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redroomreflections · 22 days

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II HANDS II HEAVEN

Notes: I listened to Beyonce's album and wanted to write something to this song

Summary: Natasha Romanoff and Reader reluctantly team up for a couples retreat mission. Despite initial resistance, they find themselves drawn together by unexpected circumstances and shared experiences.

w/c: 4.5k

It will be like five chapters.

"Any leads on who's joining Natasha for the upcoming couple's retreat mission?" Steve's gaze shifted from the itinerary to the team gathered around him, his tone commanding authority.

"I believe Natasha's our primary agent for this one," Wanda replied, her head tilting in contemplation.

"Indeed, but it's a couples retreat, so we need another partner," Steve clarified, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Someone who can blend in seamlessly."

"Can I offer myself up for sacrifice?" Sam quipped, raising his hand in mock enthusiasm before quickly retracting it under Natasha's icy glare.

As the meeting progressed, you were drifting away, lost in your thoughts. It wasn't your first time excluded from the team's high-profile missions. They always cited your need for further training, claiming you could not work as a cohesive part of the team. But deep down, you knew it was just an excuse—an excuse to keep you sidelined while others got to shine.

You couldn't help but feel frustrated by the situation. You'd worked hard to hone your skills, to prove yourself worthy of being part of the team. Yet repeatedly, you found yourself overlooked, and relegated to the sidelines while others took center stage.

As Steve discussed the details of the upcoming mission, you couldn't shake the feeling of resentment that gnawed at you from within. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that once again, you wouldn't be chosen to join Natasha on the mission.

Not that you particularly want to. You and Natasha aren’t exactly bosom buddies. You found yourself mostly keeping your distance from her. There was an unspoken tension between you, a mutual understanding to maintain a polite distance.

Instead, you gravitated towards Wanda and Vision, joining them for several movie nights. As a third wheel in their relationship, you often found comfort in their company, even if it served as a temporary distraction from your own frustrations.

Occasionally, you'd join Sam and the other guys for some lighthearted banter and training. But even then, you never found yourself alone with Natasha. She remained elusive, keeping her distance and maintaining her mysterious persona.

Despite the distance between you and Natasha, you remained focused on your own goals and aspirations. You refused to let her presence—or lack thereof—determine your worth as a member of the team. You were determined to prove yourself, even if it meant forging your own path separate from hers.

Joining the Avengers has been an exhilarating yet unexpected journey for you. It couldn’t be more different from your wildest dreams. The initiation process felt more like something out of a gangster movie than a superhero team induction. Three months ago, you decided to defect from the government organization you once served. Spectra Intelligence Bureau had built you up to do their bidding. Only to let you down time and time again. You had seen women come and go from the field, only leaving behind shadows of their former selves. You hadn’t known so soon you would be following the same path. You joined the Avengers for a chance at redemption and freedom. But your defection was far from voluntary, despite what everyone else believes.

You had always been a skilled operative, adept at blending into the shadows and manipulating situations to your advantage. You were a master of espionage, trained from a young age to infiltrate enemy organizations and extract valuable information without leaving a trace.

But beneath the facade of a loyal government agent, you harbored a deep-seated resentment towards the organization you served.

For years, you played by their rules, carrying out missions that blurred the lines between right and wrong, morality and duty. You became disillusioned with the endless cycle of violence and deceit, longing for a way out of the tangled web of lies you had woven around yourself.

Now, as a member of the Avengers, you keep your head down, wary of drawing too much attention to yourself. You know that the consequences of your past actions could come back to haunt you at any moment, threatening to unravel the fragile semblance of peace you’ve fought so hard to achieve.

“I volunteer y/n,” Tony said with a slight smirk.

Tony's declaration draws your attention back to the meeting. His smirk doesn't escape your notice as he volunteers you for the mission with Natasha. It's a typical Tony move, laced with a hint of mischief and a touch of amusement.

You felt a surge of mixed emotions at his words. On one hand, you're grateful for the opportunity to finally be included in one of the team's missions. But on the other hand, you can't shake the feeling of apprehension at the prospect of working closely with Natasha, especially given your less-than-amicable relationship.

Still, you know better than to protest. This could be your chance to prove yourself, to show the team—and Natasha—that you're capable of rising to the occasion. With a nod of acceptance, you steel yourself for the challenges ahead, determined to make the most of this unexpected opportunity.

“Y/n and Natasha as a couple?” Bruce spoke aloud. “How would that work out?”

Natasha remained composed, her expression unreadable as she met Bruce's gaze. There's a flicker of something in her eyes—maybe surprise or curiosity—but she quickly masks it behind her usual poker face. She offers no comment, keeping her thoughts on the matter to herself.

Tony chuckled lightly, clearly amused by the idea. "Well, they do say opposites attract," he quips, flashing a grin in your direction. His tone is light-hearted, but there's a glint of mischief in his eyes, hinting at his underlying intentions.

From his side of the table, Sam raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Well, that should make for some entertaining mission reports," he quips, his tone teasing.

Natasha's voice cut through the air, her tone firm and unwavering. "I need someone who's going to pull their weight," she stated, her gaze piercing as she addressed the team. There was no room for ambiguity in her words, each syllable laden with expectation and determination.

"Well, I assure you, Natasha, I'm more than capable of pulling my weight," You replied, your tone cool but tinged with an edge of irritation.

Natasha's gaze lingered on you for a moment, her expression unreadable. There was a hint of apology in her eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the unintended slight in her earlier statement. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise," she said quietly, her voice softening slightly.

“If we’re going to do this, I want to lead,” You turned away from her understanding gaze. Your competitive and cutthroat attitude had no business here but you were determined to prove a point.

Natasha's response was measured, her voice carrying a hint of steel beneath its calm exterior. "I understand your desire to take charge, but this isn't about proving a point," she replied evenly, her gaze steady as she met your eyes. There was a silent challenge in her words, a reminder that leadership wasn't about ego or competition—it was about trust and cooperation.

You felt a surge of defiance rise within you, unwilling to back down from the challenge Natasha presented. "Maybe not for you," you countered, your tone edged with stubborn determination. "But I know what I'm capable of, and I'm not going to sit back and play second fiddle."

Natasha's expression softened slightly at your words, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. "I respect your confidence," she conceded, her voice tinged with a hint of admiration. "But leadership isn't about proving yourself—it's about putting the team first and making the tough decisions when they need to be made."

“Leadership is also knowing when to let go of the reins,” You shrugged. “Unless you’re wound too tight to do that?”

Natasha's expression hardened at your words, her jaw tightening imperceptibly as she met your gaze with a steely resolve. "I may be many things, but 'wound too tight' isn't one of them," she replied, her tone cool and controlled despite the undercurrent of irritation that simmered beneath the surface.

There was a palpable tension in the air as the exchange hung between you, the unspoken challenge lingering like a storm cloud on the horizon. Despite your attempts to provoke a reaction from Natasha, she remained composed, refusing to let your barbs get under her skin.

"You may have your way of doing things, but don't mistake confidence for arrogance," Natasha continued, her voice quiet but firm. "True leadership requires humility and the willingness to listen to others, even when it's difficult. I can’t have you out in the field making mistakes."

You felt a surge of frustration at Natasha's response, the sting of her rebuke cutting deeper than you cared to admit. But beneath the surface, there was also a begrudging respect for her unwavering commitment to her principles.

As you exchanged one last tense glance with Natasha, a silent understanding passed between you.

“I’ll do it,” You said. From the corner of your eye, you could see Natasha’s eyebrows shoot up. You had to admit you liked a challenge. This should be fun. Your declaration hung in the air, a bold assertion of your readiness to take on the mission. You could feel Natasha's gaze on you, sharp and assessing, as you made your decision known.

A faint smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you met Natasha's gaze head-on. You liked a challenge, and this mission promised to be anything but easy.

As the tension between you and Natasha lingered, a familiar voice broke through the silence. "Alright, let's get down to business," Steve's voice rang out, commanding attention as he stepped forward.

With a glance at Natasha and you, Steve cleared his throat before launching into a rundown of the mission details. "The retreat is called 'Shady Corners,' owned by Ilanka and Maxim Belinsky," he began, his tone businesslike as he relayed the information to the team.

But before Steve could continue, you found yourself interjecting, unable to resist the urge to jump in. "Actually, I've already compiled a dossier on Shady Corners," you stated, your voice cutting through the air with confidence.

Steve paused, a hint of surprise crossing his features as he turned to you. "Oh, you have?" he asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

You nodded, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "Yes, I took the liberty of gathering all the pertinent information," you replied, producing a file from your bag and handing it to Steve.

As Steve flipped through the dossier, his surprise was evident. "Well, it looks like you've done your homework," he remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice.

Natasha's gaze flickered between you and Steve, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "Looks like we're in good hands," she quipped, a subtle acknowledgment of your preparedness.

“I would kill to be a fly on the wall,” Sam whistled.

Sam's remark drew a few chuckles from the team, his words laden with playful insinuation.

Natasha's lips quirked into a wry smile, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes as she exchanged a glance with you.

"I have a feeling it'll be quite the performance," Natasha replied, her tone dry but tinged with a hint of something you can’t quite place.

Tony's announcement brought a sense of finality to the meeting, his hands clapping together with a decisive clap. "Great, you'll have a flight booked for the morning," he declared, his tone brimming with anticipation. With a nod to the team, he declared, "Meeting adjourned."

The tension in the room dissipated, replaced by an air of excitement and anticipation.

With a grin, you exchanged a final glance with Natasha, a silent acknowledgment passing between you.

This should be fun.

********

So this marriage was turning out to be something you’re not fond of. Natasha had J.A.R.V.I.S. wake you up at the ass crack of dawn which you were able to ignore for a long while. Then came the pounding on the door of your bedroom before you finally awakened from your slumber to open it. You didn’t even bother to wipe the drool from your chin before you ripped the door open with a frown.

As Natasha stood in front of you, her expression bordering on disapproval, you couldn't help but feel a surge of annoyance bubbling within you. Her disdain for your choice of attire only fueled your defiance, and you squared your shoulders, refusing to back down.

"What?" you retorted, your voice tinged with irritation as you met Natasha's gaze head-on. "Flight is in three hours," she informed you, her tone clipped and businesslike.

You blinked in disbelief, the early hour registering belatedly in your sleep-addled mind. "You're kidding..." you muttered incredulously, turning to glance at the digital alarm clock on your nightstand. "It's three a.m."

Natasha's expression remained impassive, her gaze unwavering as she waited for your response. Despite the early hour and your less-than-ideal state of readiness, there was a steely determination in her eyes that took no argument.

With a resigned sigh, you realized that there was no use arguing with Natasha.

"Come in, I guess," you grumbled begrudgingly, gesturing for Natasha to enter your less-than-impressive bedroom. It was far from the tidy, organized space you typically preferred, a reflection of your rebellious attitude toward your former living standards.

With a roll of your eyes, you strode over to your closet, rummaging through it to grab a suitcase. Meanwhile, Natasha remained near the door, her posture tense and guarded, as if she were bracing herself for whatever chaos might lie within your room.

You couldn't help but feel a bit of annoyance at Natasha's standoffish demeanor, but you pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. You began to toss clothes into your suitcase and prepared to leave.

"We should maintain a few basic things between us," Natasha suggested, her tone matter-of-fact as she broached the topic of their fake marriage. "You know, for the sake of appearances."

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Natasha's suggestion, a hint of skepticism creeping into your voice. "Such as?" you prompted, curious to hear her ideas on the matter.

Natasha paused for a moment, considering her response carefully. "Well, for starters, we should probably establish some ground rules," she replied, her gaze ripping from the dropped thongs you’d scraped up from the floor to toss into the hamper to your eyes. "Nothing too elaborate, just enough to sell the illusion of a real marriage."

You nodded in understanding. "Agreed," you replied, a sense of determination settling over you. “So quick to set up rules though. Shouldn’t we know more about each other? I mean, we’re supposed to be a married couple right.”

“I suppose,” Natasha sighed. “Is this going to turn into a 21-question thing?”

“No, not right now,” You shook your head as you zipped up your suitcase before you pushed it to the side. You grabbed another carry-on bag, stuffing your makeup and the rest of your toiletries inside of it. You disappeared into the bathroom where you quickly brushed your teeth and washed your face.

This left Natasha alone to her vices. Though she never moved from her spot she noticed things only a spy would. Her eyes landed on the books haphazardly stacked on your nightstand, and one in particular caught her attention—the "Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois." The choice of literature spoke volumes about your intellectual depth and cultural interests.

Moving her eyes around the room, Natasha's eyes lingered on the movie posters on the walls.

In the corner, she noticed a collection of paint easels.

With each observation, Natasha's respect for you grew. There was more to you than met the eye.

“Right now, I need coffee,” You mumbled as you dragged yourself out of the room and past her. J.A.R.V.I.S. would lock the door for you.

“Seriously? “ Natasha asked asked incredulously, her voice cutting through the air as you hurried past.

“You won’t like who I become when I’m hungry,” You rolled your eyes. If she was going to have you up this early, the least she could do was not judge your choices.

You made a beeline for the kitchen, groaning as the harsh fluorescent lights automatically flickered on. Tony needed to update these settings for something dimmer and less jarring. Ignoring the discomfort, you forced a K-cup into the Keurig, desperate for the promise of caffeine to wake you up.

As you turned around, you were met with the sight of Natasha sitting at the counter, her gaze fixed on you with a fierce intensity.

"I hope you're going to take all of this seriously," Natasha said, her tone firm and unwavering.

You paused, meeting Natasha's gaze with determination. Despite your initial reservations about the mission, you knew that Natasha was right. This wasn't just a game—it was a high-stakes operation that required your full commitment.

"Of course I am," you replied, your voice steady despite the tiredness that still lingered in your bones.

Natasha studied you for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Then, with a nod of acknowledgment, she rose from her seat and joined you at the counter. Together, you prepared your coffees in silence, each lost in your thoughts.

"You take it black?" You asked, tilting your head inquisitively as you prepared your coffee.

"What? Like my heart?" Natasha replied with a wry smile, her tone laced with a hint of humor.

You couldn't help but chuckle at Natasha's retort. "Fair enough," you remarked, handing her a steaming cup of coffee. "To black coffee and black hearts, then."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "To get the job done," she countered, clinking her cup against yours in a silent toast. “Now can we get to the airport please, before we’re late?”

“Oh, we won’t be late. I want to enjoy this.” You hummed.

It was then that Natasha reached up to remove the baseball cap from her head, her movements fluid and practiced. As she fluffed her hair, you expected to see her familiar luscious red locks cascade down her shoulders. However, to your surprise, the vibrant red was replaced by a cascade of blonde hair.

You blinked in astonishment, momentarily taken aback by the sudden transformation. How had she bleached it so quickly? Had she slept at all? Natasha's hair was iconic—her fiery red locks were as much a part of her identity as her skills as a spy.

As you adjust to the surprise of her sudden hair transformation, you couldn't help but blurt out, "Whoa, blonde? I never would've guessed. You look... different."

Your words hung in the air for a moment, and you immediately regretted them as you noticed a subtle shift in Natasha's demeanor. Her smirk faded, replaced by a stern look that hinted at a simmering annoyance beneath the surface.

Natasha's jaw tightened imperceptibly, her green eyes flashing with a hint of irritation. "Different?" she echoed, her tone cool and clipped. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

You winced, realizing too late that your comment had struck a nerve. "I... I didn't mean it like that," you stammered, scrambling to backpedal. "I just meant, um, it's a change, you know? But you still look great, of course."

Natasha's expression softened slightly at your attempt to smooth things over, but the tension lingered between you. "Thanks," she replied tersely, her tone still tinged with annoyance. “We’re going to be late,” Natasha mumbled as she dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink.

“We’re not going to be late.” You called after her.

******************

"So, you're telling me no more flights are heading to Miami today?" You asked the flight attendant, a hint of irritation coloring your voice.

"No, ma'am, unfortunately, we're booked up for the entire week," the flight attendant replied apologetically, her tone sympathetic.

You sighed, frustration mounting as you realized the setback to your plans. "Is there anything you can do? It's urgent," you pressed.

The flight attendant shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but all our flights are fully booked. You might have better luck with another airline," she suggested.

You couldn't believe it. You can't believe it. Because you were late, your seats were given to some other lucky couple.

Frustration bubbled up within you as you stood there, watching helplessly as the plane doors closed without you.

Natasha's sharp gaze bore into you, a silent reminder of the consequences of your tardiness. You knew you had messed up, and now you were paying the price.

"We need to figure out our next move," Natasha stated firmly, her voice cutting through the chaos of the airport.

"We could rent a car," you suggested, hoping to salvage the situation with a practical solution.

"And drive a car to Florida for twenty-three hours with you?" Natasha replied tersely, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You bristled at her sharp retort, feeling a pang of offense at her implication. "Of course," you nodded, trying to maintain your composure. "Unless you have any other suggestions. Flying a Quinjet into Miami isn't exactly subtle of us."

Natasha's expression softened slightly at your response, a flicker of understanding crossing her features. "Fair point," she conceded, her tone less biting than before. "I’m choosing the car."

“Anything for you honey,” You shook your head, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Natasha shot you a pointed look. Apparently, nicknames were off the table.

As you and Natasha approached the rental car lot, you expected her to gravitate towards something sleek and inconspicuous. So, when she pointed towards a sporty sedan with ample trunk space, you couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"Really? This one?" You asked, your voice laced with skepticism.

"Trust me," she replied cryptically, her tone giving nothing away.

“Okay, but you’re driving,” You tossed your suitcases in the trunk.

“Why can’t you drive?” Natasha frowned. “You are the one that made us late.”

You winced at Natasha's accusation, knowing she had a point. "Fair enough," you conceded, feeling a pang of guilt for your role in the tardiness. "But I'm exhausted from all the stress of the morning. Besides, you're the expert driver, remember?"

Natasha's frown softened slightly at your admission, but she remained skeptical. "Fine," she relented begrudgingly, sliding into the driver's seat. "But don't think this lets you off the hook."

“I wouldn’t dream of it, honey,” You grinned, pushing your sunglasses onto your face.

Natasha shot you a withering glare at the nickname, her expression bordering on annoyance. "Don't call me that," she muttered shortly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You raised your hands in mock surrender, unable to suppress a smirk at her reaction. "Got it," you replied, making a mental note to refrain from using any more nicknames in the future. “Can I call you baby?” You asked unable to resist pushing her buttons further.

Natasha's expression darkened, her icy glare intensifying at the suggestion. "Absolutely not," she retorted firmly, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

You chuckled softly, realizing you had crossed a line, but the temptation to tease Natasha was too strong to resist. "Just thought I'd ask," you replied with a shrug, settling back into your seat as Natasha revved the engine, ready to hit the road.

Twenty-three hours until Miami. -------> part 2

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha x reader #is this boring?#might delete later idk #x reader #marvel fanfic

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rookthorne · 22 days

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐎𝐡 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥, 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐌𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞

Something was coming, and it was on its way to you — there was no way to save yourself from the devil that set his sights on you, and you were hopeless against the whims of his charm or rugged ways.

And in an act of gratitude and pure innocence, you allowed the devil in, none the wiser for what was to come; no man was without his sins, but better the devil you don’t know.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ꕤ Outlaw!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ꕤ 5.5k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ꕤ Explicit threats, attempted assault, non-graphic background character death, Grumpy!Protective!Bucky, fluff ჻჻჻ TROPES: Touch her and you die, Grumpy/Sunshine

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ꕤ Oh no, it's a Grumpy/Sunshine, touch her and you die trope collection in the form of a brooding outlaw — someone stop me.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ꕤ Way down We Go by KALEO ꕤ Broken Bones by KALEO ꕤ The River by Blues Saraceno ꕤ The Devil Inside by Daniel Murphy, Anthony Sanudo, Eric Serna ꕤ Deadwood by Really Slow Motion ꕤ Ain't No Devil by Andrea Wasse

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ꕤ @buckybarnesevents Build a Bucky Bingo ჻჻჻ Bad Reputation (February), Wild West AU (April) — Masterlist ꕤ @buckybarnesevents Alternate June-iverse 𝗖𝟭 — Outlaw AU — Masterlist

𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The bustling street that cut straight through the middle of the local livestock town as the main thoroughfare was overrun with folks going about their day.

Men, clad in leathers and vests with holsters on their hips lined the saloon stairs, while women in an assortment of skirts and blouses rushed with baskets and wares from the general store; their children playing in the mud, dirtying their worn clothes while mothers shrieked their grief over the once clean garments.

You couldn’t help the slight laugh that fell from your lips as you passed by a small boy who was splattered from head to toe in mud, his mother in a tizzy. “Now, Johnny–”

It was a pleasant day. A cool breeze blew through the side streets and over your sun-warmed skin. The basket on your arm was full of wares from your trip to the hunter down the lane, and the saddlebags on your old, trusted mare were lined with provisions from the general store.

Though no matter how pleasant it was, or how many children shrieked with laughter while they ran around your legs in joy, something screamed in the back of your mind that something was wrong — an instinct long honed after working on a ranch since you were only a child.

“Good mornin’, miss.”

You startled from your reverie at the sound of a deep, rasped voice to your right. “Oh–!” The man smiled sympathetically, and you realised with a jolt that it was one of the old sharpshooters — a man well past his prime, but one of the very few that had a shred of decency and sense within the town. “Oh, good morning,” you replied, smiling. “Pleasant day.”

He hummed in reply, and you continued on.

The shade of the awnings overhead disappeared as you walked out into the muddied street, and you blinked from the bright rays — halos of rainbows danced in your vision while the sun warmed your face.

From a way, a few stragglers from the saloon stumbled into view, and you sighed as you caught sight of the haggard appearances and putrid smell. You kept your head down and eyes averted as you neared their stumbling figures and scrunched your nose in disgust.

No decent, respectable man stunk to the high heavens of liquor with a temper to match a lit fuse.

The centre of town came into view, and the further you walked towards one of your last destinations for the day, the stronger the sense of impending something lingered in the air — it crackled with tension, akin to the static before a storm.

Every single man you passed was twitchy, their hands migrating to the holsters on their hips; every woman was hurrying by, faces taut with some unexplained worry.

Instinct — a woman’s intuition — insisted that something was coming.

You looked over your shoulder and cursed your past self for hitching your mare such a distance away. Her broad, muscled frame was no longer in sight through the scurrying crowds — the golden glow of her coat coloured with patches of white impossible to see through the scurry of people.

“Oh, girl,” you mumbled, and you half considered turning tail to head back home.

But the doctor’s office was only a few paces away, you reasoned, and you hurried along, resolutely ignoring the collective, worried gazes from the townsfolk towards the horizon. The muddied skirts of your dress fluttered as you trotted towards the clean building that housed the resident doctor, and the basket over your arm swayed with your gait. Best be fast.

When the heels of your old boots hit the wooden slats of the wrap-around deck, the door to the doctor’s office just within reach, it happened.

Around you, the townsfolk fell deathly silent — not a peep, not a sound. Every last man, woman, and child froze in place and stared, wide-eyed and stricken, down the street, downwind towards the horizon they were so fixated on.

Your stomach turned with nerves. The skin on the back of your neck prickled while your hair stood on end. It was an unnatural silence that pounded against your ears, and the blood that pumped through your veins turned to ice.

