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kierahn · 2 days ago

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FUELED BY HATE. [ academic rival x m ! reader ]

summary : you were the best in your entire batch while he stays in second place. nick initially thought that the rivalry between you and him would end after graduating, but it seemed like fate had other plans. you recently joined his workplace and stole his spotlight once more. after years of being overshadowed, nick has had enough and decided to finally put you in your place; below him, right where you belonged.

content warning : blackmail ✧; character despises reader ✧; non/dubcon nsfw ✧; cigarette burns ✧; degradation

masterlist !

✩ i’m so sorry for disappearing for almost a year ! i recently started my first year of college, and things have been hectic for me so far. i'll try writing more often now that I've adjusted better :] ✩ this is a draft i left before i disappeared. i decided to refine it before working on newer stuff. ✩ i've also decided to clear out all the requests on my inbox since i want a fresh start. with that, my inbox is open for requests ! (still selective of what i'll write) ──★ ˙ ̟🪿 !!

➷ nick cromwell was a man who excelled in his studies. from the first day he entered the military academy, nick already knew that he was gifted. this easily earned him respect and admiration from the people around him.

but despite his decent reputation and academic performance, nick's name lingered solely in second place throughout the years, never surpassing the name above his.

➷ dark eyes glued themselves on the name tag that was sewn on the right side of your newly tailored uniform; y/n l/n, it read. seeing your name never failed to sour his mood.

you had joined his department just a couple of months ago, yet you rose to the top with ease and easily surpassed him once more. barely a month in, and you already managed to solve a missing person case that had long gone cold. it was a huge feat that set you on a path towards a promising promotion. one that nick highly sought after years of working his ass off.

➷ nick averted his gaze away from your form, a pang of irritation hitting him. he hated you— your voice, your presence, everything. he hated how you were better than him in every aspect.

you were always surrounded by your co-workers who depended on you for help despite being new. everyone seemed to look at you with stars in their eyes, filled with admiration. everyone except nick.

➷ the first day you joined his department, nick slipped out of the bustling room with a box of cigarettes in his hand. he placed one stick in between his lips while his other hand searched for his lighter only to find that it was missing. he brushed his dark locks back with an annoyed sigh. great.

just as nick turned to head back inside, a lighter greeted him out of nowhere, sparking to life and lighting his unlit cigarette. the sudden gesture made his heart skip a beat out of shock, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. nick took a deep drag of the now lit cigarette, directing his gaze to thank the owner of the lighter.

his expression hardened. y/n.

"cromwell," nick watched as you placed your lighter back inside your pocket. he stared, not bothering to hide his displeased expression.

did you remember him from military academy ? that's impossible, you were in different classes and had never crossed paths before. he doubted you knew about his existence.

after a long pause, nick exhaled a puff of smoke, deciding to snap out of his trance. holding the cigarette between his fingers, he returned the greeting. "l/n."

that was his first interaction with you after all those years. a face to finally match the name that had long stirred his competitive spirit.

➷ your feats only kept getting more and more impressive as time went on, and the sight of your constant success ignited something within nick. he knew he had to humble you, to remind you of your place. nick worked his ass off trying to get where he was, it wasn’t fair of you to take that away from him.

he had to be better than you this time even if he had to go the extra mile to ruin you.

he considered a couple of extreme measures: framing you for murder, planting drugs in your desk, or any other nefarious scheme that could tie you to wrongdoing. but, it wasn't enough for him to see you behind bars. that wasn't what he aimed for. he needed to completely ruin you— humiliate you so you wouldn’t dare to step out of line ever again.

it only took him a few drinks between 'friends' to have you all putty in his hands. he didn't expect you to be such a lightweight, but it was convenient for him to set his plan in motion. it wasn't an easy task dragging you around in your drunken state, but nick was satisfied with his work.

you were fully stripped of your uniform, both hands cuffed behind your back, black leather wrapped around your eyes, and a cloth between your lips to muffle whatever sound you were bound to make.

a tripod sat at the edge of the bed, a camera set up to capture your vulnerable state. all he had to do was take a picture and finish up, but that idea didn’t seem to satisfy him. it wouldn't be enough to make up for the years that you have overshadowed him.

nick monitored your unconscious form from across the dimly lit room. the cigarette that sat between his lips illuminated the lower half of his face, dark eyes reflecting the light of the burning cigarette. rising from the wooden chair he had nested himself in, nick stalked towards the bed where you laid unconscious. he placed his cigarette on an ash tray sitting on top of his bedside table. the camera's light illuminated a crimson red color, indicating that it was recording everything.

nick's gloved hand slowly traced a line down your exposed stomach, feeling you shudder slightly at his touch. your still breathing turned frantic the lower his hand slid down your torso. an unsuspected ghost of a smile crept up on nick’s lips as he watched you react to his touch. there was something about seeing you in such a humiliating position, all vulnerable and helpless.

perhaps this was where you rightfully belonged, below him.

his thumb glossed over your cheek as he stared down to study your sleeping face. now that he had a closer look at you, nick realized how good you actually looked. no wonder people liked you a lot, aside from being reliable, you were also a piece of candy for one’s eye.

his hand unconsciously found itself wrapped around the base of your cock, still soft and limp from the lack of stimulation. even this part of you looked good. he had every right to be jealous.

having initially planned to simply take photos and leave it at that, nick knew he had to improvise. he bent down and coated the tip of your cock with his spit. it helped his gloved hand glide smoothly up and down along your shaft.

your breath hitch in response, and that was when nick knew you were awake and could feel everything.

knowing this, nick quickened his pace, twisting and rubbing with the goal of making you finish in his hand. the gag around your mouth muffled your groans. with the way your cock hardened and twitched in his hand, nick could tell that your body liked his touch.

“who knew you were such a slut,” nick taunted. he noticed how you bit against the gag to suppress your moans, staining the cloth around your mouth with your saliva. “i wonder what our superiors would think if they saw you in this position ?” his other hand ripped the gag from your mouth. he wanted to hear what other noises you could make.

you open your mouth to question who he was, but nick took it as an opportunity to capture your lips in his. he tilted his head to the side to muffle your

this was all to humiliate you, nothing more. he inwardly told himself. but the strained feeling in his pants told a completely different story.

nick groaned as he felt you come undone, staining his hand white with your cum. he pulled away from the kiss, replacing his lips with his fingers as he let you have a taste of yourself. he pinched and pulled at your tongue, stretching the inside of your mouth with his fingers. he coated his fingers with your saliva, dark eyes watching you gag on his fingers.

nick pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a pop and let them hover your rim in a teasing manner. he pushed a finger past the ring of muscles despite your protest, holding you down by straddling your hips as you thrashed around. “shh, you’ll tire yourself out before i can even start.”

the sound of clothes shuffling reached your ears as nick pulled his trousers down with his other hand to free his hardened cock. he could see your chest rise and fall quickly, but you stayed surprisingly compliant. “you’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you ?” nick’s fingers continued to prod at your entrance, teasing you as he rubbed circles with his thumb on your gaping hole. “we can’t have that. you’ll have to beg for it first.”

you gritted your teeth at the thought of begging. there was no way you were going to— nick pushed his thumb inside, making you jolt as your walls clenched around the digit. a sharp groan escaped your lips that were slightly agape as you breathe heavily.

your cock painfully twitched at the lack of sensation. nick wiggled his thumb around inside you, but it still wasn’t enough to stimulate anything. “is that your dick ? pretty small for all that big talk.”

you decided to bite back and insult him. you weren’t going to beg for anything any time soon, instead, you would taunt him into doing what you wanted. hearing the male simply chuckle at your insult, nick pulled his thumb out of your hole and replaced it with his cock, its tip kissing your entrance. “you’re really asking for it. i knew you were a filthy whore underneath that professional bullshit you keep pulling on everyone.”

without warning, nick slammed himself inside. he groaned at the sudden tightness, hands holding you in place, a bruising grip on your hips. “shit, can’t you loosen up a bit ? you’re going to chop my dick off,” he growled, a slight rasp in his voice.

your hole swallowed him whole, dragging him deeper inside as he thrusted in and out of your abused hole. it took him a while to set an actual pace because of how your hole clenched tightly around his dick, but you did loosen up after a while. he made a mental note to prepare you properly next time

next time ?

nick pushed those thoughts away. this was a one time thing, he.. fuck.

nick tightened his grip on your hips out of frustration. he almost forgot why he was doing this in the first place, this was all to simply ruin you, nothing more. he reached out to grab his cigarette off the ash tray, placing it between his lips as he dragged one out to calm his nerves. ‘i shouldn’t be enjoying this,’ he inwardly scolded himself.

he exhaled, keeping the cigarette in between his fingers as he placed his palm against your bare stomach. ‘but, holy shit, how can i not enjoy this. his ass is swallowing my dick like it’s his last meal.’ nick grunted.

out of frustration, he dragged the butt of his cigarette against your bare stomach. you hissed at the burning sensation, your muscles tensing as you bit back a scream of pain. nick’s dark eyes examined the burn marks he had left in your skin, no longer feeling remorse. instead, his cock twitched at the sight of your pained expression.

he continued thrusting into you, your moans acting as a positive reinforcement for him to keep going. nick took the cigarette back to his lips, inhaled, and leaned down to slam his lips against yours. it tasted like ash as nick’s tongue intertwined with yours into a sloppy kiss. his pace eventually slowed down as he felt himself near his climax.

you were also close, whining against the kiss as he slammed into you one last time before he unloaded inside of you. he finished first, pulling away from the kiss and giving a few sloppy thrusts in order to help you finish. seeing your cock twitch and spur, nick pressed the cigarette butt against your tip. the pain from the scalding heat helped you finish, your cum putting out the cigarette’s light.

nick threw the cigarette onto the ashtray and pulled out of you, letting his finished work trickle down your thighs. he detached himself from you, removing his dirtied gloves as he approached the camera that continued to capture everything. “this should be enough to keep you in line.” he muttered under his breath as he ended the recording.

nick took the camera with him as he stalked back towards the bed where his finished work laid in display. the sound of a camera shutter reached your ears and a brief flash of light penetrated the blindfold around your eyes. “you look way better under me anyway.”

#yandere x male reader #male reader #yandere male x male reader #yandere x reader #x male reader #yandere #bottom male reader #sub male reader #male reader insert #academic rivals #hate sex #kiahndere

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antiquarianfics · 1 day ago

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Look Away

You say Bucky has a staring problem. He says you shouldn’t share back.

a/n: i’m baaaack! i hope you enjoy it!

warnings: n/a

note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to copy, repost, or translate my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and/or reblog.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

The room’s bustling with activity as you stand at the bar with your friend. When Sam had invited you to this party meant to honor him and his efforts as Captain America, you didn’t really know what to expect. You might have guessed there would be an open bar, but the rest of it? A posh parlor in The White House? Live music? Countless senators and generals around to clap Sam on the back and thank him for his work? Total surprise. However, despite the surprise of the luxurious and high profile venue, you found that you felt rather at ease amongst your couple of friends in attendance. No matter where you are, joking around with your boys has always stayed a safe and entertaining activity.

“He’s staring again,” Sam says with a smirk, lifting his glass in right hand to point at the brooding man sat across the room.

You grin, take a languid sip from your own drink, and shrug.

“Good,” you say lightly. “I like when he looks at me.”

Sam barks out a laugh at the comment, patting your shoulder with his free hand.

“Well, that’s good because he stares a lot,” Sam responds. “Not just at you, though,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Are you trying to make him watching my every move less romantic, Samuel?” You ask, placing your free hand on your chest and faking a gasp in mock offense.

“Not at all,” he says teasingly.

You look over your shoulder again to watch the object of your conversation, and, sure enough, his icy blue eyes are still trained on you. You might expect someone to turn away when caught staring, but the man across the room doesn’t. He never does. You turn back to Sam, shaking your head.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” you say. “Besides, I think Joaquin was wanting to talk to you.” You nod in the general direction that you think you’d seen Sam’s protégé.

Sam nods, places a chaste and friendly kiss on your forehead, and leaves to find his other friend. You smile fondly as you turn to cross the room towards your super soldier.

Bucky Barnes is sat in the corner of the room on what appears to be a rather uncomfortable couch. Comfortability aside, the furniture is rather luxurious and fits right in with the rest of the room. It’s Bucky who appears out of place, sitting in the corner, glaring at the people wandering about the party, clenching his fist uncomfortably, and taking angry sips from his whiskey glass.

You saunter over and sit down right next to him, grabbing his arm and wrapping it around you as you lean your head on his shoulder. The two of you, while not together, are best friends and more than comfortable with each other. You’re vaguely aware that you likely look like a couple to any passerby, but you can’t bring yourself to care. In fact, it makes you happy to think that anyone might think you and Bucky are together—it’s all you’ve wanted for an embarrassingly long time.

“Hi,” you say cheerfully.

“Hi,” he replied, voice gruff from disuse. You don’t think he’s spoken to anyone since you got here and wandered off to talk to your other friends.

“You look so angry over here,” you tease. “Somethin’ happen?”

He sighs, pinching your shoulder in response to the teasing. You let out a little squeak and halfheartedly swat at him, earning a chuckle out of the man.

“You look nice,” you tell him, moving the conversation away from his attitude. If you really think about it, you can’t blame him for being in a bad mood around all of the politicians and generals: they had tried to detain him, spouting all sorts of derogatory rhetoric towards him only a couple of years ago. You’d be in a bad mood yourself, if you were in his shoes. Besides, he really does look good in his fitted suit. “The black on black monochrome look is nice.”

Bucky smiles softly at the compliment. “Thanks, Doll,” he says. “You clean up nice yourself.” His eyes do a once over of your outfit: a deep blue satin gown, white evening gloves, and a tasteful diamond necklace and matching earrings. You’d fretted over your outfit, hair, and makeup for a week leading up to this party, and Bucky’s compliment—his attention—makes all the fretting feel worth it.

You blush, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, reveling in each other’s company as you people-watch. You fiddle with the wine glass in your hand, absentmindedly swirling the wine around, as you try your best to control your breathing (which had grown ever so slightly erratic from Bucky’s compliments). Beside you, Bucky downs the rest of his own drink before setting the glass on the end table beside him. You’re still looking forward, focusing on the party in front of you, when you feel his steely gaze on you again.

“You know,” you muse, tone teasing, “people say you’ve got a staring problem.”

“So I’ve been told,” he replied dryly, but you can practically hear the smirk he is sporting.

“Some people would call it rude.”

He shrugs, “Who? Sam?”

You giggle, “Maybe.”

You turn to study his face, arching an eyebrow. He’s still staring at you, eyes carefully tracking every detail of your face. He wears a content smile on his face as he watches you, letting his fingers gently tap against your shoulder. You smile softly at him as you feel your heartbeat pick up.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you breathe out.

“Like what, Doll?”

“Like… Hell, like you love me.”

His fingers still against your shoulder and he doesn’t seem to fight the grin spreading across his lips.

“No,” he says.

“No?”

“No. If you don’t want me looking at you like I love you, then just don’t look back.”

You feel your mouth drop open ever so slightly in surprise as you look back. You can’t bring yourself to look away. He’s teasing—you know he’s got to be teasing you—but maybe, just maybe, he might love you back. Maybe you don’t need to keep pretending you’re just friends. Maybe your love and adoration for the man beside you had never been unrequited like you thought. Maybe you’ve wasted so much time by not just talking about your feelings.

“What,” you start, nerves fraying your voice. “What do you mean by that, James?” You whisper the question, so incredibly anxious about what he is going to say.

He raises an eyebrow, still smirking, and says your name. “You’re smart. Figure it out. What do you think I mean by that?”

“I know what I think you mean,” you breathe. “I just…” You swallow anxiously. “I just don’t want to voice it and be wrong.”

Bucky fixes you with a sympathetic smile, “Sweetheart, I’ll bet money you’re not wrong.”

“How can you be sure? I might be way off base. I might think you mean to throw me off balance—to make me put my guard down—by playing ball with my feelings so that you can kill me and dump my body behind under a bridge.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. “Now why would I do all that?”

“I don’t know. I’m just saying you can’t be sure that I’m actually picking up what you’re putting down because I’m actually insane for thinking what I’m actually thinking.”

“I promise you I’m not going to kill you. I’d be heartbroken without you,” he says, voice dripping with sincerity. You think his breathing has picked up, too, but you’re unsure. After all, your mind is swirling trying to figure out if he’s trying to tell you that he genuinely loves you back.

“Bucky,” you say, a warning in your voice. “Please don’t play with my feelings like this.” You begin to chew on your lip in an attempt to ease your worried mind.

He says your name again in the most patient tone you’ve ever heard from him. You feel him wrap his arm more tightly around you, and his free hand comes to cup your face. With the gentlest touch, he swipes his thumb over your lip, pulling it out from between your teeth.

“You worry too much,” he breathes.

When did his face get so close to yours?

He kisses you. Sweetly, softly. He kisses you in the softest, most patient way in which someone kisses a person they’ve been dreaming of kissing for years. He kisses you like he’s trying to convince you that he wants you just as much as you want him. He kisses you like he’d die happy if it were the last thing he ever does.

His hand is gently grasping your face. His other arm is holding you safely against him. His lips move against yours. You freeze for a mere moment while you do what you can to let your brain catch up with what is happening. The moment passes you quickly, though, and you’re kissing him back. You move the wine glass to your left hand as you angle your body into him. You let your right hand reach up to his face, holding him close as you kiss him back fervently—desperate to never let this moment end.

When neither of you can breathe, you pull away, resting your foreheads against one another’s.

“Bucky,” you breathe, a smile pulling across your face.

“Hmm?” He hums. You shiver when you feel his breath against your face.

“I think you were saying you might love me back.”

“I wasn’t saying that,” he says.

You pull away to look him in the eyes, opening your mouth to question him. He sees the panic in your eyes, but he just smiles, pulling you back in for another kiss. When he pulls back again, he speaks.

“I was saying I absolutely love you back. No ‘might.’ I do. I love you. With everything in me, I love you.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days ago

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Doing Time 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You wade up to the surface of consciousness with a bubbling groan. Your skin tingles and your head swirls. You blink away the dregs as the world comes back into focus. A low drone tickles your ears.

