#and then I was like well I’m used to it so I just ignore it

[rizzanon]

Babysitter

a damian wayne and batsis! reader oneshot ft. jon kent | m.list

Summary: your brother forces you to take him and his bestfriend along with you to wherever you’re going

You had a plan. A flawless, well-thought-out, foolproof plan.

Step one: Move quietly.

Step two: Avoid creaky floorboards.

Step three: Do not alert Damian Wayne, resident bloodhound.

You had your hand on the doorknob, your shoes were on.

You had one foot out the door. No one in sight. Freedom just within reach—

“Going somewhere?”

Your whole body froze.

Goddamnit it.

You knew that voice.

You closed your eyes, inhaled sharply through your nose, and prayed to whatever higher power was listening that maybe—just maybe—if you ignored him, he’d disappear.

No such luck.

A second voice, softer but just as damning, followed.

“Uh, I told him we should just let you go, but…”

You sighed. Of course.

With a slow turn, you met the unimpressed stare of Damian Wayne, standing in the dim hallway like the world’s smallest, most judgmental security system. His arms were crossed, his expression far too smug for someone who had no business being awake right now. And right beside him, slightly hunched and looking far too apologetic, was Jon Kent.

You stared at them. They stared back.

Finally, you spoke.

“I knew I should’ve left through the window.”

Jon winced. “Sorry. Again, I did say we should just let you go—”

“But he didn’t,” you deadpanned, shooting a look at Damian.

Damian tilted his head, unbothered. “Because you’re sneaking out.”

You scoffed. “I am not sneaking out—”

“You’re leaving without me. That’s the same thing.”

“It is not—”

“Semantics.”

You groaned louder. “Oh my God, I hate you.”

“Likewise,” Damian said flatly.

Jon, still watching this exchange like a confused referee, hesitantly raised a hand. “I feel like I should stop this.

At the exact same time, without missing a beat, you and Damian both turned to him and snapped—

“You stay out of this.”

Jon immediately took a step back, hands up in surrender. “Ah. Alright.”

You dragged a hand down your face, inhaling slowly before fixing your glare on Damian again.

“So,” you said, voice strained, “what do you want, Damian?”

Damian ignored your question. “Where are you going?”

You deadpanned. “Out.”

“Out where?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Wrong answer.

“Tt. Incorrect. It is my business, because you’re taking us with you.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“No, yeah, I heard you. I just don’t think I should have.”

Jon stepped in, looking a little apologetic. “Sorry, he kinda roped me into this,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

You gave him a flat look before turning back to Damian. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”

“To accompany you.”

“Why?”

“You require supervision.”

You stared.

“…I require— Damian, I’m older than you.”

“By an unfortunate number of years, yes.”

You inhaled sharply, clenching your fists. “I don’t need supervision, you little gremlin.”

Jon cleared his throat. “To be fair, I think he means he needs supervision.”

You stared. “You require— Damian, you’re forcing me to babysit you?”

“Tt. Babysit is a strong word.”

“That’s literally what’s happening.”

“I prefer guardian escort.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yet here we are.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply before muttering, “Where’s Alfred?”

“Out.”

“Dick?”

“Busy.”

“Tim?”

“Comatose, most likely.”

“Cass?”

“Training.”

“Jason?”

“Wouldn’t care.”

Your eye twitched. “And Dad?”

Damian raised an unimpressed brow.

“…Right,” you muttered.

Jon shot you another apologetic smile. “So, uh… that just leaves you?”

You let your head fall back with a long, suffering groan. “You are not going out with me.”

“And you’re supposed to be grounded.”

“That’s why I’m sneaking out, dipshit.”

There was a brief silence.

Damian let out a long, dramatic sigh, like you were the most exhausting person alive. “You continue to delude yourself if you think you’ll be able to succeed in sneaking out.”

“I hate you.”

Jon cleared his throat. “Um—”

Your expression softened immediately as you turned to him. “Not you, Jon. You’re fine. You’re good. Damian’s the problem.”

Jon blinked. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a tiny, bashful smile, cheeks just a little pink.

“Oh. Uh. Thanks?”

Damian, meanwhile, squinted. “What the hell?”

You ignored him, turning back to Jon. “See? This is how you behave, Damian. Maybe take notes.”

Damian’s scowl deepened. “I am nice.”

You snorted. “To who?”

“To you.” Damian snapped, like it was obvious.

Jon let out a tiny, poorly suppressed laugh.

You shot him a look. “Jon. Don’t encourage him.”

“Sorry,” Jon said, not looking sorry at all.

Damian scoffed. “So where are you even going?”

“Out.”

“Not without us.”

You stared. “No. Absolutely not.”

Damian just blinked.

Jon shuffled a little, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. “I mean… if you don’t want us to come, that’s okay, I guess…”

And there it was.

The puppy-dog eyes.

You winced.

Damn it.

Jon Kent had mastered the art of looking genuinely dejected, and it was so unfair.

You hesitated. Pressed your lips together. “…It’s not that I don’t want you to come, it’s just—”

“Great,” Damian interrupted. “Then let’s go.”

You groaned. “That’s not what I meant—”

“You’re not exactly convincing me otherwise.”

“I will fight you.”

“I will win.”

Jon coughed. “This feels counterproductive.”

You shot him a betrayed look. “Jon. I thought we were friends.”

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “I do want to go, though…”

Your eye twitched. You knew he was being genuine. But damn, he was dangerously good at making you feel so mean. You sighed heavily, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers.

“I hate being the responsible one.”

Damian smirked. “Then be irresponsible and take us with you.”

You snapped your head back down to glare at him. “That’s not how this works, moron.”

Jon stifled a laugh.

Damian just tilted his head, completely unfazed. “Yet here we are.”

You clenched your jaw. Closed your eyes. Took a very deep breath.

Then, begrudgingly—

“Fine.”

Jon brightened. “Really?”

You shot him a look. “Not like I have a choice, apparently.”

Damian’s smirk widened, victorious.

“But there are rules.”

You pushed the door open, already regretting everything. “One: No causing trouble. Two: No running off. Three—” You turned sharply to glare at Damian. “No murder.”

Jon blinked. “That has to be a rule?”

You looked at him, dead serious. “You’d be surprised.”

Damian scoffed. “You act as if I lack self-control.”

“You literally tried to stab a man at the grocery store last week.”

“He cut in line.”

“You pulled out a knife, Damian.”

“And?”

Jon looked as if he was used to this.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You are literally going to be the death of me.”

“Unlikely,” Damian deadpanned.

Jon patted your arm sympathetically. “It’s okay. Breathe.”

“I don’t want to breathe.”

“Understandable, but necessary.”

Damian scoffed. “Are you done yet?”

“Oh, I’m done,” you muttered, pushing open the door. “So done.”

And with that, you stepped outside, the two boys following close behind.

This was going to be a long day.

The night air was crisp, Gotham’s usual symphony of distant sirens, honking cars, and murmured conversations blending into the background as you walked down the quiet streets. The dim glow of streetlights cast long shadows across the sidewalk, but your focus was on the two boys trailing beside you.

Jon was practically buzzing with excitement, barely able to keep himself from skipping as he shot off rapid-fire questions.

“So, what were you going to do?”

You hummed. “What do you think I was gonna do?”

Jon tilted his head. “Go fight bad guys?”

You chuckled. “Nope.”

“Scout for intel?”

“Nope.”

“Secret mission?”

“Jon,” you laughed, ruffling his hair. “Hold your horses, kid. We’re doing nothing of that sort. Not when I’m around.”

Jon pouted but grinned anyway, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. “Well, then what are we doing?”

Before you could answer, you caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of your eye.

Damian.

The boy had taken two steps to the side, eyes locked on the nearest alleyway, looking entirely too ready to vanish into the night.

“Oh, hell no.”

You reached out, snagging the back of his hoodie and pulling him to a halt.

“That goes for you too, mister,” you said, voice firm.

Damian let out an audible groan. “Tt.”

Jon blinked, confused. “Uh—what exactly was he about to do?”

“Disappear into the shadows”

Jon turned to Damian, frowning. “Dude.”

Damian merely sniffed, looking vaguely offended at the idea that he of all people needed babysitting. “I was merely about to scout the area for any dangers.”

You gave him a flat look. “We’re on a sidewalk, Damian.”

“And?”

You exhaled sharply. “You are not ditching me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“Tt. You have no proof.”

“I have a brain.”

Jon held up a finger. “Technically, that’s not proof—”

You turned to him, exasperated. “Jon.”

“Right, right, sorry.”

Damian crossed his arms, unimpressed. “So, what are we doing?”

You just smiled.

Luxurious. That was the only word for the place you were in.

Soft, ambient lighting filled the space, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. The gentle sound of water trickling from an ornamental fountain mixed with the low, soothing hum of instrumental music playing from hidden speakers. A faint scent of lavender, eucalyptus, and something faintly citrusy hung in the air, lulling your body into relaxation almost instantly.

You let out a slow sigh, sinking further into the plush lounge chair as the nail technician expertly shaped your nails. Across from you, Jon was already wrapped up in a fluffy white robe, a cooling face mask spread across his skin, and a woman massaging his shoulders. He looked blissful.

Damian, on the other hand, was sitting stiffly in a massage chair, arms crossed, looking like he was being subjected to cruel and unusual punishment. His expression was set into a deep scowl, but you didn’t miss the way his shoulders had started to relax under the therapist’s touch—albeit reluctantly.

You smirked, wiggling your fingers as the technician moved on to buffing your nails. “Well?”

“Tt.”

Damian’s eyes were shut as if that alone could block out his misery. “You dragged us to a spa.”

You grinned. “I treated you to a spa.”

Damian let out another Tt.

You turned to him, amused. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this.”

Damian scowled. “I don’t see the point.”

“The point,” you drawled, stretching your legs, “is relaxation.”

“I don’t need relaxation.”

“You literally live with Bruce Wayne. You need it the most.”

Jon let out a snort of laughter.

Damian shot him a glare. “Shut up, Kent.”

Jon just grinned wider, looking far too content. “Nope.”

You chuckled, letting your head fall back against the chair. “Face it, Damian. You like it here.”

“I hate this.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I loathe you.”

You didn’t miss the way his shoulders had slowly started to loosen.

Or the way his scowl wasn’t as deep as before.

“You love me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Jon let out a happy sigh, sinking deeper into his chair. “I knew you had a good plan.”

You shot him finger guns. “Always do.”

Jon chuckled, then suddenly let out a little noise of contentment as the massage therapist pressed into his shoulders just right. He melted into the chair, the sheer bliss evident on his face.

“Aww,” you cooed, reaching over to gently pat his head. “Look at you, kid. Living the life.”

Jon made a happy little noise in response, fully leaning into the massage.

Damian scowled. “Are you coddling him?”

“Yes,” you said immediately.

Damian scoffed. “Ridiculous.”

You smirked. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you like to be coddled?”

Damian’s entire face twisted into disgust. “Absolutely not.”

You laughed, nudging Jon. “See? He’s jealous.”

Jon barely opened one eye, too relaxed to care. “Yep.”

Damian turned his glare to him now. “Shut up, Kent.”

Jon just smiled. “Just saying the truth, Damian.”

“You wish.”

You stifled a laugh, watching Damian attempt to shrink further into his chair, clearly regretting ever coming along. You were definitely going to remind him of this later.

The spa had been a fantastic idea—well, for you and Jon, at least.

Damian? Not so much.

At first, he acted as if he were enduring actual torture. When they tried to give him a robe, he scowled as if they’d offered him poison. When they led him to the massage chair, he sat down stiffly, arms crossed, eyes darting around as though expecting an assassination attempt. The moment the massage therapist placed their hands on his shoulders, his entire body locked up.

“This is unnecessary,” Damian muttered as you and Jon stifled your laughter.

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, leaning back as a technician buffed your nails. “Completely unnecessary. That’s why you’re staying right there and relaxing.”

“I am always relaxed.”

You and Jon shared a look.

Jon, his face already covered in a cooling mask, turned toward Damian. “Dude, your entire body is clenched like a steel beam.”

“Tt. I am merely prepared.”

“Prepared for what? A surprise attack by the scented candles?” you teased.

Damian glared at you, but then the massage therapist hit a particular spot on his back, and you swore you saw his soul briefly leave his body. His lips parted slightly, eyes fluttering for a split second before he forcibly locked himself down again, pretending nothing had happened.

“Oh my god,” you grinned. “You liked that.”

Damian turned his head away, nose upturned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

But he did shift ever so slightly to let the massage therapist work deeper into his back. You and Jon exchanged victorious smirks but wisely didn’t comment further.

Well—except for Jon’s quiet, “Told you you’d like it.”

Damian kicked him under the table.

After a tedious amount of time, Damian had finally let himself relax. Not entirely—he was still Damian, after all—but enough that he no longer looked like he wanted to eviscerate someone.

Jon, meanwhile, had been living the dream since the moment you arrived. You’d made sure to book an extensive package for him, complete with a massage, a face mask, a manicure, and even a foot scrub.

The problem?

Jon’s Kryptonian genes.

The poor spa technicians had no idea what they had signed up for.

It started when they tried using a gua sha stone on his face.

The second they dragged the tool across his cheek, there was a horrifying screech—the sound of something hard scraping against something impenetrable.

The esthetician froze, blinking at the gua sha in her hand.

Jon winced. “Uh…”

Then she tried again. More forcefully.

SCCCRRREEEEEEE—

Damian cringed as the sound echoed through the room, making your ears ring. “That is unbearable.”

“I—I don’t think it’s supposed to sound like that,” Jon said weakly.

The esthetician, determined, switched to a jade roller.

The exact same thing happened.

“Okay,” the woman murmured, frowning. “We’ll, uh, circle back to that.”

Then came the body scrub.

Which was supposed to be exfoliating.

Except the scrub was doing nothing.

Jon, ever the polite one, just smiled sheepishly as the technician literally pushed down with all her strength, trying to get some kind of reaction.

“…You don’t feel anything?” she asked, breathless.

“Uh.” Jon paused. “I mean. It’s kinda nice?”

Damian looked deeply entertained. “This is absurd.”

You nudged him. “You’re absurd.”

“Tt.”

Then came the nail buffing.

Oh, the nail buffing.

The technician tasked with filing Jon’s nails was genuinely putting her whole body into it. You could see her arm muscles flexing as she went back and forth, desperately trying to shape his nails with an emery board that had already worn down to nothing.

At one point, she wiped her forehead. “Are you sure you’re not wearing, like… armor?”

Jon laughed nervously. “Nope, this is, uh, all-natural.”

The woman blinked. Then, deciding to just accept that reality was being weird today, simply nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “We’ll… figure something out.”

Jon beamed. “Thanks!”

You patted his head. “Good job, buddy.”

Jon grinned. “I think this is nice.”

And truly, it was. You were finally getting a break, Damian had sort of warmed up to the experience, and Jon was having the time of his life.

It was peaceful.

It was relaxing.

It was exactly what you needed.

So, of course, something had to go wrong.

The peace was shattered by the sound of screaming outside.

Your head snapped toward the spa entrance just in time to see a group of civilians running past in a panic. Then—explosions.

And the unmistakable whir of something mechanical.

You bolted upright.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Jon was already standing, ripping the robe off and revealing his Superboy costume underneath.

Damian, meanwhile, pulled a full Batman move by seemingly materializing his utility belt and weapons out of nowhere.

Before you could even say anything, the two boys were gone—leaping straight out the spa’s open balcony.

You turned to the wide-eyed spa staff, letting out a long sigh.

“Boys being boys, am I right?” You forced a smile, desperately trying to cover up the awkwardness of the situation. “They’re die-hard fans for action. Can’t help themselves.”

For a brief moment, the room was silent as the estheticians exchanged confused glances.

Then, in the most awkward and abrupt way possible, you scrambled to grab your purse, fumbling around as you threw an absolutely ridiculous sum of cash onto the counter—enough to more than cover the treatments, plus a hefty tip for the staff that definitely deserved more than a little credit for surviving this spa chaos.

The technicians just stared at the money, stunned into silence.

You didn’t stick around for questions.

You bolted after the two boys—still wrapped in your robe, your hair tied up in a towel, and your face mask half-finished.

You were praying—praying—that the day would somehow not end up on the news—though you knew full well that was already a lost cause. But hey, at least you were going to have one heck of a story to tell.

You finally made it to the street corner, and saw Amazo-tech robots rampaging through the streets, blasting apart cars and sending civilians running. Jon was in the air, flying between them, lasers shooting from his eyes as he took them down one by one. Damian was on the ground, expertly maneuvering around, slicing through the robots’ weak points.

You were impressed.

But you were also trying not to yell at the two boys.

Because Damian was still wearing his spa robe over his Robin suit.

And Jon still had his facial mask on.

“Just once,” you muttered to yourself, laughing despite the absurdity. “Just once, I want a normal day out.”

But then again, in Gotham, that was never going to happen.

The Batcave had never felt so… tense. The lights flickered above, casting shadows that seemed to mirror the dark expressions of the adults standing before you. You, Damian, and Jon stood side by side, feeling the weight of their scrutiny.

Bruce was standing at the forefront, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes narrow and calculating. Alfred, behind him, looked as if he were about to take away all your privileges for the rest of your lives. Clark had one hand over his face, clearly trying to stifle an impending headache, while Lois had her fingers pressed to the bridge of her nose, fighting the urge to explode in frustration.

The silence stretched on, suffocating. Then, finally, Bruce spoke, his voice quiet but stern.

“So,” he said, voice level. “Would you care to explain yourselves?”

Before you could even open your mouth—

“It was her idea,” Damian said immediately, pointing at you.

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me—”

He met your glare with a simple, “You were the adult in charge.”

You gaped at him. “Oh, so now I’m the adult?! When I was paying for the spa day, you were more than happy to—”

“Tt.”

“Don’t you ‘Tt’ me, you little shit..!”.”

Bruce let out a long, suffering sigh.

Jon cleared his throat. “It all worked out, though. We saved the day, didn’t we?”

The adults all exchanged a look, their faces unreadable for a moment. Lois then shakes her head and pulled out her phone, tapping something before showing the screen.

It was a photo.

A civilian had snapped a very clear picture of the battle—showing Robin, still in his spa robe, kicking an Amazo-robot in the face while Superboy, face still covered in a facial mask, was mid-air punching another.

It was already trending.

Jon looked at it.

Then, sheepishly, he shrugged.

“…It was nice...?”

Clark just let out a hearty chuckle.

“Well, it’s a memorable way to save Gotham. At least you three enjoyed yourselves.” he said, earning a small chuckle from Lois.

Bruce closed his eyes, clearly questioning his life choices. He rubbed his temples as Lois and Clark just share a look. “….We will discuss this later. Go and get yourselves cleaned up.”

It’s safe to say that your grounding just got a whole lot longer.

i had this as a scene to write for undoing fate but it didn’t quite fit into it as much as i’d like it to so it became a oneshot outside of it instead (completely unrelated to undoing fate but you can imagine it happening between chapter 7-9 when they’re posted lol) but hope you guys enjoyed this 🫶

taglist (open): @k1arar3 @kingshitonly @rainnyydaysworld @ceridwyn3 @darkfaethedestroyer @blueiones @strwberryglass @lithiumval @thephantomdanny @eli-mayhaveatencats @rockyeatrock @dreaming-of-the-reality @shirp-collector-of-fixations @gneepgnorpsneepsnorp @skerbablo @dind1n @gwyneveire @yukixies @kristalag @greantii | ask to be added <3

[solxamber]

Giving Them Chocolates on Valentine's Day with: Savanaclaw

Go here for other dorms

Leona Kingscholar

You find Leona sprawled out under his favorite tree, one arm draped over his eyes, looking about two seconds away from a nap.

Typical.

You take a deep breath, shoving down every ounce of nervousness, and step closer, holding out the neatly wrapped box. “Here.”

Leona cracks one eye open, lazily glancing at the chocolates like you just handed him an average Tuesday. With a low hum, he takes them, rolling the box in his hand with a raised brow.

“Hm? What’s this for?”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you think it’s for?”

He stretches, completely unbothered, as if he gets gifted chocolates all the time (which, okay, maybe he does, but that’s not the point right now).

“Dunno," he drawls, clearly messing with you. "You bribing me for something?”

Your eye twitches. “Leona.”

He huffs a laugh, finally looking at you, amusement flickering in his gaze. And then you say it.

"Happy Valentine’s Day."

And oh.

It’s like you hit him with a truck.

His smirk falters for half a second, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around the box. His pupils dilate—a barely-there shift, but you catch it.

He goes quiet. Not his usual lazy, I-don't-care quiet, but the kind that comes when he’s actually processing something.

Then, so smoothly it almost throws you off, he leans back, a slow, pleased grin spreading across his face.

"…Took you long enough," he murmurs, sounding downright smug.

Your heart does a stupid flip. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Leona ignores you, already sitting up properly, one arm resting lazily over his knee. "Pick a nice place for dinner tonight," he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. "On me, of course."

You blink. "What?"

He taps the box. "These chocolates. They’re from you. To me." He tilts his head, all sharp confidence and warmth. "That makes us partners now, doesn’t it?"

Your brain short-circuits. “I—wait, what—"

"Better choose somewhere good," he continues, completely unbothered by your struggling. "I’m not wasting our first date on cheap takeout."

Your heart is going through it.

Leona smirks. "Oh? What’s with that look?"

You swear you see his tail flick just slightly, the only sign of how incredibly pleased he is.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. "You’re doing this on purpose."

He chuckles, leaning in just close enough to murmur, "Yeah, yeah. You still like me, though."

…You’re doomed.

Ruggie Bucchi

You barely get the chance to say anything before Ruggie spots the chocolates in your hands. His sharp eyes flicker to the heart-shaped box, and he immediately grins.