Gravely unsettled, you blinked against the instinct to run and hide, in favour or searching for the source.

The steady beat of heavy hooves thundered from down the street. Beside you, a woman and child gasped quietly — you paid them no mind, for the sight of two horses enraptured you.

Muscle and sinew rippled with the gait of their long, lean legs. They walked side by side, the tack on their back, chests, and proud, handsome faces jingled and followed the contours of their broad flanks. Their coats shone under the light of the sun, but there was no mistaking the inked black beneath the splatter of mud from their journey.

It would be almost impossible to tell them apart if it weren’t for the one on the left appearing far calmer than their companion, who snorted proudly and tossed their head.

Your focus moved from the stunning creatures to their riders, and your breath hitched.

The man atop the fiery, fierce horse clothed similarly to his mount. A rippling, black coat barely concealed the hip holsters that held revolvers with ebony accented grips, or the elaborate bandolier wrapped from his shoulder to his waist — the same black leather as his coat, but accented in silver, ornate imagery.

Rifles were strapped to the side of his saddle, long barrelled and scoped alike. From beneath his tilted hat, you could see the flow of jaw length, dark hair that fell in tresses to cover the profile of his face.

A man prepared for war, you thought distantly. He held himself like a soldier — straight-backed and proud, guarded and eyes swivelling to take in the stilted townsfolk.

Though you could not discern what was being said, you watched the man’s mouth move, and his head turned towards his companion.

You followed his gaze and took in the other rider. He sported a blond beard and brown leather, his own coat shorter and far less impressive — a simple rifle and a hunter’s bow was strapped to his saddle, and his gaze was far softer.

The horses walked closer and closer, and the nearer the two men came, the more nervous the people around you grew. A few men skittered off and bolted down side streets, or plainly ran away.

For the life of you, you could not understand why — they looked no different from the men that went rogue against the laws of society to take up arms in the wilderness.

You were still rooted in place when they came so close you could scent the rich, cured leather of their boots and saddles, and you couldn’t help staring at the extravagant wealth that lined their person and padded their mounts. It was plain as day they were no strangers to wealth, but to be an outlaw with wealth? That was unheard of.

It was only when they were right next to you did your ability to breathe truly vanish.

“I don’t like this,” the blond grumbled, his eyes darting from person to person. “It’s too open—far too open, we’re exposed. You know what’ll happen if we’re cornered–”

“Enough.” Sharp, grey eyes met yours, and within the second of that glance, you felt your stomach flip upside down. The heart that hammered in your chest rocketed upwards into your throat.

The stranger seemed to have an inkling for your reaction, or he experienced something similar — his eyes narrowed as he considered you, a piercing look that took hold of your wriggling stomach and forced it to still. “We’ll get what we need and move on. Calm down.”

You blinked, and he was no longer looking at you. Instead, his blond companion gazed at you curiously, tilting his head.

“Move on,” the dark-haired man spat, and he nudged his horse into a trot. The slap from the leather reins against his horse’s neck was loud.

Rather than spur onwards, the blond stared at you for a moment longer. “Rogers, get a move on.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, still staring at you. Blue eyes moved over your face before he turned his head forwards, then he followed behind his partner.

When the both of them were out of earshot, you heard multitudes of townsfolk collectively exhale with what you guessed was relief. “We don’t need another shoot out thanks to those bastards,” one of them grumbled. “Not after the last one.”

“Shootout?” you questioned, feeling your heart slowly sink back down into your chest. “What– What happened?”

They regarded you carefully. “You don’t come down this way often, do you, miss?”

You shook your head. “No, I live over–”

“Count yourself lucky,” they interrupted, raising their brows. “Those two are monsters. Don’t have the bounty on their heads for nothin’, and you don’t get any bounty hunters in these parts that go after ‘em ‘cause all the ones that do, end up fed to the wolves.” The bag over their shoulder was shrugged further up, their grip tight. “Just stay well away from ‘em, miss—not the kinda folk you want to get involved with if you want t’a live in peace.”

“But–”

They turned away. Their hunched back swayed under the weight of the sack on their shoulder.

You frowned at the retreating stranger.

Sure, they looked the part of a deadly duo, not unlike the ones in your novellas or dreams, but they passed through the town peacefully, if ominously — that was the fault of the townsfolk acting as though death himself strolled down the muddied street.

“I don’t understand…” A loud snort of one of their horses drew your attention, and you watched as the strangers dismounted and hitched their mounts right out the front of the general store.

Everyone gave them a wide berth; heads down and feet fast over the mud to get out of their way.

What a lonely existence, you thought.

For the entirety of your life, you were regarded as a bright, intelligent woman that worked hard. The passing of your family had hit you hard, but you were determined to live up to their memory, to maintain the ranch they left behind and restore it to its full glory — only that took up far more time than you anticipated, and while it was still a raw wound, you trudged on.

Being all alone up on your small slice of good ol’ Western soil was something you took pride in, but you had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that it wasn’t all it was cut out to be.

The thought alone made you sympathise with the two outlaws — a life on the road, running from societal norms and expectations while maintaining the lifestyle they no doubt had become accustomed to, made even you feel a sense of weary exhaustion deep in your bones.

Isolation was not a weak man’s game.

“Get it together,” you hastily whispered, shaking your head under the guise of shooing a fly. Your bright, generous personality would not help them, nor would it help you, you reasoned — not this time.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed open the door to the doctor’s office to purchase some medicine and supplies for the coming weeks.

The entirety of the town was still strung up with tension when you exited the doctor’s office half an hour later, according to your pocket watch — a family heirloom. People still rushed to and fro with their gazes locked onto the two black horses settled by the hitching post at the general store.

It was a foolish decision, but you stopped to admire their fine confirmations and broad builds.

There were no doubts on how war-ready the two were, though their docile nature threw you — never before had you seen horses stand so blessedly still and patient, even back on your own ranch.

You couldn’t help but take a step closer, the urge to feel the silken soft coats that were muddied from their journey overwhelming your rational sense. There was no mistaking the fact that they were both stallions now you were beside them; finely bred and hardened for battle from their owners' tendencies for violence.

A dark, mahogany eye met yours, and if it were possible, their face softened while their ears perked forwards.

On the other side of the stallion you greeted, was the one with a white star. His eyes were far kinder and softer than the first’s.

The first stallion knickered lowly while you stepped even closer, the compulsion to be near overtaking you, and you held your hand out for the creature to sniff. The brush of his lips over your offered hand made you giggle. “Aren’t you two beautiful?”

They snorted in tandem.

Suddenly, the hair on your arms stood on end, and the feeling of being watched spooked you into stepping back hastily. You glanced around to search for the cause, afraid for what you would find, but there was no one paying attention to you; far too consumed in their own needs to finish their runs for supplies or complete their jobs.

“I have to go, beauties,” you said quietly to the two horses, who only blinked in reply.

Your feet carried you swiftly away, but you glanced over your shoulder to the two stallions one last time, in awe of their strength and beauty.

You weren’t to see the set of steel grey eyes watching you from the gunsmith’s window on the opposite side of the street, not while you hastened your pace to get back to your own mount and go home — where it was safe.

People bustled and shoved against you as they made their own way, and you kept your breath steady and even the best you could.

Shouts and calls of workmen and ranch hands followed you as you half walked, half jogged onwards, and halfway to your patient mare, you were pulled up short by the rotten stench of waste and liquor — a potent mix that would make anyone’s stomach turn.

It was sickeningly close, and the source was a stumbling, drunken fool in front of you.

“Oh, no,” you mumbled. The volume of your voice was next to impossible to make out among the background noise, and you were grateful — there was no telling what this drunkard would do if he heard you.

His back was turned towards you, and you carefully hastened to walk around him, to avoid his line of sight, but his head turned just as you took a step to the side.

The sudden appearance of a woman within his filthy grasp caught his attention, and the words that fell from his drooling mouth weren’t even intelligible. “Ain– Pretty girl–” A hiccup and loud belch cut his torrent short.

“I’m just– Oh,” you gasped as the man pulled a knife and an old, rusted revolver from the inside of his jacket. A cascade of fear shut your mind down and locked your joints, the immobility frightened you beyond what you could bear. “No, no, please–”

They were only small weapons, but they would do no less damage if he shot you point blank or forced the blade through skin and bone. “Sir, please–”

“Gim’ money!”

“I don’t have– Please, leave me be,” you pleaded, holding up a placating hand. The fear turned your tongue into a lead weight in your mouth and you couldn’t speak more than a few words to plead for your life, which only infuriated the man further.

He advanced, his steps stumbling and uncoordinated, and the gun he brandished glinted in the sun — a menacing shine of metal that you knew was your last. The stench of his breath made your stomach roil with sickness. “Good for nothin’ whor–”

Footsteps rustled and waded through the mud behind you, and the world around you froze.

The drunkard’s mouth hung slack, wide with the shock from the sudden, cold bite of metal from the end of an ornate muzzle pressing hard into his temple. A gloved finger was poised over the trigger.

Your attention snapped to the brave soul that came to your rescue, and your own mouth fell open in shocked awe — the same outlaw that sent the town into a terrified silence held his ebony revolver to the drunkard’s temple with little regard for the force behind it.

He looked inhuman with fury laced through the pale blue of his eyes. Malice and disgust radiated from him in waves.

“Now do you really want to finish insultin’ this poor woman?” a husked voice asked behind you. You whirled around, the skirts of your dress fluttering, and found the blond outlaw standing behind you, terrible in his rage. “Robbin’ an innocent girl to get your fuckin’ dick wet at the whore house?”

There was a pregnant pause, only broken by the piteous whimpering from the drunkard. “I– I–” A dark stain grew over the crotch of his worn, stained overalls.

His head jerked hard to the side as one of your saviours pushed the muzzle of the gun harder against the thin bones of his temple with a snarl. “He asked you a question.”

“What the fuck do you think you were doin’, you bastard?” The blond spat. “Answer me before you get a third eye.”

Before the drunkard could answer, you cut in fearfully, “I– I just want to go home.” The darker-haired outlaw’s eyes flashed angrily as he looked at you, and you stepped back on instinct, only to come back to chest with his partner. “Please, just– I am so sorry–”

“You aren’t the one tossin’ around a damned fuckin’ gun like it’s your cock, sweetheart,” the blond soothed.

A low growl of anger came from the dark-haired outlaw’s throat. “And pathetic men who disrespect a woman in front of me tend to lose theirs—by a fuckin’ bullet or a knife, your choice.”

The drunkard stumbled to the side with the shove from the gun.

“Buck,” the blond said, and you guessed that was the dark-haired outlaw’s name. “I don’t think this fella is goin’ to answer me.” A hand rested on your shoulder, and you jumped. “Whoa– Easy, sweetheart, we’re not the ones that are goin’ to hurt you.”

The warmth from his palm abated the worst of the fear, and you followed where he guided you to stand — in his shadow that casted itself over the ground. “As for him, well…”

“Apologise,” Buck spat, nearing the drunkard’s pale, sweaty face. “I don’t care if I have to lose a bullet to get you to do it, either.”

“S– Sorry, miss,” the drunkard whispered, his voice high with terror. “Sorry, I–” He was cut off by the shove to the shoulder, and you watched as he clumsily ran away.

Only, Buck raised his revolver and cocked the hammer back before a shot ran out with a cloud of smoke. The sound echoed like cannon fire off of the surrounding trees and sparse buildings — you could even hear faint shouts and screams of fear within the township.

“Good riddance,” the blond said with a nod.

“I wasn’t goin’ to let the bastard go,” Buck said lowly, voice still laced with a poisonous vitriol. He looked at you then and lowered his head respectfully. “Miss.”

“I–” You tried, but some force was making you tremble from head to toe — waves of flight or fight warring within your mind as you stood between the two deadliest men you had ever encountered. “Please don’t hurt me–”

“Oh, sweetheart, no,” the blond said quickly, holding his hands up and away from his holsters. “Name’s Steve, this here is Buck—or Bucky.”

You looked between them, eyes wide with your fear and still rooted to the spot with your pulsing terror. While you looked at Steve beseechingly, you saw from the corner or your eyes as Bucky shrugged off his thick, leather coat to reveal a white, long-sleeved shirt, and a black vest that had embroidery and filigree within the expensive material.

He was silent while he stood there, coat in his gloved hands.

“Where’s your horse?” Steve asked, looking around.

“Over– She’s over there,” you whispered, pointing towards where you hitched your mare. The bustle of noise had caught her attention, and you could see her kind face looking in your direction with her ears perked. “I didn’t think to–”

“Don’t worry, miss,” Steve assured, and he looked at Bucky with a brow raised. “You good?”

Bucky nodded, then offered his coat to you. “To keep you warm,” he rasped. “You’re shakin’ like a leaf.”

You blinked and almost dropped your basket, but Bucky rushed forward and caught it. “Here,” he offered quietly, passing the basket to Steve and holding up his coat — the inner leather was warm and rich with his scent, and you couldn’t help but burrow into the comfort it provided.

The basket with all of your wares hung from Steve’s arm. “We’ll take you home, then be on our way—that alright, miss?”

Bucky was still working the large coat over your shoulders until he was satisfied it would sit comfortably. “I– I don’t know–” The journey home was a long one, and you wouldn’t say no to the safety their company would provide, but the problem of your trembling limbs made you doubt whether you would be able to stay in the saddle for long at all.

The two of them seemed to catch on to your concern.

Steve frowned and glanced at Bucky, who was wordlessly staring at your hands. “You can hop on behind Buck—your mare can follow behind, I’ve got her.”

Without another word, Steve started to walk towards their two mounts that were waiting a few feet away — you hadn’t even noticed them.

Bucky glanced up at your face while you stared into his, and he smiled slightly. The ice that had settled in your stomach inexplicably melted away with the softness of his gaze. You followed behind him as he led you to their stallions.

The shadow from a building beside them made their coats even darker, and the bigger of the two started to walk forwards at the sight of you approaching with one of their number. It was the same horse that affectionately brushed his lips over your hand out the front of the general store.

“Oh, hello,” you whispered, unable to help the smile that pulled at your lips. “You are beautiful, aren’t you?”

“Don’t give ‘im a bigger ego than his owner,” Steve chortled. The withering glare Bucky sent Steve almost made you laugh.

“This is Rebel,” Bucky said, patting the stallion’s lithe neck and making the skin ripple.

“Hello, Rebel,” you cooed, scratching his nose affectionately. Then, you realised you hadn’t given any of them your name, and when you glanced at Bucky after offering it, his head was tilted minutely to the side.

He did not give you a chance to question why before he mounted Rebel and sat in the saddle proudly. “You can ride?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s grip on your hand was tight and firm, and he yanked you up from the ground with apparent ease. “I, uh– My home is a ranch.”

There was a pleased hum from Steve, and Bucky looked over his shoulder at you while Rebel’s hooves shuffled to accommodate the sudden new addition on his back.

“Hold tight,” Bucky said gruffly. You rested your hands on either side of his waist, holding steady while Rebel’s movements were smooth beneath you — the reins were loose, and Bucky’s thighs clamped around the barrel of his mount’s flanks.

“He is so beautiful,” you murmured again, just as Rebel made to turn around and walk towards your mare. On impulse, you moved one hand from Bucky’s waist to the dark coat behind your thighs.

The inky pelt felt not unlike a luxurious silk.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, then he clicked his tongue. Rebel took the cue and picked up the pace. “He’s been through hell an’ back with me. There ain’t many horses as strong as he is. I’m a lucky bastard.”

You moved your hands from Rebel’s coat back to Bucky’s waist to hold on. Even over the vest you felt the heat radiating from his body, and you couldn’t help but shift closer.

All the while a part of your mind screamed for you to drop and run — a long, dormant instinct that arose with such strength you’d never felt before.

The two men were no doubt two of the fiercest you could have ever encountered, that was not for debate or contest — you could feel the strength of Bucky’s control on his horse in the way the mount moved with such trained ease. Not to mention the muscles that rippled under the long-sleeved shirt of his made you realise there was far more than met the eye.

What held your tongue from screaming or crying for help was the way the two of them did not even bat an eye before shooting a vagrant drunk that accosted you, even though they had no idea who you were — just a woman going about her day.

Not to them, you thought.

You noticed the townsfolk that stopped and stared at the three of you while you passed them by, both shock and fear painting their pale, grime-streaked faces, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they were thinking. A poor, foolish girl riding with the most dangerous men.

“There she is,” Steve said suddenly, pulling you from your reverie. You blinked from the light of the sun, and found Steve pointing towards your mare, a beautiful, golden palomino who’s coat gleamed in the morning rays. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling softly at the softened gaze of your mare once she spotted you. “That’s my girl.”

“She’s a fine horse,” Bucky said as he pulled Rebel to a stop. “Stevie, you’ve got ‘er?”

Steve nodded and dismounted to unhitch her from her post. “You take the lead; I’ll follow behind with this pretty lady.” You watched as your mare was tied to the horn of Steve’s saddle, and she came into stride next to him with as little as a heavy sigh to acknowledge her predicament. “A dramatic one–”

“You haven’t seen the worst of it,” you laughed as you scratched at her ears. “Not in the slightest.”

During the journey back to your ranch, you couldn’t help but notice how silent Bucky was — all conversation and pleasantries were held between Steve and yourself, with minimal input from the brooding rider in front of you. During one of the longer stretches of silence, albeit a strangely comfortable one, you took a moment to consider with a keen eye how Bucky held himself.

The man was truly a marvel, that you assumed correctly. His broad, wide shoulders were straight, only slumping when he seemed to grow weary — most notably through Steve’s many tirades.

The black vest he wore hugged his chest and waist, accentuating the lines of his muscled torso in all of the right places, and it made you think countlessly of the heroes in your stories that lined the old, wooden bookshelf in your bedroom.

His shirt wrinkled and smoothed with each movement of his arms, the tight muscle beneath making your mouth water.

“How far do you live from town?” Bucky asked suddenly, and to your horror, he glanced over his shoulder before you could school your expression, or at least look away from the expanse of his back. Something flashed in his grey eyes, and you were embarrassed to see a small smirk forming on his full lips.

The coat over your shoulders was a welcome reprieve and you found yourself burrowing yourself deeper into the warmth it offered your still trembling limbs, and you hastened to answer before Steve could interject — the blond looked about ready to cause more trouble. “Not far, just a little while longer. You’ll come upon my fields soon.”

He nodded and urged Rebel a little faster, the movement of the horse’s hindquarters jostled you into being pressed right up against Bucky’s back. In the slight moment of shock, you clamped your arms around his waist tighter. The fabric wrinkled under your sudden, iron-clad grip, and under your hands, you could feel the low rumble of his chest while he laughed.

You rested your forehead against the smooth fabric of his vest to hide your shame.

Wooden fence posts suddenly appeared in your peripheral vision, and you glanced up to find the outer fence line of your ranch perimeter in all its glory.

The farmhouse at the end of the dusty, dirt lane was a modest building from the exterior, but you were relieved to see it nonetheless — wooden slats were bleached from the harsh light of the sun, and the characteristic weathervane of a loping horse still sat perched on the roof from when you were a child.

“We’re here,” you said happily, unable to stop the smile of relief. “That’s my home.”

Bucky said nothing while Steve moved his mount closer. “It’s beautiful. You live out here by yourself?”

“I do,” you replied wearily, side-eyeing Steve. “Why?”

Steve looked at you quickly. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, I swear.”

“Shut your trap, you fuckin’ bastard,” Bucky snapped, glaring at Steve. You blinked and stared between them. “Leave ‘er alone. If she is happy on ‘er own, she’s happy. She’s already proven to be a strong woman who doesn’t need the likes a’you to judge ‘er.”

“Settle, settle,” Steve laughed, “I meant nothin’, I swear, Buck.”

Bucky shifted in the saddle, and you felt him press back against you. The simple act to get closer made an indescribable heat climb up the skin of your neck. “Good, now shut it.”

You caught Steve’s gaze, and he winked while Bucky’s gaze was elsewhere.

The swirling confusion in your mind overtook any sense to question what just happened between them — they truly were an odd duo, but you didn’t linger on that thought too long before Bucky pulled Rebel to a halt on the earthen path that led to your front door.

The gate creaked and groaned in the slight breeze, and a few of the horses looked up from their lazy grazing to investigate the newcomers.

“Well, here y’are,” Steve said, handing you the reins for your mare. The two men were looking around your property with interest as you took hold of the rope, and a thought crossed your mind — it was reckless, dangerous, and possibly the most foolish idea, but something nagged within your heart to voice it.

“Why don’t– Uh, well–” The rope was tight around your knuckles while you fidgeted with it, and your mare nuzzled your elbow. “Why don’t you come on in? I can fix you up a hot meal and you both can, well—you can rest. I can at least thank you for your efforts.”

There was a beat of silence, then Steve said, “You sure, darlin’? We can head on off; we’re only passin’ through.”

Bucky’s expression remained impassive, but there was something in his gaze that told you that you were doing the right thing — however much your good sense screamed that it was a mistake. “I’m sure—come on in and I’ll get the pot going.”

You didn’t wait for them to answer before you set off to walk towards your home, all the while praying that you hadn’t just bitten the bullet.

“Well, that’s real kind,” Steve called, then you heard soft hoofbeats thudding over the earth behind you.

The horses scattered throughout the fields watched you walk by with the strangers in tow, ears perked forward and eyes bright with interest. From the corner of your eyes, you could see Rebel start to gain on you, and then you felt his muzzle brush your shoulder. “Hi there, pretty boy,” you cooed, kissing the side of his nose.

A deep chuckle sounded from his back, and you looked up towards Bucky, who was looking down at you with a soft smile — one that you found you’d do anything to see again.

“You can hitch the boys just here,” you said as you pointed to a wooden rail set just next to the porch railing. The worn oak was sturdy, and you knew it would hold the two stallions should they grow restless.

Steve dismounted with a loud groan, and he stretched to the sky when his boots landed on the dirt.

Bucky, however, moved his left leg up and over Rebel’s neck, and he slid from the saddle with as little effort — a difficult dismount performed with ease, and the bastard knew it, too. An arrogant smirk pulled at the corner of his lips for a moment before Steve rounded the back of his horse, when it vanished.

The sudden change in his demeanour made your brows furrow with confusion, but Bucky shot you a look that forced your expression to be neutral — whatever made him conscious of his outward expression of happiness was his business, you reminded yourself.

But you couldn’t deny the pull to see him smile again, not after your interest in the brooding man had grown tenfold over the journey home.

you're not gonna stop me, are you?

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fluff #alternate juneiverse 2024 #babb2023 #rookthorne's works

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leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesworld · 23 days

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CALM AFTER THE STORM |BTS OT7 X READER| HYBRID AU (M)

{Chapter One – Disgusting Humans}

Pairing: OT7 BTS!HYBRID X FEM!HUMAN READER.

Kim Namjoon: Black Mackenzie Valley Alpha wolf

Kim Soekjin: Alpha White Lion

Min Yoongi: Alpha White Jaguar

Jung Hosoek: Alpha Snow Leopard

Park Jimin: Alpha Albino Cobra

Kim Taehyung: Alpha White/ Bleached Tiger

Jeon Jungkook: Alpha Black Panther

Reader: Heaven Valentino

Status: Ongoing

RATED (M) FOR MATURE

Words: 2.4k!