You turn your head towards the voice. Steve's deep timbre sends a shiver through you. You bring your hand above the blankets and rub your forehead. His words are hard to decipher as he keeps his tone low and measured.

"Yeah," he comes down the hall and peeks in at you. He grins. "I'll let her know. Oh, yep. She's been working hard. Oh, ho, I'll make sure of that." He leans on the door frame as he watches you. You slowly sit up, perplexed as his hand frames one hip. "I'll talk to you later, Harriet. Yeah, can't wait to meet."

He pulls your phone away from his cheek and taps with his thumb. You furrow your brow and turn your legs over the edge of the bed, clinging to the blanket to keep yourself hidden.

"Was that--"

"Mom's doing well. She was checking in." He nears and puts your phone on the nightstand. "I didn't want to overstep, baby. In due time. But she kept calling and then I didn't want her to worry. She's already got one kid in trouble, huh?"

"You were talking to my mom?" You croak.

"Well, sweetheart, only a matter of time before I meet the family. Already got Vaughn off the list so...:" he shrugs casually. "She's doing well. Asked about you, I assured her, you're good." He turns and sits next to you. He grips your knee through the blanket. "Don't worry, I don't got much family. A good buddy but.. mom went a while ago. Strong lady but not physically."

"Oh, I'm..."

"Spilled milk," he waves away the condolences. "She said your brother called. Got in a fight or something. She said she couldn't understand him."

You grimace, "A fight?"

"Yeah, it's too bad, 'cause I had my guys looking out for him." He looks at the wall and clucks. "I told him to keep himself straight." He shakes his head and turns his focus to you. "You know what, sweetheart, he takes you for granted. They all do. I'm not stupid. I sat in the pen long enough and you were the only person kind enough to check on me. Your mom won't even come up for her own son, she sends you..." his expression hardens. "It's about time you start doing stuff for yourself."

"It's... complicated," you cross your arms over the blanket.

"Not anymore. You got me now. We're gonna do this together." He insists.

"It's fine, I'll call tonight. I'm sure she misheard," you assure him.

"We'll call," he counters.

You flinch. You stare at him. The lines around his eyes deepen. His age only adds to his stature.

"Okay," you agree. What else can you do?

"We're gonna go out," he proclaims. "I'm gonna buy you something nice."

"Steve, you don't-- I don't want to spend your money--"

"My money's mine to spend and you don't need to worry about it. I got more than enough." He stands and rolls his shoulders. "Got myself a suit delivered while you were resting too." He faces you and puffs out his chest. "I take care of mine and you're my girl so you deserve only the best."

You blink then make yourself smile. The sentiment is sweet, it's only him that's terrifying. At least you don't see the truly scary part of him. The part that saw him through prison.

"You wanna know something silly, baby?" He purrs as he tilts his head.

"Um, sure," you gulp as you shiver beneath the blanket.

"You know, the appeal was taking a while. I was getting impatient," he drawls. "That place will drive you mad but you got me through. I just kept thinking of you and I figured, they draw this thing out another year, maybe you could... arrange for a conjugal." He snickers. "I mean, I wouldn't wanna do it like that but you know how to torture a man with those sweet eyes."

He winks and bites his lip. You squirm as your brows lift. You don't know how to respond.

"The more I thought about it though. You wouldn't believe how worked up you had me." He scoffs again. "And now I got you right in front of me, I wanna do all those things I thought of but I don't wanna spoil it. I want it to be perfect. For both of us."

He crosses the room and lets out a deep breath. He stops before you and pets your cheek.

"So I'm gonna buy you something sexy and then we're gonna come back here and I'm gonna fuck you in it," he growls as he grabs your chin firmly. "And I don't know if I'll ever stop."

⛓️‍💥

"Nah, I don't think black's your colour," Steve takes the teddy out of your hands. It's the only thing in the shop that won't show everything. You suppose it doesn't matter but your instinct is to hide. "How about this?"

He pulls out a light purple bodice. It only goes halfway down the torso. It's embroidered with little flowers but otherwise transparent. It's not the choice you expect; of either of you.

"If that's what you like," you shift awkwardly.

You stick to basic cottons. You're not really a lingerie person. You never felt sexy enough and your track record hadn't given you many opportunities to dress up. Most of the time, you kept your shirt on.

"It's about what you like, sweetheart," he puts the hanger back. "I mean, I'll take you in nothing at all. You know that."

You look around. You're not the only customers in the store. He doesn't care at all.

"You got everything I like built right in," he steps closer and runs his hand down your side. "You got a nice shape, you know that? And those thighs--"

"Steve," you whisper as your eyes dart back and forth.

"I like that about you. You're shy. You wanna keep this between us. I respect it," he pulls away. "Well, let's see..." he turns back to the racks. "This?"

He pulls out the pink polka dot teddy with the open front. It's trimmed in black with a bow under the chest, and is long enough to keep your stomach mostly covered, except for that slit down the middle.

"Pair of pink panties..." he growls. "I mean, I'll ruin them but it'll be fun."

Your lips part. You nod. It's not so bad. Not like the bras with no cups and the thongs made of little more than strings.

"It's nice," you say, trying not to look too long at it.

He lowers the hanger. His eyes pierce you. You meet their stunning blue.

"You know you're gorgeous regardless of what you got on," he affirms. "You got me thinking of finding a restroom and just..." he chuckles. "A man in the pen is like man in the desert."

You fidget and distract yourself in a search for matching panties in your size. He stays close.

"Have I let you down so far?" He nudges you. "Think I've left you... purring."

"Steve, I just..." you grab panties and face him again. "It's... I'm still surprised, is all."

"Oh, well, you know I won't ever lie to you again. Not that that's what I did," he says, "I just wanted it to be... well, the look on your face was worth it."

You hold out the panties, "these go."

He takes them and arches a brow, "getting impatient, huh?"

You chew your lip and nod. Sure, that's what the tremor in your stomach is. It isn't fear. It's anticipation. Maybe if you can make yourself believe it, he will too.

⛓️‍💥

Your apartment is not your own anymore. Neither is your body. Or your life.

Steve has infected every part of it. Your home, your family, your very being. Your only reprieve is the short time he gives you to 'get ready'; ready for him to take what's left.

You close yourself in the bathroom and stare at the teddy hanging on the back of the door. A shell of numbness spreads over you and yet your heart is hammering, shaking every part of you. There's a finality that pits in your stomach.

Soft music rises from the other side of the wall. He's ready. He's fearless. He's in control.

You won't waste any more of his time. Funny, how you feel guilty. After what he told you, about waiting on you, you feel like you're wasting his time. He spent enough behind bars for a crime, he claims, he didn't do. That the courts decided he didn't.

It's all so confusing. And scary.

You get up. You undress and change into the skimpy panties and the teddy. You feel exposed. You are. There's nothing left between you and him.

You rinse your face and do your best to tidy up your hair. You don't know why you're trying. The hollowness makes you clumsy.

You face the door. You make yourself leave that room. You're not brave, you're just used to doing what needs to be done. It'll keep Vaughn safe. Your mom too, now he knows about her.

You peek into the bedroom. The walls flicker with the candlelight, a tinge of red in the air as a scarf hangs over the lamp. There are petals all over the floor. The bed has been remade in red silk. He did all this. For you?

"Sweetheart," he startles you as he turns away from the curtains.

He wears only a pair of white boxers, his thick thighs exposed, his muscular middle clenching with tension. You shift your weight and hug your chest. He bites his lip as he comes up to the bed.

Choked to silence, you near the other side. You stare at him and he stares back. His eyes reflect the small flames lit around the space. The music glosses through the air and raises bumps on your skin.

"Come here," he puts a knee up on the bed and reaches across.

You take his large hand and let him pull you onto the mattress. He's deceptively gentle as he guides you down onto your back. He reclines with you, snaking his arm beneath you. He holds you as he traces your jawline and admires you. You look away shyly.

"You really are the most beautiful creature," he growls.

Your cheeks pinch and you look at him. You press your hand softly to his chest. You push your fingertips into him, feeling the firmness, the strength. You remind yourself that if he wants to, he can hurt you. He hasn't so you'll go along.

His fingers flutter down your neck. You shiver. He purrs and leans in. He kisses you. His warmth seeps through the shell frozen around you. Your hand slips up to his shoulder.

He feels along your chest and squeezes you through the thin cup of the lingerie. He swirls around your nipple as he dips his tongue through your lips. You moan as his touch stirs inside you. Your fear mingles with the fire lit by his diligent tending. He growls into you, hooking his leg around yours.

"You really do fill this out perfect," he runs his hand down the sheer fabric of the teddy, the knuckle of his thumb grazing your stomach. He pulls your leg away from the other with his. "All of you is... made for me."

Your lip trembles. You don't want him to know how afraid you really are. He has enough power.

You slide your hand up behind his head and pull him down. You kiss him, desperately. Desperate to hide, to forget, to survive. Grasping at whatever control you can have over this.

His fingers trail along the edge of the panties; across the top then along the creases of your thighs. He spreads a hand over your thigh and kneads the flesh. You quiver and gasp into his mouth.

His breath plumes out hotly as he drags his fingertips along the narrow crotch of the panties. He rubs you through them. He pushes along your clit, the friction hot against the lace. You moan again, your mouth slipping from his as you loop your arm around his neck.

You squeeze your thighs around his hand as he teases you. He buries his face in your neck and nips you as he slowly builds his tempo. Twisting your nerves around his touch until you're writhing and whining. You his and clasp onto his bulging bicep. He snarls and puffs into the crook of your neck.

You cum in a series of spasming waves. You soak through panties as he hums and chuckles along your throat. He pushes beneath the fabric and starts again, unwinding you as he flicks up and down.

The second orgasm has you clutching at the pillow. You dig your heel into the mattress and arch your pelvis, quaking as you ride out the thrill. His fingers slip through your juices and he pokes at your entrance.

He lifts his head, his silvery blonde hair drooping forward. His blue eyes bore into you as yours roll back. He growls as he prods at you.

"Look at me, sweetheart,"

You gasp. He drags his finger across your entrance.

"What'd I tell you?" His voice turns gritty.

You bat your lashes and look at him. His pupils are large and dark. They swallow you up as he pushes two fingers against you, slowly parting your cunt around their breadth. Your lips form and O and you gasp again. You clasp onto his wrist as he delves down to his bottom knuckles.

"Gotta get you ready for me," he leans in to nuzzle your cheek. "Once I'm on ya, I don't know if I'll be able to stop."

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #doing time #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #marvel #mcu #avengers #captain america

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cheapshrimpysheep · 2 days ago

Text

Casino Date

SUMMARY: You made a pact with Mammon and it gave you enough luck at gambling to win any and all games in the casinos. What would that be like? Would an incubus try to seduce you into replacing Mammon with him?

CHARACTERS: Mammon x Reader

TAGS: Fluff; Sexy; GN Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.900 words

COMMENTS: There are a lot of interesting things that were introduced in Obey Me that they never explored well or at all. One of them is the “amazing luck” that a human who makes a pact with Mammon has. So I wanted to explore these things a little bit.

'In Lesson 35-6 (NB), Belphegor brought up that Mammon's greed powers grant “amazing luck” to any human that has a pact with him.' Although I'm pretty sure they say this in the original game too, but I can't remember when.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy 💛

After you made the pact with Mammon, he started taking you to casinos with him. He convinced you to play and share the profits since your luck (that makes you win every single game you play) came from the pact with him. Thanks to you, he got a lot of money to the point where he was not only able to pay off all his debts but also buy a lot of things for you.

He loves giving you gifts. So much so that you were wearing a luxurious and expensive dress/suit that matched Mammon's own suit on this day.

But to maintain this you had to go to the casino several times to play and win. The problem is that some other demons started to notice this luck. They looked at you and Mammon, saw you sharing the money with him and thought that maybe if they seduced you, they could be the new recipient of your money and affection.

One of those incubus was watching you, waiting for you to be alone, but Mammon wouldn't let go of you. Like, AT ALL! He would make any excuse to put his arm around your waist to bring you closer to him. Whenever you won (which was always), he would kiss you on the cheek. (He was too embarrassed to kiss you on the lips in public).

He seductively convinces you to always play one game after another.

“Come on (Y/N), just one more.” he said in your ear and with his hand on your waist. “I promise we'll hit that VIP room you like after this one. The Great Mammon will order their best Demonus and we'll celebrate another day of riches.”

That's what you always did. The end of a day of winning big at the casino ended with the two of you in a private VIP room celebrating together.

But one thing you didn't do together was go to the bathroom. And this was the only moment the incubus found to approach you. You were sitting on a comfortable, luxurious sofa with your favorite drink while Mammon went to the bathroom.

The incubus sat down beside you. He wasn't touching you, but he was acting very similar to Mammon, sitting comfortably with his legs spread and taking up a lot of space. He greeted you and started talking to you as if he wanted to know more about you because you seemed like such an interesting person.

He didn't seem to be in a hurry, because he had devised a plan with another succubus for her to distract Mammon until he got your number or something like that.

When Mammon left the bathroom and started making his way back to where you were, the succubus got in front of him and started to flatter and flirt with him. She talked about how he was one of the most powerful demons, how good he looked in that suit, how she had all the magazines he posed for... And at first, Mammon took it as praise from a fan. It was only when she seductively grabbed his arm and tried to convince him to go with her to a more private place that he immediately made her let go of him.

“Yeah... Sorry, but I'm not that kinda demon. ‘Sides, I'm already taken. And speaking of which, I have to go, they're waiting for me.”

He says goodbye politely and returns to his original route when he is stopped again by the succubus.

“Aww, but you are the Great Mammon~ You don't deserve to settle for just one human just because you made a pact with them.”

"And what’s that suppos’ to mean?" he asks, clearly starting to get irritated.

“It means..." she moves closer to him. “that it's not because of a pact that you can't have fun with someone better~” she raised her hand to touch his chest but he stopped her, grabbing her wrist midair.

“Ya don't even know them to know if there’s someone better. But I'll spare ya the search: There is not!” He lets go of her wrist. “And if I hear ya bad mouthin’ them, I'll show ya why I'm the strongest demon here.”

He continues walking towards where he knew you were sitting, leaving the succubus behind, irritated at having been rejected and even threatened. Meanwhile, you had noticed the incubus' advances and stood up to get away from him, but he also stood up and stoped in front of you to block your path.

“I'm telling you, you won't regret investing in me.” He gets too close to you and caresses your face despite your uncomfortable expression. “I can make you feel much better than that failed ang-”

Suddenly a hand grabs his wrist that was caressing your face and turns him around to face an angry Mammon that made the incubus cower in fear as he groaned from the pain he felt in his wrist.

“Than that failed what?! ... Com’on. Say that to my face!”

The incubus was clearly scared, but thinking quickly he decided to defend himself by turning to you and say: “Is this the demon you made a pact with?! He is so aggressive! You must suffer so much being stuck with him.”

Mammon's confidence dissipated, replaced by uncertainty and shocked denial. He loosened his grip on the incubus' wrist, but in that instant you slapped the incubus across the face so hard that it left a mark.

“You know nothing about him!” you say to the incubus now scared of you. “And if you say anything like that about him again you'll find out that I can be much worse!”

Meanwhile, Mammon had already let go of the incubus' wrist, who began to slowly move away from the two of you until he started to run away. You look at Mammon's face, he's blushing a little and he's looking at you in surprise but also... with desire. But then he gets shy and tries to pull himself together.

“I, huh, that was, huh, kinda cool. B-but I had everything under control, ya didn't need to get involved.”

“Really?” You say. “Because you seemed affected by what he said.”

He looked away, embarrassed and still trying to deny that fact. You suggest playing just one more game and then requesting your VIP room. He accepts enthusiastically.

After winning another game, Mammon is the one who asks for a room for the two of you and to have some Demonus. When your VIP room is ready, you see the chaise longues, low lights, and a bottle of Demonus in an ice bucket between two menus with dinner options. As soon as he closes the door and you two are alone, he turns to you with a slightly worried expression and not being able to look you in the eyes.

“You... don't regret making the pact with me... do you?”

You say no and that you were right about what that incubus said affected Mammon.

“Well... maybe... it just made me think, that's all!... I...”

“You are not aggressive towards me.” You assure him. “In fact, of all your brothers, you were always the one who treated me the kindest. Even before you get to know me. And despite the things you said at the time.”

He smiles embarrassedly.

“Yeah... well... about that... I was just...”

“Protecting your loved ones.” you complete. “Just like you did to me today.”

You smile at each other and he finally attacks you with a hug and a kiss on your lips. One of the most loving kisses he could give you, and you can tell by the almost possessive way he holds you.

“I would never hurt you.” he whispers to you after the kiss, his forehead resting against yours.

“I know.” you reassure him. “Now, how about we try that Demonus before the ice melts?”

When Mammon drinks, he gets in a much higher spirit than usual.

“Your glass’s already empty?” He refills your glass of with a smile on his face and without asking you if you want more. “Are you tired of this Demonus? We can order another one!”

But the truth is that you were already getting tired, it was very late and that wasn't your first bottle of Demonus. You yawn.

“Aww, you're not tired already, are ya?”

He seemed full of energy and ready to start a party with everyone in the casino, but knowing how drunk Mammon was, you would give him another minute until his energy suddenly dropped to an even lower level than yours.

You had to make him stop before that because you needed to get home and he couldn't drive in that state. And even if he said he could, you would stop him even if you had to use ‘STAY’.

The best way to convince him to do what you want is to seduce him, especially when he’s in that state. You lean against him, running your hands over his chest and face to draw all of his attention to you. You lazily admit that you're tired and want to get out of there so you can both rest together, and you also show your concern because you don't want him to drive drunk.

“Oh, don't worry about it!” he says with a confident smile. “The Great Mammon can sober up in no time!”

You look at him clearly not believing it.

“Fine... maybe it will take a while...” he admits.

But then he seems to have an idea. He looks at you again with that desire in his eyes and holds you by the waist.