“Oooh, what’s this?” He leans in slightly, tail swishing with interest. “Someone confess to ya?”

You blink. “Huh? No.”

He tilts his head, playful and curious. “Oh? Then, uh… you gonna keep it?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why?”

His grin widens. “Because if ya don’t want it, I can, y’know… dispose of it for ya.”

You snort. “Ruggie, you just wanna eat it.”

“Duh.” He laughs, not even bothering to deny it. “Be a shame to waste good chocolate, right?”

Typical Ruggie.

You shake your head, amused, before finally shoving the box toward him. “Good thing it’s for you, then.”

Ruggie pauses.

It’s subtle, the way his ears perk up, the way his tail stiffens mid-swing. His grip on the box is light at first, almost hesitant, like he’s making sure he heard you right.

“For me?” His voice comes out softer, almost cautious.

You nod, suddenly a little shy under his gaze. “Yeah. I like you. So, you know… Happy Valentine’s Day.”

For the first time, Ruggie looks completely, utterly stunned.

His mouth parts slightly, blinking up at you like his brain just hit a temporary loading screen. And honestly? He looks adorable.

Then—just as quickly as the surprise hit—he recovers.

Ruggie grins, his usual confidence flickering back into place as he shifts the box under one arm. “Well, well. Ain’t this a nice surprise?”

You raise a brow. “You okay there?”

“Pfft. ‘Course I am!” He laughs, shaking his head. “Just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

Then—softer, warmer, but still undeniably Ruggie— “I like you too, y’know.”

Your heart stumbles.

He notices, obviously, because his grin turns downright cheeky. “Heh. Look at you, getting all flustered."

“Oh, shut up.”

He just laughs again, effortlessly slipping his fingers through yours, tugging you along like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “C’mon, let’s go. Can’t let all this romantic energy go to waste, right?”

And just like that—you’re dragged along.

Jack Howl

Jack is not the kind of guy who gets flustered easily. He’s tough, level-headed, always the first to brush things off with that no-nonsense attitude of his.

Which is why seeing him completely short-circuit is so incredibly satisfying.

You hold out the chocolates, your heart hammering as you say, “These are for you. I like you, Jack. Happy Valentine’s.”

His ears shoot straight up. His tail freezes mid-sway. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something, but—nothing.

No words. No sound. Just pure, stunned silence.

You wait.

And wait.

Jack still says nothing.

But his tail? His tail is betraying him completely.

It explodes into motion, wagging so fast that you swear he’s about to lift off like a helicopter. NASA is calling. He’s about to reach orbit.

“…Jack?” you prompt, biting back a smile.

He blinks rapidly, as if rebooting, and finally—finally—manages to form words.

“I—” He clears his throat, cheeks flushed, voice a little strained. “I like you too.”

Your heart skips.

Jack rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the side like he’s gathering his courage. “Are you, uh… free tonight?”

You tilt your head. “Why?”

He shifts awkwardly. The tail is still going. “Because I wanna take you on a date.”

Your stomach flips. “Yeah,” you say, smiling. “I’d like that.”

Jack nods, determined, as if locking this in before fate can take it away. “Good. I’ll—I’ll plan something nice.”

You have never seen him this flustered. It is absolutely adorable.

And judging by the way his tail refuses to stop wagging, you’re pretty sure he’s never been this happy, either.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[kashverse]

𝒴our first encounter with the 呪術廻戦 men 

⪩⪨ ✶ implied f!reader but can be read otherwise (use of "pretty" in choso's version), strangers to lovers, fluff, featuring ♡ canon! gojo, canon! geto, single dad! toji, modern au! choso, canon! sukuna in a modern au, corporate! nanami ✿ ⪩⪨ tried a new formatting style..! ib my dear @norikuna (∩˃o˂∩)♡

gojo doesn’t see you coming. not because he’s oblivious—though, sure, that’s part of it—but because he’s too busy making himself miserable, listening to some poor bastard on the phone cry about their ex. it’s barely noon, the sun’s out, people are living their lives, and this guy’s talking about how he let “the one” slip through his fingers. “bro, just get another one,” gojo had said, dead-eyed, waiting for the crosswalk light to change. the response was more crying. he sighed, hanging up.

and then he smacked straight into you.

not a polite bump, not even a nudge—full-on body collision, your forehead meeting his chin with a sharp crack. the impact was enough to send you both stumbling, but while gojo’s built like a brick wall, you had all the misfortune of being knocked back a few steps. “ow—what the fuck?!” your voice came first, and then, through the dizzying pain, you saw him. tall, white-haired, stupidly good-looking in an insufferable way, dressed like he was on some model’s off-day. sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and even through the slight daze, you could see the sharp glint of his blue eyes peering down at you.

“ah, my bad—”

“your bad?” your voice rose, disbelieving. the pain hadn’t even settled yet, but your temper had. “you nearly took my head off!”

gojo blinked. “well, technically, if i took your head off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he pointed out. “unless you’re a talking head, which would be—"

“are you serious?” you cut him off, hands flying up in exasperation. “you’re just standing in the middle of the damn sidewalk—”

“crosswalk,” he corrected.

“—like a fucking lamppost,” you barreled on, ignoring him. “and then you hit me. no, actually, you collided with me like a fucking train, and now you’re just standing there?”

you looked ready to kill him. gojo thought you looked radiant. people don’t really yell at him. they get nervous, flustered, awkward. maybe they complain a little, but they don’t yell. not like this—not with this kind of raw, unfiltered rage that was directed solely at him.

and he was loving it.

“ohhh, you’re mad mad,” he said, grinning.

“no shit?” you spat, rubbing your forehead. “you’re huge! why do you walk like you don’t know how to control your own size?”

“i’m huge? that’s a compliment,” he mused. “also, you ran into me.”

“i did not—"

“you did, but it’s okay,” he waved off. “i forgive you.”

your mouth dropped open. your jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard it click. “i don’t need your forgiveness,” you snapped. “i need you to watch where the hell you’re going!” gojo just smiled. “i can do that,” he said. “but only if you tell me your name first.”

you squinted at him. “why?”

“so i know what to say in my apology,” he said smoothly. “y’know, something heartfelt, real personal. ‘i’m so sorry, dear stranger, for running into you with my big, strong, muscular body—’”

your scowl deepened. “forget it,” you turned to leave, shaking your head.

gojo grabbed your wrist. lightly, like he was afraid you’d shake him off (which you probably would). “wait,” he said, less teasing this time, more curious.

you stopped, staring at him warily. “what?”

he grinned. “you’re fun.”

you yanked your arm out of his grip. “you’re annoying.”

but you weren’t yelling anymore. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

toji doesn't believe in love—at least, not in the way people like to romanticize it. to him, love has always been transactional. people want things: security, pleasure, a warm body to cling to at night. he provides, they take. simple.

commitment? fuck no. he’s been there, done that, and all it got him was a headache and a kid who looks at him like he’s a walking disappointment. not that he blames megumi—he knows exactly the kind of man he is. relationships, from what he's seen, are just another job. another obligation. more shit to deal with when he's already stretched thin making sure megumi doesn't starve or turn into a little menace. and he's already got enough on his plate. 

raising megumi is work. the kid is sharp, stubborn, and way too perceptive for his own good. keeping up with him is exhausting. fulfilling someone else’s expectations on top of that? hell no.

people ask if he’s lonely. he laughs. lonely? he’s got freedom. no nagging, no obligations, no answering to anyone but himself and, on the worst days, a grumpy eight-year-old who somehow thinks he’s smarter than him. love, in his experience, is just a distraction. and toji fushiguro doesn’t do distractions.

and toji swears he only looked away for a second.

he was just checking the damn price tag on some overpriced brand of instant noodles, and when he looked back, megumi was gone. poof. like a magic trick, except it wasn’t a trick, and the rising panic in his chest was very, very real. “shit,” he muttered, scanning the aisles. nothing. just a bunch of old ladies and college kids looking for cheap meals. no messy black hair, no tiny scowl. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep calm. he didn’t want to make a scene. people lost their kids all the time, right? it wasn’t a big deal. he just had to—

and then he saw him.

megumi was at the end of the next aisle, small hands clenched at his sides, his mouth pressed in a thin, stubborn line, like he wasn’t scared, even though he definitely was. and right next to him, crouched down to his level, was you. “you’re really good at this,” you said. megumi blinked up at you. “huh?”

“the whole ‘not panicking’ thing,” you smiled at him. “most kids freak out when they lose their parents. you’re staying calm. that’s cool.” megumi looked away, like he wasn’t sure if that was actually a compliment or not. “i don’t wanna cause trouble,” he muttered.

“aw, but that’s what parents are for,” you teased. “causing them trouble.” megumi almost smiled. almost. toji, still frozen in place, narrowed his eyes. who the hell were you?

“c’mon, let’s go find your dad,” you said, standing up and holding out a hand. megumi didn’t take it, but he followed you anyway, his short legs working hard to keep up with your pace. and toji? well. he wasn’t sure why, but instead of stepping forward, he let you find him.

he let you do the whole thing, watching as you walked with megumi, asking him questions—where he last saw his dad, what his name was, what he looked like.

“he’s really tall,” megumi said. you hummed. “tall, huh? that helps.”

“and he’s got a scar on his mouth,” he added.

“even better. anyone who looks scary is easier to spot.”

megumi frowned a little. “he’s not scary.” you smiled, ruffling his hair. “i bet he isn’t.”

toji snorted under his breath.

by the time you turned the corner and finally spotted him, megumi exhaled in relief. toji pretended not to notice how fast he ran up to him, grabbing the fabric of his shirt like he wasn’t just saying how calm he was. you, on the other hand, stopped a few steps away, hands on your hips. “you must be the scary, not-scary dad,” you said.

toji raised an eyebrow. “and you’re just a random saint, huh?” you shrugged. “not a saint. just someone who doesn’t like seeing kids upset.”

he looked at you, really looked at you. you didn’t seem put out by any of this, like helping some stranger’s kid wasn’t an inconvenience, but just another part of your day. like it was normal. toji let out a breath, then tilted his head down at megumi. “you good, kid?”

megumi nodded, though he still wasn’t letting go of toji’s shirt. toji sighed, glancing back at you. “guess i owe you, huh?”

you waved him off. “don’t worry about it. just keep an eye on him next time.”

toji huffed a laugh. “easier said than done.”

you grinned, giving megumi one last look before turning to leave. and toji? well. maybe being responsible for two people wouldn’t be so bad after all.

nanami never thought much about being single. it wasn’t a matter of pride or principle—just reality. his job was time-consuming, his patience was thin, and the thought of entertaining someone else’s needs after a long workday felt exhausting. he wasn’t lonely, just… fine. indifferent.

until he got sick of his office food.

“this is inedible,” he said flatly, staring at the sad excuse of a meal on his plate. his colleague, barely looking up from his own tray, mumbled, “it’s fine.”

nanami’s eye twitched. it was not fine. rubbery chicken, dry rice, and a soup that tasted more like dishwater than anything edible. this was not a meal—it was a punishment.

so, he made a change.

he found a small business that delivered homemade meals, something personal but convenient. it promised variety, quality ingredients, and, most importantly, flavor.

what he didn’t expect were the notes.

the first one came tucked under the neatly packed meal.

“hope today isn’t too exhausting! eat well!”

nanami stared at it for longer than he should have. then, at the food—real food. properly cooked, properly seasoned, steaming with warmth that no canteen meal could ever replicate. he didn’t think about it much. a kind gesture, that was all. but the notes kept coming.

“long meetings? i packed extra today.”

“rainy day! hope this brings some warmth.”

“rough week? your food will always be good at least.”

and then—

“your order is always so precise. you must be someone who likes routine.”

nanami paused mid-bite. he did like routine. he thrived on it. and yet, this—this unexpected kindness, these little messages—was beginning to throw him off in a way he couldn’t explain. weeks passed, meals came, and nanami found himself looking forward to them—not just for the food, but for the words that came with it. one afternoon, after another insufferable meeting, he opened his meal to find:

“do you ever take breaks? hope you’re not working too hard.”

he let out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. he was working too hard. but how did you—someone he’d never met—seem to know that better than the people around him? finally, curiosity got the better of him. he grabbed a pen and, for the first time, wrote back.

“who are you?”

the next day, his meal came with a note, just like always.

“just someone who wants you to eat well. but i wouldn’t mind knowing who you are too.”

and for the first time in a long time, nanami thought—maybe being single wasn’t so fine after all.

geto doesn’t believe in love. not in the way people romanticize it, anyway. he’s known desire—used it, wielded it like a tool, a means to an end. a well-timed smile, a hand grazing a wrist, a whispered promise—all of it was just another step in expanding his cause. people were easy to sway when you made them feel special. and being single? it wasn’t something he mourned. it was efficient. no attachments, no complications, no wasted energy. everything he did, every conversation, every encounter—it all served a purpose.

until you.

“you’ve been talking for a while,” you said, tilting your head at him. geto smiled. “am i boring you?”

“not at all. just wondering if you’re going to get to the point.”

he chuckled, swirling his drink. clever. impatient. interesting.

“what do you think my point is?”

you leaned back, thoughtful. “well, you’re charming, you have that practiced ease of someone who’s very used to getting what they want, and yet…” you narrowed your eyes. “you haven’t tried to get anything from me yet.”

his smile twitched. perceptive too. “maybe i’m just enjoying the conversation.”

“hmm.” you didn’t look convinced. “i doubt you talk to people without a reason.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you wound me. am i not allowed to simply appreciate good company?”

you smirked. “do you?”

and that was the problem, wasn’t it? he did.

he was supposed to be recruiting you. that was why he approached you in the first place—he had assessed, observed, picked you out for your potential. another piece in his grander vision. but now? now, he was talking to you about books, about philosophy, about things that had nothing to do with his cause.

he liked your sharp tongue, your quick comebacks, the way you saw through people but humored them anyway. and he was enjoying this. more than he should.

“you’re thinking too hard,” you noted.

“am i?”

“yeah. for someone who flirts so easily, you seem oddly distracted.”

he chuckled, shaking his head. you had no idea. for the first time in a long time, geto suguru had forgotten his purpose. and strangely enough, he didn’t mind.

choso doesn’t really get love. it’s not that he doesn’t feel it—he does, deeply, messily, all-consuming in the way only someone who has lived too long without it can. it’s just that he doesn’t understand how it’s supposed to work. his friends talk about relationships like they’re puzzles, like you’re supposed to fit into someone else’s life piece by piece, no gaps, no edges sticking out. but choso? he keeps forcing the wrong pieces together. he’s had his heart broken by so many situationships, and he doesn’t even know what that word means. all he knows is that people like him enough to stay for a while, but not enough to stay forever. and when someone ghosts him? it’s over.

“why would they do that?” he asks yuuji, completely distraught. “i thought we were getting along.” yuuji winces. “yeah, but… sometimes people just disappear, man. it’s not your fault.”

“but why not just say they don’t like me?”

“because people suck.”

choso frowns. love is confusing. people are confusing. nothing makes sense.

until he meets you.

more specifically, until you send a pug flying in his direction. one second, he’s minding his own business, sipping a coffee, staring blankly at nothing. the next—

“watch out!”

and then—THUD.

a very round, very squishy pug collides with his chest, knocking the air out of him. he blinks. looks down. the pug is fine. choso, however, is shaken.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry,” you pant, running up to him, looking horrified. “he’s got the speed of a missile and the weight distribution of a sack of potatoes. are you okay?”

choso is still holding the pug. he has not processed a single thing except that you’re talking to him, and you’re really pretty. you snap your fingers in front of his face.

“hello? earth to guy who just got body slammed by my dog?”

he swallows. “i—i’m okay.”

you sigh in relief. “good. i don’t think my insurance covers ‘pug-related assaults.’”

he stares. then—

he laughs.

it’s an awkward, slightly delayed laugh, but it’s real. it bubbles out of him, because suddenly, everything is just… simple. you’re still talking, apologizing, trying to pry your dog from his grip, and he realizes—love doesn’t have to be this big, complicated thing. it can be a stranger, a runaway pug, and a stupidly perfect moment where he thinks, 'oh. this is it.'

sukuna has never cared for love. love is mortal, fleeting, an indulgence for the weak. he has lived for centuries without it, conquered, destroyed, thrived—all on his own. why bother with attachment? why waste time on something that promises nothing but vulnerability? he’s always been perfectly fine like this.

until the night he meets you at the bar.

he doesn’t even mean to notice you at first—just another human in a crowded room, laughing, talking, lighting up the space with an ease he’s never possessed. 

and then he hears you speak. your voice is smooth, effortless, like you’re meant to be heard. every sentence flows into the next, words never fumbling, never uncertain. you make people laugh, pull them in, keep them hanging on to every syllable. sukuna watches, listens, enthralled, before someone leans in and calls you by name—your full name. followed by—

“aren’t you that talk show host?”

and it clicks. you are. he’s seen your face before, flickering on a television screen, a passing glimpse at a life so far removed from his own.

and now he’s irritated. because you talk so easily with everyone but him. and that won’t do.

so he tries. for the first time in centuries, he tries to talk to someone—like a normal person, like it’s something he’s done before, like it’s as easy as you make it look.

but it’s not. it’s a disaster.

he waits until the crowd around you has thinned, takes the seat next to you, and—

“so.” he clears his throat. “you talk to people for a living.”

you turn, blinking, mildly amused. “i do.”

he nods, confident. good start. then nothing. his mind goes blank. shit.

you raise a brow, waiting. sukuna glares at his drink like it’s betrayed him. “how do you do it?”

you tilt your head. “do what?” he gestures vaguely. “talk. keep people engaged.”

you blink. “are you asking me how to hold a conversation?”

his jaw tenses. “no.”

you laugh. he scowls.

he tries again. “what makes a good interview?”

“oh, that’s easy,” you hum. “you have to be genuinely interested in the other person.”

he deadpans.

you smirk. “which means you have to actually listen to what they’re saying.”

“i listen,” he grumbles.

“really?” you lean in. “then what were we just talking about?”

silence. your smirk widens. “you weren’t listening.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. this is hell.

but he keeps trying. keeps failing, keeps making an idiot of himself, keeps suffering through every one of your knowing smiles—because for the first time in his miserable, ancient existence, he actually wants to learn.

he wants to talk to you.

and maybe, just maybe, he wants you to talk to him, too.

[sandersstudies]

So the AI ask wasn't spam. I'd highly encourage you to do some research into how AI actually works, because it is neither particularly harmful to the environment, nor is it actually plagiarism.

Ignoring all of that however, my issue is that, fine, if you don't like AI, whatever. But people get so vitriolic about it. Regardless of your opinions on if it's valid art, your blog is usually a very positive place. It was kind of shocking to see you post something saying "fuck you if you disagree with me, your're a disgrace to the community." Just felt uncharacteristicly mean.

Even if you insist AI isn’t actively harmful to the environment or other writers (and the research I have done suggests it is, feel free to send me additional reading) and you simply MUST use prompts to generate personal content, nobody has any business posting it in a creative space for authors, which was the specific complaint addressed in that original post. While I’ll never say “fuck you for who you are as a person” on this blog, I might very well say “fuck you for harmful or rude actions you’ve taken willingly,” which is what that post was about.

Ao3 and similar platforms are designed as an archive for fan content and not a personal storage place for AI prompt results. It is simply not an appropriate place. If you look in the notes of the previous ask you will see other people have brought up additional reasons they have concerns about this practice.

A note on environmental effects for those who might not know: Generative AI requires MASSIVE amounts of data computers operating. As anyone who has held a laptop in their lap or run Civ VII on an aging desktop computer, computer équipement generates a lot of heat. Even some home and small-industrial computers have water-cooling systems. The amount of water demanded by AI computers is massive, even as parts of the world (even in America) experience water shortages. Besides this, it consumes a lot of power. The rising demand for AI and the improvements demanded to keep it viable mean this problem will continue to scale up rather than improve. Of course, those who benefit from the use of AI continue to downplay these concerns, and money is being funneled into convincing the public that these are not real concerns.

I have been openly against the use of generative AI, especially for art and writing, since its popularity rose in the last couple years. I’m sorry I wasn’t clearer about this stance sooner. I have asked my followers to alert me if I proliferate or share AI content, and continue to do so.

[bahablastplz]

Battleground: Minho x Reader

Prompt: "Hii, i was wondering in you could write a one shot of alpha!minho x Alpha!afab. They met through their friend/roommate Jisung who is an omega, and they are enemies and Jisung has to break up their fights, but this one time they end up having sex while fighting for dominance." Content: Smut, angst, omegaverse, enemies to lovers, switch/dom Minho, switch reader, alpha reader/alpha Minho, afab!reader WC: 5000 Note: hi yes I got carried away with this but this was super fun to write. enjoy!

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You should have never trusted Jisung. This is often a motto of yours, actually, seeing as he’s responsible for nine out of every ten instances of trouble you find yourself in. But he has big pleading eyes and he can be so convincing that you throw caution to the wind every time he speaks. 

You needed a new roommate. Your old one bailed on you (thank god, because she was actually the worst). She was filthy and never cleaned up after herself. She left dishes in the sink, piles of trash for you to take care of, and was blatantly rude. You let out a sigh of relief when she told you she was moving and it took all of two days for her to fuck off for no apparent reason. She left your life as violently as she entered it, however, leaving piles and piles of her junk for you to take care of as well as half of the rent once again. 

You wish that you could lie and say that you could afford it by yourself but you simply couldn’t. It was just too far out of your spending limits and so… you needed to find a new place to live. 

When Jisung suggested you come to live in his spare bedroom, it really didn’t seem like that bad of an idea. You knew the omega well enough; he wasn’t the cleanest in the world but he’s a step up from your old roommate for sure. Plus he was one of your closest friends. If anything, you knew you would feel comfortable around him. The only reason you had hesitated at first is because everybody always tells you not to live with your friends. Somehow you doubted this would be an issue with Jisung though. 

