#and now that the boring tags are out of the way...

[scarlett-draws]

Elsje Wodan/Jazker Gailladria

Prompt: "Simply Impossible"

Rating: G

Tags: Pre-Oathbreak, Non-Canon, Pining, Forbidden Romance, Fantasy, D&D setting, Military

Captain Wodan commanded respect. She was thick set, and built like brick wall. It was rare to see her out of her fitted, full plate armor and even rarer to see her out of parade rest. That was a privilege that only her closet squad members could see— even then, she was likely to be dressed in her military formal attire rather than a threadbare shirt and linen pants. The latter was attributed more often to her lieutenant, Jazker Gailladria. Those who have barely heard of him knew him as the second son of a noble house, those who have met him knew him as a skirt chasing lay-about. Those who were friends with him? Well.

Those who were friends with him knew him as all of the above, as well as stupid, hardworking, talented, kind, and above all else— cunning.

Elsje Wodan belonged to the category of 'friend', alongside their two other squadmates Runishta and Polus. At this current moment, however, Elsje was thinking about revoking the friendship status.

"You really don't think we could get like, a herd of horses?" He asked, downturned eyes somehow looking up at her through his lashes despite their over-a-foot height difference.

"Once more I will ask, what for?" Elsje's voice was getting strained with exasperation. This conversation has been going around in circles for almost fifteen minutes and she was getting tired of it.

"Morale." Jazker blinked pleadingly, looking so much like a puppy that she wondered if she could stick him in a pitiful box, leave him in the next town, and someone would adopt him into a new loving home just so that she wouldn't have to deal with his stupid pretty face anymore.

"Right. You want us to tame an entire herd of wild horses... to boost morale."

"Yes."

"Request Denied." She said, voice thick with authority and finality.

He threw up his hands in exaggerated defeat, "Damnit! I was SO close this time!" He seemed to pout for good measure.

Elsje narrowed her eyes at him. He'd been bringing up this ridiculous 'request' every week for the past two months. They then get into a near twenty minute long debate about it before she inevitably turns him down and he finally leaves. The only question is WHY. He isn't dumb, despite his best attempts to appear so. She knows that he knows they can't ACTUALLY get a random herd of horses. So why? Why have this whole debate every week? Was it to shirk his duties? She glances at her reports. He's done everything asked of him, so it couldn't be that. Her gaze bored into the words 'Gailladria' on the report page. Each instance of the name had a 'Task Completed' and then a date next to that. She kept staring at it for another few moments as if it could give her the answers she was looking for. She only looked back to her lieutenant when she heard a small, contented sigh. The kind she was sure he hadn't even intended to make.

When she did look up, however, her eyes met his. He looked... happy. In a gentle way. He had a small smile on his tanned face and his eyes were soft and kind. It wasn't the kind of look she'd ever seen on him, not on any of his numerous dates. It made a tingling sensation go down her spine and a heat rise to her face.

"Jaz?" Her voice came out softer than it should have. She was supposed to be authoritative right now.

"Yeah?" He more sighed than said, eyes not leaving the soft curve of Elsje's face.

Elsje opened her mouth to say something, it died in her throat before she even knew what it was so she closed her mouth. The flush in her face was getting hotter and more irritating the longer he looked at her.

In the end, she could only bark out: "Don't look at me like that."

His smile grew a little wider, and he teased softly, "Simply impossible."

Her shoulder's stiffened and her lips pursed. His eyes danced with mirth as she did so and she just knew he was enjoying watching her squirm.

"You shouldn't look at me like that." She scolded again, but it came out sincere instead of cold.

A mote of sadness- no, yearning danced in his eyes like dust motes in sunlight as he softly answered, "I know."

They both knew.

They both also knew that Elsje was never going to do anything to stop him, because they both knew that she looked at him the exact same way.

Dialogue Responses

"Don't look at me like that."

"I can't help it."

"Simply impossible."

"Just don't look back."

"I'm not looking at you."

"Then stop being so cute."

"How am I looking at you?"

"Why? Does it bother you?"

"Can't take my eyes off of you."

"Sorry, but it will happen again."

"How would you like me to look at you?"

All the Dialogue Responses can be found here.

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[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - Epilogue

Source for pic

Trouble - Epilogue 🔞

Word Count: 6362

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: And here we are... at the end of another installment of my Meet-Cute series. My gosh, three are done and two to go! I guess I never thought I was going to write all of them and I can't take you guys enough for all the support! But hey, I'll leave that to another post! For now, I hope you enjoy the epilogue of this thrilling story. Let me know all about it, please, I'm dying to know if it was satisfying!

Masterlist

Healing isn’t linear.

You thought you were on the right track after moving in with Zoro. You started taking your meds, shared your feelings with your friends, checked in on Shanks every day. More importantly, you don’t keep anything from Zoro anymore.

And you’ve both been very happy. 

Until it all crashes down again, and all the healing you’ve done goes up in smoke, like it meant nothing, and you’re right back where you started: afraid, trapped, small, and vulnerable.

It’s the little things that trigger you. And you find that out the hard way.

-*-

Zoro insists on returning to work, even though his injuries are still healing. He and Mihawk have a terrible argument over the phone until his captain clears him for desk duty with limited hours. 

It’s not what Zoro wanted, but he’ll take it. Since he can’t exercise as often or as hard as he would like, he’ll take this distraction. Besides, you’ve been telling him that you still want to help your father around the farm, as much as you feel capable of doing, and he gets bored being alone with nothing to do. 

It’s on one of those mornings, when the chores are done, Zoro is at the station, and you and Shanks are sharing a mug of coffee by the porch steps that you take another step forward in your healing process. 

“Dad…” You begin with a sigh and Shanks sets down his mug so he can give you his full attention. “I’m sorry.”

He hears the smallness in your voice and cocks his head to the side. “About what?”

“About not feeling at home in your house… I… It’s just…”

Shanks places his arm over your shoulders and pulls you towards him. “You don’t have to explain, Bug. I get it. You don’t even have to apologise for it! All I want is for you to heal and be happy, you know that.”

You do know that. But it still feels like you’re abandoning your father, and it weighs on your chest constantly. 

With a trembling inhale, you blink away your unshed tears. “Yes, Dad, I know that. But… this is the house I grew up in, and it hurts that I can’t call it home anymore. You’re here, and I can’t bear to be inside for more than a few minutes. I’m sorry.”

Shanks pulls back so he can look into your eyes. He has a genuine, though sorrowful, look on his face when he utters your name softly. “Home is not a place.” Your eyes widen as he kisses your forehead. “I could be living on a ship, or anywhere across the world, and home wouldn’t be there… you’re my home.”

“Home is not a place…” You repeat, and he nods. 

“It’s okay if the house you grew up in doesn’t feel like home anymore, Bug. It truly is.” Shanks sets one hand over your heart, still smiling. “Let your heart find your home.”

This time, you can’t stop the tears from flowing down your face as Shanks wipes them away with his thumb. Then you hug him tightly as your chest feels a little bit lighter. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” 

You pull back and stare into his eyes. Lately, and as you’ve been feeling brighter and better, there have been fewer shadows in them, like he’s managing to push the guilt away, so you know that as you heal, your father heals with you.

You’re his home.

“Okay, Dad, I’m going upstairs to fill a bag with clothes, just like I promised my therapist. Baby steps.” You can’t deny that you’re nervous about spending time in your room. You’ve been inside a few times, but only for a few minutes and never alone. Your therapist proposed baby steps to help you face the most triggering situations, and you’ve been trying that. 

That’s why you’ve been helping Shanks around the farm. You had lunch at the farmhouse too, the other day. Granted, you helped your dad cook and then you both ate the meal outside, but it was still progress. 

The walls don’t seem so suffocating, the air is lighter. You can do this. 

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

You nod and get up, dusting off your behind as you take a deep breath and face the door, trying to push the image of the dead cat pinned to it to the back of your mind. 

“I can do this, Dad. Baby steps.” You start walking and then stop, turning around. “Well… maybe you can wait in the living room so I can call you if I need you?” Asking for help is also a baby step, and you take it.

“Sure.” Shanks smiles, collects the mugs of coffee, and heads inside with you. He’s trying to act nonchalant, but you can hear the mugs jingling with the slightest tremor from him. “Oh,” he exclaims suddenly. “Some of your city friends sent you some flowers, I guess the news spread there too, because…” He doesn’t say it, but you make the connection: Ichiji. “I placed them in your room. You know I don’t care much about flowers, and they were for you, so…”

You smile and nod as you start to climb the stairs. “Thank you, Dad!” You haven’t said much to your friends from the city. They’re mostly Ichiji’s friends anyway, but maybe you should text and thank them? Could there be a note on the flowers so you know who sent them?

The thought gets pushed aside as you face your closed door, your heart hammering against your chest as you chew on your lips. 

Baby steps.

You got this.

With a heavy inhale, you turn the doorknob and enter. 

The room is bright, your father has been opening the windows every day to let in the sun and fresh air. Other than that, it seems untouched. Cold, like it doesn’t belong to you anymore. 

But there’s no suffocating oppression, no feeling of entrapment. You got this.

And then your eyes fall on your desk, where the flowers stand, and you freeze. Fresh red roses. A huge bouquet of them.

It’s not King, it’s not him, he’s dead.

Your mind knows this, your brain understands that the bouquet came from your friends. King is dead, it wasn’t him, he wasn’t inside.

He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!

You can’t breathe. Your chest feels tight, and it hurts as your heart hammers away in an erratic, accelerated rhythm. 

It’s not him!

Your body trembles violently, and you slump on the floor, bringing your knees to your chest and shutting your eyes. 

But you still see them. The red roses.

King.

“D–Da–Dad!” You manage to croak out, turning your head towards the open door so he can hear you. Your pills are downstairs, and just the thought of getting up seems daunting. In a matter of seconds, Shanks is kneeling by your side, whispering your name and asking what’s wrong.

“Bug, hey, hey, it’s alright! I’m here! Come on.” He tries to move you, to lift you, but you push him off, shaking your head frantically. You don’t feel safe, don’t feel like you can move, you’re frozen and shaking. There’s only one person that can help.

“Zo…”

Shanks nods and takes the phone out of his pocket, the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes more prominent again.

Zoro picks up the call immediately. “Zoro, she needs you.”

“On my way.” You hear his clipped answer before he turns off the call. He knew what you were doing today, and even if he didn’t, you don’t think Zoro would ask any questions after the words your father just told him. 

You need him. And that’s all he needs to know. 

Shanks holds you and tries to soothe you as best as he can, but he doesn’t understand what triggered you. You have been in your room before, even though you weren’t alone, but you managed somewhat. 

Now it felt like you were reliving the trauma, your shoulders shaking, knowing that you need to get away from this triggering situation, but not managing to do it with your dad. Shanks is safe, you know that, but Zoro is…

Home.

He must’ve broken all speed limits because he arrives at the farmhouse in record time, calling your name as soon as he enters. Shanks answers him, signaling where you are, and you hear dry thuds as he races up the stairs.

He’s breathless and clutching his side when he arrives upstairs because his wounds still bother him, but his eye falls on you immediately. 

You can barely do more than sob and tremble.

Shanks falls back to give Zoro space and starts pacing the room, his fingers running through his hair, and you know he feels as helpless as Zoro felt all those weeks ago. But you can’t seem to focus on anything other than the overwhelming anxiety and the fear that King is somehow still chasing you. 

“Hey, Troublemaker. Still making trouble, huh?” Zoro kneels beside you, his voice soft but frayed, as he treads carefully. His fingers brush your hair as he tries to coax you to look at him. 

You just hug your legs tighter, trying to disappear.

Then Zoro looks around, and his eye widens as he sees the bouquet. “It’s the flowers, Mr. S. Get rid of them.”

Shanks looks confused for a moment, his gaze alternating between Zoro, the desk, and you. But he snaps out of it and does as Zoro tells him, taking them away from the room, away from your sight. And Zoro tries again. 

He calls your name softly, but when that doesn’t work, he sits down and shifts your body so your back is leaning against his chest instead of the wall. Then, he hugs you from behind, his legs around yours as his arms envelop you in a crushing hug. Zoro buries his face in the crook of your neck and tries to slow your breathing by coaxing you to breathe at the same time as him.

After a few minutes, when he senses that you’ve calmed down a little bit, he speaks. “I won’t ever let anything or anyone hurt you again. Hear me?” You nod softly and shrink further into his protective embrace. “Wanna talk about it?”

You inhale a very shaky breath, and Zoro searches his pocket for a few seconds before extending a bottle of pills. “I brought you the emergency pills.” You bite your lower lip, stifling a sob. He remembered your pills. Of course he did.

So you take one because you know you can’t be strong all the time. And then, you turn a little bit in his embrace, just so you can look at him. “The freaking roses…” You say, upset.

“You knew they weren’t from him.” Zoro states, and you nod.

“And it still triggered me.” Zoro nods, his hand finds yours, and he intertwines your fingers. “What if… what if I never stop being afraid, Zo?”

He tightens his hold on you and lowers his head until your foreheads bump. “Then I’ll just keep reminding you that you’re safe. That you’ll never be in danger again. I won’t allow it.”

“That’s not exactly fair to you.” You whisper, and the words still manage to scratch your throat, because how can it be fair for him? Why does he have to be strong for both of you? Why does he have to be the one to ground you and bear all the weight?

Zoro huffs in exasperation. “Tch, like I give a shit about fair, Trouble. You’re stuck with me now, no way out.”

A small chuckle leaves your lips. “Like that’s a bad thing?”

“I hope not.” He smirks smugly and kisses your lips softly. “Still want to grab your stuff, or do we come back another day?”

“I can do it.” You whisper. The roses are gone, you took your medication, and Zoro is here. You can do this. He’s not the only one that needs to be strong. “I want to do it.”

“You got this.”

-*-

Zoro leans against the wooden railing of the stairs, crossing his arms over his chest as his eye never leaves your open door. He’s giving you space to deal with this alone, while still being close enough in case you need him again.

His jaw clenches, and he grits his teeth. Fuck all of this. He can’t stand to see the pain in your eyes, can’t stand the haunted, frightened look on your face everytime something triggers you. If he could kill King again, he would. Over and over and over again.

Motherfucker. 

No matter how hard Zoro tries, he can’t shake away the rage gnawing at his insides, reminding him how he should’ve done better. How he should’ve protected you better. He wasn’t strong enough, or fast enough. 

“Fuck.” Zoro mutters.

“Fuck’s right.” Shanks murmurs as he approaches and mimics Zoro’s stance, leaning against the railing, eyes bored into your bedroom door. Then he hands Zoro a beer. Zoro hesitates, then takes it with a small thanks. 

Both men stand in silence, the words left unsaid linger around them until Shanks sighs after a sip of his beer. “I should’ve been here. I’m her father and I couldn’t even protect her.”

Shanks doesn’t have to say the words for Zoro to recognize guilt in them. The same kind of burden he carries, regret and shame mixed together, sticking on his body like a second skin, like something he can’t wash off. 

“Well...” Zoro takes his own sip. “I was here. And it still wasn’t enough.”

Shanks looks at him, maybe he, too, understands that they share the same sentiment. A bitterness over wanting to turn back time, to change something that can’t be changed. 

“I would give anything to take this pain away from her.” Shanks mutters with a vulnerability that Zoro never saw in him in all the years since he’s known him. 

“Same…” Zoro’s voice sounds raw and vulnerable too and he tightens his grip on the railing, like that can ground him here. 

Silence stretches again. All that can be heard is the rustling of clothes as you store them into a bag, sometimes a heavy sigh as you try to ground yourself. But you don’t call for either of them, so they leave you alone with your demons. 

“Thank you.” Shanks finally says. 

“I…” Zoro clenches his teeth. It feels wrong for your father to be thanking him when you still got hurt. “Yeah.”

“I know you wish you could’ve done more, trust me, kid, I wish for the same every damn day,” Shanks’ hand on Zoro’s shoulder squeezes with understanding. “But you saved her, you bled for her, you were willing to die for her. And that’s all a father can ask. So thank you.”