WARNING: EVENTUAL SMUT, BLOOD GORE, DETAILED GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION, ABUSE (ALL FORMS), PROFANITY, VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, CHARACTER DEATH(MINOR), SADOMASOCHISM ACTS, MENTIONS OF BDSM, ETC...

CHAPTER WARNING: The following chapter contains sensitive and distressing subject matter, including references to child rape, kidnapping, and child trafficking. If you find such topics triggering or uncomfortable, I encourage you to exercise self-care and consider avoiding this particular chapter. Your mental and emotional well-being always come first.

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MATERIALIST

~Valentino Mansion~

3RD PERSON'S POV

Heaven Valentino, a skilled and determined woman, had just finished a rigorous training session at her gym. With precision and composure, she fired round after round at a target dummy, hitting the bullseye every time. Satisfied with her performance, she exited the gym and began making her way back to her room.

As she walked, a voice called out to her,

"Ms. Valentino?" It was her secretary and trusted right-hand man, Park Hyung-jae, hurrying to catch up with her.

Curious, she turned to face him. "Yes, Jae?"

"Someone is requesting your presence," Jae informed her, the urgency evident in his voice.

Heaven's sharp mind instantly assessed the situation.

"Who is it, and what role do they play?" she calmly inquired.

Jae answered without missing a beat.

"Choi Woobin, Chief Executive General Officer," he replied, conveying that the person in question held a position of significance.

"Very well," she replied nonchalantly.

"Set up an appointment for two in the afternoon. If he fails to arrive on time, I will not entertain him. Punctuality is of utmost importance to me."

With that, she moved on, resolute in her decision. It was typical of her to make swift judgments and take charge of her own schedule, refusing to waste time on those who did not value timeliness.

Her composed demeanor left Jae slightly taken aback.

"Well, that was easier than I expected," he mused to himself, shrugging off the surprise. With a sense of relief, he left to fulfill his assigned tasks.

~Heaven's Room~

Heaven's POV

Ah, I knew it wouldn't take long for him to come begging. I could see right through his façade, right from the start. You see, there are very few things that I despise more than tardiness, laziness and liars.

Hybrid abusers.

Growing up as the youngest daughter of the illustrious Valentino family, I've had my fair share of enemies. From the moment I entered this world, there were those who sought to bring me down, to harm me, or even to kidnap me, all in an attempt to weaken my family. But these feeble-minded individuals could never succeed.

Many assumed that, as a wealthy and privileged young woman, I would be nothing more than a spoiled brat with no ability to defend herself.

But oh, how wrong they were.

From the day I could walk and comprehend the world around me, I have been trained relentlessly.

The Valentinos believe in honing the skills and fortitude of their children, regardless of their gender. So, from the tender age of four, I began my journey towards becoming a force to be reckoned with.

By the time I reached fifteen, I had accomplished what most could only dream of. I graduated high school with a flawless 5.0 GPA. But my thirst for knowledge was insatiable, leading me to a prestigious university known as the "Gifted Souls."

In just a few short years, I secured a PhD in psychology, a Masters in business, and even delved into the realm of fashion. I achieved all of this by the tender age of twenty-two, and now, at the age of twenty-three, I am well on my way to solidifying my empire and making a name for myself.

The professors at my university were astounded by my brilliance, bestowing upon me the moniker of the 'female version of Albert Einstein.' But, I paid little attention to such trivialities.

My single-minded focus was on gaining knowledge and establishing myself as a force in the business world. I aim to take over one of my parents' companies, the very essence of the Valentino empire.

People may see me as a woman who walks with an iron fist. When they encounter me, they don't think of me merely as Heaven of the Valentino family, they see Heaven Valentino, a woman who commands respect and exudes power.

Some have even had the audacity to refer to me as the ice princess, the demoness or even the female Adolf Hitler. But I take such labels in stride because I know the true strength that lies within me.

As an individual who values efficiency and productivity, I possess a limited tolerance for trivial matters or individuals who impede progress.

In the circle with which I surround myself, idleness and unproductive behavior have no place.

Vigilance remains paramount, as there are perpetually individuals plotting one's downfall or even one's demise, and I personally acknowledge the latter as the ultimate threat.

Over time, I have accumulated a considerable list of adversaries. The number of instances where I have inadvertently provoked others is too extensive to accurately quantify, such is the nature of my assertive personality.

When confronted with something disagreeable or incongruous to my stated preferences, I swiftly take decisive action.

The ability to discern and rectify undesirable situations is a responsibility I take seriously, akin to the saying,

"With great power comes great responsibility."

In my case, this responsibility is focused solely on my survival.

While some may perceive my approach as cold or detached, it is merely a matter of survival in a world where dangers often lurk beneath the surface.

In conclusion, my aversion to nonsense and unwavering commitment to productivity have inevitably resulted in the development of numerous adversaries.

This is an outcome I readily accept due to the assertive nature of my character.

My consistent and immediate response to unfavorable circumstances is driven by a sense of responsibility towards self-preservation.

Ultimately, it is this unwavering dedication to my own well-being that helps me navigate the precarious landscape of existence.

I felt my eyes narrow as I thought about the man who had recently come into my crosshairs,

Mr. Choi, the Chief Executive General Officer of Seoul National Police.

To the public, he was a respected figure in his early fifties, but I knew the dark secrets that lurked beneath his facade.

Mr. Choi's wife had tragically succumbed to stage four cancer, leaving him without any children to carry on his legacy.

Many saw him as a pillar of the community, a dedicated servant of the people. But I saw through the facade to the truth - he was a twisted, solipsistic man who had been engaged in despicable acts.

It was a revelation that had shaken me to the core when I had discovered that Mr. Choi was involved in taking bribes from hybrid traffickers.

The thought of such corruption within the ranks of law enforcement made my blood boil.

But what truly turned my stomach was the knowledge that he was also a child rapist and a sadistic individual who derived pleasure from the suffering of others.

Only I and my uncle knew the extent of Mr. Choi's depravity. My uncle ran a Hybrid facility called Hybrid Heaven (HH), dedicated to rescuing hybrids from abuse and capturing traffickers who sought to exploit them for profit.

When my uncle had uncovered Mr. Choi's involvement in these heinous activities, he had turned to me for help in bringing him to justice.

With the help of my loyal team of associates, I had quickly gathered evidence of Mr. Choi's crimes. It was not difficult to connect the dots once they realized that a police officer was complicit in covering up the illegal activities of hybrid trafficking.

And when Mr. Choi's name had surfaced as the linchpin in the operation, I wasted no time in setting my plan into motion.

I stood in my room and felt a surge of anger and revulsion towards the man who had committed such atrocities. I knew that he was reaching out in a desperate attempt to cover his tracks, but I also knew that I held the power to bring him to his knees.

With a steely resolve, I prepared myself for the confrontation that lay ahead. I would not rest until Mr. Choi faced the full force of justice for his crimes.

And in that moment, I squared my shoulders and steeled my gaze, I knew that I was ready to confront the darkness that lurked within the heart of a man who had once been seen as a paragon of virtue.

°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°•°•°•°•°•°•°

~Mayás Fashion House~

As I arrived at my company building, the energy in the air shifted as the employees stopped in their tracks to greet me politely. With a nod and a smile, I returned their greetings, keeping the interactions brief.

I made my way to the private elevator that would take me up to the 8th floor where the meeting room awaited.

As the elevator came to a stop, I stepped out and approached the meeting room. The transparent glass walls and doors allowed me to catch a glimpse of Mr. Choi inside, his figure pacing nervously.

I watched as he reached for a handkerchief to dab at his sweat, a reaction that I found somewhat distasteful. Pushing open the doors, I sauntered over to one of the swivel chairs, disrupting Mr. Choi's anxious movements.

"Good Afternoon, Mr. Choi," I greeted him calmly, causing him to visibly startle. With hesitant steps, he made his way towards me and took a seat on the opposite side of the table.

"G-good af-afternoon, Ms. Valentino," he stuttered out, clearly flustered by my presence.

"Relax, Mr. Choi. I just need some information from you, and then we'll be done," I reassured him with a light chuckle, meeting his gaze as he averted his eyes and nodded eagerly.

"Good. Now, let's not beat around the bush. Tell me everything you know about the illegal underground Hybrid dealers," I said, leaning back in my chair, a sense of authority evident in my tone.

Mr. Choi hesitated before beginning to speak, revealing details about the underground operation.

He mentioned a mysterious figure known as Black Eagle who orchestrated the kidnapping and sale of hybrids for profit.

The auction took place over five days at a luxurious resort on the outskirts of Seoul, shrouded in secrecy to all but those in attendance.

His eyes met mine as he shared more about the nefarious activities, including a bi-monthly Hybrid auction where rare exotic hybrids were sold off to wealthy clientele with exclusive VIP passes provided by Black Eagle.

I listened intently, absorbing the information and maintaining a composed demeanor throughout.

It was clear that Mr. Choi was apprehensive, but my focused interrogation drew out the pertinent details I needed to pursue further action against the criminal syndicate.

My eyebrows creased as I listened, a mix of disbelief and horror washing over me.

The thought of such a place existing where people indulged in their darkest desires on hybrids, pushing the boundaries of cruelty and exploitation, made my stomach churn with disgust. The depths of depravity that some individuals would sink to astounded me.

He continued, "Participants torture hybrids to feed into their twisted sexual gratification,"

What the actual fuck!

These creatures, who were part human and part animal, deserved compassion and care, not to be subjected to such heinous acts.

It was a stark reminder of the darkest facets of humanity, a side that I never wanted to believe existed.

As the details of the auction event unfolded, each revelation seemed to plunge me deeper into a pit of revulsion.

"They also indulged in the "hunger games" a concept, where the rarest hybrids were paraded and objectified for the amusement of the audience, they would compete to inflict pain and suffering on the hybrid, all for the chance to possess them as prizes."

It felt like a nightmare brought to life. To think of it was sickening beyond words.

My heart ached for the hybrids subjected to such cruelty, for their pain and helplessness in the face of such brutality.

It was a stark reminder of the darker side of society, one that I had never truly comprehended until now.

The callousness and inhumanity displayed towards these creatures left me feeling a deep sense of shame for belonging to the same species.

Despite the turmoil of emotions swirling within me, I forced myself to remain composed, to listen to the grim details of the auction event with a steely resolve.

The urge to lash out in anger and despair clawed at the edges of my composure, but I held onto my restraint, determined to bear witness to the extent of the atrocities being described.

As the final details of the event were laid bare, the mechanics of the auction and the fate of the hybrids outlined in chilling clarity, a cold fury settled over me.

The thought of the buyers participating in such cruelty, of treating living beings as mere objects to be traded and discarded, filled me with a sense of loathing that I had never experienced before.

With a clenched jaw and a heart heavy with sorrow, I steeled myself to hear more, to confront the depths of depravity that lay at the heart of the five-day auction event.

Despite the revulsion and horror that threatened to overwhelm me, I knew that I had to bear witness to the truth, no matter how harrowing it may be.

I made a solemn vow to ensure their safety and vowed to lead them to a life free from such atrocities.

Determination consumed me, and I pledged to keep my promise, declaring my identity as Heaven Valentino.

In the intense confrontation that followed, I confronted Choi Woobin with unwavering resolve, demanding information and justice.

As the truth unfolded and the gravity of his actions came to light, the shock on his face was palpable.

Despite his pleas for mercy, I stood firm, condemning his heinous crimes and refusing to yield to his empty remorse.

Taking charge of the situation, I orchestrated his confession and surrender, unwilling to let him escape accountability.

With a mix of anger and compassion, I ensured that justice prevailed, even as his pleas for forgiveness fell on deaf ears.

The moment was charged with raw emotions as he was escorted away, a tearful reminder of the consequences of his despicable deeds.

After the intense encounter, I made a call to Jae, seeking solace after the harrowing events.

Exiting the meeting room, I left the company building and made my way back home, reflecting on the tumultuous events that had transpired.

~Unknown Location~

3rd Person's POV

Two hybrids were drained and weak, their bodies suffering from the beatings they received for sleeping in. Locked in a heavily secured cell, they endured days without food or water, leaving their mouths dry and their bodies craving molesols of food. Heavy metal shackles dug into their wrists, leaving painful bruises as a reminder of their captivity.

One of the hybrids expressed a strange premonition to his older brother.

"Hyung, I have a weird feeling," he murmured, his eyes distant.

“What is it?” his brother inquired, concern evident in his voice.

“I feel like something big is going to happen,” the younger one replied, his hybrid instincts alerting him to an unseen future.

As they shared a tense moment, the older brother hoped silently,

'I hope it's not bad, my dear brother.'

°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Hey lovebugs,

I'm super excited to hear your thoughts on this book!

I added a tad more detail to offer a glimpse into the world of the book, just enough to spark your curiosity without giving away too much. I wanted to provide a little peek behind the curtain to entice you to come along for the ride.

A quick heads up - this book doesn't hold back on the intense stuff. It deals with some heavy, triggering content that might not be everyone's cup of tea. So, fair warning, this is not your typical light and fluffy read. It's raw, real, and might hit close to home for some.

I'm all ears and eager to hear your feedback, so drop a comment and let me know your thoughts.

Thanks a ton for taking the time to check this out and for sharing your thoughts. Your support means the world to me! Let's dive in and see where this wild literary journey takes us. 📚✨

Thanks a ton again!

TAGLIST OPEN!!

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keikikait · 3 months

Text

ᴛᴇʟᴇᴠᴀɴɢᴇʟɪꜱᴍ (ɢᴇᴛᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: geto x f!reader (not au, geto and reader are both around 27)

word count: 1.8k

summary: as one of masamichi yaga’s former students, you got along well with geto, gojo, and riko back in your high school days. now things are different, but you’re still attached to one man, suguru geto. you obey his every command like a devoted follower does.

warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI, DARK CONTENT AHEAD, dom!geto and sub!reader, oral (m receiving), face fucking, use of the words cock and cunt, slapping, spitting, degrading, nickname use (slut), clit slapping, choking, light violence, angst!!!!, brainwashed reader, talks of non-sorcerer death (not too graphic, just mentioned), talk of cults, hyena motif, emotionally manipulative geto

a note: will i ever get over this? no. no, i will not.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

Ever since you laid eyes on him, you knew you loved him. From almost failing a test because you spent too long gazing at him in class, to following him around like a lost puppy on campus, you’ve always been in love with Suguru Geto. Even now.

You’re devoted. You trust him. You’re easy. And that’s why Suguru keeps you around. He likes to manipulate you, he likes to push your buttons and tease you, send you away crying knowing you’ll come crawling back for more. You had never defied him. If he said jump, you’d ask how high. If he told you to kill an innocent non-sorcerer, you would.

You’re not a part of his cult, no, no. You’ve heard about cults before and heard the tales of Jim Jones, Charles Manson, Heaven’s Gate, and, of course, the Star Religious Group. You’ve seen the televangelist proclamations of the second coming of Christ and heard all about the Rapture, but that isn’t what this is. He isn’t a cult leader, not at all. He’s your Suguru. Your leader, devoted to the cause of wiping out the weak, the non-sorcerers. The ones who killed Riko.

You’re not his follower, you’re his. His soulmate! The one who gets to stay in his cushy cabin while the others are stuck in frail tents that could be knocked over by a gentle breeze. You’re the one he makes love to every night. He wouldn’t do that for just any follower, you were special. You had to be. You don’t know who you would be without him. You’ve supported him for so long, let his poisonous ideals fill your lungs and you choked on them at first, like anyone would, but soon you began to breathe them in.

You hadn’t always been this way. Once, you had done the unthinkable, the thing that breaks his heart the most: you tried to escape. You didn’t make it far out of the compound before he found you, easily overpowering you and tackling you to the ground. He was calm, at first, telling you how disappointed he was in you. How you failed him. You were supposed to be special. How could you do this to him? He trusted you. He started to get angry at your tears and your pathetic apologies, and he decided to give you a beating, just for good measure, breaking your nose just for the fun of it before he dragged you back inside the compound by your hair, kicking and screaming.

Once he had you back in his teeth, locked away in his room, he made you realise how disrespectful you were. He gave you everything, and you thought you could just run away? He taught you so much. He taught you how to hone your technique, how to make it as powerful as his. Almost. He taught you his ideals, about how all non-sorcerers are worthless monkeys who cause curses to begin with. He taught you that your thoughts about defecting — about leaving him — were like hyenas, and without him and his guidance, they would laugh at you as they chased you through the desert before killing you and ripping you limb from limb. You didn’t want to leave him, did you? You couldn’t be without him, after all, you were nothing without him. He had you wrapped around his finger, and his cock, and he loved every second of it, although he had to admit you looked prettier on your knees, worshipping him.

And that’s exactly what you’re doing. On your knees, trying to ignore the tingling in your calves from kneeling on the hardwood, his cock down your throat. You bob your head, tears streaming down your cheeks from the burning sensation in the back of your throat, trying not to gag. Suguru didn’t like it when you gagged. He didn’t like it when you resisted.

You make your way down to the base, your nose buried in his pubes, and he reaches a hand around to push on your head. “Good girl. Stay there for a second.” You nod, as best as you can, blinking away the tears as you relax your throat. He strokes your hair for a second before his hips thrust.

You try to relax, squeezing your thumbs against your palms as you try not to gag.

And he thrusts again.

And again.

And you gag, your hands instinctively coming up to his thighs to push him away. He grips your hair into a tight fist and yanks you off, a trail of spit following your mouth. A symbol of your connection. You take a shaky deep breath, looking up at him with red, teary eyes. “Suguru-”

He slaps you, hard. Your head jolts to the right, a stinging sensation spreading over your cheek. You sniffle, tears welling in your eyes again. You could almost hear the hyena’s laugh.

He tugs your head up towards him, slapping you again, harder this time. “I told you not to gag.” You nod, babbling an apology. You deserve this punishment, after all. You had failed him. You were resisting, even though you didn’t mean to. You notice his cold, hateful glare and you apologise even more, apologising for your failure, apologising for letting him down.

You want his cock back in your mouth. You want to be useful to him. You look at it, thick and long and covered in your spit and tears. You feel your mouth watering and you stick your tongue out slightly. He notices this and laughs, jostling your head around. “You want my cock?”

You nod, panting a little. “Yes, Suguru.”

“Are you going to gag again?” He asks, tugging on your hair.

“No,” you say, your eyes wide and full of adoration as you stare up at him. “I won’t gag.”

He sighs, tugging on your hair again. “You know what happens when you disappoint me,” You nod again. “What happens when you disappoint me?”

“The hyenas come.” You answer softly.

“Yes, that’s right,” Suguru says, pushing your face against him. He rubs his cock against your cheek, smearing your spit and tears over your face. “The hyenas come, and they will kill you. And then you’ll be without me. And what are you without me?”

Your answer quickly. “Nothing.” He grins. He taught you so well, he taught you exactly how to please him. He rubs his cock against your cheek, the one he just slapped, before sliding his cock back into your mouth and down your throat. He thrusts and thrusts, and you finally listen to this time. You don’t gag, not even once. You take his abuse, loving every second of it.

After a few minutes, he pushes you off and you land harshly on the floor. “Get on the bed, slut.” You do, climbing up onto the bed and pressing your back against the pillows. He gets on top of you, caging your head in between his arms. He spits on your cunt before sliding in, gritting his teeth at the slight resistance. You weren’t being very good right now, were you? He slaps your clit and your cunt gushes, allowing him to slide in.

Suguru leans down on his elbows, one hand wrapped tight around your throat as he thrusts into you. He loves this feeling, the feeling of you spread open and dripping wet for him, wrapped around his cock. You take all of his hurt and abuse and you smile and ask for more. He’s never met anyone quite like you, so easy to manipulate and so easy to toss around like a toy. He could even throw you away once he was bored, knowing you would still be in the trash can once he needed you again. Suguru didn’t care about you. You could drop dead in front of him and he would step over your body, only hearing the hyena’s laugh as they tear out your intestines. He let you call him Suguru, but only because he knew you loved it, and if you loved it and you loved him, you would worship him. You would be his, and that’s all he needs, a devoted follower to support his goal.

“Open,” He says, squeezing your throat. Your mouth falls open and your tongue rolls out, and he spits directly on your tongue. “Don’t swallow it. Let me see.” You nod, your tongue hanging out as he fucks you, his spit dripping onto your chin. The sight makes his cock twitch, you look so pathetic and stupid, and he can’t wait to hit you later and make you cry for disobeying him and gagging on his cock. If you couldn’t follow a simple order, what could you do?

The combination of his big cock in your tight little cunt, his spit on your tongue, and his hand around your throat is too much and you cum, squeezing and clenching around him. He laughs triumphantly, squeezing your throat even tighter. He slaps you again, not because you did anything wrong, but because he loved the pathetic look in your eyes as the hit registered. His hand tightens to the point of strangulation as he cums inside you, burying himself deep at the hilt. He leans his forehead on your chest as the cum spurts out of his cock, painting your insides white. This is the closest you’ll ever get to being his.

He pulls out, climbs off of you, and leaves the room. You lay there for a second, catching your breath, basking in your post-orgasm haze. You shakily stand up and head into his bathroom, cleaning yourself up. You leave the dried spit and smeared mascara, knowing Suguru will like that more.

Once you return to his bed, he’s already lying down, a drink in hand. He isn’t even looking at you and all you can do is admire his beauty. He’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, and you don’t understand how you got this lucky. You lay next to him, your head on his bicep as he stares out the window, deep in thought.

After a long, comfortable pause, you speak. “Suguru?”

He looks down at you, a look of disinterest on his face. “Yes?”

You lick your lips, fiddling with your hands. You pick at the skin around your thumbs when you get nervous, and your eye twitches as you break the skin once again. Finally, you speak, “Do you think we’re soulmates in every universe?” His eyes narrow for a second before he smiles, leaning down towards you. You feel his hot breath on your face and you bite your lip, wondering if this will be the day he finally kisses you.

He chuckles, pushing some hair out of your face. “What makes you think we’re soulmates in this one?”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

am i okay? maybe

#keikiwrites #geto suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto angst #tw: emotional manipulation #tw: violence #jjk angst #f!reader #jjk smut #geto smut #dom!geto #sub!reader

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romanomomano · 1 year

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#ffxiv #thunder god cid #hey i got polls on mobile browser but not on desktop that’s weird

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mostmouse · 10 months

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Desperate Times

Hotaru's actions were calling for desperate measures. The man wasn't taking care of his wounds like he should be. You, being such a loving wife, have created a master plan of subduing and restraining him. All he has to do is give in.

(Hotaru x f!reader, explicit, 6,000 words, AO3)

In the days after Tanjiro had left the swordsmith village, things had calmed down but remained incredibly busy. Chief Tecchin was healing up, other swordsmiths helping him up to the hot springs for a daily soak, along with themselves. Many were injured and needed daily bandage changes, and burying those who you had lost in the demon attack weighed heavily on your soul.

You did what you could in the rebuilding, working from dawn to dusk, only returning home to sleep alone in your bed. Hotaru was still working on the special sword for Tanjiro, no matter how hard you worked to get him to rest. He had at least gone to the hot springs a few times with you to soak and heal - but in your opinion it wasn’t nearly enough.

