#i always to make sure I'm doing as little damage as possible to everything even to my own detriment a lot of the time

[dcxdpdabbles]

Everything is fun and games until Menace!Danny's little siblings find out that he's the one with a partner.

I'm a little sibling. I know we have a perfect 10 steps plan to make the partner disappear. Menace!Danny is giving shovel talk — his siblings are kidnapping and doing human sacrifice because violence is the only possible answer.

The first time it happened, it was a goth girl. Her name was irrelevant (though they would soon learn that Danny had a type), but they knew that Danny had met her at a protest.

Apparently, the two had been attempting to stop a project that was going to cause damage to the local buildings. Danny was a big fan of protecting Gotham's iconic Gothic infrastructure and was appalled that the big corporations wanted to tear it down and move to more modern skyscrapers.

Now it's well-known that the Waynes all looked up to Danny. He was everything they wanted to be.

Danny could match Bruce in hand-to-hand combat, make even the most stubborn of heroes respect him with a few soft spoken words, and not to mention his inventing ability. Danny was the glue that kept them all together and their unwavering leader in the darkest if nights.

Despite the rumors, the masses (and themselves before they actually met him) believed Danny was sensitive in an almost heartbreakingly kind way, which worried them for their brother. If the world thought the worst of him, then Danny likely had the worst of the worst attempting to use him.

The Waynes all collectively agree that no one was worthy of Danny's time, especially some goth girl who commented more than once that "dirtbags like Fenton-Wayne" were relatively easy..

And really, she was all about death as a goth, so why had she made such a big deal about them nearly feeding her to Killer Croc? If she liked Death so much, why was she even still alive? They were doing her a favor.

Danny had been rather sad for a few days when she was rejected, even when walking near him, but he took it as their personalities not matching. He was unaware of them slowly lowering her towards a canopy while Dancing Queen was playing. Dick had made sure she could see them dancing to the music as they each took turns reading the comments they documented her saying and then pulling the level to have her drop little by litte.

When she threatened to involve the cops, Tim laughed and told her they were rich. The rich always get a slap on the wrist, especially against someone in her tax bracket. More so with her having no proof.

They made sure she had no proof.

She left the city the following month, but by then, the Waynes had turned their attention to the third son of the Trox family. He had flirted with Danny, who seemed to believe it was the beginning of an epic romantic tale, unaware that the Trox boy was bragging about how easily he got the eldest Wayne on his knees.

Jason was working on how to take Trox's kneecaps without the police, Bruce, or Danny any the wiser as revenge for those comments. His siblings were more than happy to get it done.

[buttercupblu]

Satoru's Psyche|Escalating

"Should I really have to suffer for my actions?"

Previous SessionSession 2 of 10|Next Session

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Patient Gojo displayed extremely flirtatious and unruly behavior during the first half of his visit. Mentions of escape and kid-napping were noted as well as enforced close proximity with his nurse. Threatening remarks were also made at the end of his lunch in response to mentions of disciplinary action. Patient is scheduled for a bath but is pending the possibility of negative punishment to instill corrective behaviors. 📋Length of Session (w.c): 8.3k out of "i said we will cross that bridge when we get to it 😊" 💊Intake Chart (tags): mild violence but no in-action descriptors, coercion, manipulation, drug use, angst, unwatched close contact and touch, nudity, mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️Doctor's angel’s note: i hope you know what you're doing, Nurse 🎼Waiting room music: Overheated|Billie Eilish

Choose wisely.

Hunger stirs in your tummy, and Gojo's words sit with you through lunch. Your spoon clinks around the bowl, stirring the soup growing colder by the second though the growls from your stomach are too obnoxious to be ignored. But your mind wanders.

You're stuck. Earlier, you were all for serving up justice on a silver platter, but now you're seriously second-guessing your "genius" idea to punish Gojo by making him someone else's problem.

As if anyone will be crazy enough to say yes.

Everyone already avoids his wing like the plague. It's kind of an unspoken fact that you are Gojo's one and only. The only staff he allows near him. Anyone else would be playing with fire.

And if someone is brave enough to willingly throw themselves into the lion's den, they definitely can't be new. New to nursing—new to the ward. High expertise is needed here. Someone seasoned—experience which you lack yourself—otherwise, they won't last a second with Gojo.

It'll be way too easy for him to make them snap, like tossing a bone to a dog.

"Persephone." Yuko brings you out of your coma.

You perk up, instinctively smiling. "Hey, what's up?"

"You tell me," she snorts. "You've been playing with your food like break isn't over in 10 minutes." She touches your arm. "Everything ok?"

It's written all over your face, huh? You could deflate right now.

This is why Yuko is your favorite co-worker. Always reading you like a book without you needing to say a word. Quick to call anything off out.

Leaning back in your chair, you huff, rubbing circles into your temples to relieve the headache you didn't know you had.

"Yeah, yeah," you begin, "It's just—" You stop, her eyes hold so much concern and you've barely opened your mouth. Not sure if you should now because you know what kind of person Yuko is.

And if she knew even half of what you don't tell her during your lunch breaks spent complaining about work, she'd hang Gojo out to dry if she could. She often makes it very clear she hates you have to deal with him at all.

"—I'm just a bit tired. Gojo's scheduled for a bath later, him and two others. Gojo's easy but...I don't know. I feel slower than usual today. Definitely won't get home until late, again, because of all these sponge baths." You cringe at the last part.

Aside from trying to keep Yuko cool, you also don't want to risk the news getting back to the Director who could take you off of Gojo completely. No one else can take your place. And who knows what would happen if you disappeared from his roster for good?

How would his threats manifest?

Yuko scoffs, waving her hand.

"Gojo and easy do not go together," and you both shake your heads and laugh. "But I get it. You did come in super early."

"Thought there'd be less of us," you sigh.

"Sonya's been on our asses lately, right? But hey, she finally got us all here."

"A little too late. The damage is done," you pout, resting your elbows on the table, realizing you've accidentally grown used to chaos and ever-changing schedule.

You routinely plan ahead to make sure you can stand up when people fall short. Constantly putting yourself on the back burner seems to be a thing that always set you back.

"Sooo, you just need rest, ya? Nothing else? Gojo—" there she goes "—been 'okay' with you lately?"

Your heart skips. "Ya. he isn't so bad today," you lie, "I'd just love to be home on time for once. Maybe even a bit early, I'm soo close. Overtime's been wringing my neck for weeks."

Yuko looks at you with puppy dog eyes. And not in a "I feel sorry for you" kind of way, but one that almost makes you feel bad for not telling her the whole truth.

"Here," she pushes your soup towards you, "How about I do Gojo's bath and you get an early start on my last two? That way you can at least binge that show you won't shut up about later." She smiles.

You immediately protest.

There's no way you can do that to her.

Yuko never even crossed your mind and was far from your first pick, not because she can't handle him but because she's your friend. Not just a colleague, but someone you actually care about more than anyone else in this run-down job even if she doesn't feel the same.

She's too good of a person, and you'd be the Devil Incarnate if you let her do something so risky. Especially when you can just suck it up and get it over with.

"Woah, woah, it's just a bath, calm down," she says, taking your hands in hers as you ramble on, trying to convince her that you'll be fine or that you'll find someone else. Burdening her is simply out of the question.

"Who else but me, Seph'?" and she tilts her head, "You don't you think I'm as good as you?" And the way she says it, giving you that look she does when you're being stubborn, dares you to challenge her.

Now you really have to think about what to say.

Goddamn it, you regret saying anything at all, but Yuko's so motherly, how could you resist? Hiding from her is impossible, she would've sniffed you out sooner or later.

Easing your pains when she can is her specialty—helping to calm and settle you down when you blow things out of proportion.

Could this be one of those moments? Or are Gojo's words more than just hot air?

The back and forth is killing you, but the combination of Yuko's reassuring touch and your gurgling stomach puts the final nail in the coffin as she reminds you of the time.

Eyes wide, you look at the clock, ticking away faster than you realized, then back at your lukewarm soup.

Denying that you need help would be silly because technically it's true. You probably should've asked the Director for a little Gojo break forever ago, even if just for a few hours a few times a week. It would be better than nothing because if you can't function, Gojo can't be cared for.

So, who better to help bridge that gap for you than Yuko?

The gutsy woman has been your rock ever since you started at the ward, having your back and sticking with you through tough times when staff constantly dips in and out of the facility like a rotating door, unable to handle the job.