Zoro nods again, his eye never leaving your door as his throat suddenly feels tighter. Then Shanks chuckles and removes his hand from his shoulder, picking up the beer again and finishing it in one long gulp. “You love her.” 

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. And one that Zoro has no intention to hide from anyone. 

“I do.”

“I know. You have since you both were kids. I could see it a mile away, you idiot.” 

“Oi!” Zoro grits his teeth again, annoyance taking over the sentiment of mutual understanding pretty quickly.

“I trust you.” Shanks sighs and smiles at Zoro, nodding towards your door before straightening up and inhaling deeply. “I trust you to protect her.”

Zoro barely has time to reply before you stride over to them, a weary smile on your lips and a duffel bag hanging over your shoulder. Zoro nods at Shanks, then removes the bag from your hands, carrying it himself. “Ready to go?”

You smile at him and nod. “All good.”

Shanks sighs once more before hugging you a little longer than necessary, then kissing your head. “Anytime you wanna pop up, door’s open, Bug.”

You kiss his cheek and then pull away. “I’m not moving to another island, Dad. We’re literally ten minutes away.” You both chuckle but Shanks’ smile is bittersweet. And so is yours. You know his words have a much deeper meaning, and you’re so grateful to him.

-*-

Healing isn’t the same for everyone. But Zoro is so strong.

Almost two months have passed since the nightmare ended, and there are more times when you feel good than when you feel bad, it’s true. But Zoro is never shaken. 

He’s returned to work full-time, and Nami and Robin got you a part-time job at the firm where they work, just something to fill in the endless void, since idle moments send you spiraling into unwanted thoughts. 

He trains. Harder and harder every day, and he’s just unshakable. Your rock.

Your nightmares still come. Not every night, and they’re not always insufferable. There are more times when they merely jolt you from sleep than times when they completely freeze you. And you take that as progress. 

What you don’t realise at first is that Zoro only acts strong. Zoro seems healed because he never truly lets you see the depth of his wounds. He’s more broken than you know, much more than he lets on. 

And he carries this weight alone. 

The only reason you realise this is that one night, when your nightmare forces you to awaken and search for the comfort of your rock, you find his side of the bed empty and cold. Sitting up, you let your eyes adjust to the dim light before spotting him. 

Zoro sits at the edge of the bed, hands buried in his hair, and elbows resting on his knees. His body is taut and tense, ready for a fight. He’s visibly shaking, though no sound escapes his lips. You call his name softly, but he doesn’t acknowledge you, so you shuffle to his side, hesitate, then wrap your arms around his torso, resting your cheek lightly against his bare back. He’s freezing.

“Zo…” You call out softly again, tightening your grip, trying to pull him back from whatever hell he’s in. 

With a shudder, he inhales deeply, his face still lost in shadows. 

“Tell me what’s wrong.” You urge, feeling small and vulnerable because this isn’t like Zoro at all. 

After a moment of silence, when you think he's not going to share anything, he starts talking. His voice is hoarse, rough and frayed, filled with emotion. 

“I see him every night when I fall asleep.” 

Your breath catches, and you press closer. “King?”

“Yes.” Zoro nearly growls, his chest rising and falling in painful gasps, his fingers dig deeper into his skull, as if that’s the only way to keep his rage contained. “I relive the moment in my head every night, but… when I fight him, I lose. And then… he doesn’t kill me, I just… have to watch as he hurts you, touches you, and–” He doesn’t need to finish. “You keep calling for me, screaming my name, begging for my help, and I can’t move, I can’t fucking do anything!” 

Zoro’s voice breaks as his whole body shudders violently and you hug him tighter, tears streaming down your face. 

“I can’t stop him!” His breath falters, and he gasps for air. “I just fucking watch as he takes you over, and over, and over.” Zoro drops his hands from his hair and clenches them into trembling fists. It’s like the words physically hurt him. “Every night I wake up and I’m just so angry! I want to tear the fucking world apart, because I can’t stop him, and he hurts you every fucking time!” Zoro’s shoulders heave with exertion, he’s trying to keep his rage locked tight, to be strong, trying not to break.

“I’m fucking useless. Weak. And I can’t save you.”

Your chest aches, and your eyes burn with more tears. This is your rock, your home, your shelter. And he’s falling apart. All this time, you thought he was fine, that he was handling it. But in reality, he was just faking it. Being strong for both of you when he can’t even keep himself together.

You shift, climbing onto his lap and straddling him. Cupping his cheeks, you gently force him to look at you. 

“Zo, look at me.” He does and you see it again, that hollowness in his eye, the shadows darkening it. It haunts you. “You’re not useless. You were never weak. And you did save me.”

He shakes his head, a pained sound escaping his lips. “It wasn’t enough. He still touched you, still saw you, still hurt you.”

“It’s not your fault.” You press your forehead against his, your fingers pressing tight against his cheeks. “It’s not your fault! You saved me, Zoro. You did. Stop blaming yourself for things that were never in your control. I’m here, you’re here.” You pull back slightly, searching his eye. “And now we move on. Or he keeps winning. We need to move on.”

Zoro holds your stare, his jaw clenching. His chest still heaves, like he’s fighting an internal war, wanting to believe your words, but not wanting to let go of his own guilt. 

“You saved me. He doesn’t get to have your soul too, Zo. He’s already taken enough.”

Zoro swallows hard, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he briefly closes his eye, letting your words sink in. At least you hope they’re sinking in. 

“You don’t have to be strong for both of us, you know? You’re allowed to break and to doubt. You’re not weak because of it.” You peck him softly as he opens his eye. “We get to make each other stronger, okay?”

He nods. Vulnerability still lingering in his eye. Then he hugs you, pulling you closer and tighter against him, to make sure you’re safe, real, and his. You hold him back, your fingers tracing soft patterns through his hair, trying to calm his shaking.

Zoro doesn’t cry, but his body breaks with violent shakes. And you let him, you hold him through it. 

After a moment, Zoro’s hands loosen their hold as he takes a deep breath. They slither under the shirt you’re wearing - his shirt - and caress your waist, climbing upwards to your spine. 

A shiver courses through you at the feel of his calloused touch. He’s warm now. Zoro’s lips press against the hollow of your throat, his hands lowering to your bare thighs, caressing, taunting, igniting a fire.

A low gasp escapes your lips as Zoro’s tongue teases your collarbone, then trails up your neck. You mewl and clench your legs around his sides, eliciting a soft groan from him. 

“Zo…” Another gasp escapes as Zoro’s hands climb again, teasing both nipples at the same time. “You sure?”

It’s still early in the recovery process, and you don’t want to create unwanted frustrations. You’ve tried to be intimate more than once before, but Zoro’s injuries were still too severe, no matter how much desire you felt for each other. 

He groans again, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate kiss in which he demands and you willingly give. Then he pulls back long enough to answer you. “Yes, I‘m sure.” Zoro kisses you again, more teeth, more tongue, more groans. “We’ve waited long enough.”

You sure have.

He pinches your nipples again, and you buck your hips against his crotch, feeling how hard he already is.

“Fuck.” Zoro whispers as he pulls the shirt over your head. “Fuck.” He repeats as he takes a good look at you, then his lips latch on to your pert bud, his tongue circling it languorously. 

“Don’t act so surprised.” Your giggle turns into a breathy gasp as he sucks, your hand caressing the planes of his muscles. “You’ve seen me naked before.”

“Sure.” He answers in a coarse voice. “It still takes my breath away every time.” And then you’re both shuffling to take off the rest of your clothes. Zoro sits you back onto his lap, his hands gripping the back of your thighs as he claims your lips again. 

He pulls you flush, and you feel his girthy cock pressing against your clit. “Fuck.” This time you let out and Zoro chuckles. 

“Don’t act so surprised,” he mimics you. “You’ve seen it before.” Zoro grabs his cock and slides the tip against your nether lips, gathering slick and teasing you, making your breath hitch. Smirking, he stares into your eyes. “Guess it still takes your breath away.”

With a huffed laugh, you crash your lips against his again at the same time as he slides his cock inside you. Parting the kiss, you arch into him, your hands griping his shoulders tight as you adjust to the stretch. Zoro’s forehead dips towards your shoulder, and he grunts in pleasure once he’s fully sheathed, sending another shiver coursing through your body. 

You tighten your legs around him, hugging him, pressing closer in an intimacy that goes far beyond physical connection. Zoro’s hands press your hips as he guides your movements.

“Oh, Zo… that’s…” Biting your lip, you stifle a loud moan. He’s reaching deep, his cock dragging slowly against your walls and repeatedly hitting you just right.

“Yeah, I know.” He answers back with a rough voice, his fingers digging deeper into your skin. This is different from the first time you had sex with him. This is making love: slow, tender, healing. “I got you.”

He picks up the pace, and you meet his thrusts with your own, unable to hold anything back as pleasure builds up in your core, burning your skin, inflaming your desire. Zoro gropes your flesh, his fingers digging into your plush thighs as he thrusts faster. 

You feel pleasure cresting, ready to crash into a wave of rapture, and increase your moans, unable to hold anything back. Zoro’s got you, exactly like he said, so he slides his hand between your bodies, and his thumb finds your swollen nub as he presses and circles it relentlessly. 

“Zoro!” You cry out before bliss surges through you, shaking your body as heavy gasps leave your lips.

Zoro rides your orgasm with you, with sloppy, uneven strokes before he, too, comes undone, hugging you against him as his head disappears into the crook of your neck, behind a litany of hushed words and whispers of your name. 

You both stay still, chests heaving in the aftermath, slight shocks of pleasure still rippling through your body as Zoro is still buried inside you. You take a deep breath and pull back from his embrace, cupping his cheek so he can look at you again.

“You okay?” He nods softly, and you smile. There are fewer shadows in his eye now, and he knows your question was deeper than the physical exertion he just put himself through. 

“We’ll be okay.” He states and kisses you softly. “Together.”

Later that night, you both have dreamless sleep. You know you’ll still face rough nights, sleepless ones, or nights filled with horrible dreams. But as long as you’re together, you can both face it.

Because the nightmare might’ve ended, but you weren’t the only one who survived it.

-*-

The day is bright, warm, and uneventful. 

“Watch out!” Usopp cries loudly as Zoro deflects a ball away from your face effortlessly before cursing at your long-nosed friend and Luffy. 

So, not quite uneventful, but how could it be when you and your friends are all hanging out at the beach?

“You alright?” Zoro asks, still frowning. 

“Didn’t even touch me, Zo.” You giggle as he sits next to you, his feet digging back into the sand as his hand wraps around your thigh and pulls you closer. You have come to terms with the fact that Zoro will be extra protective from now on, and also with the fact that it will always be extremely endearing. “Thank you.”

He leans to kiss you, and you sigh into him. Six months have passed since King. You still carry your meds around as a safeguard, but rare are the days in which you have to take them. 

Mihawk closed the investigation on your stalker since they caught the accomplices and King is dead. Sometimes, reporters still lurk about, trying to get that scoop you never gave them, always failing to get past your guard dog - Zoro laughed when you called him that - especially now that the half-year mark has passed. 

Nami decked one reporter right on the nose a couple of weeks back because he couldn’t take no for an answer. She made the news instead of you, but she wasn’t the least bit bothered by it. Zoro approved. 

While there are still days when you find yourself looking over your shoulder, trembling when you get a sudden text, or double-checking the locks on Zoro’s door before heading to bed, the days that flow freely are the most common. 

And your friends make sure you have plenty of those in their company, because their company is never dull, boring, or uneventful. This time, it was Vivi’s idea to spend a day at the beach. 

And what a wonderful idea it was.

“This feels nice.” You say, closing your eyes and letting your head rest against Zoro’s shoulder, basking in the sun.

“The beach?” He asks as he looks around at all the chaos: Sanji yelling at Luffy, who’s running away from the grill with a piece of meat between his teeth; Kaya helping Chopper put sunscreen on his back and drawing a smile before rubbing it in; Usopp and Barto having a sandcastle contest, to see whose is the best; Brook teaching Vivi how to play the violin; Nami and Robin trying to enter the water slowly, only to be splashed by Sabo and Franky teasingly. “Or the shenanigans?”

You let out a laugh, drinking in all the interactions, letting them warm your heart. “Well, both, but that was not it…” Turning around, you pass your fingers through his green locks and stare into his eyes. “I missed feeling light.” Zoro hums in understanding. “Unburdened… free.”

“Yeah.” He agrees, foreheads bumping. “We’ve earned it.” You nod as you kiss again, softly this time. He’s right, you’ve both earned this peace.

“Come on in, you two! The water is amazing!” Nami calls from the sea, waving her arms at you and Zoro. Then she squeals in delight when Franky sets her on his shoulders so they can have a battle with Robin and Sabo. “Stop sucking face! You’re disgustingly cute!” She shrieks before turning back to try and topple Robin. 

You giggle as Zoro pulls back, calling her a witch and mumbling something about not being cute. 

With a mischievous grin, you get up, face the sea, and look over your shoulder. “Race you, Mosshead!” Then you start to run without looking back, because a grunt and a curse let you know Zoro’s already on his feet, ready to pounce. You don’t even make it halfway into the sea when he wraps one arm around your waist and spins you effortlessly. A loud shriek that turns into a heartfelt laugh fills the space between you as Zoro sets you down, grinning.

“Guess you’re going to naughty jail for real this time, Trouble.”

You place the back of your hand on your forehead and arch back dramatically. “Oh, heavens, whatever shall I do now?” He grins and you poke his nose, smirking playfully. “But since I’m here, and you’re my jailor, you’re gonna have to whip out those handcuffs now…”

Zoro clears his throat as his eye widens, but to his credit, he still maintains his composure. “Yeah, I will. If you misbehave.”

You lean in, brushing your chest against his, riling him up on purpose. “Guess you’d have to teach me a lesson then, wouldn’t you… officer?” The way you sultrily lick your lips, teasing him, has his ears turning red in less than a second. “Or should I call you sir?”

Zoro’s brain short-circuits for a second, and now his whole face is red. Then you start to laugh and he shakes his head, a real laugh emerging from his lips - that deep, rumbling sound that shakes his chest and the smile that opens up his whole face. You love his laugh. 

“You’re impossible!” He exclaims, and you’re about to retort when he picks you up like a sack of potatoes and enters the sea with unforgiving speed, not even giving you time to adjust to the difference in temperature, taking a deep plunge with you in his arms. 

You break the surface with an indignant gasp and try to dunk his head underwater as he laughs at your pathetic efforts. When the laughter dies down, his smile lingers, and he pulls you closer, whispering your name with devotion. “You did it. You made it.”

He’s talking about the healing process, you know that. And he’s right. You’re almost there. And even though some days might set you back, you know that in his company, you can overcome anything.

“No, Zo. We did it.”

-*-

Two weeks. Zoro was gone for two whole weeks.

He had been drafted to another training retreat, no cellphones, no email, just the occasional landline phone call, and it was nowhere near enough. You missed him like crazy. He had considered refusing, claiming that he could not leave you alone. He was sure Mihawk would understand and write up his excuse, if necessary, but you forced him to go.

You knew he needed the training to build his strength back up, and you couldn’t depend on him for all eternity. You knew there would be times when you would have to be alone. So it was a test for both of you. 

The nights were the hardest part, but you managed by curling against Zoro’s pillow, which still smelled like him. Shanks and your friends made sure you were alright and not feeling lonely, and even your therapist checked in on you, but you didn’t suffer any crises, you plowed through. 

It was a victory.

And now, as you wait in the parking lot of the police station, absently chewing on your lower lip and barely containing your excitement by bouncing on the balls of your feet, you can’t stifle the giggle that escapes your lips as you see the bus approach. Raising your handmade sign that reads: ‘Welcome home, Officer Mosshead’, in bright neon green lettering, you grin. You already know he’s going to hate it.

Which is exactly why you crafted it. 

The bus slows down as it enters the parking lot, and the loud psshh it releases as it parks is a prelude to the wild thrumming of your heart. The families gathered around, waiting for Zoro’s colleagues share the same anxiety as you, as wives, husbands, and children wait for their loved ones. 