The man was as stubborn as ever, but you wouldn’t thrive as his wife if you weren’t also incredibly headstrong. You’d been crafting into the late night on a way to subdue him and force him to let you care for his wounds. No doubt they were constantly reopening as he worked in his shack in the woods. Secluded away from everyone else, away from you, and keeping busy honing that damned sword.

After a couple weeks had passed, you had seen Hotaru twice and both times you were forcing him into the hot springs with the threat of breaking the sword while he slept. Not that you’d do something like that to a legitimately ancient sword, not that he needed to know that. But with how things were going, if it had been one he crafted and not a sword that carried the dreams of countless slayers and swordsmiths… You’d certainly consider it.

Stretching high, you stood from the table in your shared home, not that you’d shared it very much in the last few months. Grabbing the leather goods you had painstakingly crafted over the course of just barely an hour a day during the last few weeks of rebuilding, you also grabbed a tea set and placed it in a sturdy box before closing it all up tight and headed out to Hotaru’s workspace.

The village was coming along nicely, and everyone was gradually healing, some were even back to their full health. You were still sore, deep wounds healing nicely as you did what you could to support your fellow villagers. Rolling your shoulders, you tried to stretch out your stiff muscles. You hadn’t had much variety in work, and the repetitive actions were making you sore in other ways rather than your healing body.

However, conditioning could wait until after you looked after your husband. You knew he wasn’t caring for himself like he should. Did he even disinfect his wounds when you weren’t there? Heaven knows his eye needed special treatment that he most certainly wasn’t keeping up with. Your box had all sorts of healing items you planned to wrathfully unleash upon your dear love.

Approaching his shack, you hummed, heart fluttering at getting to see Hotaru. Even with as much of a handful as he was, he still unleashed a bundle of butterflies in your tummy every time. Smiling behind your mask, you made your way through the foliage, tilting your head as Kanamori opened and closed the door behind him, leaving the building with a shake of his head.

You lifted your hand in greeting, calling out to him. “Kanamori! Hey! What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in the village much.” His head swiveled in your direction as you called out to him, trotting over to you and waving as well.

“Ah, I’ve been helping Haganezuka. Well, sort of. I’ve been trying to at least. I know you’ve been checking in on him as well, but I always see you so busy in the village that I thought I would help as well.” He shook his head, sighing with his hands on his hips, “That man is too old to act this way. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll get amnesia and forget all about swords. Then you could both retire and live happily.”

The two of you laughed, shaking your heads. “I don’t think there’s a force in this world that could ever make Hotaru forget even a scrap of his sword making knowledge. The second he woke up, he’d see the glint of steel and it would all come rushing back.” Kanamori sighed at your reasoning, agreeing immediately.

“You’re right. Oh well, who’s to say we can’t wishfully think?” Laughing once more, he pointed to your box as you calmed down, “What do you have there?”

Grinning behind your mask, you swayed side to side, “It’s a secret~” Leaning forward, the two of you snickered darkly, “I’m going to force him to obey me. That man is taking a break and letting me completely redress and sanitize his wounds. And then he’s going to kiss me and thank me for being so kind and loving to him.”

Kanamori covered his mask’s mouth, giggling. “I wish you the best of luck. I won’t come by for a bit to give you two privacy. Please, don’t hold back, he deserves no mercy.”

You nodded, clenching your fist, “I’m going to be completely ruthless. He’ll wish he had never married a harpy like me.” The two of you laughed happily, saying goodbye and parting ways.

Approaching the door Kanamori had just let himself out of, you slid it open and peered inside. As usual, it was dark and quiet, save for the sound of a whetstone. You smiled softly, letting yourself inside and closing the door behind you. Walking over to the desk, you lit the few oil lamps and sighed at the light. Finally, you looked down at your husband, working dutifully and unaware of the world around him.

It was charming, honestly. No matter how much he annoyed you and made you feel crazy, you admired his work ethic and determination. You dedicated yourself to your craft as well, but you knew you could never be at Hotaru’s level. Not that you wanted to, per se. Your marriage only had room for one clueless workaholic.

Making yourself comfortable, you pulled out the blanket and tea set from the box you carried. Laying it down flat, you smoothed out the wrinkles before lighting the small fire next to where Hotaru was working. Fishing out the small steel platform you had stowed here ages ago, you filled the pot with water, set it atop the stand, and let it boil.

You couldn’t help but sneak a glance at your husband, his mask obscuring his face as he silently worked. Sighing and shaking your head, you went back and prepared the tea leaves. Gathering a small glass jar, you tugged out some herbs and crushed them, adding them to Hotaru’s tea bundle in his cup.

You were sure this would be able to take down your burly monster of a man. They were powerful sedatives you had been using with other villagers to help prepare the wounded for surgeries that were needed urgently. Humming quietly, you contently prepared everything, going over and fluffing up the bedding that you’d soon have Hotaru in.

Finally, as the teapot began to whistle, you sat next to your husband and bumped him with your body. When he didn’t react, you reached up and tugged off his mask and bandana. “Hotaru~ I’m here with some treats for you.”

Once his handsome face was exposed, you leaned over and scattered kisses across every expanse of skin you could reach, petting his thick mane of hair. With one final kiss to his shoulder, you grabbed the teapot and prepared the tea, carefully noting which one was drugged. Finally, you brought out your secret weapon: dango you had spent the morning making.

It didn’t take long before Hotaru began sniffing the air. The homely aroma of the tea and sweet scent of the dango catching his attention. Whipping around, his good eye settled on you before immediately zeroing in on the treat in your hand. “Hotaru~ won’t you come eat with me, my love?”

With a grunt, he placed the blade down carefully, making his way over to the soft blanket and sitting down gruffly. Taking the dango from your hand he looked at it intently before his shoulders relaxed and a light blush covered his cheeks. Biting into it, he sighed, smiling slightly as the taste flourished on his tongue.

Humming, he looked down at the tea cup. Swallowing his mouthful of dango, he brought the tea to his mouth, blowing slightly before drinking it. You watched him with a fond, lovestruck gaze. “I’m so glad to see you, I miss getting to look at you, you know. I’m not sure if you remember, but I’m your wife.”

You laughed softly at his pout, interrupting as he opened his mouth, “I love you, you silly man. You know I admire your craftsmanship, but I wish you’d take even a second for yourself.” You frowned slightly, tilting your head, “The bandage over your eye is filthy. Let’s go to the hot spring and soak for a bit, okay? I’ll let you have your way with me~”

Winking, you pressed a palm to your cheek, trying to lure him in. However, he merely finished off his dango and grabbed another stick from the dish between you. You may or may not have also drugged the treats on the plate. “No. I have work to do.” You growled at the complete dismissal. “Kamado will soon begin his conditioning training at the butterfly estate. I need to make sure his sword is ready before then.”

You pouted, crossing your arms and huffing. “You can’t finish the sword if your eyes fall out, Hotaru.”

“My eyes won’t fall out, only one is damaged. Besides, that wouldn’t stop me.”

“The infection will spread inside of you and you’ll keel over.”

“I’m much too strong for something so small to kill me.”

You groaned at his petulant answers. “I’m gonna tell Chief Tecchin you’re out here working on that blade while your body enters necrosis.” He huffed, turning his head away and finishing off his tea. “And…” You clenched your fists, “I’ll tell him you made me cry with your horrible words and actions.”

At such a claim, Hotaru balked, whipping his head to you, “I’ve done no such thing!”

You stuck your tongue out, internally bewildered how he was still standing, even as he finished his second dango. “All’s fair in love and war, dear. I’m not above lying and scheming to get my way.”

The swordsmith huffed, standing quickly and turning back to his work station, “You can stay and do what you want, but I’m-” He stumbled slightly, and you grinned maliciously, rubbing your hands together. “I-I’m getting… back to… work… on this…” His words trailed off, and you immediately dashed to be in front of him, catching his massive body with yours and a sharp cry as you strained to hold him.

However, to your shock, he was still just conscious enough to speak to you, “Woman… what did you do to me?”

You groaned loudly, helping him onto his knees and nudging him backwards, “I’m making you rest, Hotaru. I need to clean your bandages. You’ll be up and going soon enough, just- give in already!”

Straining against his muscled body, you tried to shove him onto the bedding. However, even being massively drugged, he still fought back - although thankfully not anywhere near full strength. “No! I- don’t- need- rest!” With great effort he lifted you above him on his shoulder, wavering as you kicked your legs and slapped his back.

“Yes, you do! You big dumb meanie! Just lie down!” You anchored your feet on his waist before throwing all your weight to the side, rejoicing as he fell over with you. “Good boy! Now, get on the bed!”

His eye was fluttering as he tried to fight you off, movement becoming lethargic. Finally, he gave in and let you push him onto the bedding. He glared up at you from where he lay, “Just remember… I can take… what you dish out. But you,” He closed his eye, breathing evening out as his body relaxed, “Can’t ever handle… what I give back.”

Soon, his soft breathing was all you could hear, and you sighed in relief. That was always going to be the most difficult part of the endeavor. You ignored his last words, confident in the plan you had concocted over countless sleepless nights.

Grabbing one of the scrap steel rods around the shack, you dug a small hole and sat it there before grabbing a mallet and hammering it in. About halfway, you sat for a moment of rest. Taking a sip of your long cold tea, you gave yourself a few more moments before continuing your task. Once the rod was in the ground and you couldn’t move it even with all your strength, you went back to your bag of supplies.

Cheering as you grabbed thick leather straps, you held them up in the light. They were your pride and joy, having tanned the skin and crafted them specifically as restraints for your insanely strong husband. Looping them around the stake in an intricate knot, you secured them around his wrists, padding them with flexible medical tape beneath them beforehand.

Tapping his chest happily, you stripped his kimono off and finally started to unwind the bandages scattered around him. Gently dabbing them with disinfectant, you lovingly stroked salve on them and started to rebind them. Scooting around him, you sat his head on your soft warm thighs, pulling up your kimono so he had skin to skin contact. You blissfully ignored his thick arms as you pushed them aside, tied to the stake you had drilled into the ground.

You took great care with his damaged eye the most. You took your time in cleaning his face of dirt and oils before disinfecting the area. Humming softly, you leaned down and scattered kisses all across him before tugging his hair up and binding his eye once more.

Smoothing your hands across the soft white bandages, you whispered sweet nothings to him softly. “You’re such a silly man.” Petting his hair, you gently eased the tangles and knots out. “I wish you’d let me take better care of you, you always take care of me when I’m hurt.” Sighing, you leaned further forward, pressing the bandages on his torso, checking for any fresh blood. “I love you more than you know, you’re my whole world, Hotaru.”

Settling back down on your legs, you braided his hair before moving away. Packaging away the medical supplies, you placed the box on a workbench. You could probably keep them here since he wouldn’t leave the shack for at least another week or two. Finishing up everything you wanted to do, you looked back at your wonderful husband.

Trailing your eyes up his handsomely fit body, you shrieked as you met his open eye, staring you down. You couldn’t tell how he was feeling, his face stoic and gaze unwavering. “Ah! H-Hotaru, you’re already awake! That didn’t take long…”

Your voice was nervous, you were expecting him to start shouting, to wake up animated and upset as he usually did when you pulled stunts like these. You laughed to ease the silence in the shack as he continued to stare unblinkingly at you. Taking a hesitant step forward, you waved your hand timidly, “Ah, Hotaru? Can you hear me? Maybe you’re still asleep-”

Face twisting into one of effort, you screamed as he flexed his bulky arms, muscles straining as his cheeks turned pink with effort. “Stop that! You’re gonna reopen your-” However, with a loud roar, he pulled the steel stake clear out of the ground, leather bindings keeping him tied to it.

Speechless, you stood still as the rod clattered against the ground, Hotaru’s arms relaxing, letting out a long sigh. Pouting, you shouted in frustration, running out of the shack. Your husband’s eye widened, “Hey! You can’t run from this!”

Using his teeth and hand, he managed to untie one wrist and then the other, the rod landing on the ground heavily. Growling, he marched out of the shack, sword forgotten and the only thing on his one track mind being you.

“Where did you go?! I know you aren’t far, my wife wouldn’t abandon her target so easily.” Listening closely, he tried to make out any man made sounds, ignoring the rustling of the leaves and branches swaying in the wind. Finally, he saw a bush move as if it were trembling. “I see you. Come out.”

You held your breath, fists clenched in your lap as you sat there petulantly. You couldn’t see him through the thick foliage, but you could sense him near you. And of course, him being your hot headed lover, he wouldn’t leave without his prize in his possession.

“Don’t make me come get you, I’ll be much less gentle if I have to.” His voice wasn’t nearly as mad as you thought he would be, considering you drugged and restrained him.

Huffing to yourself, you peered over the top of the bush, glaring at him, your eyes shining in the setting sunlight. “No.”

Hotaru growled, face flushing, “And why not? I’m the only one here who’s allowed to be upset in this situation, what are you pouting about?” You balked at his accusation, pouting further.

“I am not pouting! And I can be mad, too! First of all, do you know how hard it was to get that stupid pole in the ground? And- and- you just rip it up! No problem! Ignoring how I wrapped you all back up again!”

Stomping towards you, the swordsmith stopped just before the bush, “Is that it? That I’m stronger than you? We both know-”

“That’s not it!” Your cheeks grew warm, frustrated tears gathering on your lashes, “Hotaru! You’re so- so-!” You stood finally, angrily stepping over the shrubbery and poking him in his chest, no force behind your hand. “I’m worried about you! You shouldn’t be straining yourself so hard!”

He leaned down over you, intense amber eye watching you, “If you hadn’t tied me to it-”

“I shouldn’t have to tie you up! Let me help you! You’re still wounded!” You threw your hands in the air, shouting in frustration, “Or don’t! Die for all I care! You’ll get some weird infection that’ll necrosify your muscles and you’ll wither away!”

Turning on your heel, you huffed as you walked away. However, to your irritation, your husband grabbed your wrist, obviously not content to leave the conversation like it was. “That’s not true and you know it.”

You refused to look at him, trying to tug your arm away, although there was no real effort behind it, either. “See, you’re not even trying. You barely touched me when you pointed at me earlier, as well.” You let yourself be dragged back towards him, melancholy slowly blooming in your chest as his massive arms wrapped around you from behind. “I was awake before you noticed me. I heard what you said.”

Feeling him take a few deep breaths, he groaned behind you, words tight, “I’m sorry I haven’t let you take care of my wounds. And I’m sorry I haven’t come home to you.”

You went limp in his arms, letting him hold you closer as your hands came up and rested on his forearms that held you. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tied you down like that.”

Hotaru quirked his brow, “Aren’t you going to apologize for drugging me?”

You huffed, turning your head, “No. I’m not sorry for that. That was necessary and I’d do it again the second you turned your back.”

Surprisingly, Hotaru began laughing softly behind you, his chest shaking you as he did so. You blinked, confused, before you began laughing with him. Wiggling your shoulders in a way to tell him you wanted him to turn you, you finally met his warm golden gaze. “I love you, ‘Taru. More than anything ever.”

Quieting down, he stared at you lovingly. Leaning down he kissed you softly, letting your hands stroke the loose braid of his hair. Pulling away, he lifted you into his arms, kissing you as you began to protest, “Carrying my wife won’t hurt me.”

You sighed, resting your head on his chest as you stared adoringly up at him. “We’re two crazy people, huh?” That had your husband huffing in short laughter, shaking his head.

“We’re lucky to have found each other.” You smiled softly, kissing every expanse of skin as you could reach. Hotaru leaned down as he entered his workspace once more, setting you down on the bed as he went back and closed the door. You started to get up until he shot you a glare. Stilling, you looked up at him in question. “I think you should make it up to me. Seeing how you interrupted my work, drugged me, harassed me…”

Laughing incredulously, you gave him a look. “Make it up to you? And how exactly should I do that, Mr. Haganezuka?”

The massive man in front of you merely smirked, licking his lips. Letting his hand caress your cheek, he soon found his way and tangled up in your hair. Giving it a tug, he made you look up at him from your knees. “Surely you can think of something, Mrs. Haganezuka.”

You whimpered softly, shining eyes looking up at him. “As long as you don’t overexert yourself.” He smiled softly, assuring you he wouldn’t before you scooted forward on your knees. “Good. Well then, let me make it up to you, my love.” His cheeks flushed slightly as you tugged at his baggy work pants, long since stained and patched over a dozen times.

Kissing his belly, you pulled down the fabric bit by bit, until finally his semi hard cock was freed and they pooled around his ankles. Slipping them off, along with his shoes, you then gently removed his socks as well, kissing his knees once you finished. Hotaru covered his face with one hand, the loving and intimate gesture flustering him.

You hummed, kissing his thighs as you peered up at him, “So cute~ My husband is the most wonderful man in the country. I’m the luckiest person to have had the honor of marrying him.” With a smile still on your lips, you brought one hand to hold his shaft gently, listening as he hissed.

Licking his underside up to his tip, you kissed him there cutely, making a loud smooching sound. You loved being able to do this, to help him feel good. You knew he didn’t bother getting himself off when he wasn’t with you, always too focused on his work. Occasionally he would take you during his work, but almost always it was when you were at home together.

Slipping the tip of his cock into your mouth, you swirled your tongue around him, petting the underside where you knew he was sensitive. He sighed above you, hand tangling in your hair as he rocked his hips forward a bit. Along with his muscle and weight gain over the months, his cock had swelled as well, filling out your mouth and throat deliciously.

You moaned as you took him deeper, eyes closing as you tasted him. Soon, he was panting above you, your hot wet mouth slipping him in and out. It wasn’t as good as your cunt, but he adored seeing you on your knees for him, especially knowing what a prideful person you were, how you could be compared to him in hotheadedness - yet here you were. Happily sucking him off on your knees, and soon you’d be spreading your legs and begging him to be inside you.

Moaning loudly, he held the back of your head and sunk deeper into your mouth, tip reaching the back of your throat. You smiled, eyes opening and peering up at him. One hand squeezed and rubbed the base of his shaft as the other held his package in your hand. He was heavy and full, further proof he hadn’t touched himself in some time.

Wiggling in your spot, you pulled back, popping him from your mouth as you licked along his shaft. He leaned forward, bracing one palm against the wall of the shack as the other held your hair. He watched as you licked all around his cock, hand tracing his veins as you made your way to the base of him. Nuzzling his dark bush, you met his eyes once more, dipping lower to kiss and lick his package.

Hotaru moaned, letting his head fall back and his eye close, basking in the feeling of you lavishing him with your mouth. You hummed, laughing softly before licking and sucking on his tight bundle. Kissing him all over, you slipped to the other side before repeating yourself.

Your hands didn’t stop, massaging where your mouth wasn’t and gently jerking him off. You whispered his name softly, listening as he moaned in response. Lips curling into a broad grin, you left his package and went back to swallowing his cock. He moaned louder, hand twisting in his hair as you slipped him nearly all the way into your throat.

He gave you time to adjust to him, knowing it had been some time since you’d last had him in your mouth. Panting as you worked him deeper, he moaned as you whined around him, gagging softly. Your wide eyes watched him as you continued to suck him off, head bobbing as you relaxed your throat and took him all. Hotaru moaned loudly as he bottomed out in your mouth. Soft package against your jaw.

He watched you as he tugged your hair, pulling free from your mouth before holding you still and pressing back inside. You moaned loudly, eyes rolling slightly before he repeated himself. Seeing as you moaned and grabbed his thighs, not fighting back against him, he took control, hands holding the back of your head as he began to fuck your face.

Panting, he quickly became a moaning mess, cock slipping down your throat with each thrust. You gagged and drooled around him, muffled sounds echoing around his shaft as he fucked you fast. Your nails bit into his skin as you cried out around him, hips wiggling as you sat on your legs on the bedding.

Hotaru grit his teeth, hissing as he felt his climax coming. Gasping for air, he cried out as he bent forward a bit, hands pressing against the base of your head, tilting you up slightly. You moaned loudly, the wet sounds of him fucking your mouth mixing in with your own pleasured noises. “Fuck!” His voice was rough, pulling your hair as he tossed his head back.

You whimpered, nails scratching him as he pounded your throat. With another loud shout, he finished inside, filling your mouth and throat with hot cum. You moaned longingly, tears slipping past your lashes and gasping for air through your nose.

Hotaru panted above you, his hips moving much slower as your tongue pushed against his shaft and licked up all the cum around him. Hissing as you slowly began to overstimulate him, he held your hair and pulled himself from your mouth, gasping as he was freed and letting his head fall back once more.

You coughed softly, rasping breaths leaving your shining lips before you wiped your mouth. Looking up at him, you hummed softly until he met your gaze. “Is that all my sweet husband wants?” You licked your lips, giggling as he glared at you.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” You squealed as he kneeled down, twisting your hair in his fist before he leaned down and bit your neck. You cried out as he moved his mouth over you, biting, kissing, and sucking your skin. “If you think that’s enough to make it up to me, you’re more deluded than I thought.”

You gasped, slapping his back before moaning as he slipped his hand between your legs. “H-Hotaru~”

Letting him readjust you, you sighed as you soon found yourself on your back. Easily, your husband stripped you down, repeating your earlier actions with just as much love and kindness. You writhed subtly, excited to see how he would take you. “Remember to be careful of your wounds, okay?”

He huffed as he slid between your soft thighs, immediately grabbing your legs and spreading them wide apart. You squealed, covering your face as he exposed you. Smirking at your sudden bashfulness, he brought you closer to him. Hotaru couldn’t help but sigh at the intense heat radiating off your wonderfully soaked cunt.

Whining, you wiggled your hips, peeking at him through your fingers. When he didn’t move, you pouted, folding your arms under your chest and making your breasts bounce. “‘Taru!” He raised a brow, looking down at you as his cock rested against your slit.

You whined louder, trying to wrap your legs around his waist but his hands wouldn’t budge from their tight grip on your ankles. “Beg for it.”

His low gravelly tone had you moaning. “Please, Hotaru, please! I want you inside me, want you to fill me up and make love to me! Please, please, ‘Taru!”

He blushed suddenly, your sweet desperate voice echoing in his head. Sighing before smiling softly, he moved his hands to hold your thighs and slip them around his waist. Guiding his cock to your soaked cunt, he whispered gently to you, “I’ll make love to you as much as you want, my perfect wife.”

You sighed as he slipped inside you, arching your back and hands grabbing the soft bedding on either side of your head. “Hotaru~ You feel so amazing! I’ve missed you so much, you belong inside me.” Your flushed cheeks were hot as he rocked his hips gently into yours. Bracing his hands on either side of your head, holding your gaze as his hair tumbled down on either side of you, he began a gentle pace.

His cock barely left you before sinking inside you once again, listening as you sighed and moaned. Watching your chest instead, he picked up speed, watching as you bounced and cried out for him. He panted above you, stamina still not quite rebuilt but loving how it felt to press his hips against yours.

As he continued to fuck you, his mind wandered to all the nights he had spent along here in his workshop while you were all alone in your shared bed at home. Growling to himself, his eye flicked up to your expression. He moaned as you were smiling, biting your lip and crying out as he quickly fucked you. “Hotaru! Y-You feel so good, please don’t stop! Don’t ever stop- ahh!”