Yuko's a real day one, and next to you, she's the most competent nurse in these walls, fully equipped with a "take-no-shit" attitude that routinely keeps her patients in check.

When you really think about it, it'd be silly, downright irresponsible to trust anyone else.

Her offer is simply too good to dismiss.

"Thank you, Yuko," you cave, grabbing your spoon and finally allowing yourself to enjoy your meal. "You're...amazing. I don't deserve you."

She looks on happily. "Just promise me you'll take some personal time after this," she insists, worry evident in her voice. "We both know how much you care, but even superheroes need rest." She's too kind and right in more ways than one. "Besides, I think Gojo will like me, ya? I'm cool. I'm fun. He'll like a friend of friend?"

You roll your eyes—ya, totally, cool people definitely say they're cool.

Not knowing whether to joke back or wave her off, you softly smile at her concern before nodding, vowing to make good on your promise and feel a bit lighter knowing your wish for early release will actually come true.

Maybe.

The latest threat to your miracle in the making is Mr. Hampton, who is personally making it his business to drag the already long day by its edges, almost bringing time to a standstill with the way he's handling his bath.

Enormous and lumbering, the man Yuko usually deals with took his sweet time gathering his things and even longer trekking down the seemingly endless halls leading to the bathing area. Occupying every inch of the space like those massive trucks that hog the interstate, yet inching along at a pace that makes a snail look like it's in a sprint.

All that was missing were the yellow hazard lights.

Oh no, please, take your time, you think, watching Mr. Hampton clean each limb painstakingly s l o w in a tub that's comically too small for him. You may have been able to rush through Yuko's first patient, but this one wanted all that time back.

His pace resembles a giant's, and his cheery, nonsensical hums echo around the hollow chambers and lull you to sleep, turning your eyes into bricks under the spell of his melody. Perfect timing for the energy drinks from early to crash you out, tag teaming with the chair beneath you that feels a bit too soft as you lean over the tub, willing the colossal man to hurry up.

Warm water flows over your skin as you scrub circles on his neck, deciding to bite the bullet and take over the bath so he can play with the bubbles and get out when you hear a blood-curdling scream.

Your entire body goes rigid, shock reverberating through your spine and forcing you to halt as your mind goes blank. But steamy water brings you back to life, drenching your shirt and upper thighs when Mr. Hampton jumps from the noise.

The rude awakening makes you lock in.

The scream. It sounds like...no, you know it came from the west wing...where Gojo is.

And Yuko.

Hurried steps rush past your door, sounds of multidirectional distress and frantic shouts echoing through the corridor—staff members and patients alike sweep into a whirlwind of panic.

You're number one, dropping the scrubber and scrambling to help Mr. Hampton out of the tub, hands shaking as he grips them.

A security guard bursts into the room, face ashen and jaw tight.

"Nurse! We need everyone in the west wing, immediately!" The command is sharp, laced with an urgency you've never seen before.

And immediately feel responsible for.

"There's been an incident."

Without another thought, you wrap Mr. Hampton in a towel, trying your best to assure him that everything is fine when your obviously trembling body says nothing is. His confused gaze follows you as you lead him back to his room, the commotion in the air moving him a lot faster than earlier before you rush back out and head straight for the west wing—where chaos reigns supreme.

The usually pristine floors, normally squeaky clean due to lack of traffic, are now barely visible. Staff members crowd the familiar hall for the first time since Gojo made it his own, filling the space with more bodies than you're used to and making it difficult to find the source of trouble.

Not like you need to. The truth is painfully clear, and it's disrespectful to even pretend you don't know exactly what went wrong.

You push through the masses, clumsily bumping shoulders, your heart beating into your ears and making the world seem quiet as you inch closer and closer to disaster. Dragging imaginary shackles on your feet until you all but collapse once you spot it.

Gojo—barely restrained by guards, straitjacket nowhere in sight—standing absolutely furious.

And for the first time today, time seems to slow down, your mouth suddenly becoming dry when you look past him.

Yuko.

Halfway out the door to his room. Sprawled out on the ground. Bruised, unconscious, and no signs of breathing.

Your hands fly to your lips, mouth agape. Murmurs from the crowd swirl around you before attendants rush to Yuko's side, knocking into your pathetic frame as you stand too frozen to move.

They gently pick her up, careful to handle her motionless body and place her on a stretcher. Her usually vibrant face is drained of color, twisting the dagger in your chest when you spot the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Fighting for breath.

Fighting.

It hits you like a train.

Someone as kind as her, always greeting you with warmth and empathy and capacity every time she sees you, should never have to lift a finger let alone fight for her life. The sight is too much to bear.

Waves of helplessness crash over you and you can't even look at her. Regretting with every ounce of your being that you sent her in your place. Knowing this could happen. Concerned only with your silly wants and needs.

But you're so confused.

The ward should have weakened Gojo—Yuko should have been fine. The only threat Gojo has up his sleeve is mental torture but Yuko might as well be Freud. Her mind is sound, strong.

And that's where you fucked up, forgetting that Gojo's pure strength, especially when he's lost his fucking mind and triggered, is stronger.

Even with his security system in place, the devil is still powerful enough on his own. And like this was some sick and twisted experiment to help you figure that out, Yuko was the one to pay the price.

"I warned, I WARNED YOU!" Gojo's words pierce the overlapping voices like a sword, breaking your shock and drawing everyone's attention to the strange interaction between the two of you. "I don't like to be touched by strangers, Nurse." Guards struggle to restrain him as he pulls away.

All eyes fall on you and the stares are intense. Confusion and judgment.

Why was Yuko here in the first place?Where was Seph’?How’d he get out?How did this happen? 

Whether the murmurs are real or in your head, the effect is all the same, and you wish you could just completely vanish. Standing like a deer in headlights—and they're so fucking bright.

But Gojo is brimming with malice and amusement, chaotic energy pulsing from the hellish man and threatening to send sparks flying. Daring someone to be brave and push the button.

But despite his outward display of dominance, the pure rage on his face that makes you feel sick to your stomach about every decision you've ever made, there's something...uncertain lurking behind those fiery eyes.

Something like...apprehension.

Like he knows he's done something wrong.

Yet, words escape you, as if anything needs to or even could be said. But soon, fear and guilt turn to anger, threatening to consume you. Ready to eat you alive and spit out the bones with disgust because you are not a victim.

You have no right to stand here, spineless, shocked, or feeling even a little sorry for yourself. Holding back tears because you know what you've done.

Your fists clench, unsure how to deal with it, but there's fire in your eyes because someone needs to pay.

But then you exhale, thoughts shifting to Yuko as you take a good look around at what happened the last time you decided to take things into your own hands. All of your actions, even now, are rooted in selfishness. Like you've learned nothing.

Pushing down the knot growing in your stomach, you turn away to follow the medics, deciding your friend needs you more than you need revenge. Gojo doesn't deserve any more of your attention, even if it means risking your job or life to turn your back on him.

And there's nothing Gojo hates more than being ignored.

Struggled and strained noises grow louder. Guards tighten their grip on the fuming man whose raw strength outnumbers thousands of them even without his cursed energy.

You look back, their determination to keep him contained making you nervous. You don't anyone else to get hurt and Gojo is fully exploiting that.

You're painfully aware that your decisions have put you in this position, watching the guards' valiant but increasingly pointless effort to prevent Gojo from causing further harm. But it's obviously a losing fight, and the unease on their faces is unmistakably clear.

You wonder why they don't just run like hell.

"Let's go," a guard barks, but Gojo remains fixed in place. Moving a boulder would be easier.

"No, I'm filthy," Gojo protests, smirking, "And if I don't have my bath soon, there will be hell to pay."

Seeing no one else in the room, his eyes are locked only on you, his expression a menacing promise that would send anyone else running for the hills. A look that says, "Try that shit again, and there will be casualties instead of mercy."

Reinforcements are called but it won't be enough. The goddamn military wouldn't be enough. Gojo is...the strongest, after all.

"Stop."

Your cry freezes the room. Everything goes silent.

You hesitate, fuck, what should you do?

What can you do? No one else can suffer—no one else should suffer. Because of you.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you silently apologize to Yuko, swallowing a lump instead of looking back.

"I'll do it," you say firmly, "Just stop this and...and I'll give you your bath. Please—" The sharpest pang you've ever felt cuts through you. "—just don't hurt anyone else."