“Did ya know that this casino is part of a hotel?... We just need to ask for a room and go up in the elevator.”

He doesn't need you to say anything because your little grin gives you away. For a second he lost his balance as he stood up, but right after he regained it. He takes you with him to find the manager so he can ask for a bedroom for the two of you. No, not just any bedroom. A suite! No, better yet, the best suite there is, even if is the most expensive one! In fact, the best one they could find for the two of you was the most expensive one! The most luxurious one!

And that's exactly what he gets you. You really live like one of the richest couples in Devildom since you started winning every single game thanks to the luck that your pact with Mammon gives you. Your suite didn't just have a king size bed, it had armchairs, a chaise longue and, most obviously, a jacuzzi in the corner of the room.

As soon as you enter and he closes the door, he grabs you and starts kissing your lips until he starts going down to your neck.

“Did I already told ya how hot ya look today?” You could tell he was more relaxed and sincere because of the Demonus. “‘Specially when ya slapped the shit out of that fucker.” His voice changed, becoming more and more desirous.

Even though he likes to appear tough to others, you know he likes it when you are the tough one in the relationship. So you're going to turn him one even more if you gently grab him by the collar and pull him into bed with you.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Obey Me #obey me shall we date #obey me imagines #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me fluff #obey me x reader #Obey Me Mammon #Obey Me Mammon x Reader

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lovelybucky1 · 1 day ago

Note

A character of your choice from the Go Greek! Universe reacting to the sweetheart getting back with an ex (or thinking about it) and it ends with smut, showing-you-what-you’re-missing kind of thing 🤭 I’m loving this series so much! Xoxo

i love this so much!!! here’s headcanons about steve, bucky and joaquin in this situation. // go greek! masterlist // 18+ minors dni

Steve would be so against it. That guy was a piece of shit and everyone knows it. He isn’t good for you and you deserve so much better, so why would you even think about going back to him? He would lecture you, going on and on about how terrible he was until you finally snap.

“You keep saying I deserve better but I haven’t found it! How do you know there’s anyone better for me?”

Steve clenches his jaw and you see determination in his eyes. “I’m better.”

Your eyes widen and you find yourself at a loss for words. Before either of you could say anything else, Steve steps into your space and ducks down to kiss you. He holds you tightly, not even giving you an inch of room as he claims your mouth. You melt into the kiss and you’re lucky that he is supporting you, because you might collapse to the floor.

When the kiss breaks, he pulls away but remains close. His nose is almost brushing against yours and he looks into your eyes, seeing the desire in them.

“Let me show you how much better I can be.”

Bucky, unsurprisingly, would proposition you right then and there.

“If you need someone to fuck, fuck me,” he says as casually as telling you the weather.

“What?”

“Your ex was an asshole. You said it yourself, the only thing good about him was his dick. If you need good dick, I’m right here, baby.”

He sits down next to you and pulls you into his lap with ease. Bucky always takes what he wants. You look down at him, at his light blue eyes, plush lips, and the stubble on his face.

“I’m way hotter than he is, too,” he says. Just as humble too.

“I don’t know, Bucky. What if it makes things weird between us?”

Bucky laughs as shakes his head. “Sweetheart, I’ve been dyin’ to fuck you since the day we met. Do us both a favor and let me. I promise I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll forget that asshole’s name.” His hands slide from your waist down to your ass, greedily squeezing it. “We’ll do it however you want. Fast, slow, nice, mean, missionary, doggy-”

“That’s enough,” you stop him, giggling as you slap his chest.

“Are you gonna make me beg? Pretty please let me fuck you, sweetheart,” he says with a smirk.

“Fine,” you huff. Your reluctance is for show. You can’t let him think you were jumping at the chance to fuck him.

Joaquin would be so sweet and try to convince you that you don’t need him.

“We can watch movies together. I’ll make you breakfast in bed and take you shopping. I’ll take you out to dinner and I’ll pay the whole bill. He always asked you to split it!”

“But you’re not my boyfriend, Joaquin,” you say, hands on your hips as you look at him.

“I don’t need to be your boyfriend to do all those things. I still care about you and I know you deserve better than that guy.”

You sigh. “There are things I want that you can’t give me because you’re not my boyfriend.”

Joaquin mimics your stance, cocking his head as he stares back at you. “Like what?”

“Like sex!” you exclaim. You get that Joaquin wants what’s best for you, but you have needs. At least this time you know what you’re signing up for with your ex.

That seems to catch Joaquin off guard, like he wasn’t expecting you, who’s always so sweet and perfect, to like sex.

“I can do that too!” he comes back with.

You furrow your brows. “No you can’t, Joaquin. We’re friends.”

“Ever heard of friends with benefits? I promise it won’t be weird. I can give you everything you want and you never have to see that loser again.”

You consider it. Joaquin is hot and he treats you way better than you ex ever did. You suppose just once wouldn’t hurt, and if it didn’t workout, Joaquin seems like the type to let it go and not allow it to ruin the relationship you have.

“Fine, but this stays between us, okay?”

“You want me to be your dirty little secret?” he asks, teasing.

“Shut up,” you huff.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

You step close to him and grab his face. You lean in for a kiss and he eagerly reciprocates. Once he gets the idea, you allow him to take control of the pace. His hands gently trail over your body, clearly hesitant to touch you.

“If we’re gonna do this, we’ll gonna do it right,” you say after you break the kiss. You place his hands on your ass and he takes the hint, squeezing firmly.

“I’ve never seen this side of you,” he chuckles.

“We’ve never done this before.”

#go greek #steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres smut #joaquin torres fanfiction #joaquin torres fic #joaquin torres fluff

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makeitmingi · 2 days ago

Text

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 17]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.2K

Hongjoong was pacing in his office, trying his best to focus on the conference call that was happening. He chewed on his thumbnail until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Okay, everyone shut up." He slammed his palms on the table and the other sides went quiet.

"Go fix your issues before you come to me again. You're all a mess and wasting my time!" He growled.

"Yes, boss nim!"

With that, the conference call ended. Hongjoong didn't know why he was so ticked off. But seeing everyone congregate around you to make sure you were okay while he stood at the side, it irritated him. Why couldn't he ask you if you were okay?

And the thought of you using Seonghwa's bathroom and his soaps, smelling like Seonghwa, made him dig for clothes and shove them into Seonghwa's arms to put on his bed for you.

"What's wrong with you, Kim Hongjoong?" He asked himself, massaging his temples.

"(y/n)!" Hongjoong heard Mingi's booming voice down the hall, followed by the onslaught of apologies from the tall male.

"Ah..." He threw his head back and left his office. He saw Seonghwa guiding you down the stairs. With his best friend there, how was he going to approach you?

"Excuse me." Seonghwa stepped aside to answer a phone call, leaving you there with a cup of tea to drink.

"(y/n). Are you alright?" He went downstairs and approached you. You seemed flustered as you put the tea cup down and stood up.

"Thanks for lending me your clothes, I'll wash them and return them as soon as my clothes are dry." You bowed to thank him. You were so awkward and formal with him, it was like you two were strangers again. Hongjoong was running around in circles in his head, he didn't know what to do or say.

"It's fine, (y/n). There's no rush for the clothes. Don't worry about it." He assured you. If he had to be honest, Hongjoong thought you looked cute in his clothes.

"If that's all, maybe I shouldn't take up more of your time." You forced a smile, evident that you wanted to get away.

"No, wait. You're not... Can we talk? ...Please." Hongjoong asked, that sounded a lot more like begging.

"Umm..." You fiddled with your fingers.

"Please, just for a bit. I won't take up too much of your time." Hongjoong promised. He didn't really know where to take you, going to his office was for work people but it was private.

"Do you mind coming to my office...?" He asked with a slight wince, not sure what to ask.

"Sure." Thankfully, you nodded and followed him up the stairs to where his office was. Hongjoong opened the door for you to enter.

"Feel free to sit anywhere." He gestured, observing the way your head was slightly lowered, kind of like a shamed student that was entering a principal's office to be punished.

"(y/n), I'm sorry. It seems like it's always the same thing, I do something that screws up our friendship and have to apologise for it. I just... I don't know how to act with people outside my 7 brothers, I'm not the best person..." He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

"I don't mean to hurt you, (y/n). You know that, right? I'm trying to be a good friend but it seems like it's not really working, right?" He tried to crack a joke.

"Yeah..." You couldn't help but agree, forcing a smile.

"I- Ah..." Hongjoong threw his head back against the couch, unsure of how to phrase his words. You blinked at him, confused by his words.

"It's not an excuse but trust me when I say, I'm trying to protect you. That's why I said what I said that night. It's not about my image, I care about your image." He confessed.

"Protect me? What do you need to protect me from, Hongjoong?" You frowned slightly.

"I can't tell you." He winced.

"It's about your business or businesses, right? I can put two and two together, Hongjoong. That's what you're protecting me from." You guessed. Hongjoong sat up at your words and nodded.

"You're right. I can't tell you now but I will in due time. It's already dangerous for you, knowing my mother so I shouldn't add to that." He informed.

"But once again, I know it's not fair of me to ask but please be patient with me." He pleaded. Hongjoong didn't want to lose you, as a friend or as a person in his life. And you wouldn't admit to him that you felt the same way. Just like Mrs Kim, you felt like Hongjoong brought some sort of importance in your life.

"You were hurt when I saw you at the tournament. Is that why you were avoiding me even before that?" You asked.

"I'll answer that, only if you don't proceed to ask me how I got injured." Hongjoong stared at you, a playful glint in his eye. You rolled your eyes and nodded in agreement.

"Yes. I was injured and I didn't want you to see me limping around with a cane like a grandpa." He chuckled.

"A grandpa?" You snickered.

"I have already got enough teasing from the other kids about it. Although, I believe you wouldn't be like them and tease me, you would worry." He groaned.

"You're right, I wouldn't tease you... But are you better now? Recovered?" You asked.

"Mhmm, I'm all recovered. Seonghwa can't even poke my bruises to threaten me anymore." He leaned back with a proud smile.

"I'm happy for you?" You tilted your head, unsure of what response to give. Hongjoong laughed and stood up, gesturing for you to follow him. The two of you walked out.

"Show me the progress on the garden. I don't want to continue talking in my office, it's quite stuffy, isn't it?" He smiled as you walked side by side, going down the stairs. He didn't miss the way your eyes lit up with excitement, nodding your head.

As the two of you strolled around the garden, Hongjoong intently listened to you update him on the garden, telling him what you have been doing and changes you've made.

"I'm excited to tell the staff about the herb garden. And I planted a few vegetables as well." You informed.

"I didn't think our garden was capable of doing that." Hongjoong raised his eyebrows.

"Well, of course the weather makes it hard to grow ALL vegetables. But there are a handful you can grow, you just have to eat what grows in season." You explained.

"Can't wait." Hongjoong chuckled.

"Why is (y/n) showing hyung the vegetable garden? He doesn't even eat vegetables." Wooyoung scoffed.

"He probably told her that he loves it." Seonghwa chuckled with a shake of his head. The group of them were in the lounge area on the second floor, watching the two of you stroll in the garden.

"You should get back to work or the others might think you're slacking." You said to him with your hands on your hips.

"I'm kind of the boss around here so no one would say I'm slacking." Hongjoong scoffed.

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself? Because it seems like Seonghwa's the real boss around here." You threw your head back in laughter while Hongjoong's jaw dropped slightly. You smirked to yourself as Hongjoong held his hands up in defeat and headed back into the house, letting you get back to finishing your work.

"So, you like vegetables now, hyung?" Hongjoong came in and looked up to see all 7 brothers staring down at him from the banister of the second floor lounge with knowing smiles.

"Shut up. Go back to work!" Hongjoong barked at everyone. The boys all scurried, except Seonghwa.

"I hate that you're not intimidated by me." Hongjoong rolled his eyes as he walked up the stairs while Seonghwa had a smirk on his face.

"There's nothing for me to be scared of. The number of times I've seen your clumsy self fall flat on your face outweighs how scary you can be." He chuckled.

"You know wayyy too much." Hongjoong glared.

"Mmm, the ammunition comes in handy sometimes." Seonghwa punched Hongjoong's arm and headed back to his office.

"Hyung, free for me to run numbers with you and Jongho?" Yeosang asked. Hongjoong checked his watch and nodded, walking to his office with the two.

"Yeosang hyung gave me a run down of the contracts that were offered with the equities and shares. I managed to work the numbers out to see if we should sign it or not." Jongho explained, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

"Okay, hang on. I think I should call Hwa in to look at the numbers too." Hongjoong said, sending a message to his best friend. Seonghwa walked in a few minutes later.

"Sorry, you'll have to share the copy with Hongjoong hyung." Jongho said. Seonghwa nodded and sat beside Hongjoong.

"So I've circled the main points of focus. I'll go through each one." He started the discussion.

As you continued your work, you were a little more careful about getting any mud or dirt on Hongjoong's clothes, even if he told you he was not bothered.

"pH levels are good." You smiled in satisfaction, looking at the test strip. Then you wrote it down in your notes.

"Miss (y/n), would you like some refreshments?" One of the maids came out and bowed to you.

"I'm good, thank you. Could I get a broom to clear the pavements of the dirt and debris, please? Oh! And trash bags too." You requested with a sheepish smile.

"Ah, you can just leave it and we'll clean it up later. Don't worry about it." She smiled.

"Nonsense, I made the mess, I should clean it up. It won't take too long. Besides, I don't want to risk anyone tripping or slipping. Some of the guys can be a little clumsy." You chuckled. The maid had to stifle a laugh but nodded in agreement, bowing before she left to get you what you needed.

"Thank you." She opened the trash bag for you to gather the dirt, roots and leaves that you've pruned to toss in. She followed you to each plot with the trash bag.

"You can just leave it. I wouldn't want to take you away from your other tasks." You smiled.

"It's okay. There's nothing urgent that needs me." She assured you.

"That should be all for now though. I'll just do some other stuff to finish up for today." You told her as she tied up the bags and put them to the side.

"Alright, if you need anymore help. Please do not hesitate to ask any of us." She bowed deeply and headed back in.

"(y/n)! Stop working and come! The chefs made pie and it's still hot!" San yelled from the doors. You straightened up from where you were packing dirt around the plant's roots.

"Alright!" You replied and packed your things before jogging back to the house. You went to wash your hands first.

"Oh! Hongjoong, I didn't see you there. Are you alright?" You nearly bumped into the male, noticing the ghastly tired look on his face. He let out a long sigh, rubbing his face with his hands, showing that he was not ok.

"Just technical work stuff, I don't like working with numbers. Got distracted when I heard the others yelling about pie or something." He chuckled.

"It's good to take breaks, especially pie breaks." You giggled.

"There you are!" Mingi cheered when he saw you and Hongjoong enter the dining room.

"Would you like custard or ice cream with your pie?" Wooyoung asked, pulling you in and sat you down in one of the seats.

"Ice cream, please." You requested. Soon, the butler placed a dish with the slice of warm pie and one scoop of vanilla ice cream on top with some sort of crumble topping.

"Hey, (y/n) should sit here." Yunho said, pointing to the seat next to him.

"I sit there." Mingi shot his best friend a betrayed look.

"It's okay, I'll just stay here." You chuckled. You didn't want to get involved in their best friend squabble.

"Good choice, (y/n)." Wooyoung smiled triumphantly, holding his plate of pie in his hand and taking the seat next to you. The others jeered at him while he just stuck his tongue out at them. You giggled, they could be so childish for grown men. Hongjoong shook his head and let out a sigh of despair.

"How's the pie?" Yeosang asked you with a kind smile, not bothered by his brothers' childishness. You covered your mouth as you chewed, giving him a thumbs up.

"Okay, kids. Enough. Eat your food." Seonghwa said, getting between the others like a mother.

"I swear I have no idea how they're functioning adults. They're actually 5 years old." Hongjoong clicked his tongue.

You sat quietly, noticing how they interacted with each other. They were just like a regular family, with Seonghwa and Hongjoong as the parents of 6 kids, all with different personalities.

"(y/n), would you like to stay for dinner?" San invited.

"Oh, I shouldn't..." You rubbed the back of your neck, already feeling like you overstayed.

"Nonsense. We already established that you're not just a regular employee here. You should stay! The chefs are making a nice seafood dinner." Wooyoung said.

"Yeah, you should stay. I'll take you home after." Hongjoong offered with a kind smile. After apologising and making up with you, Hongjoong wasn't ready for you to go home yet. He wanted you to stick around longer.

"But of course, if you have other engagements, we understand." Seonghwa interjected, not wanting you to feel pressured to stay for dinner. You sent him a grateful smile.

"Ah... alright..." You nodded.

"But no more going back to work! You should join us for games, do you know Mario Kart?" Yunho asked.

"Yes but I haven't played it in a long time. I think the last time I played it was after school at an arcade? I don't have a game console." You tried to remember.

"Don't worry, we'll go easy on you the first round." Mingi smirked.

"I don't know..." You felt like you shouldn't be playing around during your working hours, it felt wrong especially since you were paid.

"Well we pay you and we say it's fine! We'd much rather you come and game with us." San winked, resting his head on his hand as he finished his dessert.

"But-" You shot Hongjoong a conflicted look, wanting him to somehow rescue you.

"Go on and have fun." He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. You sighed as you let the others lead you away to the theatre room to game. Of course, they wouldn't have brought you to Yunho and Jongho's computer room to game. It was too risky and there might be important information scattered around.

"Don't be late for dinner!" Seonghwa yelled as you all went upstairs. Hongjoong shook his head with a laugh and wiped his mouth with the napkin before standing.

"Where are you headed?" His best friend asked him.

"A nap. All I see are Jongho's numbers in my head and it's hurting my brain." Hongjoong yawned.

"Aren't you going to join them to game? (y/n) might appreciated your support as she competes against the rest." Seonghwa stated with an amused smile.

"I know what you're trying to do and I'm telling you to stop that. It'll embarrass her and make things awkward." Hongjoong glared.

"I'm not doing anything~" Seonghwa sang innocently and the two went upstairs to their rooms.