When the doors open, you raise your sign high with a sheepish grin. There’s already laughter bubbling up from the officers that exit the bus, some of them shout behind in warning to others, so, when your green-haired boyfriend finally emerges, duffle bag swung over his shoulder, he’s already wearing a scowl from all the teasing.

You squeak as his eyes land on you, and though you’re far away, you can practically hear him grumbling curses. 

You’ve missed him. Damn it, you’ve missed him so much.

Unceremoniously dropping the sign on the floor, you start to sprint towards the bus, swiftly evading people as you see the wild green of Zoro’s hair coming closer and closer. 

And then you trip over your own feet, stumble forward, arms spread wide as you brace for impact, but you manage to regain your balance and resume your sprint. When you look at Zoro, he’s sighing in relief, arms stretched as if he wanted to catch you, even though you’re still far. You laugh, and he shakes his head, a grin curving his lips as you take the final steps towards him. 

You leap into his arms without thought or consideration, and he catches you effortlessly, groping the back of your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist, burying your head against the crook of his neck and squeezing him against you. 

“Zoro!” You exclaim, breathless as he stumbles back from the force of the impact and hits the side of the bus. 

“Hey, Troublemaker!” He grins at you as you pull back to look him fully in the eye. “Making trouble?”

The laugh that parts your lips is freeing, familiar, wanted. “Yes! So much trouble, you have no idea!”

He laughs too, a laugh that now comes easier to him, at least when he’s with you. “Tch… paperwork on my desk by Monday, right?”

You begin to laugh again, but Zoro takes your lips in his in a breathtaking kiss. The noise he makes when you slip your tongue out to seek his sounds like longing and desperation mixing together, and you grip him tighter and harder, enough to ground you. Your fingers thread through his hair and grip as you both deepen the kiss. 

It’s only when Zoro’s coworkers start to make whooping sounds and tell you both to get a room that you two part, but not before Zoro flips them off with a grunt. Your foreheads bump together, and you caress his cheekbone with your thumb.

“I love you, Mosshead.”

“Oi!” You giggle because he gets annoyed so easily, but his smirk tells you he’s just putting on an act. “I love you too, Trouble.” Warmth spreads in your chest as you get lost in Zoro’s eye. “Let’s go home,” he says.

You nod, feeling light and free. Because, like Shanks said, home is not a place. Home is not the farmhouse, even though now it starts to feel less scary, less tainted, less haunted; home is not Zoro’s quiet apartment, filled with domesticity and happiness; Home is not a place. It's him. 

Zoro is your home. 

THE END

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[sixeyesonathiel]

a guide to ditching the world’s most persistent nerd!

CH04 – case study: identifying gojo satoru's type

pairing - nerd!gojo x baddie!reader

summary : gojo satoru has been the bane of your existence since kindergarten. you invited him to play during recess? he chose studying instead. you tried to give him chocolates? he rejected them for the sake of your dental health. you called him boring and never looked back.

years later, you’re a party girl with daddy issues, and he's the smartest, richest, greenest green flag at your elite university. when you're paired up for a project worth 60% of your final grade, you think you can slack off—except gojo keeps finding you at every exclusive club, dragging you back to work like the menace he is.

you flirt to distract him, he humors you. you push, he pulls. you seduce, he tucks your hair behind your ear and looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

oh no.

tags -> modern au, university au, tooth rooting fluff with a side of light angst, unresolved romantic tension, suggestive themes, gojo satoru is a green flag menace, reader has issues, power struggles but gojo is unaware he's in one, forced proximity via group project, reader tries to ditch gojo satoru and fails spectacularly, pining disguised as irritation, rich kids and their rich kid problems, the art of denial, humor (i hope), eventual happy ending

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chapter summary : step four in ditching the world's most persistent nerd: do not let him steal your food, do not let him drink from your straw like he owns it, and absolutely do not let him flip your own trap back on you until you're suddenly the one planning a date.

monday morning, and the world remembers exactly who you are.

the moment your heels click against the pavement, heads turn, conversations stall, and admiration thickens in the air like expensive perfume. they watch—of course they do. how could they not? in a city of polished legacies and wealth-drenched surnames, you are a spectacle, a masterpiece in motion. black silk drapes over your body, dipping scandalously at the back, every step deliberate, every glance stolen in your wake a testament to your control. the gold chain of your bag glints under the morning sun, nails skimming over the cool metal as you exhale—bored, detached, untouchable.

and yet, a hand—too rough, too desperate—for your own liking, ruins the perfection.

“please, baby—just one more night, i swear—”

a grip on your wrist. tight, pleading. naoya zenin, heir to an empire that means nothing to you. his breath is uneven, his jaw tight, that arrogance you once found mildly entertaining now crumbling into something pathetic. you barely remember him—was it months ago? weeks? a forgettable night, an indulgence with an expiration date. but naoya, poor fool, still thinks your attention is something he can buy back.

“don’t do this,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower as if he has the right to be intimate. “tell me what i did wrong. i can fix it.���

your sigh is soft, practiced. slow enough to be cutting. with an elegant tilt of your head, you look down at him, gaze laced with something almost pitying. naoya zen’in, who has never been denied, never been left wanting, now stands before you as nothing more than another name to forget.

“naoya.” his name falls from your lips like an afterthought, like you are already done with him. “stand up. you’re embarrassing yourself.”

but he doesn’t.

instead—he drops to his knees.

gasps ripple through the crowd, scandal blooming like wildfire in hushed voices. a zen’in heir, kneeling? in public? unheard of. his peers—other heirs, legacies wrapped in old money and colder expectations—watch with thinly veiled amusement, a few pulling out their phones, eager to immortalize his disgrace. but naoya doesn’t care, doesn’t see the way his reputation fractures with every second he lingers on the ground.

“please,” he tries again, his voice raw with something close to desperation.

and you—oh, you laugh.

a soft thing, delicate yet cruel, wrapping around him like silk before tightening into a noose.

“oh, sweetheart…” your voice dips, low and syrupy, cutting through the stunned silence like the clean edge of a knife. “you can’t fix being forgettable.”

the air shifts.

someone chokes on their drink. others whisper, murmur, revel in the spectacle of naoya zen’in being reduced to nothing in the span of a breath. he flinches, something ugly flashing behind his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. your wrist slips effortlessly from his grasp, heels clicking as you turn away, leaving him kneeling in his disgrace.

this is where you belong—wanted, envied, feared.

the crowd still hums with the aftermath of naoya’s disgrace, whispers laced with admiration and well-hidden fear. you don’t need to look back to know the scene you’ve left behind—naoya, still kneeling, his pride shattered in broad daylight. you don’t spare him another thought. this is your domain, your world, where attention bends at your will, where men crumble with a glance, a word, a perfectly timed smirk. your victory is absolute.

except one person, the only person who should be reacting, doesn’t even look up from his phone.

gojo satoru sits on the bench a few feet away, posture relaxed, scrolling through whatever holds his interest more than you. his glasses catch the light as he idly taps at the screen, face unreadable, completely disengaged from the spectacle. no flinch, no barely concealed admiration, not even a flicker of acknowledgment. he doesn’t glance up. he doesn’t care.

and that?

that makes your teeth grind, your jaw tighten, something hot curling in your stomach. because for all the eyes on you, for all the reverence in the air, he remains unmoved, unaffected, untouched. and somehow, that pisses you off more than anything.

lunch is exactly how it should be.

your table is a constellation of the university’s elite—wealth, beauty, and power seated in effortless poise, as if this gathering were inevitable. the girls at your side embody perfection in different flavors, each a masterpiece of influence. shoko lounges, long fingers idly stirring an untouched kale salad, amusement curling at the edges of her lips as she absorbs the latest gossip. heir to a medical empire, a legacy carved in scalpels and sterile white halls, yet she prefers her nights drowned in neon lights and laughter thick with alcohol. mei mei, the quiet storm, never glances up from her phone, her world a battlefield of investments and acquisitions, real power plays that make her father’s advisors shift in their seats. utahime, delicate and deadly, chews exactly one cherry tomato and a single plain almond with the calculated grace of someone who can slip past any barrier, velvet rope or otherwise, without so much as a second glance.

and the men? they hover.

their attention drapes over your table like expensive silk, their gazes flickering between you and the girls beside you, waiting—hoping—for something as simple as a look, a word, a fleeting acknowledgment. every laugh you let slip makes them lean closer, every shift of your wrist brushing against your glass sends ripples through their restraint. they hang on to the edges of your presence like moths circling the glow of a flame, waiting for the inevitable moment they get too close. this is control. this is power. and you let it linger, basking in the unspoken reverence, the silent competition for a moment of your favor.

until gojo satoru stands up from his table.

you don’t need to look. you feel it.

a ripple in the air, subtle yet undeniable, as the world around you shifts focus. because it’s never just you watching him—it’s everyone else. conversations falter, stolen glances turn to blatant stares, admirers pause mid-breath as the inevitability of his presence overtakes the room. he doesn’t need to command attention; it bends toward him naturally, effortlessly, as if even gravity itself is subject to his whims. and the worst part? he doesn’t care. doesn’t chase it, doesn’t acknowledge it—just exists in it, a force of nature too accustomed to its own magnitude to be impressed.

but what’s worse? he’s walking toward you.

a breath of tension hovers over the cafeteria, unspoken yet deafening. the men around your table stiffen, pride twisting into something wary, something reluctant. the girls exchange glances, subtle but pointed, as if calculating the implications of this approach. gojo satoru does not come to you. he does not seek, he does not chase, he does not follow. and yet, here he is, weaving through the crowd with infuriating ease, steps unhurried, gaze sharp behind the glint of his glasses.

why is he here?

before you can even question him—he swaps the trays.

no hesitation, no explanation. just takes yours, sets his own down in front of you, and steals your croissant like it was never yours to begin with. the motion is so fluid, so casual, that for a second, you almost think you imagined it. but then he has the audacity to inspect it, like he’s judging the nutritional value of your choices, and something tight coils in your chest. around you, the air shifts—utahime’s fork pauses midair, shoko lowers her coffee like she’s bracing for impact, and mei mei hums, mildly entertained. the men around your table stiffen, their expressions flickering between confusion and outrage, because they don’t understand what just happened.

but you do.

“eat real food.” satoru says smoothly, tapping his fingers against the edge of his tray.

he doesn’t sit. instead, he leans against the table, weight shifted onto one foot, perfectly composed. like he’s just passing through. like he hasn’t just disrupted the delicate balance of power at your table. your world operates on control, on effortless admiration and quiet desperation, on men who trip over themselves for a single moment of your time. but satoru? satoru doesn’t just take—he decides. and this time, he’s decided that your daily diet of a croissant and iced coffee is unacceptable.

you blink. “did you just steal my croissant?”

“i traded it.” he corrects, lifting your iced latte and taking a sip—like it’s his.

pause.

your iced latte. your straw.

utahime’s eyes widen, shoko’s brows shoot up, and mei mei exhales an amused chuckle. someone further down the table chokes, and from the corner of your eye, you catch a girl whispering a scandalized, “indirect kiss?!” the men around you bristle, their thinly veiled adoration now edged with frustration, because not only did gojo satoru approached your table uninvited—he just touched something that was yours. the fact that you let him—or rather, haven’t ripped his throat out yet—only fuels their disbelief.

but you? you are seething.

not because it means anything. because it doesn’t. not because you care. because you don’t. but because of the pure, unfiltered audacity.

your fingers tighten around the fork, nails pressing into your palm, but your expression remains pristine, carefully schooled into something neutral. your gaze flicks over him, assessing, cataloging every infuriating detail—the smug curve of his lips, the relaxed set of his shoulders, the absolute nerve of him to act like this is normal. “that’s not what trading means.”

satoru, completely unbothered, takes another slow sip, like he’s savoring it. finally, he slides into the seat beside you, effortless, natural, like this was inevitable. his presence shifts the air again, disrupts the ecosystem of your table, sends a ripple of tension through the men still hovering. you know it. he knows it. but his gaze—sharp, assessing, cutting through the layers of performance—lingers just a second too long on you before he finally speaks.

“it is now.”

you exhale, slow and measured, fingers flexing against the table, resisting the very real urge to stab him with your fork. this is fine. totally fine. except—the cafeteria is still buzzing, the weight of too many stares pressing against your skin. naoya looks like he’s about to combust, the men around you are barely restraining their irritation, and the balance of power has tilted so effortlessly in satoru’s favor that you don’t even know how it happened.

satoru just smirks, fingers still tapping against your latte, fully aware that he’s just put himself at the center of your world—and isn’t planning to leave.

and while you’re still processing the sheer audacity of what just happened. satoru, completely unaffected began to speak.

“by the way, we got feedback from our professor about our introduction. we need to go over it later. you have no classes after lunch, right?” his tone is infuriatingly casual, as if this is a normal conversation, as if he didn’t just hijack your meal, steal your drink, and make himself comfortable at your table. he taps his fingers against your latte like he has every right to it, sipping lazily, his entire demeanor oozing ease. you barely hear him, too focused on the way his lips press against the straw, the way your name is still written neatly on the cup—small details that shouldn’t matter, that don’t matter, except they do. because no one does this to you. no one dares.

but satoru gojo is not just anyone.

your friends are watching.

because they have seen you work miracles. they have watched you break men with a smile, unravel them with the tilt of your head, reduce them to nervous, stammering fools with a single touch. they have witnessed ceos, heirs, trust fund babies practically trip over themselves for a shred of your attention, for the privilege of being acknowledged by you. and yet—satoru is still standing. still smirking. still entirely composed.

shoko’s nails tap against the table, slow and deliberate, as she exhales through her nose. utahime crosses her arms, frowning, unimpressed with the way this situation is unfolding. mei mei takes a slow sip of her drink, not looking up, but you know her well enough to recognize the calculated amusement in her stillness. the men at your table are watching too, stiff, visibly unsettled, because for the first time, you are not the one in control. and the worst part? satoru knows it.

“…gojo,” you deadpan, expression unreadable. “do you even like coffee?”

he hums, unfazed, taking another sip—mocking, infuriating. “i like messing with you.”

yor nails dig into your palm, but your expression does not waver. you cannot—will not—spend another few hours being academically held hostage at his condo, forced to endure his insufferable presence under the guise of productivity. you need an out, a way to tilt the power back in your favor, to make it clear that he does not get to do this. but your friends? they need a win.

so, you do what you do best. you deflect.

lean in. tilt your head. let your voice slip into something smooth, teasing, dangerous. a distraction, a trap—one you’ve set a hundred times before, one that always works. but beneath it, a thread of unease coils tight in your chest, a what if you refuse to acknowledge. because satoru is not like the others. he doesn’t stutter, doesn’t falter, doesn’t trip over himself to impress you. and after the way he’s effortlessly brushed off your advances before—gliding past them with practiced ease, like he’s untouchable—you know you need something bigger, something that will finally make him react.

so you go for the last resort.

“gojo,” you purr, voice light, teasing, perfectly crafted. “why do you always have time for me? shouldn’t a man like you be busy with… oh, i don’t know… a girlfriend?”

there. checkmate.

because for all his effortless charm, for all the attention he gets, gojo satoru has never publicly dated anyone. no rumors, no scandals, no fleeting relationships for the gossip circles to tear apart. which means, logically, this should throw him off. this should make him hesitate. this should, finally, be the moment where you have the upper hand.

your girls relax, smug, expectant. because this is it. this is where he’ll fold. where he’ll stammer, avert his eyes, get thrown off his game—like every other man before him. shoko takes a slow sip of coffee, already anticipating his fumble. utahime leans back in her seat, satisfied. mei mei, ever unreadable, watches with mild interest. the men at your table straighten, subtly hopeful, waiting for satoru’s inevitable failure.

but his lips simply quirk.

not flustered. interested. amused. a slow, deliberate shift, the corners of his mouth tilting upward like he’s savoring this, like he’s already decided how this is going to play out. the movement is lazy, almost imperceptible, but you catch the flicker of something sharp behind the glint of his glasses. pale blue eyes, keen and calculating, linger on you for a second too long—watching. waiting. you know that look. the same one he wears when he’s two moves ahead, when he knows he’s already won but wants to drag it out just to see you squirm.