Pathetic. But necessary.

He looks into your pleading eyes with surprise, amazement even, before smiling.

The submission in your voice sounds better than anything he could ever imagine. A sweet tones that feed his already inflated ego.

Unsure of how to proceed, the guards exchange uneasy glances.

Gojo's strength is undeniable, that much is evident, and restraining him forever is simply not possible.

You know offering to give him what he wants is risky as hell...but this is your doing. Your mess to clean up.

So you squeeze your sweaty palms and give a decisive nod, signaling at the guards to let him go. They hesitate a second, then reluctantly agree, stepping back and leaving Gojo standing smugly before you.

Closing your eyes, you breathe, hating to have to look at him, but needing to stay strong. For Yuko. For yourself. And everyone else in the ward.

But Gojo's satisfied grin says it all. He's won this round.

You're ready to get the next over with.

The squeaking of your shoes has never been this loud, each echo bouncing off the empty halls and reminding you of how alone you are.

Alone—with a psychopath.

A bit more docile, doped-up psychopath but, the man could probably still rip someone's head clean off if he wanted to.

Still, Gojo despises anything that alters his body—mentally, physically, all of the above. Alcohol, medication, coffee, energy drinks—anything that threatens his need for absolute control.

But he also needed to compromise, and you refused to be alone with him again unless he took something stronger. Otherwise, it would be you, all the guards in the ward, and a pay-per-view premiere of his bath time.

He knew he had to agree because his ass is not for free, but only if you took it as well.

You blinked, hard.

You knew he would be skeptical—hell, it could be poison, and he wouldn’t blame you. But to suggest something so ridiculous?

"Half, then," he said, as if that made his suggestion any less idiotic, but, as you waited for your supervisor to dismiss the insane idea, the back and forth with Gojo actually didn't save you. And you didn't need to ask why. The entire ward shoots daggers at you any time someone walks by now.

Your supervisor reassured you that you'd be fine, the mild tranquilizer would be out of your system by the end of the day, then she patted your back as if to say, "Lay in the bed you made."

It felt unreal, holding the familiar pill between your fingers, one you were used to dishing out but now had to take.

With a quick snap, you broke it in half, holding his half out to the leering man. Gaze unwavering as he leaned forward and parted his lips, waiting. Taking a deep breath, you placed them both on your tongues, in disbelief at your reality, but Gojo's focus was elsewhere, not wasting this prime opportunity to rattle you more and taste you, closing his lips around your fingertip with a quick lick before you snatched away.

But it wasn’t quick enough to avoid the tingles shooting up your arm as you swallowed, no longer needing the water you had set aside, and a confusing mix of emotions churned as the tingles spread throughout your body.

Making good on his promise, he swallowed his own, still watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. Like he knows what he does to you. And despite just witnessing this man's violence firsthand, you'd give anything to deny that he still has an effect on you. Hating yourself for being more concerned with the way he looked at you and the lingering sensation on your skin than the tranquilizer now coursing through your system.

The guards carefully lead you and Gojo to his private bathroom—they're more there for show than for protection, but you'll take what you can get, and they keep a firm grip on his replacement straitjacket.

You trail behind, mind buried with thoughts of what to say once you're really alone with him.

The door shuts behind you, followed by the familiar sound of a series of locks clicking shut. "We'll be right outside," one of the guards mutters, eyes shifting between you and Gojo, a stereotypical warning lacing his voice, but even he probably doesn't believe it.

"Perv," Gojo sneers and laughs, but you don't find a damn thing funny, the keys to his jacket digging into your palms as you spin around and face him, furious. What would be better? Slapping him, kicking him, or knocking his teeth out. Or should you be particularly evil and just let him sit in the shower, fully restrained and drenched in cold water and you let it rain down. None of the above will do you any good, but it'll show him exactly how done you are with his shit.

"That isn't funny. None of this is funny," it fumes out before you know you're speaking, "You've hurt someone—you hurt my friend." Your rage echos through the vast bathroom.

Gojo's laugh fades, his smug expression slipping from his face. Even you're surprised.

...oh shit.

You're actually confronting him.

The intense words burn through his usual arrogance, leaving a heavy, uncomfortable silence between you.

Then, for a fleeting second, his face does something weird.

Something you haven't seen before as his eyebrows draw together. Is that...regret?

"I'm sorry."

The record scratches. You’re fully positive you must be dreaming.

But when he doesn’t make a joke or even crack a smile, you squint at him.

The words are muttered and reluctant, but there they are, hanging in the air between you.

"It...won't happen again."

And he's serious, the same seriousness you see when his heart races as you take his vitals...but why? Because an apology? From him?? Unheard of.

Gojo has said some nasty things to you in the past that you've immediately scolded him for, but he's never apologized. He'd make a note when certain jokes didn't land, but he never took them back, preferring to cut out his own tongue than to waste his breath being sorry.

You know better than to take anything Gojo says at face value, but...what the fuck??? You almost feel offended.

He has to be joking, fucking with you to dig even deeper under your skin.

Or is he?

Fuck, you don't know how to feel.

He's so good at that, stealing the air back and hanging his words in them. Tempting you to pause and even consider if he ever truly means them. If he could mean them. The mind games are endless.

But then, the familiar cockiness returns and overshadows your doubts, twisting your stomach into knots with that familiar smile of his.

"Now," he says, strutting towards the stalls, "let's get this bath started, shall we?" And his easy, but confident steps call you to follow, a stark reminder of who you're dealing with. But he never knows when to quit. "Or should I really have to suffer for my actions?" and the bastard pouts.

Though you know he's being sarcastic and not to feed into his taunts, you can't help but wonder—what would suffering even look like for someone like Gojo?

Violence? Physical pain? A slow and agonizingly painful death?

But the guy is damn near invincible. What on earth could hurt him?

Whatever it is, it would have to be his absolute worst nightmare, but nothing comes to mind at the moment other than frustration because you have to keep making choices.

Return his energy or keep it professional? Tolerance or revenge?

"Apologizing won't cut it," you snap and gesture at his jacket, wondering how the hell he slipped out of the first one without leaving a trace. "And no tricks, or those guards will be back in here faster than you can tell another lame joke."

Smooth.

Gojo sighs sooo dramatically, like he can see straight through your kitty claws. "Fine, fine. Loosen up," he drags, "I won't cause any trouble. Just don't go getting any ideas now, Nurse." and he winks.

He's insufferable—but despite your smoldering anger, tendrils of doubt still creep in.

Your fingers slightly tremble as you begin to unfasten his straps, but each click feels a bit like victory, a fragile illusion of your 'control'—at least for now—because at the end of the day, Gojo had chosen you to listen to. And after today, he's sure you won't forget there isn't room for anyone else.

The jacket falls with a heavy thud, your eyes immediately scanning his upper body in search of any signs of injury or stress. The cascading bruises on his arms surprise you.

They feel so feeble in your hands; the evidence of him not as invincible as he seems is jarring. Pale, weak, and resting between your fingers. Devoid of the power that makes him so feared.

"Never seen bruises before," he tilts his head, "at least not on me"

You hope Yuko was at least partly responsible for the marks on the villain, but they appear self-inflicted, and he's not as mobile.

Fuck, now you'll have to bathe him too. Still, it's strange, seeing him like this. Even weirder knowing that he could still do damage in this state and you can't shake the feeling of this temporary 'truce'. If it isn't obvious by now, you've learned that Gojo always has something up his sleeve.

Warm water soothes you a bit, flowing over your fingers as it fills the large white tub—pristine, imported from somewhere far away, and standing on decorative claw feet. Your eyes wouldn't stop rolling the first time you saw it, completely annoyed with Gojo's over-the-top alterations and sense of style, but you'd be a liar if you said you never thought about sinking your body into it.

The best you could do was cope with the little porcelain tub in your apartment, and you get lost thinking about how you'd love to take a long, hot, and steamy bath when you get home—if you'll even have the energy. There's no way you'll be leaving early now, not like you deserve it, and you feel sick for even thinking about it. You doubt you'll even have a job tomorrow.

You look so defeated Gojo thinks, sauntering forward and lifting the hem of his shirt. You turn away, focusing instead on the temperature of the water, but the rustling sound of his shirt being pulled overhead and pants falling to the ground warms your cheeks.