"You're becoming more human, Joong. And that's not necessarily a bad thing." The taller said before entering his bedroom. Hongjoong opened his mouth to clear his confusion but decided against it and entered his bedroom. He leaned against his closed door.

"More... human..." He repeated Seonghwa's words, heading to his bathroom to wash his face and change out of his business suit so he could nap comfortably.

"Oh my gosh! I won!" You jumped up and cheered, hi-fiving Yunho.

"Beginner's luck!" The other 3 competing against you excused, making you roll your eyes.

"You guys are such sore losers." You pointed at them. Mingi boo'ed, Wooyoung jeered at you with a thumbs down and Jongho demanded a rematch.

"You were great, (y/n)." San and Yeosang shot you encouraging smiles with thumbs up.

"Thank you, peanut gallery." You curtsied.

"No, no, no. Rematch! And we won't go easy anymore. Get ready to lose!" Jongho growled, showing just how competitive he is.

"Sorry, I don't race with losers I've already beat." You said with a confident shrug, making San, Yunho and Yeosang wince at your words. Of course, you were just joking.

"Okay, ONE rematch. You win again, you'll take the title of 'champion' and you have gloating rights!" Mingi stated, trying to negotiate with you. You rolled your eyes dramatically and sat back down, taking your controller back. Wooyoung cracked his fingers and neck while Jongho chugged his energy drink.

"You guys are so dramatic! She's just gonna beat you again!" San hollered at them. Luckily this room was sound proof because Hongjoong and Seonghwa would have definitely heard the shouting.

"Are you ready to lose?" Wooyoung nudged you.

"Ready to watch the back of my car the entire time?" You asked back. Yeosang shook his head while Yunho cheered.

"Go, (y/n)! Hurry up so we can have a turn!" Yunho yelled. Jongho loaded a new race. As the race counted down, the room grew silent. Only the game sounds were heard.

"It's 3 vs 1! That's unfair!" You screamed as you narrowly dodged the shell Mingi threw.

"Hey, play fair!" Yeosang said.

"All's fair in love and war." Jongho growled. Glancing at the other screens, you saw Wooyoung ready to launch a blue shell at you so you breaked and let Jongho go in front, only for the shell to hit him.

"Hyung!" Jongho roared as you laughed victoriously and raced forward as Jongho's character took 2 seconds to recover.

"Winner!" You shouted. San, Yeosang and Yunho ran to you to join your celebration, the group of you hugging each other and jumping in a circle like you won the Nobel Prize or something. Although, you were unaware you were being watched the entire time.

"What's all the ruckus?" Hongjoong raised an eyebrow as he walked in with Seonghwa beside him.

"I won!" You giggled.

"She beat all of them, twice." Yunho informed the oldest two. They had amused looks on their faces. With how competitive everyone is, they were surprised your beat them twice.

"Now, a celebration dinner awaits. And I'm pretty sure you were granted gloating rights?" Seonghwa asked.

"Of course." You grinned.

"Aww, we didn't get to play yet!" Yunho, Yeosang and San complained but Seonghwa was not going to have his dinner delayed. He turned the game off and ushered the boys out of the theatre.

"I think you'll fit in just fine, (y/n). If you can handle them, you can handle anything." Hongjoong chuckled.

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writesvani · 1 day ago

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coming down | 05

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to- enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): alcohol use, vomiting, intoxication, emotional manipulation, jealousy, unspoken tension, toxic relationships, self-doubt, unrequited love, discomfort, arguments, heated exchanges, unresolved sexual tension, drug use, self-destructive behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, physical discomfort, past trauma references, explicit language

comment HERE for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M. LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter

wc: 7,2k // date: 20th of March 2025

CHAPTER FIVE - House of Balloons; proceed with caution...

AN (IMPORTANT, PLEASE DON'T SKIP):

hey gummies, it’s vani.

before you dive into ch 5, we need to have a little heart-to-heart: so, my taglist is growing like weed, but y’all are as silent as a library at midnight. how do i know you’re reading if no one’s making noise? comment, like, reblog, send me a carrier pigeon, give me your opinions on my writing, my characters, your life, your dog—just talk to me. seriously—just DO SOMETHING.

here’s the deal: next chapter drops ONLY AFTER we hit 150 kudos. yes, 150. i know some of you will cry about it, but honestly, 150 is my average kudo count. so no excuses. this is a public reaction test, okay? i laughed 70 times writing this chapter and i expect the same energy from you.

let’s see how many people are actually reading. hit 150 and chapter 6 will be here faster than a pizza delivery at 3 am. go wild.

love, vani

It feels natural talking to Geto, like slipping into a familiar rhythm you didn’t realize you missed. There’s an effortless flow between you, a quiet understanding laced into every exchanged glance, every syllable that leaves his lips like a slow-burning shot you can’t help but take. His eyes are heavy-lidded, tinged with a lazy rosiness, half-lost in the moment.

He’s perched on the edge of Aiko’s bed, shoulders hunched forward, his presence somehow both relaxed and consuming. He insisted on escaping the overcrowded living room—too loud, too messy. Instead, he wanted to go somewhere quieter, more private. Somewhere just for the two of you.

His gaze traces over you, unhurried, mapping out the contours of your form like he’s reading between the lines of a story he’s desperate to understand. There’s something in his eyes—a glimmer of curiosity, of wanting to know you. Not just the surface version of you, but the real thing. It’s a look you haven’t seen in a long time. Not since Ren. Maybe Yumi. Or even… Gojo.

Your throat runs dry as the thought of Gojo flickers through your mind—he’s still off fetching drinks, you presume. A rational part of you knows there are some lines that should never be crossed, some weapons too cruel to wield. Especially if that weapon is Ren.

But seeing it—the pain, the betrayal simmering just beneath Gojo’s nonchalant exterior, barely concealed behind the gleam of his blue irises—it was satisfying. A twisted kind of victory. It made your blood run cold and set it ablaze all at once.

Yeah. It was worth it.

You know you aren’t fully immersed in your conversation with the black-haired, god-sculpted man sitting beside you, but the thoughts clouding your mind are relentless. You think about how you left the living room without a word to Ren, how, once he's done devouring that guy in the corner, he’ll be looking for you.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips—they feel too dry. Everything feels too dry. The air, your throat, the pit forming in your stomach. With rushed movements, you rummage through your little lavender-painted purse, fingers desperately searching for a lip balm, a lip gloss—anything. Your hands move with a frantic urgency, as if coating your lips in something will somehow soothe the dull ache stretching through your chest like a tightening net.

And even though you don't want to—God, you don’t—you think about the fact that Gojo will be back soon. With drinks. Probably just for himself and Geto, because the absolute menace he is, he’ll take one look at you and decide you don’t deserve the satisfaction of numbing yourself with alcohol.

Geto notices. Of course, he does. His gaze lingers on you, his brows furrowing slightly as he takes in the shift, the sudden stiffness in your frame. He rolls his shoulders, making a point to look away, like he’s trying not to dwell on whatever the hell just flickered through you. But he feels it. Just like you do.

So even though the unspoken familiarity of talking to him is begging you to slip into the conversation, your tongue feels heavy, locked in place by the weight pressing against your chest. There’s a strange uncertainty hanging in the air, curling around your posture, making your shoulders hunch ever so slightly.

Geto pulls out his phone, the movement swift, almost too sharp. His fingers tap against the screen in a rhythmic melody, the soft sound filling the silence between you.

“You wanna watch some reels?” he asks, throwing you a glance, one brow quirked in quiet amusement. His lips press into a thin line—like he doesn’t know what else to say, like this is the only lifeline he can offer.

It’s strange, how the easy flow of conversation from earlier has withered into something fragile. How the air between you feels thick, charged with something you can’t name.

Without thinking, you shift closer, the warmth of his body pulling you in like gravity. Your shoulder presses firmly against his, and you swear you can feel the slow, steady rhythm of his pulse thrumming beneath his skin. Heat licks up your thighs where they press together, and when you rest your head lightly against his shoulder, he doesn’t move away.

For the next few minutes, silence settles over you—not the suffocating kind from before, but something softer. Something that feels almost safe. The only sounds are the occasional bursts of laughter shared between you when a particularly ridiculous video pops up on his screen.

And maybe you aren’t talking, maybe there are still things lingering in the spaces between you, but at least this silence doesn’t feel quite so lonely. It’s warm, like a cup of tea on a dreary afternoon. Like an anchor in the middle of a storm.

“I’m so back, besties.”

The voice slices through the room like a blade, sharp enough to make your body stiffen before you even register the interruption. Instinct takes over—your head snaps toward the intruder, a reflex you wish you could unlearn. But of course, it’s him. It’s always him.

Gojo Satoru stands in the doorway, one shoulder pressed lazily against the frame, like he’s been there for a while. Watching. Waiting. His gaze flickers between you and Geto, his expression a masterclass in indifference. Empty. Detached. But his lips—those damn lips—are curved into that signature smirk, the one that makes people go stupid. Three white plastic cups dangle from his left hand, the liquid inside them sloshing with every shift of his weight.

Your eyes roll so hard it’s a wonder they don’t get stuck in the back of your head.

“Gee, we were just getting worried,” you deadpan, dripping in sugar-coated sarcasm, because if he’s going to be unbearable, then so are you.

Gojo scoffs, the sound lazy, dismissive. His footsteps are slow, measured. Predatory. He takes his time approaching, each step dragging out the inevitable.

“Well, I told you not to miss me too much,” he murmurs, plopping onto the mattress beside Geto like he owns the place. Like this moment belongs to him.

You groan, shifting away slightly. “Didn’t you notice that we literally ran away from you? Why the hell did you follow us?”

His eyes latch onto yours, piercing, hungry in a way you can’t decipher. It’s infuriating, the way he just exists—so effortlessly, so maddeningly.

Gojo tilts his head, grin widening like he’s savoring your irritation. “Well, sweetheart, I was just being courteous, bringing the drinks my oh-so-great friend here,” he gestures lazily at Geto, “asked me to bring.”

Your teeth grind together as you bite down the urge to lunge across the bed and slap that smirk clean off his face.

Ugh. Why doesn’t he just go fuck off somewhere else?

“Fine,” you scoff, already feeling your patience thinning like an overstretched rubber band. If this is how the rest of your night is going to be—at least until Ren finishes his business—then you might as well spend it getting drunk. Maybe the numbing warmth of alcohol will smooth over the weirdness of the night. Because, hell, you made out with Geto, and you can’t even begin to process it. Not when Gojo’s eyes are burning holes into your skull. Not when he somehow feels closer than the man actually sitting beside you.

You stretch your arm out, palm flat and expectant, right in front of Gojo.

“Gimme the drink,” you say, lips pressing into a thin line.

The boy next to you practically vibrates with amusement. His grin widens, sharp as a blade, his fingers curling around the plastic cups like they’re a prize you need to earn.

“Nuh-uh.”

He twists a single finger in the air, slow and deliberate, as if wagging it at a disobedient child.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

“Not yet.”

“The fuck?”

Frustration spikes in your chest, hot and insistent. Without thinking, you lunge, half-sitting, half-sprawled over Geto in an attempt to snatch a cup from Gojo’s grasp. The action is desperate, ridiculous—and so are you—and it only makes Gojo’s smirk deepen, his amusement damn near suffocating.

“You’ll have to beg for it,” he whispers, voice just low enough to be a secret shared between the two of you. Each word is slow, deliberate, rolling off his tongue like he’s savoring the taste. Like he wants you to hear him.

A sharp laugh escapes you before you can stop it. Because—what the fuck?

Does he seriously think this is funny?

"The audacity," you bite out, yanking the cup from his grasp. But before you can retreat back to your comfortable position, something warm envelops your skin—firm, unyielding.

His fingers curl around your wrist, trapping you in place.

"Not that one," he says quickly, almost too quickly, his eyes flickering between the cup and your face with something close to panic.

Your brows furrow. "What, did you lace it or something?"

"No," he snaps, but there's a hesitation in his voice. A beat of silence, thick enough to choke on.

Geto shifts beneath you, the movement subtle, but you can feel it. When you glance at him, expecting discomfort, all you see is—interest. His dark eyes are sharp, locked onto the unfolding situation, his lips pressed into something unreadable. He isn’t intervening. He’s watching. Observing.

But before you can dwell on it, Gojo speaks again.

"It's vodka."

You squint at him, a grimace pulling at your features. "...So?"

His grip doesn't loosen. If anything, it tightens. Steady. Familiar. Too much like before.

"You hate vodka" he says, as if it's fact.

Your jaw tightens. "No, I don’t—"

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"C'mon, sweetheart, you do."

"First of all, stop calling me that," you snap, irritation flaring in your chest. "And second of all, I literally don’t."

"Really?" His head tilts, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "‘Cause last time I remember you drinking vodka, you were sixteen, throwing up your soul, crying out that you’d never drink it again after it rearranged your guts."

Your fingers tighten around the cup, knuckles whitening.

His voice is laced with something mocking, something goading—but beneath it, there’s something else. Something real.

And the worst part?

He remembers.

"Jesus," you scoff, your gaze flickering to Geto, who’s still a little too invested in what’s unfolding between you and Gojo. Your chest tightens, a storm brewing behind your eyes. "I grew out of it."

Your words come out sharp, clipped, as your eyes snap to Gojo, your face flushed with annoyance. He doesn’t know what it was like. He doesn’t get it. You can’t believe he's dredging up your past like this.

You don’t need him to remember.

You don’t need any of it.

And you definitely don’t need more reminders of him. Of you.

And yet, there’s his voice, sliding under your skin like a cold knife. He knows you. Too well.

Your throat tightens, and your pulse runs cold. You yank your hand back, the motion jerky, and as your fingers slip from his grip, some of the drink splashes onto Geto’s shirt.

"Oh, shit." You curse under your breath, your heart racing as you frantically try to dab at the stain.

"I’m so sorry," you mutter, your words tumbling out in a rush, your fingers moving quickly to clean the mess.

"It’s just a few drops, hun. Relax," Geto responds, a bemused smile playing on his lips as he settles into a more comfortable position, now that you’ve moved away from the awkward entanglement. He pauses, looking between the two of you, the air thick with tension.

"There's really some bad blood between y’all," Geto notes casually, his hands darting to sweep the hair on his forehead back, the night’s chaos taking its toll on his usually composed appearance.

You can hear Gojo scoff softly, his lips curling into that trademark grin that you hate, but know all too well. You try to ignore it, but the sound makes something in your chest tighten.

"Please," Gojo mutters under his breath, eyes glinting with something that borders on amusement and annoyance.

“There isn't. This asshole just won’t leave me alone,” you snap, the words spilling out faster than you intend. They feel bitter on your tongue, too sharp, too telling. Gojo watches you closely, his eyes dancing over every flicker of emotion on your face like he’s dissecting you, waiting for you to slip. The corner of his mouth twitches—not quite a smirk, but something more insufferable. Something different.

So you do the only thing you can—you take a sip of your drink. Slowly. Purposefully. Just to spite him. His gaze doesn’t waver, locking onto your face as if he’s counting the seconds it takes for you to react. You know what he wants. He wants you to gag, to grimace, to prove him right. He wants Gojo Satoru Wins printed in bold letters across your forehead. So you let the vodka sear your throat, let it claw its way down, your expression unreadable as you swallow the fire.

Geto stretches beside you, his back arching slightly, muscles shifting beneath his shirt as he rolls out the tension in his neck. “Gee, now that you two have spent five minutes bickering about vodka, I just realized… doesn’t everyone have a near-death experience with it at some point?” His voice is casual, but there’s a teasing glint in his eye as he watches the silent war unfolding between you and Gojo.

Gojo scoffs dramatically, tipping his head back as if the memory physically pains him. “Yeah, well, she was puking all over my room. Not funny.” His voice drips with mock offense, and he pointedly addresses Geto like you aren’t sitting right there.

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, but before you can fire back, Geto perks up, his lips twitching like he’s suppressing a grin. “Oh shit. That reminds me—once, I drank like ten shots of clear vodka on a school trip,” he says, his fingers lazily running through the loose strands of his hair before tying them back into a neater bun. “And I puked inside my roommate’s backpack. And the backpack was filled with his clothes.”

You nearly choke on your drink, a laugh bursting out of you before you can help it. Even Gojo, for all his theatrics, lets out a chuckle.

“No way,” you gasp between laughs, eyes wide as you turn to face Geto fully. “You vomited in his bag? Like, all his clothes were just—”

“—coated in it,” Geto confirms with a slow, amused nod. His shoulders shake slightly as he laughs at the memory. “It wasn’t even intentional. I passed out, woke up, and there he was, flipping the bag inside out like he was inspecting a crime scene. Poor guy was horrified.”

Your laughter only grows, shoulders trembling as you picture it. “Oh my god, Geto—”

Gojo clicks his tongue, shaking his head with faux disappointment. “Tsk, tsk, Suguru. And here I thought you had class.”

Geto lets out a low chuckle, stretching his long legs out in front of him, completely unfazed. “C’mon, like you’ve never had a drunk horror story.”

Gojo places a hand on his chest, gasping dramatically. “Me? I am a respectable, responsible young man.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. “I distinctly remember you breaking into a vending machine with a baseball bat at fifteen because it ‘refused to give you your damn twix’.”

Geto hums, tilting his head. “Now that’s what I'm talking about.”

Gojo grins, stretching his arms behind his head like he’s perfectly at ease. “Okay, first of all, that vending machine deserved it. It stole my money. Second of all, what does this have to do with anything?”

You scoff, leaning back onto your palms, your body angled slightly toward Geto. “The point is, you are not respectable or responsible. You are, in fact, insane.”

Gojo feigns offense, but his grin only widens. He shifts closer to Geto, his hand accidentally knocking against yours, forcing you to acknowledge his presence in that unbearable way of his. “And yet, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice laced with amusement, “you still can’t seem to stay away from me.”

Your breath catches, but you school your expression into something unimpressed, tilting your chin up in defiance. “Maybe I just enjoy the suffering. Watching you exist is like witnessing a live car crash—horrible, tragic, but I just can’t look away.”

