblock between you and salvation. You could apologize later. Right now, your legs were giving out, your head was spinning, and the only thing you knew for certain was that you needed him.

Jade barely had time to react before you reached for him, stumbling forward, barely coherent, barely standing.

And he ran to you.

Jade Leech—calm, composed, unshakable Jade—ran.

You collapsed against him the second he was close enough, clutching him like a man stranded in the desert clutching the first drop of rain. His touch was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, the only thing that made the burning, suffocating feeling inside you ease just a little.

“Thank you,” you gasped, fingers twisting in the fabric of his uniform, voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for coming.”

Jade stiffened.

You barely registered it. You were too far gone, too exhausted, too feverish. But if you had been paying attention, you would have seen something rare, something almost unheard of—

Jade Leech looking completely and utterly shocked.

Like he hadn’t expected you to say that. Like he hadn’t expected you to look at him like he was something worth holding onto.

And then, because you were nothing if not a disaster, you giggled—actually giggled, delirious and exhausted and overwhelmed by relief.

“Your face…” you murmured, the edges of your vision darkening. “You look so—”

And then you went completely limp in his arms.

Jade was not panicking.

No, truly, he wasn’t. Panic was an unbecoming emotion, a pointless thing that only clouded one’s judgment. It was inefficient. Wasteful. Jade Leech did not panic.

So when you went completely limp in his arms, when your body sagged against him like a puppet with its strings cut, he did not panic.

He simply—assessed the situation.

He shook you gently, then not-so-gently, but you were completely unresponsive, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His hands slid over your back, fingers pressing against the pulse points in your wrists, your neck—too fast, too unsteady, too weak.

He tried guiding you, pushing that familiar, stabilizing force into you, but it was like pouring water into a cup that had already shattered—it wasn’t enough.

You needed something more.

Jade hesitated.

For the first time in years, he hesitated.

And then, before he could think better of it, before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was not soft, nor was it gentle. This was not a kiss meant to be romantic, nor was it something he had ever done before. But kissing—intimate, overwhelming, all-encompassing kissing—had long been known as one of the most effective ways for a Guide to stabilize an Esper.

And Jade had never needed to put in this much effort before.

Your lips were warm beneath his, feverish and trembling. He could feel it the second it worked—your grip on him tightened, fingers twisting in his coat as you gasped against his mouth. A shudder ran through your body as you pulled him closer, kissed him back.

Jade felt something snap.

It was an ugly thing, this feeling in his chest. Sharp-edged and burning. He didn’t know if he was kissing you to help you, to save you—

Or if he was kissing you because he wanted to.

But then—oh, then—his lips curled against yours as a slow, unbearable sense of triumph unfurled inside him. Because you weren’t just kissing him back.

You were kissing him back in front of everyone.

In front of all the other Guides who had spent years chasing after you, aching for the chance to stabilize you, to prove themselves worthy of being your match.

And yet, it was his arms you had collapsed into. His touch that had soothed you. His lips you were parting for, grasping at like he was the only thing keeping you from slipping into the abyss.

Jade had spent months dodging your attempts at forming a temporary bond, laughing as you fumbled for something more than what he was willing to give.

Now, you were clinging to him.

And wasn’t that just the most delicious thing?

Waking up to someone kissing you was new.

Waking up to Jade kissing you, though? That was absolutely not on your bingo card.

Your mind, sluggish from the near-death experience of the century, took a moment to catch up. There was warmth against your lips—soft, careful, lingering. A hand at the back of your neck, cool fingers threading through your hair. The faint scent of damp earth and saltwater, familiar, grounding.

And then, your body caught up with your brain and realized oh, holy shit, that’s Jade.

A normal person would pull away, maybe demand an explanation. Possibly scream.

You?

You wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer.

Jade let out a noise—half a laugh, half a surprised hum—but he didn’t stop you. If anything, he melted into you, his lips curling into a smile against yours. His hand tightened at your nape, fingers splaying against your back, and when you deepened the kiss, he sighed into your mouth like he had been waiting for you to do it.

That was almost enough to send you straight into cardiac arrest.

When you finally pulled away, you were fully awake, body thrumming with energy. Not just from the guiding—though, yeah, that was part of it—but from the undeniable, inescapable fact that Jade Leech had just kissed you. That you had kissed him back.

Jade didn’t move far. If anything, he leaned in closer, forehead brushing against yours, his breath still warm on your lips. His gaze flickered across your face, taking in the flush burning its way up your cheeks, the way you were still holding onto him like you’d fall apart if you let go.

You wanted to say something, maybe tease him, maybe demand an explanation, but words weren’t exactly functioning right now. You could barely think beyond holy shit that was the best kiss of my life.

Jade, for once, wasn’t smug.

Or, no. He was trying to be. He had the smirk, the casual tone, the playful tilt of his head. But his fingers twitched against your back, his grip just a little too tight. And when he finally spoke, his voice was a fraction softer than usual, a little too careful.

"Would you," he said, "perhaps, be interested in permanently bonding with me?"

You blinked.

Jade Leech. Jade Leech. The same Jade who had dodged every attempt you made at even a temporary bond, who found it hilarious that only he could stabilize you, who treated your guiding sessions like some kind of ongoing game.

That Jade had just asked if you wanted to bond.

Permanently.

Your heart stuttered. His hand was trembling.

He swallowed, like he was waiting for you to say no.

You didn't answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, you grabbed him by the collar and kissed him again.

Jade made a startled sound before melting into you completely, his arms locking around you like he had no plans of letting go. His lips curled into another smile against yours—this time, not smug, but genuine.

Like he had won.

You had asked him eighteen times.

Eighteen.

And, frankly, Jade was getting impatient.

The first time, it had been endearing. You had looked at him with wide, wary eyes, like you thought this was some elaborate joke. You had stammered out a, "You—You're sure? Like, actually sure?" and Jade, who was in a good mood, had simply hummed and said yes.

The second time, it had been amusing. You had grabbed him by the wrist, pulled him aside, and, in a whisper like you were plotting treason, said, "Look, I won’t be mad if you back out. You know that, right? Like, this is a huge deal, and if this was just, y’know, heat of the moment, that’s totally okay. No hard feelings."

The third, fourth, fifth, and so on?

Infuriating.

Jade could not, for the life of him, figure out how to convince you that he meant what he said. Yes, he wanted to bond. Yes, permanently. No, he had not lost his mind.

And yet, here you were, pacing across his living room, your arms crossed, rambling for the nineteenth time about how he still had a choice, how you wouldn’t hold it against him if he didn’t want to go through with it, how he wouldn’t be able to guide anyone else ever again if he bonded to you, how that might be too much to give up.

Jade, stretched out on the couch, chin propped against his palm, sighed.

He had enough patience to last centuries.

But this?

This was getting ridiculous.

"—and I'm just saying," you continued, voice a little frantic, "I've seen Guides get really resentful about it. You could go from stabilizing a hundred people to just me. And you know how bad I get, how it hurts, and I'm not saying you can't handle it, but, like, are you sure? Like, really sure? Because—"

Jade leaned forward, grabbed your collar, and kissed you.

You stumbled, caught off guard, and his lips curled when he felt you tense up before relaxing completely. He kissed you slow, deliberate, like he was trying to make you feel the answer you had refused to believe.

And when he finally pulled away, he let his teeth graze your bottom lip just slightly, smirking when he felt you shiver.

"Does that answer your question?" he asked, voice smooth, teasing.

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water.

Jade’s smirk widened.

"You're overthinking it," he said, reaching out, gripping your wrist, tugging you closer. "There’s no one who could entertain me quite like you do, you know? Maybe it’s time for a career change. I’ll be your Guide, and yours alone."

Something inside you lurched.

Something possessive.

Jade, yours.

Only yours.

His gaze flickered to your lips. Amused. Challenging.

"So?" he said, voice mocking light, but his fingers tightened around your wrist, his pulse beating just a little too fast. "Are we doing this or not?"

Your breath hitched.

And then, you grabbed him by his collar, yanked him down, and kissed him again.

This time, you bit his lip.

Jade laughed into your mouth—pleased, triumphant—before pulling you against him and kissing you so deeply you felt it in your bones.

And just like that, the bond clicked into place.

Waking up with Jade curled against you was a rare privilege.

For one, he was a light sleeper. Most of the time, you barely shifted and he’d already be watching you like some creepy forest cryptid. But today, he must’ve been exhausted from the bonding because he was still tucked against you, his breathing slow and utterly unguarded.

It was… nice.

Nice enough that you felt unreasonably smug about it.

You shifted just a little, tightening your hold around him, and he hummed in contentment, pressing closer without fully waking up. Unfair. How was this the same Jade who deliberately guided you half the time by whispering things against your lips just to make you flustered?

You could get used to this.

And then it hit you.

You’d bonded. Permanently.

But you had never actually asked him to be yours.

As in, romantically.

Your eyes snapped open. Oh. Oh, you had fumbled.

You knew Jade had agreed to the bond, obviously, but—was he in love with you? Did he see this as just a Guide-Esper partnership? Did you just lock yourself into a lifelong working relationship like some corporate contract??

He slowly stirred and just as he blinked at you, before you could think better of it, you blurted out, "What are we?"

Jade went still.

Like, completely, horrifyingly motionless.

You felt him exhale sharply, his hand twitching against your side, as if physically restraining himself.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you, and the expression on his face was somewhere between fondness, disbelief, and the soul-crushing realization that he was in love with a complete idiot.

"...Are you serious?" he asked, his voice painfully even.

You hesitated. "...Yes?"

Jade closed his eyes.

He inhaled.

He exhaled.

He inhaled again.

Then, finally, he muttered, "God give me strength."

You frowned. "Look, I’m just saying, you never actually—"

"Do you think I would bond with you permanently if I wasn't in love with you?" he asked, voice slower, more deliberate, as if carefully handling a very stupid but very precious object.

You blinked.

Paused.

And then you felt heat creep up your neck.

"...Oh," you said, a little dumbly.

Jade sighed.

But before he could say anything else, you reached out and pulled him back into your chest.

You hid your face against his hair.

"...Love you too," you mumbled, voice muffled, but he could hear the smile in it.

Jade, after a long beat of silence, finally let out a breathless laugh.

And as you held him close, warm and undeniably happy, he thought, Yup. They’re my dumbass.

Masterlist

[tojicide]

chapter three ── pepper spray.

the spider’s sense: a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader.

synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.

tags/warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, credit to @/haven__ly on x for the middle pic, mdni

chapter summary. ┆ caleb tries to adapt to his newfound role as the web-slinging hero of linkon city, and you receive the opportunity of a lifetime.

chapter warnings. ┆ slightly sexually suggestive content and a little bit of bodily harm…… but nothing too crazy i swear!

prev: too easy, this game. ┆ series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

“Aw, come on. Again?”

Caleb feels like he’s been at this for hours. Realistically, it’s been four minutes—maybe five—but time stretches a bit slower when all you do is fail.

He straightens up, tugging at the red ski mask that clings to his face. Despite the crisp morning air, the layers he’s wearing are doing him no favors. The mask in particular is itchy, tight, and, if he’s being honest, suffocating. Maybe you were right—maybe he did have big head syndrome.

But he pushes that thought aside, rolling his shoulders back and planting his feet firmly against the rooftop. With careful precision, he flicks his wrist toward the corner of Mama Louisa’s Pastry Shop—a well-loved business by both himself and every other Linkon University student running on caffeine and sugar. Hopefully she won’t mind him using her bakery as a makeshift training ground.

He tenses his wrist again, and finally—finally—a strand of silk shoots from his pulse point… only for a gentle breeze to carry it away like it’s nothing more than stray thread from a sweater.

Caleb exhales sharply through his nose. Okay. That’s fine. Progress is progress.

He tries again. Fails again, too.

But then, on his next attempt, something changes. He can feel it. A flick of his wrist, the perfect angle with just the right amount of tension.

Thwip!

The web sticks, thick and sturdy like the ones he’d shot in his dorm room, right against the bakery’s awning.

Caleb grins so wide it could rival the Empire State Building. He doesn’t fully understand why this is happening—these heightened senses, the silk-slinging, the unnatural strength—but if his research means anything, it all traces back to the spider bite in the university lab. Probably. If he were to be honest, it’s more of an educated guess for the moment.

Without thinking twice, he sprints forward and leaps from the rooftop. In hindsight, thinking twice might’ve been a good idea, because when he goes to shoot another web at the next building, his aim is—how should he put this?—gods awful.

The silk completely misses its mark, latching onto a birch tree instead. And before Caleb can course-correct, he goes slamming into it face-first.

BAM!

Leaves rustle. Branches snap. Somewhere, a pigeon squawks in alarm, and it might be simultaneously scolding Caleb in a language he can’t understand.

He groans, peeling himself away from the tree trunk, only to find himself tangled in a mess of twigs and leaves.

“Mister!”

He blinks, his brain still rattled from the impact.

“Mister! Down here!”

It takes a second for his senses to recalibrate, but once they do, he follows the tiny voice downward until his gaze lands on a little girl standing at the tree’s base. She looks no older than five, her curly hair swallowing her small face as the wind ruffles through it. Despite her tiny stature, she stands with her hands on her hips, staring up at him with a look of determination.

She points upward. “Can you get Mr. Pickles? He’s scared of heights.”

Caleb blinks again, squinting in the direction of her tiny finger.

And there, perched precariously on a flimsy branch, is a scrawny grey cat.

“Mr. Pickles?” he mutters, already moving before he can think twice. (And this time, that was a good thing.)

His fingers stick effortlessly to the tree bark as he climbs, his static cling allowing him to crawl along the surface like he was made for this. He scales the trunk with ease, reaching the trembling feline in a matter of seconds.

“Here, kitty kitty,” he coos, slowly wrapping an arm around the cat and tucking him securely against his chest. “You’re alright. No need to be scared now.”

Once he makes his way back down, he lands gracefully on his feet, adjusting the cat in his arms before handing him off.

The little girl grins, cradling Mr. Pickles like he’s the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you, mister!”

Caleb smiles. “No problem, sweetheart.”

She beams up at him before dashing back toward a nearby apartment building. “I’ll give Mr. Pickles a hug for you!”

“Make it extra warm for me, yeah?”

“Okay!”

And just like that, she’s gone, disappearing behind the lobby doors with her newly rescued companion.

The air is cold, the streets quiet. No sirens, which was a luxury these days. The perfect time for a peaceful stroll.

Or, in Caleb’s case, the perfect time to fail at web-slinging.

That was fine, though. No one saw.

Except for a small child who owned a runaway cat.

Caleb walks down the sidewalk in an attempt to forget about the embarrassment of the moment, hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie, the ski mask still clinging uncomfortably to his face. The whole city feels half-asleep, barely stirring under the early sun, and for once, Caleb lets himself enjoy it. Well, as much as he possibly can enjoy something after a morning of throwing himself at trees and towards buildings.

“Excuse me, young man?”

Caleb halts, turning to find an elderly woman peering up at him through thick-framed glasses, her wrinkled face pulled into a look of concern. She clutches a tote bag to her side, a plaid scarf wrapped neatly around her hair.

“I just saw you help that young girl, and I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of the nearest dry cleaners,” she asks, adjusting her grip on the bag. “I swear, my memory is getting worse by the day. It’s around here somewhere, I just can’t seem to—”

“Oh, yeah, it’s just a few blocks down,” he gently interrupts, gesturing toward the street corner. “Take a left at the bakery right over there and then it’s right past the old bookstore. Can’t miss it, I promise.”

The woman sighs in relief. “Oh, you’re an angel, thank you! I was walking in the wrong direction for who knows how long.”

Caleb chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Happens to the best of us.”

“I hope you have a wonderful day, sweetheart,” she says, already turning to go in the direction he’d gestured to.

He offers a charming smile that reaches his eyes. “You too, ma’am.”

And with that, he continues down the sidewalk, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It’s funny, really. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he actually enjoys this aspect of his new predicament more than he originally anticipated. Helping people, even if it’s just with the small stuff. Before, it seemed like those opportunities were fleeting, and now, they laid around him in abundance. 

Then, just as he’s about to take a right onto the next block…

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!

His head snaps toward the alleyway up ahead. A car alarm wails through the narrow space between buildings, the sharp noise sending a jolt of electricity straight down his spine.

And before he can think—before he can even process what was going on—his legs are already moving. Maybe that was a new impulse that the spider bite had brought upon him, too.

He sprints into the alley, heart hammering wildly in his chest, and that’s when he sees him.

A man hunched over the driver’s side door of an old blue sedan, hands fumbling with a crowbar against the handle. He’s working fast—too fast and too irresponsibly—not even sparing a glance over his shoulder as the alarm screeches on.

Caleb doesn’t hesitate. His wrist flicks.

Thwip!

The web shoots out before he even registers it happening, sticking clean onto the man’s hand… and the door handle he was prying open.