His physique certainly isn't lacking, even in his current state, but still, you wonder how such a slim but toned frame could be so...powerful.

Could you be more obvious? Your flickering eyes are so telling, shamefully darting between him and the water, but he catches your gaze from the corner of his eye as if he's read your mind. How cute, he thinks, trying to hide away your thoughts.

Clearing your throat, you toss in his loofah. "Well...go on. It's ready." But Gojo only grins, amused by your attempts to look away despite seeing his muscled frame a number of times. Relishing in the fact that he still manages to fluster you.

"Your shirt," he eyes your top, "Your pants. Looks like you've already started without me."

The water stains from earlier sit beautifully across your chest, not yet fully dry, and drawing his eyes to your semi-erect nips.

His teeth tug at his bottom lip, eyes shamelessly raking over your hefty chest. "Always such a tease, aren't you, Nurse?"

You grit your teeth, cursing the conflict swirling in your stuttering heart, fully aware of the thin line between professionalism and this game of intimacy he refuses to stop playing. Everything is always a game no matter the circumstances. And he loves to push your buttons.

"Just get in, Gojo," you order, and after what feels like an eternity, the silence is broken by the sound of splashing water as he steps into the bath.

He slowly sinks in, sighing at the warmth of the water. Ringlets of steam engulf him, almost making his silky white hair disappear with it.

His arms string over the rim of the tub, a look of relaxation resting on his face as if he's had a long, hard day. You resist the urge to slap it off.

Sudsy bubbles form from the solution you pour under the faucet, hoping to shield your eyes from his body. You've seen enough today and expect the mini-rebellious act to piss him off, but as the bubbles grow, so do his eyes. Picking up a handful, he actually starts playing with them.

"Nice touch," he adds, blowing them right into your face, and you watch with a tight lip as he decorates the bathroom with them, knowing you'll be the one to clean it all up.

He sits a crown on his head and gives himself a bubble beard, nipping your nose with some that you're quick to wipe away, and his pale eyes flutter and settle on you in a curious way.

His arms flex as he leans over the edge—steam-slicked sweat dripping down his face that he doesn't bother to wipe away. "I'm ready for my sponge bath," he says, and if it was hard to take him seriously before, it's damn near impossible now—especially with that ridiculous bubble mustache.

Sickening, him still being so playful, so unserious, at a time like this.

You know Gojo's unhinged, yeah, quote, "mentally unwell and a literal danger to society", but to nearly take someone's life and then make jokes afterward?

God, you feel so stupid, walking around him like you were the shit but with the wrong guard up the whole time, playing right into his hands and accidentally rewarding this grown-ass man who likes to play with suds.

The reality of your circumstances replays in your head, the story of how you ended up here, coddling this monster, and you're still confused as hell as to why it had to be you.

Then again, this is what you signed up for...right? To heal. To help those who can't help themselves. To offer redemption some sort of redemption no matter how sick and twisted the person in need is.

With your loofah in hand, you resist the urge to roll your eyes for the 400th time today and keep your morals in mind. "Keep talking like that and I'll stop, Gojo," you say, reluctantly drenching the tool in soap before proceeding to do your job.

Gently washing his back, he sinks into your touch, closing his eyes and letting his body completely rest on the cool cast iron, breathing. Feeling like he's won no matter what you say because your scrubs feel like magic.

Across his arms and over his broad shoulders, you work your way down, bubbles glistening in your trail as you're careful not to miss a single inch of skin but don't linger too long.

Every now and then, you catch glimpses of raised marks between the foam, and because you hate yourself, your brain absolutely refuses to give you a break. You have to give kudos to his dedication to his craft. The muscle definition, the scar tissue telling stories of battles won, the evidence of his past before corruption—everything it takes to be a hero.

It's unsettling, yet fascinating, the polarity between his beauty and his monstrous deeds.

You've never really noticed because this level of care is another first for you. Usually, Gojo just hops into the shower and takes care of himself while you wait outside—easy and thorough but always taking his sweet time, all while loudly singing some annoying song that inevitably ends up stuck in your head.

But after today, it'll be impossible to trust him or you again, and the hushed whispers as the guards walked you both to the restrooms made that abundantly clear.

The pitiful thoughts seep into the way you hesitantly clean him, moving down to his chest and abs while making sure to avoid more sensitive areas, but the malicious glint in his eyes is unmistakable.

"Whatsamatter, Nurse?" Gojo taunts, feeling you slow around his stomach, "Afraid of gettin' too close?" And you can't believe you're praying for a speedy recovery for this monster so he can handle this himself again.

You ignore his comment and try to get this over with as quickly as possible, feeling humiliated enough as it is and he can sense it, mocking you with a laugh.

"You're so uptight. Can't you just relax and enjoy the view?"

God, please make him shut up, begging for relief so you won't scrub his cocky brow right off his face. "Just doing my job," you mutter, twice squeezing the loofah that feels a little funny in your hand as the soapy water rinses his chest.

It feels heavenly on his skin, but the subtle change in your movements makes his brows furrow. Slowing, more deliberate, heavy as if you're wading through molasses. You keep adjusting your grip but the material feels so strange—the texture almost too soft like it could melt into your palm.

Your breath catches when you brush his skin, not realizing how close your fingers drifted to the edge of the sponge, and though it was only a second, it sends an unexpected jolt through his chest.

The muscle relaxers. How could you have already forgotten, you both think.

But Gojo, ever observant, doesn't miss a thing.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. "Feeling a little funny, Nurse?" His velvet voice teases.

"I'm fine," you lie, though you couldn't be less certain as the muscles in your hands start to relax more than you intended, the sponge gliding over his abs, and down his sides, the rhythm almost hypnotic and making his head fall back. You try to push through the haze, to finish quickly and be free of him, but you're losing the battle against numbness and heightened awareness.

And fuck, he has to bite his lip at your touch that suddenly feels so intense, a sensation too good to keep to himself, and one that you obviously need to stop being such a tight-ass.

You need to loosen up in a way that medicine can't help. And Gojo knows just the trick.

He licks his lips, tongue curling over his canine before splashing a wave of water on you in one swoop.

Saying you gasp is an understatement as the steamy wash drenches your face and front once again, setting a new record as you're hit not once, but twice in a day. The loofah slips from your hand as you instinctively reach up to shield yourself, but Gojo is quicker, wrapping his hands around your wrists and holding you in place.

A scream is ready to surge from your body when Gojo maneuvers both of your wrists into one hand, placing a finger to your lips.

"Ssssh ssh ssh ssh ssh," he hushes, his voice a little too calm, "I'm not going to hurt you." A lone droplet hangs from your eyelash and he swipes it. "I just want you to listen."

You freeze, your nerves on fire as you're forced into close proximity with him for the second time today, inches away from his face that gradually softens.

Though you can easily call for help, you know better than to argue—he knows you know better too but he never felt threatened in the first place. Besides, he can feel your breathing slowing, the effects of the pill combined with his firm hold sending a faint buzz from your wrists to your stomach, and his finger remains on your lips as he brings his closer.

His eyes flicker to your bottom lip. "You're so good at your job, Nurse," smoothly pulling it with his thumb. "That's why I like you. You're thorough but real. Just what I need to keep me sane."

Sane?

"Sane," he repeats like he's heard your thoughts. "Believe it or not, you keep me grounded...like a good boy. Be proud, not a single soul here or anywhere else can compare to me, let alone deal with me, and yet...here you are." He looks at you like you're a marvel. "You can handle that...can't you?"

Words fail you. This feels rhetorical. Why does he keep torturing you like this? What is it about you?

You haven't really thought about it since your first few weeks with him but now he's forcing you to think about the little 'power' he's given you that he can easily snatch back.

What happens if he decides to go further than flirting?

You can't handle it, any of this.

Hesitating, you're unsure of what to say but know it could never be the truth.

Gojo must sense it because he leans closer, his breath warm on your cheek.

"If you leave, I just might crack completely, beauty." A breath you didn't realize you were holding slips. "How do you think everyone else will do against me then, hmm?" Gojo knows he's a prodigy, but still manages to surprise himself sometimes, his eyes lingering over the spots on your uniform soaked through just enough to make the fabric cling—perfect aim.

Ice shoots up your spine from the heat of his unadulterated gaze, but you refuse to let him see you falter, and he can almost feel a prick from the daggers in your eyes.