“what, are you applying?” his voice is smooth, effortless, like the answer genuinely doesn’t matter to him. like this is just fun.

your breath hitches. so, so small, a sharp inhale barely masked by the background hum of the cafeteria—so subtle that no one else catches it. no one except him.

his head tilts slightly, gaze dipping lower, amused. his fingers, still wrapped around your stolen latte, tap against the cup in a slow, rhythmic pattern, as if counting down the exact number of seconds it will take for you to recover. you feel the weight of his attention pressing against your skin, feel the way the air between you shifts, charged and dangerous.

he’s waiting. for you to slip first.

your table freezes.

shoko actually chokes, coughing into her hand. utahime’s fork clatters against her plate. mei mei hesitates mid-sip, something flickering behind her sharp gaze. the men surrounding you look betrayed. because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. satoru isn’t supposed to keep up. he’s supposed to stumble. he’s supposed to break.

but instead, he wins.

still, you don’t miss a beat. your expression remains perfectly schooled, your lips curling like you expected this, like you aren’t mildly panicking beneath the surface. “that depends,” you counter smoothly, voice light, playful. “are you hiring?”

there. you’re back in control.

your girls exhale, tension dissolving, the balance tipping in your favor once more. you’ve realigned the narrative, settled back into your element. a beat passes. satoru hums, adjusting his glasses, pale blue eyes flickering behind the lenses—assessing. considering.

“sure.”

you freeze.

your fingers curl against your lap, nails digging into your palm as you keep your expression pristine. not even a flicker of hesitation. but inside? your thoughts are a blur of static.

“…wait, what?” you blurt out, incredulous.

he tilts his head, completely unbothered, lifting your latte to his lips once more. “you wanted an out,” he says, as if this is the simplest thing in the world. another sip, another stolen moment of control. “so now you have a date. hope you pick a good place.”

your stomach drops.

this was not the plan.

shoko stares at you like you’ve personally wronged her. utahime’s mouth is actually open. mei mei is already calculating the implications of this disaster. the men around your table are reeling, the balance of power shifted so violently that they don’t know how to recover.

satoru simply turns to leave—far too satisfied with himself.

his stride is slow, unhurried, completely at ease as if he hadn’t just shattered the natural order of your world with a few simple words. he doesn’t even glance back, doesn’t check to see the damage he’s left behind, because he knows. he knows the cafeteria is still buzzing, voices hushed yet urgent, disbelief thick in the air.

“did she just—”

“—with gojo satoru?”

“—what just happened??”

your admirers? devastated.

naoya, still licking his wounds from earlier, looks like he wants to throw something. his jaw tightens, fingers curling into a fist, tension radiating off him in waves, but even he doesn’t dare speak. the men who once hung onto your every word are stiff, their carefully maintained composure cracking under the weight of what they just witnessed. because it wasn’t just that gojo satoru didn’t fall for you—it’s that he played you. and worst of all? he won.

your girls, however? silent.

calculating. reeling. this is wrong. this is not how this was supposed to go. they have seen you reduce men to nothing with a smile, leave them speechless, fumbling, desperate. you should be the one walking away victorious, leaving him dazed and ruined in your wake. but satoru? satoru strolled in, stole your drink, stole your time, stole a whole damn date—and left completely unscathed.

your fingers curl into your lap, nails pressing against your palm as you glare at his retreating figure. his glasses catch the light as he raises your latte to his lips, taking one final slow sip, knowing damn well you’re watching. your jaw clenches, blood simmering beneath your skin, irritation winding tight in your chest. this is not over. not by a long shot.

and so, with pure, unfiltered spite, you take an aggressive bite of the lunch he forced onto you. and the  moment satoru exits the door, your girls close in like a board of directors preparing for crisis control.

they move fast—shoko nudging her coffee aside, utahime crossing her legs, mei mei setting her phone down with a deliberate click against the table. their attention is singular, sharp, trained on you as if you’re the breaking news headline of the hour. the air tightens, charged with a purpose too serious for something as ridiculous as gojo satoru just agreed to a date. they gather like a corporate crisis team—efficient, ruthless, ready to dissect every second of the disaster that just unfolded. but before the debrief can begin, before the first strike can be made, a more pressing matter demands their attention.

shoko straightens, lashes lowering, voice syrupy sweet. “gentlemen.”

every man within a five-meter radius stiffens.

the shift is immediate—conversations falter, movements still, a collective tension settling over the table like a held breath. you don’t have to look to know what’s coming. shoko only ever uses that tone when she’s about to drop a guillotine, and right now, her smile is all sharp edges and impending doom.

“we need you to leave.”

a pause. then—mutters, exchanged glances. confusion. indignation. hesitation.

“excuse me?” naoya scoffs first, ever the entitled one. his shoulders square, head tilting as if that might make him any less disposable. “i was here first—”

“cute,” utahime cuts in, tone sharp as the gleam of her manicured nails, casually popping a cherry tomato into her mouth. “but irrelevant.”

mei mei leans back, swirling her sugar-free oat latte, gaze barely flicking up. “it’s a ladies-only meeting. private.”

naoya glares. “we’re literally having lunch—”

“not anymore,” shoko chirps, lashes fluttering, voice light, effortless. “you can relocate. for her sake, of course.”

and at that—all eyes flicker to you.

the tension shifts. the resistance falters. because of course it does.

these men—heirs to empires, sons of political giants—wield more power than most people could dream of. but you? you are a different kind of untouchable. your presence alone shifts dynamics, commands rooms without effort, without force, without needing to demand anything at all. and when your chin tilts just slightly, when your eyes lower in disinterest, when your fingers tap idly against the table—they listen.

begrudgingly. bitterly. but they listen.

“fine.” one mutters, pushing back his chair.

“whatever.” another sighs, grabbing his untouched drink.

one by one, they leave. chairs scrape against the floor, conversations shift, the last remnants of male indignation hanging in the air like a bitter aftertaste. naoya lingers for a moment longer than necessary, like he’s considering some final act of defiance, but even he knows when he’s outnumbered. with a sharp exhale and a glare that could curdle milk, he turns on his heel and stalks off, tension rolling off him in waves. the cafeteria hums around you, but at your table? silence—heavy, expectant.

shoko clasps her hands together, satisfied. “excellent.”

she turns back, eyes gleaming, posture shifting as she slides effortlessly into the seat beside you. her gaze is sharp, cutting straight through your carefully maintained composure. “now—” she leans in, elbows resting against the table, voice a conspiratorial hush. “what the hell was that?”

utahime follows, practically vibrating with barely contained energy. “you have been keeping secrets. start talking.”

you sigh—long, dramatic, exhausted, like this entire conversation is beneath you. your fingers trail idly against the rim of your tray, gaze lowering just enough to feign disinterest. “it’s nothing.”

chaos. disbelief. outright rejection of your statement.

“NOTHING??” utahime gapes, gripping her fork like she’s about to stab something. “he just drank from your straw. in front of everyone.”

“naoya looked like he was going to cry,” shoko adds, deeply amused.

mei mei, ever the voice of calm devastation, swirls her latte, voice dripping with indulgent amusement. “sweetheart,” she muses, watching you over the rim of her cup, “do you understand what just happened? men would literally commit fraud for a chance to buy you a drink, and gojo just—”

you cut her off with a sharp flick of your wrist. “enough.”

a beat of silence. they all lean in further.

you exhale, slow and measured, like you’re about to gift them the rarest of treasures—your honesty. fingers tapping idly against the table, gaze flicking toward the exit where satoru disappeared moments ago.

finally, you meet their expectant stares, shoulders rolling back.

“fine.” you exhale, exasperated. “i’ll tell you.”

the entire table is locked in.

they lean forward as one, like sharks scenting blood in the water, their gazes sharp, expectant, ravenous for information. tension thrums between you, an unspoken understanding that whatever you say next will change everything. and so, with great reluctance, with an exhale meant to feign nonchalance but edged with something far too weighted—you finally tell them about your history with gojo satoru.

shoko is losing her mind.

“you mean to tell me—” she inhales sharply, hands slamming onto the table, rattling plates and silverware as she glares daggers at you “—that you have been fighting for your life against that man for years and you NEVER mentioned it?!”

utahime gasps, hands flying to her mouth as the realization clicks all at once. “you two have history?”

and then, chaos.

“this makes so much sense—”

“oh my god, that explains the way he looked at you like he knows—”

“wait, wait, wait—why does it feel like he’s been winning?”

you bristle. “he is not winning.”

the silence that follows is too long. too heavy.

mei mei squints, utterly unreadable, but her voice is smooth, calm—calculated. “are you sure?”

because that’s the thing, isn’t it?

satoru has been slipping through your fingers for years. since kindergarten, when he chose a math book over playing with you. since high school, when he sat at the top of the class, untouched, while you spiraled through the mess of your family, your reputation, your life. and now—now, at university, he still walks through your world like he owns it, like he belongs there, like you were the one who had to catch up.

he doesn’t fall. he doesn’t trip. he doesn’t crumble beneath the weight of your charm like every other man does.

and today?

he stole your drink.

he stole your time.

he stole a whole damn date.

and he walked away completely unscathed.

your jaw tightens, lips pressing into a thin line. you know what they’re thinking. you know the weight of their stares, the way your friends—your witnesses—are trying to figure out if you have been losing this entire time. you straighten, shoulders rolling back, chin tilting higher as you meet their gazes with an expression pristine enough to rival polished glass.

“he is not winning,” you repeat, slower this time, voice smooth, unwavering. the words land, heavy, thick with certainty. but beneath the table, your fingers curl into the fabric of your skirt, grip just a little too tight.

shoko’s nails tap against the table, slow and deliberate, each click a metronome to the quiet tension curling between the four of you. her expression is thoughtful, the kind of slow-burning intrigue that means nothing good. finally, after what feels like an eternity, she exhales through her nose, tilting her head slightly before delivering her next words with the weight of a courtroom ruling. “okay. important question.”

your eyes narrow. “what.”

shoko leans in, deadly serious, as if she’s about to discuss classified information, voice dipping into a conspiratorial hush. “do you think he might be into vanilla girls?”

the table goes silent.

even utahime stops pretending to be full off one cherry tomato.

you blink, caught between exasperation and the slow horror of realizing exactly where this conversation is going. your fork stills against your plate, the air thick with anticipation as three pairs of eyes zero in on you. “...yeah, actually,” you say after a beat, flipping the utensil between your fingers before spearing a piece of grilled chicken. “that would make sense.”

a collective gasp.

shoko physically recoils like you’ve committed some great betrayal. “you’re just going to agree?”

“i mean, think about it.” you gesture vaguely, the glint of your bracelet catching in the light as you settle back against your chair. “he’s rich. disgustingly smart. irritatingly responsible. maybe he does like his women a little… soft.”

mei mei hums, finally acknowledging the conversation, swirling her spoon in the same small pool of yogurt she’s been nursing for the past thirty minutes. “subtle.”

utahime, deadpan, chews her almond with the weight of someone chewing through a revelation. “you mean boring?”

your frown is immediate. “i didn’t say boring.”

shoko raises a brow. “what did you say, then?”

your mouth opens, but the words stick, because the truth is, you don’t actually have a good answer. you stab at your plate again, suddenly annoyed with the way their collective amusement lingers between you like a loaded gun. “i said… non-threatening.”

they all exchange glances.

“so, boring.” utahime concludes.

you exhale, pushing a grilled tomato across your plate with the edge of your fork. “okay, but like,” you start, irritation curling at the back of your throat, “am i wrong?”

the silence that follows is too long.

utahime, after a painstaking moment of slicing her cucumber into even smaller pieces, exhales sharply. “...no,” she admits, her voice tinged with reluctant horror.

“unfortunately, no,” shoko echoes, sipping her black coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to life.

“probably not,” mei mei adds, frowning at her yogurt like it personally offended her.

you lean back in your chair, arms crossed, resisting the urge to click your tongue again. “see?” your fork twirls idly between your fingers before tapping against your plate. “i knew something was off. my usual strategy should’ve worked by now.” the words come out sharper than intended, irritation settling deep in your chest. “but if he’s immune, it’s because i’m not his type.”

and for some reason? that pisses you off.

shoko hums, contemplative, her nails drumming lazily against her coffee cup. “it also means—” she pauses, then tilts her head. “you’re not a threat.”

you blink.

“excuse me??”

shoko shrugs. “think about it. men like him? powerful, old-money, from some ridiculous bloodline? they don’t go for girls like us.”

there’s something so casual about the way she says it, but it sends something unpleasant curling at the base of your spine.

“girls like us?” you laugh, but there’s an edge to it, sharp enough to draw blood.

shoko, unbothered, lifts a shoulder in a loose shrug. “relax, i’m not saying we’re undateable. i’m saying they marry vanilla girls.” her voice lilts, mocking, as she counts off on her fingers. “the perfect, soft-spoken, high-society wives. the ones who smile and wave at charity galas. the ones who bake cookies and apologize for existing.”

“the ones who will never cause a scandal,” mei mei adds, swirling her spoon in her yogurt like she’s mixing something far more bitter.

utahime gestures dramatically with her fork. “the ones who know how to be a trophy wife.”

you scoff, flicking your hair back, an automatic response. “my last name is just as heavy as his.”

the table pauses.

“okay, true,” utahime concedes, wiping condensation off her untouched green juice, her tone begrudging. “but you act like you don’t give a fuck about it.”

you don’t. or—you want to believe you don’t. you’ve spent years rolling your eyes at your parents’ business dinners, at the delicate, soft-spoken women with their perfectly practiced smiles, at the unspoken rules of the elite social scene. but you know them. you understand them, the way chess players understand the board, the way predators understand prey. your indifference isn’t ignorance—it’s strategy.

“but that doesn’t mean i don’t know how to play the game,” you say smoothly, twirling your fork between your fingers before spearing a stray cherry tomato.

shoko sighs, finally abandoning her coffee with a resigned shake of her head. “yeah, but do the gojos know that?”

your jaw locks. irritation flares in your chest, curling tight at the edges, because—okay. fine. maybe you aren’t the type to whisper apologies at business dinners, to bat your lashes and smile politely while some old-money heir with fragile masculinity talks down to you about investments. but that doesn’t mean you’re less. it doesn’t mean you don’t belong in the same rooms, the same circles, the same league.

but there is no way that gojo satoru, as impish as he could be, would be the type to marry a girl simply because she is conveniently meek.

...right?

before the thought can settle, utahime snaps her fingers, the sharp sound cutting through the air like a declaration.

“i got it.”

all eyes shift to her, curiosity piqued, waiting. she doesn’t make them wait long, smirking as she pulls out her phone with the ease of someone holding a loaded gun. “if you’re gonna test it, you need the right setting,” she announces, thumbs flying over the screen. “and i know just the place.”

the phone slides across the table with a quiet clink, the screen glowing with an image of a cozy, quiet café.

neutral tones, warm lighting, private rooms meant for undisturbed concentration—exactly the kind of place a certain nerd would gravitate toward. utahime rests her chin on her palm, grinning like she’s just handed over a winning lottery ticket. “perfect for studying,” she says innocently. “or, in your case, proving your theory.”

your eyes narrow. “why does this sound suspiciously like you’ve used it before?”

utahime shrugs, all nonchalance, all carefully curated innocence. “just saying,” she drawls, inspecting her nails, “brought the nerd i was sucking up to in there—folded in fifteen minutes. let me suck him off, let me cheat off him. i passed prelims with high scores, remember??”

mei mei chokes on her plain yogurt, slapping a hand against her chest like she’s been personally betrayed. the reaction is so visceral, so immediate, that it sends a ripple effect across the table. shoko gasps, a sharp inhale cutting through the air, her coffee cup freezing midway to her lips as if the sheer audacity of utahime’s words has momentarily suspended time itself. the moment could be framed in slow motion, complete with dramatic background music. you don’t even blink.