“What the—”

The guy jerks back instinctively, only to realize that his hand isn’t going anywhere.

Caleb halts to a stop a few feet away, breathing hard, adrenaline singing through his veins.

Sirens wail in the distance, he then realizes. 

The thief panics, tugging at his hand with increasing desperation. “What the hell? Get this off me, man! What is this—glue?”

Caleb tilts his head, taking a slow step forward. “Tch. What glue do you know that looks like that? You’ve got the mind of a real scholar, you know. Ever thought about givin’ up grand theft auto for Harvard?”

The sirens grow louder.

The man flails now, yanking at his wrist, his feet slipping against the pavement. “C’mon, man, you gotta— you gotta help me out here.”

“Yeah, see, I don’t think I do,” Caleb muses, his heartbeat finally slowing to something steady, something that was almost calm. 

“What are you? A cop?”

Caleb tilts his head. Even through the mask, his deadpan is palpable. “Really, man?” he drawls. “You think I’m a cop?”

The thief scoffs, loud and hard, shaking his head like Caleb is the idiot here. “Tch. Whatever.”

Then, his free hand vanishes into his coat. When it returns to his line of sight, a blade flashes before he even has time to blink. “Don’t make me use this, kid.”

A knife. A whole kitchen knife. Serrated edges, too. Probably stolen. Probably dirty. Probably the worst attempt at a threat that he has ever seen in his entire life.

Caleb gasps. Theatrically. He drops straight to his knees, too, his arms flying up over his head in a show of fake panic. “A kitchen knife? No! No, please spare me!”

The guy nods. “Yeah, that’s right. Just let me go, and—”

Thwip!

The thief jerks, eyes so wide they nearly bulge out of his skull.

And just like that, his mouth is gone.

Well. Not gone, gone. Just… thoroughly webbed shut.

“Mmph! Mm— mmph!”

Caleb straightens up, resting his hands on his hips as he tilts his head, a layer of faux sympathy dripping from his voice. “Sorry, what was that? Couldn’t quite catch it.”

The guy flails once more.

Useless. Helpless. Pathetic.

So pathetic that it almost makes Caleb feel bad. Almost. 

Then the sirens return. They’re more persistent now. Louder. Closer. 

Flashing red and blue swallow the alley, bouncing off the walls like stage lights for the thief’s almost-perfect crime.

The man whips his head toward them. Caleb follows his gaze, then hums, turning back with a single gloved finger pressed over his own masked mouth. 

“Sh.”

He disappears before the first cop even steps out of the car, and as he whisks into the city, slipping between alleyways, a single thought loops through his mind. 

He can do something with this.

Like—really do something. 

Not just helping lost grandmas and rescuing stranded cats.

But this…

This was something that went far beyond what the Linkon PD was capable of: stopping the bad guys before they got away.

And now, he swings with a newfound ease, a confidence that wasn’t there before, flipping between buildings, twisting through the bright glow of billboards. Caleb finally gets it. The mechanics, the rhythm, the thrill of it. The way the city unfolds before him like a playground of concrete and steel.

Beneath him, people point. People cheer. People wonder.

But one man does not wonder.

One man knows.

That man stands just outside a quiet café, his untouched tea steaming in his hands, his sharp gaze never leaving the sky. He was on his way toward the Oscorp building in the distance, his badge reading Dr. Curtis Connors — Head Biologist. 

Unlike the others, he does not gape. He does not cheer.

He only watches.

His glasses slip down his nose as he tilts his head, following the figure’s trajectory with a stare so focused and precise it could slice through bone. His mind moves faster than his pulse. Not a suit. Not a rig. Not a device. No, no—it’s organic. The silk isn’t shot from him. It belongs to him.

His fingers twitch.

Click.

The photo is grainy due to the shakiness of his grip, but the silhouette is unmistakable.

Curtis Connors exhales slowly through his nose, fingers already moving, already typing, already sending. His recipients were none other than the student team who wrote for the medical journalism column in the Linkon University Chronicle. 

Curtis Connors: [image attachment] Find out as much info as you can on this figure.

He watches the message send. Then, he watches as this figure, as blissfully unaware as can be, swings off into the sky—free and untouchable.

For now.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket, but you don’t have half the mind to reach for it—not when a sea of sorority girls is already waving you down with welcoming smiles and outstretched arms.

“Tara!” you greet, barely getting the word out before she yanks you into a bear hug that nearly knocks the wind out of you.

“You came!” she squeals. “I totally thought you were gonna back out at the last minute.”

“How could I?” you reply, returning the hug before reaching for Cleo, who wraps her arms around you like she hasn’t seen you in years. “I made a commitment. I had to follow through, even if midterms are coming for my throat and I haven’t touched my biology flashcards in, like… two weeks.”

Tara laughs, shaking her head. “You worry too much. Just relax, have some fun. You deserve it.” Then, she leans in conspiratorially, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Plus… he who shall not be named isn’t even here. I think he bailed. You might actually be Caleb-free today.”

Your eyes widen with a gleam that could outshine a kid in a candy store. A sunny afternoon with your friends? Caleb-free? Total score.

“I love your suit!” Cleo chirps, dragging your attention back to Earth. Her fingers lightly trace the hem of your bikini top. “It suits your skin tone so well. Where’d you get it?”

You glance toward the sky like the clouds might give you your memory back. “Uh… probably Target? Like, two years ago?”

“Well, I’m definitely raiding the swimwear section before Spring Break,” she laughs, handing you a half-full bucket of water. She pauses for a moment, then adds with a grin, “I mean seriously—that top is really working for you.”

You laugh, awkwardly tucking the large bucket against your torso. “Thanks. I thought it might’ve been… too much,” you say, gesturing a hand over your chest.

“No, no!” Tara interjects immediately, hands flying into the air like she’s warding off some curse. “It’s the perfect amount of boobage.”

You eyebrows raise. “You think so?”

“I know so,” she says with full confidence.

Before you can say much at all, Cleo’s voice cuts in like a bullet. “Looks like someone else thinks so too.”

“Someone else? Who…?”

But you don’t finish. Your voice trails off the second your eyes follow her pointed gaze.

Across the lot. Lambda Chi Alpha’s side. Shirtless guys joking and slinging sudsy water at each other like they're in a beer commercial. But your gaze settles on one in particular.

Caleb.

Shirt off. Abs fully present and accounted for—all eight of them, you made sure to count. Somehow looking even better than he did a few days ago, which is rude. Biceps glistening from the sun and suds. Hair a mess in the best possible way. And those arms—Gods, those arms should be studied in a lab.

“Yoohoo?” Tara sings, tapping your forehead like she’s knocking on a front door.

You blink, snapping out of your trance. “What?”

Tara and Cleo exchange an all-knowing look.

“I thought you didn’t want to see Caleb today,” Tara says with a lopsided smile.

“I don’t.”

“And yet…” Cleo gestures broadly, “there you were. Gawking.”

You scoff. “I can dislike someone and still objectively—totally objectively—acknowledge that they might not be the most hideous person to walk the Earth.”

Cleo hums. “Uh-huh. Totally objective.”

“It is an objective observation!”

“Sure, sure,” Tara teases. “Just science. A visual data analysis of muscle definition.”

You sigh, pointing at her. “Exactly.”

. . .

Caleb isn’t faring much better.

In fact, he’s doing worse. A lot worse.

He tries to apply logic to the situation. To rationalize the incredibly logicless mess he has found himself in.

It must be his new senses—yeah, that has to be it. His body adjusting, his nervous system overcompensating, deciding that now, of all godforsaken times, would be a great moment to send every ounce of blood in his body to a very unhelpful location.

His eyes widen, panic rising in his chest.

No. No, no, no. This is not happening.

Almost instinctively, he wrenches himself away from your general direction, physically turning his body like that alone will make his predicament less of a predicament.

It’s not his fault.

Seriously. It’s not.

No amount of superability could ever counteract the very human reality that, at the end of the day, Caleb Xia is just a man.

A man with�� an appreciation for certain assets.

And today, his attention seems to have locked onto yours in particular.

Now isn’t the time for this. There would never be a time for this. He feels horrible, like a pathetic schoolboy with zero control over his own body.

Somewhere in his haze of absolute distress, his dog tag ends up wedged between his teeth, because apparently, his body has decided that biting metal is his last line of defense against catastrophic embarrassment.

Gran naked. Gran naked. Gran naked.

He squeezes his eyes shut, practically chanting the words in his head to paint a better picture like a desperate exorcism.

Gran naked. Gran naked. Gran na—

“You’re going to ruin those if you bite on them any harder.”

Caleb’s entire brain short-circuits.

His eyes snap open, locking onto yours. You’re standing there, bucket in your arms, tilting your head at him like he’s some kind of science experiment gone wrong.

He is barely keeping himself together.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

But then, you pout.

“Go on, boy,” you tease, voice dangerously sweet, mockingly condescending, like you’re talking to a dog. “Drop ‘em.”

His entire soul leaves his body. A muscle in his jaw ticks, and with a dramatic roll of his eyes, he finally drops the dog tag from his teeth.

You beam at him, reaching out to ruffle his hair like he actually is a well-trained mutt. “Good boy!”

Caleb scoffs, swatting your hand away. “Shut up.”

You laugh, and he hates how much he likes the sound of it.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” you grin, reaching into the bucket. “Here’s your treat.”

Before he can react, a water-soaked sponge lands smack against his chest with a loud slap.

“You’re the worst,” he grumbles, peeling the sponge off as you shut off the hose and hoist your bucket back into your arms.

“Sure I am,” you chirp. “Good luck, waterboy.”

Caleb huffs, his head snapping up as you begin to walk past him. “The newbie is callin’ me a waterboy? Who brought in the most customers last year again?”

“Blah, blah, blah,” you say through a sigh, waving him off. “Who cares about last year?”

He’s about to counter—because he cares, and his title as reigning champ of the car wash must be defended at all costs—but then, you stop right beside him.

And for the love of all things holy, the air thickens.

You turn slightly, tilting your chin, that same smug glint in your eyes. “I, for one, certainly don’t care about last year. You’ll have to work harder this time around, anyway.”

Caleb narrows his eyes. “Why’s that?”

You don’t answer verbally. With a small sway of your fingers toward the parking lot, you point his attention elsewhere. Delta Gamma’s station currently had a long, ever-growing line of cars. A parade of eager customers at your fingertips.

Caleb exhales slowly. “Ah.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum knowingly.

And then—you look him over.

Like blatantly look him over. Up. Down. Unrushed. Deliberate. Unfair.

And then, just like that, you pivot on your heel. “Gotta go.”

Before you can fully escape, his hand catches your wrist.

“Hey, hey, hey— not so fast,” he murmurs, voice dropping just slightly. Just enough. “If you’re so confident… maybe we should bet on it.”

You stop and turn back toward him. There’s a competitive glint in your eye. It’s exciting. 

And unfortunately, it’s doing nothing to help with the currently unsolved issue in his shorts.

“Alright.” It takes zero hesitation. The opportunity to publicly defeat Caleb Xia is simply too good to pass up. “You’re on.”

His lips curl into an almost-there smile. “Terms?”

Your smile should be legally registered as a deadly weapon. “Loser has to wash the winner’s car… and purposely take a B- on the next lab report.”

Caleb lifts a brow. “You don’t have much to lose.”

You shrug, all casual, all effortless charm, and it’s killing him.

“Nope,” you reply smoothly. “I have everything to gain.”

Caleb should be fighting for his life against whatever spell you’ve just cast over him.

Instead, he falls for it.

(Hook. Line. Sinker.)

“Fine,” he says, sliding his hold from your wrist to your palm, giving your hand a firm shake—his fingers lingering just a little too long against yours.

“You’re on.”

. . .

Caleb should have really thought this through.

But instead, he let you get under his skin, let your smug little grin trick him into underestimating you.

Big mistake, because not even five minutes in, the Delta Gamma girls are practically drowning in customers, and Caleb has barely started scrubbing down his first car.

Caleb squints in your direction. This is not fair.

It feels like only ten minutes pass by before he looks in your direction again, and this time, he finds himself sweating.

Partially from the sun, partially from watching you rinse off a car with zero mercy—your movements way too efficient for someone who supposedly hasn’t done this sort of thing before.

And still, he refuses to lose. He has to switch tactics.

If charm is your secret weapon, then it can be his too. It was his before it was yours, anyway.

He yawns, stretching his arms just enough to get the attention of a group of girls suspiciously and slowly passing by in a yellow slugbug.

"Hey," he greets, sending a smile their way as he leans against the car, muscles flexing just right. "Need a wash?"

And to no one’s surprise but your own, it works.

Unfortunately, by the time the car wash ends, the results are as clear as day—you won.

And now, here Caleb stood—arms crossed, lips pressed into a firm line, trying to accept his defeat.

“So,” he exhales, dragging a hand down his face, "when am I washing your car?"

Your grin turns dangerously smug. "Oh, I don’t have a car."

Caleb stares at you like his brain needs a full reboot to comprehend what you just said.

"Sneaky."

You shrug. "I prefer genius."

"Not cool." Caleb shakes his head, his hands going to his hips. "I don’t like havin’ unpaid debts."

"Well…" You rock back on your heels, tilting your head at him. "Maybe you can get creative. Find a new way to pay up."

Caleb arches a brow. "Like?"

You hum, tapping your chin like you’re actually putting serious thought into it. "Hm… bring me coffee from the café every time we have a lecture."

Caleb scoffs. "You're joking."

"I'm not."

He lets out a long, drawn out sigh. "Fine."

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb knew as well as anyone that crime woke up when the city went to sleep.

So tonight, he stayed up to witness it. Maybe he’d do something good for the city. Maybe he wouldn’t. But he had to try. He had to.

It felt like something was calling to him, something so instinctive and certain that he couldn’t help but listen.

That was how he found himself here, sprawled across the roof of a liquor store, killing time with a game that had no winner. He flicked a pebble toward the ledge, watching as it bounced back near his hand. Again. Again. Anything to keep himself occupied while he listened for any sounds of trouble.

The bell of the liquor store’s entrance rang, and the sudden noise jolted through him, causing his grip to slip. Instead of hitting the ledge, the pebble sailed clean over the rooftop.

“Ouch!”

Caleb froze, and then scrambled to the edge of the roof, yanking his ski mask into place. He peered over the ledge, pulse spiking.

And when he saw who he’d just pelted in the head with a rock, he really should have expected it.

You.

Of course it was you, because why wouldn’t it be?

He watched as you winced, rubbing at the spot where the pebble had struck. You glanced around but, not seeing anyone, just sighed and continued down the sidewalk, bag of groceries clenched in your hand.

And as you walked, Caleb noticed a few things.

The way your pace sped up near the alleys. The way you slowed when you passed under a streetlamp, lingering just a second longer in the light. The way your fingers curled a little tighter around the grocery bag.

You were afraid, and he could understand why.

This wasn’t the best part of the city. It was dark and lonesome, a breeding ground for all things dangerous.

So, without much thinking—without even giving himself the chance to talk himself out of it—he decided to make sure you got home safe.

For purely vigilante reasons, of course.

. . .

You swear you’re not crazy, but someone is definitely following you.

The almost silent breathing. The faint but deliberate footsteps against pavement.

You pick up your pace, but curiosity is a terrible thing, and despite your better judgment, you glance over your shoulder.

And there he is.

A shadow perched on the edge of a rooftop. Watching.

Your heart stutters.

What the hell? Was he… doing parkour? You huff, shaking your head. Not important.

Your pulse spikes, and your body reacts before your mind does. You do the only logical thing you can think of: you bolt.

Your bag slips from your grip, but you don’t have time to care. Every survival instinct you’ve ever had is screaming at you to run.

Like clockwork, the footsteps behind you quicken.

A voice speaks up. “Hey, you dropped your—“

Shrieking, you whip around mid-sprint, finger already slamming down on the trigger of your pepper spray.

The man barely has time to react. He coughs and chokes, stumbling backward like he just got decked in the face. Your groceries fly through the air as he flails, practically throwing them back at you in the process.

“What—” he wheezes, hands clutching his eyes as he coughs again. “What was that for?”

“You…” your breath is coming out in sharp gasps as you clutch the pepper spray tighter. “You were following me!”

He tries to open his eyes, then immediately winces. “I was making sure you got back to campus okay!”

You take a step back, grip still firm around the bottle. “Well… well why the hell did you start running after me when I ran, huh?”

“You dropped your groceries!”

You hesitate because he sounds genuinely frustrated. “Well… don’t do that again, you freak! Don’t you know you shouldn’t follow people home?”

“I wasn’t— I mean, I was, but not for any reason you might be thinking of,” he stammers.

There’s an awkward beat as he forces himself to stand upright again, shoulders tense. Then, as if realizing how bad this looks, he raises his hands in surrender.

“I mean no harm,” he says. And despite everything, he sounds sincere. “This is just… kinda what I do now. I’m looking out for the people of the city.”