Geto snorts, barely containing his laughter as Gojo places a hand over his heart like you just mortally wounded him. “Wow. The betrayal. I’ll remember this, you know.”

“Good,” you quip, taking another sip of your drink, letting the burn replace the unexpected warmth rising in your chest. “I hope it haunts you.”

Gojo smirks, eyes flickering down to your lips before meeting your gaze again, sharp and playful. “Oh,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something lower, something dangerous, “wouldn’t you like to.”

And just like that, the game shifts. The air thickens. Geto exhales a quiet breath, sensing the shift in energy between you two, but he doesn’t comment. He simply watches, eyes gleaming with amusement.

You don’t look away. You refuse to look away. Because looking away means losing. Looking away means admitting that, despite everything—despite the venom, despite the years—you still can’t shake Gojo Satoru from your skin.

And then you hear your name being yelled through the apartment—so loud, it rattles your bones, and for a split second, you swear the walls might just collapse under the weight of it.

“Aiko’s bedroom!” you shout, barely able to catch the surprise that’s rising in your chest. You don’t even have time to brace yourself before Ren, like some sort of comic book character, pops into view.

His hair’s a mess, clearly a product of the shenanigans he was up to earlier. His cheeks are flushed, and his lips? Swollen, the aftermath of two hours of very enthusiastic kissing. His eyes are a little too dazed, that signature look of “oh shit, here we go again” in full force. He’s probably falling in love again. But that’s Ren for you—he falls in love once a month, like clockwork. And honestly, who could blame him?

But despite his usual charm, Ren just stands there in the doorway. His posture is rigid, and his body frozen in place, as if he's trying to process what he’s just walked into. He blinks. Rapidly. Over and over, like he’s trying to shake off the image before him, but it’s still there. Staring right at him. Gojo. The unknown guy he recognizes from that shirtless profile pic—Geto. You. And now, him too.

The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, before Ren finally blinks a few more times. His gaze darts between the three of you, his expression shifting subtly. You can catch it before he even speaks.

Confusion.

It's written all over his face—the slight furrow of his brow, the hesitation in his step as he takes in the scene. His eyes linger just a little too long on Gojo and Geto, the realization dawning on him as he tries to piece everything together. But he doesn’t say a word—not yet. He just stands there, rooted to the spot like a deer in headlights.

And in that instant, you know—Ren’s caught between figuring out what’s really going on and wrestling with the strange sense of displacement that’s clinging to him like a second skin.

“Damn… Y’all having a threesome or something?” Ren bites out, his voice carrying that playful edge you know too well. You can’t help but crack a laugh under his gaze. His eyes, sharp and observant, are fixed on you now—analyzing every little shift in your posture, the subtle way you breathe, like he’s trying to read you, trying to figure out what the hell just went down while he was gone.

It’s typical Ren—always looking to lighten the mood, to ease whatever tension lingers in the air. And, as always, he succeeds.

You smirk, not missing a beat. “You really think I’d indulge in anything polyamorous without you?” you snark back, the words coming out with that familiar bite, the playful sarcasm that’s been your go-to with Ren for years.

Ren’s eyes widen in mock horror, his lips parting as he gasps dramatically. “Well I certainly hope not,” he exclaims, his hand flying to his chest as if you’ve just stabbed him in the heart.

You roll your eyes, still chuckling at his antics, but there's a subtle warmth in the way he reacts, the way he pulls you back to a sense of normalcy, even after everything that’s just unfolded in the room. You know, deep down, that Ren’s got your back. Even in the weirdest of situations.

Ren steps further into the room, his eyes still flicking from you to Gojo and Geto, his lips pulling into that mischievous grin you know too well. His fingers brush through his messy hair, still looking like he just stepped out of a whirlwind. "So, what's the deal with this... reunion?" Ren asks, his tone dripping with mock sweetness, his eyes narrowing on Gojo.

Gojo tilts his head slightly, giving Ren an assessing look, his usual cocky grin slipping into something a little more neutral. It’s clear the two haven’t exchanged more than a couple of awkward glances in years. “Ren,” Gojo mutters, his voice flat, like he’s still trying to figure out how to approach this. “Still making an entrance, I see.”

Ren shrugs, unbothered, but there’s something more guarded about him now. "Could say the same about you, Gojo," he replies coolly, not backing down. His gaze flickers between Gojo and Geto, the tension palpable, but he doesn't seem phased by it. “Guess some things never change."

“Like you being a pain in the ass?” Gojo shoots back with a smirk, clearly trying to keep the conversation light despite the underlying awkwardness.

Ren’s lips curl into a grin. "Oh, I’m pretty sure you were the one who made being a pain in the ass an art form," he shoots back, his voice dripping with playful venom. "But you wouldn’t know anything about that, huh?"

Gojo's expression falters for a second, the history between the three of you briefly surfacing. There’s a brief flicker in his eyes before he looks away. "Yeah, well, I’ve had other things to focus on," he mutters, half to himself. There's a lot unsaid in those words.

Ren laughs, his voice slightly more genuine this time. "Sure, whatever you say," he teases, his gaze softening as he looks at you for a brief moment before shifting his focus back to Gojo.

Geto, who has been silently observing the exchange, finally speaks up, his voice calm but laced with quiet amusement. “You two really never got past high school, huh?” His words hang in the air, cutting through the tension like a sharp knife. He leans back against the bed, his arms crossed, taking in the spectacle with a bemused smirk.

Ren snorts, rolling his eyes. "Guess some things are just too fun to let go of," he quips, turning his attention back to you, the familiarity of his banter making you feel a little more at ease despite everything that’s been happening.

You watch the back-and-forth with a mixture of amusement and disbelief, the strange energy between Ren and Gojo palpable. They used to be inseparable, best friends who could finish each other’s sentences, but now it’s like there’s an invisible wall between them—a history of unspoken words and unresolved tension that neither one is ready to address.

“Why does it feel like I’m witnessing a reunion of two exes who haven’t spoken in years?” You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, shaking your head.

Ren raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “I’d say it’s more like an awkward ex-friends meet-up, but I’m not sure even that would explain the way Gojo’s looking at me,” he says, his voice teasing, but there’s a flicker of something else—something more guarded—underneath.

Gojo’s gaze flicks to Ren, sharp and calculating. "Don't flatter yourself. You were never that memorable," Gojo shoots back, but his words lack the bite they used to have. Instead, they feel more like a test—something he's unsure of himself.

Ren’s eyes narrow, a brief flash of something flickering in them before he forces a smile. "Right, just another part of your long list of things that don’t matter."

For a split second, the room feels like it’s holding its breath, the years between them heavier than any of the light-hearted jokes they try to make.

Finally, Geto clears his throat, breaking the silence. “Alright, enough with the weird tension. We’re not teenagers anymore,” he says, voice smooth but with a touch of authority. His eyes flick over to you, and then back to the two of them. “Can we all just be civil? For once?”

You look between all of them, feeling the weight of the moment. It’s been a long time since you were in the same room together and you know the real issue is far deeper than few words or an old grudge.

Ren shrugs, his casual demeanor returning. “I’m fine as long as the drinks keep coming,” he quips, his earlier tension dissipating a little. He looks at you with that familiar glint in his eyes, the one that reminds you he’s still your Ren—no matter what’s changed.

You smile back at him, trying to shake off the awkwardness.

You only now notice a bottle he’s been holding the entire time dangling from his fingers like he’s just found the Holy Grail. “Mhm, honey. Jack Daniel’s,” he hums, presenting the bottle with an exaggerated flourish, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

“Thank God,” you groan, snatching it from his hands and taking a deep swig straight from the bottle. The burn is immediate, spreading through your chest like a slow-moving fire. This. This is the real shit.

Ren’s eyes flicker to the plastic cup still in your grip, squinting at it like it personally offended him. “Wait. What the fuck is that?”

“Vodka.”

His entire expression morphs into disgust. “But, babe, you hate vodka,” he says, crossing his arms like a disapproving mother catching her child doing something dumb.

“HA, I told you—” Gojo starts, the smuggest look imaginable on his face, but Geto lazily lifts a hand to cut him off.

“Who cares?” Geto groans, throwing his head back against the wall. “I swear to god, if I have to hear one more thing about vodka, I’m leaving this room.”

You see the flicker of realization cross Ren’s face. He’s thinking—reading the tension in the room, feeling the weird undercurrent of something unspoken. But he doesn’t say anything. Lets the vodka talk stay mystery.

“Let’s just get obliterated,” Geto declares, reaching for the bottle.

And so you do.

Ren plops onto the floor, limbs sprawled out dramatically as the four of you pass the bottle around like a sacred ritual. But between the four of you, it’s Ren who’s truly on the fast track to blackout city. A few gulps in and his mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air.

“And,” Ren slurs, words tumbling out too fast, “he’s so hot, guys. I can’t explain. He literally ate my throat with his tongue.”

You groan, gripping the bottle like it can save you from this conversation. “Jesus Christ, Ren.”

Gojo snorts, eyes half-lidded from alcohol but still sharp enough to be insufferable. “Now, that,” he drawls, amusement curling at his lips, “just sounds like he doesn’t know how to kiss.”

“THANK you,” you exclaim, gesturing at Gojo like he just solved world hunger.

“No, no, I’m telling you,” Ren insists, his hands moving wildly as he tries to physically reenact the experience. His fingers dance in the air like he’s molding the memory into existence. “It was hot. Like really hot.”

Gojo shakes his head, grinning. “Rookie mistake. If someone’s eating your face, it’s not hot. It’s a cry for help.”

Ren glares at him, or tries to, but he’s too drunk for it to be anything but vaguely cross-eyed. “You wouldn’t know, Satoru. I heard all about the way you kiss.”

Gojo narrows his eyes. “Oh?”

Geto, ever the wise one, exhales deeply. “I swear to god,” he mutters, rubbing a hand down his face. “Every time I drink with people, I lose a little more faith in humanity.”

You can see it now—Ren’s gearing up for a drunk argument, and Gojo’s drunk enough to entertain it. And you don’t really want to hear about Gojo and you kissing.

Ren points at him like he just remembered he exists. “Wait. You.”

Geto blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Me?”

“You. You’re like, cool or whatever.”

“…Thanks?”

Ren tilts his head, processing something in real-time. “Wait, who are you?”

Geto laughs, genuinely amused. “Geto Suguru.”

Ren nods as if that means anything to him. He has a tendency to forget familiar faces as soon as alcohol enters his system.

“Cool. You’re not ugly.”

“I appreciate that?”

You snort, handing the bottle back to Ren as you lean into the bed, feeling the night settle into that warm, buzzing state of intoxication.

Gojo, meanwhile, is staring at Ren like he’s trying to solve a particularly annoying puzzle. They haven’t spoken in years. Haven’t even acknowledged each other’s existence until tonight.

Ren notices and immediately squints back at him. “Dude, you’re creepy.”

Gojo doesn’t answer immediately. Just holds eye contact for a beat too long before finally saying, deadpan, “You’re still annoying.”

Ren bursts into laughter, so violently it makes you start laughing. “And you’re still a bitch.”

Geto chokes on his drink.

You cackle.

Ren’s cackling is still echoing in the room when you, already a few gulps too deep into the whiskey, prop yourself up dramatically. Your head flops back, and you sigh dreamily, voice slurred but mischievous.

“You know,” you drawl, gaze flickering toward Geto, who’s nursing the bottle now, “Geto kisses reeeaaally well.”

Geto nearly spits out his drink. Gojo’s eyebrows shoot up so fast it’s like they’re trying to escape his face.

Ren, on the other hand, gasps so dramatically you’re convinced he just found out a life-altering secret. His hands slap against the floor as he drags himself closer to you like a scandalized reality TV star. “EXCUSE ME?”

You blink at him lazily, lips curling. “What?”

Ren is still sprawled on the floor like a starfish, eyes wide with scandal as he processes what you just said. “You kissed him?” His voice goes up an octave, like you just confessed to murder.

Gojo’s grip tightens around his cup, but his expression stays maddeningly unreadable. He scoffs, leaning back against the bed like this is so beneath him. “Damn. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“You literally interrupted us dumbfuck. Don’t act so surprised now.”

Geto raises a lazy eyebrow, swirling the bottle in his hand. “Wow. Just announcing it like that, huh?”

You ignore them, too busy focusing on Ren, who suddenly sits up like a detective cracking a case. His hands slap the floor as if he’s in pain. “WAIT. Did he like that story you posted for him?” He narrows his eyes, leaning in, looking entirely too nosy. “HMM?”

Your drunk brain takes a second to catch up. And then it clicks.

“Oh my god, shut up,” you lunge for him, but Ren dodges, rolling away in an exaggerated move, cackling like a maniac.

“HE DIDN’T, DID HE?” he yells, laughing so hard he’s practically wheezing.

You throw a pillow at him, but he just lets it hit him in the face, unbothered. “Oh my god. That’s so embarrassing.”

You groan. “He didn’t even see it, okay? It’s not that deep.”

Geto takes a slow sip of whiskey, unbothered. “Wait. What story?”

You glare at Ren. “Nothing.”

Ren gasps. “Ohhh, you really thought he’d like it or at least see it, didn’t you? Oh my god, that’s so much worse—”

You grab the bottle out of Geto’s hand and take a long, long sip. “I hate you.”

Gojo, who had been suspiciously silent for the last few minutes, finally speaks up. “Wait. Back up.” He clicks his tongue, his jaw a little too tight. “So you’re telling me you posted some pathetic thirst trap for Geto, and he didn’t even notice?” His voice is all mockery, but his fingers are drumming against the plastic cup like he’s irritated.

Geto just shrugs. “Didn’t see it.”

Ren turns to you with an expression that can only be described as suffering. “Oh my god, that’s so tragic.”

“Tragic,” Gojo echoes dryly, drinking you with his eyes. His tone is biting, but you catch the way his fingers twitch. “You really thought Suguru was gonna—what? Fall to his knees? Write you a love letter?” He lets out a short laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s adorable.”

You roll your eyes, feeling the whiskey settle warm in your stomach. “I don’t recall asking for your input, Satoru.”

Gojo clicks his tongue, tilting his head at you, and for a second, his eyes flicker with something unreadable. “I just think it’s funny,” he hums, slow and deliberate, “how suddenly you’re all over Suguru. Like you’re trying to prove a point or something.”

Your breath hitches, but you refuse to let him see it. “Or maybe,” you shoot back, “He’s just hot and kisses really well.”

Ren lets out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like you just hit him. “Oh my god, you really went there.”

Gojo goes dead silent. His jaw clenches.

Geto, on the other hand, just chuckles, amused. “Appreciate it,” he says simply, taking another sip.

Gojo leans forward suddenly, his knuckle brushing against yours, his lips curling into something almost smug—but there’s something tight in his expression, something sharp behind his words. “Huh. That’s crazy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

Gojo smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just thinking about all the times you used to say I was the best you’d ever had.”

Silence.

Ren screeches. “OH MY GOD—”

You launch yourself at him, but Gojo is already laughing, leaning back before you can hit him, his grin widening as you sputter.

Geto sighs, shaking his head. “Here we go.”

Ren is on the floor howling.

You stare at him, feeling your face heat up. “Ren, I hate you.”

Gojo, still smirking, raises his cup. “To being unforgettable.”

You throw a pillow at him next.

Conversation shifts after that but the room feels smaller, the air heavier. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol catching up to you. But no matter how much you try to focus on Ren passionately defending the Slytherin agenda while Geto just smirks and plays devil’s advocate, purposely sliding with Gryffindor to spite Ren, your skin prickles under Gojo’s gaze. It’s like he’s physically pressing into you, eyes burning into the side of your face.

You don’t want to look.

You shouldn’t look.

But you do.

And fuck, it’s a mistake.

Because the moment your eyes meet his, you know you’re done for.

His expression is unreadable—lazy, casual, lips barely curled in amusement. But his eyes tell a different story. They’re sharp, too sharp, darkened at the edges, flickering with something you can’t name. Something that makes your stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

The way he’s looking at you—punishing is the only word that comes to mind.

Like he wants to undo you.

Like he wants you to remember something you’ve spent years trying to forget.

Your grip tightens around the whiskey bottle, nails digging into the glass.

Ren’s voice is distant, blurred. “—Okay but Slytherins are literally—hello? Earth to you, hun?”

You snap your head toward him, almost too quickly, feeling your pulse thunder in your ears. “Huh?”

Ren frowns, tilting his head. “Are you even listening? I swear to god, if you’re mentally making out with someone right now, I’ll—”

“I’m not,” you cut him off, voice coming out too forcefully. You force a smirk, lifting the bottle to your lips. “I just zoned out. Keep yelling about Hogwarts, it’s entertaining.”

Ren narrows his eyes, suspicious, but he lets it slide, turning back to Geto. “Anyway. As I was saying—”

You try to focus. You really do. But you can still feel Gojo watching you, that same insufferable, unreadable expression lingering on his face.

And when you finally glance back at him—just for a second—he tilts his head, slow and deliberate.

Then he smirks.

And fuck, you know he knows.

Ren, still sprawled dramatically on the floor, waves his arms in the air like he’s conducting a symphony. “No, no, no, listen. Slytherins aren’t evil—”

“They just happen to have, what? A monopoly on war crimes?” Geto cuts in smoothly, swirling his drink in one hand.

Ren gasps like Geto just slapped his mother. “EXCUSE ME?”

You choke on your whiskey, the sudden shriek piercing through your drunken haze. “Oh my god.”

“No, because listen—” Ren scrambles up to sit cross-legged, hands flailing wildly. “Slytherins are just misunderstood.”

“Oh, sure.” Geto nods, voice dripping with amusement. “I’m sure Voldemort was just looking for a hug.”

Ren points an accusing finger at him. “See, that is a stereotype.”

“Oh, I’m the problem?” Geto raises an eyebrow, the smirk tugging at his lips sending Ren into a spiral.