“utahime.”

utahime, utterly shameless, only grins wider, the picture of unrepentant mischief. “relax. i’m just saying—it’s tested. proven to work on nerds.”

you exhale, long and slow, tapping your nails against your plate before crossing one leg over the other. the weight of the situation settles, thick and undeniable, pressing against the edges of your mind. you don’t like to lose. you don’t like unanswered questions. and most of all, you don’t like the fact that this ridiculous theory is starting to sound a little too plausible.

“fine.”

mei mei perks up immediately, leaning forward with a newfound, almost predatory curiosity. “test it how?”

a slow, dangerous smirk curves on your lips, the kind that sends a quiet shiver down the table. “on our date, of course.”

the reaction is instantaneous.

shoko recoils as if you’ve committed a crime against her very soul. “you’re going to act vanilla???”

you shrug, twirling your fork between your fingers, the perfect picture of nonchalance. “just for the night. just to see if he reacts. if he does, even if just a small tic, we’ll know.”

before anyone can say another word, your phone vibrates, the quiet buzz slicing through the tension like a finishing move. with a smug little tilt of her head, utahime turns the screen toward you, the message is already typed out, the address neatly displayed, as if she had been waiting for this moment all along.

you click your tongue, equal parts annoyed and resigned, copy the address, and paste it into a message for satoru.

six pm. don’t be late.

utahime leans back, victorious, arms crossed, satisfaction practically radiating off her. “and now we wait.”

a few seconds later—read.

the pit of your stomach tightens, but you ignore it. this is a terrible idea. this is also the only possible course of actionable.

tag list : @s4ikooo1 @gojoswaterbottle

comment to be added on the tag list! xx

[gingerteafairy]

a peter maximoff fic where he can't sleep so reader helps tire him out by making out w him.. they're probably like besties w a lot of tension ! aaa thank you in advance if this is possible to write.

hehehe it's possible. trust me, im living for besties making out. and im so sorry for taking so long </3

𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

peter maximoff x fem!reader

tags n warnings: SMUT/MDNI, language, dry humping, mutual masturbation. word count: 1.1k

You only realized how late it was getting when your eyes started losing focus, unable to keep up with the movie’s plot. The dialogue blurred together, the scenes passed without meaning—your brain had already given up on following along. A quick glance at the clock confirmed what you already knew: you really should take better care of yourself, beyond just eating properly.

But still, it was the perfect time for a midnight snack.

With sluggish steps, you got up from the couch and made your way to the kitchen, rubbing your eyes as you searched for something to eat. Your body felt heavy with sleep, your movements slow, and you barely noticed another presence in the room—until you heard the quiet creak of the couch.

Your eyes blinked, waking up a little more when they landed on Peter lying there, legs stretched out, the glow of his phone illuminating his face.

“What are you doing here, Peter?” you murmured, stifling a yawn against the sleeve of your sweater.

“Can’t sleep,” he responded without looking up from the screen, shifting slightly to make space beside him. You didn’t think twice before flopping down, settling onto the couch next to him. “Wanna use matching pfp?” he offered sleepily, lifting one side of it.

“Why? We’re not even dating,” you teased with a small smile, feeling the warmth of the fabric calling to your tired body.

Peter carelessly tossed his phone onto the armrest and, without hesitation, wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Wanna be my girlfriend?” he mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep, his touch lazy but full of intent.

“I do,” you played along, feeling the comfort of the moment settle pleasantly into your muscles.

He smiled back, a small, satisfied grin, before burying his face into the curve of your neck. Peter’s embrace was warm, comfortable, as if it was shaped just to hold you there.

“Rough day?” you inquired, running your fingers through his silver hair.

“Not really… just stressful,” he exhaled, his big eyes flicking up to meet yours for a moment. “Had to rescue a bunch of people, and no one even said ‘thanks.’”

“That’s tough. You’re always helping everyone…” You sighed, understanding the weight in his voice.

To soothe him, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He closed his eyes at the gesture, relaxing a little more.

“It’s… boring.” He sighed deeply before snuggling even closer, burying his face in your neck. His warm breath shivered your skin, causing a small shiver that you tried to ignore. “Is it bad?”

“No…” your voice came out weak, all your effort being used to keep your thoughts away from the heat between your legs as you felt Peter’s nose nuzzling against your neck as he comforted himself on the upholstery.

Peter inhaled against your skin, planting a feather-light kiss on your throat. Your body flinched, pulling him closer as a result.

“Is this bad?”

“No… It’s good…” You mumbled, your nails digging into his back, feeling him press his lips harder, large hands pulling your waist.

“And this?” He asked before sliding his lips over your skin, parting his lips to suck the pressure point, fingers marking your waist.

“Peter…” his name came out slurred, your legs wrapping around his waist, and that was when you felt him pulse on your thigh.

“I don’t wanna do anything you don’t want to do.” He whispered, placing another kiss even more intense than the last.

Your hips thrust towards his pelvis, the wetness now impossible to ignore as it pressed against his hard cock. Peter groaned at the contact, sliding his hands inside your shirt to roll up your back, running his nails lightly on your skin.

Peter thrust his pelvis back against your core, the shorts on your body causing even more friction on your clit, your hips moving in reflex.

You were responding with your body and Peter didn’t want to make you wait. He lifted his head and your lips crashed together hungrily in a desperate kiss. Peter’s hands slipped into your shorts, squeezing the flesh of your bum in his hands, guiding you over your sweatpants.

Your hands pulled his shirt up, scratching his back. You were dripping and he could feel it through the clothing, but he wanted more. Still inside your shorts, he moved one of his hands to your cunt, ghosting one of his fingers into your entrance.

“You’re so wet. So good.” He whispered, inserting a finger and curling it, applying pressure to your spot, watching you tremble and bite your bottom lip. “Do you want me to stop?” He teased, circling his fingertip.

“No—” You moaned, curling your toes as he massaged your nerve point with his thumb. He pulled his finger out, bringing it to his mouth.

“Hmmm…” he hummed, rolling his eyes in delight. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me. You’re even sweeter on the inside.”

Your stomach flipped at his dirty words and Peter brought his fingers back in, thrusting faster. You pulled his pants down with one hand, his rock-hard cock springing out, hanging slightly to the left. Your hand wrapped around it, fist moving to pleasure him too.

“Hmmm, you’re so turned on I didn’t even have to say anything.” He teased, biting the corner of his mouth as you pressed your fingers harder and moved your fist faster. “That’s it. That’s it, really good. You’re talented. You’re gonna make me finish fast in your pretty hands.”

“Yeah?” You smiled proudly, picking up the pace a little more, watching him close his eyes tightly and put another finger inside you, closing the space between the two of you with another clumsy kiss.

“Shit. I’m close, so close.” He warned, grunting with his eyes closed, his body shaking, thrusting his pelvis to fuck your hand.

“Me too, don’t stop.” You begged and he pulled you closer by the hips, penetrating you faster with his fingers.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, gonna cum m on your belly, okay?” He stammered, his breath hitched, smiling as he saw you nod without being able to speak. “Yeah, that’s it. Oh, fuck. It’s coming.”

Peter opened his mouth, trembling in your hand as the jets came steadily on your belly, staining your shirt. You stopped your hand, but he put it back, helping with ultra-fast movements, the other vibrating inside you, making you come undone faster than expected.

When he stopped throbbing, he removed your hand from his cock and took his fingers out of you, giving your clit a little tap that made you shiver.

“Peter, you—” He shut you with a kiss, putting both hands around your waist, mixing your fluids without realizing it.

“Sorry, I was so fucking hard. Didn't realize I was so desperate, but I’m better now. I promise.” He beamed, pulling up his pants with one of his hands and returning to your waist. With an instinctive caress, your fingers slid through his soft hair again, while the warmth of Peter's embrace slowly guided the two of you to sleep.

[thatartsyej]

I’m bored at work rn so imma just drop some hc for Toby LMAOOOO

(This is more based in my au btw lol)

Ticci Toby Headcanons

- Very big guy, like big big. As an adult stands at 6ft 4inches (193.04 cm ) and 185 lbs (83.92 kg)

- Used to be pretty scrawny as a teenager but gained some weight as he got older thanks to Brian and Tim borderline forcing this guy to eat

- Still a skinnier guy but definitely got some weight to him.

- Pretty much one of those guys who doesn’t LOOK like he’d be that strong only for him to be able to actually throw another person if he wanted to LMAOOO

- Dudes arm strength is insane. But when you you’ve been throwing around hatchets and axes since 17 that’s to be expected.

- But no seriously dude could throw you and has definitely thrown people before

- When he first became a proxy though Toby actually struggled a bit with the whole killing thing. Not cause of the morality issue but more so because dude was an anxious mess.

- Toby was ,,,,, a bit awkward to say the least. Was very wary of everyone and everything. Didn’t trust Tim and Brian. Honestly was slightly scared of them

- Would freeze up sometimes during his first missions because he would get so overwhelmed with everything going on.

- Finally put actual effort in to getting better at fighting after Tim told him straight up if he couldn’t take care of missions successfully, the operator would kill him.

- Brian gave him the advice that it’s easier to do it if he just took all his pent up anger out while doing missions.

- Yeaaaa he definitely took that shit to heart bc when the next mission came around? Oh boy

- Safe to say he realized that he isn’t a little kid who couldn’t defend himself anymore. That he is the one people were afraid of now.

- And boooyyy did that feel great

- When it came to actually completing his first mission on his own he was a nervous wreck. Took Brian an hour to calm him down. For the first year or so he had Tim and Brian to fall back on when things got tough, now it was gonna be just him though.

- “What happens I- if I fuck it up?”

“You won’t “

“ but what if I do?”

“Toby just go do the damn job. You’ll be fine”

- He did do good, a little too good actually. Soon Toby would have more successful missions than he did failed ones. And was a lot more confident in himself than before.

- Which made Slender’s interest in him peak. Whether that’s good or bad depends on who you ask.

-Nowadays he usually will stick around whatever area Masky and Hoodie is in but will still go off on his own.

- Hates being away from them for long. They’re kind of the only “positive” father figures he’s had his entire life, but would rather jump into oncoming traffic than admit that.

- Still an anxious person, has just learned how to conceal it very well.

- Personality wise, it can really vary what version of Toby you get depending on what the situation is.

-If you’re a fellow proxy, Toby can be fairly laid back, hyper even. Likes to hang out with Kate and Rouge when they’re around. Will do whatever with the others, he’s just happy to tag along.

- If you’re someone he doesn’t like, he is quite insufferable lol. Will purposely go out of his way to antagonize you and pick on you.

-Will also call you the wrong name on purpose. Sometimes it’s not even close to what your name is, he just thinks it’s the funniest thing ever.

- If you’re a target? R.I.P

- Will not say a word. Nothing at all just stares you down silently.

- He’ll just watch you for a long time before he actually makes his move. Will just ever so slightly move things in your place when you’re not there. Maybe the photo on the wall is slightly crooked, or a favorite item of yours is missing.

- just little things that you might not notice right away, but when you do you think “huh that’s weird”

- then it escalates to windows/doors being slightly ajar, unlocked or even just straight up opened all the way.

- He wants you to be nervous. The more scared you are, the less able you are to think clearly.

- You hear him before you actually see him. The small sound of bones popping and quiet grunts and swear words

-Then you see him

- Whether it’s at the end of your hallway, the corner of your room, or in the woods.

- He stands there for a moment, not moving an inch besides the occasional tic

- At this point there’s nothing you can do. You can’t outrun him and you sure as fuck can’t out power him. You’ll still try and like all the others, fail.

- There is a small blessing tho, and that is that your death will usually be quick.

- Toby is not one for torture. Not very good at keeping people alive long enough for that but better believe he can sure as hell make it hurt

- Definitely enjoys it a lot more than he is willing to admit. Not that he would need to admit it everybody knows

- When he’s not working or hanging out with others, he tries to find anything else to distract himself. He’s actually quite good at drawing, but gets frustrated with it when his tics mess him up

- Will also just go on walks. And not just short lil ones either this man will go missing for HOURS

- Made Tim and Brian panic at first when he started doing that but eventually just accepted he’ll come back at some point.

- Absolutely will smoke weed to chill out as well too. It helps with his nerves and tics. Also helps when he is having manic/ depressive episodes.

- Just does anything to preoccupy himself. He hates doing nothing because then all he has is his thoughts which never leads anywhere good

[btswit7]

Almost, Always (I/II)

Pairing: best friend's brother Jeon Jungkook / reader

Word count: 8.4k

Genre: mild slow burn, comfort, heartbreak, angst, comfort, 5 year age gap, romance.

Summary: She was always there—watching, admiring, loving him in quiet. Almost like a habit, almost like a dream she never wanted to wake up from. But to him, she was just his sister’s best friend. Until she wasn’t. Until he saw what he had been missing all along. But by then, was it already too late?

Tag list: @jenniebyrubies

A/n: finally! Done with it, Enjoy reading! I swear I had such a shitty time editing it. I tried to copy 8.4k words here and I have no idea why it did not get copied here and now I have to re-edit the entire thing. Fuck!

Ahh, 3hrs after posting it I realised, the very second paragraph was wrong. I was literally frustrated :")

You were Jungkook’s admirer. He was 5 years older than you. You have grown up in front of him. You were the one who gave him numerous nicknames that people around you started calling him with.

The neighborhood you lived in has many houses, the two stories house a few steps further away from yours is your best friend, Rua’s house. Jungkook is Rua’s elder brother. You and Rua have known each other since childhood and that's how long Jungkook knows you. Well, Jungkook was the reason why you met with Rua.

It's been a month, you have been living in this new place, in this new house where you are indeed bored. You haven't stepped out of the house if it isn't for your mother tagging along with you. You were an introvert and hence you barely stepped out of your house.

It was on a bright day, when you didn't have school you started playing with the toys your dad had bought for you and that's when the door to your house was knocked and soon after your mom followed the way to the main door to open it, a kid and a small girl were sitting there. The small girl was clinging to the boy's hand.

“ Hello, Ms. Lee, Mom sent these for you.” He said passing a box of cookies to your mom as a toothy smile spread on his lips.

“ That's so sweet of your mom, tell her I told her thank you. Where do you live and who is she?” You mom asked, pointing towards the girl who has her one hand wrapped around her his legs as she held onto his legs tightly. She was wearing a floral printed frock with a pink hairband, her chubby squeezable cheeks that would make you want to just squeeze them.

“ The two stories house over there, that is our house” he says pointing to the house from the front perch of your house to the said house.

“ Okay, well do you want to come in? My daughter would like to play with you both.” You mom says opening the door wider for them, that's when Jungkook sees you sitting there with your toys sprawled all around the drawing room while the tv has some rhymes playing which you have no care about as you are busy playing with your cooking set.

Jungkook enters the hall with the girl, by holding his hand.

“ Heyy! I am Jungkook” he says flashing you a smile and then nudging the girl beside him, he whispers “ Rua say what I taught you”

“ Hii I am Rua and I am 5 years old” she says as she pushes her open palm which shows she is 5 on your face.

“ Rua, you don't do that” Jungkook scolds before taking her hand down from your face as he smiles almost embarrassingly.

“ Hello, I am Lee ___ and I am 5 years old” you say smiling.

“ Uhh, Ms. Lee, Rua is my younger sister” Jungkook says, looking at your mother, answering her previous question which he forgot.

“ You are our friend now. You can also come to our house to play. We have iron man” he says to you as he forwards his hand for a sake.

“ Girls like barbie oppa, not iron man” Rua says correcting Jungkook.

“ No but we have Barbie too. Rua plays with Barbie, you can also come to play with her” Jungkook says, correcting himself.

You smile, saying, “ She is in my school?” You ask Jungkook as you remember the familiar face that you have seen in your school.

“ Uh yes, she reads in your school and I too read in your school” Jungkook says as he picks up the male barbie doll from the floor.

“ We have the same school” you say again getting busy in your miniature no flame cooking.

Soon your mom comes and places a plate full of pineapple semi-sweet cookies.

Your favourite

�� Enjoy this kids while I bring you some orange juice” a squeal leaves all of your mouths as you three busy yourself in playing and having your cookies.