You exhale sharply. Then, after a beat, your free hand dips into your grocery bag.

You pull out a bottle of water and toss it to him.

“You should really work on your methods, Spider-Man,” you mutter, shaking your head as your gaze falls down to the spider design on his sweatshirt. As you turn away, you add, "Rinse your eyes. It’ll help."

Your heart is still hammering in your chest as you begin to walk away, but you manage to steady your breathing as you near the dorms. Your mind, however, is still racing.

Because the moment you calm down enough to think, a realization hits you.

The image. The blurry, low-resolution shot that Dr. Curtis Connors sent your group just days ago. The figure looked identical to the man you just encountered. The one he wanted to know more about.

Your stomach drops, and you whirl around, phone in hand with your camera ready. Much to your dismay, the figure is already gone. He has vanished into thin air without leaving so much as a single trace.

You curse under your breath, fingers flying over your phone screen as you open up the message thread.

You: I have a lead. I just ran into him. I think he’s a student at Linkon University.

series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

a/n hi guys :P…. sorry i didn’t update for awhile buuuut here’s chapter 3!!! i wrote and edited some of this chapter with a 103 F fever so… if it’s illegible at any point that might be why. i’d love to know your thoughts so please share them !!! <3

also i just wanted to say that i love all of the comments and messages you guys send into my asks :,) this made me laugh so i really hurried to get this chapter out

taglist. (join it by commenting under this post!)

@leonskenthusiast @universallysoulcreator @devonjs-blog @lacieohlacie @kisswithyoureyesclosed @lovesick-sylus @livonianmaia @hqnge @yuuuumii @mizzfizz @simpfortheseven @nyxthejinx-rantsaboutlads @mariojins @rcvcngers @yizhoupilled @irlsammy @gloomuri671 @risagichi @drinking2nite @seikamuzu @flowers-wilt-on-juniper-lane

@that-one-scoundrel @joy-laufeyson @missaengg @wheatrice @gvenone @desiree-archive @jayhyunglover @flwerie @miffysoo @jijijihanji @ssetsuka @mglwhor3 @sureconfused @vorfreudevortex @honehbee42 @angelbeat994 @codedove @cheesemachine44 @mocha-the-muse @msanimeotaku181 @breadiestpuffs @idkwhatursayinh @hannahchk @rxelarailuj @littlebabyypeach @wooasecret @nikilig @theweevilofsweetreef @etsuniiru

[lynnie-ee]

Hellooo, I checked your rules carefully before requesting, Could i have a oneshot for Jack howl? where his and fem reader's child (or maybe children) travelled back time where the child/childrens' parents time in NRC, and both of them wasn't in relationship as couple or haven't confessed yet.

╰┈➤"Days at Night Raven College were never normal, but not even the Prefect of Ramshackle could have imagined that on her way to her dorm, she'd find her future children. On her free day, on top of that."

╰►Female reader, oneshot, 2.1k words.

╰► Characters: Jack Howl.

╰►Note: Thanks for requesting! This has been sitting on my ask for two years already omg, I'm so sorry TT. I'll do my best to resume answering asks! Either way, I hope you like it, and sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes, english is not my first language :>

╰►Masterlist / (requests open)  

⤿

⤿

‘My bed, my bed, my bed… All I need right now is my bed. And a warm drink. Oh, and my fluffy pajamas, and maybe a snack-'

After a long day at school, it was evident the magicless prefect was in need of a more deserved break. But it was Friday, and Grim joined Ace and Deuce at a game afternoon, so she could rest, for once. Oh, when was the last time she had a peaceful evening? It was nice not to be buried in work, at least for a second.

“Oh, mommy! We’ve been looking for you, mommy!”

What.

“I really should go back to sleeping eight hours, I’m even starting to hallucinate.” The prefect mumbled to herself, because why else would she hear the voice of a CHILD in the middle of school?

“Moooommy! Don’t ignore me, I know you can hear me!”

Again.

“Maybe a nap of five hours will fix this, yup.” She continued her path towards Ramshackle. If I don’t acknowledge it, it doesn’t exist...

“Mother, please!”

“A nap and a balanced meal, that’s all I need…”

The young kid seemed to have grown tired of her failed attempts to call the prefect, so she was quick to hurry to where the Ramshackle student was, interrupting her walk. Instead of continuing to call her from afar, she abruptly stood in front of the tired girl.

“Mom!”

“A CHILD!”

The magicless student suddenly screamed, visibly perturbed at the fact that her ‘hallucinations’ actually belonged to a rather tall girl (who seemed to be at least eight years old), instead of some voices in the back of her tired mind.

“Oh my… I’m so sorry, are you lost?” She immediately swiped her demeanor, trying her best to shake away the fatigue. “What’s your name? Were you looking for your parents?” The prefect was quick to ask, crouching down to be at the same level as the kid.

“Ah, you finally noticed me! Please don’t get mad at me, it was Uncle Ace I swear!”

“Sorry?”

“He was bragging about how great he was Ancient Curses when he was at school, and then he wanted to make a demonstration but Uncle Deuce stepped in and interrupted him and then everything went BAM, and then WOOOSH and we woke up here, so we started looking for you and Papa and-“

“You lost me at Ancient Curses.” She mumbled while sighing, a bit startled by the child’s sudden outburst. “But you said something about Papa, right? Tell me what he looks like and we can look for him.”

“You know what he looks like! It’s not time for your jokes.” The child pouted, seemingly offended at the statement of the prefect, whose confused expression contrasted with the annoyance of the kid in front of her.

“…I don’t?”

“But you’re married to him.”

“…”

“…”

“I’M NOT MARRIED YET?”

“Yes, you are! You told me you got married after university!”

“I’m in high school, so how can you…?” She paused quickly, straightening her back to stand up as she grasped her words, her shocked expression only growing as she analyzed the situation. Then something clicked, and she anxiously crouched again to speak to the little girl. “Wait, wait, oh no…Who did you say were your uncles?”

“Well, there’s Uncle Ace and Uncle Deuce, but also Uncle Epel, Uncle Sebek, and-“

"How old are they?"

"I don't know? 30...40... Something like that I guess."

(Y/n) sighed heavily, promptly closing her eyes, her hands softly pinching the bridge of her nose as the situation started to be clearer for her. After a few overblots, some kidnapping and other incidents, (Y/n) found hilarious how plausible the possibility was that the child before her was telling the truth. She was now living in a world with magic, after all.

"So, it's more likely that you...are my child?” The kid nodded. “From the future?" Another nod.

"Yeah, exactly! I've never been in the past so sorry if I said something confusing, Mama!"

Mama.

Oh, great seven.

"Don't worry, kiddo. It's alright, it's alright..." The prefect mumbled, mostly for herself rather than for the child, as she patted her head softly. "Now I suppose we have to look for someone who can help you to come back to...the future, yeah. Let's go." (Y/n) tried to recover herself as quickly as possible, ignoring the questions in her mind by extending her hand for the little girl to take it.

"Oh, but I have to come back to tell my siblings that I found you!"

"Please tell me I heard 'siblings' incorrectly."

"No, no, but you'll be happy to meet them! Let's go find them~."

'Breath in, breath out, everything's fine. The children won't come into your life right now. You have a lot of years ahead before, you can do this.' The prefect thought, reassuring herself that this brief taste of her future life would go away as soon as she found someone who would send her kids back where they belonged, hopefully without even getting to know who was the father of the kids, and the person she would probably marry.

The last thing she needed was information that would only make her feel awkward with one of her classmates. That, if her future husband even went to Night Raven College, perhaps it was someone she hadn’t even met yet-

“OOOH, YOU FOUND MAMA!”

“Oh, hi Mom. You look different.”

Wolf ears.

Fluffy tails.

Golden eyes.

“Great Seven…”

There was no denying it now.

She knew very well those features; it was painfully easy to reach a conclusion.

“Is…Is there a chance, that maybe, your dad’s name is Jack?”

Perhaps her crush on the Savanaclaw student wasn’t as hopeless as she thought.

⤿

⤿

Her children were quite interesting.

After giving a long explanation to Professor Crewel, he (begrudgingly) promised to come up with a solution to help her. After finishing their conversation, he left the alchemy classroom where she found him, willing to go looking for books to fix the situation, giving her time to observe more carefully the kids who waited on the chairs next to hers, as the teacher entrusted her not to leave the room while he looked for the solution.

As she sat in one of the classroom chairs with the youngest kid on her lap playing mindlessly with the buttons of her blazer, she could only watch as the other two children played with some books they found around, carefully noticing the little perks of their personalities.

The oldest was a tall one who had less noticeable beast features, which could be the reason why she didn’t figure out immediately the resemblance she had with the Savanaclaw first-year, as the similarities lay more on her strong personality and respectful demeanour rather than her looks.

Contrary to that, there was the second born, an energetic six-year-old boy, whose appearance seemed to be almost identical to his father. (Y/n) had never seen photos of Jack when he was a child, but even so, she could swear that would be exactly how he looked when he was young. Perhaps she could ask him about it later…?

However, with the youngest, it was a bit more difficult. She was a lovely five-year-old, with hair just like hers in both colour and form, but her face seemed different, and she couldn’t figure out if she looked more like Jack or herself, so perhaps it was a mix of them, she supposed.

“All of you are very cute.” The prefect commented mindlessly, not aware of the smile that adorned her expression, as she ran her fingers through the soft hair of the youngest child, who seemed happy at the contact, seemingly used to it. “It’s quite nice to know that I’ll have such a lovely family in the future…”

“It seems Professor Crewel wasn’t lying, after all.”

Who…?

“PAPA! You’re here too!”

“Jack?!” The Ramshackle student acknowledged the presence of the first-year with a little more intensity than she intended, as she turned around to see him standing close to the door. The Savanaclaw promptly closed the door before getting closer to them, as the youngest child jumped out of her lap to run towards him.

“Prefect.” The beastman greeted with his usual stern voice, unaltered at the two youngest children that quickly climbed to his arms, carrying them as if he was used to it, as both children bombarded him with greetings and questions.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in club practice.”

“I was supposed to be there, yeah. But Professor Crewel informed me about the…situation. So, I’m here to take responsibility and help him to find a solution.”

“…Responsibility?”

“For my kids. Future. Future kids, of course.” He said, but the prefect couldn’t help but notice the lack of eye contact he had, something unusual for him, although, given the circumstances, it was understandable; but was that a blush on his cheeks…?

“Our kids.” (Y/n) mentioned, pushing his limits slightly, curious at the reaction of the first year.

“…Yeah.”

“You seem fairly comfortable with them, by the way.” She added, pointing with her chin at the way he held the kids, making Jack glance at both kids as they kept talking to each other.

“I’m used to carrying my siblings in this way, I suppose it’s natural for me.”

“Interesting.”

An awkward silence reigned over the room; the children surprisingly going silent, maybe waiting for the teenagers to speak to each other, but it seemed that they were…too embarrassed for it.

“Should we take a look at the books we have here while we wait for the Professor to come back? Perhaps we can help him.”

“Good idea.”

“Good.”

⤿

⤿

“Bye, mama! Bye, papa! See you in a few years!”

“Haha, yeah, see you…”

“Come back safely.”

After Professor Crewel was able to send the kids back where they were supposed to be, both Jack and the prefect were quick to bid them goodbye. When everything was fixed, their teacher excused himself to come back to his duties, as both first-year students thanked him for the help.

She sighed with a tired demeanour as their teacher left the classroom, and then realized that Jack was still in the room with her.

“Would…would you like to talk about what just happened?” The beastman broke the silence, an awkward air surrounded him, and (Y/n) could sense the anticipation in his voice covered by his usual respectful tone.

“If I’m honest with you…Not really. What’s in the future should be left where it belongs; in the future. I think there’s no need for us to worry about something that’s not gonna happen until a few years more, you know?” Answered (Y/n) in the sincerest way she could reply. She was already too tired after running around the campus with three little children at what was supposed to be her free afternoon, and way too exhausted to be concerned about kids that didn’t even exist yet.

“It’s alright, I understand.” She could see a glimpse of disappointment on his face combined with a weird touch of relief. Maybe he wanted to speak about it but preferred not to push her if she didn’t want to.

Jack’s politeness and sense of justice was something the prefect always admired about him, one part of his personality that led her to develop a small crush on him, one she thought was senseless as the beastman didn’t seem to have any interest in her. But it never hurt to prove her luck.

“But if you’re up to chat about anything else, perhaps you want to take a walk in the city tomorrow? I have to pick Grim at Heartslabyul in a while, but I don’t have any plans for the weekend.” She suggested timidly, a tender smile making way its way to her expression, a vibrant contrast against Jack’s surprised face.

“Oh- I…I guess I’m free at that time, so I suppose I can, yeah.” The Savanaclaw student answered, trying to play it cool, ignoring the heat at his cheeks, awkwardly resting his hand on the back of his neck.

“That’s great! We can meet at the front gate-”

“I’ll pick you up at Ramshackle, don’t worry.” He added, his gaze far away from the prefect’s eyes. “If you’re okay with it, of course.”

(Y/n)’s smile quickly changed into a gentle laugh as she was amused to see the sudden shyness of the first year, giving her more confidence to answer. “I’d love to, actually. I look forward to it.”

“Great, see you tomorrow, then.” The white-haired boy turned back, wanting to go back to his dorm before he could get more embarrassed.

“Oh, Jack, before you leave.”

“Yeah?”

“Someday, can you show a picture of you when you were little?”

“Uh- why?”

“I just want to prove a theory of mine.”

“…I will, then.”

“Cool, thanks.”

⤿

⤿

[writesvani]

— f i c r e c s [ 🧸 ];

helloooo besties, it’s your resident caffeine-fueled, nicotine-infused, emotionally unstable writer back at it again. now, prepare yourselves for the absolute shock of the century—I have another hobby. and no, it’s not setting my life on fire for the plot (though, arguably, that too). it’s… reading. gasp. i know. groundbreaking.

because i am nothing if not a selfless, benevolent being, i have taken it upon myself to bless your eyeballs (and quite frankly, your entire soul) with my all-time favorite bts fics—aka the stories that have ruined me in the best way possible. some of these have been my emotional support system for years, holding my hand through the highs and lows, while others have only recently entered my life and immediately made themselves at home in the depths of my soul. either way, they all own a piece of my heart (and what’s left of my sanity). so grab your emotional support beverage, take a deep breath, and let’s dive into the chaos.

starting off strong, i decided to go with matilda by @babystrcandy—the fic that single-handedly made me fall in love with writing and reading all over again. matilda is emotional, raw, angsty, and painful in the most devastatingly beautiful way. it’s the kind of story that doesn’t just hurt—it carves itself into your soul, stays there rent-free, and makes you thank it for the privilege.

i could talk about the storytelling and narration of matilda all day, but honestly? i don’t think i’d ever do it justice. yeah, it’s painful—like someone’s slicing you open from the inside out—but it’s also comforting in a way i can’t explain. it’s everything.

read if you like: YOONGI X READER, brother’s best friend, angst, pining, yearning, childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff, YEARNING (yes, it deserves a second mention), and found family, detailed storytelling, nostalgic feelings

moving on to the next masterpiece (but of no lesser value, obviously), my pick is throttle by @alphabetboyluvr. honestly, at this point, i’d recommend anything by this author—everything they write is straight-up art.

i remember reading chapter one a while ago, falling in love, and then... losing the fic. tumblr, we need to have a chat. but the universe (and my detective skills) led me back to this blog, and when i finally found throttle again, i was literally reading with my mouth OPEN. shooketh doesn’t even begin to describe it. dare i say… this author is THE best fanfic writer i’ve ever come across? yeah, i said it.

this story is beautiful—but not in a soft, fluffy way. no, it’s the kind of beauty that lulls you into comfort while something dark watches from the shadows. waiting. waiting. and then BAM, you’re wrecked. watching oc and jungkook fall in love, the build-up, THE GOD-TIER VOCABULARY—i swear, i wasn’t just reading, i was inside this fic. i felt every single word. and don’t even get me started on the angst. the pain. i could write a whole damn essay on why this work is perfection, but i’m seriously trying not to spoil everything, so just bear with me.

read if you like: JUNGKOOK X READER, insanely good descriptions, YEARNING, smitten jk, angst, pain (because we’re all masochists here, let’s be real), amazing plot, questionable characters making questionable decisions, love that consumes you, and SMUT (so good it deserves all caps).

side note: this author needs to write a book. like, an actual book. if they haven’t already, someone needs to force them because their potential is astronomical.

okay okay okay, it’s time for the next one, which, in my very humble yet undeniably correct opinion, is on par with the previous ones—kkangpae by @jungkoode.