It would be fine, right? You’ve heard only good things about his other roommate, Minho. Jisung jokingly refers to him as his platonic soulmate sometimes but you don’t really know anything else about him. You were a little weary about sharing a living space with two omegas and all, being an alpha yourself, but you were no asshole alpha. They would have nothing to worry about. 

Once again, you should have never trusted Han Jisung. 

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“What are you doing? You’re going to scare her away!” You hear through the door of the apartment. You’re a little unsure when you hear muffled shouting and you feel an uneasiness in your stomach that you ignore but you can’t help to continue to listen. “Why are you acting like you don’t want her here?” 

“Because I don’t. We don’t know her!”

“You don’t know her. I know her perfectly well and you should trust my judgment.” You use this as the opportunity to knock on the door which swings open to a wide-eyed Jisung. He looks guilty of something and you’re confused before it hits you all at once. 

The apartment reeks of cinnamon. Every crevice and corner is dripping of the strong smell to the point you can hardly smell Jisung’s vanilla, even if you really focus. That’s when you come to the realization that Jisung’s roommate isn’t an omega… He’s an alpha. One intentionally covering the whole apartment with his smell before he even gets to know you to assert his dominance. You fight back the urge to roll your eyes at the stereotypical alpha behavior and you resist the urge to cover your nose at the smell. Just because Minho is being rude doesn’t mean you need to be rude in return. 

And before you can even say anything to greet him, he’s walking away and slamming his door shut. You give Jisung a look and he’s already looking at you apologetically. 

“I’m sorry,” he winces. “I really am. He’s not usually like this, I swear. I don’t know what’s going on–” 

“Jisung,” you interrupt. “You never told me he was an alpha in the first place!” 

His mouth opens slightly in a small ‘o’ shape. “I didn’t?” 

You sigh at him and take a deep breath. “Just help me with these boxes, okay?” And as if he’s eager to be back on your good side, he helps you without a fuss. 

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It’s two entire days before you even see Minho again. It agitates your own alpha, really, knowing that there’s someone else in your living space you haven’t gotten a proper chance to meet and scope out. But you’ve finally gotten yourself settled into your space and you have to admit it’s nice being so close to Jisung all the time. 

You stumble out of your room after an afternoon nap to find him cooking in the kitchen. It takes you by surprise, honestly, because for someone who has already tried to be so stereotypically alpha, it just seems like a very… omegan activity. You tell yourself it’s not polite to pass judgments on someone you hardly know, especially regarding their secondary gender, so you don’t say a word about it. You do, however, make an attempt to properly introduce yourself.

“Hello,” you say lightly. Minho’s shoulders tense up for a second before they relax. “I’m Y/N.” He doesn’t turn around and he doesn’t say anything. You make a face from behind him, where he can’t see you. What is his deal? You lean against the wall, trying to think of a way to make conversation. If this were anybody else, you wouldn’t bother but… you’re doing this for Jisung, after all. This is supposed to be one of his closest friends aside from you. “How long have you known Jisung for?” you try. 

“Longer than you,” he scoffs. This catches you off guard as you’re not quite sure what to make of the statement. Is he trying to be possessive over the omega or is he just trying to show you that he’s winning whatever competition this is? 

“Oh. How long would that be? I’ve only known him for two years or so, but we’ve grown really close–” Minho finally spins around and you make eye contact for the first time. His harsh gaze is the first thing you really notice about him, his feline eyes sharp as they stare daggers into you. He’s very pretty, you note, and it almost pisses you off even more. How can someone so attractive be such an asshole? 

“You’re not my friend,” he says, pointing a wooden spoon at you threateningly. “This was my space first and you have no right to intrude and try to be buddy-buddy with me. I don’t know you.” His words are blunt, to the point. He turns back around and… god, he’s trying to assert dominance again by shutting you up and ending the conversation here! Better yet, his cinnamon scent spikes and swirls around the room, haunting you. 

You won’t retaliate with your own scent. You’re better than that. But that doesn’t mean you’ll let some alpha think he’s better than you and shut you up without a fight. “Who’s fault is that?” you spit. Minho freezes so you continue. “Who’s fault is it that you don’t know me, hmm? I never asked to be your friend, Minho. But I’m not here to intrude and I’m not here to take over your territory and become the new head-alpha, okay? I’m here because Jisung invited me. I’m here because I need a place to live! Is it really so fucking bad to think that maybe you can be civil with me? Instead you’ve been defensive since the second I walked through that door!” Your anger is spiking and you need to get control of yourself before you explode on him. You turn around and slam your door shut before you can say anymore. 

Once on your bed you fight the urge to punch something. You certainly let yourself get riled up fast. It annoys you that someone you don’t even know has this sort of effect on you. But you close your eyes and will the anger away, telling yourself that maybe, just maybe, it’ll get better. 

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It doesn’t get better. It gets a whole lot worse, actually. Your first movie-night in with Jisung you actually get nauseous with how much he reeks of Minho. 

“Jesus, Sung,” you tell him. “It smells like you rolled around with him right before you came into my room.” 

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. It’s so hard to be mad at him. It really is. “He’s been extra clingy lately for some reason.” 

“For some reason,” you grumble. You know exactly why. “He’s trying to intimidate me to stay away from you, probably.” 

“What? Minho would never do that!” he says. You glare at him and he cowers down immediately. “I don’t know what’s going on with him,” he admits. 

“I’m tired of him making me feel like I’m the crazy one here! Everyone I talk to shoots praises out of their ass for him and meanwhile, I’m public enemy number one. I seriously don’t know what his issue is with me and I’m getting sick and tired of everyone telling me what a great person he is!” you rant rather loudly, ending with a great sigh. 

“Have you tried talking to him?” Jisung asks. You feel like you’re going to explode. 

“Yes, I have,” you tell him. “Multiple times. Each one ends in an argument or one of us storming off. I just can’t figure out what his deal is.” 

“Maybe–” 

“Sung, let’s just watch the movie, okay? I’m starting to get irritated and you’re not the one I’m upset with.” 

He concedes and snuggles in a bit closer to you, pressing play on the laptop. If you discreetly try to cover him in your own ginger scent? That’s between you and the moon goddess. 

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You find yourself in the midst of some sort of war and you’re on the losing side. Lee Minho has made it his life mission to inconvenience or irritate you in any way he can. 

Exhibit A: One morning you find yourself running late for class and you open your door just to trip over a conveniently placed pile of his shoes. Cursing his name in your head, you grab your backpack and run out the front door, just narrowly making it in time for the professor to start talking. Fast forward to the end of class when you pull out your folder just to realize that said folder is nowhere to be seen. Your homework which you spent over an hour on the previous night has vanished, gaining you a zero on the assignment. You’re sure you’re seeing red when you get home and your folder is on the kitchen counter.  

“I don’t know what game you think we’re playing, but sabotaging my grades is going too fucking far, Lee!” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says as he sips on a cup of coffee. You fight the urge to throw it in his face. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t try to make me late for class and hide my folder!” you say, waving the folder in his face. He looks irritated but it’s no match for how you feel. 

“Your belongings are not my responsibility,” he says with an eye roll. “Next time maybe don’t misplace your stuff.” You leave because you’re not confident in your ability not to punch him. 

Exhibit B: Poor Jisung has tried to set up an apartment movie night. It’s a good idea, in theory, to try to get some supervised bonding. Jisung even sits right in the middle, anxiously picking at his nails the entire movie. That’s only after Minho accuses you of burning the popcorn and fighting with you over which movie to watch. Jisung ends up picking it. It was going well until he stretched his legs out over Jisung’s lap and into your space. You shove his feet off of you faster than he put them up. The action makes him almost fall off the couch and spill his soda all over himself and Jisung. 

The omega stands up covered in soda and huffs. “I give up!” he cries out in exasperation. 

“It’s her fault for pushing me–” 

“Give it a fucking rest!” you cry out. 

Everybody ends up in their respective rooms that night. 

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 You didn’t want to go to this party. You really didn’t but you figured that you owe Jisung big time for turning his apartment into a warzone. The omega already has social anxiety and doesn’t love parties himself so you promised you would tag along. 

Minho is here too. You tell yourself you won’t interact with him but you keep catching his eyes from across the room. Deep down you hope that maybe the alcohol will mellow him down a bit and make him more tolerable. And maybe you use alcohol as a coping mechanism this one night. You’re stressed and a walking ball of tension every second of each day, not even able to relax in your own apartment. 

You always have an eye on Jisung when you party together. But you indulge in some tipsy flirting for once. This guy is super cute, after all… freckled face, long blond hair that frames his face, and a deep, sensual voice that makes you giggle and fawn over him. You amp up the usual techniques, touching his arm and laughing at all of his jokes. And when he leans in close enough that you feel his breath on your neck you don’t stop him. 

But somebody else does. 

One second you're bracing yourself for a drunken kiss and the next a hand is wrapped tightly around your arm, pulling you away. You smell burnt cinnamon before you even realize what happened and the anger that bubbles in your chest is unlike any you’ve ever felt before. You retaliate just as fast with an overwhelming mix of ginger that smells so strong it burns your nose. Before you can yell you’re being pushed out the door and into the cold of the night. 

“What the fuck was that,” you spit at Minho. You yank your arm out of his grip. 

“We’re leaving,” he tells you. 

“Like hell we are! You don’t get a say of who I spend my time with or when I decide to leave.” 

“I get a say when you’re making idiotic choices,” he answers, voice low. He spins you around until you’re pinned against the wall and his skin burns hot against yours. 

“No, you don’t. You’ve made yourself loud and clear that you don’t give a fuck about me. My bad choices are mine to make, Minho, not yours.” 

“You’re not thinking straight,” he tells you once he finally lets go. He looks like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “Felix… he’s… I know him from my dance studio, okay? Just.. trust me and don’t go home with him. You can’t kiss him. Not Felix.”

“From your dance studio? Wow, ladies and gentlemen! Lee Minho has revealed exactly one thing about himself! He’s a dancer!” you say with mock surprise. You stumble a bit and Minho steadies you by your waist. It only serves to piss you off even more. 

“Let’s go home, yeah?” he asks. It’s probably the softest you’ve ever heard his voice yet. 

“No. I think I’m going to go kiss Felix and you can go fuck off,” you protest. You cross your arms and you look away from him because his cheeks are also flushed from drinking and he worries his lips between his teeth so you can’t stand to see it. 

He takes a deep breath. “Y/N, I swear to god you’re going to walk home with me or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and bring you home myself.”

Before you snap back at him about how ridiculous he’s being, the door opens and Jisung steps out. “Guys?” he questions, looking back and forth between the two of you. You’re breathing heavily and your fists are clenched but your anger dissipates the second you see the disappointed look on Jisung’s face. He wanted you here to keep him company. To soothe his social anxiety and to prove that you could be there for him, to show up for him like old time’s sake. And just like that, the adrenaline high slowly fades when you realize you’ve let him down. Anger turns to sorrow and guilt and god, no you won’t let Minho see you cry but you bury your face into Jisung’s neck. You whisper an apology and tell him you want to go home. 

You can’t help but feel like Minho has won this round, in some roundabout twisted way. 

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You avoid leaving your room for the next day. You don’t really feel like you’re deserving of wallowing in your own sorrow, especially since the one who is impacted here is Jisung, not you. You’ve let him down. You don’t get to mope. So… what you’re doing is avoiding. Avoiding Minho and therefore avoiding any more conflict. 

It’s the next day you leave your room. You notice the scent of vanilla a little more sweet than normal and when you knock on Jisung’s door you notice he’s nesting. A mixture of your clothes and Minho’s are piled in his bed and you feel a pang of guilt in your chest. 

“You okay?” you ask. If Jisung is in preheat and you’ve avoided him for the past 24 hours, he’s probably feeling pretty antsy. He does let out a breath of relief when he sees you though and brings you in for a hug. 

But of course your timing is unfortunate because Minho unlocks the front door at that very moment. When he sees you in Jisung’s arms he growls, causing you and the omega to stiffen. Minho crosses the room in seconds and the smell of cinnamon behind you gets stronger. 

“Off,” he says low into your ear. You have half the mind to snap at him but Jisung’s vanilla scent burns. You back off, giving Jisung a small nod before disappearing to your room. The last thing you want to do is distress Jisung further just before he starts his heat. This needs to stop. It needs to end. 

Jisung leaves the next day to spend his heat in a hotel. Despite the apartment being more comfortable for him, the unit isn’t equipped to deal with the overwhelming scent of heats and ruts. You couldn’t afford a scent complaint fee. Jisung doesn’t complain as you help him pack his bags and you even help him into the hotel room. You offer your best support in helping him rebuild his nest though you don’t have the same omegan instincts as he does. 

“I’m sorry again,” you tell him before you leave. “For everything. With Minho. It’s… we’ll work it out. Okay? Love you Sung.” 

He gives you a sad smile. His heat should start by the morning, you would guess. You just hope he can be comfortable and not worry too much about you and Minho. 

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Minho is standing anxiously by the door when you get home. You half expect him to crowd you against the wall but he doesn’t, eyes glued to the floor instead. 

“You smell like him,” he tells you. 

“Yes Minho,” you reply sarcastically. “It’s like I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time. Jisung is my friend too. You don’t have to act all possessive of him all the time.” 

He hums. You feel your blood boil again. How does he get you so worked up to the point of your heart pumping a mile a minute every time you see him? 

“Minho. Be honest,” you start. He finally looks up at you. You can’t read his face. Your alpha goes back and forth between wanting to pounce on him and run away in fear. You need to do what you think is right. “Do you want me to move out?” 

You aren’t expecting his reaction. You expect him to laugh in your face. You expect him to be overjoyed. But instead he seems shocked. 

“What?” 

“What do you mean what? Don’t act like this isn’t what you wanted from the very beginning. You win, okay? I concede. You want your space? You want to be the only alpha again? This is it. This is your opportunity. I’m offering you a way out now. No more fighting. No more upsetting Jisung. If you want me gone, just say the word. Please. I’ll leave.” 

“Don’t.” 

“What?” You almost think you’ve misheard him but he takes a step closer and he looks at you with pleading eyes. “What is your gameplan then? Why make me miserable since the second I move in? Argue with me, tell me who I can and can’t kiss, for god’s sake make me fail a fucking assignment? If you don’t want me fucking gone, Minho, what the fuck do you want–” 

You’re cut off by his lips clashing against yours so hard your head would have hit your head against the wall if not for Minho’s hands holding you as if you’re something precious. Your teeth clank together but you’re breathing him in and reciprocating his affection just as violently as he gives it. When his tongue enters your mouth and you taste cinnamon you realize you’ve never hated the smell, never hated him… He kisses into you like he needs you to breathe, like he’s been in the desert and you’re his oasis. 

You’re not sure that a kiss has ever felt like this before. You think for a moment that you might not be able to kiss anyone again after this, everyone and everything lacklustre compared to Minho. Minho. Minho. Nobody has ever and will ever make you feel this burning, boiling… hatred? lust? desire? Whatever it is you feel, you’re not sure it could be replicated. 

When you wrap your leg around his waist he grabs under your knee, hoisting you against the wall. His mouth is all over you and he explores every inch of your mouth, your neck, your collarbone. Your hands take purchase on his shoulders, in his hair, you’re not sure but you want to feel every inch of him there is to explore. Cinnamon has never smelled so sweet.

Minho brings you into his bedroom and it’s the first time you’ve stepped foot into his space but you don’t take the time to look around. In fact, the only thing you notice is that his comforter is soft, soft against your back as he throws you onto his bed. Your clothes are all but shredded from your body and if you had claws you would have used them to get every inch of useless fabric off of Lee Minho’s body. It makes you angry that he’s still clothed, so angry that you forgo pleasure in replacement of ripping the clothes off of him harshly. He grins. He has that smug fucking grin on his face you want to wipe off and you kiss his stupid lips again. This time when you kiss you’re both completely naked and every part of your body that touches his is scalding. 

When you sit on his lap your bare pussy slides along his cock and you both groan. His hands are on your hips and in desperation you both move back and forth. Every time his cock catches on your entrance you both let out a hitched breath but neither of you can stop. 

“Fuck. I’m gonna knot you, you know that? I’m gonna fuck you so full and then knot you so that everybody knows you’re mine,” he pants as he ruts his cock against you desperately. Is this just another way for him to stake his claim over you? To show that he’s the true alpha? Oh hell no.

“You’re such an asshole,” you tell him with a hiss when he finally slides into you. He’s big. You already knew this from the (not so) dry humping just moments ago but it still pisses you off when he stretches you nice and full. “Stupid asshole alpha with a stupid big cock.” 

When he looks up at you it’s with adoration and it throws you off. His eyes gleam and his teeth are caught against his bottom lip in a sultry grin. He plants his feet against his bed and thrusts up into you hard and fast–you almost fall because you have no time to plant your hands anywhere for balance. But the almighty perfect Minho catches you before you fall because of course he does. His hands on your waist only hold you in place to give him the opportunity to fuck up into you with more force and the wet sounds that come from between your bodies are filthy… but only serves to turn you on even more. 

“You were saying about me being an asshole?” he asks. His voice is breathy and low and you fucking hate how much you love it. 

“If all you wanted was to fuck me this bad you didn’t have to act like such a dick,” you say through tight lips. Okay. You’re trying not to moan, to give him that satisfaction. Who could blame you? “You only made me hate you more.” 

“Fuck,” he says, throwing his head back. “It wasn’t on purpose… didn’t like you at first but all of a sudden it turned to lust and… can’t you feel what you do to me?” He punctuates his point with a harsh thrust and fuck, you vaguely remember him mentioning he was a dancer. Perfect body, perfect hips and thighs made just to fuck you like this. 

“How you treated me wasn’t fair,” you tell him. You need him to know and you’re lowering your hips, trapping your legs under his so he can’t bounce you up and down on his cock anymore. Your hand snakes up to his throat and takes purchase there, watching the way he gulps and his eyes turn heavy at the action. You feel a burning satisfaction at the way his hips buck into you involuntarily when you squeeze slightly. “Say it,” you coo. “I want to hear you admit to me that you know you treated me poorly.” 

You expect a fight from him because, let’s be honest, Minho always puts up a fight with you. But any ounce of opposition leaves his body the second his eyes meet yours. He looks regretful. He looks small. “I treated you poorly,” he tells you. His eyes never leave yours. “I acted like a child because I had feelings for you that were misplaced. I liked you from the beginning and I… fuck, I didn’t know how to deal with that and I pushed you away. I wanted you to hate me.” 

The confession that spills past his lips is the last thing you’re expecting him to say. Your grip on his neck falters and he uses his stupidly impressive core strength to sit up, bringing your lips into a kiss. It isn’t explosive, it isn’t word-changing, but it is sweet and apologetic and very Minho. 

He places you on your back and resumes his pace, bringing your legs up to rest on his shoulders. At this angle he reaches deep inside you and the first time you gasp he resumes his brutal, relentless pace. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna knot you, please let me knot this pretty pussy,” he pleads. The first time he said it it was a demand; this time he asks from his soul, baring it to you and giving you ample time and opportunity to reject it. 

“Yes,” you moan. But if he’s going to claim you as his from the inside out, the least you could do is return the favor. And so you scratch Minho, raking your nails down his back until they’re sure to leave a mark. And when you’re both on the precipice you bite down onto his shoulder hard, just inches away from his scent gland. It’s not a mating bite but it is a mark, a claim. You suck hard into the bite just as he finishes, his knot expanding and catching on your entrance. You don’t release your mouth from his skin until he’s done pulsing inside you but to your surprise, he doesn’t stop moving his hips. Despite his knot locking you in place he grinds his hips into yours in small circles, putting pressure right onto your clit with his pubic bone. It’s too much, the stimulation of your clit, his knot, and the thick head of his cock hitting that spot deep inside you causing you to cum around him hard with a cry. 

You feel as if you’ve been electrocuted, little shocks going through your whole body with every wave of your orgasm. You almost wish he was bad in bed, if just to keep your dignity and tell him that he wasn’t all that. But with the gutteral noises he dispelled from your body, lying would just be a farce. 

When you’ve both finally calmed down and his knot finally deflates, you half expect him to kick you out of his room. You’ve built up your walls so high around him that it’s hard to imagine him treating you any other way. You’re anxious for sure, moreso at yourself for allowing yourself to be so hopeful. But Minho rolls over and grabs you, holding you close to his chest. Even when you squirm he doesn’t dare to let you go. 

“I really am sorry,” he tells you. A murmur into your hair. “I don’t want you to move out. I’m sorry for treating you the way I did. My alpha thought… that because we like you that maybe asserting our dominance would make you like us more. I know that’s illogical and just sounds  like an excuse but…” 

“I forgive you,” you tell him. “Well… maybe I don’t forgive you just yet. But I can if you prove to me that you’re done with the macho asshole alpha act. No more being possessive over Jisung. My friend by the way! Still haven’t gotten over that. And no more sabotaging my grades.” You shoot him a glare and he only looks at you sheepishly. Harsh looks turn into soft stares and all of a sudden he’s kissing you again. Your tension has already begun to melt away. You begin to see the charm of the Lee Minho everybody has told you about and you think, maybe… just maybe everything will be okay now. 

“I think we owe Jisung a gift,” Minho whispers into your hair. 

“I think we owe him a hundred gifts,” you wince. 

“He’s not going to believe his fucking mind when he gets back.” You laugh so hard your stomach begins to hurt. You think maybe you like the way Minho looks when he smiles. You think maybe you really like the way cinnamon and ginger smell together. You think maybe you could get used to kissing Minho and that burning, bubbly feeling in your stomach agrees. 