After your first interaction, one after other things kept on happening, you used to go play at Jungkook's house or sometimes they used to come play at your house. Then, you got into the same school as Rua and Jungkook, you went to the school in the same bus. That's how your relationship with Rua and her brother flourished.

It was when you were thirteen and Jungkook was eighteen. Your admiration for Jungkook kept on growing. The way he was so athletic, smart and cool. That's how he was known in the school. He was not only just handsome but he was kind too.

It was a basketball match in the school between the Red house and the Blue house. Both teams are known for their high athletic skills. The Red team was of Jungkook, he was the leader competing against the blue team.

“ Rua, come fast, the seats are going to be full ” you tell as you hurry towards the ground where the match is to be held. Jungkook was known all around the school. From teachers, the staff and to students everyone knew about him and hence a reason why you were worried you won't get any seat for the match.

Spotting a seat you quickly sit as you put your sweater beside you on the seat making space for Rua.

“ Shit! ___ you are more interested to see my brother than I am” she says looking on the ground to spot her brother.

“ Just focus on the game Rua” you say now, taking out a sigh of relief as she leaves the question and focuses on the game instead.

The entire game passed by and you watched each and every move of Jungkook mesmerized. The way he puts the ball in the goal effortlessly, the way he is so confident about his work and the way the stadium echoes in praises when he wins the match. Yes, he won the match.

Boys and girls around him cheer for him. You watch as his coach pats his back and whispers something in his ear making him smile before he leaves the place. Boys and girls around him join him as they start shooting for Jungkook, amidst all those people your eyes never leave Jungkook's figure as you.

Just then, one of the girls from the cheerleader group came to the front, forwarding Jungkook a towel. The cheerleader only had a tiny short and a tight white tee. Even through the entire crowd you could visibly see Jungkook tense up, his cheeks growing red as he takes the cloth from her hand. She forwards him a bottle of water as you look at your own blue bottle with your name written on top of it by your mother so it doesn't get mixed up with others. They talk for some more time as the cheerleaders as the crowd reduces.

“ ___ let's go! It's over. Next class will start in like 5 minutes” Rua nudges you on your shoulder as she looks at her wrist watch, the copy of which you are wearing too.

That's how close you were to Rua. Wearing the same things was very common between you both.

“ Uhh.. yeah let's leave” you say as you pick up your blazer and water bottle and rush inside but when you look behind you see how Jungkook has his hand wrapped around the cheerleader’s waist as she holds onto his forearm as their mutuals take a picture for them.

And that did get you thinking the rest of the day.

It was evening when you decided to go meet Jungkook. Well, in your defence you did tell yourself that you are not going to let Jungkook know that you sneaked from your class in the name of filling a water bottle and spent an entire class along with your break just to watch him play, you won't let him get to know that right?

Well, that's how your heart convinced your mind because you were not at all able to control yourself. Your mind just kept on thinking just about Jungkook—-

“ He is so cool”

“ Does he go to the gym? His thighs are sooo strong”

“ Jungkook is soo good looking”

“ but….who was that girl?”

You find yourself asking numerous questions which lead you to feel unfocused and then you decide to go meet Rua. Well some notes will be a good escape to go to her house because your mom will definitely not allow you to go considering it's 9:30 pm already.

You ring the doorbell for Rua's house. The door is opened by her mother who welcomes you in, without any question.

You spot rua sprawled on the sofa as she watches an anime on the tv. Well, your wish is to talk to Jungkook and not to rua. So, you go forward to her.

“ What's up buddy?” You ask as you patt on her shoulder later sitting down on the sofa.

“ Nothing much, well what are you doing here now? Your mum is going to scold you” she says as she sits straight on the sofa.

“ Actually I just had to talk to kook. I felt stuck in this sum. Where is he?” you ask looking around when you don't notice him.

“ He is in his room. You can go meet him” she says pointing towards the corridor which connects his room to the drawing hall.

Not like you don't know where his room is.

You knock on the door of his room thrice but hear nothing. You knock again but still no response but rua confirmed he was in his room. You quietly opened the door and peeked in, there he was by the large window looking out with wired headphones in his ear.

He looks ethereal.

The way the wind moves his soft luscious bangs with itself as his soft pink lips stay parted. His skin glowing under the moonlight. His face being the only thing glowing as the dark room, his black clothes and the night outside combines to form complete blackness.

You get in the room and place your notebook on the table beside the door. You quietly walk in and patt on Jungkook’s back. His plain eyebrows form a frown as he opens his eyes looking the way from where his shoulder was patted. There he spots you and soon he smiles taking out his earphone.

“ Hii ___” he says.

“ Hii kook” you say as you stand beside him. Now the wind makes your hair flow with his.

“ What are you doing here now? It's so late” he says, checking the time on his phone.

“ Uh.. I am here to… uh yeah congratulate you on your win” you say proudly, your eyes shining from the thrill of match that you watched a couple of hours ago.

“ I am proud of you kook! You did so well. The way you hit the ball in the last few seconds and it went exactly was just unreal! No wonder everyone was so amazed by your moves. The way each and every move of yours looks effortless but it just tells how much hard work you put in Mastering it. Just amazing, kook” you finally finished now looking at him.

“Wait, so you watched the entire match?” he guesses as a small smirk plays on his lips.

As soon as you hear his question your eyes widen realising you spoke way more than you should have.

Just great.

You hesitate later trying to mask it up, “ I didn't watch… I hear–”

“ Liar” he says as he leans forward slightly looking intently in your eyes, “ you do have this habit of blinking your eyes when you lie”

You look away as blush creeps up on your cheeks, he then slightly pinches your cheeks not knowing what this small act of his has done to you.

You both stay quiet for a while, enjoying the peace and the closeness of the moment while adding this entire moment to your memory lane with Jungkook.

“ But next time, don't skip your class to watch matches,” he says. You nod vigorously to his statement.

You try not to say this but you still end up saying, “ kook, who was that last girl who came to give you water?”

He frowns first thinking who you are talking about then he remembered, “ ah she is mia. She is a cheerleader and my classmate”

You nod while he continues, “ she is a nice girl, kind and sweet. It's fun to be in her company”

“ Oh, that's great” you say as you play with your fingers, suddenly finding the floor much more interesting you further add, “ okay I think I should go.. uh it's late” you take a few steps back but Jungkook holds your hand slightly stopping you.

“ But you just came here,” he says, frowning.

“ Mom, asked me to come fast. I just came to congratulate you on your win which I did now I should leave” you say forcing out a smile.

“ Okay, I'll walk you home” he says as he starts to keep his phone and headphones.

“ kook, I can manage it's not fa–”

“ I am not asking for permission, I am just letting you know that” he says as he walks out of the room and soon you follow not forgetting to take your notebook.

As you both walk side by side, you feel the soft wind causing you to chill, yes that's what winters do to you. It's your fault for not taking your sweater with you when you walked out of the house.

Jungkook is right beside you, you can feel his soft vanilla smell as warmth from his body radiates. You take a glance at his and then the thought of that girl with Jungkook crosses your mind.

He does think she is beautiful, did he ever think I am beautiful too? You find yourself questioning your own self as you both walk side by side.

“____, is something wrong? You are never this quiet” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

“ Nah, nothing's wrong” I say smiling as you stand when you reach your front door.

“ If you say so. Good night, ___” he says ruffling your hair making you smile more.

“ Good night kook” you say as you make a run towards your door.

Jungkook waits for you to get in as he waves his hand in the air which you reciprocate while getting in your house.

It was when you were, fifteen years old and he was twenty years old. Your whole family decided to have a small party at a restaurant where Jungkook's entire family and another family of your dad's friend was present.

Initially, it wasn't your parents plan to celebrate your birthday but an end moment thing.

You were done cutting the cake and a series of thank you left your lips when you received your birthday presents. The food arrived and after having the food and dessert, your and Jungkook's family came in your respective cars. Both of your family reach at the same time.

Your dad is busy in the garage parking the car, you are on your way to carry your big boxes of gifts in your house when you get called.

“ Uh yes kook?” You ask when you notice Jungkook standing right behind you, both his hands behind his back.

“ Uh.. I just have a gift for you” he says as he forwards the small box towards you. You slowly place the boxes of gifts you are carrying down with some assistance from Jungkook.

Your eyes light up as you hold the box in your palms, you hurry to open it and a gasp leaves your mouth when you notice the beautiful bracelet. It shines under the moonlight.

“ Let me help you” he says as he carefully takes the bracelet out from the box. Taking the lead, he makes you wear it.

“ This just looks perfect, thank you!” You exclaim as you go for a hug. He hugs you back.

“ Okay then, go and sleep. You are growing up too fast” he says as he again ruffles your hair.

“ Good night kook” you say as you again pick up the gift boxes with his help and walk towards your home but your mind is completely hazy with his thoughts. Jungkook did care enough to bring you a bracelet.

‘ you have no idea what you do to me,’ you think as your focused eyes on the bracelet slowly close from exhaustion.

It's his birthday.

Yes it's Jungkook's twenty third birthday and you can't help but feel excited. His Parents have decided to hold a small gathering with his friends. In which you are definitely invited.

It's 5 pm in the evening, you pull out your new dress from the wardrobe. Well, you kept this dress untouched for an important occasion and what can be more of an important occasion than his birthday.

The knee length dress fits you perfectly, hugging your curves just perfectly. The soft not only feels comfortable on your skin but it also makes your skin glow.

You never considered yourself breathtaking— but today when you look at your reflection you admit that you look beautiful, so beautiful.

You are finally done getting ready, you look at the wall clock in your bedroom, it reads 7 pm. Oh shit! You didn't just spend two hours getting dressed. Well that's how you felt because it's his birthday today. It's time for you to leave or you will miss the cake cutting ceremony when you will reach. And no way you want to miss that!

You look around yourself and pick up the gift bag from your bedside table. The gift holds so much significance for you. Jungkook will love it.

You feel nervous as you get out of your house to work in the direction of Rua’s house. The cool September wind blowing did no favour to calm your pulsating heart down instead your mind kept on making the worst possible scenarios. You feel agitated when you think that you have a big thing to do today. You have to confess to him today.

You will do it right?

What if Jungkook doesn't like the dress? What if he doesn't like the present you have for him? What if you are too late and he is already done with the cake cutting ceremony? You are going to look so dumb then.

You almost throw your head back to feel sad if something like that happens.

You swallow to help yourself calm down. You are going to do it— tell him how you feel about your relationship with Jungkook. Soon, Jungkook's house came to your view as you exhaled a sigh trying to calm your heart down.

The door to Jungkook’s house is already open as loud music comes from the inside. It seems everyone is there already. You exhale one last time mustering a small– you can do it.

You step inside as the smell of expensive cologne and beer hits your nostrils. Well, it is well known to you that Jungkook has some rich friends.

Soon, you feel a tap on your shoulder as you look behind to find Rua.

“ Hello, pretty” she says as she comes close to admiring more of you.

“ Hello gorgeous,” you say smiling.

“ Gosh, are you trying to make every guy lose their mind at this party tonight? Cause you are definitely taking all the attention” she says with a nudge on your shoulder.

“ Shut up. These heels hurt!” You complain looking at your heels.

“ Awh, well you are at the right time. Oppa will be coming anytime with his friends” she says looking at the main gate.

Soon enough many guys and girls enter the house. Some faces recogniseable to you but mostly new faces. At last Jungkook enters looking handsome as ever but beside him is a girl you have seen many times before, holding onto his arms as if she belongs there. The cheerleader.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you notice how beautiful the girl beside him looks. The long white gown that fits her perfectly in all the right places. She looks pretty.

No.

She is pretty.

The party keeps going, people drinking and dancing all around the house. The cake cutting ceremony was also over. Jungkook did feed you the second bite but you saw how he held the other girl close from the small of her back and fed her later taking the rest of the cake in his mouth. His friends around him clap and hoot for him as he takes bites from other pieces.

“ Gosh ___, let's sit somewhere I feel tired,” Rua says, pulling you to the nearest couch with her. You look around yourself and find Jungkook with his group of friends. Jungkook steps aside as his eyes fall on you making your eyes widen. Shit you weren't planning to get caught.

“ Wait, I'll be back with a bottle of water” she says as she stands up to leave but you stay seated there. Soon you feel the couch beside you dip with someone's weight so you look beside you just to find a guy. His hands rest on the headrest beside you head as the swirls the beer in your hand and asks, “ hey girl! What's your name?” He asks leaning towards you as he smells of booze and the same rich cologne.

A thick silver chain dangles in his neck as his dark black eyes roam on your face and collarbone making you nervous. Your eyes stay focused on him as you gulp later whisper out your name.

“ sorry couldn't hear you” he says getting further closer to you as he shifts towards you. You feel uncomfortable, you want to push him away but you feel small in his presence.

“ Okay, chill, have this beer. I am not here to eat you until you would like—” he says as he forcefully makes you hold onto his beer glass. The glass feels colder in your hands.

“ No, I don't drink..I—” you say trying to leave the glass.

“ Come on sweetheart, you don't look underage” the guy beside you says as he smirks at you, his wrong intentions clear to you.

Suddenly, the glass is pulled out of your hands as Jungkook throws the beer on his face.

“ Enough Mike” he says as he clenches his jaw.

“ What's wrong with you dude?” He says as he stands up dusting his clothes as if the soaked beer on his clothes will fall down. You too stand beside him.

“ Leave before I push you out” he says as he points towards the door.

“ Kook, let it—” you flinch hearing Jungkook's sudden outburst.

“ I said LEAVE” he says harshly making Mike grit his teeth as he angrily looks at you before stomping out of the house.

Jungkook looks at you as his eyes are fierce, making you feel small as you play with your fingers while looking down, “ ___, I am really sorry for what happened. I will teach him a good lesson tomorrow when he is sober” he says as he gets furious, his eyes not meeting yours in shame.

“ Kook, it's alright. Uh… I am fine now” you say looking at his eyes. He exhales a sigh of relief as he holds your hand.

“ Tell me what can I do for you, miss? Would you like a drink, wait… apple juice, that's your favourite” he says as he walks towards the fridge, while holding your hand as you walk behind him. Your eyes never leave his figure.

Yes this is the guy you like, the same guy you will confess today.

Taking out a bottle of apple juice as he pores some for you and himself in a glass.

“Here you go, miss,” he says, forwarding a glass to you. Your heart goes frenzy when his long slender fingers brush against your warm hands but to Jungkook it was nothing. He looks at you as you sip on the glass.

“ By the way, I like your new style though. You are a big girl now” he says as he pats your head, he squints his eyes as he smiles. A shy smile forms on your face as you look at your drink.

So he did notice how your usual hoodie sweatpants style is now changed to some beautiful knee length dress. Your usual braided long hair is open and easily flows with the air. Your sneakers or flats changed to heels. High heels. Your moisturized face now has make up applied and that he likes your style.

“ And uh you look handsome too” you say as pink dust forms on your face. You feel so comfortable around Jungkook. Like you never feel with anyone. In his company, you don't mind being highly drunk to the point you are not even able to walk. You know for a matter of fact he will take you home safe and sound. You know Jungkook so well, you admire him for the kindness he shows, how loyal he is and how amazing of a person he truly is.

Jungkook comes to stand beside you as he dips on his drink while you steal glances of him. The cold apple juice in your hand long forgotten as the thing that is causing a burning flame in your body is in your sight aka Jeon Jungkook.

His hair is not gelled like before, the effect of gel loose on him as the party has been going for hours. The first few buttons of his shirt open giving a view of his milky chest to you. You have seen clips of him working out in the gym, you know what can be the possible reaction of your body if you get to see below that: death. His black trousers are tight around his strong thighs that he must put so much effort on for them to look so good just from the view.

“ Is there something wrong?” he asks as he catches you staring at him, completely lost on how handsome he looks just by standing there.

“ Uh no.. nothing” deeper shades of crimson paint your cheeks as you manage to say your words to him.

Shit____, you leave no chance to get yourself embarrassed.

“ Uh, I was thinking of being with you till the party ends. I really never thought that bastard would pull up such moves. It's shameful that happened” he says as he looks into oblivion sipping on the apple juice.