i seriously debated whether to recommend this, off labels, or fmu (because everything @jungkoode writes is god-tier), but kkangpae ultimately stole my heart and refused to give it back. what really gets me about this fic (besides the top-tier writing style and chef’s kiss dialogue) is how insanely immersive and well thought-out the concept is. like, first of all, the descriptions? immaculate. even I—someone who struggles to visualize scenes in books—could picture every single detail in this fic as if i was right there.

but it doesn’t stop there. the concept is so elaborate that you can genuinely see how the entire kkangpae system functions. it feels real. like, if someone told me this was an inside scoop on an actual gang’s operations, i’d believe them. and don’t even get me started on the psychological depth of these characters—unparalleled. this author has mastered the art of explaining emotions through body language in a way that just hits.

read if you like: JUNGKOOK X READER, strangers to lovers, psychological depth in fiction, good dialogue, angst, smut, gang AUs, SLOW BURN, sexual tension so thick you need a knife to cut through it, immersive writing, and fresh, new concepts in literature

moving on to the next absolute masterpiece—older by @lovieku .

first of all, let me just say: this is the most delicious smut/pWITHp/destroy me but in a fuckable way fic i have ever read in my life. period. the build-up towards the actual… well, action (you know what i mean) is insane. this author nailed the ache of wanting something forbidden—the slow, torturous unraveling of knowing it’s wrong but being so consumed by it that you physically cannot resist. it’s giving longing, it’s giving temptation, it’s giving i am one second away from losing my goddamn mind over this person.

the pacing? immaculate. the narration? flawless. but my favorite part? THE INNER MONOLOGUE. jk’s pov in this fic??? chef’s kiss. we rarely get male character's pov in bts fics, so seeing his thoughts—his restraint, his YEARNING—oh my god. HE WANTED HER SO BAD BUT HELD BACK UNTIL THE VERY END. LITERALLY. UGH. UGH. YUMMY.

read if you like: JUNGKOOK X READER, age gap, forbidden romance, best friend’s dad au (yes, you read that right), smut, angst, smut again because it’s that good and i’m a horny rat, jk's pov in fics, and perfectly executed inner dialogue.

side note: yes, i am absolutely one of those people praying in front of a shrine for part two, even though i know it’s never gonna happen. but hey, gotta smile through the pain, right?

now, let’s all give a round of applause for one of my all-time favorite authors here—@kithtaehyung—and their god-tier fic hush, yeah.

now, i seriously debated which of their masterpieces to include. 3tan? minted? listen, i LOVE THEM. okay? i consume and reread them on a daily basis like they’re my emotional support system. but. BUT. i need to put you all onto something else. and that something is hush, yeah.

guys. listen to me. i was literally sweating while reading some of these scenes—yeah, it’s THAT hot. the build-up in this fic? everything. every glance. every look. every word. the tension is so thick you could choke on it (and honestly, i wouldn’t complain). the descriptions? top-tier. literally cinematic. i have no notes.

but real talk—why is this fic abandoned, again?? hello?? i need the next chapter like i need air. so i’m putting it here, sending all my prayers, all my manifestation energy, every ounce of spiritual strength i have in me for an update because if we never get it… i might actually die.

read if you like: TAEHYUNG X READER, smut, DELIRIOUSLY GOOD SMUT OKAY, tiny tiny bits of angst (lowkey, but it’s there), smut so hot you might combust, and absolutely insane, detailed, expressive writing.

okay guys, that’s enough for tonight. seriously, i am so tired i might just plop onto the bed and never wake up again. if this is my final message, just know i went out doing what i loved—screaming about fics.

but don’t worry, i’ll be back with more recs soon because i am ready to serve, okay? in the meantime, if you have any specific ideas for what you’d like to read, please ask. i’ve read a lot—mafia, ceo, werewolves, vampires, childhood friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, mermaid AUs, you name it. so feel free to send an ask if you’re looking for something specific, and i will do my best to deliver a fic that perfectly matches your taste.

okay now. peace out. i am officially asleep.

[missaengg]

Gojo F*xxing Satoru

Day 12 of Kinktober: Visions of Temptation hosted by @xxsycamore found here Featuring: Jujutsu Kaisen | Gojo Satoru x f!reader Tags: mdni, smut, fluff, first time, virginity loss, big dick, cunnilingus, p in v sex, alternate universe - grad school, porn with some plot Prompts: First Times | "Where do you want me to cum?" A/N: How did this take me two and a half days to write?!?! Slightly off schedule for the rest of Kinktober, but will probably skip a few prompt days to even this out. May circle back after October 31 to finish any missing prompts, but we shall see :) ao3 link here.

Gojo Satoru was the bane of your existence. 

Literally the bane of your fucking existence.

Because he was fucking perfect.

It was aggravating just how perfect he was: born to a wealthy family, star athlete, valedictorian, scouted by the top law firms in the country, all without breaking a sweat. Gojo Satoru had everything, the money, the jobs, the grades, the looks… the women.

It was disgusting how many women threw themselves at him, not that you could blame them. Not really. If you were anybody else, but you, you’d probably throw yourself at him too.

But you weren’t just anybody else. You were the perpetual number two. The salutatorian. No matter how hard you tried, how hard you studied, how hard you persevered, you could never hold a candle to Gojo fucking Satoru, not even in a mock courtroom arguing for or against a case.

So it was absolutely baffling when Gojo Satoru started pestering you. Out of all the women at Jujutsu Law College, the most prestigious law school in the country, which you worked your butt off to get into, you.

At first you thought it was just a coincidence. You attended the same law school. You had a fair number of shared courses. It was only logical you would interact with one another at some point during your grad school career, but then it became frequent, a multiple-times-a-day daily occurrence. You went to lunch in the school cafeteria – never on a fixed schedule… bam, Satoru… you went to the gym after a full day of classes to work out… bam, Satoru… you went to the gym mid-day because you had a free period – when you knew for a fact Gojo Satoru had class… bam, Satoru… you started the only internship offered to you at some small, no-name law firm… bam, Satoru.

It was getting to the point that you actually thought he might be stalking you with how frequently you ran into him around campus, off campus, way you-need-a-fucking-car-to-get-to off campus. It was uncanny and disturbing. 

And of course every time you ran into him, he would relentlessly tease you with that ridiculous smirk of his, calling out to you as soon as he spotted you with his infuriating, “Yo, salutatorian” or “Yo, number two”, beelining towards you to brag about how he scored higher than you in Torts or Corporate Law or whatever other course you shared with him, ruffling your hair or resting his arm on the top of your head because, of fucking course, he was also freakishly tall. 

Seriously, how could one person be so goddamn perfect?

It was one of those nights, when you were out with your best friend of two decades and fellow law school classmate, Ieiri Shoko, at some obscure, dingy bar that offered Thursday, ladies only, one dollar beers, where you again happened to see Gojo fucking Satoru striding in with his shock of unruly white hair, those stupid dorky sunglasses he wore all the goddamn time, and his usual expensive, brand name, black bomber jacket over a pristine white T-shirt.

You caught him in your peripheral, groaning as you saw his face light up when he caught a glimpse of you, making his way over easily through the crowd, which parted like the red fucking sea for him, that shit-eating grin plastered devilishly on his stupid handsome face.

“Oh, shit. Isn’t that Gojo?” Shoko asked, poking you incessantly.

You irritably sighed, swatting Shoko’s hand away. “Yes,” you replied flatly, glowering at your beer, your hopes of one fucking day without seeing your academic rival dashed to pieces.

“Yo, number two!”

God fucking damnit.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“I should be saying the same to you,” you muttered darkly into your beer.

“Yo, Ieiri.”

“Hi, Gojo.” Shoko greeted him, but you knew her well enough to hear the squeal of excitement hidden under the smooth facade of her greeting.

You didn’t have to see Shoko’s face to know how brightly her eyes were shining, trying to catch yours subtly without giving herself away. You downed the rest of your beer, knowing you were going to need another one – or four – to deal with Gojo Satoru’s shit tonight.

“Whatcha drinking?”

You almost spat out your beer. Gojo’s face loomed right in front of yours, so close you could make out the black specks in his brilliant clear blue eyes peering at you over his sunglasses.

“What the fuck, Gojo?!” you choked out, coughing, having swallowed the beer before you sprayed him, but having swallowed so quickly a portion of it went down the wrong tube.

“Satoru.”

“Gojo,” you stressed, pushing his forehead back with your finger, “do you mind?”

“Satoru.” He pouted, but thankfully withdrew. “Whatcha drinking?”

“Pilsners,” Shoko interjected, not fully understanding what exactly was happening between the two of you, but understanding enough to be amused.

“I got next round.”

You exhaled as you watched him walk away.

When did you even start holding your breath?

“So…”

“Don’t.” You glared at Shoko, who had the most sly, impish twinkle in her eye, warning her not to continue.

“What’s going on with you and Gojo?”

You sighed heavily, a regular occurrence whenever Gojo Satoru was involved, bringing your glass to your lips, grimacing when you remembered you were out of alcohol. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Shoko…”

Shoko looked at you innocently, shrugging as if she had no idea what you were going on about. “I’m just saying… it looks like he’s flirting with you.”

You snorted. Flirting with you. Hilarious.

“He’s not flirting with me. He’s torturing me. Rubbing in my face how I’m just ‘number two’.”

“Mm… that’s not what it seems like to me. You don’t buy beers for someone you’re torturing.”

“You do if you’re flaunting your wealth,” you darkly quipped.

“At some dingy bar on one dollar beer night? Yeah, big spender.”

You massaged your temples with your middle finger and thumb. “Shoko, can we not?”

“Fine.” Shoko threw up her hands, backing off albeit reluctantly. “I’m just saying. You don’t treat someone like that unless you like them”

You scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Gojo Satoru liking you? Please. There was no way Gojo Satoru had a crush on you. That was ridiculous. He had a majority of the women at Jujutsu Law College falling over their feet for him, why would he want you? 

Not that you wanted him either.

Something cold pressed against your cheek.

“Pilsner for my salutatorian?”

Gojo Satoru was holding a new, full pint of beer up against the side of your face. Scowling not-so-subtly, you reached for the glass. While you were loath to accept something from Gojo Satoru, beer was beer, and it would be a crime not to drink it.

And god could you use it.

“Ah, shit,” Shoko suddenly exclaimed. “I forgot I had a thing.”

You frowned. “Thing? What thing?”

“The thing.” Shoko gestured with her hands. “The thing I told you about. The thing.”

You stared at her, confused as to what she was going on about. “What thing? You’re the one who wanted to come out tonight.”

Shoko pulled on her jacket, gathering her phone and her purse. “I gotta go. Gotta go do the thing.”

“What– You’re leaving me on my own in some dingy ass bar?” You narrowed your eyes at her accusingly, fairly certain that she did not actually have a thing that she needed to attend to.

Shoko gave you a lopsided grin. “But you’re not alone. You’ve got Gojo.” She turned to the freakishly tall, laidback individual beside you. “You’ll make sure she gets home, yeah?”

“Of course.”

“Great.” Shoko hugged you, bringing her mouth to your ear. “Have fun.” She pulled away, giving you a wicked grin and a wink, leaving you gaping after her as she disappeared into the crowd.

What the fuck just happened?

Did Shoko seriously just abandon you, leaving you alone with Gojo fucking Satoru in some bar?

You chugged your beer, finishing it in record time before Gojo Satoru even had a chance to start drinking his.

“Uh… You sure you can handle that?” 

He was observing you, his arrogant smirk still present, his own glass halfway to his lips, but there was a hint of something else, something unfamiliar and foreign, something… soft? 

No, not soft. Knowing him, it was probably something condescending like pity or belittlement.

“I can handle it,” you snapped, and eyeing the second beer in his other hand, you added, “Is that Shoko’s beer? You gonna drink it?”

You reached for the extra beer, but he held it above his head, way out of your reach. 

“Nuh uh. I don’t think you can handle it, lightweight.” 

He was looking down his perfect, chiseled nose at you, the taunt blatantly apparent on his face, mocking you.

“Believe it or not, Gojo, I can handle my alcohol so will you please…” you stood on your toes swiping for the beer, “... just give…” you jumped, “...me the goddamn…” another swipe, “...beer!”

You lightly panted, having failed to procure the beer you wanted from above his head. 

Seriously, how was he so fucking tall? 

Even on the very tip of your toes, the top of your head barely came to his chin

“Satoru.”

Exasperated, you lost it, yowling like a feral cat, your brows knitting together, creating deep, firm grooves on your forehead. “What. Does. It. Matter?”

Gojo finished his beer, placed the glass down on a nearby table, and then flicked you square in the forehead.

“Ow!” you yelped, rubbing furiously at the red mark you were sure was growing above your brow. “What the hell, Gojo?”

Gojo sighed. “Sa–to–ru. And it matters to me.” He ruffled your hair, turning your carefully blow dried curls into a tangled mess.

You dodged his hand, glaring at him. “You don’t tell Shoko to call you Satoru.”

“Ieiri’s not you.”

Scowling, you brushed your fingers through your hair, trying to undo some of the knots he created. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it means.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, you’re the thick one for not getting it.”

Gojo brought Shoko’s beer – your beer – to his lips, downing the entire pint in three large gulps. 

Watching his Adam's apple bob up and down, something in you finally snapped, all the moments of him relentlessly taunting you about being second place, teasing you about how short you were, stalking you around campus, one-upping you in mock court runs, all erupting into an explosion of something downright deranged.

“Gojo–”

“Satoru.”

“Gojo, for the love of god, shut up.”

You grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, and with as much strength as you could muster, hauled him towards you crashing his lips down onto yours. Gojo froze for a second, stunned, before pushing back, lips moving against yours with a hungry intensity. His tongue darted along the crevasse between your closed lips demanding to be let in, and you acceded, parting your mouth for him to slip in. The kisses deepened, your fingers curling even tighter around the fabric of his jacket, breathless sighs escaping in between kisses. Somewhere in the torrent of kisses, his sunglasses came off and his hands found themselves twisted in your hair, intertwining your curls between his fingers.

Breaking for air, you released your hold on Gojo’s jacket, rocking back on your heels and pulling away, keeping your eyes averted towards the ground.

Fuck. Just… fuck. What the fuck have you done?

Biting back a self-deprecating groan, you closed your eyes, taking a shaky deep breath in and letting it out slowly.

“Gojo,” you hesitantly started, threading your fingers together, for the first time in your life, not quite sure what you wanted to say to him. None of your bravado remained. All you knew was that you would have to see him again on Monday in class, and the last thing you needed was for things to be awkward or for him to hold whatever this was over your head.

“It’s Satoru.”

Your eyes snapped to Gojo’s as he spoke. There was a forceful edge to his husky voice, a commanding presence, one that he rarely displayed outside of the courtroom. Your breath hitched at the way he was just staring at you, his eyes dark and turbulent, storming with need and want.

“Sa–” you cleared your throat, the feel of his first name foreign in your mouth, “Satoru.”

Satoru acknowledged you with a hum of approval, the corners of his lips flicking up into the start of what could be a smile.

Your mouth felt parched. You were shivering at how intensely he was staring at you, at how his hypnotizing cerulean eyes were reeling you in, mesmerizing you until everything other than the infuriating man in front you faded away.

He grazed his lips along the outline of your shoulder and up your neck until they reached your ear, electric tingles crawling from where he touched, jolting down your spine. “You wanna get outta here?”

You nodded slowly. Your mind was hazy and dazed, drowning in Satoru’s eyes, barely able to put together a single intelligent thought to save your life.

How have you never noticed just how gorgeously blue his eyes were before? 

“Come on.”

Satoru took your hand, interlocking your fingers between his. Your hand felt so small in his hand, cradled in his broad palm, his body heat radiating up your arm. 

The tension between the two of you was thick and supercharged, heavy and tumultuous, on the verge of a catastrophic eruption – coming out of the bar, in the taxi ride back to your apartment, in the elevator going up to your floor, down the hallway to the door of your unit, as you input your code into the lock and the door clicked open.

When the door opened, it was like a switch flipped in Satoru’s brain. His lips were on you faster than you could react, tasting you with his tongue, nibbling on your bottom lip. His dizzying onslaught of kisses came so rapidly, you barely had the presence of mind to make sure you closed your front door and locked it before stumbling through the foyer, wrapped in his embrace. 

Keeping his lips locked with yours, he fumbled to remove his jacket, yanking his arms out of the sleeves, dropping it unceremoniously to the floor. Your fingers teased the hem of his shirt, slipping under and feeling his muscles ripple under your fingertips, feeling for the first time just how lean he was.

Holy fuck.

You knew he was muscular. You’d seen him engaging in casual sports with other members of your law class, seen the hem of his shirt ride up when he raised his arms or wiped his face, but feeling it for yourself was different than just catching accidental hints.

Feeling your hands grabbing at his torso, Satoru tugged his shirt off, also throwing it to some random corner of your apartment.

“Where’s the… bedroom?” Satoru murmured in between kisses, tugging at your waist, grabbing a handful of your hair.