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[ghost-proofbaby]

I love the idea of Eddie having an especially grueling day at work his friend (they have mutual feelings but nothing has been said) offers to give him a massage. Eddie is genuinely grateful but also vv flustered by the end!!

listen. LISTEN. i know this got out of hand. i know i said these were going to stay short n sweet. i know what i said and promised. but. listen. you can't hand me a prompt that is just so delicious, with so much potential to sprinkle in a light dusting of angst, and to give me the chance to garnish with a beautiful open ending full of promise, and not expect a monster of a product to come from it. you just can't. i'm sorry. i hope you enjoy this, regardless. even if it's not quite bite-sized.

warnings: seemingly unrequited love that turns into clearly idiots in love. eddie gets shirtless. that's all.

wc: 4.4k+ yikes

It had started off as an innocent, well-intentioned offer. You swear it did. 

When Eddie had called you right after pulling a double at the garage, begging to come over and simply relax at your apartment, you’d set up to allow him to do just that. You’d cleaned up a little bit, lit a candle that normally gave you a headache if it burned too long but that Eddie loved, prepped a selection of movies for him to choose from, pulled out the menu for your favorite take-out – you’d gone the whole nine yards for your best friend. 

Someone might even point out it wasn’t just best friend behavior at this point. Steve and Robin alike had certainly called out your behavior at times, coining it as “girlfriend behavior on a best friend salary”.

You didn’t care. You were well aware of what you were doing, and you didn’t care. 

You’d spend the rest of your life on the best friend salary, as the two dinguses had so lovingly called it, for the look of sheer peace on Eddie’s face right now. 

He’s leaning back on the opposite end of your couch from you, knees spread and chin facing the ceiling as he sighs in bliss. Take-out containers are scattered about the coffee table, and his movie of choice of Return of the Jedi is about halfway over on your TV. 

You both had already chosen a second movie – The Lost Boys. The plans for the night were set in stone.

You tuck both knees up beneath your chin, side-glancing your best friend for a second and ignoring the flutter of your chest as you watch him sink deeper into the cushions, “We can talk about it, y’know.” 

“Hm?” 

“Your day,” you adjust a bit, turning your body to face him fully, “If you wanna talk about it, I’m all ears. We’ve already seen enough Jabba the Hutt to last a lifetime.”

That earns a smile from him, slowly crackling over his cheeks as he rolls his head towards you, “I dunno. Is there such thing as enough Jabba the Hutt?” 

You toss a piece of your sour watermelon candy at him, and despite it landing on his shirt, he still grabs it to pop it into his mouth. 

You try not to think too hard about how that shirt had been sitting in your drawers, clean and neatly folded, occupying space as if that might be normal. As if everyone has some of their best friend’s clothes at their apartment that they can change into after a long day at work. 

As if everyone has occasionally used said shirt as pajamas on nights they particularly miss the scent of their best friend’s cologne.

“Shut up,” you finally snicker, dropping your knees from your chin, sitting criss-cross now, “We don’t have to talk about your day if you don’t feel like it. By all means, if you wanna keep drooling over an alien slug, be my guest-”

At your teasing, Eddie moves quickly to grab one of your ankles, pulling your feet towards his lap before you can register what he’s doing. You gasp a little, and it’s definitely not because of the feeling of his warm palms wrapped around your bare skin. Totally not at the rush of warmth that travels up your body, head to toe, when you feel his rings pressing into you so eagerly. 

Absolutely not. You gasp, because anybody would gasp in this scenario. Because you’re just best friends. And best friends do stuff like that. 

“I am not drooling over a slug,” he chastises, grinning recklessly as he wiggles his fingers menacingly, mere inches from the bottom of your foot, “Take it back, or pay the price, baby.” 

Has he ever called you baby before? 

Certainly not, if your roaring heart has anything to say about it. 

“Don’t you dare,” you squeal – genuinely squeal – as you try and tug your legs out of his grasp. It’s a useless effort; he’s too strong, even after his long day, and your body isn’t even sure if it approves of taking his hands off of you. “Edward Munson, I swear to God-” 

It’s a mess of flailing limbs, painful laughter, and high-pitched screams from there. Squeaks from your own mouth, and a few from Eddie, mocking you all in good fun as he continues to persist for you to take it back. For just a moment, it feels like this is the normal – you’re living in a space where Eddie comes home from every day, grueling or effortless, to you. Where the two of you always end up on the couch together, bodies touching in any way they can. Where there’s always background noise on the TV as his focus is solely on you, smiling foolishly at his antics that were really just a simple effort to hear your laughter. Where your laughter is the only thing he really wants to hear at the end of the night, and it’s the greatest thing he’s ever heard. 

A world where he tells you as much. 

A world where after this, he’s reaching the knob of your shared bedroom door rather than the front door of your lonesome apartment. 

A world where you aren’t existing on a best friend salary.

“Had enough yet, sweetheart?” he quips, just as breathless as you are from the struggle. This time, the nickname he uses is normal. It took you off guard during the first few months of friendship, but now? Your weary heart could handle it, cherish it even, and not let your stupid little crush get in the way of appreciating it. “All you have to say are the magic words.” 

“Are the magic words, you’re a dickhead?”

“Hm,” he pretends to ponder thoughtfully for just a second before shaking his hand, “‘Fraid not. Try again?” 

Instead of verbally replying, you give him a gentle kick in the stomach. Not the magic words he had in mind, but they sure do the trick. 

He lets out a soft oomph, one arm cradling his midsection as though you actually hurt him. You take it as your cue to remove your legs – his dramatics quickly come to a halt to prevent just that.

It’s probably meant to be subtle, the way both his arms fall down over your calves and keep your feet in his lap, but it has the capability to implode your entire world. 

“I can’t believe you’re being mean to me after the day I’ve had,” he whines, and all you can focus on is the way his thumb is rhythmically stroking the ball of your ankle now, “Me, your best friend, has had the most awful day and you-”

“Now you wanna talk about it?” you laugh a little, rolling your eyes at him.

“Absolutely.” 

“After you’ve just tortured me?” 

“Well, yeah. When else would I talk about it?” 

“I’m rescinding my offer to listen,” you continue to joke, making one more good faith offer to slip your legs from his lap. And, once more, he won’t allow it. 

He whines out a long, drawn out no, starting to lay his entire body across your legs this time. More direct, more to the point. Subtleties have been forgotten, you suppose. 

You don’t know if it’s more for you, or for him. You just know you like it. You like existing within a sneak preview of a girlfriend salary.

“You never answered me, drama queen,” you murmur as the joking lean across your legs becomes a bit more heavy, and Eddie is more genuinely collapsing his figure into your lap. He doesn’t even have to ask, or gesture – your fingers find home within his hair, and you can feel his hum of content against your thigh as you scratch along his scalp, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

All joking pretenses slip away from him as he mumbles out a muffled, “Not really.”

And you can work with that. You swear, you can. 

If you’d been so ready to lend a listening ear, then you can offer him this peace and quiet. A simple head massage as he leans into you, cheeks pressed to the top of your thigh as you think he returns to watching Return of the Jedi. 

His eyes might be closed, if his heavy breaths are anything to go off of. You’re just not sure. 

You just keep up your massage, sluggish strokes, clement scratches, deep breaths to match his own- 

And then, an idea hits you.

“Eds,” you whisper, your hand in his hair traveling to his shoulders, shaking him a bit, “Eddie.”

Only a grunt in response.

“Eddie, seriously, get up,” you stress, overeager, “I have an idea.”

“The apartment better be on fire,” he grumbles as he finally raises his head, face imprinted with the lines of your shorts in rolling hills of soft indents. 

Definitely was sleeping. Definitely wasn’t watching Star Wars. 

But even with his shoulders wrapped with dreary slumber, you’re still excited about your idea, motioning him to sit up fully. You let him take his time, of course, only after he swats your hands away sluggishly a few times. 

Once his back is straight, you lift one finger in the air, and draw a circle – motioning for him to turn his back to you without saying a word. 

His eyes narrow to slits at you, “Are you about to pull a prank on me? Because-”

“I’m not,” you assure him, reaching for his shoulders, nearly turning him yourself, “Scout’s honor.” 

He listens to you. Despite it all, despite his seeming mistrust, he turns his back to you. More specifically, he turns his shoulders to you. 

He’s still mumbling on about how you better not make his day worse, getting a little bit snappier when you gather his hair up to lay out of your way and claiming his scalp was extra sensitive today.

You pay his attitude no mind. He’s just grumpy. It doesn’t particularly phase you after years of close friendship.

“Listen, I know you like braiding my hair, but-” he continues with his protests as you grin behind him, shaking your head as you settle yourself closer to him. Knees bumping his hips, back straight for the time being. “I’d rather just nap right now. And I was really comfy, and really getting my rocks off to that damn alien slug-” 

All his words cut off when you finally put your plan into action. Your palms fall atop his shoulders, fingers curling around the tense skin, and he’s melting before you’ve even begun. 

“I- Oh,” he jumps a little at the first squeeze, but quickly returns to being pliant in your hold, “Oh… That’s…. That’s nice.” 

You continue your massage, gently squeezing, thumbs and fingers digging into any knots you find to work them away as you jeer, “Is it now?”

He nods, the smallest of movements as to not interrupt your work, “It is. ‘S real nice.” 

His head rolls with each pinch of your fingers, posture loosening as he leans back into your touch further. 

You take it a step further, biting back nerves when you slip your hands beneath the collar of his old t-shirt. You feel the shiver begin before it races down his spine at the press of your skin directly on his now. 

Your warm hands work dutifully, determined to bring as much relaxation to your best friend as possible. Definitely not enjoying yourself a bit too much at his smooth skin under your palms. Definitely not enjoying yourself just as much as he is. Certainly not. 

The shirt constricts you, though. Prevents your hands from traveling fully over sore spots you can feel the edges of. Catching your wrists, limiting the full potential of your movements. 

You’re glad he can’t see you as you suddenly request, “Take your shirt off.” 

“Hm?” he can’t form a proper word at first, not startled but simply sunken too deep in his relaxation, “What was that?” 

“I need your shirt off, Munson.” 

You try to sound brave, nonchalant, as you repeat yourself. You don’t want him to hear the fluttering of your heart – you don’t want him to hear the shake of your hands as you remove them from him.

You only want him to hear the totally reasonable request from a friend, who is simply trying to offer the best massage possible to their best friend who’s had a bad day. 

“Oh?” he looks over his shoulder, and you can see the edges of his raised brows through messy bangs, “Damn, sweetheart. If you wanted me naked, you just had to ask.” 

Can ribs break from a heart beating too fast? Is that even possible? 

“I did ask,” your voice is flat as a trade off to avoid any quivering to filtrate it, lips pressing tightly together as you swallow your heart, “So get to it.”

He leans forward, putting a bit of distance between you two before he reaches back to grab the center of his shirt. The fabric comes off with a flourish, and all you’re left face to face with is the bare expanse of his back.

You silently beg him not to look back over his shoulder, if only for just a second. 

You’ve seen Eddie shirtless plenty of times. At pool parties with the entire group, on rare lake days that always ended sun drunk and giddy, that one time he’d answered his door right after a quick shower and you’d seen a lot more than you’d bargained for. He was your friend. After a while, it would have been weirder to not have seen Eddie shirtless at least once. 

Something about this time feels different. 

He has freckles – not nearly as much as Steve or Robin, but they still exist. Small markings across skin glowing warmly in the dim light of your living room lamp, spattered without rhyme or reason. One on the back of his left shoulder, another slightly off-centered at the base of his neck. He has a light scar towards the bottom of his right shoulder blade – a memory from his childhood he told you once when you’d first seen it at the lake. Everyone else was out splashing about the ten-degrees-too-cool water, and he’d joined your side on the shore. Laid on his stomach as you laid on your back, offering you conversation in the form of stories about every blemish across his skin. The intentional tattoos, the unintentional scars. Everything. 

Even that day doesn’t quite compare to the intimacy of him being here now, being shirtless in your apartment, just the two of you. 

Maybe there was something extra in your coffee this morning, making you feel so delusional. 

“I don’t have any lotion or oils,” you finally clear your throat, trying to joke about as the two of you had been before, “But that doesn’t matter. You ready for the best damn massage of your life, Munson?” 

“Yes, please,” he groans, and something deep in your stomach clenches at the sound, “Want me to lay down or something?” 

Your brain short-circuits for a second, because you know where that leads. 

If he lays down, there’s only one way to continue to comfortably give him the massage. If he lays down, you’re about to bite off more than you could chew on a best friend salary. 

“Sure,” you choke out, damning yourself in the process. 

It’s all robotic mechanics as you two shift to assume the position; you stand up, and he sprawls out. And you swear, in the process, you catch a smothering of pink slow creeping across his chest and neck. 

“Can I…” you start to question, finally growing a bit shy as you stare down at the dip of his lower back. Two dimples on either side of his spine, looking so inviting and yet daunting. 

He finishes the sentence for you, saving you the embarrassment, “Sit on me? Yeah, go for it, babe.” 

There it is again. An unfamiliar nickname that falls so effortlessly off the lips for him. Another pet name to send you into a tailspin as your breath catches and your heart races, as though needing to catch up after the fleeting endearment.

“Thanks,” you whisper out. 

You’re starting to regret all your choices, but it’s too late to back down now. You just want to help him relax – that’s all this is. 

Stop making this more than it is. 

You’re exceptionally careful as you crawl over Eddie, placing a knee on either side of him, hovering for just a second as you take deep breaths to hype yourself up to do the inevitable. 

He twists a bit, startling you enough for you to balance yourself with a palm on each shoulder blade, “C’mon now, you’re not going to crush me. You should know this by now,” his eyes glitter, and you know he’s referring to that time you two made a bet he couldn’t carry you bridal style while drunk. He could, “Sit your pretty ass down and get to work, Masseuse.” 

You weren’t imagining the pink across his chest and neck. It’s climbed up now, tendrils tickling his cheeks. The bridge of his nose nearly looks sunburnt from this angle. 

It’s a good look on him. 

“Masseuse?” you snort as you shove him to be fully laying down once more, needing to get his eyes off of you for just a second, “That’s an awfully big word. You been reading without me or something? Becoming a secret genius?” 

Fall back into the normal flow of things. Try not to think about the heat of him between your legs as you sit half your weight down. 

“That is not a big word,” he chides. 

“Spell it, then.” 

“I-” he cuts off as your hands smooth back over his skin, no more restrictions. 

He never finishes his sentence, never complies with your request. All that falls from his lips are soft sighs as you begin the massage again. 

There’s an occasional twitch below his muscles as you knead away, slowly but surely becoming more comfortable with it all. Becoming more mesmerized as you can now see his skin moving with you, occasionally letting up when you skirt past freckles and scars alike, fingertips merely tracing them as he shivers under your delicate touch. 

You do exactly as you set out to do – you relax him. And then some.

You’ve never really gotten into the art of massages, something about it always feeling a bit too intimate. You’d never consider yourself a professional at it by any means – if anything, you’ve been on the receiving end rather than the giving end more often than not. And even those occurrences were rare. 

But when it came to Eddie, it seemingly came naturally. 

Not all of your movements are conventional. You pass back and forth between the usual squeezes of skin you’ve witnessed on TV and from others, and gentle tracing of your fingertips. Drawing shapes, painting pictures that vanish without ever having existed in the first place. Words, sentences, secret messages for just you two. 

When you trace out the endearment of idiot, Eddie seems to catch on, lazy grin peeking up past his curtain of hair covering the cheek almost facing you. 

In another place, where you make that coveted girlfriend salary, you’d trace out three little words on the tip of your tongue. 

You almost do it, too. It’s when you trace out idiot, in fact. You start, entirely subconsciously, with the i. A long pause, a space between words. 

And then you trace an l. One long line down the center of his spine. 

Your finger is already rotating for the o, ready to trace it in the center as the other two letters had been, a signalling it wasn’t a part of that last simple line. 

And then you divert. And you rush to finish out with the i, the o, the t. He laughs a little, the rush of air felt below you as he lets it out soundlessly, and you catch sight of his smile.

A seeming endearment to Eddie, a hidden scolding for yourself. 

Maybe one day you can find the nerve to properly trace it out – or better yet, say it. Speak your truth outloud and handle whatever consequences come from it. Because you do – you really, really do mean it – and those feelings for Eddie can’t seem to change. Something carved into your very soul, unchanging as the years pass. If anything, the carving only digs deeper into you with each month you spend with him. 

One day. But not today, not when Eddie’s had a bad day. It should be a good day when you say it, lessening the blow of rejection, hopefully. 

You almost lose your balance a few times. Each time having to adjust your position of sitting on him, shifting his hips right along with yours. And each time, you notice the catch in his sighs. The way they almost transform into moans, tense noises that seemingly tear from his throat, only dampened by poor attempts to conceal them. Even the back of his neck has grown flushed now, the tips of his ears vibrant when you see them poke through his hair. 

Sometimes, you lose your balance from his shifting, even. 

The air is sticky with tension as you finally finish up. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour – you weren’t keeping score, more focused on continuing on until Eddie’s entire body has gone boneless beneath you. 

Pretty, and pink, and pliant. Entirely slackened beneath your touches. 

It takes more to encourage yourself to climb off of him than it did to climb on originally. Your body protests entirely, knees not caring for the ache forming, inner thighs happy to be bracketing his hips. But you do it. Because you’re just a friend, a best friend, helping your friend relax. 

You stand, towering over him, looking down to find him hiding his face just a bit. “Well?” 

“Well, what?” his voice is entirely muffled by his mouthful of couch cushion, and you furrow your brows. 

“How was it?” 

He lifts his face strategically. He probably hopes you don’t notice, but you do, “Oh! Oh, it was, uh- It was fucking great, sweetheart. I… I swear, your hands are fucking magic.” 

Why is he tripping over his words like that? 

He can’t even look you in the eyes, line of sight darting anywhere but you.

Why is he flushed, head to toe? 

“Yeah?” you cross your arms, and subtly lean to block the TV now displaying credits that Eddie found terribly interesting, “Would you consider it the best massage you’ve ever had?” 

He nods, and you catch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows before squeaking out, “Oh, yeah! The absolute best I’ve ever had,” his eyes widen at his words, as if he’s made a terrible choice that you’re unaware of, “I mean, you know, I just- you should really consider becoming an actual masseuse.”

That’s when it hits you; Eddie is absolutely refusing to sit up. To remove his hips from your couch. 

He’s blushing, and he’s stuttering, and he’s definitely hiding something. 

There’s a twist in your gut that you can’t reveal. A satisfaction you know better than to celebrate right now. 

Instead, you decide to play with him just a little bit more. 

“Good,” you nod, stepping towards the end of the couch you’d originally occupied. Where Eddie’s knees are stiff against. “Maybe I will consider a career change. But for now – move, Munson. I’m just exhausted.” 

“What?” he looks at you, frightened, only moving his neck to keep his hips flush and hidden away. 

“Get your legs out of my seat,” you laugh a little, leveling him with a daring stare. 

You know what he’s hiding. You’re a bit proud of it, too. 

“Oh, yeah,” he says slowly, and you can see him going over his options in his head. A million excuses he’s probably conjuring, a hundred different escape plans he’s grasping at. “Yeah, of course.” 

And, just as you’d suspected, he doesn’t go with a single one to save his dignity. 

He moves quickly. Tucking his legs up and twisting himself into an upright position in the blink of an eye, and immediately grabbing one of your throw pillows that two of you had tossed off into the floor amidst the original movie night plans. 

He’s fast, you’ll give him that. But not fast enough for you to not catch sight of the tent in his pants. 

You don’t let your eyes linger too long. Swallow down any drooling threatening to begin. Tamper down any desire flaring in your chest and between your hips. 

Best friend salary, you remind yourself even as you grin a tad bit too salaciously for your current cover. Best friend salary, not girlfriend salary. 

You plop down on the seat still warm from Eddie’s legs, sinking back in self-satisfaction. Maybe you had been wrong. Maybe it doesn’t have to be another time, or place, or Universe to get what you want. Maybe all your delusion, that wild imagination of yours, wasn’t so misplaced after all. 

Best friend salary, your mind whispers. For now.

Eddie makes himself comfortable right along with you, still seeming in a much better condition than when he’d first arrived, even if his cheeks had bloomed into a rose garden. He presses that throw pillow of yours protectively over his crotch, and once more focuses on the screen in front of you two. 

“Say, Eddie,” you drawl, almost radiant with your grin. A fire now lit inside both of you. “Think you could be a doll and pop in the next movie for me?” 

It’s a little evil, you’ll admit. But he kind of deserves it for underpaying you over the years, when it’s so clear you’re due for a promotion. Sometime soon, you hope. 

Both your heads turn to each other at the same time, wildly different speeds. Eddie’s neck snaps in disbelief, while you take your time to make eye contact.

All it takes is one knowing look exchanged, and the illusion fumbles on its stilts. 

“I…” his embarrassment, all that flush, slowly morphs as he catches the truth behind your intentions. The hand pressing down on the throw pillow alleviates just a bit, stiff shoulders relaxing as they should have been after your massage as he reflects back just as evil of a glint in his eyes as you had, “Sure thing, baby.”

It’s probably going to be a long night. Surely, the promotion of best friend to girlfriend is going to involve some paperwork. Or an interview, to prove your capability and experience first hand, of course.

But, well, he never did put his shirt back on, did he?

[soarinsugar-homerblog]

I’m very much queer but I will ALWAYS chose the well-developed straight m/f ship over the slapped together, utterly ridiculous m/m ship ANY day of the week. The EPIC fandom has caused irreversible damage to the original sources, like WHY would Odysseus and Poseidon have a relationship??? The whole plot of The Odyssey is based on their conflict! They’ve never even met in person! People really just use Greek mythology as some kind of “fandom” media they can do whatever they like with while blissfully ignoring the fact that it holds significant importance to Greek culture and then have the AUDACITY to get mad at any Greek who speaks out about it.