“ Kook, that's not shameful. It's not like it's your faul—” you are interrupted midway when Jungkook gets hugged by the cheerleader girl.

“ koookiieee… let's go danceeee!! Our friends are waiting for usss” she says as she hugs him tighter, hiding her face in his back.

“ Eden, not right now.. I have some—” now this time he is interrupted by the cheerleader.

“ Ohh what are you having!?” She almost shouts in her high pitched voice as she takes the glass from his hands and takes the smallest sip she could.

“ Ahhh… apple juice? Really kookieee, you..you are ummm 23. We should have beerrr, kookie” she says as she slams the apple juice on the table, spilling some on the table in the process.

“ Jungkook bro, let's go” another of Jungkook's friends comes as he throws his hand around his shoulder. He is as drunk as maya (?).

“ Guys, chill ou—” this time he is interrupted by you.

Well, the interruption game is going well.

You get down from the stool as you speak “ Uh kook, just go and enjoy. It's completely fine here” you say soon rua joins you with a mojito in her hands.

“ What happened?” She asks as she stands beside you taking a sip of your apple juice, later making a disgusted face when she spots the two blitzed people are making her strong brother their standing pillar.

“ Nothing” you whisper to Rua as you speak to Jungkook, “ kook, you can go. Rua is here now” you say, holding her arms as if showing your most prized trophy to him.

“ Rua take care of her and yourself too. I'll be around” he says as he takes those clingy people with him.

“ Well, what happened?” She asks you as you both are alone now.

“ You tell me what happened? Were you doing some chemical reaction of hydrogen and oxygen to make water or you went there to bring water?” You ask because she was gone for way too long to just bring water.

“ You know there was this really cute guy, so he made me a mojito,” she says as a shade of crimson takes over her face.

“ You just spill the tea” you say as you both make your way towards the living room couch.

“ Okay cool, but first have this mojito. It's so tasty” she says, forwarding you the glass as a shy smile forms on her face.

—--------

The party goes on for another hour, and you talk to some more of Jungkook's friends. You look around trying to spot Jungkook and unfortunately from the couch in the drawing room you can't find him anywhere.

He is not standing in the same place where his friends took him. Rua is right beside you, “ ___, I am so sleepy” you hear her whine as she throws her head back on the armrest of the sofa. You look at the clock 11: 27 it reads.

“ Ah, okay let me just give my gift to kook,” you say standing up as she too stands up with you.

“ Not like I live a few kilometres away. I'll go by myself” you say.

“ You sure?” She asks, confirming as she slightly opens her eyes.

“ Yeah sure” you say, finally walking out of her room.

“ Message me after reaching home” she shouts back while you shoot back a loud approval to her.

—---

Now your task is to look for Jungkook, call him to his room and give him the gift alone. Yes, alone. You have waited the entire time just because you had to give him the gift alone. You can't confess your love to him in front of so many people.

As your heart thumbs in your chest with every step you take for your search for Jungkook. You look around cautiously as you pass the stage where intoxicated peers are still dancing to those high bass songs but as your eye scans through them, you nowhere find Jungkook among them.

You know for a matter of fact that Jungkook ain't between them or it would not even take you a minute of looking at him to know it's him, yes that's how much you know Jungkook.

As you look to your left towards the sitting area in the living room you don't find Jungkook there either.

“ Where is he?” You find yourself murmuring as you look to your right towards the kitchen. Well, the kitchen is empty with a few empty beer cans lying on the kitchen island. Well, true that who will be at the kitchen definitely you weren't expecting some drunk dudes to be cooking some meal.

Shut up, ___!

You now turn your head towards your front, there's just one light that lights that place. You slightly squint your eyes as you see a couple in the far end.

The male is pressed against the wall as the female has her back attached to the male's front. She throws her head on his shoulder as she is held securely in his arms.

Why does their dress match with the dress of Jungkook and mika(?).

Your heart shatters into pieces when you see the male lean as the girl tilts her face and before you can even think, they press their lips against each other.

The male is none other than the guy you were about to propose that day, the birthday boy aka Jeon Jungkook with the cheerleader.

You hear your heart break as if a glass breaks when it falls from a height. Your grip on the gift bag tightens to the point your nails dig in your own palm. Your hand feels cold but your whole body is hot, as if on fire.

You don't know how to react as tears unknowingly fall from your eyes. Your breath quickens as the realisation of what's happening in front of you dawns upon you. Your feet move on their own and rush to the first room that your eyes fall on. You close the door shut as you press your back on the door as a loud cry leaves past your lips.

You… just now witnessed Jungkook kissing…

… Kissing the cheerleader.

Your brain doesn't form proper sentences anymore as the scene of them being so close, them kissing keeps playing on loop in your mind. She indeed fits perfectly for him.

More and more tears fall from your eyes as some time passes by you standing in the same spot. As you finally get back to your senses or that your little crying session makes you feel better the realisation of you standing in his room hits you.

You take a few steps forward to confirm if it's his room. It's his room. Very little gym equipment was kept at one corner of the room. The black interior of his room and the neat and clean sheets remind you of the many times you have come to his room. And especially the smell, the minty yet soft smell the room speaks volumes of it being Jungkook's.

You gulp and try to breathe. It's too much for you. You were about to confess your feelings to him today. Well, reality had its own plan. You look at the crumbled gift bag in your hand which till now you were holding with all your strength as if your life depended on it. You slowly loosen up your hold only to witness some blood oozing out of your palm, patches of red on the gift bags handle.

You need to leave because it feels suffocating. You can't do this. You can't be in his room and be reminded of him and at this moment being reminded of him means being reminded of the scene you witnessed minutes ago. Your brain chants you should leave. Yes, you should.

You drop the bag at the bedside table where his favourite lavender scented candles, a mini bottle of his favourite cologne and most importantly a group photo of his family is kept, he is a loyal guy. You know it very well. You quietly and carefully place the bag over there. You leave no note nor an explanation of who gave him this gift.

You just turn away. Turn away to leave. Turn away so you can be away from his thoughts. Turn away so you don't end up sleeping in his bed, you want to be close to him. You just want to be held. Held by him. But how can he hold another girl who apparently has some deep rooted feelings for him, when he himself has a girlfriend.

Girlfriend, the word just settles in your brain without you even acknowledging. They must be dating for them to be kissing that way. They must be dating for her to be so close to him. They must be dating because Jungkook has known her for so long. And they must be loving in silence.

You walk away from his house. The loud noise of the party has long long been forgotten, just a lifeless body walking out of the house. You quietly enter the house. You don't want anyone to see you like this, broken. You don't care to pick up any call from Rua, no matter how many times she calls. Neither you change your clothes nor you wipe your already ugly makeup.

You just sleep.

—------

It's been almost 15 days since that incident. The next day after his birthday, Rua came to check up on you but you didn't open the door when your mom and Rua were banging on it. You lied about being sick.

Well, your heart was sick. No, it was broken into a million tiny pieces.

You haven't been to Rua's house even once in fifteen days. Well, this is unbelievable to anyone. In your 18 years of life, it hasn't been that you have not visited Rua's house even once in that long. Apart from the many reasons for meeting rua for gossiping, helping each other in academics, your main reason was Jungkook.

To meet him indirectly, know about his whereabouts, sometimes play games with him or just to get a glance from him. To look at him just to bless your eyes with his ethereal beauty.

He is majestic.

You sit on the bench of the empty park. It's past 9pm when you got out of your house, you felt stuck so going for a walk felt like a better option. Well, it was if it wasn't for the sudden interruption of a very known someone who decided to just sit beside you on the bench.

You know very well who he is.

The bench shakes a little as your trace breaks, your entire form getting tensed up.

But you don't look his way, maybe just to show that you didn't know it was him sitting beside you, but you knew it was him.

“ Rua has been missing you for a while, why don't you come home?” He asks with his hands in his pockets, the wind chill as if telling winters aren't far.

“ Finals” you say after another minute of silence. You straighten your posture as you look straight, your own hands now inside the pockets of your jacket, you continue, “ I have to study. Finals are looking”

He stays silent. You know he wants to say something. The way he fucks his head down, you know he wants to say something but he stops himself. A few more minutes pass and the urge for you to get up and leave for your house intensifies.

Another wish that intensifies is the will to look at his face, get drowned in his eyes and to be washed in his warmth. You grit your teeth.

Stupid,

You are fucking stupid.

He is not yours. your heart screams.

You suddenly stand up as you say, “ gotta go. Mom must be waiting” wasting no more time you start walking towards your house.

You walk a few steps and that's when you are stopped by him. The way your name just slips his tongue. You could die to just hear him once more. You need to hear him once more. You stop dead in your tracks and he walks closer to you.

“ You are lying. It's not your finals” he says walking closer to you as he now stands in front of you.

“ Then, what is it?” You almost snap but not even once you look in his eyes, you just can't.

“ Is it because of mike? I don't want to brag, but I literally had a fight with him the other day” he says as his eyes fall on his right hand’s knuckles. There are some faint marks which you do take a glimpse of by slightly tilting your head in that direction.

‘So he had a fight with one of his friends for you..? Does he perhaps like you?’ heart asks.

‘fuck ___, shut up. He. Has. A. Girlfriend,’ your brain chants.

You again feel the pain of the same intensity when you say the word girlfriend for him. It isn't just this time, this ain't new to you. The pain ain't new to you.

“ I told you the truth now it's upon you if you believe it or not” you say as you try to walk past him only to be stopped as he grasps your wrist stopping you in your tracks, just beside him. He sighs again.

“ You know that you have us right. Why don't you talk things out with us? You have me, rua and all of us. If anything is bothering you, I am more than ready to help you out” he says as he looks at your side profile now making you somewhat conscious of how you are looking.

You want to tell him the thing that is bothering you. He. He is bothering you. His thoughts are bothering you. He has a girlfriend that is bothering you. Your unsaid confession is bothering you. And that you love him that too is bothering you.

“ If there would be something, I would tell you” you say as your voice somewhat softens.

“As you should” says.

He did it again, his long hands, slender fingers getting through your hair as he ruffled them, like he always does. But this time it just feels as if the time has stopped. You don't realise when you close your eyes. He is still there, holding your wrist. You open your eyes as you say.

“ Leave..” your voice betrays you coming much more weak.

“Huh?” He asks, confused.

“ Uh.. leave my hand, I got to go home” you say your heart is burning. As soon as he leaves your hands you make a beeline to your house. You can't stand there when he has again made a spark at your chest. You are quick to get in your house and try your best to busy yourself with something just so you don't think about him. Well only if that was even possible.

—-----

Your finals are over nearly a month ago. It was after another month with your last interaction with Jungkook that Rua barged in your house angry, angry that you no longer want to keep your friendship with her and that is the reason you are not going to her house or meeting her often like you used to.

Your mother did scold you later as she saw how rua was bawling her eyes out. Your mother did have a valid reason to scold you. Your screen time has increased a lot. All you do in your free time is to go through those one minute videos and don't even realise when hours have been spent on it.

Regardless of everything, the reason you are visiting rua today is something big. You have no idea how you are going to talk things out to rua or how she might react.

You knock at her door only to be welcomed by rua herself. She moves aside making way for you to get in. There's a sweet aroma in the house.

“ Well, you came at the right time. I was baking cake and was about to call you. I got stuck” she says throwing her head back in defeat, her hands covered in flour as a chuckle leaves your mouth at her condition.

“ Okay, lemme see what you did” you say moving to the kitchen. The rest of the procedure was done by you but rua was actively taking part in it by helping you as much as she could.

“ Woahhhh” she groans, throwing her head back, “ this is the tastiest cake I have ever had, because I have contributed to making it” oh how dramatic she is.

“ Right, contributed” you say as you force a smile at her face just to tease her to which she rolls her eyes. You cut yourself a slice from the cake, taking a bite from the slice and nod your head, “ it indeed is tasty”

“ Phenomenal it is” you hear as she takes another bite now focusing on the tv.

“ Well, what is phenomenal? Let me know too” Jungkook comes out of his room as he walks towards you on the couch. You don't look his way instantly, well you almost stop yourself from turning towards him.

“ The cake, it's just too good” she says as she again focuses on the drama playing on the tv.

“ Feed me too” he says as he comes to stand in front of you but he is just in his sweatpants. His chest right in front of your eyesight. You didn't want to but you unknowingly did roam your eyes on his sweat covered body. He looks ethereal. Well he always does.

You forward the spoon and your plate in this direction for him to have it. But he doesn't take it.

“ Feed me please, my hands are dirty” shit shit shit. You feel yourself stiffening hearing his plea. He requested you to feed him and not his sister. He places his hands on his knee as he bends forwards.

You do as he said, your actions slow. The cake is hot and so is Jungkook. So you blow onto the cake later forwarding the spoon to him. He takes the bite as your other hand unknowingly goes under his chin so the cake crumbs don't fall onto the floor.

The hums of satisfaction that leaves his throat tells you he liked it.

“ One more spoon please” you feed him again in the same way.

“ One more” you do.

“ One more”

“ Ugh! Let her eat. We’ll keep some for you” she says, stopping her brother.

“ Okay guys keep some for me” he says as he forwards you an apologetic smile when you glance at him.

Everything is done. Now, you should focus on the thing you are here to do. Rua is right beside you. You tell her everything in one go, a gasp leaves her throat as tears stream down her face. The last things she said was “ I want to be alone” before she left you on the couch and rushed to her face. She didn't stop even after your countless shouts. Rua is sensitive, this reaction was somewhat expected.

But, you can't leave her crying like that. Her parents are at work. The only person left is Jungkook. You don't want to be informed about this but you'll have to. It's been a long time since you have had any direct talk with him like you sometimes used to have.

You knock at his door and enter inside hearing a ‘come in’. You get in just to find the room empty. There he comes fixing his shirt, seems like just took a shower, his hair wet.

“ Kook” you say. There's a pause in his movement before he looks in your direction.

“ Kook, uh Rua is crying” you blurt out your first concern.

“ Crying? Why?” He asks with his brows furrowed.

“ Uh actually.. I had to say that… uh I am leaving the country. I just got selected for one of the top universities in Australia, so I told her about it and she.. she got sad” you say your voice trembling, you never wanted her to cry and now she has also pushed you away.

“ What!?” He says as he comes to stand just in front of you.

“ Are you serious right now? Why.. Why are you leaving? You could easily get admission in one of the prestigious colleges here too” he says, his voice strong.

“ That's a better option, kook. And I just want to do it” you say as you look towards him, it's been so long you looked right at his doe eyes, spoke from your heart. You notice how his facial muscles soften.

You both stand there in silence for a while before Jungkook takes you in his embrace. He does. He pulls you closer to him. His one hand on your back and the other on your head as he pulls you closer. Your stiff body melting in his embrace as you do the thing that you feel is right. You let him hug you, you hug him tighter.

After a while he whispers, “ when are you leaving?”

You whisper back, “ tomorrow, at 7 am”

“ What!?” He asks shocked as he pulls back just enough to look at your face. His hand falls on your hips as your hand remains around his small waist.

“ And you are telling this today?” He asks again.

You heave out a sigh later whispering, “ I had no guts to tell her this. I never thought she would be this hurt. I thought telling her one day before will maybe make things easier for her”

“ So she is crying?” He asks to which you nod.

His phone rings which is on the bed. You see the caller I'd ‘ mia⁠♡’ it reads. Your heart tingles as you slowly push yourself away from him. He picks up the phone whispering a “ call you later” and declines.

“ Uh, kook take care of rua and uh… yourself too” you say, turning on your heels as you hurriedly walk out.

You walk out of the house, walk out of his life. You never told anyone but another reason why you took this offer was to be away from his thoughts. You can't come in between two lovers. No you can't, you leave for the best.

[bleedingichorhearts]

Hello, as far as I understood I can write write a request here. Is it possible for you to write the next part of "Fitful dance" (Emperor of mankind x reader) or something else with yandere! Emps? (Add hot kiss pls)

"Hello! I heed your call, do not worry. I remember. All keep in mind that I have other requests too. Patience is quality and key." - Ichor

Tagged - "@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000.”