You burst into laughter, continuing to kiss him as you shook against his chest. “Satoru, I live in a studio.” Maneuvering him towards the wall, you flipped the switch flooding the room with light.

Satoru blinked, squinting as his eyes re-adjusted to the light, pausing from his titillating ravishment of your lips to quickly survey the small room you called your home.

“My bed’s over there,” you whispered, guiding his chin in the direction of your modest double-sized bed.

Satoru hiked you up without warning, forcing you to wrap your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist, an unexpected yelp squeaking out. He strode over to the bed, covering the distance quickly given how long his legs were, and tumbled onto the soft mattress with you still in his arms, beginning another dizzying wave of an unyielding assault of his lips, but this time they roamed down your neck, along your collarbone, planting themselves on every inch of exposed skin he could reach. 

His lips were like fire on your skin. 

Your legs were hooked around his thighs, and your hips ground into him every time he lit another part of you on fire, evoking small groans from Satoru.

“Take my shirt off,” you breathlessly moaned into him, wanting to feel his body heat burn against your bare skin.

Satoru was only happy to oblige, removing himself from you only long enough to pull both your shirt and bralette over your head and to admire your heaving chest. He cupped them in his large hands, planting his needy mouth over your pert nipple. 

Ah, fuck. 

An electric zing ripped through you when he rolled your sensitive peak gently with his teeth. 

Oh heavenly fuck.

His hands were kneading, pinching, squeezing, while his mouth was pulling, biting, sucking, and the combination had you writhing in his hands. Your hips were gyrating into the firm bulge in his jeans, the friction against your pelvis delectable. 

“Fuck, saluta–”

“You know my name, Satoru.”

Satoru groaned your name, a shaky growl on the edge of the last syllable, shuddering when your hips jerked and painfully dragged along the length of his clothed erection. “Fuck, I wanna taste you.” He reached for the waist of your tight jeans, undoing the button quickly, pulling down the zipper, sliding his hand under the fabric.

Your eyes, which were closed in euphoria, snapped open, and in a panic, you grabbed his wrist before he could delve even further. 

“Wait.”

Satoru stopped. He looked up from where he had just been worshiping your chest, brows furrowed with concern. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s–” You bit your lip, the words sitting heavily in your throat.

“What’s wrong?” Satoru propped himself up higher, the hand on your stomach rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.

“I’ve…” you took in a shaky breath, “I’ve…”

Supporting himself on one forearm, Satoru cupped your cheek, his gorgeous, azure blue eyes peering down at you softly. “What is it?”

You swallowed, finding yourself drowning in those stupid eyes again, your stomach in knots from the anxiety of the words you were about to say. “I’ve… never done this before.”

His brows wrinkled, not following what you were trying to convey. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve never done–” you gestured to his lap “–this before.”

“I don’t under–” Satoru’s eyes widened, the meaning of your words hitting him. “Oh… Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You felt yourself blush seeing his reaction to your admission. You chewed on your bottom lip, anxiously wanting him to say something. Anything. You had never admitted this to anyone before, not even Shoko, though she likely already knew that you were still a virgin. She did have a front row seat to all of your sparse romantic entanglements.

Gojo Satoru for the first time in all the time you’d known him was silent.

“S’toru?” you hesitantly asked, prodding the stunned man hovering above you.

He blinked, coming out of whatever trance he was in, an expression you couldn’t read crossing his face. “We can stop if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

“You sure?”

You nodded, holding your breath.

“You’ve had a couple of drinks, I don’t think–”

You scoffed. “Satoru, I’m not drunk, let alone tipsy.”

“I– Are you sure?” 

You looked straight into his eyes. “Yes. I want to do this.”

In all the years of wondering when and how you would lose your virginity, you never imagined it would be like this. With him. But you did want this. Badly. You wanted him right here, right now, virginity and rivalry be damned.

“You won’t regret this?”

Jesus Christ, even when he was tender he was infuriating.

You threw your head back, a long, drawn-out, frustrated groan exploding out of you. “Oh my god, Go– Satoru, no, I will not regret this. Will you please just fuck me?”

Satoru blinked, and then he was capturing you in a passionate, toe-curling kiss, caressing your cheek. He sat upright, sliding the last remaining articles of your clothing down your legs, grazing you softly with his fingertips, and then he sat there, mouth open, drinking in the sight of you under him.

“Satoru?”

“Uh, yeah, gotta… gotta get you ready for me.” He gave you a lopsided grin, and gently palming your thighs, settled in between your legs, quietly groaning as he inhaled your scent. He pressed a murmur of a kiss on your clit, and sensing the nervous tension in your thighs, he squeezed them reassuringly. “You gotta relax.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

You clicked your tongue. Smart ass.

But his quip didn’t hold his usual teasing sass, and you focused on releasing the tension in your tight muscles. Which, as you found out, turned out to be easy. Because you turned into jelly the moment Satoru ran his tongue along your slit and up to your clit.

You sharply gasped. You might be a virgin, but you weren’t a stranger to pleasure having learned how to stimulate yourself with your fingers and the occasional toy, but this…

You arched your back as he flicked the tip of his tongue over your swollen, sensitive bud.

This was nothing compared to how you satiated yourself alone in your bed at night on those occasional moments you needed release.

This was bliss.

You felt him snicker against your cunt. “So wet for me…” 

You had half a mind to swat at his head, but he sucked down hard, and whatever thoughts you had of wanting to slap him flew out of your head, reacting to his sinful mouth by twisting your hands in his unruly hair instead. He grunted when you inadvertently pushed him in closer, your thighs clamping against the sides of his head, hips bucking up with each jolt of electricity buzzing through your center.

“Goddamn, girl.” But he didn’t let go, continuing to devour your quivering cunt with the desperation of a man deprived. “So fucking wet.”

You squirmed, the sensation of him mouthing you, lapping at your folds, circling the entrance of your pussy, spinning into an intense whirlwind.

“That’s it,” Satoru instructed, feeling how your muscles were clenching and releasing rapidly. “Let go. Cum for me.”

Everything within you pulled taut, tightening into a pressure cooker of overwhelming ecstasy, bursting violently in an explosion of strangled cries moaning Satoru’s name, your back lurching off your bed, stars swimming in your blackened vision.

And as the explosion roiled through your trembling body, Satoru continued to tantalize every inch of you between your thighs, firmly holding your erratically bucking hips in place, until you softened into a quivering mess.

“Geez, number two, didn’t know you could scream like that.” Satoru smugly smirked, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. 

“Don’t call me that,” you mumbled, flushing from the embarrassment of how hard you just unraveled for him. “Aren’t you a little too dressed to fuck me?”

“Want me that badly, huh?” 

But the speed at which he kicked off his own jeans and briefs betrayed how much he needed to be buried deep inside you.

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head when he sprang free. 

It wasn’t as if you’d seen many dicks in your life outside of movies or TV, but fuck… Satoru wasn’t just big… He was big. The man was fucking blessed.

Without meaning to, you whimpered, your stare fixated on his blessed appendage, wondering how the hell it was going to fit into your virgin cunt.

“That’s not going to fit.”

“I’ll go slow, don’t worry.”

Your eyes flickered from his dick to his surprisingly gentle face, a grimace of distrust written all over yours. “Satoru, you’re too big, I–”

“Sweets,” Satoru calmly said, gazing gently into your eyes with assurance. “It might hurt a bit, but I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

You swallowed thickly, but you nodded. Satoru smiled, a genuine smile absent of any teasing, and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Let me know if you need to stop.”

Another nod.

Satoru positioned himself at your entrance, sliding the remnants of your climax along his erection. He pushed gently, slowly sinking his tip in past the tight entrance.

You hissed, the sudden sensation of yourself stretching to accommodate him deliriously painful in the best way. Satoru waited patiently for you to adjust to him, and when you relaxed, he painstakingly slowly pushed further in, inch by inch. 

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” you rasped.

Satoru was shaking, the exertion of holding himself up not to crush you, controlling himself to sink in slowly, forcing him to hold a static position for a prolonged period of time. He was concentrating so hard, the tip of his tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth.

Had Satoru always been this adorable?

Or maybe his dick was just that magical, making you think the most infuriating man alive on this planet was adorable.

Satoru sank in another inch. You groaned. He was stretching you out, dragging along your walls as he sank in, filling you to a fullness you didn’t even know existed.

“Are you not in yet?”

Satoru paused, letting out the most indignant exhale of air. “Are you serious right now?”

You stifled a giggle, but you weren’t trying to be silly. It was sweet how Satoru was taking his time for you, but you wanted to feel him, buried to the hilt, filling you overwhelmingly so that he was all you could think about.

Fuck it.

You wrapped your legs around his waist tightly, hurling his hips into yours for the last couple of inches.

Satoru swore under his breath, but you barely heard him. That last forceful push in meant his tip barreled into your cervix, and fuck… fuck, did that hurt.

Tears welled in your eyes from the dull ache throbbing in your lower belly. 

Satoru brushed your hair back, keeping his hips as still as he possibly could. “Hey, hey, hey,” he cooed. “Breathe, breathe.” 

A tear slid down your cheek, which Satoru wiped away. You gasped, breathing heavily as you waited for the ache to dissipate, focusing on the air entering your lungs and exiting through your mouth.

“Why’d you do that? Should’ve let me handle it,” Satoru fussed, rubbing soothing circles in your skin and placing gentle kisses on your cheeks.

“I wanted to feel you,” you wheezed, feeling like a downright idiot, but also pleased with how fully buried he was in your warmth. “But you’re too fucking big.”

“Tch… silly girl,” Satoru grumbled, but the corners of his mouth twisted upwards. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” 

“I’m going to start moving now, is that okay?”

“Yeah.”

Satoru brushed his lips on your forehead where he flicked it earlier that night, and without taking his eyes off of you, started with tiny, slow thrusts. He was barely moving, but even his tiny thrusts were sinfully divine. You rolled your hips with his, wanting more.

“Fuck,” Satoru hissed. “I can’t hold back if you squeeze me that tight.”

“Don’t.”

Satoru broke. He laced his hand with yours holding it tightly above your head, and drove into you frenetically, nuzzling his mouth into the crook of your neck, nipping the soft skin. The heat between your writhing bodies all-consuming, a blazing inferno caught in the dizzying tornado of passion.

You clung to him, deep, thready moans tumbling from your lush, parted lips.

“Satoru…”

“Keep saying my name.”

You whispered his name, the pressure of him moving inside you filling you with a torrential flood of euphoric sensations, reducing you to a puddle of whimpers under his powerful, frantic thrusts. His strokes were unbearably hot, waves of searing pleasure overtaking you, receding and building, incensed by the obscene grunts escaping him.

“I– fuck.” Satoru bit your shoulder hard, growling unrestrained, primal. “Where do you want me to cum?”

It was a bad idea. It was quite possibly one of the worst ideas you’ve had in a while, but it didn’t matter, you wanted to feel him, you wanted him to claim you as his, you wanted him to mark you with his animalistic need.

“In– inside…”

Satoru let out a long maddening moan, so full of his desire, pouring into you in a frenzy, you hit your peak, pulsating around him desperately, unraveling at the sensation of his burning cum coating you inside in erratic bursts. 

The two of you shook against one another, heaving as the cloud of ecstasy receded and your breaths calmed to normal. Satoru slumped to his side, pulling you into his chest, pressing a light kiss to your temple.

He chuckled, still wrapped in the hazy aftermath of your shared bliss. “I’ve wanted to do that forever.”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Geez, miss number two,” he grinned down at you, “do I really gotta spell it out for you? Thought you were smarter than that.”

“Don’t call me that,” you retorted. “Spell what out for me?”

Satoru grumbled something you couldn’t quite catch, yelping when you pinched his side, but wrapped his arms around you even tighter, sighing. “It means, I’ve had a crush on you since last year.”

Oh… Your eyes bugged when it sank in. Oh.

Gojo fucking Satoru had a crush on you.

You.

Out of all the women you knew he could choose from…

You.

Your face grew uncomfortably hot. Embarrassed, you buried your face in his chest. You felt Satoru shift, squirming at your silence.

“Say something, will ya? Before this gets more awkward?”

You bit back a groan. “I–” Fuck, you weren’t ready for this. “I think… I think I like you too,” and because you were so embarrassed and upset with how fucking smooth he was, you added, “when you’re not pissing me off.”

Satoru snickered. “So, like we dating now or what?”

“I– I guess?”

“What do you mean by I guess?” 

Satoru sounded downright offended. Cute.

“Yes, we’re dating,” you clarified, grumbling that he was making you spell it out for him. “Especially if I get your magical dick all to myself.”

“Magical dick, huh?” Satoru chuckled. “So, miss number two–”

“You really need to stop calling me number two.”

This whole thing was madness. God, Gojo Satoru drove you fucking insane. In more ways than one.

“What should I call you then?”

Brat. 

You rolled your eyes. “How about just my name?”

Satoru hummed, the gears in his head turning. “I know, I’ll call you my number one.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he craned down to meet your eyes, glittering with a mischievous sparkle, “you’re number one in my heart.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Ugh. Fucking Gojo Satoru.

Feeling your blush deepen, you buried yourself into his chest again, rubbing into the space between his pecs ferociously. “You’re so fucking cheesy, S’toru.”

“Admit it, you fucking love it.” 

You knew that tone of voice. It was the one that came out when he had that adorable boyish grin on his face.

“No,” you grumbled.

But you did. You fucking loved it.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

[killa-cookie]

CLOSED !!!

So... Hi... Hello... I've noticed that I've been flopping lately because 300 likes to 8!? That's outrageous!!!!!

So........ I will be making a VALENTINE'S EVENT in crk/crob! This event will start on FEBRUARY ONE

And will end at the last day of February.

↓

Rules;;

- THIS EVENT IS ONLY FLUFF AND ROMANCE! No heavy angst or angst, light angst is alright if it is something like the reader getting comforted after a break up.

- no weird stuff... You know what I mean...

- common, rare, special, guest cookies are excluded... Sowwy

- No heavy yandere themes

Things that are allowed;;

- Different AU'S of cookies are allowed. Such as neo ancients and what so

- Temperance and Gluttony reader is also allowed!

- NPC'S are allowed in this event !

- Self shipping with gluttony or Temperance is allowed !

;;

In some prompts, it will say SINGLE, POLY or both written in it. If it is poly, that means multiple cookies x reader is allowed in the prompt. If it is single only one cookie x reader is allowed, and if both... It's your decision!

You can also add some changes to the prompt if you'd like, kind of like a base idea!

The chosen cookie/s and reader can switch roles in the prompts! And please specify which role is which... Like if the librarian is reader— or cookie

Request a cookie of your choice, I will be adding prompts below— or just make your own little romantic fantasy, and done!!

ASK FORMAT

(COOKIE/S) x (READER)

(Fluff/spicy Prompt) (and some changes if you want)

In writing the prompt, use Fluff/Spicy then write the prompt number

FLUFF (no spicy yet)

1. CUDDLE TIME / CUDDLE PUDDLE

- (Cookie/s) had a long day... And just want to embrace you, they're bummed that they couldn't spend the whole day on a date with you... So why not just hug it out? ( SINGLE / POLY )

2. REUNITED IN THE RAIN

- two childhood friends who lost touch unexpectedly reunite in a cafe they took shelter in from the rain! ( SINGLE)

3. BOOKSHOP STRANGER

- (cookie/reader bookshop owner) has fallen in love with a mysterious costumer who only visits on every 14th. ( SINGLE )

4. LOVE-SPLASHED

- (cookies/reader) had been struck with a love potion during an intense battle! Will the (cookie/reader) be able to take care of their lovesick partner? ( SINGLE / POLY )

5. NOT YOU!?

- (cookie) and (reader), who have been known for their rivalry ever since grade school. Had been accepted into the top academy in all of earthbread, and just had to be roomates... Great. ( SINGLE / POLY )

6. TAKE A HINT!

- the most popular student, (cookie/reader) in the Killa academy has been crushing on this one particular student they had their eye on... But this particular student, (reader/cookie) is absolutely oblivious to this. The popular student keeps on dropping off hints, while oblivious just waves them off unconsciously. ( SINGLE )

7. ... ME?