He groaned lowly, hand gripping one of your thighs and moving so it was pressed to his chest. Choking out a moan, he felt himself slip deeper inside you. You must not have been touching yourself on your own considering how tight your cunt was wrapped around him. Sweat gathered on his brow as he bucked his hips against you. “Fuck!”

Your heat was overwhelming, possessing every thought in his head as he forced himself deeper and deeper inside. with a harsh grunt, he grabbed your other thigh, pressing both to his chest as he leaned down close over you, folding you closer to yourself as he pressed deep inside you. “‘Taru! Fuck- ahh~ please!”

Dragging your nails down his back, he moaned lasciviously. He loved when you left marks on him, it made him want to expose his upper half more often, to show off the love marks his beautiful wife left on him for other smiths to see when they visited him as he was working. He loved how they became flustered or jealous, and it fueled his obsession with you. He loved knowing you marked him up and everyone else knowing that as well.

He cried out as you squeezed around him, “Fuck! I-I’m close-” His voice was strained, and he watched as you looked up at him adoringly, cheeks and body hot as you panted under him. You bounced with each powerful thrust, small moans leaving you every time. Squeezing his eye shut, his fingers twisted in the sheets, “C-Can’t-” He gasped for air, trying to hold back so you could finish before him.

Feeling your hands tangled up in his hair, he moaned as you pulled it, amber gaze meeting your own lustful eyes. “Want you to- ahh! Want your cum, fuck! Finish in-inside me, please ‘Taru! Fill me up, want it all, ahh~” Your wanton moans stoked the fire deep inside his belly, shoulders straining as he felt his climax approach.

With a loud moan, he burst inside you, hot cum filling you up. He continued his pace, thick cock stretching you out. He loved how he could feel how much hotter it made your messy cunt, your hips folded upwards so not a bit could escape. Slowing down to just rocking his hips against you, he moaned as you whimpered beneath him.

Your face was pinched, gasping and whimpering. “T-Touch me, please, ahh!” He quickly let one hand slip down between you, harsh rough callused fingers rubbing your warm silky clit.

Back arching, you pressed your hips tighter against his as he shuddered. Rubbing you harsh and fast, he whimpered and moaned as you clenched down around him, “Gonna cum! ‘Taru, fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t st- ahhh~” Your voice surrounded him, his hand faltering for only a moment before continued to rub you.

Changing between tight circles and pinching your clit, you bucked against him, whipping your head into the sheets, crying out his name loudly. He was sure if there was anyone remotely nearby, they’d be able to hear you. “Hotaru! Hotaru! Fuck!” Ripping the sheets in your hands, you finished on his semi hard cock.

Your husband cried out, shoving his fingers against your clit roughly, feeling himself be milked of the last bit of cum he still had. Bucking his hips, he whimpered as you squeezed him in a vice, hot wet cunt tighter around him than you had ever been. He gasped as he felt himself being easily overstimulated, especially considering you had sucked his soul from his cock earlier.

You panted as you came back down from your high, unfocused and bleary eyes staring up at the ceiling of the building as Hotaru slowly unwound your legs from his body. He swallowed thickly, throat dry as he finally laid you flat. Shuffling to the water jug he had in the shack, he poured some into the empty teapot, praying you had only drugged his cup and not the pot itself.

Crawling back towards you, he laid heavily at your side, propping you up slightly to pour water into your mouth. He watched as you drank slowly, pulling it away as you waved a hand to show you were done. Drinking some as well, he set it down carefully before dropping down next to you.

He dragged your body close to his, tangling the two of you up. His thoughts were blissfully empty as he hugged you tight. The only thing that mattered in that moment was that you were in his arms and happy. Kissing your crown, his gruff voice echoed in your empty head, “I love you. More than you’ll ever know.”

Watching as you passed out, he let his eyes close as well, the warm night air surrounding your heated bodies. Feeling the previous weeks of nonstop work and fatigue catch up to him, he let himself fall asleep as well. Perhaps when you both woke back up, and praying he wasn’t tied up once more, the both of you could soak in the hot springs.

#hotaru x reader #hotaru haganezuka x reader #haganezuka x reader #hotaru haganezuka #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #technically a sequel to swordsmith with a cute name #but can read alone too

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hanasnx · 7 months

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(if this makes u uncomfy in any way plz ignore)

idk if mj exists in SW ‘verse, but like—sex with ani while ur both high as kite?? BIG YES (from me at least).

esp cause!! it would probably heighten ani’s force sensitivity?? like he’s feeling high and tingling and extra touch sensitive and all of a sudden you’re touching him and he’s getting a rush of emotions, floating, hungry, hot, i love you i want you.

and you. you look like heaven, like every sin he’s ever indulged in, all flushed and glowy and smiley, touching him with a fluttery touch.

ani needs you when he’s high cause there’s something almost spiritual, almost heaven scent and hell touched, about the rush of you he gets in every way.

as a former pothead i think i've gotta set some records straight. long post about marijuana + fucking + anakin under the cut <3

warnings: marijuana, negative + positive for anakin experience with marjuana

when i was smoking enough for a circle and then playing whatever videogame was in my ps for 20 hours a day, i can say that it did nothing but make me hungry, my attention span elongated, and my anxiety non-existent. i wasn't interested in fucking, i was mostly into wasting away while naked. it didn't do much (that i can remember) for my sense of touch.

i do know that when i did fuck while high, it wasn't a remarkable experience because i don't remember any of it. nor did it make me horny or add to the sensation. those kinds of effects were from an entirely different drug that i did that i dont feel like putting the trigger warnings for so i wont talk about it

pot is definitely good for mellowing out, chilling, and fucking really casual. and i mean really casual. that's my experience with it anyway i have no idea if its diff for other ppl, im sure ppl who arent demisexual and have higher sex drives than me can say different who knows.

for anakin, i can see him smoking and fucking. definitely. in very specific circumstances. let me lay those out for you:

he smokes very occasionally for spirituality reasons. he does it respectfully, with great care. a big stickler about it. he wants to emphasize to himself it's not for recreational or social reasons. the jedi discourage drugs that cloud your judgment. marijuana is frowned upon to rely on for things like calming yourself or meditating because you should be able to do that alone. however, it's not frowned upon to partake in it every once in a while. it's all about new experiences and as long as you treat it with respect, it's alright. anakin treats it with the utmost respect.

he does not care to be under the influence of something. being high or drunk is a very rare form for him indeed. he gets very uncomfortable when on something, and especially uncomfortable being reliant on something, so when he is smoking he does it alone most of the time. he does not like being disillusioned, and he certainly does not like the idea of someone's no-nonsense idea of him being shattered.

he's led a ceremony with younger people of the order. taught them how to partake, how to roll, how to use it mindfully. and if someone is having a negative first experience, they had too much or it does not agree with them and it gets into their heads, he knows how to calm them.

when he smokes with you, it might be a rare moment of rebellion. a "i'm an adult, i can smoke a little weed." moment. and even with that notion, his darkness may catch up to him. the guilt of using it under different circumstances than usual may put him in a bad place, memories he pushes back into the reaches of his mind creep up. his past with tatooine, the tusken massacre, etc. he gets paranoid, those doubts you couldn't love a monster like him get the better of him. it gets in his way. and you're there to lead him back to the present. like op said, "you look like heaven" he'd hone in on you. tunnel vision.

anakin's way of calming himself is often self pleasure. and so since youre here, and willing and able, he might use you to guide him back to the present in a more physical way. he can't think if he's inside you, all he can do is chase his orgasm. he's tingly, he's got those nerves in the pit of his stomach, he's trying to ground himself using you and at the same time fuck you out of this world. however, with marijuana you're both slowed, and clumsy. the love-making wouldn't be coherent, or poised, but it'd be enjoyable. less concerned about what you must look like, and more cuddly. more shallow thrusts, and humping ruts, and sloppy kisses and no dialogue.

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diablo-that-first-spark · 10 months

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High Heavens Honing #5 - Decoration

Project main tag

For the final set up, we have... kinda everything. Trees, statues, vases, floor patterns, a random public altar (?) and a big-ass crystal that stands specifically in front of the Library of Fate. I wonder if all the centers of the Virtues get some kind of main decoration in front of them...

Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed these practice sketches of the High Heavens ^^ Now it is time to tackle the pages proper. Since those work up rather slowly, unfortunately, I'm gonna have to post other stuff in the meantime, with the occasional WIP progress updates. We will see how things go! But I thank you for your patience, and I do hope to see you at the finished comic!

2023.07.04.

#diablo #then there were five #high heavens honing #decoration #angiris council #high heavens #silver city #the drawing table

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mousy-nona · 2 months

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All of God's Angels p. 2

I think you will like His newest creation, Gabriel mused. I’ve foreseen a challenge for you. An equal. A partner, tall and beautiful and terrible, and crowned in red. // Or Lucifer tries his damned best to ignore Gabriel's prophecy, then finds Alastor after Extermination Day.

All parts up on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53800450/chapters/136173307

Lucifer was Not Impressed by his supposed perfect match.

As he watched Alastor toss a few grunts into his mouth with a glee that Lucifer could only describe as satanic, he broke his resolution to never pray again for the second time in a row and sent a quick message up to Heaven.

Dear Father, he beseeched – nay, begged – Dear Father, for the love of all that is unholy, please let it be someone else.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was another false alarm, like Lilith had been. Hell was full of red-faced bastards, and as much as he hated to admit it (and as Alastor had so smugly reminded him), most of them were taller than he was. Not Alastor tall, of course, but Gabriel had never specified ye verily, thy fated companion shall be approximately seven feet high, if thou art judging by the imperial system.

(Curse that stuffy excuse for a messenger pigeon! If he hadn’t been so annoyingly vague, Lucifer wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place!)

But there was something about the demon that made him think this time – this time would be the one that stuck.

Maybe it was the way the demon seemed to have an uncanny sixth sense for knowing exactly how to get under his skin. He’d picked on his height, which was a low (ha!) blow, but then he’d honed in on his one true weakness with a swift, savage efficiency even Lucifer had to admire. Within less than a minute, he’d focused all his witty one liners on his relationship with Charlie – or lack thereof.

Maybe it was the thrill that crept up his back as they fired insults at each other – “that’s why they call it the ‘Has-Been Hotel’!” “It was actually my idea!” – and Alastor didn’t once miss a beat. He returned each one of Lucifer’s barbs with a grace and silky condescension that made his own retorts look clumsy by comparison. He was excited in a way he hadn’t in years, filled with an electricity that could have been hate or delight or anything in between.

Most importantly, he felt alive . Awake and alert. And when he placed his hand on the apple topping his staff, he felt it vibrate the way it had that first morning, and his mouth filled with the crisp, clean sparkle of potential.

It almost tasted like static.

It was all too much for one day and Lucifer – the Prince of Darkness, the Morning Star, the Light Bringer – retreated. In front of a former human.

Time flowed differently for a being that had existed since before the creation of the world. A blink of an eye could last a decade, or it could last a heartbeat of a second. He’d forced himself to get better at keeping track after Charlie’s birth, knowing time didn’t misbehave for her like it did for him. Being a father meant not wanting to miss a single moment – a lesson he’d learned the hard way.

It was a mark of how badly Alastor had shaken him that he forgot all of his self-imposed rituals. He didn’t set the alarm at night. He didn’t mark off the days on the calendar. He didn’t even bother to darken and brighten the room to match the cycles of Hell. In the half-submerged gloom of his circus tent, surrounded on all sides by mountains of fire-breathing duckies, he could freak out in peace and quiet as the hours slid by like endless grains of sand.

That was why he didn’t realize what day it was until it was almost too late.

If it wasn’t for the half-dead angel that crashed through the main hall, he might have missed the whole thing altogether. For the first time in days, his mind was strong and clear as he stared at the cherubim twitching on his floor.

Extermination Day.

Charlie.

It was as if he’d mainlined a lightning bolt straight into his veins. He didn’t bother with a portal. He didn’t even bother to think. His six great wings unfurled and carried him towards the hotel faster than sound itself. And perhaps he hadn’t fallen out of favor after all, because he got there just in time to whisk Charlie out of harm’s way. Adam’s beady little eyes widened when he saw who it was.

Lucifer was so giddy with relief that he couldn’t resist a few jabs as he flew circles around the First Man. Adam fought to keep up, stuttering and spitting out profanities as he struggled to come up with a single clever comeback.

“You’ve really let yourself go since Eden,” Lucifer couldn’t help but remark, rather sadly. What a shame – even after a millennia, Adam still possessed the conversational skills of a rock. What the Hell were they teaching the humans up there? Less than a few minutes had passed, and he was already growing bored of this exchange. He found his attention drifting to a far more enjoyable battle of wits from a few days ago…

Speaking of which, where was Alastor?

He was distracted by Charlie, always Charlie, who transformed into a form he’d never seen before to stop Adam’s charge with one hand. An almighty rage that had lain dormant in him since the Fall reared its ugly head, and for a moment, all other thoughts were wiped from his mind.

He dares? This pathetic, empty excuse for a human being dares threaten my Charlie?

It was only later, after the battle, when there was time to talk and mourn for the fallen, that he heard Alastor hadn’t been seen since his battle with Adam.

Alastor…fallen to Adam? It made logical sense, of course – as powerful as Alastor was, he was only an Overlord, and a young one to boot. Adam had had the entirety of human history to strengthen his power, and the angels had afforded him special abilities due to his status as the first human to enter Heaven. But still his mind struggled to comprehend it. It was like trying to understand how a Neanderthal had beaten an elegant war machine.

A Neanderthal with a huge angelic blaster gun, he groused as he magicked a wall of timber into being. It was a good thing he hadn’t seen Alastor fall — he didn’t think he would have been able to stop himself from gutting Adam with his two bare hands if he had.

But at the same time, his limbs were suffused with a strange sense of relief. If Alastor had been taken out so easily, there was no way he was his fated companion. This was a good thing. A blessed turn of events. His equal match was still out there somewhere, and with any luck they would be free of unsightly defects like pointy teeth and cannibalistic tastes and a predilection for sadism. He was free!

(So why was his chest aching so much?)

Then Alastor deigned to show his face, his smile as sharp as ever, his suit impeccably pressed, and Lucifer felt his heart beat again. Charlie and the rest of the hotel (except for Husk – strange, that) pressed in to touch him, to hug him, to bask in his strange enigmatic presence. To the untrained eye, he looked as good as new, as if he’d risen from a restful nap instead of a grueling battle.

But Lucifer had spent the past few days agonizing over this demon. Going over every last detail in his mind until his features were firmly etched into his memory. And he knew, he knew something was wrong. There wasn’t any outward sign that gave it away – Alastor was even better at hiding pain than handing it out – but there was something in the careful way he slipped out of Charlie’s overenthusiastic embrace, the millisecond twitch of his shadow, the grin that was a shade too large that set Lucifer’s teeth on edge.

He’d ignored signs before. He’d tinkered on ducks and stupid useless things as Lilith had disappeared into the ether. He’d missed half of Charlie’s teenage years on projects that he couldn’t even remember. He wasn’t going to repeat the same mistakes again.

He ushered Charlie and Vaggie up to bed, insisting they take the master, brushing away their worried suggestions – “but we should help you get unpacked!” and “are you sure you’ll be able to find your room okay?”

He slipped Cherri a twenty to make herself scarce, and he made pointed suggestions to Husk and Angel Dust about where they could find some of the truly good booze back at his palace. His heart warmed a little as he watched Angel Dust slip a not-so-sneaky arm around Husk’s shoulders and bring him in close. Husk’s hard facade cracked a bit, his lips quirking up a bit as he pretended not to notice it.

He couldn’t find Niffty or figure out where the odd creature slept at nights (did she even have a room?), but he figured she knew Alastor well enough by this point to leave him alone.

Preparations complete, Lucifer ascended the staircase. At the top floor, instead of going left, towards his rooms, he took a deep breath and turned right. The hall got progressively darker as he closed in on the menacing radio tower. The shadows were deep here. They breathed and pulsed, as if he’d stepped into the maw of some giant beast. The air was humid, heavy with old mud and the ghostly aroma of a thousand dead bodies.

It felt like Alastor was all around him, pressing against his bare skin, invading his lungs. A thrill went down his back as he raised his hand and knocked, just once. It sounded muffled in the damp and the dark.

“Yes?” The radio static was so heavy he could hardly hear Alastor under it. He got as close to the door as possible.

“It’s me.” He didn’t say who it was. Alastor knew.

There was a pause. “And what does the King of Hell want with a lowly facility manager at this late hour?”

Again, the tone of his voice crackled and popped, as if it was going in and out of signal. It sounded…weaker this time. Suddenly gripped with concern, Lucifer wrapped his hand around the knob and –

“DON’T.”

The high frequency static ripped through the air like a sonic blast. He winced as a ringing in his ears momentarily knocked him off balance. Something wet dripped onto his shoulder. He swept his finger across it, surprised when it came up red. Alastor had burst his eardrums.

That nasty, annoying, hard headed–!

“Okay, no more Mr. Nice Demon,” he muttered under his breath. Louder, so Alastor could hear him, he announced, “I’m coming in!”

He threw the door open. Or tried to, at least. Neon green threads made it impossible to open it more than a crack. He could slice them open, of course, but he didn’t really want to strain Alastor any further.

“Are you serious?” He exclaimed, just a few seconds away from stomping his foot like a little kid. He wouldn’t let Alastor get the satisfaction of pushing him to such depths. “Something’s going on with you, don’t try to deny it. I can help. So let me in.”

“Why?” The static had abated a bit, enough so that Lucifer could hear Alastor’s true voice. It sounded tired, as if their little exchange had exhausted him.

Because I might have been waiting for you since Creation Day. Ha! That would scare him off for good. Besides, it wasn’t like he was sure Gabriel had been talking about Alastor. No reason irritating them both before he was sure of it.

“For Charlie,” he said simply. It was half-true. He might have been willing to help the irritating demon for his daughter’s sake even without this accursed prophecy. Maybe.

To his surprise, the glowing green threads fell away, and the door swung open. The room was darker even than the hallway. He couldn’t see a thing. He stepped inside, flinching when the static washed over him again, as sharp as a slap.

“Stop there.”

“How am I supposed to do anything from here?” He asked, frustrated at the unbending wall of darkness in front of him.

“Look. But do not touch.”

A swarm of fireflies blinked into being, and Lucifer raged.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #radioapple #alastor x lucifer #lucifer x alastor #touch aversion #duckiedeer #appleradio #radio demon #platonic romance

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bleedingmusk · 1 month

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Ya Allaah the way you granted victory to Muhammad صلى الله عليه وسلم and your Deen on this day (Badr) You aided him and sent ranks of Angels from heaven to aid him making him hopeful to You by rescuing him from the toughest battle and granting victory to Your deen. You're the Lord of Muhammad and You're my Lord there's no one except You, The Invincible, The Most High, The Self Sufficient The Ever Living. I ask You by all of Your beautiful Names which I know which I know not and which You've kept with You in Your knowledge of unseen, facilitate the affairs of Ummah help us to overcome from fear of kuffar and grant us victory in battles against Your Deen and Your people. O Allaah fortify the frontiers of the Muslims through Your might, support their defenders through Your strength, and bring back honorable days of Khilafah where lands were ruled by Your Shariah and none was worshipped but You, increase number of Mujahideen, hone their weapons, guard their territory, defend their midst, unite their throng, arrange their affairs, send them supplies in a steady string, undertake Yourself to suffice them with provisions, support them with victory, help them with patience. O Allaah defeat our enemies, separate them from their weapons, pull out the firm ties from their hearts, turn them astray from their directions, cut off reinforcements from them, chop them down in numbers, fill their hearts with terror, hold back their hands from streching forth, scatter by them the one behind them and through their degradation cut off the hopes of those who come after them. O Allaah make the wombs of their women barren, dry up the lions of their men, and destroy their generation or make them to turn to Your Deen, permit not their sky to rain or their earth to grow, through that strengthen the prowess of Muslims, fortify their lands, increase their properties, give them ease from their fighting to worship You. O Allaah send out the Muslims of every region on raids against the mushrikeen and kuffar who face them, reinforce them with the angles in ranks from You till the mushrikeen and kuffar are routed by them to the end of the land. O Allaah distract the kuffar from reaching for the borders of Muslim lands through the kuffar bar them from cutting them down through being cut down, and hold them back from massing together against Muslimeen. O Allaah empty the hearts of our enemies of security and their bodies of strength, make their limbs too feeble for clashing against muslims, make them too cowardly for contending with mujahideen, send against them an army of Your angels with some of Your severity as You did on the Day of Badr so that through it You would cut off their roots, destroy their thrones and disperse their numbers. O my beloved Allaah the affairs of Islam worries me as a Muslim and alliance of kuffar against Islam grieve me, I have intention to aid Your Deen and people against this war but frailty keep me seated, neediness keeps me waiting, mishap delays me, write my name amongst Your closed worshipers make incumbent for me the reward of the mujahideen and place me amongst the ranks of the martyrs and the righteous. O Allaah with Your help we as an Ummah can drive away any misfortunes towards Your enemy and take Your refuge with You from their mischief. Protect Your people of Tawheed as You kept safe Your pious prophets and close friends among Your creatures from the clutches of the many disobedient Pharaohs and we seek Your shelter from the evil of Your created things through Your mercy O Most Merciful. Verily You are able to do all things and for us You are sufficient, You are the best protector. (Ameen)

#17th Ramadan #Day of Badr

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vergilsama922 · 5 months

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Another class steps on the scene!!! Class 74-B!

(人◕ω◕) Ahhh. Heaven of Despair~ That's right everyone. This class has kinda been on the back burner for a bit. But in my defense, I didn't expect Alan Wake 2 to be so damn good. That and of course, I been working and watching anime. But outside that, we have another class and this time shoutouts to @pyropsychiccollector for helping make FIVE Bios! Kisumi, Yumi, Saori, Rika and Natalie!

Well regardless, Makoto is a VERY lucky guy. But also with a new batch that means more interactions and bonding~ Also like always expect a class orgy picture in the near future ;D

Anyways, Enjoy Class 74-B and give them a warm welcome!

(人◕ω◕)(人◕ω◕)(人◕ω◕) And now time for Bios below~

Aiko Fubuki - Ultimate Lucky Student

In the neon-veined heart of Tokyo, where hidden narratives pulse beneath a surface of ordered chaos, Aiko Fubuki's tale unfolded, marked by whispers of enigma and echoes of a destiny disrupted. The child of brilliance, her life was meant to be inscribed in the annals of academic legends, nurtured by the genius of her parents—pioneering researchers entrapped by the grandiose Bible Plan of Hope's Peak Academy's Steering Committee. Yet, their light was snuffed out in a cruel twist, leaving behind only darkness and the shattered remnants of a family.

Aiko's parents had dared to dance with the devils of knowledge, weaving narratives that could bend wills and shape destinies. Their intellect was their sin, and their creation—a system designed to inspire hope—became their demise. The Steering Committee, fearing the power they had unwittingly unleashed, chose to extinguish the threat. In the cold calculus of power, Aiko's parents were mere variables to be nullified. Their end was swift—a shadowy eradication disguised as an unsolved tragedy, leaving young Aiko orphaned and adrift in a merciless world.