TW: Yandere, Bulling Emps' For The Fun of It, Hot Kiss Acquired.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| {Chapter II}

The Emperor has not yet decided for you to be in his universe. At least, not just yet. He was more interested on... avoiding his duties for a while, and well. He can see the… undesirable consequences he could get from just snatching you up. Even if he really wants to. He's going to be... strategic about how he wants to take you in more ways than one. He didn't become a being of power for being unwise.

If he were to take you back now it would not doubt... frazzle you. You would be out of your element, not that he would be complaining. You would be more "satiable" to his advances, and you wouldn't know of his world that he plans to plant you in. So, that's another plus, but the only reason he hasn't taken you back yet is because of his own creations. His sons: Some would hate you, not that he would really care either, but others would... grow on you. He knows it, and it's not a thought he can particularly think through.

"So, uhh, how did you find my address?" Your question brings him back to this reality. His eyes not even blinking as he turns to look at you. A small, charming smile appearing on his face.

"Who would I be if I told you?" He answers you, and you're not amused by it. That sounded incredibly cryptic, potentially dangerous in all ways. For one: He could be some mafia boss. Two? A hitman playing as a charming prince. Three? A playboy trying to get on your nerves and your pants.

"Alright then..." You say, gathering your thoughts the best you can without freaking out of how in the hells he even found you. Your brain trying to make sense that he would be that of option 1 or 2 in a more likely way. "Let me rephrase: Who are you?"

"Hmm, smart one, are you?" He smiles a bit too brightly again, and you have an itch to tell him to stop smiling. "Many called me Anathema."

"Anathema?" You repeat his words, rising your brow. Disbelief written on your face. "That sound like a girls' name. At most, a sort of medical condition."

"Amusing, isn't it?" He laughs; it sounds forced. His long ass legs shifting their weight while he stands in the middle of your living room and you on your couch. "For your inquiry, it means monstrosity or a curse."

"Why would your parent name you that?" You let your mind speak for you, not at all regretful of them. This dude did just walk up to your house and won't tell you how he got your address. You deserve some recompense for that.

"Bold too." He more like comments, his tone going neutral, almost boring-like. His eyes looking you over as if he was debating something. Not answering your question.

"Well, you are not sunshine and rainbows yourself, clearly." You muse at the man, shifting yourself on your couch to sit up straighter. "You won't tell me how you got my address. Thats a red flag you know."

"Red flag?" He tilts his head a centimeter to his right, giving you a risen brow. "What do you speak off?"

"Seriously?" You match his expression, looking him over yourself as if he asked you a dumb ass question, and he practically did. "You all dressed up like you own thousands of corporates, dancing at parties, pulling random people towards you, and stalking me to my address is not alarming to you? Have you lost your logic? Your Common sense?"

He pauses to think on your words that would have gotten you killed for even questioning him and insulting him in all one go. His eyes seemingly going through you as he thinks upon your words. This "red flag" explanation you give is something that is... unsafe; dangerous, and well if he is thinking logical... he was one such in a way.

"You speak ill of me." He states, narrowing his amber eyes at you that seem to shift to a golden color for a split second. The smallness of such a reveal causing the hairs on your neck to rise.

"Yeah, no shit sherlock." Yet, you continue to use the foul words against him. Your world able to speak more freely than his world... Something that he misses but also hates at the same time. That freedom of speech, but also the restriction of it.

"You always talk to new bas- people like this?" He questions you, tilting his head to his left this time. His hands stuffed in the front pockets of his suit pants. "I do not recall you dismissing my dance so easily."

"To people that somehow have my address, yes." You nod, standing up from the couch and brushing yourself off. "And for your inquiry, that was not a dance nor an invitation."

"Really?" He challenges you, looking down at you even when you stand up. His hair waving as if a small draft was inside of your own home. "You were rather quite gentle in your... teachings."

"So, you did notice that I was silently teaching you something." You step forward into his space, looking up at him. His hands in his pockets itching to come out and grasp at you but holds himself still, for a moment. "Yet you cannot notice how coming to my home without an explanation is something you can't learn? Man, what did your parents teach you? Nothing?"

"My, you certainly have a tongue on you..." He comments, the area around you shifting to something darker, intimidating. A random breeze of chill going down your spine.

"I believe I have the right to be so." You huff, folding your arms over your chest, never faulting with the man. "You won't tell me jack shit-!"

One of his gloved hands fly out from his pocket and swipe forward, grasping a bit tightly at your neck and pulling you in close. The simple, hidden touch sending a shiver down his own spine while he kisses you with sudden roughness that it surprises you. Your hands only able to come up and settle on his chest to stabilize yourself. His form taller than yours as he makes himself to be that way.

You can feel how his lips press against yours. His tongue coming to pry them apart and slide through your teeth to taste your own tongue that doesn't recuperate back. A pleased hum escaping his as he tilts his head a bit more to shove his tongue anywhere inside of your mouth as he pleases, taking advantage of your surprise. His eyes a bit more of a glowing, golden color while he keeps you still within his grasp, making you stay in place just in case before he pulls away with that bright ass grin again, his tongue licking up the combined saliva as if it was a noodle. His hand on your neck moving to cradle your cheek with his thumb under your earlobe.

"Have anything else foul to say?" He purrs slightly, thumbing at you. His tongue licking his teeth inside of his mouth before his lips. His amber eyes watching you with amusement at how dumbfounded you look.

"Next time, I'm shoving a pencil down your throat." You threaten him with a growl, shoving him away, or more like pushing yourself off him as he stays in his place. His hands moving to behind his back.

"Oh? So, there is a next time?" He rumbles sweetly, keeping up that annoying ass grin. A few of your nerves breaking at his cockiness.

[chiaaseedbaby]

☀︎Teasing Devil☀︎

Pairing: Solivan Brugmansia x Male! Reader

Hello lovelies!! This is gonna be my first time writing a full smut fic, I really hope you enjoy it ^^

Tags: dryhumping, soaking, orgasm denial, overstimulation, begging, spanking, marking, and bondage <3

_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_

Sol was a patient person, at least he tried to be. He held his tongue when people made comments about his style or the way he spoke. He barely reacted to direct insults to his face, but the one thing he couldn’t handle, was teasing.

He absolutely despised being teased, it made him feel weak and helpless. Though, despite how irritating it was to be teased, it made him really, really horny. You of course knew this, and decided to take advantage of it.

“… Love? Why are you sitting on my lap?” He asked, looking up from his book for a moment as you parked yourself on top of him.

“No reason, just bored♡” You whispered into his ear, trailing your fingers down the side of his neck. Sol let out a soft whimper from the cold feeling of your fingers, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers.

“You’re acting weird, are you alright?” You ignored his question and pressed a kiss to his collarbone, then one to his nose, then his temples, then his cheek and then finally one soft peck to his lips, subtly rubbing your butt right on his thigh, making him tense up. “Love… don’t do that…” He said with a shaky breath.

“Hm?~ What’s wrong Babe? You okay?” You ask with faux innocence, looking up at him with a subtle but mischievous glint in your eyes.

“Y-Yes I-I’m fine… but… are you doing this on purpo-“ Just as Sol began questioning you, in came Crowe to beg for your help in stopping Brittney from beating Deryl to death because he took her phone.

“Oh, okay Crowe! Bye babe!! I’ll see you later!!” You called as you ran with Crowe to stop the attempted murder about to commence, while also planning how you’d mess with Sol later. Oh this, is going to be fun…

_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_

☀︎NSFW BELOW☀︎

You laid in bed with Sol, resting your body on top of him, your head resting upon his chest. “Baby?” You coo, crawling up to kiss his jawline again.

“Hm?” He responded, his eyes closed as he was half asleep, listening to an audio book. “Is there something you need love?” He asked, his hand coming up to rub your hair.

You giggled, palming his cock gently. “No~ Just wanted to hear your voice…” You said softly. Giggling from the sharp breath he took.

“Love… you’re starting a game you might not be able to finish.” He growled opening his eyes and wrapping his arms around your waist. But right as his hand reached your shorts, you stopped him.

“Nuh uh~” You hummed, booping his nose. “No touching♡” Sol stared in disbelief.

“I’m… not allowed to touch you? Why?” He asked, looking at you with confusion etching his face. “Did I… Did I do something wrong?”

“No love, I just wanna try something… different.” You smiled, reaching over to your nightstand. Sol’s eyes followed your hand and widened when he saw you pull out a bundle of silky green rope. “Can you put your hands above your head Babe?” You questioned, already unbundling the rope.

“Y-You’re going to tie me up?” He said, his voice shaking with fear and a bit of excitement as you nodded cheerfully.

“Yup! It’s gonna be fun! Don’t you think?” You smirked, pushing his hands above his head as you guided yourself onto his lap. As you tied his hands up in a pretty little but really tight bow Sol stared up at you, mesmerized, never expecting you to ever take control like this. “Are you comfy baby?” You ask sweetly.

“I-I’m alright Love.” He whispered, still staring.

“Good! Now let’s begin~” You say with a sultry tone, grinding your hips on his hardening cock. “How’s that feel?” You question while slowly pushing shirt up.

“F-Feels… G-Good…” Sol whimpered, his hands instinctively trying to go grab your waist. “P-Please don’t stop…” He murmured, trying to slow down his rapidly beating heart.

“Hm… You don’t want me to stop? Do you?”

He looking up at you shaking his head. “Wanna t-touch you… please?” He whined at you, hands still struggling with the ropes. He wanted you, he needed you, he was going to get out.

You smiled at his whine, leaning down to start leaving marks all over his neck and upper chest, grinding your hips harder on him.

“F-Fuck!” Sol gasped out, arching his back a bit. “L-Love I’m c-close…”

“Oh are you? Hm? How close?” You stared down at him, gouging his reaction, and when he was right on that edge, right about to cum, you stopped, lifting your hips above his clothed cock. “Oops~ I slipped off~” You hummed, at his desperate groan. He thrust his hips up, trying to get that delicious friction back.

“C-Come back. P-Please? I want… I want to cum please!” He looked up at you with the neediest look you’ve ever seen from him.

“Awww baby… I’ll start again, don’t worry.” You began grinding again, holding his face into your hands. “Baby… are you crying?” You stared at the tears that slid down his cheeks.

“N-No…” He pouted, looking away from you. Your heart clenched at his desperate behavior, but also didn’t want to stop teasing this poor man. So you brought him right to that edge once again, and stopped. Repeating this process again, and again and again. Every time he whined and begged you to let him cum, but you weren’t ready to yet.

“Aw my poor silly baby, you really really wanna cum don’t you, why don’t you be a good boy and beg me mo-“

SNAP!

“Shit…”

_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_☀︎_

To be continued…

Hi lovelies!! I wanted to post this for you so you guys could have something to read for now. Since it’s taking me so long to fully finish this, here’s the part one, you can expect part two as soon as I’m done! (๑>◡<๑)

Also… happy late Valentine’s Day!

[necrotic-nephilim]

there is not enough femslash in batcest circles. the girls deserve to be just as weird about each other as the boys are. if BruDick gets to be weird father/son/brothers/lovers/friends/rivals/soulmates then it is only fair that Babs/Cass get to be mother/daughter/sisters/lovers too. Something about that deep intrinsic but undefinable love that is born out of trauma, especially if you consider Cass not knowing what healthy love looks like in the first place. i think it's fun and deserves just as much fandom content.

besides that, you can get even more niche with rarepairs like Helena/Steph. Huntress/Spoiler: Blunt Trauma is already a fantastic comic and even though it's their only real canon interaction it has so much potential. very comparable to TimJay in how Helena tries to get Steph to understand her morals and the corruption you could play with it.

batman: huntress/spoiler: blunt trauma (1998)

that comic also highlights on how both Steph and Helena are outcasts of the Batfamily and don't have the approval of Bruce to be doing what they do in "his city". I think there's so much Potential in Helena taking Steph under her wing because Bruce won't let her in and it becomes a weird codependent toxic sapphic mess. I think the protectiveness Helena feels over Steph from the get-go is so clear and the way she wants to look out for Steph, wants to make sure Steph understands the real world? I love them. Helena should be allowed to steal Steph, actually. I think it'd be fun.

there are a lot of other possibilities too like Babs/Steph or even getting weird with Helena Bertinelli/Helena Wayne and the existential question of "is it selfcest or not." But these two specifically live in my head rent-free, especially Helena/Steph and one day I'll convince everyone else to ship it too.

[rbtlvr]

u know. i feel like. the way i 'cover' music (listening reaaaaally really closely note by note and transcribing it into the free program that i have) is probably not. the way most people do it. almost certainly there is a simpler way of doing things. however

[milfbrainrot]

it's nice that claire can experience being loved more humanly but also... you fucked up a perfectly good robot is what you did. look at it it's got anxiety.

[puppppppppy]

My god I need to finish this website so I can write diary entries and not be this obvious abt it

[floortile34]

i feel lost. scared. lonely

step out into the sun. into the endless pain. alone in an opaque void, or maybe i just can't see through it enough to notice i'm not alone. it burns. is rotting in the darkness worse? drowning in the sewer?

infinite mazes of light, nobody aroung. this isn't real. the real light burns, this doesn't. i see so clearly yet there still remains no-one. fields of empty space, knee height. marble floors with no temperature

mirages of others. of company

endless seconds ticking by. however many millions. running around searching for a way out, tiring myself endlessly, never collapsing

my flesh bleeds – oozes, almost – with sickly purples

(legs numb now. alternating between writing tags and main post segment whatever this is called)

dragging my forearms across the subtle rough texture of the tiling. they bleed. they fall apart so easily. so weak. so brittle. so rotten through

i need ..... . .......i don't know what i need

please, i need whatever that thing is

someone tell me what i need

someone tell me what to do. where to go. i'm so lost in here. i'm running out of battery. it's always ticking down, never reaches 0, i feel like it's a lie. shepherd's tone

my sanity's slowly falling deeper and deeper into the infinitesimal abyss, or maybe not and it just feels like that. i don't know anymore. i don't remember anymore. i don't remember what i am. my family's fading from me. i'll be alone soon. without them

my ideas are running out yet i must keep writing. this is my purpose in life for... however long it's taken now. 10 minutes? i didn't check when i started.

...... ..............

■■■■ ■■■■■■ shall claim me soon

[iceeericeee]

I wonder how many tags i can add on to this

[acourtofquestions]

Hearth to hearth, the Flame of War went.

Over snow-blasted mountains and amongst the trees of tangled forests, hiding from the enemies that prowled the skies. Through long, bitterly cold nights where the wind howled as it tried to wipe out any trace of that flame.

But the wind did not succeed, not against the flame of the queen.

So hearth to hearth, it went.

To remote villages where people screamed and scattered as a young-faced woman descended from the skies on a broom, waving her torch high.

Not to signal them, but the few women who did not run. Who walked toward the flame, the rider, as she called out, "Your queen summons you to war. Will you fly?"

Trunks hidden in attics were thrown open. Folded swaths of red cloth pulled from within. Brooms left in closets, beside doorways, tucked under beds, were brought out, bound in gold or silver or twine. And swords-ancient and beautiful—were drawn from beneath floorboards, or hauled down from haylofts, their metal shining as bright and fresh as the day they had been forged in a city now lying in ruin.

Witches, the townsfolk whispered, husbands wide-eyed and disbelieving as the women took to the skies, red cloaks billowing. Witches amongst us all this time.

Village to village, where hearths that had never once gone fully dark blazed in answer.

Always one rider going out, to find the next hearth, the next bastion of their people.

Witches, here amongst us. Witches, now going to war.

A rising tide of witches, who took to the skies in their red cloaks, swords strapped to their backs, brooms shedding years of dust with each mile northward.

Witches who bade their families farewell, offering no explanation before they kissed their sleeping babes and vanished into the starry night.

Mile after mile, across the darkening world, the call went out, ceaseless and unending as the eternal flame that passed from hearth to hearth.

"Fly, fly, fly!" they shouted. "To the queen! To war!"

Far and wide, through snow and storm and peril, the Crochans flew.

[akascow]

man yellowjackets would be so much better if it didnt keep cutting back to the present day