- this cookie had thought everyone would hate them for their personality and behavior, they would think that they would forever be single. Well that's what they thought.... Who would have known they had a secret admirer all along? ( SINGLE )

8. NEW ADDITION

- the most loved couple in all of the academy have been rising up the ranks in popularity, while one student (reader) did have a crush on both of them... Little did that one student know that the couple would also take interest in them... ( POLY )

9. BRAVE WARRIOR

- (cookie) was on the verge of death, thinking they had lost against this gigantic beast... BAM, a charming stranger named (reader) just decides to help them out... Who knew it would be a match made in heaven? ( SINGLE ) (Universe starts resetting/j)

10. SMOOTH CRIMINAL

- (reader) who had been stealing from (cookie) for quite a while, has finally been caught in their actions... But, (cookie) couldn't resist such a cute bubbly face like that~! ( SINGLE )

11. I'M / WE'RE SO BETTER

- (reader) has a devastating breakup, leading into them going out for some crazy drinking while (cookie/s) tries to comfort them... And it ends up super duper bromantic... ( SINGLE / POLY )

12. JEALOUSY....

- (reader) had quite some rivalry with (cookie) for a while, but when (cookie) hears that (reader) gets a new rival? Oh it's ooonnnnn.... (Rival) and (cookie) will be fighting for your attention, and you had no idea they were both into you... So.... ( POLY )

13. IM FINE

- (cookie) comes home from a bread-crumbling battle and is in SHREDS, they are injured head to toe and (reader) is freaking out while (cookie) is super nonchalant about it.. ( SINGLE )

14. FORGET IT

- (cookie) is frustrated about their feelings to (reader), they have been dropping hints left and right! And (reader) knows about this, but pretends to be oh so oblivious to hey (cookie) to actually confess! ( SINGLE )

15. NOCTURNAL NIGHTMARE/S

- (reader) is like a nocturnal species of their cookie and (cookie/s) is absolutely scared the shit out of when at 3 am in the night they just see (reader) like a nightmare, and in daylight (reader) is like sleeping beauty... ( SINGLE/POLY )

More prompts soon.....

SPICY

Work in progress! / no ideas...

[thebroccolination]

There’s literally no one on this planet better at manifesting than Krist Perawat, and I have PROOF:

He asked GMMTV for years to give him and Singto another BL series, but they gave him het lakorns. He wanted to play the top, but he was typecast as the cute tsundere. He watched Singto leave their company to begin a freelance career, and he couldn’t convince Singto to come back no matter what he said or did.

Most would have given up.

And then, bam, Krist got literally everything he wanted.

So either it was manifesting or the universe just knew it owed him a solid after everything else it put him through.

Also, yes, I’m going to keep inventing reasons to repost this screenshot until a new one takes its place as the center of my world. :)

Anyway yay, we’re finally getting the KristSingto in KristSingto.

[circeyoru]

Surprise, Surprise, I’m Here to Watch = Requested

[Hazbin Hotel x 3 Powers Granted!Reader]

Did you think it was possible? No way. Did you embrace it? Oh yes baby

That random lamp you ordered off the internet to fill your cart to get some discount was not garbage. 3 wishes. Anything. Oh, you didn’t want immortality, no, living is a pain. Wealth, you’re not putting a target on your back. Perfect health, that’s like immortality, so no. More wishes, come on, don’t think you can lie your way with this. Don’t be greedy

“First one. Power to travel between universe, and I mean that as in non-fiction and fictional worlds. Second one. Shapeshifting powers, like I don’t want the pain that comes along as well if you can. Third one. Uhhh. Perfect stealth? Like no one will be able to know I’m here until I let them.”

“Are you sure you want to use all your wishes in one-go? I’ll be gone once it’s granted.” The genie blinked at the swiftness. Usually people would think forever or save them up for extreme cases

“Yeah, yeah, hurry up and grant me my wishes. I don’t imagine you like to entertain me for long anyways.” You waved the genie off and in a poof and a snap (should have been “A wap! Bam! Boom! Alakazam!”) you were granted those exact powers

Now being a hardcore shut-in addicted to all things fiction, you tested out your powers first to see if you were dreaming. Then you trained yourself a bit with them and tested their limits. In the meantime, you debated on which universe to go to officially. “Has to be Hazbin Hotel.”

You were obsessed, like majorly obsessed with the show. The moment news came about season 1, you prepared yourself and watched them first thing! You watched more than once, having to remember the lines and songs by heart. Nothing beats watching it unfold in real life or fiction life

Maybe it was because you were kind to the genie (being quick about your wishes) that when you traveled to other universes, time in the real world, your world stops until you’re back. You thanked the genie mentally and honest feel a bit guilty that you shooed them off so quickly. But you’ll make it up with fully using your powers

You figured out everything, a demon and angel form (check the ask) and when to go. You did like Lucifer’s entrance to the show. So why not episode 5? You snapped your fingers, opening a portal before you. You closed your eyes to imagine your demon form, a ring appeared over the top of your head and travelled down, shifting your form to what you pleased. Then you got your bag with your phone and charger and you were ready!

You activated your stealth before entering. Like some fanfiction written about the environment, it was that horrid. If you were in human form, you think you’d die like not even pass out but straight up die from inhaling whatever was in the air. You don’t think any human can survive a second here

Like when traveling to other universes, you weren’t where you wanted and have to travel around. You went straight for the Happy (Hazbin) Hotel, noting the various shops and demons around you, taking out your phone, you recorded your way to mark down locations since this was no longer a fictional place the moment you entered

While you shapeshifted into a demon, you can die. Your body acted on the laws of your world no matter where you went. Your powers of shapeshifting gave you the physiology of a demon and maybe some common powers that other demons have. That was if you traveled to this world first, during your testing period, you went to other worlds and ended up with other powers, though they can’t compare to the ones the genie granted you, it was still power. You can confidentially say you weren’t human anymore

Humming with interest, you climbed into the hotel lobby through an open window so as not to alert the demons inside. Well, you didn’t even need to when you saw everyone preparing for Lucifer’s arrival. You looked up to see Alastor’s annoyed look as he observed the situation in silence. Everything was on track

Delightfully, you recorded everything on your phone, keeping quiet as best you could. Even more excited when you found out that Alastor could be captured on your phone. You followed the plotlines as it was intended, but you have to say witnessing Alastor threaten Husk into silence was more terrifying than you thought. You almost dropped your phone from your shaking hands

You were tempted to help Husk, but you decided against it and went to where Charlie, Vaggie, and Lucifer would be. You watched everything for there onwards. Since that balcony would be the perfect place to record Alastor’s Radio Demon show. But you made it down in time to see Lucifer agreeing to get that meeting with Heaven

Before you followed the couple to Heaven, since there was time, you lazed around town without your stealth active. You had the pleasure of testing your demonic powers and appearance. Sinners and demons alike were hooked, you happily showed them not to mess with you. Soon rumours came about saying a mysterious demon was cruelly killing any that dares to address you. Perhaps you should have kept things on the down low

That little hiccup didn’t stop you from following Charlie and Vaggie to Heaven, you went as far as to appear angelic with another form to travel around without your stealth. It was safer in Heaven after all. You having more wings allowed you easy access to the courthouse as well, you seated gracefully among the other angels and watched the scene untold like the script

You noticed the angelic beings near you start to eye you questionably as you recorded the scene below you without a care, even giggling and chuckling at some moment like you were watching a show. Thing is, it was a show, they all were characters of another’s creation and they didn’t even know it! Your odd actions were nothing compared to the drama happening

Proved that you were only noticed officially when the song came to its end and your giggles were heard out and clear. Your wings fluttered as you stood in front of Charlie and Vaggie, the two smaller wings by the side of your head covering your face

You elegantlly mocked aloud, targeting at Adam and Lute. “I always wondered why angels were given a free pass to everything, including the use of unholy words like a demon and committing action like a demon. Perhaps,” Your smaller wings parted for your golden eyes to stare and glare at Adam, “You are the one that belonged in Hell instead of that poor soul.”

Enraged, Adam sent you three back to Hell with the threat that he’d attack the hotel first. Your wings hid your face again the moment you three were back in the hotel lobby. As Charlie remember you being sent to Hell with them, she turned to you to apologize, only to find you in demon form. Her eyes confused as you turned to look at her. “No harm done, princess. I was never a soul in that place anyways. I had to say something to that piece of work known as the first man.”

Using their shocked and confused moment, you actived your stealth before they could question you anything else. You was fun to watch them fret over your disappearance like you were a child and they a parent, you stuck around since the battle was drawing closer. You’d follow the plotline to go into Charlie’s room, but she needed her privacy and you only went when Vaggie did

Later on, you went with Charlie to Cannibal Town. You wanted to see Rosie! The lovely demon that only officially made her debut much later. You had to record the song as well, though you missed Camilla’s sadly. You also took note of the VoxTech drone that watched the scene, you couldn’t help but shot it out of the sky with a rock

When the battle happened, you were away from Alastor in the beginning and helped out behind the scenes, shooting down exterminators that breached the ‘front line’ or threatened to harm/kill Rosie’s people. You (for the first time) didn’t record a moment since it was intense and you didn’t want to accidentally die or get hurt

You nudged Niffty in Adam’s direction when it was sprouting nonsense that you want jump out your skin for. Then you recorded the stab moment. A scene that many loved after the episode was aired. There was another that you watched, Lucifer’s comment before his and Adam’s ‘fight’ began. You honestly couldn’t hold yourself and laughed like you did when you rewatched the episode so many times

Then you were moving in the speed of light to record their final song. Even going to Alastor’s destroyed tower to get his part. And you rushed back to to hotel later to get the rest of it. You had one hell of a leg work and accidentially dropped your stealth due to tiredness

“You’re that demon that was angel but not!” You heard Angel’s voice shouted and saw his four arms pointed at you.

“Yeah, I have a name, so…” You trailed off, wanting to not be in the spotlight, you’re honestly scared to be involve because the later seasons were not released and you didn’t want anything to be affected. “Bye?”

“No way! We’re celebrating with us!” Charlie quickly wrapped her arm to hook one of yours, Vaggie followed and stood on your other side as her girlfriend continued, “Don’t think I didn’t notice some exterminators falling and dying for no reason!”

Yeah, people saying Charlie was more powerful than she led on was right on the money, even in that chaotic scene she noticed your involvement

You sighed and gave in, no turning back now, “Fine. Fine. I guess I deserve some celebration too.”

Note: I’ll be completely honest, this one, I had no idea how to write. Plus it was different from what I usually write. This is more like a Reader Insert than anything. Hope you enjoyed it though!

Circe Y.

MASTERLIST

Taglist: (requested individual)

@no1sillybilly

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

I NEEEED som jealous possessive bam bam, like I need that injected in my veinsssss PLEASEE

When You Don’t See Me

Y/N tells her boyfriend she want to take a break, not knowing the whirlwind that would follow.

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

(Angst, Fluff)

3k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, unhealthy relationships, a LOT of unhealthy coping mechanisms, depression, alcohol, alcoholism, description of injury, fights, piss, manipulation, drug use mention, hookups, gossip, lovers to enemies to lovers, possessiveness, jealousy

An: Thank you for the request!! I got the idea to explore not only how Y/N reacts to his behavior, but the psychology behind all of his outrageous behavior in his relationship with Y/N and how those around him react to it! This is decently darker and more metaphorical than my usual work, but I wanted to branch out a little and try new genres :) Lmk if you wanna see more stuff like this and keep sending in those requests! ;D

When you told him you wanted to take a break, you tried to let Bam down as gently as possible. Not two days later, you caught your now ex-boyfriend airing his dirty laundry on Sirius XM for all of America to hear. “But, Like- really, I don’t think she even cared about me...” Bam leaned back in his chair, the way his voice rose from emotion making your blood boil and heart ache at the same time, “ Like, ever.”

Ryan, always one to come to your defense when one of Bam’s dumb little buddies would give you a hard time, must’ve sensed the crumpled look on your face as you listened from your car. “I mean, maybe she just…couldn't handle all the fame stuff- I know chicks got issues with that sometimes.” “No- no, cause listen!” Bam interjected in that far too familiar tone, throwing himself into a rant, “Cause I come home with a broken elbow, and you know what she says? Nothing! Doesn’t ask what happened or anything! It’s like she doesn’t even give a shit. ”

When he came home from that skate tour touting a sling, you hadn’t asked him about it because it was the fourth time he’d broken it since you had dated him, and in all likelihood he’d get pissy with you if you did. Novak took the opposite position, “Dude, don’t even fuckin’ worry about it. You could get pussy in any zip code- youre Bam Margera!”

You’d half expected this shit, preemptively dashing the idea that Bam could handle this the way a mature adult might. Still, you had decided that you weren't going to let some schoolyard bully keep you from being happy. So, you managed to score a date with some nice guy who worked your shift- Friday, you got yourself all preened up with the intention of making a good impression at the local bar that night. And it started out nice enough- plenty in common, good chemistry, and a far cry from the manchild you were with before…

But when your date stepped away for a minute, you turned back to your drink only to hear, “Hey, who’s captain dipshit?” The way his voice grated on you made taking a rusty butter knife to your inner ear sound pretty tempting right about now. Trying your hardest to keep your nerve, tension settled in your throat, “Bam, I told you: I want to take a break. We agreed,” Without missing a beat, the little shit stepped closer, getting all up in your face with that dull, possessive look in his eye, “What? You fuckin’?” “Bam!” He shot a practiced glance over his shoulder, provocativity cloaked by liquor-fueled nonchalance, “What? M’just wonderin’ what you an’ Mr. Three Sided Dick Duster over there’ve been gettin’ up to- real catch y’got there.”

Leaning against the sticky bar top, frustration was heavy in your worlds as you spoke up over the excited roar of the bar, “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” When you were together, it seemed you were the perfect, warm little center of the universe. The room still got quiet now, but in this terrible, bitter way that made unlucky witnesses' skin crawl. “For one goddamn night, would it-“ At the slightest resistance, Bam backed off as if you were some aggressive animal snarling at him, “Alright, alright! Jeez, woman…”

Letting out a sigh mixed with relief and resentment, you didn’t end up catching what he did after disappearing into the crowd. See, Bam had been watching you with your date from afar before he’d stepped in, so he knew what the guy looked like before he stepped away to the men’s- enough to know the back of his head when he strutted into the bathroom and nestled right right next to that asshole. “Hey. Y’know that chick y’were talkin’ to? Yeah, keep an eye out- that one’s a psycho bitch.”

Bam didn’t seem to care how your date just stared at the tile in front of him, a little uncomfortable with the way he’d chosen the urinal right next to his despite nearly every other one being open. “Fucked half’a Westchester. Got all these gnarly STD’s an’ shit too.” Intimidated, he actually believed him. Blinking with recognition, your date zipped up his pants. “Oh. Thanks, man- really dodged a bullet there…” And thus began the awful corrosion of Mr. Bam Margera’s soul.

A couple weeks of no contact later, Bam discovered that the journey to the palace of personal enlightenment begins and ends with beer. Sure, he had drank before you left him, but it was sissy shit. Now, he was drinking. Unseasonably cold, he hunched his shoulders, shoving his hands in his pockets to fight off the wind. “Alright, man!” Novak, who was always happy to be drinking on Bam’s tab, threw an arm around his shoulders as the rest of the gang followed behind into the bar, “Let’s get wasted.”

It was the same cheesy ass line he’d used three times this week, and it was only Thursday. Nobody, not his close friends nor the general public, made any mention of this shift in Bam's behavior, writing it off the same way they did when he dumped his hummer in the quarry- the disease of having too much money: Affluenza. Spoiled MTV rich boy acted like a spoiled MTV rich boy- alert the presses…

Drunk, Bam was a neglected child- brooding over lost pool games and getting into petty arguments in which he was obviously in the wrong- these nights usually ending with him passing out and needing to be carried home by Dunn. Glancing across the bar, that anxious, stir crazy feeling simmered deep in his loins.

“Yo, I’m gonna go take a leak.” Dunn shot him a nod as he hopped off the barstool, “Alright, don’t fall in.” Though he didn’t say anything, he was the only one to notice Bam’s off behavior; that flimsy look in his eye when he made a joke that nobody laughed at, the weird intensity that followed him around in this evil cloud- and of course, the drinking. But, I mean- Dunn didn’t say anything. Listen, if Ryan’s girl dumped his ass and he turned to the bottle, the last thing he’d want is his best friend stagin’ some kinda intervention. So he kept his mouth shut.

Bam discovered that, in crowded college bars, you could take a piss in some corner or on an arcade cabinet, and nobody’d ever care. Cruising across the dance floor he was moving a checker to another square, Bam started sizing up the population for a worthy target. Bingo. So inconspicuously, he crept up behind the biggest, roided-up frat dude in the joint, who too busy bragging about how much he could bench to hear the soft teeth of a zipper undoing.

“Yeah, I’m gonna hit the ARC tomorrow with Brett an’ Travis. I’ve been workin’ on this-“ Oh, that look on his face once he noticed the warm, dark spot on his khakis after Bam had emptied his bladder on the back of his leg...Priceless. “Dude- what the fuck?!” And when that man twice his size got all up in his goddamn face to freak him out, the shit eating grin on Bam’s face didn’t even twitch. “Yeah? Cmon fucker, whatch’a gonna do ab-“ In one quick twitch muscle jerk, mister Beta Alpha Mu swung a quick right hook, plating MTV star teeth in thick, tan knuckles.