"Oh, don't be like that," he purrs, thumbs grazing your wrists in a mockingly gentle touch. "We all have our boundaries, right? I thought communication was key in a relationship."

"Let go of me," you find your voice, "We're done here."

His head slightly tilts.

Look at you calling the shots, he thinks. So strong, so very serious.

"God, I can't help it," he breathes, "You're so fun to mess with."

He could laugh in your face, have his way with you, and show you that your resistance means nothing, but instead, he slowly releases your wrists and lies back against the tub. "I know you think about it—there's nothing wrong with a little fun...right?" and though the connection is severed, you don't know if it's the drugs or just him that makes his amplified touch linger as you sheepishly rub your wrists.

Gojo watches you blush red—thoughts you didn't know lived within you rushing to the forefront as if he's pushed a button.

Grimy, raw, unwanted thoughts of forbidden fruit, wandering hands, and stolen touches in the dark, wondering what his idea of "fun" is like under the sheets. With a psycho named Gojo.

You feel like you should throw up in disgust but the nausea never comes, burning hot between your legs instead.

Fuck, you have to get out of here.

You draw a breath, forcing away the torturous daydreams and quickly finish his bath.

"You should rest," you firmly say and pull the plug to let the tub drain. "And don't expect any more favors from me."

He sits up slow, his expression stone-cold as he slicks back his wet hair. Then he smiles. "I promise. Now dry me off?" he quips.

You ignore his request, swiftly handing him a towel before he can flash you. With a gruff, you lower to your knees, beginning to dry the floor of his messes and hoping to distract yourself from your questionable sanity.

The sounds of rustling fabric fill the chamber as he dries off, and once you figure it's safe, you look up to find a nude Gojo. Dripping with bubbles, hair plastered to his derpy face, and toned muscles, all the muscles, presenting themselves in all their glory.

The only things dry are his damn hands.

He throws the towel over his shoulder, sauntering towards you with a wicked grin.

"Well, aren't you gonna help me put this thing back on?" He nods at the jacket he knows is more bullshit than security. "Don't want you getting all worked up again."

The first time your brain registered that Gojo was flirting with you was on your third day as his nurse.

"Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air?" Gojo was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall. It was the second time he'd noticed how sluggish you looked while tending to him, suggesting with a grin that you must be quite the party animal.

Ha. If only.

You tsked, tossing his bedsheets into the hamper, and assured him that your sleepy eyes and dragging feet were the result of long hours and running on fumes. Having time for fun was just a dream.

"I don't get out much myself," he says, alluding to the situation he's in, wearing sarcasm like a necklace. "I love a good night in as much as anyone else but, I don't know. The stuffiness hasn't grown on me yet."

You tugged the collar of your scrubs—the air did feel a bit thick, like the room hadn't been aired out in ages and you couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been sitting in it—how he could. That alone would be enough to drive you up a wall.

Sunlight flickered in your eyes, and you raised your hand to block it, noticing the small window perched above his chair.

"Let's open this then," you said, walking over and wrestling with the ancient wood for a moment before finally pulling the creaky flap up to the ceiling.

A sliver of your midriff peeked out as you stood on your toes to reach it, but what captured Gojo's attention most was the way the sun rays washed over your face. You scrunched your nose, the breeze sending wisps of your hair to tickle it, and he imagined the feel of your strands between his fingers.

The view was beautiful, you thought, hands gripping the warm bars. Trees surrounded the vast area, stretching out as far as you could see, the pathway to civilization completely covered in dense forest from this angle.

You never realized how high up his ward was—or how long the drop was from here.

"Too bad I'm not small enough to slip through those bars." He rubbed his stomach. "But you know me, 'Mr. BigBack.'"

He joked around as he usually did, looking to trigger your defenses, but your reaction was...odd.

Not only was this the first time anyone cared to do something so simple for Gojo, but it was also the closest anyone had gotten to him without their knees buckling.

The first two days of your trial, the Director had guards posted right outside of Gojo's door, their presence a constant reminder to stay alert and maintain a safe distance from the convict. Gojo was positive the mental barrier would keep a wall between you forever.

But then, you laughed. A real laugh. Snickery and cute. Finding his joke funny instead of threatening.

It surprised him, that sound, so natural and pure without hesitation. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again. "Who knew you could bring so much light into this place?" he sighed.

Later at lunch, you sat with Yuko, having your usual midday catch-up. You never start with yours but she, like most people in the ward then, was absolutely dying to hear about how you were dealing with the villain of the century.

"He's actually not so bad...yet. Corny, but," you took a pondering breath, "He kind of thanked me today?"

She immediately scoffed and waved you off, and who could blame her?

You were an anomaly, Gojo already showed that he was capable of mercy and now he was thanking you??

Being polite was too far of a stretch to believe, you must have been mistaken. But when you gave her the deets on why he'd do such a thing, she nearly choked on her apple. "He said that??"

"Ya?" You patted her back with a concerned look.

"Watch out, Casanova," she teased, clearing her throat with a nervous laugh.

Her comment threw you off for the rest of lunch, but when you thought about it later that night while surfing for new shows, a light bulb went off.

He flirted with you.

Thinking it was just another one of those literal dry-humor jokes or simply gratitude for making his stay a little less crappy, it flew right over your head. You always feel warm inside when you help people so you didn't think too much about it.

To you, it was just a kudos. Nothing more.

But the way Gojo stands in front of you now is everything.

As bold and brash as it gets.

Fuck. Me.

And your body betrays you, sending all of the vulnerable sensations you've been fighting to suppress from your soaking chest, tingling wrists, aching thighs, and heavy breath, straight to your throbbing clit.

Air escapes you and you couldn't feel more conflicted, scrambling to grab your supplies and leave.

Enough is enough. The guards outside can restrain him and escort him back to his room for all you care. You just have to get out of there.

Away from him.

Away from temptation.

Hot, overwhelming, guilty, mentally and physically unstable temptation.

In the quiet of the hallway a level below Gojo's ward, you lean against a wall, taking deep breaths and completely disgusted with yourself.

How are you supposed to keep dealing with this, with him?

This force that keeps pushing and pushing and pushing you to the edge until there's nowhere else to go. You can only imagine the hell the nurses he didn't like went through.

Taking care of him isn't getting any easier, and now you were fucking up and making mistakes.

But you're the only one who can do this. Who must.

So suck it up. Play along, Stop thinking only of yourself. Pretend.

Pretend.

Pretend?

...

What terrifies you the most is the thought that you may not have to.

You keep your scrambled thoughts to yourself when you're called into your Director's office at the end of the day.

You tell him the same story you told Yuko and take full responsibility for what happened, blaming it on exhaustion and needing a break. Swearing to never let it happen again.

By some miracle, you get to keep your job, though your one wish to leave early ended up costing you an hour and a half of unpaid overtime, and almost a friendship.

When you finally get home, you collapse onto your bed—images of the day, the ward, and Yuko flooding your thoughts, refusing to be pushed aside. You tell yourself that it's just the guilt talking, just anxiety gnawing at your edges.

But then there's Gojo.

The most prominent one of all.

Staring you in the face with lifeless eyes and a ghostly smile. Tugging on your moral strings like a puppet.

When you close your eyes, you can't shake the feeling that he's waiting for you, a lurker in the shadows watching and anticipating your every move. Have you become predictable? Now you're wondering if you could do something he wouldn't expect.

Leave it. Leave it. Le—

You're scrolling through your phone on a deep-diving, scouring the web for any info on your tormentor.

His past, his affiliations, anything to tell you who Gojo was, and who he is now.

But the man is an anomaly.

Not much is known about him outside of mainstream news and internet rumors.

He's just this guy that kind of popped out of nowhere in the worst way possible, conveniently on the tail of what could have been the most devastating incident in the history of Tokyo.

The media says he's a hero gone rogue but not much else. They've damned him to hell and that was that. Even the Director disclosed very little about him during your briefing and you weren't allowed access to his files or records because it's all 'confidential'.

Nothing.

The more you search, you less that comes up. Not even silly conspiracy theories that you definitely thought would be riddling Reddit. The longer you scroll, the more you find yourself beginning to question your own mind. Your interest. Sweet little buds of obsession.

Even though you hated taking it earlier, you actually need the pill now more than ever to relax as sleep eludes you and your mind wanders to imaginary scenarios as you stare at the ceiling. 

Tomorrow, you'll have to face Gojo again. And the day after that and the day after that and every day after.