Penelope and Odysseus have so much chemistry between them and reasons that they work as a married couple, hell, they literally coined the term “homophrosyne”. I have not seen a single other Odysseus ship that gives that kind of characterization. They are meant to be together. I swear, I really hate this thing of making the most random gay ship known to man just to avoid engaging with women in media.

Some of y’all would ship Odysseus with anybody except his fucking wife whom he went to hell and back to return to.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Better Than Me

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: M (Mature)

Fandom: UConn's Women's basketball

Warnings: Heavy angst, toxic dynamics, cheating, sneaky link behavior, explicit language, jealousy

Summary: nobody's better than paige in more ways than one

I knew I was playing with fire.

Being with Paige was a bad idea.

Being with Paige while I had a girlfriend? A worse idea.

And yet, here I was—pressed against the cold backseat of her car, her hands gripping my thighs like she owned me, her lips tracing slow, taunting kisses up my neck.

“Tell me again why you still with her,” Paige murmured, voice low, teasing.

I sighed, tilting my head back against the seat. “Paige—”

“Nah,” she cut me off, leaning back just enough to look me in the eyes, her thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “For real. What she do for you that I don’t?”

I knew this game. Paige loved pushing me, loved reminding me that no one could touch me the way she could. That no one got me like she did.

“She treats me good,” I muttered, but even I didn’t sound convinced.

Paige scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah? Then why you in my car right now, letting me touch you like this?”

I had no answer. And Paige knew it.

A slow smirk stretched across her lips. “She ain’t better than me.”

I exhaled sharply, gripping her hoodie as she leaned in again, her breath warm against my lips. “You think you got me like that?”

She grinned, her hand slipping under the hem of my hoodie. “I know I do.”

Paige had been my problem for a while now.

It started as something reckless—stolen moments, secret glances, late-night texts that turned into even later nights in her bed. It was supposed to be nothing.

But Paige Bueckers didn’t do ‘nothing.’

She wanted everything. She wanted me.

And she hated the fact that I was still with someone else.

It got worse when she saw us together.

I was at a party with my girl, keeping things lowkey, trying not to give Paige too much attention. But it was impossible to ignore the way she was watching me from across the room, dark-tinted windows of her expression giving nothing away—but I knew her too well.

She was pissed.

And Paige pissed off was Paige dangerous.

I felt her before I saw her. A warm presence at my back, breath ghosting over my shoulder as she leaned in, voice just loud enough for me to hear over the music.

“Tell her you gotta take a call.”

I stiffened. “Paige—”

Her fingers brushed over the small of my back, featherlight, enough to make me shiver. “C’mon, baby. Five minutes. I won’t even touch you.”

Liar.

And I was a liar too—for following her out onto the balcony, for letting her back me against the railing, for letting her pull my hoodie strings like she was reeling me in.

“She’s looking for me” I whispered, trying to ignore the way my body reacted to her closeness.

Paige tilted her head. “Then why you still out here with me?”

I closed my eyes, exhaling through my nose. “You don’t fight fair.”

She smirked. “Never said I did.”

The thing about Paige was—she didn’t lose.

Not on the court, not in life, and definitely not when it came to me.

She made sure of that a few nights later, when she showed up outside my dorm after a game, still in her UConn hoodie, a cocky glint in her eyes.

“You break up with her yet?”

I sighed, arms crossed. “Paige—”

She tsked, shaking her head. “I’m done sharing.”

“Paige, it’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is,” she cut me off, stepping closer. “You either with me, or you not.”

I swallowed hard.

Because we both knew the answer.

Paige smirked, tilting my chin up with her fingers. “So what’s it gon’ be, ma?”

My heart pounded.

And for the first time in a long time, I made the right choice.

A week later, I was sitting courtside at UConn’s game, wearing Paige’s hoodie.

And when she walked off the court, sweaty, smug, victorious—she didn’t even hesitate before pulling me into her arms and kissing me like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.

Because she had won.

Like she always did.

[sillysiluriforme]

Planes pass by overhead in a milky tea green sky direction Charle de gaul airport.

She hasn’t been grounded for this long in 4 years now, not since the hospital. She tries to think about Zoey and her grubby little hands. The way she looks up at her. Her babbling.

It’s all futile, her third sex-on-the beach has rendered her brain mushy and uncooperative. She used to hate being drunk. She still does, so it’s particularly perplexing she finds herself inebriated so often.

A pair of perfect manicured fingernails grazes her shoulder.

“Audreeeeeey…” comes Emilie’s pitch perfect practiced whine.

“I’m talking to you !” She ends her sentence on a higher note, indicating playfulness. Her bronze skin, dusted with crystals of pool droplets, sparkles in the light of the terrace- curtsy of her fresh perfect tan.

She furrows her brows through Audrey’s sunglasses. The green of her eyes is exacerbated, almost comical. Like the warning label on a bottle of helium.

“Whaddidyasay ?” The slurred words slither out of her mouth like drool. Why do people even drink ?

She puffs up her cheek and readjusts her hold on the sleeping toddler in her arms clover- Chloe. Chloe, after her mother in law- not that she’d ever met her- Some gold digging cover girl with a strong stomach and very little shame, from what she gathered.

Maybe that’s what her Andre wants for her at the end of the day. A well-to-do husband, some kids, a big house and as little shame as possible… he’s boring like that.

“ Here I was getting sentimental and you just ignore me, how could you be so cruel ?”

Chloe doesn’t stir in her arms, somehow, despite the brat normally sleeping as sleep as light as a feather. The mass of perfect honey colored curls go up and down as she photogenically lays her restful little head on Emilie’s chest. It’s like she’s doing it on purpose.

Audrey, working at half the speed she usually would, languidly blinks at her. No point in playing her verbal games. Emilie always wins.

She sighs with all the gusto of a mistress of the silver screen and repeats herself.

“I was saying I used to wish I had met you younger.”

“…” the congealed remains of her mostly-fruit-juice-cocktails have seeped into the crevices of her synapses, the coughing machine chugs along. “Why ?” She says flatly, without too much interest.

“I didn’t know you actually had curly hair till the day we all moved out, did I ever tell you that ?”

Audrey goes to push her sunglasses up her forehead almost pokes herself in the eye.

“What did you think I was doing when I woke up earlier than you everyday?”

The perfect hand lurches like a snake to grasp her arm, like otherwise she’d run off and miss hearing her out. “You’re missing the point.” Audrey’s eyes roll in their sockets from the snake to the grass-green eyes.

“You wouldn’t let me in, ever, not of your own will.” Her mouth curves down and her brows curve up. “It… hurt me.” Her voice wobbles in a controlled manner not unlike a prop laminated metal sheet. “My first friend- my best friend, trapping me at arm’s length… so during lectures I’d try to imagine you,”

“And me…” and there’s something she manages to catch for an instant. Something soft and fidgety held in her gaze. “As schoolgirls- sometimes even younger, already friends, shared secrets and make believe memories.”

And with a sharp snap it’s gone, cold and still forever. Emilie’s gaze rises past Audrey, as it often does when she goes on a tangent. Her fingers tangle in the little girl’s curls.

“I missed you, you know. It’s not the same without you here. Im so happy you’re home now.” Glossy pink lips plucker into a heart shaped smile. The perfect snake coils through perfect yellow swirls to unearth Chloe’s sun kissed forehead before planting her lips on the unmarked surface. The glittering pink stain stands alone like a flagpole in no man’s land.

Audrey’s foot catches the leg of her deckchair and narrowly misses eating shit on the sharp white tiles when she stands up. Emilie still reaches out like it’d help in any way.

“I want another glass.”

[multific]

A Flower Among the Rubble

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: When Simon Riley saves you, a translator caught in chaos, your strength and warmth become his beacon in the darkness.

The military base buzzed with activity. 

Soldiers moved with purpose and determination.

You sat in a corner of the command tent, translating between a group of frightened women and a stern officer.

You managed to keep your voice steady despite the chaos around you.

Simon Riley leaned against a nearby post, arms crossed, his skull mask concealing his face but not his sharp, assessing eyes. He watched you, noting the calm precision in your words, the gentle tone you used to reassure the rescued women. You were a stark contrast to the gritty, violent world he knew—a small light in the endless dark.

“Ghost,” Price’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Focus.”

“I’m focused,” Simon replied, his voice gruff, though his gaze flicked back to you. There was something about you that drew him in, something he couldn’t shake. It was a distraction he didn’t need, but couldn’t ignore.

When you finished speaking with the women, you caught Simon’s eyes on you. He straightened as you approached. “Sergeant Riley, right?” you asked, your voice soft but steady.

“Call me Ghost,” he said, his tone clipped. He nodded toward the women. “They holding up?”

“They’re scared, but they’re grateful,” you said. “Thank you for saving them.”

Simon’s eyes softened, though his mask hid the change. “Just doing my job.”

“And yet, it means the world to them.” You offered a small smile, and for a moment, he felt a crack in the armour he’d so carefully constructed.

Over the next few days, you worked closely with the team, translating for the women and helping coordinate their care. 

Simon found excuses to linger near you. 

He asked about your work, your life, and bit by bit, your conversations grew less formal.

“You always this calm under pressure?” he asked one evening, his voice low as you both stood outside the tent, the cool night air almost making you cold.

“Not always,” you admitted, glancing up at the stars. “But I’ve learned it helps. What about you? You seem... collected.”

He chuckled softly. “Comes with the job. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

You looked at him then, sensing the vulnerability beneath his words. “Well, you’re doing a good job of fooling everyone.”

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment too long. “Not you, though.”

---

The bond you’d formed was tested when disaster struck. 

The women, along with you, were taken during a sudden attack by the mob seeking revenge. 

Ghost’s fury was barely contained as he stormed into the command tent, barking orders and demanding answers.

“We’ll get them back,” Price assured him.

“I’m going after her,” Simon growled. His team didn’t argue, they knew better.

The rescue mission was swift but brutal. 

Simon moved like a shadow, his precision deadly, his determination unmatched. 

When he found you, huddled in a dimly lit room with the others, his heart clenched. 

He crouched beside you, his gloved hand brushing your arm.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You looked up at him, tears pooling in your eyes. “I knew you’d save me.”

Something in his chest tightened. 

He helped you to your feet, his arm steadying you as he guided you out.

Back at the base, Simon’s protective instincts didn’t waver. 

When the dust settled, he insisted on taking you to his home. 

You protested at first, but the look in his eyes silenced you.

---

That evening, as you sat on his worn couch, wrapped in one of his blankets, he sat across from you, his mask finally removed. The scars on his face spoke of battles fought and survived, but his eyes held a softness that surprised you.

“I couldn’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You didn’t. I’m here.”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly. “You’ve been in my head since the moment I saw you. You’re... different. You don’t belong in this mess of a world I live in, but I don’t know how to let you go.”

“You don’t have to,” you said softly. “I don’t want you to.”

The tension between you dissolved as he moved to sit beside you. 

His hand found yours, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I’ll protect you. Always.”

“I believe you,” you whispered.

And in that quiet moment, the walls Simon had built around himself crumbled, and for the first time in years, he allowed himself to feel something more than the weight of duty. 

With you, he wasn’t just Ghost, he was Simon. And as he leaned over to kiss you, you knew you have found something were special, love.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[astraeus-tree]

Chapter 4

『Everything Begins From There』

Disparities Between Our Souls You finally reunite with (some of) your family and ask them for help Disclaimer(s): N/A

Chapter 3 <- Chapter 4

Cass had arrived at the rooftop where Damian was at not even 30 minutes after she had said she would. The two had thoroughly inspected the house as best as they could from the distance they were at. Not much was revealed, it had looked almost the exact same as it did before you disappeared.

Hours had passed since your first appearance and when you had gone into the house, many theories about what happened to you were said but none had made sense. The two had stayed on the rooftop, even as they saw the sun peek through the horizon. Their patience was wearing thin, but if this waiting could lead to at least the smallest hint to what happened to you, then it would be worth it.

Finally, when the sun had fully risen, barely visible through the smog, out you came. You were not alone either, the other vigilante was at your side, carrying the rogue that Damian saw last night. They saw you nod at your partner before a silk-like substance come out of your wrist, using it like ropes to jump from one building to another.

Cass and Damian stealthily followed you around the city, utilising the skills they were taught in the League of Assassins. The route you took had been familiar to them, but they had disregarded the thought, focusing on not losing you to your speed instead. Yet, as mere minutes went by, and great distances were covered, they could ignore it no longer. Not when you had stopped in front of the Wayne Manor, their home.

Your home.

You felt your heart beat in your chest and your mind race as you swung through the streets of Gotham. You moved through alleyways that you knew were always empty of thugs. Every once in a while, you would swing high enough to see the city, and every time, you would make sure to take in the scenery. The view of Gotham would never fail to calm your nerves, even with all the pain it had caused you.

As you crossed the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge, you knew there was no turning back. The manor made its way into your sight not long after. You didn’t know if you felt relief or dread, or maybe even both. You wanted so badly to turn around and go back to your aunt’s house, but you had no other choice.

You easily jumped over the fence and walked up the stairs to the door. Just like at your aunt’s place, you had hesitated to knock on the door, but one look at your husband was all that you needed to steel your nerves. Alfred had opened it almost instantaneously, something inside you was telling you that he had been expecting you. You were right of course, he had been waiting since he first heard of your appearance last night.

“Master [Name]. Welcome back.” You weren’t surprised to know that even through the mask, he knew it was you. That’s just how he always was.

“Hi Alfred. How are you?” You asked him, attempting to not make this reunion any more awkward that it has to be.

“I have been well. Please enter, master [Name].” The gap between the double doors widened and he bowed down as you entered. You quickly thanked him as you walk inside. “Please follow me into the cave. I’m sure you have plenty to say.” You nodded, your footsteps echoing as the three of you walked down the hallway and into the Batcave.

The Batcave thankfully had an area that held many cells, and that’s where Miguel had put the anomaly. Had it been a normal cell, you wouldn’t had trusted to put him there, but this was your family and you knew their security was top notch.

In another area, sectioned away from the basically-prison area and the main, a couch was set, a coffee table in front of it and TV across from it. You didn’t remember this room, but you knew time inevitably changes things, and this was one of them. You sat on the couch, Miguel sitting beside you, silently taking in his surroundings.

Alfred offered both of you tea, which you had gladly taken up and you husband cautiously accepting. You were thankful for the silence, it gave you time to collect your thoughts, to think about what you wanted and what you should say.

This peace did not last for though. Three familiar figures had barged into the room, and from their frazzled looks, you could tell they had ran. It was your siblings—or at least some of them. Questions and statements had rushed out of their mouths, a cacophony of voices filling the room. It was safe to say, you were overwhelmed. You were thankful when Alfred silenced them, pointing out how panicked you had looked.

“I’ll answer your questions later. I just want to know, where’s everyone else, especially Bruce?” You asked them.

“The other’s are busy right now, they said they’ll come when they finish what they need to. B is on a mission with the JL.” Cass replied. You inwardly sighed, a part of you had hoped B would be here so you could see his reaction, but perhaps this was for the best.

“Alright. Ok. That’s fine.” You muttered under your breath, your disappointment was immeasurable, but you knew you should’ve known better. After all, you had arrived here out of no where. Even if they hadn’t neglected you, dropping everything and coming back to the manor in such short notice was an almost impossible task. Miguel clasped your hand is his, silently comforting you. That was when Tim spoke up.

“Who is this man with you? Oracle and I have scoured everywhere for anything but nothing.” Of course your family’s first words to you would be an interrogation.

“He’s my husband.” You state plainly.

“And why is there no records of this conjugation?”

“Because it didn’t happen in this universe.”

The silence was loud. Just those few words had explained everything. The family was no stranger to multiverse problems, so it was almost astounding how this realisation had never been made until now. Until you were the one that was saying it to them.

“So why return now? It seems like you’ve already made a life for yourself in this other universe, so why throw it away to come back here?” Damian questions, and for once, his voice isn’t filled with contempt at you.

“We don’t even want to be in this universe. Hell, it’s detrimental for us to even stay here for too long—well not for me but for Miguel and the anomaly.”

“Anomaly?” They all asked, in sync.

“A being that doesn’t belong in this universe.” Miguel had spoken up. You let him continue his explanation of the multiverse and the anomalies, with him being more verse in the topic than you were. Once again, they were quiet at the end of his talk, processing the info dump they had just received.

“Ok… Enough with that though. Have you been well in the past years? Are you going to leave me again?” Cass spoke up. You were taken aback by her words. You didn’t expect for someone in the family to actually question your wellbeing.

“I’ve been doing great. As for the second question, that’s the reason why we’re here actually. We need your help fixing our gizmos so we can go back to our universe. We tried earlier but no results came out of it, so we’re hoping you guys could help us.” You could see Cass’ face drop, you were leaving her again, and this time, voluntarily.

“What do we get out of this?” Tim questioned.

“More knowledge of the universe and gadgets that could help you travel it, if you wanted to.” They all had contemplative looks on their faces, and you knew they were all debating on if this was a worthy deal or not.

“I believe we should help master [Name].” Alfred spoke up. You were grateful, this was probably the one factor that they needed to make their final decision, Alfred’s approval. The three of them nodded, yet you could tell Cass and Damian’s were hesitant. You stood up from the couch, and so did Miguel.

“Great. Let’s get started then.”

Taglist (open)

@kik1010 @cxcilla @00hellohello00 @bluepanda08 @frankie-moon3 @guyfuitty @lumi320 @type-ink @kye-chen-r @sugasweettea @sillyheartmoonnyx @definitely-not-sammie @birbtweettweet @itsberrydreemurstuff @bellethesleepypotato @yaoizee @bat1212 @mybones537 @cim0nnin @ninihrtss @redkarmakai @a-lurking-fae @1abi @lettucel0ver @leeiasure @chericia @yotokx @amber-content @oscarisaac2099 @awawage @k-anaru @randomlyappearingartist @cutelittlesugarfairy @ironsaladwitch @pix-stuff @capswife @bibliophile-yomna @inojinieeee

This chapter is kind of a filler chapter, so I apologise for that guys

I lowkey got addicted to binary puzzles when I was writing this and that's why it took so long lmao

Also, a little rant but oml my physics teacher actually makes me hate the subject so much, which is so sad cuz we're doing a cool topic this term, which is nuclear physics

Anyways, mistakes are free to point out and will be fixed immediately

This week's title doesn't come from the lyrics of a song, but does come from an MV! Wiege recently released on Valentines and I felt I had to include it somehow

Have a nice day/night everybody <3

Also the next chapter of DBOS will be delayed since it is the week of my birthday!! Yippee

[scoupsakakitty]

Betrayal Under The Stage Lights pt.2 | Seventeen x 14thMember | fluff

The room remained silent long after Y/N left. The weight of their words, their accusations, lingered in the air like an unshakable storm cloud. No one dared to speak, no one wanted to admit what they all began to realize their mistake.

Mingyu ran a frustrated hand through his hair, the guilt settling deep in his chest. “We messed up, didn’t we?”

Jihoon exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “No, we didn’t just mess up. We completely turned on her without thinking.”

Joshua sat down heavily on the couch, rubbing his face with his hands. “We should have listened. We should have trusted her.”

Seungcheol, usually so sure of his decisions, felt a rare sense of self-doubt gnawing at him. His mind replayed the scene over and over Y/N’s devastated expression, her voice laced with desperation as she defended herself. And they had ignored it.

“She must hate us now,” Seokmin mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan, for once, had no witty remark, no clever way to deflect the situation. Instead, he sighed deeply. “We need to fix this.”

Y/N sat alone in her room, the echoes of their accusations still fresh in her mind. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to make them feel even a fraction of what she had felt. But more than anything, she just felt… tired.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. At first, she ignored it, expecting them to give up. But the knocking persisted. With an annoyed sigh, she stood up and pulled the door open only to find all thirteen members standing outside, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

Mingyu, standing in the front, suddenly dropped to his knees. “Y/N, I was an idiot. No—worse than an idiot. I don’t even have a word for how dumb I was. Please, please forgive me.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “You’re really kneeling?”

“Yes,” Mingyu said without hesitation. “I’ll stay here all night if I have to.”

Seungcheol cleared his throat, stepping forward. “We all made a huge mistake. We let frustration cloud our judgment, and we blamed you without any proof. That was wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”

“We should have believed in you,” Joshua added, his usual warmth returning to his voice. “You’re our family.”

One by one, they all spoke up, each admitting their faults, each apologizing sincerely. Even Jihoon, who rarely showed emotions so openly, muttered, “I was too quick to judge. I’m sorry.”

Y/N took her time, letting them squirm under her scrutiny. She could see the genuine regret on their faces, the desperation in their eyes. And a wicked idea formed in her mind.

She sighed dramatically, placing a hand on her hip. “I don’t know… maybe I should just leave the group.”

The reaction was immediate.

“What?!”

“No, no, no!”

“Y/N, please, don’t even joke about that!”

Seungkwan looked ready to burst into tears. “I swear, if this is because of us—”

“I’ll do anything!” Mingyu pleaded. “I’ll cook for you for a year! I’ll do your laundry! I’ll—”

Y/N burst into laughter, unable to hold back any longer. “Relax, I was just messing with you.”

The collective groan that followed was almost comical. Seungcheol placed a hand over his heart, exhaling in relief. “Don’t do that! I nearly had a heart attack.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “You’re evil.”

Y/N smirked. “That’s what you get for doubting me.”

Despite their moment of panic, the mood shifted almost instantly. Hoshi pulled Y/N into a bone-crushing hug, and soon, the others piled on, a mess of tangled limbs and relieved laughter.

“Still mad at us?” Vernon asked as they finally pulled away.

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “I should be. But I guess I’ll forgive you guys. Just this once.”

They all cheered, and for the first time that night, everything felt right again.