So Bam swung back. Weeks of petty, dumb fights morphed his hands into over-pruned tree branches, with purple knobs of broken bone that were more a result of his limp-wristed punching than they were actual battle scars. The angry, little red scrapes, the black eyes that changed color in the mirror like mold; he was alive, and this shit was proof of it. Bam had free fucking will and freedom- and he still had all of his teeth despite the blood that was painting his enamel.

Diffusing the situation, Ryan tugged his best friend into the crowd, away from the still shouting meathead and toward the door, knowing his friend would’ve gotten turned into burger before he conceded. Stumbling behind, the cool night air bit at Bam’s adrenaline flushed skin, muscles burning as he collapsed against his chest. Ryan held him steady as if he were waiting for the gears in his best friend's brain to start turning, “What the hell happened?”

There’s blood on Ryan’s t-shirt now. The question was rhetorical. The passerby who stared at the two knew that; it’s Bam, that’s what he does. And he knew that too, glancing up with those big, painfully blown out pupils. His eyes were so goddamn blue…

Most mornings, Bam woke up tangled in sheets that were not his. It was as if waking up cold and alone in the bedrooms of strange, blood-sucking sycophant women was anything other than a cry for help. Disoriented, he blinked awake, the early morning chill of the air alerting him first to the fact that he was naked, before the sounds of life- female life, in the next room over, hit his ears.

Bam went out and hooked up with girls, which was never hard. Women caught wind that he was out at some bar and they started throwing themselves at him like Hands on a Hardbody; with a Lamborghini instead of the D12. The events blurred together in this vestigial memory of sleaze, but that isn’t to say he didn’t remember some of it. Take this scene from the previous night: tucked away in some intimate little corner-of-the-bar pleather booth, there were five chicks to the one him- and they were just relishing him with all that delicious attention. Bam needed it the way he needed air. Melting under this affection, he chuckled, “I’m goin’ on this tour with Tony Hawk this summer, and-“ The one running her fingers through his curls cooed, “Really? That’s so cool…”

Bam was occupied with the notion that all those shit feelings could just shoot out his dick with his load…Yeah. Soft curves, warm bodies, and all the free range pussy a guy could drown in. He fucked and, he fucked, and he sowed his wild goddamn oats with any woman who’d seen his face on MTV. And here’s the weird thing: Bam could reach out and touch these girls; he could feel the flesh on their hips pool between his fingers, and he could feel the silicone in their lips when he kissed them, but beneath the skin, there was nothing. He was simply not there.

Stumbling to his feet, he wandered over to the mirror in the hall, taking a glance at his reflection as he passed. That’s who he was: Bam fucking Margera. He was private jets to skate events, and brand deals with designer sunglasses, and the winding filigree down his ribs that caught that light as he examined himself. That hollow collar of bruises and hickeys was worn with pride. Bleach washed laminate of Ms.Whoever’s Chichester condo felt cold on his feet as he stumbled into the kitchen, trying to get his bearings. “Oh, morning!” The big green eyes on the chipper blond stranger at the island lit up as he sat down, bare ass on one of the stools, “Hungry?”

Bam gave her a drowsy, nondescript hum, leaning his head into his hand. He wasn’t. Yet that bowl of cereal slid in front of him, little rainbow O’s bobbing and swirling in the milk. It reminded him of how, when you dated, you never made him breakfast. You never fussed over him, or asked him where he was going, or told him to call when he was across the country, filming…Anyways, breakfast- the two of you usually ended up going to Denny’s the morning after: french toast and pancakes and moons over my hammy…

“I could start you a shower if you’d like.” He was shaken from his carby fantasies by the cheerleader titter, “Maybe we could go out later, or-“ Bam waved her off, not even meeting her gaze as he stood up from artisan, hand carved Ziricote to to grab the same jeans he’d worn for a week from where he kicked them onto the floor last night, “Nah, I got some…things’t do today.” And that cereal sat there as she watched him do up his belt with a dreamy smile.

He was a trophy to these women, something they could hang on their shelf and brag about: it’s the new Bam Margera doll by Element Toys! Bring him home and take his clothes off! Steal his sports watch off his wrist while he’s sleeping and refuse to return his calls! Don’t tell him your boyfriend’s on his way home until he’s gettin’ pulled off you and thrown out your front door, pants around the ankles! Accessories not included…

It got to a point where he had to wonder: what’s the point of the drinking? I mean, you have fun and fuck arround, but a while ago, it was just work to keep up that exciting, MTV rich boy persona that everybody’s expecting when they hear Bam’s making public appearances. Sure, he could do a bump or whatever to keep being fun, but that gets stale. And if he drank alone in his bedroom, he would really have a problem. What about the girls? Sure, they felt good for a night, but again- even though they were jumping at him, Bam felt like it was so much work to get in their bed…He was tired. So, he slept- well, more accurately he laid in bed. It was the longest he’d gone without skating since he twisted his ankle on the vert ramp. Phone calls and emails went unanswered, videos stayed unedited far behind schedule.

Rock bottom would be delivered by the divine messenger that was Bam’s cd player. To think back on this- it’s fucking shameful. He’d sooner take an ancient dagger to his wrists and make a blood oath to never, ever, ever commit such an egregious, melodramatic deed. Bam listened to Razorblade Romance, cover to cover, three goddamn times. Curtains drawn, his body nestled firmly in the him shaped divot in the bed. Oh, Ville…he made this kind of emotional suffering sound beautiful.

And between tracks twelve and thirteen, he got to wondering: what the actual fuck was he was doing? Bam came to the base realization that he didn’t want to feel this bitter, stabbing unhappiness anymore. By extension, didn’t wanna wallow in his own self pity which he’d previously been trying in vain to satisfy. So, what was he doing?

You opened your front door, and Bam was standing on your front step. More than angry, you were bewildered as to why the hell he’d even want to see your face, “What do you want?” Met with what he perceived as utter indifference from his once adoring girlfriend, he thought to tell you everything. Bam imagined himself putting his foot down and laying into you about how fucking miserable you’d been making him by being such a cold bitch, and how much he was entitled to feel better, but you hadn’t done anything but being gone. You weren't holding Bam at knifepoint and forcing him to pity himself. This was all him.

“I missed you.” It was the truth- the underlying truth to this bullshit. Coincidentally, that's the moment you noticed it: the healing split lip, the lingering green from an old bruise on his cheekbone. “What happened to your face?” Bam stepped through the open space not occupied by your body in the doorway, murmuring “Fight at the bar…” he paused at your perplexed expression before admitting with a ragged sigh, “A couple’a fights.”

So, you let him in. The little spiral Bam had tripped into after a few months without you had shattered him, and come to find out, nobody cared enough to put back those pieces well, nobody except you. “You look like shit...” Yeah, great attempt to keep things light. Bam was looking at himself through your eyes: the way his clothes hung off his frame, the sunken-in way his eyes sat in his skull- yeah, he probably did look like shit. “Are you okay? Can I get you somethin’ t’drink?” Bam gave you a nod.

You started out sitting on the couch, discussing the events that led to this, which morphed into laying, then your fingers weaving in his curls, holding him just like you used to. And there’s something funny that happens in men’s brains when they get sorely needed comfort. “I just…I gotta hole in me, you know? Like, this big, empty space in my heart or whatever- and I try to fill it,” Just barely restrained, Bam’s voice cracked in a way it hadn’t since he was a teenager, “and nothing ever fucking works, and I feel so lost, and…I’m cold.” Warm breath against your neck as he burrowed into you, he mumbled, “Fuckin…hold me. I’m cold.”

This sheer quantity of exhaustion drew uncharacteristic honesty from Bam’s lips. As pathetic as this would look to an outside observer, you felt empathy for the crumpled man-shaped ball of nerves in your lap- after all, you did date him. There was something cloyingly sweet about how bad he needed you.

As a consolation to his sorry state, you offered him something to drink, as is customary when you have guests over. Yes, he would like that very much. A few beers in, Bam mellowed out, and that brings you to the present. Looking down at the way he was sprawled out on your chest, you murmured, tenderly pushing some hair off of his forehead, “Y’wanna go’t Denny’s in the morning?” Bam couldn't imagine anything that sounded better than that.

[dragqueenstarscream]

I am so happy that you acknowledge that TFA Bumblebee is an adult! I feel like the infantalizing is worse with Rumble and Frenzy, though. They are also canonically adults, but I see most of the fandom treat them like they're 10. Which sucks 'cause like, one of my favorite rare trios has become Frenzy and Rumble x Soundwave. The idea of Soundwave being topped by the tiny casseste twins is just 👌

the thing with bumblebee is just bonkers for me because we know what protoforms/juvenile cybertronians look like in the tfa universe, and bumblebee is clearly not that. also, he, bulkhead, and wasp all entered boot camp (which, the military is a very adult profession, mind you) at the same time, so they're most likely similar ages, yet neither of them get the infantilization bumblebee gets.

to me, bumblebee has always read like sari's college aged older brother. like yeah, he's an adult, but he's still learning how the adult world works. he has his driver's license and can vote, but doesn't know how to do his taxes yet.

i feel like this is a general problem with fandom, where people will see a short character and label them as a little kid, even when they're explicitly stated to be an adult. this isn't me trying to defend those weird fucks who go "um, ackshually, she's not a child, she's a 3000 year old yokai/dragon/goddess." i mean literally, take an adult and shrink them down, and bam! they get the child label. it's so stupid, and it makes me wonder if the people who make that argument have ever actually met a short person. they exist, y'all.

anyway.

sorry for railroading your ask in a different direction lmao. go get some, soundwave, you strange freaky bot

[phoenixtakaramono]

I swear to god you were on demon mode when you wrote the multiverse conclusion. My jaw is literally on the floor. I have to compose myself otherwise I’ll just keyboard smash my phone in hysteria.

The way you write makes it so easy to envision the scene in my head, like word for word you set it up so perfectly that I’m like oh okay so I’m really seeing all these Butchers take on one Homelander. That’s ace, that’s juice, that’s every single compliment I can think of.

I can’t wait for the sequel oh my god oh my GOD. All those HLs with one Butcher? HL on HL? The possibilities are endless. Thank you again for sharing this with us!!

This Ask is regarding this 🔞 butchlander multiverse oneshot threadfic on twitter (tumblr read version: parts 1, 2)

Thank you very much for reading! I had The Name of the Game (AO3) thoughts in my brain that are unrelated to the main story so, whilst that 135ch monstrosity is gonna take its time, I might as well offer some unofficial post-main story or during-main story spin-offs—but as threadfic oneshots so they won’t clutter AO3 and/or taint the reading experience when more chapters are added. The brainworms were strong this time, so I might as well tap into that creative surge of inspiration instead of letting it gather dust and maybe never see the light of day.

Re: the threadfic ending. I’d always planned to have the vice versa switcheroo in this threadfic (where it turns from 7 Butchers + 1 TNotG HL into 7 Homelanders + 1 TNotG Billy 😉) but I had initially been uncertain whether to include it in this threadfic itself or allocate it to a separate sequel threadfic. I saw how long this oneshot threadfic was becoming and, well, after having to essentially retype 60% of what I could recall from memory after the last unsaved 58 tweets were lost to the void, I guess you can say the universe helped make my decision, hahaha.

Fun fact: I’d mentioned this in Part II’s comments, but making it the 5 HLs from 5 of my threadfics + the 1 HL from the Truce universe transmigrated into the TNotG universe is us having mercy on Billy. Because, imagine, you’re the scummy Male Lead who has quick transmigrated (world hopped) into 6 parallel universes, and had a relationship with each parallel dimension’s version of Homelander. And upon returning to your own world, you schemed to to get together with your own world’s destined lover Homelander—and it happened, although probably not how Billy had envisioned it with HL taking initiative into his own hands drugging him and making him participate in a seven-way 0rgy to seduce him. But bam! Murphy’s Law struck, and now Billy has to contend with seven jealous Homelanders. They’re the prideful trophy wives who are reunited with the husband they’d thought they’d lost, but he’s alive, and in their eyes they equate it as him “cheating” on them with a new hot floozy (TNotG’s HL). *laughs*

It’s a lot more dramatic if I made it a reunion, so instead I decided to be merciful on our Male Lead service top and instead make 6 of those Homelanders from my other fics, so the narrative is easier to handle not that TNotG HL wouldn’t also be down for a fun time with TNotG 6 other HLs.

Essentially I am willing to serve y’all the Homelander f*cking doppelgänger Homelander scene that we never got to see, Amazon you cowards. But ramp it up a notch, and toss our somewhat nicer to HL TNotG Billy Prime into the sweaty pile of clingy, needy, h0rny affection-craving Homelanders (but ofc Billy has to pay TNotG Homelander the most loving attention and endearments to smooth his ruffled feathers because hoo boooooy, imagine the cocktail of jealousy, insecurity, entitlement, and competitiveness in that one room alone y’all this is a grownass man who’d canonically gotten jealous and had a one-sided beef with a baby).

Like^^^ tell me this man wouldn’t enjoy a seven-way selfcest g@ngb@ng 0rgy session with himself, and with a very willing diabolically handsome V-ed up British Supe patiently servicing them in that pile. TELL ME IT WOULDN’T BE ONE OF HOMELANDER’S WET DREAMS.

[lunarnightt]

―୨୧⋆˚ Stuck by glue (High school au) :: Anakin Skywalker

This is absolute bullshit. I can’t believe my algebra teacher is actually making me get tutoring just to pass this dumb class. Seriously, when the hell am I ever gonna use algebra? It’s just a bunch of random numbers thrown together to mess with my life. Instead of running drills with Piett and the rest of the team, I’m stuck in this damn library—studying. With you.

Not like I had much of a choice. Either this or I get benched for the season, and let’s be real, the team’s got no shot at the finals without me.

You sat across from me, all serious with your nerdy little circular glasses, explaining some equation I didn’t understand—or care about. I rolled my eyes, let out a dramatic yawn, and rested my head on my hand, fake-snoring just to get you to shut up for five seconds.

Don’t get me wrong, you’re gorgeous. But if I had to pick between listening to you rant about ‘a + b = whatever the hell’ or making out with my girlfriend, Padmé, I’d be out that door in a heartbeat. I don’t even know how you understand any of this, but then again, you’re top of the class, so it tracks.

Then—bam. Something smacks me in the side of the head. Hard. I flinch and sit up, scowling, only to see you holding a book with that unimpressed, ‘I will end you’ expression.

I scoff, rolling my eyes as I lean back in my chair.

"Jeez, okay, my bad," I say, flashing a smirk. "Who pissed in your Cheerios, Miss Priss?"

Talk to this bot here!

Side note: Y'all, so I had a damn struggle with C.ai for almost an hour because it wasn't creating the character at first and I literally like typed it all out and everything but turns out that you can't say Harry Potter in greeting anymore because I had planned to have Ani compare the reader to Harry potter.

I mean, I get universal dropped y'all c.ai but it's NOT that deep.

[polo-drone-039]

"Golden Invasion: Roadtrip Vibes with Grant & Xavier"

🌀💛🏎️🎶✨

It started on a Saturday soaked in sunshine, the kind of day that made the city shimmer like it already knew something magical was coming. The streets were buzzing—windows open, music echoing off concrete, scent of grilled food curling through alleyways. And slicing right through it all came a golden blur of movement and sound: a tricked-out convertible roaring down the boulevard, top down, speakers shaking the block with every beat.

Behind the wheel, Xavier #39 lounged like a king of cool—golden tee clinging to his chest, shades reflecting the whole world back in pure shine. One hand on the wheel, the other draped lazily out the window, fingers tapping to the rhythm.

“Bro, you ready?” Xavier #39 grinned behind his golden shades.

@grant-gold Grant #43 was already up on his seat, golden tee rippling in the breeze, head thrown back in laughter. “Dude, I was born ready. Crank it—‘Turning Gold,’ let’s gooo!” With a twist of the volume knob, the speakers exploded with sound. Golden Army’s finest beats flooded the air, bouncing off buildings, rolling through the streets like a tidal wave of hype.

APERITIVO AT THE BAR 🍹🎉

The car zoomed past a row of dudes chilling outside a café, sipping spritz and trying to look cool.

Then bam—“Turning Gold” hit ‘em right in the soul.

In a blink, polos popped into glittering gold, jeans shimmered into slick shorts, and heads started nodding uncontrollably. One dude jumped up, started busting out the worm. His buddies followed, laughing, bodies moving like the beat was puppeteering them.

Xavier skidded to a stop. “Yo, we droppin’ in.”

Grant backflipped out the seat. “Time to turn up!” They danced with their new crew, pure joy, sweat, and gold all around. Glasses clinked, bodies pulsed, the bar lit up like the halftime show of a dream

THE LOVEBIRDS 💛👬

Back in the car, the beat was still thumping. They hit a red light.

“Yo, look at those two,” Grant said, nudging Xavier with a grin.

On the corner, two boys stood shoulder to shoulder, both nervously toeing the curb. One had a skateboard tucked under his arm, the other clutched a smoothie like it was a life raft. They weren’t touching, but the tension between them? Golden.