Her luck, an aberration birthed from the chaos of her life's tragedy, was as violent as it was fortuitous. It manifested not in the mere turn of cards or the fall of dice but in the visceral reality of survival. It was a tempestuous ally, capricious and unruly, its whims dictating the rise and fall of those around her. Where blood was spilled, Aiko emerged unscathed; where guns were drawn, they misfired or were turned by a sudden shift of allegiance. Her presence was an omen—her luck, a force that commanded both fear and reverence.

The Yakuza, with their intricate knowledge of the streets and their intimate dance with danger, recognized the raw potential in Aiko's unpredictable fortune. They saw not a child to be comforted but a talisman to be wielded—a living charm against their enemies. To them, she was a vessel of chaos, a bearer of serendipitous upheaval that could tip the scales of power in their shadowy world. In their guardianship, Aiko was to be honed into an instrument of silent warfare, her chaotic luck their clandestine weapon.

Yet, the Yakuza's embrace was no act of altruism; it was an investment in the unpredictable currency of luck. Aiko's very existence among them was a gambit, a play in the high-stakes game of underground supremacy. As she grew under their aegis, her enigmatic aura deepened, her name whispered in reverence and dread. And amidst this maelstrom of fate and fury, Aiko's spirit remained undaunted. For within her burned a fire of vengeance and truth—a relentless drive to unravel the tangled skein of her parents' demise and to bring the unseen machinations of the unbeknownst to her Steering Committee to light.

Raised in the labyrinthine alleys of Tokyo's red-light district, Aiko Fubuki found herself nestled in the paradoxical embrace of the Yakuza—a life of opulent danger where every whispered secret held the weight of a life. The streets became her classroom, the clash of steel and the silent whispers her lullabies. She learned the language of the shadows, the art of reading intentions hidden behind veiled threats, and the grace of moving through a world that was perpetually balanced on the edge of a knife.

Her talent, a quirk of fate that she'd inherited like a cursed heirloom, revealed itself in the most harrowing of circumstances. It was during a clandestine exchange gone awry when Aiko's luck first truly unveiled its vicious splendor. Bullets flew, a deadly choreography aimed with lethal intent, yet each one veered off course, finding targets other than the intended. Men twice her size, thrice her strength, fell to the chaotic dance of her fortune, while Aiko, at the epicenter, emerged unscathed, her wide eyes the only evidence of the maelstrom that swirled around her.

The realization of her talent brought no joy, only a deeper sense of isolation. If her luck was a shield, it was also a barrier, repelling genuine connections, leaving a trail of distrust and fear. Yet it forged her personality as surely as a smith shapes steel. Aiko's demeanor hardened; she became distant, defensive, a lone wolf navigating a world where every hand extended in friendship could just as easily wield a dagger. She became a punk-ish enigma, the girl who walked alone, who responded to the world's cruelty with a short temper and a fierce independence.

Her relationship with the Yakuza evolved as they came to understand the nature of her luck. It was a wild, untamable force that demanded respect. They ceased to see her as a mere mascot and began to acknowledge her as a player in their games of power—a silent assassin who didn't need a blade to cut down her enemies. They taught her their ways, but Aiko was no one's puppet. She absorbed their lessons but refused to be confined by their expectations. She did things her way, regardless of what others thought, driven by an internal compass that pointed toward a justice only she could define. Aiko's luck was her armor, but it was also her challenge to master. She learned to walk the fine line between letting it loose like a tempest and reigning it in, a barely leashed beast. Her life became a study in control, in harnessing the chaos that bubbled beneath her calm exterior. The Yakuza watched with a mix of pride and apprehension as the girl with no talent grew into a force of nature whose very presence could turn the tides of their underworld wars.

The Yakuza, always cunning in their machinations, saw in Aiko's insatiable hunger for the truth a tool they could use to bind her to their cause. They fed her scraps of information, just enough to keep the flames of her vengeance burning bright, but never enough to let her see the full picture. Each morsel was calculated, a breadcrumb trail leading her deeper into the heart of their world, and further under their influence. They needed her, her unpredictable luck, her ferocity, her unwavering sense of purpose.

Aiko, for all her fiery spirit, understood the game they played. She knew that these titbits about her parents' demise and the Steering Committee's dark undertakings were doled out with the same precision as the slices of a well-honed blade. They meant to use her, yes, but Aiko was no fool. She took their offerings, turned them over in her mind, and stored them away. Each fact, each rumor, was a piece of the puzzle she was determined to solve.

But the Yakuza underestimated the ferocity of Aiko's resolve. She wasn't content with the role of a pawn, a silent specter dancing to their tune. No, Aiko was playing a longer, more dangerous game—one of her own making. With every piece of the puzzle they provided, she moved closer to her goal, a goal that extended far beyond the Yakuza's aspirations of power and control. Aiko's life with the Yakuza was a double-edged sword, much like her luck. They offered her a semblance of family, a place in a world where she had none, and a promise of vengeance for her lost parents. But in the shadowy corners of her heart, where the flames of her anger kept her warm at night, Aiko plotted. She plotted not just against the Steering Committee but against any and all who would try to use her as a weapon.

And that even applied to the Yakuza which they soon found out much later….

In the dense urban labyrinth of Tokyo, where every shadow could be a friend or foe, Aiko Fubuki and Sahiru Amakawa found their fates entangled. Sahiru, whose fortune seemed to bloom on the misfortune of others, was a jinx in human form, a walking catastrophe for those around her. The Yakuza, with their superstitious hearts and calculating minds, were naturally wary of such a figure. To them, Sahiru was an unpredictable variable, a wild card that could as easily spell their doom as usher in a windfall. And yet, it was Aiko who insisted on drawing Sahiru into her sphere, an audacious move that unsettled the seasoned criminals.

Aiko, with her innate ability to harness the chaos of her luck, saw Sahiru not as a threat but as an asset. In her eyes, Sahiru's disastrous aura was a tool to be wielded with precision. Aiko applied pressure, a mixture of veiled threats and promises of grandeur, manipulating Sahiru into an alliance of mayhem. Together, they tore through the city's underbelly like a typhoon, leaving a wake of chaos that was both a message and a warning to those who would dare to control Aiko.

Their collaboration was a symphony of disaster, a partnership where Aiko's anarchic luck met Sahiru's calamitous touch. Each venture was a gamble, each outcome a testament to their combined potential to upend the established order. The Yakuza watched, half in awe, half in horror, as their carefully curated world was shaken to the core by the very force they sought to chain to their will.

But amidst the upheaval, Aiko's true intentions simmered. The tumult was but a means to an end, the first step in her grand design to sever the puppet strings that the Yakuza had sought to bind her with. Her heart, fuelled by a silent inferno of revenge and an unquenchable thirst for the truth, was set on a collision course with destiny. And in the end, it would be the Yakuza who would learn the hard way that luck, especially Aiko's, could not be tamed.

The pursuit of those responsible for her parents' untimely deaths, and as Aiko would find out the Yakuza's role in the grand tapestry of betrayal and power plays orchestrated by the Steering Committee of Hope's Peak Academy. It was a truth that festered deep within Aiko, a smoldering ember that Sahiru's presence had inadvertently fanned into a roaring blaze. The Yakuza had been mentors, guardians, and even a semblance of family, but they had also kept her leashed with half-truths and scraps of information, using her uncanny luck as a shield against their enemies while holding the keys to her past just out of reach.

The boiling point arrived shrouded in the guise of a routine gathering, a meeting cloaked in the familiarity of strategy and camaraderie. But as the Yakuza lords discussed their latest exploits and conquests, Aiko's sharpened senses caught the slip of a tongue, the mention of a past operation—one that bore haunting similarities to the fateful event that had orphaned her.

The operation in question, as it turned out, was not a random act of violence but a calculated move in a larger scheme, a dark orchestration by the Steering Committee of Hope's Peak, with the Yakuza acting as the unwilling hand that carried out the grim task. Aiko's parents, researchers too close to unveiling secrets the Committee wished to keep buried, had become liabilities that needed to be silenced. The Yakuza, bound by twisted loyalties and blackmailed with threats to their own, had been forced into compliance.

Aiko's discovery that fateful evening was no mere coincidence. The Yakuza had found her that day on the streets, not by luck, but by following the orders of their puppeteers. They were to monitor the orphaned child of the researchers, to keep her close, to control her, lest she grow up to seek vengeance or, worse, stumble upon the truth herself. They had never anticipated the latent power within her, the chaotic luck that could one day turn against them.

As Aiko stood among the men who had been her guardians, protectors, and teachers, a cold realization washed over her. Her life had been orchestrated, her path manipulated. The supposed sanctuary they offered was a gilded cage, her safety an illusion. The truth was a corrosive acid, eating away at any semblance of trust and warmth that had existed between them.

The truth spilled forth in a torrent of confessions, half-hearted apologies, and attempts at justification. But the words fell on deaf ears; Aiko's heart was hardened, her vision clear. The Yakuza, who had once taught her the art of survival and strength, had been using her all along as a chess piece in a game played in the shadows of power and deceit.

The room, once filled with the smug comfort of schemers atop their imagined throne, now bristled with palpable fear. Aiko's revelation had struck a chord of terror in the hearts of the Yakuza. They had seen her luck's unpredictable outcomes, and now they were about to witness its destructive potential, directed squarely at them. The Yakuza leaders exchanged tense glances, their usual confidence faltering under the weight of Aiko's steely gaze. It was a silent consensus, born of the primal instinct to survive, that led them to act. If Aiko's chaotic fortune was a powder keg ready to detonate, they would attempt to snuff out the fuse before it could ignite.

With the swiftness of a serpent's strike, they attacked. The Yakuza, masters of ambush and deceit, lunged at Aiko with the intent to incapacitate, to overwhelm her before her luck could turn the tide. But Aiko, with the reflexes of one who had danced with danger all her life, responded not with panic but with the grace of chaos itself. Aiko’s movements were a blur, a dance of dodges and weaves so instinctive that each attempt to grasp her seemed only to slide off, as if luck itself was guiding her form. The Yakuza, with all their might and experience, found themselves faltering, struck by their own ricocheting intentions, as if fate had twisted their actions back upon themselves.

It was a spectacle that would be whispered about in the underworld for years to come; the night the girl with no talent, who wielded luck like a blade, carved her way out of the Yakuza’s clutches, leaving behind a trail of disarray and wounded pride. The storm of Aiko’s making had been unleashed, and it raged through their ranks with a fury that spoke of the chaos they had so foolishly courted.

In the end, Aiko stood alone amidst the disheveled room, the Yakuza subdued not by her hand, but by their own hubris and the invisible, capricious hand of luck that had always been on her side. With a cold, final look at the men who had lied to her, she stepped out into the night, free from the strings that had puppeteered her life. However, the night Aiko Fubuki declared her independence from the Yakuza was the night her tale TRULY began. Unbeknownst to her, her actions had long been observed by those with vested interests in talents, both known and unknown. Koichi Kizakura, the keen-eyed scout of Hope's Peak Academy, had been quietly tracking her progress, compiling reports that were as much about her deeds as they were about the unpredictable sway of her luck. His interest had been piqued not just by her talent, but by the iron-clad resolve and unyielding spirit she demonstrated. And also her parents connection to the deep rumored Bible plan.

Jin Kirigiri, the headmaster of the academy, had been receiving these reports with a growing sense of anticipation. Discussions about Aiko often filled the quiet corners of his office, where he pondered the potential she held and the role she could play within the esteemed halls of Hope's Peak and if she knew anything about the bible plan. His thoughts on the matter were aided by the intelligence provided by Damon Gant, the formidable yet righteous force within the Tokyo Police Department. Gant, who had a reputation for never leaving a stone unturned, had been feeding Jin and Koichi with insights into Aiko's life, drawn from his deep well of contacts and informants.

It was after all Gant's meticulous attention to detail that allowed Koichi to approach Aiko with a proposal she found herself intrigued by. Hope's Peak Academy was a place where her luck could be studied, honed, and perhaps even understood. It was an opportunity to step out of the shadows and into a world where her talent could be acknowledged and embraced. And to uncover what exactly the bible plan was and what happened to those who "disappeared" that fateful night who worked on it.

Aiko's initial meeting with Koichi Kizakura was far from the cordial exchanges of academia; it was a tense standoff in a dimly lit alley, a fitting backdrop for two individuals whose lives were anything but ordinary. She met his black and white invitation with a hardened gaze, her body language taut as a coiled spring, ready to strike. The emblem of Hope's Peak was a symbol she associated with the institution that had upended her life, and her hostility was palpable.

"You come here, to my turf, bearing the mark of those who killed my parents," Aiko spat out, her voice a low growl. "What makes you think I'd step foot in that place?"

Koichi, no stranger to tense situations, remained calm. He understood her distrust, her pain. "Hope's Peak is not the enemy you know," he said evenly. "It's a place where you can control your luck, not be controlled by it. And maybe, just maybe, find the closure you need."

Her eyes, which had been narrowed slits of suspicion, widened a fraction. Closure. That word resonated with her, echoing the deepest desires of her heart. Aiko was smart enough to know when to play her hand and when to fold. Koichi's offer, dangerous and rife with uncertainty though it might be, was a chance to step onto a larger stage, to turn her luck into a tool for uncovering the truth.

Gradually, the tension in her posture eased. "If I find out you're lying, or using me…" she warned, leaving the threat hanging in the air.

Koichi just tipped his hat, a silent promise that he was on her side.

With the invitation in hand, Aiko found herself facing a crossroads. The next step she took could lead her closer to the truth or further into a web of deceit. The decision weighed heavily on her, but the promise of understanding her parents' fate, of peeling back the layers of secrecy that surrounded the Bible Plan, was too potent to ignore.

Her meeting with Jin Kirigiri and Damon Gant was set in a nondescript room that spoke of confidential matters and discreet conversations. The headmaster of Hope's Peak and the esteemed officer from the Tokyo Police Department presented a united front, yet their demeanor was not one of authority, but of alliance.

Gant began, his voice firm yet infused with an undercurrent of understanding. "Aiko Fubuki, you've had to fend for yourself in ways most can't imagine," he acknowledged, his eyes meeting hers with a certain respect. "Your past actions, while they may not have always been within the confines of the law, they were about survival. I understand it more than most would. I'm here to offer you a clean slate."

Jin followed, his tone echoing the sincerity of his counterpart. "We're not here to coerce or manipulate you, Aiko. The academy wants to offer you a chance to understand your luck, to use it to help us uncover truths that have been buried in darkness for far too long."

Aiko, still wary, let their words sink in. A full pardon was more than she could have hoped for, a freedom she hadn't tasted since before the Yakuza. And Jin's offer to work with her, not as a subject, but as a partner, struck a chord deep within her.

"If I join you, it's as an equal," she stated, her tone brooking no argument. "I want access to all you have on the Bible Plan, on the Steering Committee. And I want your word that my luck won't be exploited."

Jin nodded, a gesture of affirmation. "You have my word. Our goal is shared, Aiko. The tragedies borne from the Steering Committee's machinations have cost too many lives. It's time we brought them to light."

The partnership was formed that day, an alliance of necessity and mutual respect. Aiko Fubuki, the girl whose life had been defined by the capricious whims of luck, stepped into a new role. With Hope's Peak Academy and the Tokyo Police Department at her back, she was poised to confront her past and shape her destiny, no longer a pawn in the games of power but a key player in the search for justice.

As Aiko left the meeting, the weight of her new path settled upon her shoulders. The journey ahead would be fraught with challenges, but for the first time in a long time, she faced them not as a weapon of fate, but as a wielder of her own future.

A future she would use to destroy the steering committee and their allies at any cost.

Kisumi Musashi - Ultimate Movie Director

Kisumi Musashi. The Ultimate Movie Director. This fierce, independent young woman has helped crank out one box office smash right after the other. Genre doesn’t matter. Whether the series has been around for a while and she’s just now dipping into it doesn’t matter. Whether it barely got approved to be produced doesn’t matter. Kisumi will take any title and make something amazing out of it. This is done through her tireless research, keen intuition and masterful direction, and relentless devotion and dedication to the entertainment industry. But who is Kisumi Musashi? Where does this superstar of a director come from? What are her dreams and ambitions?

When she was young, Kisumi’s parents died in an overseas plane crash. As a result, she went to live with her Uncle’s family – her Uncle being the CEO of a company called Natsuki Corporation. Her cousin, Tohru, came to be like a brother to her. And her Uncle Goro is more or less the father she’s always known, she wouldn’t trade him for the world… Even if it would have been nice to know her birth parents. Kisumi’s early childhood was peaceful and happy, attending a normal elementary school as opposed to one of the elite or being homeschooled; Uncle Goro believed in giving his kids perspective, to learn that despite their wealth they are not above the “common man.” The sooner they acquainted with and became friends with their classmates, the sooner they would learn about the struggles and pains that less well off families suffer through… And thus, they can strive to alleviate that suffering and create a better society through acts of kindness and generosity.

But it wasn’t long before Kisumi yearned for the silver screen. Or more accurately… The more she listened to Uncle Goro talk about what her parents did for a living, being a director and assistant director, and how they traveled the world to film movies… Kisumi just wanted to explore why her parents loved the entertainment industry. Wanted to understand them. If Uncle Goro went and saved a company from total collapse and turned it around so that the company helped so many people all around the world… and yet her parents settled for making movies… What made them passionate about something so selfish? Well. Kisumi thought they were selfish… After all, movie stars were often caught up in scandals, and there was so much dirt on other aspects of the industry… But Uncle Goro didn’t see it that way at all. He never criticized his brother when talking about “the good old days.” He encouraged Kisumi to have an open mind, that there was just as much value in creating and directing movies. People need entertainment to take their minds off of this cruel world.

So Uncle Goro supported Kisumi by sending her to study overseas. It was worlds apart from the normalcy she experienced up until then, and she had to learn English before going… But Kisumi did everything she needed to, listened to everything Uncle Goro had to say about her overseas studies. Not only did she want to learn what made her parents tick, why moviemaking was so important to them; Kisumi didn’t want to disappoint her Uncle or her cousin, who were both rooting for her. Kisumi would go on to complete her studies at a plucky young thirteen years old, having taken to the career of directing like a duck to water. During her time overseas, she was already helping to produce short films and documentaries with her classmates, and through her direction made the films very easy and pleasant on the eyes and ears. While she can never be sure that she knows for a fact how her parents felt while making movies, Kisumi did come to fall in love with the moviemaking process itself. Because… there’s an art to the whole thing.

The stories you want to tell, the lessons you want to impart… The actors that get picked, the location of filming, the budgets you have for props, costumes, and so many other things… Kisumi learned to make due with what they had, and still make stellar productions out of them that make more than enough money to compensate all the effort. Because just like the BBC’s sci-fi classic Doctor Who, you never truly know how big of a splash something can make until you release it. Something with humble beginnings can turn into something grandiose, so long as you pour all the love and attention you can into the production over time… Even if the studio itself is opposed or reluctant to what you’re making. Kisumi learned so much about various movie trends, about how to make productions marketable, and tips and tricks with how to handle the bigwigs who ultimately make the final call on whether or not you’re making the movies you propose.

In the end, Kisumi was told in her classes that she probably wouldn’t start out as a director. She’d probably be a production assistant or something way down the ladder like that… But Kisumi beat out all those expectations with her creative ingenuity and artistic direction. And above all her sheer force of will to become a director as soon as possible. Not because that’s what her parents became, not because of any family pride or arrogance on her part… But because she wanted to produce movies for her Uncle and cousin to view, back home. … Apparently Uncle Goro had fallen ill, and wasn’t able to take her calls halfway through her overseas studies; for the latter half, she only spoke with Tohru and confided in him about feeling a little homesick… But both of them felt that Kisumi needed to see this to the end, and Tohru just knew she would make Uncle Goro proud. At age thirteen, Kisumi returned home to Japan, and cranked up her moviemaking career to the max. Didn’t matter that she still had “regular school” to still complete, Kisumi had her dream job and wasn’t going to give it up for anything. Life at home with Tohru was… different. For some reason Uncle Goro was working longer hours at the office, and she never got to see him anymore. Tohru promised that his father was fine… that Kisumi didn’t need to worry.

They would both make the Old Man proud in their own ways; Tohru was set to succeed his father as the next CEO, and Kisumi became an esteemed movie director that was just getting started. Despite Tohru’s reassurances, Kisumi did worry about her Uncle… She wasn’t even allowed to see the Old Man’s bedroom anymore, or his study. She felt uneasy about it, like Tohru was hiding something… But she decided to put her faith in her brother-in-all-but-blood, and she poured all her efforts into what she studied her butt off for.

And two years later, when she entered high school… She had produced easily forty five different movies, short films, and documentaries. All of them were phenomenal, and the public loved them to bits. Kizakura noticed, of course, and extended the invite to Hope’s Peak. Kisumi was ecstatic to be recognized as the best director at her tender young age! … Tohru didn’t seem as… enthused, however. He was rather aloof when Kizakura came around to the house, and never removed that smiling mask that he wore out in public the past couple of years. Kizakura was rather curious about Tohru, something about the boy ringing vaguely familiar… But in the end, Tohru wouldn’t give Kizakura the time of day, and just urged Kisumi to pursue the path that she saw as fit for her dreams. Hope’s Peak was an institution like no other, yeah? Then Kisumi should just go for it if she was so inclined.

Baffled by Tohru’s cold shoulder, but otherwise happy to take up Kizakura’s invitation, Kisumi joined Hope’s Peak’s 74th Class. Her new classmates were rather eccentric, but still pretty impressive individuals overall. Sure, Kisumi was one of the more level-headed among them… But she could appreciate the passion they had in their respective careers. Upon graduating, Kisumi would continue successfully cranking out hit after hit, and she came to have pride as the “best” movie director… Because she worked hard for this dream. And she owed so much to Uncle Goro and Tohru…

Maemi Miyo - Ultimate Kendo Practitioner

In the tranquil dojo halls where the sound of clashing bamboo swords echoes like ancient war drums, Maemi Miyo stands almost invisible, her presence as silent as the falling snow. Yet, to underestimate her based on her delicate frame is to challenge the storm that brews beneath the calm surface. She is the whisper in the wind, the specter that haunts the dreams of seasoned kendo practitioners—she is the Ultimate Kendo Practitioner.

Maemi's journey began not with the roar of the crowd, but with the hushed reverence of those who bore witness to her talent. As a child, she was often overlooked, her small stature rendering her invisible among her more boisterous peers. But within the dojo, she was a force unrivaled, her shinai an extension of her will, her reflexes a blur to the naked eye. Opponents learned quickly that to dismiss her was to accept their swift defeat; her counterstrikes were as inevitable as they were imperceptible. But how exactly did she become the Ultimate Kendo Practitioner?

Under the eaves of an old, weathered dojo tucked away in a forgotten corner of Kyoto, Maemi Miyo found her first sanctuary. Her upbringing was unconventional; she was the only child of a lineage steeped in the art of the sword, but it was a lineage that had faded from public memory, its legacy confined to the dusty annals of history and the silent testament of ancient trophies lining the walls of their home.

Her father, a man of few words and disciplined action, was her first sensei. His teaching was strict, yet it flowed with the tenderness of a hidden stream. He saw in Maemi not just a daughter but the heir to a fading tradition, a living vessel for the resurgence of their family's honor. Her mother, equally skilled and even more enigmatic, wove tales of legendary samurai and kendo masters into the fabric of Maemi's childhood, her stories as much a part of Maemi's education as the katas she practiced from dawn until dusk.