In between your nearly non-existent off days, you'll have to see him and decide what face you want to put on.

Because you simply cannot walk away.

After all, he's right—no one else can handle him like you can.

extended angel's note:

when i originally decided to make this into short story, i had no plans on using a y/n perspective. it was just going to feature an OC name i’ve used in stories before, named Persephone, buuuut i decided to wanted to keep it immersive and include no physical descriptors/personality specifics bc i knew i wanted to upload it to tumblr. 

to keep it reader-friendly, yk? 

alas, Persephone has had her claws in me the entire time i’ve been editing and said with her whole chest that i couldn't just dismiss her like that chile. so i decided changed the perspective but keep her name in place of y/n. 

you won’t see it too often in the story bc it’s not super significant or said a lot in general, bUT it is relevant for a certain moment later in the story. you’ll know when you know 🤭. 

anyway, hope it doesn't bother you guys too much. and def feel free to mentally plug your name when you see it to keep yourself grounded into the story.

tag list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @kiwismoother @rune1920 @blkkizzat @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @ressyshi @startatdawn

@khenanadeche @heijihatsutori @inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk

@rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping @sims-4lifers @bratidol @rh-tg1

@hyunsuks-beanie @n1vi @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111 @supsiii

@natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko @strawberrymilkshakes-posts

@nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow @sxnkuna

@misoyuh @lupitalove @sebastianlover @gojosatorubrainrot @sleepiebunniee

@mmmidkman @theonecrackhead @thathorsegotpoobrain @iveivory @samistar

@yuuan-66 @gojoslefttoenail @soyalovestoyap @winkwonks-world @thebiggestsimpforyou 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Look, Don't Touch 6

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, stalking, breaking and entering, possible blood and violence, and femcel energy. Tags are not exhaustive and more may be added as the series progresses.

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 get bored of watching and that makes you careless. (dark!reader)

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Note: mondayyyyyy

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. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like snakes love Woody’s boots. Take care. 💖

“Captain wants you nice and clean,” Steve says as he removes the cuffs from your wrists. You’re as good as vibrating with excitement. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with the sergeant.” 

“Yes, Captain,” you breathe. 

His lips curve, only slightly, and his cheek dimples. He grabs your arm and walks you down to the bathroom. He nudges you through the door. 

“Don’t come out until I say so.” 

“Captain,” you face him. “I’m not afraid of Bucky. You don’t have to--” 

“He’s done enough,” Steve gently pushes your further in. “Now, let’s get rule one out of the way. When I give you an order, you do it. No arguments.” 

You blink, “Yes, Cap--” 

The door snaps shut before you can finish. You stare at it for a moment. Your natural stubbornness is at odds with the glee of your victory. It’s kinky, isn’t it? Steve giving you orders. The way he’ll use you like an object. That’s everything you’ve dreamt of and more. 

What makes you even wetter is that Bucky lost. Fuck him. That guy has an inferiority complex the size of his ego. 

You sigh and turn around. Is this how women feel when they’re giddy? Are you swooning? 

You turn on the bath and let the water pour out into the porcelain. Would Steve fuck you in here? You would like him to break you against every surface of this place before all is done and said. And what does that entail? You’re not that worried. You’ll die happy if that’s what it comes to. 

You lower yourself into the hot water. As soothing as it is, it only underlines all the damage Bucky’s done to you. Nothing you can’t handle but still. That fucker has issues. 

You hear his return. His voice irks you. Puts the tension back into your muscles. You should be so bothered by the Winter Prick but he really is annoying. If you cared, you might ask Steve why he even bothers with the rabid dog. 

You close your eyes as their voices come closer, their footfalls too. 

“Buck, please, I gotta clean all this up--” 

“Steve, you’re making a mistake. She’s a criminal--” 

“I’ll deal with her.” 

“How?” 

Silence. 

“How?” Bucky repeats. 

“She’s my problem, Buck.” 

“Pfft, sure. You’re not really going to do this, are you? She’s of her fucking skull. She’s been breaking in. Do you know what she did in your bed?” 

“Yeah, I do, pal,” Steve counters. “And I'm gonna do worse to her. So go. You’re done here.” 

“Steve--” 

“Buck. I asked you to water the plants. Look at that ficus? It’s about to die.” 

Bucky sighs. You know it’s him because he’s so damn pathetic. There’s a thump then a clamour of steps. The front door slams and Steve chuckles. 

You stir the water and smile to yourself. You’re not one of those dreamy girls, wishing the captain would save you, but it doesn’t feel too bad. It makes you a little tingly to have him send away that idiot. All for you? 

There’s a tap at the door, “almost done in there?” 

“Yes, Captain,” you preen back as you sit forward. Shit, time to make yourself human. 

“Ten minutes. I want you waiting.” 

“Yes, Captain,” you echo. 

You are thorough in your scrubbing. You feel tainted. More than usual. Fucking asshole had his hands all over you. You clench at the thought of what he was about to do when Steve walked in. Stop that. 

You pull the plug and stand. You dry yourself off on the mat. The door swings open. You flinch, startled at Steve’s sudden entrance. 

“Let’s go. Time to get your uniform on.” He says. 

You squint. What does he mean? Well, whatever he wants. Maybe he’s into some freaky ass roleplay. You could be the cadet and he’s the captain... 

He points you down the hall, back to the front room. You almost sigh in disappointment. You’d prefer the bedroom. Still, if he wants to fuck you on the couch like one his sluts, you’ll go for that. 

You slow as you look around the apartment. It’s still a mess. You suppose it will take some time to restore it to its previous tidy perfection. 

“On the table.” He says. 

You think he’s ordering you onto the table and a thrill flows over you. As you follow his command, you’re disappointed. You find a pile of clothes waiting for you. Not a military uniform, something worse. You sift through them; a dress, stockings, satin and lace lingerie. Heels! 

“The hell is this?” You mutter. 

“When you address me, you will speak clearly.” He looms behind you. “And you will speak to me with respect.” 

You hesitate but shrug. 

“Stand up straight. Ladies don’t slouch.” 

You turn to look at him as you hold the flimsy underwear. He tilts his head as his hands go to his hips. His eyes are icy. It’s hot but the context is lacking. You don’t want to dress up like some fucking lady. 

“And they smile,” he warns. 

You stare at him. Alright, this is actually getting weird. And that’s you saying so. 

“You know what, I’m not sure--” 

“Rule one,” he marches at you.  

“Ah, jeez,” you drop the underwear as he seizes you. He twists you around and bends you over the table. You purr. “Oh, Captain, that’s what I’m talking about.” 

He huffs and swipes up the underwear. He leads one of your feet through, then the other. He rips them up and jerks you away from the table. He swats your ass with a growl. 

“Get dressed. Now.” 

You push yourself up slowly and grimace at the wall.  

“Yes, Captain.” You mutter. 

“I can’t hear you,” he cuffs your head. Alright, you’re starting to get pissed. 

“Yes. Captain.” You enunciate. 

You hook the bra around you. Really? You’re a sports bra enthusiast. This is a ledge. Your tits are going to spill out at any moment. 

You ignore the garters and reach for the dress. He tuts, “everything.” 

You roll your eyes at the wall. You don’t know. You’ve never put this shit on. Garter belt first, then the stockings. He sighs again and clips the lacy tips himself. Christ. 

You grab the dress and pull it on. Not much better. The dress is shorter than you like despite looking like an old lady’s. You face Steve and shrug. He steps forward and ties the strings by the collar in a bow. You miss your tee and jeans. 

He points to the shoes and you put them on. They are too small. Not to mention too high. 

“Perfect, now, I’ll have to get you some makeup and probably some hair pins but you’re already looking better,” he grins and squeezes your arms. “You’re all ready.” 

“Oh yeah?” You perk up and reach for his chest. He draws away. You drop your hands in disappointment. 

“Yep. Better get to work,” he looks at the chair and the tarp and everything else. You cross your arms and curl your lip. 

“You want me to... clean this up?” 

“You’re questioning me again,” he puts his hands on his hips as he faces you. “You made this mess.” 

“What-- no, Bucky--” 

“You broke in, sweetheart. Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? To be Cap’s best girl?” 

You nearly gag. That’s nasty. Still, you figure you can play along if it gets you a little something. Your eyes stray down to his pants. You never expected to get this close, can’t blow it now. You only want to blow him. 