Xavier smirked, reaching for the playlist. “Time for some magic, bro.”

“Heart Beats” came on—soft at first, then pulsing through the air like it was alive.

The boys looked at each other. Skateboard guy’s eyes widened. Smoothie boy laughed nervously.

Then—boom—one leaned in. Their lips met in a sweet, shaky kiss.

A golden shimmer rippled out from them. Their plain tees morphed into glowing Golden Army shirts, bright and radiant like the moment they’d just shared. Their faces lit up, love-drunk and golden-struck.

Grant beamed. “That’s the power of the beat, bro.”

Xavier lifted his hand. SLAP. “Goldenized.”

THE COLLEGE CREW 🖤💛

Cruising past the university gym, Xavier and Grant spotted a crew of college guys hanging out near the steps—tank tops, backwards caps, energy drinks in hand, all mid-joke and mid-pump. Classic frat-boy vibes, loud and a little chaotic.

Grant smirked. “Bro, they’ve got the raw muscle—but no discipline.”

Xavier cracked his neck, grinning. “Time to install the update.”

He hit play on “Lockstep”

The drop landed hard—like a shockwave rippling through the group. Laughter froze. Cups clattered to the ground. Their eyes glazed for a second, then focused—sharpened.

In perfect silence, their clothes began to shimmer and shift. Shorts darkened to glossy black. Tank tops stretched into tight rubber polos, trimmed in gold. Their sneakers snapped into high-shine boots. One by one, sharp haircuts sliced into form. Masks slid into place like they’d always been there.

They snapped into formation—no talking, no questions. Just sync.

“PDU-Units fully initialized,” Grant said, saluting casually.

Xavier nodded, impressed. “Now that’s campus pride.”

CHASIN’ THAT BALL ⚽🌟

Next stop—a dusty lot where a bunch of dudes were going all out on a beat-up soccer ball.

“Yo…” Grant murmured. “That’s us, bro. That’s Golden before Gold.”

Xavier nodded. “Time to level ‘em up.”

Chasin’ That Ball blasted out. Golden threads wrapped around the kids mid-pass. Their feet moved smoother, faster, like the ball was part of them.

Their jerseys gleamed gold. A header snapped in like lightning.

Future bros. No doubt.

THE CITY TURNS GOLD 🌇💛🎶

They took one last loop through the heart of the city, wind wild, music screaming.

People danced in alleys. Windows lit up with gold spirals. Cyclists pedaled in sync. Even traffic cops were shimmying in golden helmets.

By the time they hit the bridge, Xavier looked back.

“Bro…” he said, slowing the car just enough to take it all in.

Behind them—everything was glowing. The whole city. One pulsing, laughing, shining, golden masterpiece.

Grant leaned back in his seat, arms behind his head. “One city down.”

Xavier grinned. “Whole world to go.”

And with a rev of the engine and a thundering beat, they vanished into the sun-drenched horizon.

Surrend yourself to the Golden vibrations, hold the time, contact our recruiters @brodygold or @goldenherc9

I promise you won’t regret it. This is our Golden Promise

Thank you Grant bro for your great Golden songs!

[rataccatak]

Analysis of how KaySD draws Sergey Razumovsky

Or: trying to justify a thirstpost about the world's most terrible man

Sergey's gone through a number of artists through the years, and I gotta say, KaySD's rendition has captured my heart. In fact, it was a screenshot of Kay's Sergey that first got me into Major Grom. While Phob's is the official art style that we associate with the comics, Kay's style, I believe, better serves Sergey's character in the current PD run.

Genre-wise, PD returns to being a big-action, ensemble comic, which--compared to The Game's tight conflict and human drama focus--deliberately implements Kay's more traditionally comic-book style to this effect. The first arc (nine volumes in total) of PD are all Kay; though the current issues are being outsourced to a number of different artists now, Kay's style--with its roots in distinctly American superhero comics, such as DC--was what they wanted to prime audience's expectations with. After Time of the Raven, there was a big push for Bubble to adhere their stories to big names like Marvel, and with that came the desire to usher in things like a multiverse, space and supernatural elements, and franchise crossovers. Plague Doctor was one of their latest installments of that new "culture," and they had to match their aesthetics appropriately.

Okay, but that brings me back to the brainrot part of this post, which is HOT DAMN KAY'S SERGEY LOOKS SICK???

The whole idea of Plague Doctor is that, for like seven years or something, Sergey has been declared dead or missing or otherwise MIA. Nobody, both in-universe and irl, knows where he is or what the fuck he's up to. You crack open issue 1, encounter a guy in sunglasses and a hat who is painfully obviously Sergey, but you get to the last page and

(I will say this is probably the most unflattering frame of him. His chin makes him look like such a chad derogatory)

BAM. HOMEBOY IS ROCKING A NEW HAIRCUT, HE'S WEARING ANOTHER STUPID PURPLE SUIT, HE'S RIPPED, AND HE HAS BLUE EYES.

This isn't the soft, sort of angelically beautiful Sergey we're used to seeing from Phobs. It's radically different, an entirely different character almost, which was the intent.

His new look is more practical, both tactically and socially. His hair is cut, so people won't recognize him as easily. It won't get in his face or get grabbed during fights, and combined with his more muscled build, this is a Sergey who's taking things more seriously this time around. Gone is the flamboyant cape and swishing fiery locks; the plague doctor campaign is no longer a passion, but a duty. And he's ready to enter the thunderdome and get his hands dirty and god damn it, he will die trying.

Kay does take care to preserve the core elements of Phob's Sergey, while making a hard left into traditional masc territory. He's still unrealistically attractive, in that distinctly soft and youthful way. He's more noticeably fit but still maintains a slim, smooth appearance.

But on top of that, he adds this charm and charisma to him that is distinctly boyish (as in, young and mischievous, a pretty face that's up to no good). It makes his persona as a young, leftist radical more believable; he looks like a student revolutionaire, angry and passionate about all issues topical and trending.

He does look more obviously aged. Guy is now in his mid(?) thirties, and the past five years probably amounted to like three lifetimes of stress, so it certainly makes sense. Compared to how Kay drew The Game Sergey, his face is more defined with sharper lines, muscularity, and wrinkles. The short hair also ages him somewhat, making him look less angelic and more like... a regular dude.

And of course, there's the overnight peach fuzz.

The more mature, aged look helps him actually look like a person who's lived a life as loaded and fucked up as Sergey's. He's a guy whose parents died, grew up in foster care, became a CEO that rocketed to stardom in five years, committed the most elaborate fucked up terrorist campaign ever, and then immediately fell from fame to the deepest coldest cell in St Petersburg (and this is all just the OG Major Grom run). He's not Phob's Sergey (or Rag, whoever it was in The Game)--a blameless childish pretty boy who's detached from his crimes. Kay does a good job in making Sergey have this subtle undertone of... unsettled, unhinged, what have you. I don't know how much of this is hindsight bias, but he looks like a guy with a fucked up secret. You wouldn't think twice if you were seeing him in a grocery store or something but I can imagine later recognizing his mugshot on the news and thinking wow now that i think about it, he really does look like a serial killer.

And let's talk about his fashion. For all the features of Sergey's flamboyant costumes in Phob's renditions, Kay dresses him quite casually, and it works, ironically, to make him look deceptively plain in the way all extremely rich people dress (think of the $10k white t-shirts and sunglasses get-up all rich men wear). He dresses like his current social stature: a new-money sod who has gotten used to his wealth enough that he doesn't have to show off with his clothes anymore. Of course, this could also be turned on its head and instead, be an indication of Sergey's original, cheap clothes that he habited from his childhood. Certainly, the ironic rightwing graphic tees Kay puts him in edge towards that point of view, only now they're colored by Sergey's sense of political humor. I doubt a "god guns government" shirt is selling for $500 at some luxury tailor shop.

This is what I love about Kay's Sergey. In making him look more human, we get to orient him more organically into our own world. He looks like a thirty year old loser who studied CS in college and now commits cyber terrorism and doesn't know how to cook. He looks like a young adult leftist who is terminally online and has 500+ open tabs on Marxist theory. He looks like a guy who became too rich too young, who was the world's angle and then its devil in the span of like two years, and is now disillusioned with it all, who wears $5 graphic tees and stays up all night looking behind his back and tries desperately to find something that actually matters.

Once Sergey looks more believable, he becomes more understandable. And the more we understand him, the more the story has the potential to make him intrigue and surprise and reach us in multiple, unexpected ways.

[charlesollielandooscararthur]

Y/n's Temper Strikes Again

Summary: Y/N has a tense encounter with James, at school, where he mocks her after she falls. Oscar steps in to defend her, and Y/N responds with sarcastic comebacks

It was one of those days.

One of those y/n is not in the mood, do not test her days.

And, of course, the universe decided that was the perfect time to test her.

The school hallways were packed, buzzing with students rushing between classes, lockers slamming, shoes scuffing against the tiles. y/n, Oscar, and Lily were making their way to the cafeteria, their conversation flowing easily—until it happened.

Until he happened.

James.

Of all the people in this school, James.

The boy y/n hated.

The feeling was mutual. They had been enemies since their first year, constantly at each other's throats, constantly trying to one-up each other in insults and attitude.

And now?

Now this idiot wasn't paying attention, storming down the hallway with his head turned, talking to one of his equally annoying friends—until he slammed straight into y/n.

And because the world was cruel, y/n lost her footing.

Her foot hit the wrong angle, her balance snapped, and before she could catch herself—

BAM.

She hit the floor.

The impact stung. Her knee throbbed immediately, and pain shot up her wrist as it took most of the fall.

The hallway paused.

Then, James's voice, casual, amused, full of mockery.

"Damn. Didn't know you liked being on your knees, princess."

Lily inhaled sharply.

Oscar's entire posture changed.

y/n?

y/n saw red.

She snapped her head up, her glare so sharp it could cut glass.

Her blood boiled as she pushed herself up, hands shaking—not from pain, but pure, unfiltered rage.

James just grinned. "Relax, y/n. Not my fault you have the balance of a baby deer."

Lily reached out. "y/n, please—"

Oscar's voice was low. "Breathe."

But she did not breathe.

She glared. She stepped forward. "Are you actually dumb? Or do you choose to be this fucking insufferable?"

James laughed. "Oh, big words. You sure you even know what they mean?"

y/n seethed, pointing at him. "Keep talking, James. I swear, if I trip and fall again, I'm taking you down with me."

Lily looked like she wanted to disappear.

Oscar exhaled sharply.

And then James said the thing.

The thing that changed the entire situation.

"Oh, so you like me on top of you? Should've said so earlier, babe."

The hallway fell silent.

Lily's eyes widened.

Oscar stiffened.

And y/n?

y/n stopped thinking altogether.

Because what the fuck did he just say?

Before she could process it, before she could launch herself at James, Oscar moved.

He stepped in front of her, shoulders squared, jaw clenched, voice dangerously low.

"Watch your mouth."

James blinked. His smirk wavered, but only for a second.

"Whoa. Chill, mate, it was a joke—"

Oscar didn't blink. Didn't move. His presence was heavy, his tone even lower.

"Say it again."

James hesitated. "Relax, I'm not trying to start anything—"

"Then walk away."

James scoffed, lifting his hands in surrender. "You lot are mental."

And then he turned, walking off—faster than usual.

But before he could fully escape, y/n leaned around Oscar, her voice sickly sweet.

"Next time, James, I won't need Oscar to handle it."

James froze. Just for a second.

Then disappeared down the hallway.

When he was finally gone, y/n turned to Oscar, her lips curling into a smirk.

"Aww, you gonna fight for me, babe?"

Oscar exhaled through his nose. "y/n."

Her smirk widened. "You looked real cute just now. All protective and shit—"

Oscar groaned, rubbing his temples. "I hate you."

Lily burst into cackles.

y/n nudged him again. ""I love when you get all serious. Say 'watch your mouth' again. C'mon, just for me—"

Oscar grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her away. "We're going to lunch. You're gonna sit. And shut up."

y/n just laughed, fully pleased with herself.

Oscar dragged y/n into the cafeteria, his grip still firm on her wrist. Lily trailed behind, barely holding in her laughter.

y/n, however, was thriving.

"Ooo, you're mad," she teased, swinging their joined hands. "Look at you, all tense and brooding. It's kinda hot—"

Oscar stopped walking and stared at her, unimpressed. "y/n."

y/n batted her lashes. "Oscar."

He sighed deeply, dropping her hand like she was a lost cause.

Lily finally caught up, sliding into the seat across from them as they settled at their usual table. "Okay, but did you see his face when Oscar stepped in? James folded so fast—"

y/n beamed, crossing her arms. "Of course, he did. Oscar's terrifying."

Oscar rolled his eyes. "I'm not terrifying."

y/n and Lily both said, at the same time, "Yes, you are."

Before Oscar could argue, their friend group arrived, trays in hand, plopping down around them. Ally sat down next to y/n, already looking far too excited.

"Alright, spill. I heard something went down in the hallway."

Ella sat down next to Lily, grinning. "All I know is y/n hit the floor, Oscar got scary, and James walked away looking like he regretted life."

y/n dramatically clutched her chest. "Wow. Everyone's talking about my downfall?"

Ally smirked. "It was public."

y/n sighed, shaking her head. "I tripped. And James, being the human garbage fire that he is, decided to be a dick about it."

Ella made a face. "Ugh, why does he always target you?"

y/n gave her a look. "Because he's jealous, obviously."

Lily snorted. "Or because you literally ruined his life in Year 9."

y/n scoffed, flipping her hair. "He deserved it. Don't cheat on your girlfriend and then try to play victim."

Oscar shook his head, taking a bite of his food. "I'm still trying to figure out why you insist on making everything worse when you're mad."

y/n turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "You love it, don't even lie."

Oscar just looked at her. "I love you. I do not love how you have no self-control."

Ally grinned. "That's so real."

y/n threw a fry at her.

Ally dodged, laughing. "See? No control!"

Lily, barely holding back her giggles, reached for y/n's hand under the table. "Are you okay, though?"

y/n hummed, squeezing her fingers. "Yeah, just bruised my ego more than anything. But honestly, Oscar stepping in was hot."

Oscar groaned. "y/n—"

y/n smirked at him, resting her chin on her palm. "Say 'watch your mouth' again."

Oscar picked up his drink and took the longest sip of his life.

Lily collapsed into laughter.

y/n was still thriving off the chaos, a smug smile stretched across her lips as she picked at her food. Oscar, on the other hand, looked like he was mentally preparing himself for a lifetime of dealing with her antics.

Lily, still giggling, nudged y/n's knee under the table. "You are okay, though, right? Like, nothing actually hurts?"

y/n waved her off dramatically. "Oh, please. I've had worse. It's just my pride that took a fatal blow."

Ally snickered. "Your pride is like a cockroach, babe. It never dies."

y/n narrowed her eyes. "And you're like a mosquito—constantly buzzing and getting on my nerves."

Ally gasped in mock offense. "That was uncalled for."

Ella smirked, popping a chip into her mouth. "She's not wrong, though."

y/n pointed at Ella. "See? Someone here gets it."

Oscar, meanwhile, was rubbing his temples like they were actively draining him. "You lot are actually insufferable."

y/n grinned, leaning toward him. "And you love it."

Oscar sighed, leaning back in his seat. "No, I love you. There's a difference."

Lily nudged y/n's side. "Oscar's so tired of you."

y/n smirked, resting her chin on her palm. "He's obsessed with me, actually."

Oscar groaned, but Lily could see the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Before the conversation could spiral any further, a presence loomed near their table.

James.

y/n immediately sat up straighter, eyes sharp as she turned her head. "Oh, great. The pest returns."

James crossed his arms. "You're really running your mouth, huh?"

y/n smirked, tilting her head. "Always. Did you miss it?"

James huffed, shifting his weight like he was debating something. "You're lucky you've got your little bodyguards with you." His eyes flickered to Oscar and Lily.

Oscar stared at him, unimpressed. "Are you serious right now?"

Lily raised an eyebrow. "You're embarrassing yourself."

y/n grinned, resting her elbow on the table. "Aww, James. Do you miss being relevant? Is that what this is about?"

James visibly clenched his jaw. "You're actually the worst."

y/n gasped dramatically, placing a hand on her chest. "I know you're not talking after that absolute tragedy of an insult."

Ally, barely holding back laughter, chimed in. "That was weak, my guy."

Ella nodded. "Disappointing, really."

James glared at all of them before scoffing, muttering something under his breath as he walked away.

y/n smirked, watching him go. "That's what I thought."

Oscar sighed, shaking his head. "Why do you do that?"

y/n turned to him, all innocence. "Do what?"

Lily giggled, squeezing y/n's hand under the table. "You live for chaos."

y/n shrugged, smug. "Can't help it. It's in my blood."

Oscar groaned again. "God help me."

And just like that, everything felt right again.