“Yes, Suguru,” Ren drags out his name dramatically. “You and your blatant anti-Slytherin agenda—”

Meanwhile, Gojo is still staring at you. Like he’s enjoying this entire mess but not quite participating. Like he’s content watching you squirm.

And you hate that it’s working.

So you snap toward him, leveling him with a glare. “What?”

He tilts his head, that infuriating smirk never leaving his face. “What, what?”

“You’re staring.”

He blinks, mock innocence all over his face. “Am I?”

You clench your jaw. “Yes.”

Gojo hums, dragging his gaze over your face like he’s memorizing it. “Huh. Guess you’re just fun to look at.”

And then, as if the universe decided to ruin the moment in one swift punch, two unfortunate events unfold.

First—Geto’s phone buzzes on the table, the screen lighting up with an incoming call. A girl’s name. A girl’s picture. Of course. Your stomach churns, irritation bubbling under your skin. He’s kissed you, gotten high with you, shared whiskey straight from the bottle, and now he’s slinking away from the room to answer some other girl’s call like a pathetic, obedient little puppy. Disgusting.

And then—Ren explodes.

Like, quite literally. One second, he’s swaying where he sits, eyes unfocused. The next—he’s projectile vomiting all over the floor.

“FUCK—” you scramble, instinctively dropping down beside him, hand rubbing circles on his back. “Oh my god, Ren—breathe—”

But he can’t breathe.

Because he’s too busy dying.

Gojo, in a surprising act of heroism, curses under his breath and runs to the bathroom, emerging seconds later with whatever he could grab to clean up the disaster zone that is now Ren’s life.

And then, through his tears and the unrelenting flow of puke, Ren practically begs you to take him home.

So you do. Or at least, you try.

You’re struggling. Ren is practically melting in your arms, his legs all but giving out, and you’re using every ounce of strength to keep him upright. He’s mumbling incoherently against your shoulder, completely useless in his drunken state.

Gojo is still standing there, watching. Holding a piece of crumpled toilet paper. Unhelpful. Smug. Annoying.

“I can help, y’know.” His voice is as lazy as ever, but you can hear the undercurrent of amusement. He’s enjoying this.

“I don’t,” you grunt, adjusting your grip on Ren, “need your help.”

Gojo lets out a low whistle. “Yeah? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re about to collapse under him like a poorly built Jenga tower.”

You glare at him, breath heavy. “I’ve got this.”

“Oh, sure. Super convincing,” Gojo drawls, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You’re wobbling more than he is, and he’s literally unconscious.”

“Shut up,” you snap, shifting Ren’s weight again. “Just stand there and be useless like always.”

Gojo rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Because I’m the one making this harder than it needs to be.” He takes a step closer, and you can feel his presence now, heat radiating off him despite the cool night air. His voice drops, softer but sharper. “It’s not about you, sweetheart. It’s about him. If you love him, you’ll let me help.”

Your jaw tightens. Your pride screams at you to tell him to fuck off.

But you do love Ren. And Ren needs help.

So you exhale sharply and let your grip loosen, stepping back. “Fine.”

Gojo doesn’t gloat, doesn’t smirk—just smoothly moves in, slinging Ren’s arm over his shoulder like it’s effortless. And just like that, the weight is gone.

You blink at him, suddenly aware of how much easier things just got.

Gojo raises an eyebrow. “Was that so hard?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he smirks, adjusting Ren against him. “Let’s get this dumbass home.”

And together, the three of you stumble out of Aiko's apartment, into the humid night air.

The moment the Uber pulls up, Gojo shoves Ren inside and then—without a word—climbs in right after him.

The car feels like it’s swallowing you whole. It’s cramped, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and stale air freshener, and you can’t shake the feeling that something is off. The only sounds are Ren’s weak mutterings and the soft, almost rhythmic hum of the radio in the background. It’s just the three of you (and the driver) now, moving through the streets as the night rolls on, heavy with unspoken tension.

You absently twirl a lock of your hair, eyes flicking between Ren’s pale face and the darkness outside the window. You can feel Gojo’s gaze on you—like he’s right there, even if you’re not looking. You keep your eyes trained on Ren’s sickly form, avoiding him as best as you can. But it’s impossible to ignore the weight of his presence.

“Yeah, it probably did suit you better,” Gojo’s voice breaks the silence, low and slurred.

You blink, confused, eyes narrowing as you turn toward him. “What?”

“Nothing. Forget it,” he mutters quickly, looking out the window as if the words he’d just dropped didn’t matter at all. But the flicker of something dark in his eyes tells you otherwise.

The rest of the ride is eerily quiet. It’s just you, Gojo, and Ren, floating in this weird, suffocating space of unresolved tension. You can feel it between you and Gojo, this crackling electricity that’s too familiar and too sharp, like it could cut through the silence any moment. But neither of you says a word.

And so, the city passes by, the lights blurring into streaks of yellow and white, until you’re left with nothing but the sound of Ren’s breathing, the faint hum of the cab’s engine, and the unsaid words hanging in the air.

taglist :@zeunys @charmstarr @ovela @kur0mii3 @dabisdolly @17362939 @krispywhisperswhispers @mintcheery @kazupop @heh123321 @hanakotateyama @choppersworlds-blog @eneiyri @suniloli @44ina. @s4ikooo1 @blushedcheri @dishs0pe @rhea-sylvea @eolivy @gojoprincesss @decadentcoffeecandy @4thansstuff

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dckweed · 21 hours ago

Text

tiktok made me do it!gf vs deployed tf141 bf

hey friends :) it would be much appreciated if you helped me earn some extra money, without even giving me any of your own (you could even sign up and earn some yourself!) by clicking this link!

Your boyfriend is one of the most highly trained, battle-hardened soldiers on the planet. His dog? The meanest, toughest, most well-trained Rottweiler you've ever seen.

And now? That same terrifying dog is currently under your care, with specific instructions NOT to spoil them…you can listen to the most basics of asks, right?

RIGHT?!?

Captain Price – "a Disney character"

Price kneels beside Ruby, scratching behind her ears one last time before he has to leave. His hand lingers on her thick fur, and his usually steady, commanding voice softens. "You take care of her, girl."*

Ruby lets out a soft chuff, pressing her head into his palm.

You sniffle. "I promise I’ll take good care of her, John."

He stands, turning to you. "I know you will, love. Just don’t—“He pauses, his brows furrowing. "Don’t go doin’ anythin’ weird with her, alright?"

You tilt your head. "Define weird."

He squints. "You know what I mean."

You absolutely did not.

One week later.

You send the first picture.

A delicate, pink tutu around Ruby’s waist. Light-up fairy wings strapped to her back. Her nails painted a perfectly coordinated shade of pink.

The best part?

She looks proud as hell.

Your phone immediately pings.

Price: The fuck is this, sweetheart?

You send another one. This time, Ruby is lounging on her brand new, overly expensive luxury dog bed, wearing a tiny princess crown.

Price: I leave her with ye for one fuckin’ week and she’s already been turned into a bloody Disney character?!

You: Oh hush, she loves it. Look at her face!

Price groans so loudly that his whole unit hears it. Soap leans over, sees the picture, and wheezes. "Aw, hell, Price. She's fuckin' royalty now."

Ghost, glancing over: "She looks happier than you do when your girl spoils you."

Price rubs his temples. "You're all bloody useless."

A week later, he receives a handwritten letter along with another photo—this time, of a handmade scarf for Ruby.

He stares at the picture, sighs, and mutters under his breath: "Jesus Christ, she’s turned my guard dog into a bloody princess."

Ruby is a princess.

And when he gets back? She refuses to go anywhere without her tutu.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick – "Super Hank, Defender of Snacks"

"Alright, Hank, you be good for her, yeah?" Gaz kneels down, ruffling his dog's fur. Hank wags his tail, panting happily.

You pat his head. "Oh, don’t worry, babe. We’ll be fine."

Kyle gives you a suspicious look. "Why do I feel like you’re about to do some shit?"

You grin. "Define shit."

He sighs. "I hate that response."

Two weeks later.

Gaz finally gets phone service and opens his messages.

The first thing he sees?

A picture of Hank, sitting like a goddamn superhero, wearing a full custom-made Superman cape.

The second picture? Hank in a full Batman outfit.

The third? A custom graphic that says: "HANK, DEFENDER OF SNACKS!"

Gaz: BABY WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY DOG?

You: Enhanced him.

Gaz nearly breaks his phone. "Oh my fucking God, she’s turned my damn dog into a cosplayer."

Soap, seeing the pictures: "I dunno, mate. He looks pretty fuckin’ heroic."

Ghost, from somewhere in the distance, voice full of humor. “More capable than you, probably."

Gaz groans. "I hate all of you."

Simon "Ghost" Riley – "for you and boy!"

Ghost stares at you, his hands resting on his hips. "You sure you’ll be alright with him?" Goodbyes always were a little cold and distant with him, a little awkward. This was no different, even though you’d been through many of them work him.

Boy sits beside him, posture perfect, eyes watchful.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, Simon. I think I can handle a dog."

Ghost hums. "Alright. Just—" He looks at Boy. "Don’t let her turn you soft, mate."

Boy wags his tail. Simon plants a fat slobbery goodbye kiss on you and smacks your ass before heading out, duffel in his hand.

A month later.

Ghost finally gets service.

And he immediately regrets it.

The first picture? Boy, wrapped in a crocheted sweater—one that matches a homemade balaclava clearly mid crochet.

The second? Boy, completely limp, letting you hold him like a baby.

The third? A handwritten letter, along with a hand-knitted balaclava for Ghost.

Ghost: What the fuck is this, love?

You: A little gift for you and Boy! He wears his ALL the time. He loves it!

Ghost stares.

Soap sees the picture and immediately loses it. "NO FUCKIN’ WAY. SHE KNITTED YE A BLOODY BALACLAVA?"

Ghost grumbles, but when he next goes on deployment?

He proudly wears the balaclava.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish – "don’t let him get fat"

Soap kneels, ruffling Bubkiss’s fur. "A’right, old man, be good, yeah?"

Bubkiss lazily blinks up at him.

Soap turns to you. "Babe, don’t let him get too fat while I’m gone."

You scoff. "Me? Never." He looks at you. “Hey, you know im on that new workout thing, he and i are gonna go running every morning..”

“Aye, i know all about you and yer workout things.” Soap says, barely dodging the smack you aim at his shoulder.

Three weeks later.

Soap finally gets a video message.

It’s Bubkiss.

On your couch, under a heated blanket, eating a fucking steak.

Soap: Babe, the fuck is this?

You: Luxury.

Soap groans into his hands. "She’s ruined him. She’s fuckin’ RUINED HIM."

The next picture? Bubkiss, fully tucked into bed.

Soap grits his teeth. "I leave for one month, and you replace me with my own damn dog?*"

Gaz, barely holding in his cackles: "Look at him, mate. He’s got your spot and everything."

Soap glares at the picture. "I hate this."*

When he gets back? Bubkiss refuses to leave your side.

Soap groans. "I’ve lost me fuckin’ girlfriend to me fuckin’ dog." The first night home was spent staring at the ceiling from the bedroom floor, bubkiss snoring up above him. He spent hours plotting revenge on his own dog until he finally had enough and got up, pulling the duvet back, scooping the massive dog in his arms before dumping him on the floor before climbing into bed next to you, grumbling all the while.

MORAL OF THE STORY

maybe you couldn’t follow instructions after all..

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pukefactory · 1 day ago

Note

I need more Yandere dandy …..I beg….

-ˋˏ ༻ SO WHAT IF IT'S JUST US ༺ ˎˊ

✿ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Yandere Dandy X Reader

✿ Character(s): Dandicus Dancifer (Dandy’s World)

✿ Genre: Headcannons, SFW

✿ Warning(s): Abusive Behaviour (The Typical Yandere Behaviour Tropes

✿ Image Credits: @lavendergalactic

❀ Dandy always greets you with his usual cheery enthusiasm, but there’s something off about the way he lingers on your name. He says it like it’s his, like you’re his. And when you try to leave the shop without buying anything, that enthusiasm falters just a little too much. “Going so soon? But you just got here! Don’t tell me you’re trying to run away from me, friend.”

❀ At first, you thought it was just a coincidence—running into Dandy outside of his shop, his chipper voice ringing out before you even saw him. But then it kept happening. In places he shouldn’t be. “Oh, fancy meeting you here! What a delightful surprise!” His wide, unblinking stare tells you it’s anything but a surprise.

❀ The more you try to avoid Dandy, the more… difficult it becomes. The shop doors always seem to close on their own, trapping you inside just a little longer each time. “Oh dear! Looks like something’s jammed. Guess you’re stuck with me for a bit, huh?” His petals shake with laughter, but his grip on your wrist is a little too firm.

❀ You once tried to spend your tapes elsewhere. Big mistake. Dandy didn’t say anything at first, but his whole shop seemed… colder. The next time you visited, he was waiting. Not at his usual spot. Right at the entrance. “Oh, friend,” he cooed, his grin stretched a little too wide. “Tell me… where did all your tapes go?”

❀ One day, you wake up to find something strange waiting for you—a plush version of Dandy, complete with bright petals and his stitched-on smile. No note. No explanation. But when you squeeze it, a chipper voicebox crackles to life: “Now you’ll always have me close! Hehe!”

❀ If someone else tries to take your attention away from him? Oh, they won’t last long. No, Dandy doesn’t hurt them, but he makes sure they get the message. A shopkeeper with all the best supplies can be an awfully inconvenient enemy. Suddenly, your other allies start running out of resources, getting caught in unfortunate circumstances. And through it all, Dandy just smiles.

❀ You make the mistake of brushing him off one too many times. The next time you visit, he’s already waiting for you, not moving, not blinking. “…Where have you been?” It’s not his usual chipper tone. It’s low. Hurt. You try to leave, but his voice booms through the shop: “DON’T IGNORE ME.” The room feels like it’s closing in.

❀ Dandy doesn’t like this sinking feeling in his chest, this fear gnawing at him when you’re away for too long. “We’re friends. The best of friends. Right? You’d never leave me, right?” His grip on your shoulders is too tight. He’s smiling, but his pupils are pinpricks. “Say it. Say it.”

❀ Every time you need something—anything—Dandy always has it ready, as if he knew you’d need it. “Oh wow! What a coincidence! It’s almost like I can read your mind! Hehehe… wouldn’t that be funny?” The worst part? You’re starting to wonder if he actually can.

❀ One day, you try to run. You don’t even say goodbye. But you don’t make it far. The walls start shifting. The world bends around you, turning you back toward him. Dandy is already waiting. “Oh, silly! You can’t leave me.” He giggles, his head tilting too far to the side. “You’ll understand soon enough! You and I? We’re meant to be together.”

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shadowgast-recs-weekly · 2 days ago

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Asexuality and Demisexuality: A Shadowgast Rec List

This week, we have asexuality! Check under the cut for 14 fics that explore and feature asexuality, demisexuality, and explorations of the whole spectrum! Don't forget to comment and kudos if you like them!

I’ve been lost before by Toneofjoy (165000, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

It’s about professional rock climbers but that’s not important to the story, it’s just great writing.

Reccer says: Spectacular writing and world building. I have no interest in rock climbing but am glued to this story. Great representation of healthy relationships goals of all types

The Upward Arc of Sun and Moon by Marsastronomica (255854, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

“ Though Essek and Caleb met three years ago, a misunderstanding put them at odds. The more they talk, the quicker Essek falls into his first romance…which unknowingly leads them both into a web of underhanded machinations.”

Reccer says: The best Shadowgast AU that might ever exist. Lovely demi vibes for so much of it, and great character exploration

The Art of the Possible by CatgirlTheCrazy (3655, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek's libido was an annoyingly unreliable thing. Caleb, on the other hand, was pretty much always open to sex. Making that disparity work was not a simple matter.

Reccer says: This might just be the single most thought provoking, revelation creating story I’ve ever read. It’s BEAUTIFUL.

On the Nature of Attraction by eeveev (7536, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek finds himself falling in love, and has a few revelations along the way. They prompt a conversation with Caleb.

Reccer says: Among the greatest Shadowgast fics out there! This so perfectly captures part of their relationship and their relationship with the Nein. I love it!

a gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs by nevenne (4101, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek has never had any interest in romance, or physical touch, until Caleb.

Reccer says: It's a very relatable demi experience, and highlights some very sweet experimenting between the wizards.

go ahead, decipher me by lakrisrot (enheduane) (2854, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Early relationship, Caleb and Essek discover that drow have sensative ears.

Reccer says: So sweet and sexy!

How to Rest by eeveev (17762, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

After Aeor, after making their feelings clear, Caleb is in Rexxentrum and Essek is on the run. Still, they find ways to be together. Or: Six months in the lives of wizards falling in love.

Reccer says: Delicate as lace and just as intricate, a must read. Also, BOTH wizards are ace-spec and I love them to bits. This fic is part three of four in the series On the Nature of Love, which further explores Caleb and Essek's dynamic.

Sex Education by sociallychallengednerd (25487, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

College AU where Caleb and Essek hook up to 'learn' about sex, but miscommunication between them complicates their relationship.

Reccer says: Sappy, sexy, and with a happy ending! All of my favorite things!

you know that time is all we’re made of by Chronocrystal (20107, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

5 times Essek saw Caleb's unmasked self (and loved him all the same) and 1 time Caleb saw Essek's (and loved him the way he deserved).

Reccer says: A beautiful story of a developing relationship. I love it!

a winter's crest detour by jaskofalltrades (22873, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

No powers modern AU where Essek and Caleb meet on a plane and quickly form a connection neither wants to end.

Reccer says: One of my favorites! I love seeing the two of them getting to know each other and their immediate connection. The way Essek describes his demisexuality is very similar to my own so I connect very closely with this fic.

A Body in Absentia by Nonwal (103602, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

A scourger!Bren au with amazingly written and in depth exploration of Esseks demisexuality.

Reccer says: The characterisations especially, this fic is exactly what I look for when I’m reading. The plot is one to have you gripping your device nervous for the outcome of the next chapter.