You wobble around on the heels. It’s ridiculous. You start by folding the tarp. You’re sure to keep as much of the mess on it as you can. You drag it to the bathroom to dump in the tub. Ugh. 

“I told you to smile,” Steve says. 

You look back as he fills the doorway. You force a smile and go back to rinse off the plastic. You fold it up and carry it out. Then you start on the front room. God, Bucky is ruining your good time even when he’s not here. 

You’re not stickler. Your apartment is a shithole so you don’t put much into keeping it tidy.  You get all the clutter up and look around. 

“You’re not done,” he scoffs, looming. “Well?” 

“Yes, Captain.” 

“The couch. Fix the blanket, fluff the pillows. Still got sweeping, mopping, dusting, vacuuming...” he lists off the exhaustive list of bullshit. 

The only thing that keeps you from snapping it the promise of him. You get through this and the Captain will have better orders. Maybe you can get down on your knees and polish something else. 

Sweat forms on your brow as you go through it all. You take a break, leaning on the mop, and tug at the collar of the dress. It’s damn hot. 

You look over as Steve tilts his head, watching you as he leans in the doorframe. His hand is on his crotch. Now that’s what you’re talking about. You smirk and his brow arches. 

He turns and marches away. What now? Can’t he just get to it? Bucky got you all worked up and now-- 

No, you don’t want Bucky.  

Steve comes back. He has something else in hand. He unfolds it. 

“Put this on, honey.” 

You rest the mop against the wall and take the apron. You tie it on as you stare at him. “Sure I can’t do anything else? Hm?” 

“Maybe, keep going,” he insists. 

You hide your chagrin as you snatch the mop. You go back to your cleaning. Friggin bullshit but you expected worse. You expected to be choked out by now. 

You sense him following you. He’s like a drill sergeant. He points out when you miss a spot and makes you go back over what you didn’t do right. You sneer at the floor as his shadow trails you around. 

All at once, he’s in front of you. You’re surprised to find his dick above his pants. You stop as he pumps himself furiously. He spills onto the floor in front of the sponge mop and you back up. He grunts and groans in his release. 

Is he cumming all over your clean floor? Better yet, cumming over you cleaning his apartment dressed like some oppressed housewife? He’s fucking weird. 

“Goddamn, you look so good in that dress,” he puffs as he lets go of his dick, his hand shiny with cum. 

His lashes flick open. You grip the mop and stare. He glances at his hand and back to you. 

“Well, clean it up,” he holds out his slimy palm. 

You squint then look around. You take a step and he clucks. 

“Nope,” he shoves his hand toward your face. “Clean it. With your mouth.” 

You cringe and he brings his other hand up to flick your ear. You flinch and whimper, “ow.” 

“Captain says clean it up.” 

“Yes, Captain,” you grit out. 

You lean in and brace yourself. You stick your tongue out and drag it through the salty, sticky smear. It’s hot when you think of it but still sickening. You’re a freak. You always wanted to taste him but you hoped it wouldn’t be from him playing with himself. You’d prefer maybe some yourself. 

Before you can get all of it, he covers your face with his hand. You jerk back but can’t pull away. His other hand wraps around your head and he wipes his cum all over your face. He pulls you close as he drags his touch down to your neck. 

“Take the dress off.” 

He lets you go. You chew on the order before you eke out the response. “Yes, Captain.” 

You peel off the dress. He swipes it away. You go to wipe your face and he snaps his fingers. 

“Leave it. You’re not done.” 

He grabs the mop and holds it out to you. You take it reticently. You swallow down your protest. Just be cool. You can do this. He’s working up to it. It’s foreplay. 

As you wash the floor, you flash back to the videos. Those nights of you watching. Him rutting behind a woman as she clings to the couch. Smacking her ass as he threatens to break her back. Only this time, it’s you. 

“Good job,” he praises. “Now, time for breakfast.” 

You nod and he stares. You search his face. “Oh, you mean... me?” 

“Well, what else is a woman for?” He nears and taps your cheek. “Bacon, egg whites, and rye toast, sweetheart.” 

He takes the mop and marches away. You look around the apartment. Nice and tidy. At great effort too. 

You slowly cross the room and enter the kitchen. You’re no cook. You throw ramen in a bowl and add water or eat yogurt straight from the container. This is fucked. 

You go to the fridge and open the doors. Hm. Where to start. You take out the eggs. 

“You gonna ask me how I want my eggs?” Steve appears in the kitchen door. 

“Yes, Captain, how do you want your eggs?” 

“Omelet. Remember, white only.” 

“Captain,” you flip open the carton. 

“You should start the bacon first. Eggs cook fast.” 

“Right.” 

He sucks his teeth, “you should be able to figure this out, sweetheart. It’s in your blood.” 

You look at him and scrunch up your nose and eye brows. 

“Smile,” he orders again. “Don’t make me tell you again.” 

[disassembly-required]

So I know it's common for folks to headcanon Khan was always obsessed with doors, and that obsession was more or less an arbitrary passion he had... but I can't help but feel there's a really important detail that, when considered, suggests otherwise?

In episode 4, when Khan is showing the contents of "Nori's kooky insane ramblings" closet, one of the things he quotes Nori said was "build doors against the coming sky demons"

I feel this implies

a) building doors to protect from the murder drones (that she apparently had an intuition about) was Nori's idea

b) Khan, on some level, believed this was a "kooky insane rambling" and not something he took seriously

(important to remember Nori had some level of memory loss/disorganized cognition when she was recovered from the lab; Khan didn't know the significance of her history there, and Nori wouldn't have been able tell him everything, only these ominous bits and pieces that didn't entirely make sense.)

Therefore, c) Khan likely didn't even start building any doors before the murder drones came, since in the exposition intro, the workers were otherwise just living casually, not hiding away in the outpost.

So I'm led to believe perhaps... when the "sky demons" were real and they killed Nori, Khan felt responsible for her death because he didn't listen to her. He didn't build the doors.

And perhaps that's where his obsession stems from, that fatal mistake he never wanted to make again. And we can say it's pretty maladaptive, since he became so preoccupied with doors, he was more emotionally invested in them than Uzi. But in his mind, he must have thought his life's work WAS all for her, to keep her safe, where he failed Nori. Khan also became way too comfortable in his maladaptive coping, feeling SO sure behind his doors, he would never have to actually face a murder drone ever again.

All that said, it also puts his actions in the pilot into a bit of a different light, when he abandoned Uzi. I don't think Khan was simply frightened seeing a murder drone and acting cowardly. I think he was having a flashback and a panic response. I mean, Uzi's appearance takes after her mother, yeah? It must've reminded him of Nori being attacked, which is.. even more harrowing with the heavy implication N was the specific murder drone who killed Nori. Even if Khan didn't actively know it or recognize him, looking at N's face filled him panic. He was being brought back to Nori's death.

I think there's a few different reasons he may have chosen to close the door. I don't think it was done in a sound mind "this is clearly for the greater good, only losing one drone instead of the whole colony" thought process. I'm sure that was part of what he was weighing the best he could possibly process. But I think another reason may have been the fact that he already felt like he already failed Uzi, and by extent Nori once again, and he ....didn't want to see it happen again. Whether he didn't believe Uzi's gun was strong enough, or believed he wouldn't be able to aim, or believed wouldn't even have a shot at all before N attacked him too, ultimately he must've felt like the scene would play out the same (we are left to wonder if Khan tried to fight back when it was Nori...) and he didn't want to see Nori (through Uzi) die again.

Which sounds awful of course, but PTSD will do that to you. You'll make terrible, impulsive decisions because your mind is trying to protect itself from further damage. Had Uzi actually died, I think the regret would have hit him like a truck and destroyed him. I don't think he would have stood by a decision he made during a panic attack.

Anyway I got a little sidetracked re: Khan's trauma, but my main thesis here was: doors was Nori's idea. Khan didn't listen until it was too late. Then his entire world became doors.

[runninriot]

Damn You, Capitalism!

inspired by and written for @sidekick-hero , hope that helps getting through the day 🖤 because work sucks (i know!) - but eddie sucks harder 😏

1.231 words | cw: contains smut, nsfw, mdni

also on ao3

Steve has been drowning in work lately, it's a nightmare.

Eddie tries his best to support him, to make things as little stressful for him at home as it can possibly be.