“Well… on one condition,” Y/N added, crossing her arms. “I want my favorite ice cream.”

Without hesitation, Dino shot up. “I got it! I’ll get it right now!” And before anyone could react, he was already sprinting out the door.

The others laughed, shaking their heads as they watched him go. Finally, things were back to normal.

[moonstruckme]

hiiiii mae. I was re-reading thawing out and I'm curious if you've ever considered writing about Sirius & reader getting Remus back out on the ice again? I feel like it has real cute and fluffy potential. love all that you do! <3

Thank you for requesting! I've been looking forward to this milestone for them for so long :')

Read the Thawing Out series here

cw: modern au, chronic pain references, some anxiety caused by traumatic events

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

It was your idea to do this outside of the rink. You notice things that Sirius doesn’t, and you’d noticed that as much as Remus feels at home with the boards and the bleachers and hum of the Zamboni, they intimidate him too. So, you’re taking advantage of a cold Saturday to utilize the outdoors. 

Sirius frowns, spinning an idle circle on his blade. “This ice is shit.” 

“You’re just spoiled,” you counter, still lacing up your skates with Remus. You’ve slowed your pace to match him, whereas Sirius had laced up quick as always and gone out into the small rink without a second thought. Another way you’re simply better than him. 

To his credit, Remus doesn’t seem to be stalling. He tried talking you both out of this on a couple of occasions, saying that it wasn’t worth your time, you were giving it more importance than it was due, etc., but now that he’s here he simply seems to be taking a methodical pace. Preparing himself. Sirius can grant him this, considering he hasn’t had skates on his feet since his injury nearly three years ago. 

“Would you call a swimmer picky for wanting a properly chlorinated pool?” 

“Yes.” 

Remus glances over at you, that particular smile he reserves for your obstinance gracing his lips. Sirius’ heart melts a little. 

“Then fine. I’m picky. Just be careful, both of you. I’m telling you, this ice is truly—” 

“I know how to skate on unsmoothed ice.” You cut him off with a look. There’s fondness buried beneath it, and Sirius narrows his eyes back playfully as you knot your laces and stand up. “So does Remus.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Remus jokes. He stands with you, though, letting you onto the ice first. 

Sirius can see the hesitance in your boyfriend now. That bit of nervousness Remus is trying to ignore. The awareness of it balls up tight and uncomfortable in his chest. 

“Awe,” Sirius croons with overdone patronage, skating to a stop a few feet away from the entrance, “are we not sure? We’ll do it like with the littles then, darling.” He bends and pats his knees, making a show of it. “Come on, come to me.” 

Remus snorts and sets one foot on the ice. “Piss off.” 

That one foot is all it takes. Remus pushes off with practiced ease, gliding into the rink. Sirius beams. 

You look equally as awestruck, your eyes so brimming with love and joy they almost hurt to look at. 

“Well, would you look at that,” Sirius says, “he does know how to skate on shit ice. Give us a spin, handsome.” 

“I’m not your show pony,” Remus says, but spins nonetheless. It’s simple, and yet so incredibly graceful. So obviously second nature. 

“Remus.” You seem to have given up any hope of trying to play it cool, your voice shining with barely repressed glee. “That was so perfect.” 

Remus is doing a similarly poor job of repressing his own smile, though he only tsks. “If either of you did a spin like that, I’d make you redo it three times and then add a jump so you didn’t embarrass yourselves.” 

Sirius crosses his arms, nodding. “Go on, then.” 

It’s clear that Remus is happy to do it. He’s cautious for a while, testing his own limits as he adds complexities and small jumps and tries out different variations. Ordinarily Sirius might worry for his hip, but Remus has been especially diligent in his stretching in preparation for just this; and whenever he seemed inclined to skip it, you or Sirius were there to pester him (lovingly, of course).

Sirius’ heart swells to the point of bursting at how beautiful Remus looks. His posture shifts to accommodate the new range of movement, his arms coming out almost unconsciously, with a dancer’s grace. Sirius is well used to the symphony of skates on ice, but Remus’ have their own melody, their own beat and cadence. Even his face changes, the tension fading from his expression until it’s at once relaxed and utterly present. Remus was made for this. 

You and Sirius don’t do anything but watch, rapt. After a while, Remus seems to get sick of his audience, coming to a reluctant stop. His cheeks are pink from the cold and exertion—Sirius wants to cover them with both hands and kiss him dizzy—but Remus’ expression shifts when he looks at you. 

He lets out a breathy, nervous chuckle. “Sweetheart…?” 

Sirius turns, and your lips are pressed together, your eyes bright. “Sorry,” you say, giving a wobbly smile, “you’re just—Remus, you’re so lovely.” 

“Oh, you sop.” Sirius curls an arm around you, kissing your head. “Stop that.” 

“I’m sorry.” You laugh at yourself. Swipe away a tear that manages to escape. 

Sirius tuts. “Look what you’ve done,” he says to Remus, who appears caught between shock and fondness, his mouth hanging slightly open. “She’s completely right, you know. You’re too lovely; it’s torment for us both.” 

“You…” Remus shakes his head. He’s delightfully flushed now, nearly to the tips of his ears. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my idea to do this, though.” 

“No, but you sure do seem to be enjoying yourself now, don’t you? Come here.” 

To his surprise, Remus actually comes. Sirius is elated; rarely does he get to be this demanding with such gratifying results. 

He lets you go to take both of Remus' pink, hot cheeks in his hands, and plants a firm kiss on his lips. 

“Thank you,” he says, grinning. “Now, stop our poor girl’s crying by skating with her, please.” 

It’s not done before several kisses, but soon you and Remus are in the center of the rink, twining around each other like snowflakes in the wind. You and Sirius take turns teaching Remus the sorts of lifts and jumps he wouldn’t have learned in his solo career. Sirius can’t decide which he likes best; the up-close view of Remus’ face as the world whirls around them and Remus’ hand folds warmly around his, or getting to admire the two of you from the edge of the rink. He thinks more practice will be necessary to determine this. Much, much more practice. 

Sirius’ nose is near frozen by the time you decide to call it a day. Remus teases Sirius for his pinkened cheeks as though he’s not exactly the same, and you insist on buying hot chocolates for all three of you on the way home as though they’re going to let you. You walk out of the park with breaths puffing cold in front of you, three skating bags hanging from your shoulders.

[detectivestucks2]

Toji as Your Ex Husband

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Toji x F!Reader

Summary: Toji sees you at the park with your kid while he was on a job and becomes obsessed with seducing you into weekly quickies in the back of his car

Warnings: NSFW, oral sex, toy usage, unprotected sex, anal play, cum feeding

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!!

Ex Husband Toji who you only thought of twice as you got ready for your Valentine’s Day date. Your shimmering baby pink dress looks adorable against your skin complexion. Paired with black leather high heel boots and a leather choker, you skate the line between edgy and classy in a most seductive way.

Ex Husband Toji who you continue to push out of your mind as you finish fluffing your brows and running one last coat of mascara over your lashes. Proud of the way you look, once you stand up straight and really observe the end result, you can’t help but post a selfie of how cute your blind date look came together.

Ex Husband Toji who blows up your phone with four missed calls and eight text messages as you enter your uber, heading off to your date

You’re going on a date? Since when are you seeing someone?

What’s his name?

Don’t ignore me. Name. Now.

We’re really playing this game, huh? 

I forbid you to go out tonight. My wife isn’t slutting herself out on Valentine’s Day.

If you don’t respond to me, I’m coming to get you.

Woman, respond to me or else.

You think this is funny? Let’s see who’s laughing once I come over. 

Ex Husband Toji who’s threats you ignore, knowing he no longer has any control over your life. The Zenin lad may still call himself by your last name but he has no right to continue to soil your family’s legacy with his dirty work. 

Ex Husband Toji who secretly enabled a tracking app on your phone so he doesn’t need you to respond to his text messages. He can confront your bratty behavior at the restaurant where he plans to teach you a lesson you won’t forget. He hops on his motorcycle and rides to your location, stalking through the crowds outside several restaurants till he’s on top of you. Eyes anxiously scouring the hordes of people, he uses his height as a vantage point till he sees you, his gorgeous ex wife who had no business being here unless it’s with him. 

Ex Husband Toji who’s heart stops when he sees you with another man. Sure he’s a pretty boy, but his muscles are just for show. He obviously can fight and doesn’t know anything about protecting you. This boy can’t provide for you the way he can. You don’t need this guy, you need someone like him. Anger and desperation brew in his gut and he marches over to where you sit, ready to make a scene. 

Ex Husband Toji who scares you when he pops up next to you, “Toji! What are you doing here?!” 

“Why are you mad at me? I’m the one who’s wife is on a date with a stranger on Valentine’s Day! How could you do this to me, baby?” 

“Baby?”

“Woah, wait” your date interjects, “You’re married?!”

“No!” 

“Yes!”

“We’re not married, Toji! You know as well as I that we got divorced last year. Let it go. Move on.”

“I’m not moving on. You’re my wife. Till death do we part.” Your pulse thunders in your neck as your anger rises.

“Look, I’m not trying to get in the middle of anything.” Your date says, with his hands raised. “I just wanted to meet a nice girl, I don’t have time for whatever this is.”

“No, wait!”

But your date didn’t listen, he took out his wallet and dropped a $50 on the table before staring at Toji’s mountainous figure in horror, and scurrying off to his sports car.

“Good, now that the trash has taken itself out, we need to talk”

“No we don't, Toji. Leave me alone. Haven’t you done enough this evening?” You stand up in fury, making to leave when he snatches your wrist.

Ex Husband Toji who grips you so tightly you feel your skin bruise. His desperation makes him forget his strength as he stares at you, trying to understand what he just witnessed. You were with another man. You dressed like this for someone else. His soul felt like it had been crushed, and just like that the anger returned.  “What you did tonight is unacceptable” he fumes, “apologize.”

“Are you insane?!”

“Apologize or I will bend you over right here and give you a spanking.”

You tug at your arm, trying to free your wrist from his clutches, but his grip is too strong. You begin to whine as you realize how useless your efforts are. With a sickening smirk Toji yanks you to him and lays you over his knees. “No Toji!” you shout but the hand gripping the back of your neck is unmoving. His muscles are so massive that even his forearm is difficult to grip as you struggle. The combined efforts of both of your hands are no match and before you can do anything to stop him, Toji is striking your backside for insubordination. 

Ex Husband Toji who has you yelping and shouting in the middle of a fancy restaurant on one of the busiest nights of the year, publicly shaming you for trying to move on, and for acting like a little slut. When he feels you still haven’t learned your lesson he lifts your skirt so your bottom is barren except for the thin fabric of your lace thong. The sight begins to make him drool but his fury rages on and his palm turns the flesh fuschia before the eyes of every patron dinning nearby. 

Ex Husband Toji who is tapped on the shoulder by the restaurant’s manager, demanding Toji leave or they’re calling the cops. Rounding his shoulders and cracking his neck, Toji stands up, holding you around the waist. When you try to walk away he grips you tightly and throws you over his shoulder. “Like hell, woman. You’re coming with me.”

Ex Husband Toji who carries you to his motorcycle with you protesting the entire way. It didn’t matter how much you kicked or how hard you punched his back, he set you down on the seat of his bike like you were a toy doll and sat behind you, caging you in to make sure you wouldn’t jump off. When he starts his bike he spins out towards your home and your gut fills with rocks, knowing nothing good is going to come from this. 

Ex Husband Toji who kicks open the side door of your home as he drags you inside still protesting. He doesn’t understand why you continue to resist him when there’s no point. “Stop Toji. I’m home, okay? I’m home, there’s no guy coming. You can leave now.”

“NO! I’m not leaving. I left you too many times. I can’t do it anymore.”

Something twitches in your abdomen, something like a tiny butterfly as you see one of the most gorgeous men on this planet’s face crack with sadness at the thought of leaving you. “No, Toji.” you say softer than before. “We don’t work. We tried and this doesn’t work.”

“I’ll make it work” he says as he comes closer, hands tracing up your forearms and biceps. “Please baby. I need you.”

“You don’t need me.” you whisper as you look down. “You could have any woman you wanted.”

“Not when that woman’s you.” he whispers back.

Ex Husband Toji who brushes a strand of hair behind your ear before pulling you into a kiss. That twitch in your stomach erupts into full on butterflies and at the same time you’re kicking yourself for caving because this only ever leads to one thing…

Ex Husband Toji who tears off your dress before carrying you into the room and tossing you on the bed. You grapple at his shirt as he removes his belt, laying it on the bed before he lowers his pants, tossing them aside. Once naked, he pulls off your boots, one by one, kissing each leg as he does so. 

Ex Husband Toji who spreads your legs, cause he is the only man allowed to do so, licking and nipping your inner thighs while enjoying how you flinch from sensitivity. When his mouth finds your center he bites down on your bud, making you scream from both pain and pleasure. Your hands fly into his messy black locks, pulling him off and pushing him back into you, unable to decide what you want. His tongue flicks out of his mouth paying special attention to your nub before pointing and slotting into your center. Your head lolls back and you moan, the sound ringing in Toji’s ear like a an anthem. You grind your hips up into his mouth, fisting his hair and pushing his face into you. He won. He knew he would, but the victory is just as sweet, nonetheless. 

Ex Husband Toji who turns you into a needy puddle with his mouth before denying you your orgasm. Your upset whine brings a mischievous grin to his lips. “Not so fast, hun. We have some behavior to address.” Just as you register what he means, Toji reaches for his nearby belt and slips it around your neck, the end already threaded through the buckle. He yanks on the leather as he flips you onto your knees, letting it bite into your column. Your fingers try to slip into the loop, to release the pressure but it’s too tight. 

Ex Husband Toji who sinks his weighty girth into your dripping hole as he chokes you. “I knew a filthy slut like you would get wet from being treated like a bitch. You like your new leash? I hope so, cause you’ll be wearing it awhile.” He continues to berate you, his hips beginning to grind into you. 

His member throbs in your walls as he drags in and out of you, pushing in and retreating slowly. But it was too slow. Even though he had you drooling, you wanted more. You begin to throw your hips back and a dangerous chuckle fans your ear. “Oh, is that what you want? Okay baby. I can give you that.”

Ex Husband Toji who wraps the leather around his knuckles, tightening your leash before he pistons into you. His breathing labors and his lungs grunt. Your eyes flutter from the familiar sounds, it is all so dirty and erotic, you clench around him tighter, unable to hide your arousal. “That’s it baby. Just like that. Take this dick like the good little slut you are.” You cry out, feeling him tighten the belt again. You can barely breathe and it makes you so wet your fluids are dripping onto the bed. 

Ex Husband Toji who pounds into you, bouncing you off his pelvis as he spears your cute little cunt. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from oxygen deprivation while the most whorish sounds fill the room. He turned you into exactly what he wanted. His slut, serving him and only him. You feel like a slave to his passions. This is how he gets you every time. This is how you ended up marrying him. He fucked you till you said yes. 

Ex Husband Toji who spanks your already red rear as he hammers into you, reminding you of the naughty girl you’ve been, trying to give this pussy to another man. This is his pussy, and no one else is allowed to touch it. He’ll make sure you remember this lesson. Manipulating you with his belt, Toji whips you over to your back and folds you in half. He pushes your feet to your ears and raises his body so he can pummel down into your folds, making you scream from the intensity. You sound so beautiful when you’re like this, all mouth and no words. You try to form them, it’s not as if there’s a lack of effort, he just gets you so good you grow dumb on his length. 

Ex Husband Toji who pulls your face up to his by fisting your hair. Your eyes scrunch in pain but at the end of the day, you like it rough. If he were more prepared he would’ve brought the whip you like, but for now he’ll settle for his hands. He tugs your face to his lips so he can kiss you feverishly. You open your mouth obediently, waiting for him to spit in it before he dives his tongue in to dance with yours. 

Ex Husband Toji who loses his composure after the kiss, becoming more beast than man as he quickens his pace and pumps into you so hard that your entire bed is rockings, scooting inch by inch across the floor from how he chases his orgasm. He doesn’t even care if you cum because 1) you didn’t earn it and 2) he knows you're going to anyway. You have a habit of finishing at the same time he does so when your velvet interior flutters around him just as a prolonged scream released from your throat, it does the trick and his seed explodes inside of you, painting your cavern white and swimming into your cervix, looking to get you pregnant before you can come to your senses. 

Ex Husband Toji who pins you down, exerting his power over you for a few more minutes, while he can. He looks down on your glazed over eyes, savoring how he can wreck your body and praying his spend finds its way to your fallopian tubes to make a baby. He needs you to get pregnant so he never has to let you go.  

Ex Husband Toji who gets to spend the night because you passed out shortly after he finished. He gets up to go to the bathroom and grabs you a washcloth, cleaning up your legs before tucking you under the bed covers. When he’s done he slips between the sheets with you, and presses his body against yours, falling asleep immediately because for the first time in months he is home and he isn’t going anywhere. 

Masterlist

[justauthoring]

This is the Beginning [4/?]

Summary: You never thought you'd be able to escape Buggy, and yet, a boy with a straw hat, a man with three swords and a girl with orange hair somehow manage to free you. The journey that follows afterwards is your chance at freedom and maybe something more.

A One Piece Live Action Rewrite

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Pairing: Live Action!Zoro Roronoa x F!Reader

TW for this chapter: canon typical violence, bits of jealous!zoro, that's really all!

Word Count: 9,323

A/N: Well, we made it! We caught up to seaon one of OPLA! Unfortunately, that means this series will be taking a hiatus until the new season comes out since it is a rewrite. But! I might do little bonus chapters and bonding moments!!

I have started watching the anime, so I know the general direction the live action will probably follow. If you guys would like bonus chapters, let me know!

Tag List: @emmaiscool22 - @bethleeham - @veryunoriginal - @sun-rae04 - @medievalfangirl - @sylum - @academiq

Chapter Four - This is It

“Y/N! My old friend!”

Before you can even register the fact that Buggy is talking to you, a body steps in front of you, fully blocking you from view. The expanse of Zoro’s broad shoulders is the only thing you can see as he glares down at Buggy; “don’t talk to her.”

Buggy just laughs, loud and mocking. “Yeah?” He taunts, “and what are you going to do about it? Bleed on me?”

You can see the tension build in Zoro, muscles tensing and his shoulders raising with every word Buggy throws at him.

You don’t blame him. You still remember when Luffy had all but dropped the fact that during their fight with Arlong and Nami’s betrayal, they’d reunited with Buggy, or rather the head of Buggy. It was made ten times worse when Luffy also elected to inform you that Buggy was coming with you all and helping you to Arlong’s island, as part of a deal he’d made with the pirate. He told you the two of them had made it in return for his navigation to the island, he’d get his body back.

And even though Luffy had assured you he wouldn’t let Buggy try and pull anything on you, you still felt uneasy about him being onboard.

You had no doubt that Buggy’s intentions were not as pure as he was making them out to be. He had something up his sleeve, or at the very least, he would betray you all. At one point or another.

Still, it didn’t matter because you were stuck for him for now. It wasn’t up to just you and you did need him, at least to find where Arlong and Nami had gone. And after spending the first day refusing to go up onto deck in fear of having to face Buggy, your once captain and long-time tormentor, you were sick of hiding away. You’d decided to go up on deck, especially after Zoro had shown concern with you hiding away. Buggy only had his head, after all, so despite saying whatever he wanted, he couldn’t do much.

You try to remind yourself of that.

Your attempt at not being seen, however, had failed the second you’d made your way up to the deck as Buggy had clocked your arrival instantly.

Ignoring the racing of your heart, you reach forward, setting your hand on Zoro’s arm. He pauses at the touch, looking as if he was ready to just kill Buggy and be done with it. He turns his head around to glance down at you, and you send him a reassuring smile.

You remind yourself that you were with a crew of people who cared about you deeply and no one was going to let Buggy hurt you in any way. Not to mention, you’d grown yourself. You weren’t the same girl Buggy had spent years tormenting; you could stand up for yourself now, especially if you had your friends by your side.

He looks like he wants to argue, but still, Zoro doesn’t fight you when you step out from behind him, turning your eye on Buggy.

“I’m not your friend, Buggy. And I never was,” you say, voice firm in your defiance. “And don’t think that I don’t know all your tricks. If you even try to betray us, I’ll—”

“You’ll do nothing!” Buggy laughs, loud and piercing. “Just like you never did back on my crew! You always were too helpless for your own good. All it took was that cage and—”

It doesn’t take you much to figure out what he was implying with his words and it leaves an unpleasant taste in your mouth, thinking back to that horrible cage. However, he doesn’t get the chance to finish.

Zoro is crossing the distance over to Buggy in seconds. Usopp, who’d been standing at the helm, steering with Buggy’s degrading instructions, looks all too pleased as Zoro grabs Buggy by the top of his head, lifting him off the barrel he’d been set on. You, however, look concerned, wanting nothing more than Zoro to actually just get rid of Buggy but you knew you needed him to get to Nami.

“Woah! Woah! Woah! Wait!” Buggy pleads almost instantly, words coming out in a rushed panic. “I was just joking!” He tries to excuse himself, and your eyes widen as Zoro moves him so he’s hanging over the edge of the ship. Buggy’s voice rises in terror. “I was joking! Y/N knows I was joking! Don’t you, Y/N—”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Zoro cuts in, voice sharp. “You don’t talk to Y/N.”

Biting your lip, you stare at Zoro’s back. You knew, obviously after the conversation the two of you had had, that Zoro cared about you but seeing him so openly defend you made your heart flutter in ways you didn’t know it could.

“You don’t look at her. Or bother her in any way. Is that clear?”

“Yes, yes,” Buggy rushes, voice a blur of desperation. “I won’t bother Y/N!”