Maemi's training began with the dawn, under the watchful gaze of her father, who was both sensei and mentor. In the still, chilly air of the dojo, where the scent of old tatami mats mingled with the crispness of the morning, she learned the ancient ways of the sword. Her father's methods were unorthodox, emphasizing not just the physical aspects of kendo but the mental and spiritual disciplines that underpinned them. He taught her to see the space between breaths, to find the silence amidst the noise, and to strike not when the moment presented itself, but to create the moment herself.

Her mother, meanwhile, taught her the history and soul of the blade. Every evening, as the dojo's lanterns cast long shadows on the wooden floor, Maemi would sit at her mother's feet, absorbing tales of legendary swordsmen and women whose spirits were said to live on in the blades they once wielded. Her mother's voice was soft but clear, weaving stories that were equal parts history and mythology, teaching Maemi that the essence of kendo was not in victory, but in the purity of every strike and defense, in the art of movement and stillness alike.

However It was during a local tournament that Maemi's talent truly unfolded before an audience. She was but a child, no more than ten, her stature diminutive, her presence almost negligible amidst the bustle of competitors. Her opponent was a local champion, a boy nearly twice her age and size, his confidence as conspicuous as Maemi's quietude. The match began, and the crowd's murmurs hushed in anticipation.

From the first strike, it was clear that Maemi was different. Her shinai seemed to whisper through the air, her steps a silent dance that anticipated her opponent's every move. The boy's strikes were powerful but predictable, and Maemi's counterattacks were whispers of wind that found their mark with a precision that seemed to bend the very air. The match was over in minutes, but the echo of her shinai's strikes rang much longer in the ears of those who witnessed her victory.

In the hushed circles of martial arts aficionados, Maemi's victory was not merely a win; it was the blooming of a legend. The small girl with the unassuming air and the piercing eyes had toppled a colossus with the ease of a seasoned master, her every move a poem written in the language of kendo. The word of her prowess traveled from the local dojo to regional competitions, and each retelling added to her mystique. She was the wraith of the kendo world, known to many by reputation, but truly understood by few.

As her renown in the kendo circles grew, so too did the audiences at her matches. They came not for the spectacle of violence, but to witness the elegance of her form, the serene composure with which she wielded her shinai, and the almost preternatural intuition that seemed to guide her movements. Yet, amidst this burgeoning fame within her discipline, Maemi's daily life remained untouched by her growing legend.

At school, Maemi was a wisp of a presence, her small frame and quiet demeanor rendering her all but invisible in the boisterous corridors and crowded classrooms. She drifted through the academic routine like a ghost, observed by few, her mind often elsewhere, lost in the strategies and philosophies of her next training session. Her peers, unaware of the fierce spirit that lay behind her passive exterior, seldom engaged her, and she, in turn, made no move to dispel the veil of obscurity that shrouded her school days.

To Maemi, the dichotomy between her life in the dojo and at school was stark but comfortable. In the world of kendo, she was a revered figure, a prodigy who spoke through her actions rather than her words. In school, she was just another face in the crowd, one more student in a sea of uniforms and youthful ambition. This anonymity afforded her a certain peace, a sanctuary from the pressures of her talent and the expectations that came with it.

Yet, even within the tranquility of her dual existence, there was an undercurrent of conflict that Maemi could not ignore. As she grew older, the disparity between her silent school life and her celebrated kendo persona began to chafe. There was a part of her that yearned to merge these two halves of her life, to be seen and known for who she truly was, not just in the dojo, but in every aspect of her existence.

The conflict came to a head during a regional kendo championship, where Maemi, as always, had silently cut her way through the competition. It was there, amidst the thunderous applause of the crowd, that she caught sight of her classmates in the audience. Their eyes wide with surprise and admiration, they finally saw the 'myth' in their midst, the 'ghost' of their classrooms wielding her shinai with a master's grace.

The revelation was a catalyst for Maemi. The following school days were marked by a subtle shift. Her classmates, now aware of her talent, approached her with a mixture of curiosity and awe. They asked questions, they whispered about her matches, they no longer passed her by without a second glance. For Maemi, this new attention was both uncomfortable and exhilarating. She found herself at a crossroads, unsure of how to reconcile her newfound visibility with her love for the solitude and anonymity she had always known.

As the days passed, Maemi's internal struggle did not go unnoticed by her mother, who had always been a quiet source of strength and wisdom. Her mother, a woman of poise and understanding, had watched her daughter tread the fine line between anonymity and acclaim with a knowing eye. She knew all too well the Hoshina clan's teachings—pride in one's skills, yes, but never a boastful display for mere attention. They were a family that found honor in the shadows, their achievements whispered like legends, never shouted for the world to hear.

One evening, as the afterglow of sunset bathed their traditional home in a warm light, her mother spoke. "Maemi, your heart is like the river—it seeks its own path, sometimes quiet and hidden, sometimes wide and open for all to see," she said, her voice as gentle as the breeze that rustled the leaves in their garden.

Maemi listened, her eyes reflecting the turmoil that had been her constant companion of late.

"In the dojo, you are the myth, the master whose actions speak her legacy. In school, you are the ghost, content to watch and observe. But remember, both are you, and both have their place," her mother continued, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Maemi's ear.

"But, mother, isn't it the Hoshina way to remain humble, to shun the spotlight?" Maemi asked, seeking clarity.

Her mother smiled, a soft curve of understanding. "True humility is knowing your worth without proclaiming it. It is not about hiding your light—it's about shining it where it will guide and inspire. You come from a lineage of warriors who knew when to step into the light and when to blend with the night. Your struggle, my child, is the same as theirs. The same struggle I once had and I made a choice that…..had consequences. But I would make theat same choice again in a heartbeat."

Those words struck a chord within Maemi. She realized then that her legacy was not a chain but a tapestry, a rich history of choices and chances. Her mother's words gave her a new perspective, one that allowed her to see her talent not as a burden to be hidden or a trophy to be flaunted, but as a gift to be used wisely.

As Maemi's confidence grew and her talents continued to flourish, the whispers of her prowess in the kendo world began to reach further than the dojo's walls. Her skill with the shinai had always been remarkable, but now there was a newfound resolve in her eyes, a determination that spoke of a deeper understanding and acceptance of her dual nature. It was during the national kendo championships, a tournament watched not just by enthusiasts but by talent scouts from various disciplines, that Maemi truly shone.

During the finals, Maemi faced an opponent known for his aggressive tactics and daunting presence. As the match commenced, the crowd expected a swift defeat for the small, unassuming girl before them. However, Maemi stood her ground with an unshakeable calm. Each attack from her opponent was not only deftly countered, but used as a stepping stone, guiding her to the next strike. Her movements were a blur, each step and swing carried out with a precision that seemed almost preternatural. The match ended with Maemi's victory, her shinai poised gracefully as her opponent's bamboo sword clattered to the floor, his ambitions alongside it.

The crowd erupted into applause, the sound filling the arena with an intensity that mirrored the shock and awe written across the faces of all who had witnessed the upset. But among the audience was Koichi Kizakura, whose knowing smile was tinged with excitement. He had been following Maemi's journey, intrigued by the tales of the 'ghost' who could best any challenger with her almost supernatural reflexes. He saw in her not just a master of kendo, but the embodiment of potential that Hope's Peak Academy sought—the potential to inspire, to lead, and to redefine what it meant to be a practitioner of the ancient art.

Koichi approached Maemi after the tournament, his trademark hat tipped in respect. "Maemi Miyo, your skill is the talk of the town, and your spirit, the inspiration of many," he began, his eyes gleaming with the prospect of having discovered a rare talent. "Hope's Peak Academy would be honored to have you walk its halls as the Ultimate Kendo Practitioner."

Maemi, taken aback by the sudden offer, hesitated. The academy was a place of prestige, but also one that had seemed distant, almost untouchable. Yet, here was an invitation, an acknowledgment of her skill and her dedication to her craft.

"What would I do there?" Maemi inquired, her voice barely above a whisper but clear in the silent moment that followed her question.

Koichi leaned forward slightly, understanding the weight of her question. "At Hope's Peak, you'd be more than just a student. You'd be a living testament to the art of kendo," he said earnestly. "You would train, yes, but also inspire. You could research the depths of martial arts, delve into its history and philosophy, and perhaps even instruct those willing to learn from the best."

Maemi's gaze held steady, considering the depth of what Koichi was offering. The prospect of furthering her understanding of kendo, of exploring its roots and imparting its essence to others, was more than just an educational opportunity—it was a calling.

"And it's not just about kendo," Koichi added, sensing her interest. "It's about finding where your talent takes you, about pushing the boundaries of what you know. You'll meet others with talents as unique and profound as yours, engage with minds that challenge and complement your own."

Maemi felt a spark ignite within her, a flame fanned by the promise of new challenges and the pursuit of knowledge. Hope's Peak Academy was offering her a path she had never contemplated, a chance to step out from the silent echoes of her dojo and into a world where her talent could truly flourish.

"I will accept your invitation," Maemi finally said, her voice still quiet but imbued with a new strength. "I wish to see where this journey leads, to understand the true potential of my talent."

Koichi's smile broadened, "Welcome to Hope's Peak, Maemi Miyo. Your journey is just beginning, and I have a feeling it will be one for the history books."

With her acceptance, Maemi Miyo prepared to enter a new stage of her life, one filled with the promise of growth and the allure of the unknown. As she walked away from the dojo that day, with the invitation from Hope's Peak Academy in hand, she felt the quiet strength of her resolve settle around her like armor. She was ready to face whatever came next.

Momoka Saitou - Ultimate Secretary

In the veiled corridors of power where decisions are made with a whisper and a nod, Momoka Saitou mastered the art of influence. As the Ultimate Secretary, she became the custodian of secrets, the silent engine behind the thrones of authority. But to understand her ascension to this pivotal role, one must trace the roots back to her upbringing—a tapestry of discipline, observation, and the subtle art of discretion.

Momoka's childhood was steeped in the tradition of service and support. Born to a family of dedicated civil servants, she was brought up with the ethos that the greatest impact is often wrought from the shadows. While other children played boisterously, Momoka observed. She listened. She learned. Her parents, working within the intricate bureaucracy of government, taught her the value of information—how it could be both shield and sword.

Her home was a revolving door of dignitaries and officials, each carrying the burden of their office. Momoka watched her mother, a paragon of a secretary, manage this world with an effortless grace. She saw how her mother's gentle suggestions could alter the course of discussions, how her careful arrangements could set the stage for successful negotiations, and how her discreet whispers could defuse the ticking time bombs of political intrigue.

Under her mother's tutelage, Momoka became adept at reading the room, understanding the unspoken needs of those she served. She became a young apprentice in the art of facilitation, honing skills that would define her future. Her parents instilled in her the belief that true power does not roar; it whispers. Yet, the very skills that made her indispensable in the halls of power also cast a widening gap between her and her peers. In the boisterous anarchy of school life, Momoka's reserved and observational nature made her a target. The bullying was subtle at first, a nudge here, a whisper there, but it grew bolder with each passing day.

However, Momoka was her mother's daughter, not just in skill but in spirit. She observed the bullies as she would any political adversary—studying their habits, their motivations, their allies. Armed with this knowledge, she began to apply her craft, using her wits and words to sow discord among them, turning their alliances inside out without a single raised voice or accusation. Her methods were a testament to her training: a rumor planted here, a schedule altered there, a misplaced item that only she could gracefully recover. She became a ghost in the system, orchestrating a silent campaign that disarmed her aggressors one by one. To the bullies, it seemed as if their own shadows turned against them, their confidence eroding with every step that backfired, every plan that unraveled.

In the end, the bullies found themselves isolated, their schemes undone by an invisible hand. They couldn't pinpoint how or when the tide had turned, but they felt the unmistakable presence of Momoka's influence in every misstep they took. The corridors they once prowled with impunity now whispered with the echoes of their faltered reign. They were afraid, not of retribution or confrontation, but of the silent sentinel that was Momoka—the girl who spoke softly and needed no stick. At least not yet.

However In the world of secretarial arts, Momoka Saitou's name resonated with a quiet power. Her skills were not merely about organization and efficiency; they were about intuition and the subtle art of influence. Her rise to prominence began with the cultural exchange project, but that was only the opening act of what would become a storied journey through the annals of administration. Momoka's projects were as varied as they were challenging. She coordinated international conferences, where she bridged the gaps between cultures with a grace that belied her years. She orchestrated charity galas, turning potential disasters into evenings of splendor and success. She even managed political campaigns for student council elections, turning underdogs into leaders with her strategic planning and insightful advice.

Her methods were a blend of modern efficiency and old-world diplomacy. She utilized technology to track progress and communicate, but it was her personal touch that ensured the success of her endeavors. Momoka had an uncanny ability to remember details about people, from their favorite drinks to their children's birthdays, and she used this knowledge to foster relationships and build networks of loyalty and respect. Her prominence as a secretary was marked by her unique approach to problem-solving. She never tackled issues head-on but rather worked from the shadows, moving pieces into place with such subtlety that solutions seemed to arise naturally. People began to speak of problems disappearing "the Momoka way"—a phrase that denoted an issue resolved so smoothly that it was as if it had never existed.

One of her most notable successes was the revitalization of an ailing student organization. The group had been floundering, its members disengaged, and its purpose unclear. Momoka stepped in as an advisor, and within months, the organization was not only thriving but had become a cornerstone of the school's extracurricular activities. She achieved this by carefully restructuring the organization, empowering members to take on meaningful roles, and aligning their activities with their passions and the school's goals. Her achievements as a secretary did not go unnoticed. As her reputation grew, so did the opportunities presented to her. She was sought after by the highest echelons of the school's administration, her advice and expertise valued by teachers and students alike. Momoka had become an indispensable asset to her school, her signature blend of quiet confidence and decisive action becoming the hallmark of her storied career.

However It was during the preparations for an international student symposium that Momoka's skills caught the eye of Hope's Peak Academy. The event was a massive undertaking, involving delegates from schools across the globe, and the smooth execution of the symposium was nothing short of a miracle. Momoka's behind-the-scenes work ensured that every detail was accounted for, every contingency planned for, and every participant felt heard and valued. Koichi Kizakura, in attendance to scout for potential talents, was astounded by the seamless flow of the event. He recognized the hallmarks of an exceptional secretary—the ability to predict problems before they arose, the capacity to communicate across barriers, and the foresight to weave a safety net so tight that nothing could fall through.

Kizakura with his knack for spotting the extraordinary in the sea of the mundane, approached her with an offer cloaked in the promise of potential and growth. "At Hope's Peak," he explained, "you'll find challenges worthy of your skills and a community that will value your unique capabilities. You're not just a mediator or a problem solver, Momoka—you're a visionary in your field."

Momoka's reaction was one of measured contemplation. She was no stranger to accolades or recognition, but this was an offer of a different caliber. It spoke not just to her abilities, but to her aspirations, her latent desire to expand her horizons beyond the familiar walls of her current life. Her parents, ever supportive, noticed the flicker of excitement in Momoka's usually impassive demeanor. "Momoka," her father said with a gentle firmness, "this could be the path to realizing your dreams, to broadening the scope of your talents." Her mother added, "We've always known that your potential was bound for greater stages. Hope's Peak could be that stage."

The notion of dreams was something Momoka rarely dwelled on, her focus always on the task at hand. Yet, deep down, she harbored visions of orchestrating events on a grander scale, of being the unseen hand that guided the course of crucial conversations and decisions. Perhaps even of the government of Japan itself. Hope's Peak, with its myriad of talents and its pulsating heart of opportunity, was a place where dreams didn't just whisper—they sang.

With the full support of her parents and the promise of a new horizon ahead, Momoka accepted the invitation from Hope's Peak Academy. Her acceptance was not a loud declaration of ambition, but a quiet acknowledgment of the new journey she was about to embark on. She understood that the academy was not just a stepping stone, but a place that could transform the whispers of her dreams into the actions of change.

As she walked through the imposing gates of Hope's Peak, a soft determination settled within her. Here, within these walls, she would not only apply her skills but refine them. She would navigate the complex web of interpersonal relations, cement her role as a master mediator and secretary, and perhaps, in the process, discover new facets of her own identity.

Natalie Murasaki - Ultimate Sheriff

Natalie Murasaki. The Ultimate Sheriff. This feisty, spunky young woman sports the highest arrest rate for any female police officer in western Japan. … And the interesting tidbit? Aside from a few particularly tricky cases involving multiple criminals or yakuza, Natalie is known for bringing in the perpetrators on her own merits. Her own efforts. This has led this remarkable young woman to be a particularly skilled combatant, insofar as neutralizing crooks without killing them. For Natalie Murasaki, ensuring that everyone follows the law is of the highest importance; she HATES injustice and tragedies… Still, this is what everyone knows about Natalie Murasaki these days. Who is she, really? Where does she come from? What are her dreams and ambitions?

Natalie was born and raised in Kobe, Japan. The mountain ranges framing the harbor of Osaka Bay; Ikuta Shrine; the outdoor hotsprings of Arima Onsen; and even the antiquated cable cars that take people up to Mt. Rokko for a panoramic view of the port… All these things and many more became areas that Natalie knew like the back of her hand. Marble steak is her favorite grub, and she fell in love with her hometown and all the people in it.

Her parents were a part of Kobe’s police department… Albeit they were on the lower rungs of the ladder, usually handling smalltime affairs and paperwork. Because they worked so often, Natalie was more or less raised by her older brother, Yu. He had about ten years on her in age, and still he was Natalie’s best friend. From early on, Natalie recognized he was as tough as nails, but the biggest part about him was his heart. After he skipped a couple grades in high school, he got on a fast track for becoming a teacher… And Natalie was just in awe of how passionate and fulfilled he seemed, living his dream. Yu believed that his students loved him just as much as he loved them, that they all had bright futures…

Unfortunately for Yu, teaching wasn’t meant to last. A few years into his career, a particularly nasty instance of bullying occurred under his watch. Yu was idealistic, he thought that it was just kids being kids, that it was just horseplay; after all, he had a kid sister that meant the world to him. Kids could be misguided, but they knew not to go too far. … But it wasn’t horseplay. Not this time. Several students in his homeroom bullied a boy enough that he eventually leaped off the school’s roof. A girl in his homeroom warned Yu what was going on, chastised him for being so blind… And he didn’t realize until that boy jumped off the roof and ended up in a coma. Yu was then dismissed from teaching, on account of being made a scapegoat so that the school would survive past this incident. Yu didn’t try to fight it; he was wracked with guilt and bitterness for failing his students, and he was left not knowing what to do in the aftermath. Where to go from there… Though he seemed to find SOMETHING, because soon enough he was coming home a lot less to take care of Natalie… And he wouldn't open up about his new career, especially not about why he seemed so exhausted coming home at nights…

Natalie was devastated about what happened to her brother. Not only because of all the unjust court proceedings that framed him as a callous, heartless monster… But the act of bullying itself. That it had gotten that bad. Her brother’s students betrayed him, and she began fostering a deep resentment for bullies in general… What was the point of picking on someone weaker than you? No. She had that backwards. Because the bullies had to act as a unified unit to bully that one boy, just to feel good about themselves or whatever it might be… THEY were lesser than that one boy. Was it an inferiority complex?

Natalie honestly stopped caring about the why’s. Yu got screwed over because of something so stupid, so cruel, and she wanted to keep something like this from ever happening again. So shortly after her eleventh birthday… Natalie began doing her own research into nefarious activity around Kobe with all of her newfound free time. The thing about having an awesome older brother like Yu is that Natalie was learning to spar with him from an early age; it was more of a free style, but the base of it is Southern Kung Fu. Yu wouldn’t teach her everything that he knew, but he did want Natalie to be able to stand on her own and defend herself.

…And well. Natalie decided defending herself just wasn’t good enough. She needed to defend everyone that she could. So trailing the traitorous, bullying students, Natalie began learning about yakuza connections, the filthy “underground” of Kobe. Natalie wasn’t strong enough to make the courts decide to give her brother his teaching position back, but she could force these traitors and yakuza to face justice. So after beating them up and WINNING, miraculously enough, Natalie turned the whole bunch of crooks over to the Kobe police department…

Naturally, her parents were appalled, aghast that their daughter had done something so dangerous… They were on the verge of giving both her and Yu a serious tongue lashing – Yu was just as floored that Natalie had taken the initiative like that, having to come home early from his new job to get lectured about leaving Natalie out of his sight. But soon after those perpetrators were hauled into the station, the Chief of Police, a distant acquaintance of Damon Gant, stopped her parents from punishing Natalie too harshly for what she did… Yes, it was reckless. And they would rather leave this dangerous business to the professionals… But this Chief had known Damon from long ago. Knew how he started out. He could see that same fire and resolve in Natalie, and didn’t feel it was worth snuffing out that potential.

From that day on, Natalie was drafted into the police training program, under the Chief’s careful guidance. And she defied all expectations, not only managing to breeze through the training but also wrangle more crooks on the streets while she was at it, and still attend school to boot. Natalie was a go-getter, and over the next four years she both rose through the ranks and arrested quite a few perpetrators with her own two hands. To the point of earning the highest arrest rate… at her tender young age, no less!

Around the time Natalie was breezing through the academy, Yu expressed concern that his little sister was going way too fast. Their parents might not be able to object too much because she has the Chief's backing, but Yu knows the sorts of vile people Natalie's pursuing at the risk of her young life. Yu also knew that just talking to her would result in butting heads with her, and showing off more of his techniques through subsequent spars that would ensue. He knew his sister like the back of his hand, stubborn as one of those bulls she loved to watch in those cheesy Western flicks…

So Yu formulated a plan to make Natalie back down. Through connections at his new workplace, Yu hired a small group of masked men to ambush him and Natalie while they went out to see a movie; Yu knew how tough these men were because he had trained this security team personally. They all worked for the same corporation, after all. One ambush later, with Yu purposely throwing the "fight" to get taken "hostage" - leading to an ultimatum for Natalie to back down and quit the police lifestyle. It was Yu's hope that by overwhelming Natalie in quantity as well as quality, she would just go back to a normal, carefree life…

…Unfortunately, Yu underestimated Natalie's tenacity. He should have known better… Because he had the same unwavering justice, lurking deep inside. Through clever use of her environment, Natalie distracted the "hostage-taker" before KOing him brutally, followed by taking out the whole security team. By the end, Natalie was exhausted, barely standing straight, but she managed to beat the seemingly insurmountable odds.

Yu had to face facts. Whether he liked it or not, his sister had grown up. She had used his pain, his anguish, his guilt, his self-loathing… And Natalie used that to give her purpose. Even though she was just a kid, even though he'd grown more distant because of his new career as part security guard, part handyman for this rival corporation that was going toe-to-toe with the Togami conglomerate, and even the Kamukura's couldn't take them lightly… Yu had been spending all this time using this corporation's resources and personnel to dish out justice in his own way… Even if it entered some gray territories of the law… All to address the issue of bullies.

And in having such tunnel vision… Yu missed out on the effect his pain was having on Natalie. How it was fueling her to be such a strong, independent girl. … She didn't need to go so far for him. Yu was used to cleaning up his own messes as the dependable older brother… Still, Natalie had come this far. And she was going through more proper channels to deal with bullies, as opposed to his… methods. Yu was so close to going through with some really illegal crap, the planning was nearly done, but now that he's seen his baby sister take out a whole security team that HE trained… Yu can't keep pretending his imouto is completely removed from this crappy side of life. Seeing the worst parts of humanity… She's way too young to be dealing with this, but Yu can't deny she's capable.