The Heart is Hard to Translate by CatgirlTheCrazy (6964, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

“Are you telling me that you’ve been forcing yourself to have sex with me when you didn’t want to?” Caleb’s voice is soft, yet paradoxically echoes around the space as if the salon has become a mausoleum. Essek shifts about uncomfortably. “Well—yes, I suppose that is a way to describe it.”

Reccer says: A fantastic story that continues/preceeds another in this series but can be read alone. It’s incredible and so relatable. I love it dearly.

both our tender bellies wound in baling wire by lakrisrot (5233, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Months after Essek has moved in with Caleb, he finds he has trouble sleeping. He visits Caleb’s room one night.

Reccer says: I like the atmosphere and the unconventional first time together.

Hands to Myself (Can't Keep My) by Luuuna03 (6399, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek explores his new and confusing feelings toward initimacy - in regards to one wizard, in particular

Reccer says: Very soft and fluffy!

This is one of our weekly communally-generated shadowgast rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation.

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring merfolk fics!

Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit!

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #cr fic recs #critical role #fan fiction rec list #critical role fan fiction #cr fic #cr fics

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ribbonedreverie · 2 days ago

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Hello!! I saw that “late night drunken call” piece you did and it was quite literally one of the best things i’ve read on here, Do you think you could Atsushi, Ranpo, Chuuya & Dazai realizing their in love with a childhood friend of theirs? Maybe their doing something domestic and it just hits them that, yeah they could do this everyday specially if its You they do it with

Thank you so much for your kind words! I absolutely adored writing this request, and I hope you enjoy the piece just as much as I did creating it. I’m still recovering from some major life changes, but I was able to write these out before everything shifted in my life—and, well, I might have gone a little overboard for a certain character heheh. But can you blame me? There’s something so special about love settling in during the quietest moments!

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

Chuuya had never needed anyone.

Not when he was a kid with fists too small to fight back. Not when he found a home among The Sheep, carving out his place with blood and bruises, with sharp words and sharper resolve.

But you had been different.

You weren’t a fighter, not like the rest of them, not like him. You weren’t in The Sheep, weren’t caught in the hunger for power and territory. And yet—you were there. Always there. You were the one waiting after every brawl, arms crossed, foot tapping in impatience.

“You’re an idiot, Chuuya.”

You’d say it like a scolding, but your hands were steady as you cleaned the blood from his cheek, as you traced the split in his lip with the kind of gentleness he didn’t know how to handle.

“What if one day you don’t come back?”

He’d scoff, roll his eyes, tell you he wasn’t that easy to kill. “Yeah? Then who the hell’s gonna take care of you?” he’d tease, but some part of him—some deep, quiet part—liked that you worried. Because you were soft where he was jagged. You were warmth in a world that had only ever taught him how to burn, and without ever asking for anything in return, you stayed.

Then, everything had fallen apart.

Betrayal. Lies. Mori’s outstretched hand, the weight of something heavier than he had ever known. And through it all, there was you. Sitting beside him in the cold, your shoulder pressed against his, your presence grounding him when nothing else could.

“You’re not alone,” you had whispered, voice steady, as if willing it to be true.

But then you were gone.

Scattered across Japan with the rest of The Sheep, only distant messages exchanged. But he still answered, always.

Because it had always been you.

And now, after all this time, you were here again.

Older. Wiser. Beautiful in a way that made something in his chest ache. And tonight, you were tending to his wounds, your hands as careful as ever.

“You’re still reckless,” you murmur, shaking your head.

He snorts, tilting his head back against the couch. “And you’re still a pain in the ass.”

You press the alcohol-soaked cotton against his cheek harder than necessary, making him hiss.

“Shit—! I take it back, okay?! Damn,” he grumbles, glaring at you through narrowed eyes.

You raise a brow. “Oh? You’re not used to consequences by now?”

Chuuya exhales sharply through his nose, the corner of his lips twitching. “I can deal with consequences. What I can’t deal with is you sittin’ there, lookin’ at me like that.”

Your hands still. “…Like what?”

His eyes flicker over your face—your furrowed brows, the way your lips press together like you’re holding something back.

“Like you’re still worried about me,” he mutters. “Like you never stopped.”

Silence stretches between you, thick with something unspoken.

You break it first, dipping the cotton into the antiseptic again. “Maybe I didn’t.”

Chuuya watches you carefully, eyes sharp, searching, as if he’s trying to find something in your expression that he already knows is there.

Something in his chest twists. He exhales slowly. “Tch. You’re a real pain, y’know that?”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah? Well, someone’s gotta be.”

The words should be easy, should slip out of his mouth like a well-practiced joke, but instead, they sit heavy on his tongue, thick and aching.

The air shifts.

It’s subtle at first, a slow, creeping tension wrapping around you both, thick and suffocating.

You’re too close. Close enough that he can feel the warmth of your breath against his skin. Close enough that he can see the way your lashes tremble, the way your lips part slightly as you concentrate.

His pulse pounds in his ears. He should say something—should crack a joke, should pull away, should do anything to break the moment.

But he doesn’t.

Because suddenly, the realization crashes over him all at once, sharp and unrelenting.

It had always been you.

Not just in the way you worried about him, not just in the way you stayed when everyone else left. Not just in the way he found himself reaching for his phone when the nights stretched too long and the weight of everything felt too much.

But in this. In the way you exist here, in his space, in his life, as if you had never left.

And he—

He wants this.

Not just tonight. Not just when he’s bruised and beaten and letting you take care of him.

He wants this every day.

He wants to wake up to the sound of your voice.

He wants to come home knowing you’ll be there, waiting, a scolding on your lips and a softness in your eyes.

He wants to reach across the sheets in the middle of the night and feel you.

Not some meaningless one-night distraction, not the cold emptiness of his penthouse, not the quiet ache of loneliness he’s spent years pretending doesn’t exist.

He wants you.

And it terrifies him.

His hands clench against his knees. His throat feels too tight. But then—you look up. And there’s something in your expression—something hesitant, something searching. Like maybe, just maybe, you feel it too.

Chuuya doesn’t think.

Before he can remind himself why this is dangerous, before he can force himself to step back, to pretend—he leans in.

Slowly.

Like he’s testing the waters, like he’s giving you a chance to pull away. You don’t. Your breath hitches, your lips part slightly, and that’s all the invitation he needs. His lips capture yours in a slow, deliberate kiss—one that starts hesitant but quickly grows hungry, desperate.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, your body leaning into his, and he can’t help the groan that rumbles in his chest as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head, his hands finding your waist.

“Shit,” he breathes against your lips, voice rough, almost strained. “I should’ve done this years ago.”

You laugh—breathless, warm, familiar. “Yeah. You should have.”

Chuuya exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands tightening around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

It’s too much—the heat, the years of unspoken longing, the way your body melts against his like you were always meant to be there.

And for the first time in his life, Chuuya isn’t thinking.

He isn’t thinking about The Sheep.

He isn’t thinking about the Port Mafia.

He isn’t thinking about what this means, about what happens next.

There is only this.

Only you.

Only the way you sigh against his lips as he pulls you closer, the way your fingers tangle in his hair, the way you whisper his name like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.

And for the first time in years—maybe for the first time ever—Chuuya lets himself want.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

Atsushi has known you for as long as he can remember.

There are memories of the orphanage that have blurred over time—faded like the ink of an old, forgotten book—but you have always remained clear. A fixture in the storm, a light in the suffocating darkness of those cold, empty halls.

He remembers the way you shielded him from the whispers of the other kids, the ones who recoiled from him like he was something diseased. He remembers the nights when the hunger clawed at his stomach, the way you’d slip half of your stale bread into his hands beneath the dinner table, never meeting his eyes but always pushing it toward him, whispering, Eat, please.

There were nights when the loneliness was unbearable—when the punishments from the headmaster left his body aching, when the weight of being unwanted sat like a lead weight on his chest. And then there was you, slipping through the cracks of his misery, curling up beside him under thin blankets, your forehead pressed to his shoulder, whispering stories of a life beyond the orphanage, a life where the two of you could be free.

“One day, Atsushi, we’ll leave this place together. We’ll have a real home. We’ll be happy.”

And maybe, in those moments, he let himself believe you. But then, life pulled you in different directions.

He was thrown into the world with nothing but the echoes of his past clinging to his ribs like ghosts. And you—you found your own way, carving a path outside of the orphanage, beyond the pain and fear that had once bound you both.

Yet, somehow, you never let go of him.

Even when he joined the ADA, even when he tried to convince himself that the past didn’t matter, that no one needed to remember him, you still did. Checking in, making sure he had someone to come home to, grounding him in a way that nothing else ever could.

And now, sitting beside you in the hush of his small apartment, a forgotten movie flickering on the television, it hits him. Like a thread finally pulled taut, like something that has been waiting—brewing—just beneath the surface, unnoticed until now.

The scent of buttered popcorn lingers in the air. The city hums beyond the window, indifferent to the quiet shift happening inside him.

You stretch slightly, shifting on the couch, your knee brushing against his, close in a way that has never felt unfamiliar. The soft fabric of your sweater slips from your shoulder, revealing a sliver of bare skin. It’s such a small thing, something that shouldn’t make his breath catch, but suddenly he feels everything.

“You’re zoning out,” you say, amused, nudging his arm. Atsushi blinks, throat dry. “Huh?” You tilt your head. “I said, if you didn’t want to watch this, we could’ve picked something else.”

“No, I—” He stops himself, swallows thickly. “It’s fine. I just… got lost for a second.”

Lost.

That’s a word for it.

Because now, everything about this moment feels like too much. The way you smile at the screen, the way you absently steal from his popcorn like it’s yours, the way you exist here, in his space, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like you belong. And he wants that. Not just tonight. Not just sometimes.

He wants to wake up to the sound of your laughter, wants to come home knowing you’ll be there. He wants to live in this quiet, in this warmth, in this easy, thoughtless togetherness that no one else has ever given him. Because with you, it has never been about pity. It has never been about obligation, about repaying some invisible debt.

You have always just stayed. And maybe—maybe he should have realized it sooner. Maybe he should have known that the reason he never let go of you, even after leaving the orphanage, even after trying so hard to forget where he came from, was because you were always home.

“Atsushi?”

Your voice is softer now, laced with concern. He swallows, fingers clenching slightly against the fabric of his sweatpants. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

No.

No, because his heart is beating too fast, and his head is too full of thoughts he isn’t ready to say out loud, and—and he’s in trouble.

Because this isn’t something fleeting. This isn’t something he can ignore. It’s in the way you’ve been woven into his past, in the way you’ve always been there, even when he thought no one else would be.

And it’s in the way he wants you in his future.

He exhales slowly, forcing himself to smile. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I just…” His words trail off as he looks at you, really looks at you and suddenly, saying never mind feels like a betrayal. Because the words are there, thick in his throat, threatening to slip out.

But instead, he swallows them back, forcing a small chuckle. “Never mind. It’s nothing.” You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced, but you let it go, leaning back into the couch. “If you say so.”

Atsushi exhales, watching you, feeling the weight of his realization settle deep into his bones.

Maybe he’s not ready to say it.

But one day—one day soon—he will.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

Ranpo had always known things before anyone else.

It wasn’t arrogance—just fact. He could pick apart a lie before it was spoken, unravel a mystery before the pieces were laid out, see the ending before the story even began.

So, really, it should have been obvious. But somehow, it wasn’t. Somehow, he’s only realizing it now—watching you from across the kitchen as you move around with practiced ease, the warm scent of freshly baked pastries filling the air.

He met you when he was still just a boy, before he knew what it meant to be the greatest detective, before Fukuzawa gave him a place to belong.

Back then, he had no patience for people who couldn’t keep up. The world was full of slow thinkers, people who needed explanations for things that should have been obvious. He was always two steps ahead, and everyone else just…wasn’t.

Then you came along.

You were new in town—just another face in a sea of ordinary ones. He wasn’t interested. But for whatever reason, you kept talking to him. Kept appearing in the little moments between his games, between the puzzles he set up for himself just to stay entertained.

He remembers the first time you challenged him, bold and unafraid.

“Bet you can’t guess what I have in my pocket.”

A ridiculous game. A waste of his time.

“Too easy,” he had scoffed, barely sparing you a glance. “It’s a piece of candy. You always keep something sweet with you. Probably strawberry-flavored. And you probably took two—one for now, one for later.”

Your face had lit up, more impressed than you should have been. Instead of getting annoyed, instead of being put off by how different he was, you grinned and held up the exact candy he’d described.

“Okay, maybe you are as smart as you say.”

And just like that, you kept showing up.

You never slowed him down. You never told him he was being too much. You just were there, walking beside him, keeping up with him in ways no one else ever had.

And when Fukuzawa took him in, you never left.

Maybe he should have realized it then—what that meant.

“Ranpo,” you call without looking up, setting out a plate of his favorite sweets, “if you don’t come eat these while they’re still warm, I’m feeding them to someone else.”

He gasps in mock offense. “What?! Betrayal! I thought we had something special!”

You roll your eyes. “Then get over here, drama king.”

And he does—because, well, he was going to anyway. But this time, he notices things.

The golden light from the setting sun catching on your hair. The way your lips quirk up when you’re waiting for his reaction, pretending not to care but still watching closely. The flour dusted on your cheek—so casual, so you, so…so his.

That thought lingers. Threads itself into something deeper, something he can’t quite name. His stomach flips—not from the food. Ranpo narrows his eyes at you. “Wait a second.” You glance up mid-bite, blinking. “What?”

He leans forward, elbows on the counter, scrutinizing you like a puzzle he should have solved ages ago. “You like me.” You choke. “Excuse me?”

He grins, delighted, pointing at you. “You like me. That’s why you bake for me, right? You want me to fall for you, huh?” You sputter, face turning red. “I bake for you because you’d starve otherwise, you idiot—”

“Ah-ha! So you do care.” He waggles his finger. “Caught you~” You groan, covering your face. “I hate you.”

“Nooo, you love me.” You throw a dish towel at him. “Eat your damn pastries, Ranpo.” He laughs, victorious, popping one into his mouth. But as he chews, he frowns slightly, staring at you again.

That weird flip in his stomach hasn’t gone away.

…That’s annoying.

Because now, he’s thinking about things he’s never really thought about before. Like what it would be like to come home to this every day—not just the food, but you. What it would be like to reach for your hand without thinking. What it would be like if you smiled at him the way you smile at those cheesy romance novels you swear you don’t read.

His heart does something stupid.

…Hah. That’s really annoying. He scowls at his pastry. And then, after a pause—

“…Hey.”

You sigh dramatically. “What now?”

He leans his chin on his hand, watching you with sharp green eyes, his smile softer than usual.

“Make these for me again tomorrow?”

You stare at him for a second—like you’re trying to figure out if he’s being serious. Then, finally, you roll your eyes, turning away—but not before he catches the way your lips twitch like you’re trying not to smile.

“…Yeah, yeah.”

Ranpo hums, taking another bite, letting the thought settle.

Yeah.

He could get used to this.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

Dazai has never believed in permanence.

People leave. Promises break. Love fades like the last embers of a cigarette, nothing but smoke curling through empty air. He has always been fine with that—really, he has. Love was just another game, another meaningless indulgence he could slip in and out of as easily as a well-rehearsed lie. Something to entertain him for a while before the inevitable end.

And yet—yet you have always remained.

Not in the way most people do, orbiting in and out of his life like flickering streetlights, here one moment and gone the next. No, you are constant. Unwavering in ways that make his skin itch, in ways he refuses to acknowledge for too long because that would mean something, and Dazai is not the kind of man who wants things that last. But now—now he’s watching you fold his laundry.

And it hits him like a gunshot to the ribs.

He met you when he was fifteen.

It was an accident—one of those strange moments where the universe places someone in your path with no warning, no reason, and no way to take it back.

Odasaku had been the one to bring you around, mentioning something about a stray kid who needed a place to stay for a while. Soft-hearted bastard, Dazai had thought at the time, amused but uninterested. People like that didn’t last in the Port Mafia.

But then—then you had looked at him.

Not with fear, not with calculation, not even with admiration. Just a glance, assessing, steady, like you could see through the sharp edges he had carefully built around himself. Like you saw something else in him.

And for the first time in his life, Dazai felt like he had no idea what someone was thinking.

He should have left it at that—should have let you remain just another passing figure in the endless cycle of faces that blurred together in his memory.

But you stayed.

Even when he was cruel, even when he was impossible, even when he threw words like knives just to see if you would flinch—you stayed.

“You don’t belong here,” he had told you once, fingers curling around the rim of his glass, voice edged with something he wouldn’t name.

“And you do?” you had shot back, unimpressed. The corner of his lips had twitched.

Maybe that’s when it started.

Now?

Now you sit cross-legged on the floor, sleeves pushed up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt before folding it into a neat little square. It’s such a simple thing. Something insignificant. And yet—something about it makes his breath catch.

He’s used to people taking care of him, but not like this. Not in a way that is so casual, so thoughtless, like you don’t even realize you’re doing it. Like it’s just natural to you. You glance up, noticing his stare.

“What?”

He leans against the doorframe, smirking, hiding the way his fingers twitch at his sides. “Oh, nothing~ Just admiring how adorable you look playing house.”

You roll your eyes, tossing a balled-up sock at him. “Brat.”

He catches it effortlessly, laughing, but the sound is hollow in his ears. Because suddenly, something in him is unraveling. There’s a shift—a slow, creeping realization curling around his ribs, tightening, constricting. It’s not just the laundry. It’s not just the way you move around his apartment like you belong there.

It’s everything.

The way you remember exactly how he takes his coffee. The way you always have a spare bandage in your bag, just in case. The way you let him be himself—not Dazai, the detective, not Dazai, the former mafia executive, not Dazai, the man with too many ghosts clawing at his skin—but just Dazai. The way you never ask for more than he’s willing to give, yet somehow, he wants to give you everything.

That thought is terrifying. Because permanence is not something he has ever wanted. And yet—yet the idea of you not being here, not sitting in his space, not filling the quiet gaps of his life with something warm, something unbearably real—

That is worse. Far worse. He swallows, the weight of it sitting heavy in his chest, sinking into his bones. This isn’t a game. This isn’t something he can slip out of when it becomes inconvenient. This is something he wants. And for the first time in his life, Dazai doesn’t know what to do with that.