“And if this is just another one of your tricks… or you leading us into a trap. Then…”

“Zoro, buddy!” Buggy laughs, “honour amongst pirates. Right? Come on. How about I sing a nice sea shanty to pass the time.”

Sighing, you press your hand to your forehead.

“Oh, there once was a girl with tangerine hair…”

Buggy continues, but a shared look back at you and Usopp makes Zoro’s decision for him easy. Turning around, he makes his way back up to the helm, where Usopp waits with the lid of a barrel topped off.

Zoro doesn’t hesitate to drop Buggy right inside.

“Ow! God, right on my nose!” 

Whatever else he’d been about to say is muffled as Usopp quickly places the top of the barrel back on.

Usopp turns back to you. “I hate clowns.”

Huffing a laugh, you nod your head, instantly eased at his silence. “Me too.”

Making his way back over to you, Zoro dusts off his hands, as if disgusted that Buggy had even been anywhere near him. You glance past him, making sure Usopp wasn’t paying attention anymore, before you reach for Zoro, smiling up at him.

“Thank you for defending me,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around his waist.

Zoro smirks, confident by your praise, but you see the soft flush to his cheeks. “It was a long time coming,” he shrugs, “I hate that clown.” He pauses, briefly, as if unsure of his own words. “Especially for how he treated you.”

The words, despite what they mean, pull a smile to your lips. Your grip on him tightens, and you lean into his embrace. Slowly, Zoro’s arm comes to rest around your shoulders, and you’re reminded of how new all of this still is. The two of you had only confessed your feelings a little bit ago and the two of you were still trying to maneuver those changes; especially since everything else was also still new. 

It was hard to believe it had only been a few short weeks since Luffy, Zoro and Nami saved you from Buggy and you joined them on their adventure. Finding Usopp, fighting Kuro and the Black Cat crew, then arriving at the Baratie, Nami’s betrayal and Sanji joining you… so much had happened in such a short amount of time. A part of you wondered if Zoro and you had moved too quickly into something beyond just a friendship, but then you feel the bandages across his chest on the skin of your cheek and you remember how close he’d been to dying.

Even if most would consider it quick, you didn’t want to waste a moment when you could lose him or he could lose you at any time.

Besides, he and the rest of the crew were stuck with you now. There would be plenty of time to work out the kinks.

“It’s okay,” you reassure Zoro. “I won’t lie and say what Buggy had done to me still doesn’t… haunt me. But, I’m not as scared as I thought I’d be when Luffy said he made a deal with him. Especially because now I have you guys. Because I have you.”

Zoro shifts and you pull back, giving him the room to lean back so he can meet your eye properly. A man of action as always, he raises his left hand, brushing back your hair to cup your cheek and presses a gentle kiss against your lips. It’s quick, the touch of his lips hovering for what feels like far too short, before he’s pulling back, smiling at you.

“I should talk to Luffy.” He says a moment later, “figure out our plan for when we find Nami and Arlong.”

You nod, finally letting your hands fall to your sides as you watch him walk away, sending one last warm look back at you. Your heart is still fluttering, even as he gets further and further away, feeling hot and weak at the same time.

“Someone’s down bad.”

Blinking, you turn around, finding Usopp staring down at you with the widest shit-eating grin on his lips.

Cheeks warming, you shake yourself out of your stupor, making your way up the stairs over to him. “Ha-ha,” you huff, but the smile on your lips is fond. 

Usopp just giggles. “Seriously,” he teases, “the two of you barely notice the people around you when you’re together.”

Coming to a stop next to him, you lightly nudge him with your shoulder. “Haven’t you teased me enough?” You whine, pouting, as your eyes glimmer with mischief at him. “The second Luffy told you what he saw, you haven’t let me off the hook.”

“It’s too fun,” Usopp shrugs, turning his gaze ahead to continue steering the ship. “You always get so embarrassed.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you raise a brow. “I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you, Usopp.”

“Oh?” He challenges, “and why’s that?”

“Because you forget I saw you and Kaya,” you smirk, watching as the smile on his lips falls and is replaced by a bright red across his cheeks. “If you want to talk about two people smitten…—”

“Okay, okay! I won’t tease you anymore!”

You turn to Usopp, his face turning bright red as he wildly shakes his hands in front of him. It pulls a laugh from your lips, loud and warm, enough to pull Usopp from his own reverie as he blinks back at you.

Turning your gaze back ahead, you soften your smile; “I’m happy for you, Usopp. And I know you’ll see her one day again.”

Shoulders easing, Usopp grabs hold of the helm again and grins to himself. “Thanks,” he says earnestly, “and I’m happy for you too. You and Zoro.”

You squeeze his arm in return, smile infectious, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence with one another for a few minutes.

Then, you catch sight of something ahead. 

“Usopp,” you call, shaking his own arm before pointing ahead of yourself. “Look!”

He leans forward, eyes squinting. “I don’t see anything,” he mumbles, confused.

You frown; “you don’t see the island up ahead?”

“How do you…” Usopp frowns, but his voice trails, squinting even more before he pulls back in realization. “Wait. I see it!” 

Instantly, he cups his hands around his mouth, breathing in sharply so yell out to the three at the front of the ship; “land ho!”

-

Walking behind Zoro, you frown at the sight of the village in front of you. In a lot of ways, it uncomfortably reminds you of the village Buggy had destroyed; the one Luffy had saved.

It’s desolate. Any sign of happiness that probably flooded these homes is gone, without a trace of it ever exiting. It makes your chest tight and your heart sinks.

You slow to a stop when you notice the rest of your crew doing the same, turning to the left and your lips part when you see what’s caught their attention.

“This is terrible,” you breathe, pressing a hand to your lips as you stare back at the flipped upside down house.

Zoro eyes you, before turning to the house; “never seen that before.”

“What could have done this?” Sanji asks, brows furrowed in bafflement.

Usopp hovers next to you, shuffling on his feet. “Maybe I should head back… make sure the Merry’s secure.”

Without hesitation, you reach for Usopp, squeezing his arm. He turns to you, the fear in his gaze apparent.

But before you can say anything to reassure him, Luffy speaks up;

“Arlong did this.”

His voice is unusually low, tinged with rage. You stare back at him with surprise.

“Hey, shit-hat!” Buggy calls, voice muffled through the bag Sanji is currently carrying him in. “I think we can all agree that Arlong’s a bad fish. But why don’t we quit lollygagging and get my body back?”

You scoff, “as if we should hurry for your sake.” Letting your gaze drag across the village once more, you frown. “This is no different than anything you’ve done before. Same innocent people being hurt, just different pirates.”

Sanji’s eyes fall on you, and you figure it’s because he’s the only one on the crew that doesn’t know how Luffy had found you. Sure, Usopp hadn’t been there, but he’d heard bits and pieces of it and probably was able to piece it all together. Sanji, who’d just joined, wouldn’t know. All he knew was you’d once been on Buggy’s crew.

You avoid his gaze. 

“Come on, Y/N! I certainly wasn’t as bad as—”

“Pipe down in there!” Sanji cuts him off, for your sake more than anyone else's. 

“Or what?” Buggy huffs. “You gonna whip me up a souffle?”

Dropping the bag, Sanji sighs, gesturing to Usopp. “How about you take him for a while?”

“Ooh,” Usopp breathes, shaking his head. “New guy carries the clown head.”

Feeling bad for the guy, you step forward, reaching for the bag. “Here, Sanji, I can—”

“Absolutely not—”

“It’s okay, Y/N, I’ve got it—”

Both Zoro and Sanji speak at the same time, and almost instantly, the two turn to each other with glares.

“Y/N is not carrying that clown head,” Zoro growls, shifting beside you.

“I agree,” Sanji bites out, shouldering the bag again before turning to you with a smile. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I got it under control.”

You hesitate, frowning, but seeing the smile on his lips and the way Zoro continues to glare at the cook, you decide to let it go. “Okay,” you shrug, “if you’re sure.”

The five of you continue to make your way, picking up the pace in your step when you see a group of people up ahead.

“Everyone! Please!”

The man speaking stands at the front of the crowd, holding a box. His expression is grim.

“We don’t have much time,” he continues. “And we’re short again this month.”

You frown when you watch a man step up, dumping a handful of Berry into the box.

That sinking feeling floods your stomach again.

“Is it enough?”

With a frown, the man at the front shakes his head slowly.

“Do we have time to get some more?”

“No.”

Your back straightens, recognizing that voice.

Sure enough, the crowd splits instantly, and you see Nami step through.

“You don’t,” she says, slowly making her way through the crowd.

Luffy steps forward, as if to go to her. Zoro stops him.

A woman with blue hairs steps right up to Nami, face twisted with rage. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face here.” Nami doesn’t say anything in return, even when the woman spits right at her feet.

She walks off a second later, your eyes follow her. 

A moment of silence passes, then, Nami turns her attention back to the man with the donation box. “Got something for me?”

Slowly, he hands over the box.

It takes Nami one look; “you’re short.”

“Nami, please,” the man begs. “This is all we have. Arlong has bled us dry.”

“Then find more blood.”

Swallowing thickly, the sight breaks your heart. There was no way Nami could actually be this… heartless, right?

The man walks off as does the rest of the crowd. Nami, with the donation box still in hand, lets her gaze wander, freezing the second she catches sight of the five of you.

She makes her way over in seconds flat.

“Luffy?” She calls, voice sharp. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same thing.”

“This is where I belong.”

Luffy shakes his head, “I don’t believe that. This is not you.”

“No,” she argues. “This isn’t the me you want me to be.”

“Nami…” Luffy calls, voice soft. He steps towards her. “If you need our help—”

“No, I don’t need any of you.”

You flinch at that, watching as her eyes dance across the five of you. When her eyes meet yours, she’s quick to look away.

“Arlong wanted the map,” she explains, “and I conned you into getting it for me. And you bought it. I was never part of your stupid crew.”

“You don’t mean that.”

For the splittest of seconds, Nami’s face wavers. You see it, watch it happen, but it’s gone before you can do anything about it. It feels like you’re the only one who does see it.

“Take the rest of these clowns and sail away from here,” she spits. “I never want to see you again.”

She spins around, moving to walk off. You instinctively move to walk after her, knowing what you saw and not ready to give up, but Zoro grabs your hand, tightening his grip. Turning to him, his expression is sympathetic for you but firm; she won’t listen.

Usopp huffs behind you; “okay, that went about as bad as it could. So back to the boat before the fishmen find us? Sail the hell out of here? Okay.” 

Sanji shakes his head; “there’s something else going on here.”

“I think she was very clear she wants us to leave,” Zoro argues.

“You don’t know women,” Sanji instantly rebuts, “they never say what they mean.”

You blink, “well, I—”

“Tell me again why the cook gets a say.” Zoro huffs, turning to face Sanji.

“Don’t you guys get it,” Usopp cuts in, and you watch as the three of them circle around each other, bickering. All while Luffy remains standing where Nami left him. “She’s one of them. She’s a bad guy. The villagers are terrified of her.”

Raising your voice, you step forward and interrupt them before any of them can speak. “The look on her face was off,” you explain, remembering exactly what you’d seen. Turning to Zoro, you look back at him determined. “I know what she said, Zoro, but she looked like she was this close to breaking down. Sanji is right, there is something more going on here. I’m sure of it.”

Zoro, who looks put out that you’re siding with Sanji, steps towards you. “Y/N, I know that you don’t want it to be true but Nami…” He hesitates, seeing the look on your face. “Usopp is right. The villagers were scared. Of her.”

Face falling, you can’t deny that.

“Not all of them,” Luffy says, speaking up for the first time. You turn around to face him, but he steps forward before you can ask what he meant. “Hey! Scar guy.”

Only chancing one more glance back at Zoro, you quickly follow after Luffy.

“Who was that girl?” Luffy asks the man who’d been collecting the donations. “You know, the one with the cool hair?”

The man eyes you five. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy,” Luffy introduces, voice serious. “I’m a pirate—”

“—Hunter,” Zoro cuts in quickly. Hands shoved into his pockets, he steps up beside Luffy. “Pirate hunter. We’re here to collect Arlong’s bounty.”

Sensing the apprehension on the man’s face, you think that was definitely a smart save on Zoro’s part.

The man just raises a brow. “You? I’ve seen men twice your size and with twice your number go into Arlong Park. None of them ever came back.”

Luffy smiles. “We just want to talk to her.”

“Trust me,” the man argues, “you don’t. But if it’ll get you out of my town, try the house down that road, on the edge of the tangerine grove.”

-

“I don’t know how you do it.”

Jumping at the voice, you turn around, easing when you see it’s just Nojiko.

Turns out that girl with the cool hair, as Luffy had dubbed her, was Nami’s sister. After managing to convince her into talking to you with the promise of a home-cooked meal, Sanji had whipped her and the rest of you up a meal. It was only then Nojiko had agreed to tell you the story of how her and Nami’s mother had died because of Arlong, who’d taken control of this island eight years ago. And how Nami was now working for him.

The story had left the five of you all upset in your own ways. When Usopp had solidified the fact that Nami really was working for her mother’s killer, the air in the house had thickened with tension.

You’d stay for a while, but after Buggy had insisted on being let out of the bag to the point Sanji had been forced to do so, you’d taken your leave. Luffy, and then Zoro who had gone after him, had left the second Nojiko finished telling you everything and you hadn’t heard from them since. You figured it was best to give them space, so you’d chosen to wander through the tangerine grove right by Nojiko’s house.

When Nojiko had found you.

Meeting Nojiko’s eyes, you glance at her inquisitively.

“Deal with being stuck with four men,” she laughs lightly. “Especially on a ship. I’d go crazy.”

You smile back at her, snorting. “You get used to it.” Then, smile wavering just faintly, you can’t help but add; “it was easier, too. With… you know, Nami.” Hugging yourself, you glance at your feet. “It was nice having her onboard with us. Nice being her friend, if she ever thought of me as one.”

Nojiko doesn’t respond, probably not sure how to. Still, she offers a gentle and sympathetic smile in return. It’s clear she understands in her own way.

“Are you okay?” You ask, gesturing back to the house. “Sanji didn’t say anything, right? He’s a flirt and never means anything by it, but I’ll kick him for you if he makes you uncomfortable.”

Letting out a sharp laugh, Nojiko shakes her head. “He didn’t say anything,” she reassures with a wave of her hand. “I just needed some air. I was… I was actually planning on visiting her grave.”

Your lips part; “your mother’s?”

She nods.

You hesitate, glancing back at the far stretch of the tangerine grove and then back at Nojiko. You decide to just ask what’s on your mind. “Could I come with you?”

She seems shocked by our question, eyes widening and brows furrowing. 

“Only if you don’t mind,” you assure, shaking your hands at her. “I just… Just thought maybe you’d like a friend. And, well… I know what it’s like to lose a mother.”

Face easing, Nojiko frowns; “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “It was a long time ago.”

Nodding slowly, Nojiko shrugs; “you can come then. And we can send a prayer to both of our mothers.”

Your smile brightens at that, worrying easing from your body as you nod at her. She returns the smile with ease and the two of you begin walking, Nojiko leading the way. The grave isn't that far away, so it doesn’t take you long before Nojiko is informing you you’re close.

“Just around this…—”

But her voice trails as you both hear… grunting? She glances back at you, worried, and you mimic her expression, rushing forward. You worry it’s someone from Arlong’s crew, heart sinking at what they could possibly be doing.

Only, it’s Nami you find.

You hesitate, feet freezing, but blind with anger at the realization of what Nami was doing, Nojiko rushes forward. “How dare you,” she hisses out, barely able to contain the anger in her voice. “It’s not enough that you’re working for our mother’s killer, but now you’re desecrating her grave too?”

You notice at the same time Nami does, her calling out for Nojiko, as the latter grabs the shovel next to the digged hole, swinging it back behind her to hit Nami.

Racing forward, you grab the handle of the shovel before Nojiko can swing it down just as Nami flinches back with a scream.

Nami’s eyes zone in on you; “Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?”

Meeting her gaze, your lips part; “I…—”

“Never mind that,” Nojiko spits, and she lowers her hands when you step back, but doesn’t let go of the shovel, looking ready to try and hit Nami again. “I can’t believe you would do this!”

Nami only glances at you once more, hesitating, before turning back to Nojiko; “it’s not what you think.”

Nojiko goes to swing the shovel again, and you move to grab her, but don’t reach in time. 

“You have no idea what I think!”

Nami’s name leaves your lips in a shrill cry and she just narrowly misses the edge of the shovel smacking her across the face, falling back. Instead of Nami, Nojiko hits the chest right next to the hole.

Bills and coins of Berry come pouring out of it.

Panting, Nojiko shakes her head; “what’s this?” She slowly turns to Nami. “Is this the money that you stole? And you’re hiding it next to our mother’s body?”

Confused and bewildered and definitely feeling like you’re encroaching on a moment between sisters you shouldn’t be, you remain silent, taking a step back.

“Nami,” Nojiko whispers, “what kind of monster are you?”

“You don’t understand,” Nami cries.

“Then make me understand.”

Her eyes flicker between you and Nojiko, unsure, before she focuses all of her attention on Nojiko. 

“I’ve been stealing this money because of a deal with Arlong I made,” she starts, moving to crawl out of the hole and grab her bag. “I told Arlong I’d work for him on one condition. That he let me buy back Coco Village. And he said he would for a hundred million Berry.”

“A hundred million?” You echo, unable to stop yourself. “That would take a lifetime.”

Nami shakes her head, reaching for Nojiko. “I have the money,” she explains. “All of it. And now I can buy the freedom of the village and everyone in it.”

Seeing the look on Nojiko’s face, you inhale sharply, turning. It occurs to you should give them a moment alone. This news was shocking enough to you, you couldn’t imagine how Nojiko, who’s obviously hated Nami for the past eight years, would feel. Sending the two of them a gentle smile, you walk off, moving to the edge of the woods.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you think about what Nami had said.

That look you’d seen her eyes, the one only you had seemed to be able to notice, made so much more sense now. None of this had been of Nami’s own volition or choice. And for the past eight years she’d been forced to work for and do the bidding of a man who’d killed her mother and threatened her family and friends.

The thought made you sick. You couldn’t imagine what Nami’s been forced to endure.

Minutes pass of you stuck in your thoughts, until you catch something through the foliage of the forest. It gives you pause, head turning in the direction as you squint, trying to figure out what you’d seen.

When you catch sight of a familiar white and blue uniform, your heart drops.

“Nami, Nojiko!” You call, rushing over to them as you reach for Nami’s chest of Berry. Nami stands at the sight, the conversation between her and Nojiko cut short as she assumes the worst of what you’re doing.

“What are you—”

“We don’t have time,” you cut her off, staring at her with panic in your eye. “The Marines, they’re—”

“Already here.”

Lips left parted, you, Nami and Nojiko’s heads snap round, back in the direction you’d come from, bodies freezing at the sight of a line up of Marines stopping in front of you.

“A shame to interrupt such a touching moment,” the lieutenant Marine offers, voice not at all sympathetic. “I’ve heard that pirates are stashing their plunder in this area. You three wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

Feet frozen in place, you eye the back of Nami and Nojiko, before shifting your attention back to the lieutenant. This was bad. Very bad. There was no way to hide Nami’s stash, especially not when it was clear it was exactly what the Marines were already looking for.

“That’s obviously been stolen,” the Marine lieutenant comments, eyeing Nami’s money. “By the authority of the Marines and the World Government, I'm going to have to confiscate it.”

“No,” Nami gasps. “No, you can’t do that. It’s mine!”

“A hundred million Berry?” The lieutenant raises a brow, “and where would you get that much money?”

“Nami got that money fair and square,” you hiss, stepping forward as you glare at the man. “You have no right to take it from her.”

“No right?” The lieutenant laughs, loud and mocking. “I have the right as a Marine lieutenant, silly girl.”

“Wait,” Nami cuts in, breathless, before you can speak, as if having realized something. “How did you know it was a hundred…” But her voice trails, and a glance back at her tells you she’s figured it out.

“Arlong put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Your lips part, gasping. 

“I… I don’t know what you mean,” the lieutenant shrugs. Then, he shifts, nodding at the men behind him. They listen instantly. 

Nami and you both start. She reaches for her bag, trying to grab her weapon, but the Marines are too quick. Two of them flank her, grabbing her by the arm. You growl at the sight, stepping forward to help, but then the men that had been standing to the left of the lieutenant step towards you. 

“Watch yourself. Or we will take you into custody as well.”

Past their shoulders you can see the Marine officers holding Nami shove her to the ground. Rage floods you, and you move towards her, but you’re blocked by more officers. Instantly, they go to grab you, but you dodge their grasps, trying to slither past them. You make it past one, reaching for Nami and then a sharp sting radiates across your cheek.

You trip over your feet at the impact, stunned, falling to your knees as your hand hovers across your cheek in shock, staring up at the officer who’d punched you. He stares down at you, unbothered. His hand rests on his baton, as if baiting you to try again.

Nami, who’d watched the whole display, continues to thrash and fight the hands that hold her down.

“No!” She screams when she sees them grabbing her Berry. “You can’t do this. You can’t do this!”

Cheek stinging and eyes watering in despair, you watch the Marines grab her money all while Nami screams, helpless to do anything. They take it all, not leaving a single Berry behind, and not offering even a glance at Nami who cries out for them to stop.

When the officers let her go and walk off, Nami instantly moves to get back up. Nojiko, who’d seemed frozen in the spot until then, grabs her. “Wait, Nami,” she pleads. “Stop! Wait. Wait!”

“Let me go!” Nami cries, fighting her sister's grip. “Let me go! They can’t do this!”

“Nami,” you breathe, staring at her in shock.

“There’s nothing you can do!” Nojiko tries.

But Nami doesn’t listen to her.

“Arlong will kill the entire village!” She bellows, voice pitching in distress, finally breaking free from Nojiko’s grip and running off in the opposite direction of the Marine’s and instead towards the village.