So Yu took her home, after tuckering herself out. He carried her piggyback style like he had years ago, and they had a heart-to-heart. Natalie whined about needing to haul in the masked men, but Yu consoled her and promised he'd handle it. There was no need too shatter her rosy-glasses view of him, so he kept the fact that they were just his coworkers, that the whole thing was staged to make her back down… he kept that to himself. Natalie could just take pride in the fact that she had protected him, and had earned a good rest. Yu isn't sure what he'll do moving forward… Maybe draw up new plans. Because… if he carried on like he wanted to, Yu knew that Natalie might have to bring him in one day. … And he didn't want to shred her heart to pieces like that.

He couldn't give up on his ambitions either, however. Whatever the future held… He had powerful allies and unwavering justice in his veins. Yu wouldn't cause his baby sister grief over his life decisions, but he would still do things his own way. So after dropping her off at home, Yu left her a note. Through it, he told her that he wouldn't be coming home for a while… His new job was pretty important, and he could tell that Natalie was making great progress without him as a crutch. He told her not to worry about him, that she had already avenged him by arresting those bullies from his old homeroom… Natalie should live her own life. And if that led to a pursuit of justice… Well, Yu would respect her choice. Just be happy, and only take risks if she's SURE that she can pull through. Yu is proud of her… That's never in question.

Natalie woke up to find that note, and would go on to continue her training, gaining notoriety with her high arrest rate. And citizens all over Kobe and neighboring towns would come to love and respect her as the youngest police officer in the nation. Naturally, the Chief passed along to Damon the new rookie that had amazing potential, and Damon kept a pretty sharp eye on her progress. Eventually, Natalie was recognized as one of the Chief of Kobe PD’s best operatives, nearly second-in-command to him. Despite being a kid, she had authority as an officer of the law, and never abused it despite how recklessly she chases after criminals… Natalie knows the law by heart, but when it comes to the pursuit of justice, she will run off on her own to ensure justice is carried out. She has the training from both the police and Yu under her belt, and she quickly learned how to look out for criminal activity… Natalie might be taking big gambles, but she was a ”Sheriff” in her own right.

Hence, when she reached high school, she got approached by Damon and Kizakura to invite her to Hope’s Peak, where she could accelerate her potential as an officer of the law even more. Natalie was ecstatic, and Yu was happy enough for his little sister, hearing about her acceptance to that prestigious academy… even if he did constantly stress over her biting off more than she can chew.

But she’s Natalie Murasaki~… And she’ll be fine. As worried as he might feel at times, Yu believes in her. Always.

Personality wise though, Natalie is a girl that can't sit still. When she personally witnesses bullying or other crimes, she's the first to leap into action. She won't always tackle the problems head-on, but that's her preferred approach as opposed to waiting for "permission". Natalie is the type to hate protocol if it prolongs suffering and injustice, hence her rebellious streak when jumping into the fray. … Although Natalie does despise paperwork and leaves that to her coworkers whenever possible.

When it comes to stuff besides police work… Natalie enjoys westerns, shootout flicks, Kobe's marble steak specialty, and learning and using cowgirl lingo in her everyday language. She also regularly dresses up as a cowgirl sheriff - hat, ascot, suspenders… She even has a sheriff's badge, which she received for her efforts in arresting criminals.

Of course… Natalie's deep sense of justice does distance herself from her schoolmates because of how passionate she is and how clearly she beats up bullies at their elementary/middle school growing up. Natalie herself wants to make friends with everyone, but they aren't eager to reciprocate with how easily she can beat them up at the drop of a hat, for just about any reason she wants. Of course, Natalie only ever attacks bullies… But there's nothing to say that'll never change. Aside from her ability to never lose a scrap, her Western-centric habits and fashion also put people off.

This isn't to say Natalie doesn't have any friends… She's just not very popular. … Even though she deals with bullies and speaks out against them, when the rest of them won't because of basic society etiquette. The friends she does have, they value her standing up for the meek and helpless. … Though they wish she'd be more careful. They also know of her older brother, and how kind he is to everyone; how Natalie picks up most of her Western aesthetic/tastes from Yu, and learned how to fight from him.

Still… It's not until Hope's Peak where Natalie finds people just as eccentric as her. And even fellow officer types, such as Ikue. … Not that Natalie and Ikue's ideologies line up very cleanly. (人◕ω◕);;;

Rika Hinami - Ultimate Engineer

Rika Hinami. The Ultimate Engineer. This down-to-earth, level-headed woman is famous for developing a heater technology that is both efficient and eco-friendly. But that single invention is hardly the extent of her talents; it’s simply what she’s known far and wide for. Rika-san is annoyed that her brilliance isn’t better recognized by society… But perhaps her cavalier attitude towards others, her “laziness” as some people may define it, plays into her subdued notoriety. But who is Rika Hinami? Where does she come from? What are her dreams and ambitions?

Rika was born to a pair of corporate executives in the Fuji Bank chain, which is the successor to the Yasuda zaibatsu. They deal largely in recruitment and management, which helped shape Rika’s personality. Because… Rika would ditch school whenever she could. And where would she go? She would tail her parents to their workplace and secretly watch them throughout the day, conducting interviews, performance reviews, and so much more. To any other child, this would have been the most boring, most anticlimactic thing to do with free time… But to Rika? A pencil-pushing management desk job was heaven. You got to sit around for most of your shift, some menial work here and there, and boss others around. What’s not to love about an easygoing life like that?! As the daughter to not one, but TWO executives of Fuji Bank, it’s not as if any of the employees would ever snitch if they caught her ghosting her parents’ workplace. She was essentially “royalty”. Still, despite her admiration of such a job… Rika-chan knew that to get there, she would have to go through A LOT of schooling and putting in effort that she wasn’t necessarily willing to give… Because after all, like most kids, who LIKED going to school to learn? It’s not an issue of understanding the material.

Not for Rika-chan. School came TOO easily for her; she completed the semester’s assignments way ahead of time, and then only went to class for tests. … Because apparently the secret deals she was making with teachers to let her escape classes couldn’t cover those. Annoying, but Rika-chan vaguely understood (even at her young age) there was limits to how much she could cheat the system. So after a year or two of watching her parents and coming to the crushing understanding that she would have to APPLY herself to get to where they were… Rika-chan gave up her dreams on a corporate management position. Because screw effort~…

That left Rika-chan with an awful lot of free time, though. Sure, while brainstorming ideas for killing time, Rika-chan wound up effortlessly completing classwork a couple years ahead of her current studies. The work wasn’t that hard; she was beginning to understand the general flow of education in most subjects. Anything she didn’t immediately get, she just accessed the internet to fill those gaps. Before long, she had an Associate’s Degree’s worth of education under her belt at the age of ten. Not bad, but such a degree would only get her basic jobs where she’d have to work… So Rika-chan dabbled in a few different things until she found that, subconsciously, she developed a fascination with engineering. Tinkering with machines… Applying her imagination and knowledge to designs, improving on already existing designs…

One day, a schoolmate who was curious about why she was rarely in school approached her at home, and Rika-chan was discovered installing a sublevel to her parent’s garage. … Because Rika just knew that they wouldn’t be too happy if she used their garage as a workshop. So she rigged up some machines to dig below the earth below the garage and get it all re-cemented before her parents got home that evening. Rika barely had to do a thing. Her schoolmate was in awe of what she was doing, and asked how this was all achieved; the poor girl was overwhelmed as Rika launched into a droll explanation of how her digging machines operated, where she acquired the parts (mostly from junkyards, because she refused to use her parents’ money, and she refused to work for her own money unless absolutely necessary), how many weeks it took to put this all together… By the end, the schoolmate’s head was spinning, and Rika-chan was just standing there nonchalantly like it was no big deal. … Because it wasn’t. Rika had this much free time, and furthered her studies to such an extent. Still, the fact Rika was this amazing with inventing, it gave the schoolmate hope that maybe Rika could help fix her bike, which was pretty banged up . Rika wasn’t exactly thrilled to be asked to do something… But with how crestfallen her schoolmate seemed at Rika’s initial refusal of the request… Rika grudgingly agreed that her machines could continue their work without much fuss, and she had the time to look at the bike… even if she knew crap all about them. Right away, the young prodigy could tell what the problems were with the bike, despite that lack of knowledge. After some quick research into bike maintenance and repair, Rika determined it would be more cost effective to just purchase a new bike… Unfortunately, the schoolmate’s family had a low income, and they just weren’t in a position for that, hence the schoolmate was hoping it could be fixed instead. Rika still wasn’t thrilled about the hoops she’d have to jump through to get this bike repaired… But if it’d stop the girl from bawling like a baby, Rika would do it. She’d whine, but she’d do it.

A couple days later, Rika had the schoolmate come down to her new workshop, which her parents still didn’t know about, and had the schoolmate try out her newly modified bike. Not only could it go much faster, but it was easier to brake and steer the thing. The schoolmate was in awe, and thanked Rika over and over, but Rika just waved her off. It wasn’t that hard, and she even liked improving on the bike’s design after overcoming the initial repairs.

After that single request, Rika’s name started getting passed around at school. To her ire, more schoolmates came over to ask her to take a look at and repair certain things in or around their homes… Toasters, TV’s, showers, video game consoles, A/C units, heating units… Rika couldn’t fix EVERYTHING, some stuff fell under the purview of plumbers and electricians. Still, she got exposed to a variety of everyday appliances, and now she was getting PAID for these jobs… Most of the time, anyway. Whenever they weren’t lower income like that first “client”. It annoyed Rika to be approached so often, but she was slowly and surely becoming known as a “handyman” around her school and neighborhood. As stupid as all the new work was to her, it still allowed her to flex her engineering muscles and expand her knowledge base. By age thirteen, she finally developed her own patented heating system. … Because winters were cold around where she lived, and she wanted her damn house to not be so frigid. Her parents rarely kicked oo the heating because they were concerned about affecting the environment… Well, Rika worked around those concerns, and gave all three of them a toasty home to be in, and it wouldn’t even add that much to their bills. It didn’t take long for Rika’s heater to be discovered by her schoolmates, however; enough of them came around and asked why it felt so NICE inside Rika’s home… And to her chagrin, word got around to a few heating companies in Japan, and they began clamoring for her designs. … She didn’t like selling out to the greedy sonuvabitches… But then, they did offer her a fair chunk of money. And she saw no reason why she couldn’t sell to multiple companies to get that much more money for herself. Sure, that meant having to tweak her designs to make new and yet still eco-friendly designs… But Rika did it. Several times over.

Rika skated by in middle school, taking on various jobs as the “handyman” of Yokohama. School was a non-issue, and she was learning plenty through her budding engineer side business. Eventually, Koichi Kizakura came calling when he caught wind of her brilliance. … Though he was quite frank with her: Despite some people talking about her, Rika really wasn’t as famous as she believed she was. Rika was frankly a rare find for Kizakura; a kid that kept her head low and just took whatever jobs came her way. In fact, because of her lack of presence at school, Kizakura almost missed her altogether as he pored through various school rosters. Rika didn’t care very much if she was renowned or not; her ultimate dream was still to take it easy and work as little as possible… She pretty much turned down the Hope’s Peak gig, because she just didn’t have the DRIVE to be the best… Hope’s Peak would just heap more and more expectations on her shoulders, and Rika wanted to stay FAR away from that…

But Kizakura isn’t a quitter. He knows untapped talent when he sees it, and despite resonating with her in terms of taking it easy… The man appealed to Rika’s love for her craft. If she attended Hope’s Peak, she wouldn’t have to sift through and pilfer junkyards for supplies. She’d have access to top-of-the-line materials and equipment, at no cost to her. Hope’s Peak basically cut blank checks to all of its students, all in the pursuit of the study of talent. … Rika didn’t like Kizakura going for the jugular like that, but if she could cut out the middleman that was the smelly junkyards… Well, she grudgingly accepted the invitation. Not before forcing Kizakura through an unnecessary “interview” to confirm some things about attending Hope’s Peak… Still, by the end, Rika just went with the flow, and got set up with a new workshop on campus.

To Rika’s irritation, she got dragged into attending classes and doing activities with schoolmates.. But she made sure to hit them up with “interviews” and “performance reviews” whenever they really got on her nerves. Never let it be said that Rika Hinami can’t hold a grudge~… She’s very petty. And gets very sore if you force her to work too much~… She would rather be left alone to her workshop in peace, and get paid for jobs, than attend class. Because high school education isn’t something she needs; she’s already got a Master’s Degree in Engineering worth of education by the time she got invited to Hope’s Peak. … Too bad her schoolmates don’t see it that way…

Saori Aisaka - Ultimate Cheerleader

Saori Aisaka. The Ultimate Cheerleader. Her family's motto is, "Anything is possible for an Aisaka!" It's a saying that has empowered Saori through many hardships in her cheerleading career… Because as much as people like to assume it's all sunshine and rainbows, cheerleading is pretty similar to pop idols in how girls can be cruel and cutthroat. Do anything to get ahead. … But this has never been Saori's style. In her eyes, if you stoop so low to sabotage to compete, you've already lost the battle. Because you can't handle your rivals at their best, and that just means you don't believe in the team you're cheering for. This idealistic mindset of hers has inspired many girls, both on her cheerleading squads and even girls all over the nation.

This positivity has even led Saori's teams to conquer national championships several times… Her middle school were undefeated champions in cheerleading with Saori's leadership and guidance, and she's gone on to raise up several cheerleading squads from Hope's Peak, and once she graduated she went on to lead college and university cheer squads… She goes from one university to the next each semester to stir up friendly competitive spirit and make each team feel like they can do anything. Still, as capable as this phenomenal young woman is, who is Saori Aisaka? Where does she come from? What are her dreams and ambitions?

Saori was born to a pair of researchers that work for the curious Natsuki Corporation. A few years before Saori was born, the company was saved from declaring bankruptcy, and has since risen up to become an entity that can go toe-to-toe with the Togami's, the Kamukura's, and other such big superpowers. But Natsuki won't sell out to those rival corporations, will not kneel to them or bend to their whims; Natsuki Corp has this mysterious ironclad will behind it that even the EOS Institute has been forced to recognize in recent years. Natsuki appears to have an interest in making a number of products that make everyday life more convenient and fulfilling. From cars, to clothes dryers, to remote--controlled robots that can entertain the kids, to miracle drugs… To so much more. Natsuki Corp covers a lot of bases. Saori's parents are a part of separate research teams, but they seem to have the time every morning and evening to spend time as a family with Saori. Whether it's just one or both of them.

Saori loves her family a lot, as such… As well as Natsuki Corp. Because it's a company unlike almost any other - it's a company that values the employees and their families. After a thorough interview and screening process, they determine if the families applying to work for them are healthy or if there's abuse or any other underlying issues lurking beneath the surface. If there IS abuse, Natsuki spares money and resources to provide counseling to improve the quality of those families' lives. That's why Saori's family's situation isn't so special; Natsuki values ALL of its employees. Her parents making time to be with her is just a sign that the company's interests and values are working. Treat the employees well, as the people they are, and you'll inspire loyalty. Saori and her parents have had no reason to doubt Natsuki Corp; it's like a dream company to work for.

Because of how well her life is at home, Saori has been a rather positive, upbeat, likeable individual ever since she was young. She's not EVERYONE'S friend, but she can be ANYONE'S friend if they're willing. Of course… With how "perfect" she seems on the surface, Saori has garnered a number of people that dislike her outright and suspect she has a darker side, spreading vicious rumors about her and her family… Saori was never the type to attack people in return or even just confront them about the pervasive rumors… No, in Saori's mind all she can do is prove the rumors wrong. To be the best person she can be, even on her bad or off days… And so, the best way she found to do that is to take up cheerleading. Because cheering isn't for her sake; it's to show school spirit and support her friends. And even support the people spreading rumors about her.

Saori first joined the cheer squad at eight years old. Elementary school didn't give her much exposure to how "savage" cheerleading could get, how cruel girls could be… But it was a good time to be introduced to the after school hobby, to begin to learn the routines and learn the value of teamwork and building one another up. Because of this bright and shiny beginning, Saori carried this idealism over into middle school where things started to get more fierce. Their upperclassmen began fostering a competitive edge into Saori's friends, but the aggressiveness never stuck with Saori. So when one of her best friends began disparaging a rival school, Saori had a heart-to-heart with her about it, right out in the open in front of everyone. She managed to convince her friend that it wasn't worth putting down the other school; they were better off devoting their energy to cheering for their team and believing they can win. And even if they lose, it's not the end of the world. They can just try harder next time.

Of course… Saori making her opinions public like that, a few older girls took offense to how naive and "stupid" she was being. They "challenged" Saori for the position of cheer squad captain, knowing full well that first-years weren't allowed to try for that position. Their goal was to get Saori in trouble with the teacher overseeing the team… But Saori accepted the challenge, not knowing the risks involved… And in the end, the teacher took Saori's side when she explained everything later, how it was the other girls' idea but Saori was willing to leave the team or accept any punishment if that smoothed over feathers. Saori had never given the teacher or anyone a reason to be harsh with her; she was always just striving to be the best she could be… And so, for the first time in their school's history a first-year was made the cheer squad captain.

And it turned out amazing. Saori led her team to national championships for the first time that year. Her cheerful nature, her stalwart beliefs in her friends and school, the synergy she developed with the cheer squad, and the charisma she began developing… It all contributed to her school becoming the national champions for the first time in its history, through sheer effort and positivity.

Saori would go on to make her middle school cheer squad a well-oiled machine in the coming years. They would have their ups and downs, but everyone had faith that so long as Saori was here to lead them, they'd pull through. Her motto of "Anything is possible for an Aisaka!" became a motto for the students in general; not as a condescending statement, but more of a can-do attitude. A simple sentiment, but Saori's friends loved how uplifting it is.

As high school rolled around… Kizakura came calling, and while Saori didn't like parting with her friends, the scout won her over with the idea that as the Ultimate Cheerleader, she could go around to various high schools and help them become better, more wholesome teams. Saori loves that idea a lot, and so she agreed to come to HPA. And once she graduated, she went on to support both high schools and universities, changing cutthroat attitudes to more honorable ones. Honoring the competition, inspiring everyone to be the best they can be.

Yumi Yano - Ultimate Announcer

Yumi Yano. The Ultimate Announcer. This plucky young lass is known nationwide for commentating at sports arenas, idol shows, gameshows, presenting the news, weather, music… She's presented sensational promotional events, and she's a regular on the radio. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and she's favored by citizens all over Japan because she can cheer people up just by the mere sound of her voice. But who is Yumi Yano? Where does she come from? What are her dreams and ambitions?

Yumi was born to a TV news anchor and his wife, who worked in a cubicle all day. Essentially… They were middle class, and it's not as if they were living paycheck to paycheck… However, her parents were so used to the daily grind that they were left pretty joyless. Having Yumi was one of the happiest moments of their lives, but it's not as if they could put off work forever and raise her and be a family. Bills needed to be paid, and they wanted to give Yumi a good future. Get her into a good university, go for a good paying career…

Yumi saw how hard her parents worked, and felt terrible for being a burden. Of course they never called her that; they even assured her many times that she wasn't a burden… But that's just how Yumi felt. They were so absorbed in the daily grind they rarely had the time to sit down and be a family. Go for fun outings… There was just never time for any of that.

But it wasn't just her life at home. Yumi also suffered at school, somewhat. She was never bullied, never hated, but her friends had their own lives. They tried being there whenever possible, but often club activities, family business, hobbies and interests, and other friends would take higher priority over Yumi. She gave it her all to be supportive, but in the end it left her feeling lonely and at the worst of times abandoned.

One day, though… Yumi was allowed to visit her dad at work. She didn't have anything going on at school, so she agreed to "ditch" for the day and get to tour a television studio. It turned out really well for her - while her dad handled a daytime program, one of the other programs ongoing at the time needed an emergency substitute announcer, and no one else seemed to be available immediately. They were going to delay the broadcast, but Yumi, so sweet and innocent, convinced the camera crew to let her try and help. Her dad was a news anchor, how tough could this be?

They were just going to humor her, continue to delay the broadcast and let the kid think she was on TV…. But to their amazement, she understood the script just fine, and even injected her own unique energy and ad-libs - stuff that only a kid could imagine. They ended up broadcasting Yumi, and it was her first successful show. Her dad didn't even find out until weeks later, when Yumi got called in for more gigs. At just mine years old, Yumi proved to be a natural at television, and viewers just ate her up.

For several months, Yumi had to learn to analyze and commentate sports matches, gameshows, and so much more. But like she was born for this, Yumi took to announcing like a duck to water. She was helping her dad's TV studio, and all the staff were being so nice to her, even paying her…! She felt accepted, and her appearances on TV even earned attention from her schoolmates who suddenly wanted to prioritize her and get to know her. Yumi wasn't an idiot; she knew her newfound popularity was only because she was becoming a rising TV and radio sensation, but even so… Yumi didn't begrudge them. If they wanted to be friends, Yumi was happy to oblige. And all that money she got for being a part-time announcer, she helped pay her parents' bills and this in turn awoke her parents to what they were unwittingly allowing to happen. It wasn't their intention for Yumi to grow up so fast… So they tried to do a 180 and be a family for Yumi's sake. … Too little too late, however. Yumi was happy to have her family and friends… But she connects this to her success as an announcer. If she were to go back to how things were, she would return to loneliness and misery. She doesn't resent anyone for pushing her to this lifestyle; but she wants to keep what she has. Yumi can't let the pain show, so she resolves to keep smiling and laughing. Keep everyone's spirits up, including her own. She wants to keep helping the TV studio, and she's considering the other studios and stations offering her gigs because of her talent.

So despite her parents' worries… Yumi keeps growing as an announcer. Through her work, she's met and commentated on Chiemi, Chou, Satsuki, Hitomi, Hana, Honoka, Mitsuba, Stella, Hiyoko, Ibuki, Junko, Kotoko, Sayaka, Emma, Kanade and Hibiki, and Tsumugi… Just to name a "few" of the talented people she's encountered in her prolific career. Each celebrity she meets just makes Yumi's popularity and notoriety grow, but the way she sees it is that Yumi helps these amazing people gain traction and affection from their fantasies, because she endorses and supports each and every one of them. She makes sure society knows why these people are amazing, and why they should be admired.

When Kizakura inevitably came knocking, Yumi all too gladly accepted the invitation, to her parents' chagrin. Her career was pretty up there already, but HPA clearly sees her as the best. … And they're proud of her, but her parents do regret that she grew up too fast. That they drove her to think this career is all that matters. It's not like they can hold her back anymore… But they hope that HPA can give her the friends that see past her public image and just want to be her friends. … Because she needs that no-strings-attached friendship, after feeling lonely for so long.

And she would get that special friendship years later, when Makoto arrives at HPA~…

Whew. (人◕ω◕)(人◕ω◕)(人◕ω◕) If you made it this far, as a treat Class 73 is fully finished and just needs bios. They will be released definitely before Christmas week and I'm going to work very hard at getting them all ready very soon.

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