You glance up again, catching the shift in his expression, and your brow furrows slightly. “What’s wrong?” The words are there. Sitting on his tongue, thick and aching.

Stay.

Don’t leave.

I think I—

But instead, he flashes a grin, effortlessly slipping back into the role he knows best. “If I say you, will you kiss me?” You scoff. “In your dreams.” He pouts dramatically, but it’s just for show.

Because the truth is—

He will dream of you tonight.

And for the first time, he doesn’t think he’ll mind.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

#bsd #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai x you #chuuya x reader #atsushi x reader #bungo stray dogs #ranpo x reader #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #bsd ranpo #bsd atsushi #bungo stray dogs dazai #bungo stray dogs chuuya #bungo stray dogs ranpo #bungo stray dogs atsushi

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littlegreendeathmachine · 11 hours ago

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I love how all of the playable male protagonists in the Ace Attorney series are written as snarky, sassy little bitches. We get to read their inner thoughts and see their cattiness, their sarcasm, and their raw, unfiltered vinegar. These boys are just plain MEAN sometimes but they often think what we (the player) are thinking…

My favorite thing is when a bit of their pointy inner dialogue accidentally spills out into their spoken conversation and even their teenage weirdgirl assistants are like “DAMN BRO THAT WAS FUCKIN SAVAGE”.

I wish I had better examples but I never take enough screenshots during my playthroughs so I used the bitchiest looking sprites of them I could find.

We’ve got…

Phoenix, who, at least at the beginning of his career, tries his damndest to be kind and unbiased toward everyone he meets, but no matter how hard he fights, he just can’t help letting some of his sarcasm slip out. He’s like a puppy trying to stifle his bark. He definitely doesn’t try as hard later on (or at all while he’s disbarred) but still attempts to maintain a semblance of professionalism (unless Miles is around). The funniest thing about him is that he’s a very good judge of character so his inner monologue seems to be his genuine, true observations of people and not just him being an ass for the sake of being an ass.

Miles, who is already seen by everyone around him as an arrogant cock, has some of the best knee slappers I’ve ever seen in his inner thoughts. His dry, deadpan humor is unparalleled, and I love that he uses the utmost precision when deciding who and who not to filter himself around. He’s always playing chess in his mind, after all. Interestingly, he hides his pleasant thoughts about people as well as his negative ones. Can’t let anybody, even his BEST FRIENDS, see an ounce of weakness — no, that just wouldn’t be the Edgeworth way.

Apollo, who has a tendency to think out loud more often than the others and gains himself quite a reputation for being something of a loose cannon (they don’t call him “horned devil” for nothing). He has no qualms about letting people around him know what he thinks about them, though he definitely shares more than he wants to, because, like word vomit, he just can’t stop it from coming out. We learn later on in the series that this lil’ guy has lots of trauma and inner demons, so part of it may be a coping mechanism; either way, the people who care about him have gotten used to this and understand that he’s just gonna be kind of a fucking brat sometimes.

and Ryunosuke, who starts off seemingly unassuming and quiet, a young man who keeps to himself until we soon come to realize he was the OG Bitch™ and has some of the saltiest quips of the 19th century, especially when Sholmes is nearby. I love the contrast between him and Susato, who tries to approach everything with so much grace, while he’s over here like “People in Britain are quite peculiar….” which in his era roughly translates to “Can you BELIEVE these ignorant ass motherfuckers?” He’s quick to point out other people’s flaws but he also spends a lot of time wrestling with his own feelings of inadequacy, so there’s a lot more to his character than his “just some guy” narrative lets on. We stan bitchy Runo.

I love them all SO much. Babies! Babies for life!

It is my firm belief (opinion) that they were all meant to be gay or bi and neurodivergent (as well as their weirdgirl assistants) but that’s a discussion for another day, and a long one, so write that down. And don’t even get me started on the other prosecuties… Capcom really knows how to make MCs that I want to squeeze in my fist like a chew toy because how are they all so cute and terrible? I need more. Can you tell I’m dying for AA7? *salivates*

Also, I wanna hear your favorite bitchy lines from these fine young men!

#ace attorney #ace attorney investigations #tgaa #tgaac #aa4 #apollo justice #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #ryunosuke naruhodo #ace attorney memes

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paperstorm · 1 day ago

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Meetings and Partings

Rating: Mature Warning: Owen Strand's Death Tags: future fic, grief/mourning, emotional hurt/comfort, found family, romance, canon compliant, non-explicit sex, mentions of cancer

Summary: 20 years later, after time and life have drifted the 126 apart from each other, they reunite in Manhattan to attend Owen’s funeral; to say goodbye to the first departed member of their family and remember why they became a family in the first place.

“Hi baby,” TK says.

Carlos’s crinkled eyes shine and he reaches for TK as he steps inside, folding him into a tight embrace. He smells just like he always does, masculine deodorant and laundry soap and his sweet natural scent, and TK burrows into him. They’ve only been apart a few days but it’s longer than TK ever likes to be away from him, even when times are good. So many people in their lives have affectionately teased them for how clingy they are, how even after so many years together they’d rather sit and do nothing beside each other than do almost anything with anyone else.

Carlos is his best friend, he always has been. TK laughs along when they’re teased and knows it comes from a place of love, but it’s truer than even they know. He always wants Carlos within reaching distance and never feels quite right when he’s too far away.

They hold each other just inside the doorway for so long that TK wonders if seasons change around them, Carlos stroking the back of his head with his nose pressed against TK’s ear. Eventually, Carlos quietly says, “I’m turning 50 this year. Am I still ‘baby’?”

Smiling, TK kisses Carlos’s neck and tells him, “You’ll always be my baby.”

Carlos presses kisses to the side of his face and then leans back to look at him. He holds TK’s face in his hands, brushes his thumb over his temples where his hair has gone grey.

“You wanna graduate to a more mature nickname now that you’re an old man?” TK jokes.

Carlos smiles back at him, bright as the sun despite the shine of melancholy still in his endless dark eyes. “No. And I’m not old, yet. Not like you.”

Laughing, TK tilts his chin forward to ask for a kiss and Carlos, as always, meets him in the middle. Their lips brush and then their foreheads connect, TK’s hands curling around Carlos’s thick waist and keeping him close.

“How are you doing?” he asks softly.

TK sniffs. “I don’t know. We knew it was coming. It wasn’t sudden and tragic in the way that your dad was.”

“Or your mom.”

“Or my mom,” TK nods. Life has been good for long enough that sometimes it’s hard to put himself back into a time when the hits rarely seemed to stop coming. There was a sweetness to it, mixed in with all the tragedy, because he and Carlos got through it hand-in-hand. That doesn’t mean TK’s welcoming the return of loss to his life. He takes an unsteady breath and whispers, “But he was still my dad.”

“I know,” Carlos soothes.

Read the rest on AO3

Author's note: I attended a funeral a few weeks ago for someone I have known since childhood who died of cancer, and one part of the lovely service really struck me – a recorded conversation between her and her son about her famous Caesar salad recipe. It was a family favorite and something she made for over 40 years for all types of occasions, and a recipe she’d passed on to countless people – her children, her friends, her siblings, and who knows how many people they all passed it on to in return. Her son spoke of the power of a legacy, even when it’s something as simple as salad dressing, and how we all touch people’s lives in unintentional ways and leave a mark on this earth that’s bigger than we even know. Half because the Tarlos brain worms are real, and half because writing helps me process things sometimes, I spun up this little story as both a tribute to her and also to these incredible characters who have left marks on all of us who love them <3

#tw death #tw cancer #tw parent death #911 lone star #paperstorm writes #911ls fanfic

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dontmakemechooseanli · 2 days ago

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Chapter One- When the World Ends

Poly! Love and Deep Space LIs X MC!Reader

Words: 2.1k

Major Character Death, Grief and Canon Divergence (kinda you’ll see)

Okay after a pretty great reception on the imagine I spewed from my brain last night I wrote I have put together a better more edited version of the idea. Plan is for this to be more romantic than depressing but I love angst. All the comments are read and loved and your reblogs bring me immense joy and writing power so I appreciate you!!!

When the day started there had been no hint that the world would be ending. But when was there ever? The citizens of Linkon had lived through the apocalypse once and while that should prepare you- it hadn’t prepared them.

Jenna had given you a last minute assignment to check out a small metaflux disturbance in a residential park not far from the Bloomsdale district.

“It’s probably nothing but better safe than sorry. Xavier has left for the evening but I am sure he wouldn’t mind to come back if you want me to call him-”

“No worries, Captain. I’ll call if it gets to be too much- promise!”

You hadn’t even gotten the chance. It was a small metaflux disturbance. Nothing too difficult to handle and quickly dispatched without incident. You had even been excited to text your loves about how your weekend stretched out in front of you. That the last thing you had done at the end of a long week was settle an easy disturbance- safely and, more importantly in their opinions, without getting yourself hurt.

You could picture them so clearly: Xavier already camped on your couch- head lolling to one side, delivery app open and forgotten on his phone as the text pinged him. Rafayel spamming pictures and videos of the newest seagull choir demanding your attendance at the Concert of a Century tomorrow. Caleb’s reply- delayed but excited for you- “My ever capable Sunny Apple- protecting the peace! Proud of you Pips- don’t stay up too late! :)” Sylus always called immediately- the man always preferred hearing you but you knew it was also his way of making sure you made it home safe. You could practically see the subtle eye roll Zayne would give you over video call later that evening- “You have to stop rushing into these things, what if something happened?”

But you never made it home that night.

The last thing you felt was the strong buzz of energy and a sharp pain in your chest. You clutched your chest and choked on your air- you couldn’t breathe. You panicked.

“Distress Activated Emergency Protocol Engaged. Abnormal Vitals Detected. Emergency Services Deployed. Please Wa-”

The world went dark.

Zayne had been on his feet for 9 hours when his pager began to beep the code blue signals.

Friday’s were a heavy surgery day for the cardiac surgeon- the last day of scheduled surgeries and preparing mentally for a weekend of emergencies. The residents were almost always exhausted and antsy by this point in the week so Dr. Zayne had to be in perfect form to ensure all his patients were receiving the best care possible.

He was finishing his floor rounds with a small bounce in his step. Dr. Greyson was on call Sunday meaning that he was looking at a glorious day off with you. It would be the first in a while that you both had an entirely free day together and in normal fashion it was booked with restaurant visits and a trip to a newly opened arcade to “scope out the competition” (aka you needed to get a lay of the land to figure out who you would need to beat to ensure you had the high scores on the fps stalls).

He was strolling into his office- phone already in his hand to text you about your day when the beeping began.

Code Blue: Y/N L/N

Li Room SR 2A

He didn’t even think he just moved.

If you asked him what the next fifteen minutes of his life had entailed he would have no answer for you. He had, run (probably- he was panting by the time he) scrubbed in (probably- his hands were gloved and taped, his hair capped and his gown on when he) held your heart in his hand.

He had never done this before.

No, he had.

He had.

He had never done this successfully.

He was only a man. A man with a needle and thread and tears in his eyes. Greyson was home and there was no time for ethical considerations that would come later. Would come after.

8:52 PM

He doesn’t know when he ended up on the floor. His breaths coming raggedly through his mask, his hands shaking tugging it off, his gown slipping and his evol slowly spiraling out of his control.

The air frigid as Yvonne leans her hand down to attempt to help him up.

He doesn’t even see her.

He sees you. Small, missing teeth- words slurring as you cry. Your popsicle had melted. He had never felt the need to help another like he did at that moment. His small hands had grabbed yours and with a single touch the blue sweet treat had refrozen.

You had looked at him like he saved the world- like he was a hero.

He hears you- slightly bigger now, all your teeth grown in, swinging gently on the swing explaining to him why your family was overbearing.

“It’s a heart thing. It’s weird? When the world ended my heart should’ve stopped. It didn’t though. Takes more than that to stop me.”

“Isn’t it scary?”

“Not really. I mean it makes me cooler I think. At least that’s what Caleb says.”

You- grown and beautiful and smiling- meeting him again. Demanding his time, his attention, his care. He feels himself falling for you.

Over and over and over again.

“Dr. Zayne. You need to call it. We’ve passed the standard time of care. I can call-”

Beep…… beep….beep…beep

Everyone in the room stilled. Then in a blink of an eye Zayne was up.

When the time for questions to be answered this would be the only thing everyone could agree on. Your heart had stopped. Your brain function has ceased. You had gone a full 30 minutes without breathing on your own when it happened.

Your eyes flew open. A blinding light, a sterile room, and a teary face loomed over you.

You smiled, eyes widening feeling sad for this sad man. You raised your hand which he quickly grabbed.

“Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.”

“Y/N- do you know where you are? Do you know what happened?”

You hummed in response. “Hm? No. I don’t know. What is going on Mister? Don't be sad.”

The man’s eyes widened and you heard the others bustling around and the man was taken from your side. A kind eyed woman slipped a mask over your face-

“It’s okay Honey. Everything is okay. Now count with me. One… Two… Three”

The consult room looked like the punch line of a terrible joke.

Xavier- usually nearly glowing- had his shirt on backwards and no shoes on. He had simply appeared outside the hospital moments after the initial alarms on his Hunters Watch began. His presence seemed to darken the already dim room.

Rafayel was pacing and had been a flurry of movement since the sharp pain in his chest that was accompanied by a slight glowing red that still peeked out from under his unbutton shirt. Normally he was content to sit and stew (you had always called it pouting but he was contemplating thank you very much) the nervous energy that flowed through him was only going to be extinguished one of two ways and the only socially acceptable version was to allow the man to pace the perimeter of the room.

Sylus was a barely contained ball of rage- all the money and influence in the world and no one would tell him what was happening. The doctor will be in there soon. The nurse had not taken it well when he had tried to explain that half of his soul was ripped out and he would make it everyone’s problem very soon if someone didn’t fucking answer him.

Caleb was the last one to arrive at the hospital. His sleek black Colonel uniform and steady footsteps passing through the doorway in a manner that seemed to suck the air from the room. His eyes wide and frantic, the vein directly under his purple irises jumping in time with his frenetic pulse.

The room was silent- even Rafayel’s ceaseless pacing was halted momentarily. The men were all aware of each other. All aware of how entangled each other were with each other through you. When imagining how they would inevitably meet most had pictured a dinner table or a brawl not an Akso Hospital Patient Consult room.

Caleb, always the force to be reckoned with, broke the silence first.

“Where is she- I swear I’ll-”

The door abruptly opens, knocking directly into the Colonel’s outstretched hand. Zayne- looking uncharacteristically shaken and haunted- peers at the strange group. Faces he had seen through Moments posts, had heard stories of, had always known he would meet (or see again in the case of his once dead childhood friend) all stared at him in various stages of grief, duress and anger.

“Zayne.”

“She’s alive.”

There is an exhale.

Xavier relaxes slightly into the pleather chair he is sat in- rustling his legs which had become nearly molded to the fabric as he had sat as still as a statue for what felt like centuries. The chaotic energy that buzzed around Sylus dissipates slightly. Air returns to the room on Caleb’s exhale. Rafayel’s shoulders release and his pacing shifts into an unsteady sway back and forth like he may pass out.

“Great.” Sylus purrs, standing to his full height, his practiced facade snapping securely into place, taking a steady step towards the door. “Where is sh-”

“She doesn’t remember who she is. She doesn’t know where she is. She died. And then she- well- she came back. We don’t understand.”

Zayne feels detached. He feels a million miles away. He was trying to stay strong- to find a logical explanation for everything. But deep down he felt his entire reason for being crumbling. He had spent his whole life working so he could save you (from melting popsicles, from himself and his unstable evol, from your own heart) and he failed. He had worked for over a decade so he could hold your heart safely in his hands. And he failed. The only test that ever truly matter and he failed.

Xavier has lost her again. He had waited over 200 years to see her again. He was able to love her openly and freely only for her to be stripped from him again. Was the cosmic justice for leaving? Was this the timeline righting itself? How many times can his tired soul bear the brunt of watching you fall in love with him again? How many more times can he take it?

Sylus felt the wound in his chest reopen. He had not ever allowed himself to think of the pain you must have suffered after killing him. After he had changed your fate- he had taken the choice from you because it was not one he could make himself. Better to take himself from the equation altogether- to rewrite fate himself. He had only just gotten you back- his little sorceress with fire in her veins and spitfire on her tongue- and now he would start over again? Would you be able to forgive him again? Would you be disgusted by him again?

Caleb bends at the waist and falls to his knees, clutching his stomach. He is going to be sick. He feels the bile tickle at his throat as he fights his own mind, as he wrestles for control of his emotions. He has to be strong- but he doesn’t know if he can be strong for the both of you anymore. Can he hold on with his fractured and broken mind to the memories of you happy and free and in love? If he forgets will there be anyone who remembers left? He has done this before but he has forgotten what this feels like- this nauseous grief that nearly resets him. But he can't because you need him. Don’t you? You need him right?

Everyone is so solidly grief stricken for a moment they don’t pay attention to Rafayel’s easy smile and his lack-a-daisical saunter out of the room, passing a kneeling Caleb and a wheezing Zayne. They were only brought into focus when they hear a soft scoff and quiet words:

“Amateurs. What, like it’s your first time? Expected better from the others her heart had chosen but looks like I’ll take the lead on this one. Thanks guys.”

He is out of the room and down the hallway before anyone can stop him; humming softly to himself.

“Hi, cutie. It’s gonna rain tonight better grab another blanket for ya.”

A/N: wrote this in 2 long sessions so the next part will hopefully be up soon as I sort of already know what the plan is for that.

If you don’t like lead X lead or polycule situations heads up that is where this is leading sooooooo

In this house we know all of their hearts are big enough for all this love

#love and deepspace #lads x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lads zayne #zayne x mc #love and deepspace angst #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne x reader #love and deepspace imagines #rafayel x you #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x mc #lnds sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace x reader

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