“Nami, wait!” Nojiko begs, screaming after her.

Pushing yourself to your feet, you wipe your tears, grabbing Nojiko’s hand and pulling her eyes on you.

There’s only one thing that can help her now. Or rather, people.

“Nojiko. Nojiko, listen to me,” you pant, tugging on her hand. Her eyes fall on you, wild and terrified. “We need to get Luffy and the rest. They can help! I promise!”

Chest rising and falling and breathless, Nojiko inhales sharply, trying to calm herself.

“Okay.”

Never letting go of her hand, you pull her along, the two of you take off in the direction you’d first come from. Nojiko’s house is closer than the rest of the village, separated off, so it doesn’t take either of you very long to get back to their house and your friends. The two of you break through the tangerine grove, breathless and panicked, and Zoro and Luffy who had been up on the roof see you instantly.

“Y/N?” Zoro calls, concerned. Him and Luffy glance at each other briefly before quickly climbing down the roof. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

Zoro’s voice must’ve caught the attention of Usopp and Sanji because they come running out of the house too,

“What’s going on?” Usopp asks.

“Y/N?” Sanji’s gaze instantly zones in on you, taking in your distressed state. “And Nojiko? Are you—”

Luffy and Zoro come to a stop in front of the both of you.

Nojiko, unable to catch her voice, shakes her head. “Nami, she’s…” But a cough wracks through her body, exhausted after everything from the Marine’s, trying to stop Nami and then running.

Zoro zones in on you then, catching sight of your face. “Y/N, your cheek,” he breathes, voice low as he reaches for you, cupping your jaw to pull your gaze up on him. His eyes flood with anger when he gets a better look at your red and stinging cheek. “Who did—”

Resting your hand over his, you shake your head. “It doesn’t matter,” you dismiss, and cut him off quickly before he can argue. “We have to help Nami. Arlong… Arlong is going to destroy the village!”

“What?” Usopp squeaks, “he’s coming here?”

“Is it because the village was short on money?” Sanji frowns.

Meeting Nojiko’s eyes, you both frown. “Nami had a deal with Arlong,” you explain, shifting from Zoro to Luffy. His face is serious, and he listens to you carefully. “He betrayed her. The Marine’s stole her money and now Arlong is going to destroy the village. We have to help them. We have to help Nami!”

“Please,” Nojiko pleads beside you. “Please.”

Zoro steps towards you, and you turn to him, barely noticing the way your eyes are watering. He frowns down at you, before turning to Luffy.

“Nojiko, stay here. Y/N.” You turn back to him, breathing in. “Lead the way,” Luffy says, voice sharp. 

Meeting his eyes, you nod.

-

Walking past Luffy, you fall to your knees next to Nami.

She starts at the sight of you, teary-eyed and gasping, but you just smile gently at her. Shifting your bag, you pull out the bandages in there. You’d originally grabbed them for Zoro, but staring at her bleeding arm, you figure it was best her wounds were cleaned and wrapped.

“Here,” you say softly, slowly grabbing her arm. You hesitate, not wanting to startle her, but she doesn’t flinch away when you reach for her. Comforted at the action, you grab the cloth you’d also pulled out, wiping at the blood.

“I can clean it better later,” you explain, “but for now.”

She doesn’t respond, and you let her remain silent, incapable of understanding what she could possibly be going through in that moment.

The two of you sit in silence, away from the boys as they figure out how they’re going to go up against Arlong. Nami watches as you bandage her, and you do so without saying anything. Truthfully, you don’t know what you could say. Your heart broke for her and the villagers and every sting of betrayal you’d felt before is gone. 

Now, you only feel guilt for having ever doubted her.

“There,” you whisper, doing the last loop of the bandage. 

Nami glances down at her arm and she ponders it for a while, before;

“Thank you.”

Lips parting, your head snaps up, blinking. 

“Back there, with the Marines,” she points at your cheek. “You tried to stop them.”

“Oh,” you frown, “you don’t have to thank me. I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them then.”

Blinking back her tears, Nami’s face falls.

“Luffy will be able to stop Arlong, Nami,” you smile at her, taking a leap and squeezing her arm. She straightens at the touch, but her gaze is warm as she looks back at you. “We’ll help you. You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

Her eyes fall shut, a single tear escaping her defences as she leans towards you.

“Thank you.”

-

“I can fight.”

“We’ve hardly done any training—”

“Zoro,” you huff, balling your hands into fists at your side. “I want to help.”

He eyes you, frowning. “I know you do, but Arlong’s men are strong.”

Mildly insulted, despite knowing he was right, and frustrated, you glare up at him. “I’m helping. You can’t stop me.”

Clearly frustrated himself, Zoro presses a hand to his face. “You don’t even have a weapon.”

“Nojiko gave me a gun,” you counter, grabbing the rifle from the wall you’d set it against, and holding it up to him to see. “She taught me the basics of how to use it. I probably won’t be as good of a shot as Usopp, but I can still try.”

Breathing in sharply, Zoro glances back at the crew, noticing the way they’re getting ready to go. Turning back to you, he steps towards you, cupping your cheeks. “I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Wrapping your hands around him in return, you smile, “I know. Because I don’t want you to get hurt too.” Squeezing his hands, you look up at him reassuringly. “I’ll stay back and not put myself in danger. But I want to help Nami. Don’t ask me to stay behind when she’s my friend too. That’s not what we promised each other.”

Sighing, Zoro knows you’re right. “You stay away from the thick of it,” he orders, voice serious. “And if you need my help, call for me. I’ll come to you right away.”

Biting your lip, you smile. “I promise,” you assure, nodding. “The second I’m in danger, I’ll call for you. Only you.”

Cheeks flushing, Zoro rolls his eyes. “As long as you promise.”

-

Despite losing sight of Usopp in the mess, you think you’re doing a fairly good job.

Obviously, Sanji and Zoro were taking down most of the men, but you can proudly say you’ve at least gotten a few really good shots. There was even the time you’d shot down a guy that had been gunning straight for Zoro, to which he’d smirked back at you in response.

The pride you’d felt was imminent. 

Just like how you’d been able to see the island before anyone else back on the boat, or how you’d seen the Marines coming through the thick forest foliage, your left eye was able to catch sight of Arlong’s man easily. And even though you were still rocky with the gun itself, your eye  helped you see things you’d never been able to before.

You’ve never seen things so clearly.

Taking one last shot at one of Arlong’s men and watching him crash to the ground, you straighten up from behind the rock you’d perched yourself behind. You couldn’t see Zoro and Sanji from where you were and a quick glance across the park told you you’d all (mainly them) managed to take out most of Arlong’s men.

Standing to your feet, you climb down the rocks and head in the direction you thought you’d last seen Sanji and Zoro go in. Despite being further back, you’d watched them argue the entire time they’d been fighting, so you figured checking on them was probably the best idea.

Sure enough, eventually you can hear their muffled voices arguing. You follow the sound, coming around a broken down stand, only to come crashing into someone.

You stumble back, blinking, until your eye lands on the familiar sight of Buggy. With his body.

Your grip instantly tightens on your gun, while his lips stretch into a wide grin.

“Sorry, my Angel Eye,” he laughs and you hiss at the sound of that nickname, stepping towards him. He holds his hands up as he wiggles his fingers at you in a mocking goodbye. “I’d love to catch up but I gotta go!”

He runs past you in the next second before you even have a second to blink, and your hand twitches, wanting to stop him. But honestly, the thought occurs to you it might just be best to let him go; if he was gone, then at least you didn’t have to see him and listen to his grating voice any longer.

You also don’t know at that moment if you were strong enough to kill him. Not in the physical sense, but… mental.

Shaking your head, you let the thought leave you, focusing back on finding Zoro and Sanji.

Figures he’d betray you guys anyways.

Scoffing, you continue making your way forward, face easing when you see Zoro and Sanji.

“I see Buggy betrayed us,” you comment, gesturing behind you.

Sanji and Zoro turn to you.

“He didn’t do anything did—”

“What did that fucking clown say—”

Blinking at the both of them, you watch as they turn to each other, before promptly turning the other way.

You bite your lip, laughing. “You guys are—”

Whatever you’d been about to say gets cut off the second you let out a scream. A sharp, aching pain radiates from your left eye, making you fall to your knees as you clutch at your face, curling in on yourself.

Your name leaves Zoro’s lips as he and Sanji run towards you, Zoro kneeling in front of you.

“Y/N,” he calls, voice pitched in panic. “Y/N, what happened? What’s going on?”

“I—” Hissing, you cry out as the sting continues to radiate across your face.

Hands fall on you, careful and slow, pulling your own away from your face.

Leaning forward, Zoro pauses at the sight and Sanji behind him gasps;

“Y/N, your eye…”

You stare up at them, hand hovering by your face, trying to bear through the pain.

“What… What’s happening?”

“Your eye is glowing, Y/N,” Zoro mumbles, shaking his head. “It’s like… shining.”

Frowning at him, you ease when the pain lessens somewhat. Still, your heart is racing with terror of what’s happening.

“Does it still—”

Footsteps cut Zoro off, all three of your guys’ attention snapping to the right where you see one of Arlong’s main lackeys coming over. He grins wide at the sight of you three, and instantly, Sanji is shifting into a fighting stance as Zoro stands, stepping in front of you.

“Stay back, Y/N,” Zoro calls, stretching his arm in front of you.

You nod up at him, pushing yourself back as you try and bite back another cry of pain.

It doesn’t take them long to fight him. Even though Sanji gets kicked around a bit, the second the bad guy says something about Nami, Sanji is zoned in on him. With a series of powerful kicks, you watch as Sanji takes down the guy in seconds.

Zoro turns to you, sure that it was safe to, crouching. His touch is gentle as he tries to get a closer look at your eye.

As their fight had progressed, the pain had lessened. And now, it’s nearly gone, just a faint, residual itchy feeling.

“Does it still hurt?” Zoro frowns.

You shake your head, “it’s just… uncomfortable. Is it still glowing?”

“Not anymore,” he shakes his head, shifting his hands to your hips as he helps you back to your feet.

“Has that ever happened before, love?” Sanji asks, staring back at you in concern.

You ignore Zoro’s huff at the nickname, shaking your head at Sanji. “No,” you frown. “I have no idea what that was.”

Turning back to Zoro, it’s hard to hide your fear.

Brushing his fingers across your cheek, Zoro shakes his head. “It’s okay, just tell me if it happens again, alright? We’ll figure it out.”

Eased at his reassurance, you lean into his touch.

“Also,” Zoro smiles down at you, “you did great.”

His words bring an instant beam to your lips, appreciating his ability to shift your mind away from your worries and praise you at the same time. You grin, clapping your hands in front of you in joy. “Really?” Then, turning to Sanji, your eyes sparkle. “You think so too, Sanji?”

Any discomfort he’d shown at Zoro’s words to you eases as he grins at you. “Of course, love, you did amazing.”

Your face is practically sparkling.

“Would you stop calling her that?” Zoro huffs, “and what was with those stupid names with your kicks?”

“All great heroes have names for their attacks,” Sanji shrugs, unbothered.

Zoro hesitates before sighing. “Yeah, you’ll fit in great.”

You grin, happy they were (sorta) getting along.

Just then, a familiar screaming catches your attention. Turning your gaze to the entrance of Arlong park, you watch as Usopp comes running in, slingshot at the ready.

“Never fear, the Great Captain Usopp is…” But his words trail when he realizes everyone is already down. “Is… oh. You guys did pretty good in here.” Sighing, he grins at you all, sending you a thumbs up. You send him one back. “Good job guys!”

He nods to himself, and the four of you shift, falling silent.

Putting a hand to your right eye, so you see nothing, you frown to yourself, unable to ignore the unsettled feeling still in your stomach.

“Nami!”

Blinking at Sanji’s call, you look up, face brightening when you see Nami running over to the four of you.

Sanji’s arms stretch wide for a hug, but she runs past him, gunning straight for you, Usopp and Zoro. You stumble as you’re brought into an embrace, squished between Zoro and Usopp as Nami’s face falls into the crook of your neck.

“You’re all okay!”

Smiling at her, you nod as she pulls back, taking one last long look at the three of you before turning back to Arlong’s base.

“Where’s Luffy?” Zoro asks.

Glancing at Sanji, who’d been rejected seconds before, you offer a small wink when he meets your gaze.

“Still inside,” Nami answers, “fighting Arlong.”

Turning back to Arlong Park, you frown, however, at the sight of the building crumbling apart.

-

“That was crazy, huh?”

Smiling down at Zoro, you take a seat next to him, letting your arm brush against his before turning to meet his gaze.

Zoro snorts next to you, returning your smile with a softer one of his own. He leans back as you sit next to him, and you don’t fail to notice the way he leans back, his right hand falling to a spot behind you, silently giving you the room to lean into him.

Biting back your smile, you don’t hesitate to do just that.

“Thought we were going to be fighting off the entirety of that Marine force,” Zoro comments dryly, letting his gaze drift in front of the both of you. You think back to what had just happened moments prior and the realization that the Vice Admiral, Luffy’s grandfather, had been chasing after all of you as some sort of test for his grandson.

Letting out a laugh, you glance up at Zoro, an adoring look in your eye. “I bet you would’ve too,” you comment. With a teasing grin, you poke at his side, careful of his wound. “After all, you like being Luffy’s first mate more than you’ll admit.”

Rolling his eyes, he smirks down at you; “maybe.”

You giggle, letting your head fall onto his shoulder and drift your gaze across the crowd of bustling and happy villagers. It’s a stark contrast from when you’d all first arrived on Cocoyashi Village, but it was one that made your heart swell with pride and warmth. Arlong and his goons were gone and now Nami’s village could live in peace like they always should’ve been able to.

Speaking of, you pause in your thoughts when you notice Nami and Nojiko walking past you. Both of their eyes are on you and Zoro and while Nojiko offers a simple wave and a warm smile, the look in Nami’s eyes is telling as she wiggles her brows at you, gesturing loosely to Zoro. You flush, but the grin on your lips is undeniable.

You watch them walk off, happy the two sisters could have these final moments together.

“How’s your eye?”

Looking up at the sound of Zoro’s question, you find him staring down at you, chin dipped towards you and eyes dancing with concern.

“Better,” you say honestly, letting your hand fall over your left eye, covering your vision completely for a brief second before turning back to Zoro. “I don’t know what that was but I… have been noticing things recently.”

Zoro’s brows furrow; “what things?”

“I just… see things,” you shrug, unsure how to explain it. “See things before others can. Like when I saw the island… Usopp didn’t see it for a minute and we all know that the one thing he does have is good vision. Or when the Marine’s stole Nami’s money, I could see them far before I should’ve been able to.”

Zoro takes in your words, slowly nodding. “You think it could have to do with Mihawk?”

“Maybe,” you nod, the thought having already crossed your mind. “I’ve never understood why my eye looks like this or why my right one is blind… My mother had normal eyes. Maybe something went wrong when I was born?”

Still leant against him, Zoro shifts, moving to slip your hand in his own as he squeezes. “Well, whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, yeah? There’s gotta be an answer somewhere out there.’

His voice is sincere, serious with the promise of helping you. Warmth floods you, heart fluttering, and you think back to the first time you ever met Zoro. When he’d stumbled in that tent that day, you never would’ve thought this is where you’d be now.

Nodding up at him, you say; “it’s a promise.”

He smiles, and with that, you let your head fall against his shoulder again, hand still in his.

The two of you spend the rest of the celebration like that.

-

“So…”

Glancing over at Nami, you huff; “so?”

“You and Zoro?” She grins, wide and from ear to ear. “Can’t believe I missed that.”

Letting out a chuckle, you shake your head. “Don’t tease me,” you whine faintly, pressing a hand to your forehead as the two of you make your way to the kitchen. “I already got enough of it from Usopp.”

Nami barks out a laugh just as the two of you slip inside.

“Get enough of what from me?” Usopp asks, looking up for one of his new ammo experiments he’d been working on.

Meeting Nami’s eyes, the both of you giggle.

“Nothing!”

“Ah,” Sanji comments from the counter, “it’s so nice to be rewarded with such lovely laughter from two lovely ladies.”

You let out a chuckle, moving to sit next to Zoro as Nami grins over at Sanji.

“Oi,” Zoro calls, looking up for his swords. “What have I said about flirting with Y/N, you damned cook?”

Sanji just shrugs, not at all bothered; “I can’t help it. Y/N’s elegance merely demands it.”

Nami and Usopp cackle but you notice the way Zoro moves to get up, quickly grabbing ahold of his arm to stop him.

“You—!”

“Guys!”

Thankful for the distraction, your face lights up as Luffy comes bounding into the kitchen, a slip of paper in his hands. Moving towards the table, he slams it down.

“Look.” 

“Oh, shit,” you breathe, staring down at the wanted poster.

“Hey, look,” Usopp cheers, “I’m famous!”

Sanji shakes his head; “what are you on about? That’s Luffy’s wanted poster.”

“Not just Luffy,” Usopp smirks, reaching forward and pointing at the paper. You follow his gesture, huffing a laugh when you realize, sure enough, there Usopp is in the left corner of the poster.

Or, at least, the back of him.

“Sorry, guy,” Usopp chuckles, glancing at you all. “Maybe if you work a little harder, you’ll get a bounty too.”

“That doesn’t count.” Sanji rolls his eyes.

“It’s okay to be jealous. Feel what you need to feel.”

“I… mm…” Cutting himself off, Sanji submits; “this is stupid.”

“This is gonna make things much harder,” Zoro comments from next to you. “With that price on your head, every bounty hunter in the East Blue will be gunning for you.”

“Not just Luffy,” Nami adds. “They’re gonna be gunning for all of us.”

Everyone falters, faced with reality, but you just smile over at Luffy.

“Still,” you speak up, pulling Luffy’s attention on you. “Good for you, Luffy! That’s the first step to being the King of the Pirates!”

He sends you a thumbs up, as the rest groan.

“What have we talked about,” Nami frowns at you. “You don’t need to encourage him anymore than he already encourages himself.”

You just shrug, grinning.

“Besides,” Luffy shrugs, “it doesn't matter. Because we are not staying in the East Blue.”

Staring up at all of you, he grins; 

“We’re going to the Grand Line.”

-

“Straw Hats! All hands on deck for a cast-off ceremony.”

Listening to Luffy’s order, you step out onto deck behind Zoro, raising a brow when you see Luffy, Nami and Sanji already gathered around a barrel.

Usopp’s the last to arrive, and the second he comes to a stop, Sanji raises his leg, placing it on the edge of the barrel.

“I’m gonna find the All Blue,” he promises, and your heart starts with realization of what’s happening.

Luffy follows his lead with ease, slamming his leg on the barrel with a bit more force. “I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!”

Zoro shifts next to you, smiling wide, and then, he does the same. “I’m gonna be the world’s greatest swordsman.”

“I’m gonna draw a map of the world,” Nami promises, raising her leg as she smiles at you all.

“I…” Usopp hesitates, shifting, before raising his leg. “Am gonna be a brave warrior of the sea!”

Laughter echoes, and then, everyone’s eyes shift to you. Hesitating similarly to Usopp, you glance at the barrel and then each of your friends.

Feeling your heart flutter with excitement, you raise your leg, taking up the last bit of space left on the barrel.

“I’m gonna discover the truth about my eye!” You promise, biting your lip.

You glance at everyone, grinning, until your eyes fall on Zoro who smiles back at you with pride.

“This is it, crew,” Luffy calls, “The Grand Line.”

He pauses, meeting each and every one of your eyes, before, his raises his hand to the sky and screams;

“Nothing’s gonna stand in our way! Yeah!”

Without hesitation, you lean back, inhaling sharply before letting out a bellow of; “Woohoo!”

[drdemonprince]

I read what you wrote about Autistic women being gradually moved into relationships with men and my first reaction was that’s a bit offensive implying that Autistic women are that weak. Then I thought about it and realized this is Exactly what happened to me! This man was my manager at work, he was married but had affair after affair that were all well known to everyone. And yet he was generally well liked especially by the women employees. He decided to target me. I thought he was a creep and he was also a shit manager. I didn’t see the appeal whereas all the other women fawned all over him. He wore me down over the course of a year. It was a challenge to him. We became friends but everyone just assumed it was more, especially him. My friend/coworker was like oh he’s sweet you should give him a chance. My mother who also worked there went on and on about how I should give him a chance as well, knowing full well his history. But I had been single for ages and she literally just wanted me in a relationship because that was the expected thing. I told him repeatedly I wasn’t interested and that he should move on. He ignored all the boundaries I tried to place and just kept on being insistent. One night after a work function I was really drunk and he drove me home. He kissed me and I was like I don’t really like this or want it but whatever. I was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that I had been single too long and that I felt I needed a relationship to be validated. So eventually I just gave in. By this point everyone had already assumed we were in a relationship and had started inviting us to things as a couple. So we got together, got married, had a baby. Everyone was like Cool now she’s finally got a conventional normal life and that’s great. And guess what happened? He cheated on me, obviously. With a friend of mine when our son was just little. We finally separated and I’m in the process of trying to untangle my life and finances to get back to some semblance of what I had. But yeah, I did not see that coming at the start, was hell bent against it and now I’m like. What the actual fuck just happened…?!

oh my god Anon I am so fucking sorry that this happened to you. It is such a common fucking story too. I'm not going to tell you how to describe or understand your own experiences, but there was an immense amount of coercion and social pressure and restricted choice working on you here. and I've spoken about this before, but when women capitulate to men it isn't because they're weak. It is because they are accurately recognizing the power structures all around them that are limiting their choices, and they're recognizing the structural power that men have over them and how few strategies of resistance would actually work. none of this shit is your fault. It does happen to be especially likely for disabled women to be taken advantage of in these ways to an even more extreme degree.