He keeps the guitar unplugged when he's working on new music, to keep the noise at a minimum.

Always makes sure there's some meal ready for Steve to grab and microwave when and if he remembers to eat.

He reminds himself to do the dishes as soon as he's done with them because he knows how much Steve hates when the sink is full of dirty plates and forks and mugs.

Eddie even finally figured out how to use their new washing machine - he's not stupid, just lazy, and- why does that damn thing need so many buttons?

So, yeah. He's trying, really, because it breaks his heart every night when Steve comes home from work, looking one moment away from collapsing. Always tired, always moody, just- miserable.

Eddie wishes he could do more. Wishes he could take some of Steve's stress away, help him relax. Ease his mind just for a while.

And- look, he knows what would probably, most definitely help, that's not the thing. The problem is, Steve can barely even stay up long enough to kiss Eddie goodnight as soon as they're in bed. So any attempts of trying to have some one-on-one quality time with his husband aren't really up for debate right now.

Right?

Right.

He'll just have to wait for this massive project to be over and done with.

---

As Eddie crawls into bed shortly after Steve, he finds him quietly snoring, already fast asleep with his face mushed uncomfortably against his pillow.

Even in his sleep, he looks exhausted and it makes Eddie mad how much that job is demanding of Steve.

He pictures himself in front of the corporate building that holds his husband's soul captive, angrily stomping up and down the pavement while waving a sign that reads Damn You, Capitalism! and the thought makes him laugh.

He realises too late that he's been making an awful lot of noise, instantly shuts himself up with a hand over his mouth when Steve stirs awake and looks at him through bleary eyes.

   "Is everything okay?"

Steve sounds knackered (he learned that word from his British co-worker) and Eddie hates himself for ripping him out of his well-deserved sleep.

   "I'm sorry, baby. Everything's good. I didn't mean to wake you up. Just go back to sleep, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

Eddie leans down to kiss his forehead before he turns off the light and lays down next to him, trying to be as still as he can to let Steve drift off peacefully again.

But the damage is already done. Even without looking he can sense that Steve has trouble falling back asleep and it’s confirmed by the heavy sigh Steve lets out.

   "Can you-" His voice flitters quietly through the room, "Can you suck my dick?”

    Oookay, what?

Eddie can’t help but snort at those words.

Steve must be dreaming. Maybe he did fall back asleep after all.

   “I’m being serious, Eds!” Steve sounds almost offended.

He then rolls to the side and even in the dark, Eddie can see his big eyes staring straight at him.

So, not sleeping, then.

   “Babe, are you sure? I’m just asking because- well, we haven’t done anything for weeks and I miss it. God, do I miss it. But you’ve been completely out of it not even 5 minutes ago and-“

What the hell is he even going on about?

His perfect, beautiful husband wants him to suck him off. Why the fuck is he still babbling instead of using his mouth to do exactly that?

   “I just think it’d help me sleep?”

Steve uses that honeysweet voice of his, the one he knows Eddie can never say no to, the one he always uses to get what he wants. And- like, what is Eddie if not a very devoted, very helpful, very loving husband that would quite literally do anything for his man?

---

Steve’s boxers are gone as quickly as the blanket before Eddie makes himself comfortable between his husband’s spread legs.

It’s almost embarrassing how much he’s already drooling just thinking about the perfect weight of Steve’s glorious cock on his tongue but- excuse him for not keeping his excitement in check when he’s literally been suffering from Steve-withdrawal for weeks now!

Still, he tries to take his time, not wanting it to be over too quickly. He can hear in Steve’s pleading moans that he won’t last long, can taste Steve’s desperation in each drop of precum that hits his tongue as he licks the tip.

It’s heaven.

It’s so good Eddie wants to cry.

    Fuck, he missed this. Missed the familiar stretch of his lips when he takes Steve in, the familiar sound of Steve’s husky voice, the scent of freshly showered skin, the feeling of sinking deeper and deeper on his lover’s cock as he swallows him down like he’s starving for it.

His hips can’t seem to keep still, wiggling and rubbing against the sheets where his own cock is searching for friction. But his focus is on Steve, he can take care of himself later. This is just for the beautiful man that is the light of his life – he deserves it. Deserves to be worshipped like the divine creature he is.

   “Ed- Eddie, oh God! Oh fuck!”

Steve’s words spur him on. He finds the perfect rhythm, uses one hand to pump Steve’s cock while his tongue curls around the tip. His other hand strokes the sensitive skin on his inner thigh, dragging his nails up and down, knowing too well that it drives Steve just a little insane.

   “Babe, I’m- I- fuck! Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. I’m so close!”

Eddie wouldn’t dream of it.

Not when it makes him so happy to hear and taste and feel his husband slowly falling to pieces. When, with every staggering breath, Steve crawls a little closer to the edge.

Until finally, Eddie is rewarded with a mouthful of Steve’s love; a sweet gift, despite the bitter taste, he swallows with pride, not wasting a single drop of it, taking it all in.

Beneath him, Steve’s trembling through his orgasm, legs shaking and breath uneven. He stops Eddie with a hand in his hair, tugging just lightly to make him look up.

   “Com’ere, baby. Wanna kiss you.”

A little reluctantly, Eddie leaves the perfect place between Steve’s thighs and crawls on top of him to comply.

They kiss slow and soft, no hurry, just their lips finding each other in the dark with gentle pressure.

   “Love you so much, baby,” Eddie whispers against Steve’s lips as he feels his movements slow down.

And as he kisses his way from Steve’s mouth to his cheek, to the tip of his nose, his closed lids and his forehead, Steve’s breathing eases into a steady, calm rhythm.

He’s asleep again, hopefully dreaming of beautiful things as he sinks deeper into Eddie’s embrace, lets his husband's warmth envelope him where they’re lying side by side.

Steve deserves it.

Because tomorrow, he has to fight his way through the constricting clutches of capitalism again.

Man, capitalism really sucks.

But, Eddie laughs to himself, he can suck harder.

[ahappydnp]

Hey so I hope this is okay to ask as i’m a bit confused and crazy atm. In the WIQYT screenshots going around again about the doc, the last one talks about Dan having self image issues. I was curious if you could possibly help spread some light on the subject maybe? I remember always seeing him posted on the proana blogs back in the day frequently, and even in Dan and Depression he says his lexapro made him “gain loads of weight” but it never seemed like anything visually changed. I know you’re not a mind reader and trying to understand another persons self image is impossible, I guess I just maybe don’t understand where this comes from. I know he used to rag on himself in videos by putting pillows down his shirt to signify that he was chubby as a kid even tho he never was from the pictures available. I’m aware this is very parasocial but I’ve been going through a lot self image wise and he never got to make his documentary where he talks about it and idk. To me, Daniel is lowkey a philosopher and i’m so desperate to hear what he has to say on the subject. Can you think of any times he’s talked about this kind of stuff? (Sorry for this being such a downer anon i just kinda feel like i need to hear about it rn and i don’t know where to look)

I hope your weekend is amazing and filled with joy and laughter!

like you said, no one knows what goes on inside someones mind especially things like insecurities. but i do think it's two seperate issues that dan has talked about (under the cut for sensitive topics)

i think it's important to remember how society treated weight in the early 00s, obviously it was muuuuch worse for women but boys would also get ridiculed for their weight regardless of their size. i assume that dan did get picked on for being bigger (more than likely he was probably just taller than his classmates but kids just really like generalizing words like "fat" and that sticks in your brain). it was such a shitty time for body acceptance as a whole and he was bullied so much i'm sure people did throw in weight comments just to add to the blow.

and like everything else that's going to stick and then when you're a little older you just repeat this truth that other people told you that "i was a fat kid and fat=bad just like gay=bad so i'm going to agree with them" of course that was suuuuuuper toxic and unhealthy and dan definitely did even more damage peddling casual fatphobia and making insensitive jokes online. but he was pretty openly struggling with his body image from the get go (all the ED comments he made in 2009) and as we know, there's generally another root cause. dan's talked about his self hatred when he was younger (particularly stemming from the bullying and his internalized homophobia) at length and it makes sense that manifested into body dysmorphia the second part is in that screenshot from WIQY he was specifically talking about gay men's beauty standards which is a whole different issue altogether. he's talked a lot about his baby face and how he's felt insecure about his lack of "masculine" features and build. he's talked about how people don't take him seriously because he doesn't look like "a man". there's also the added layer of him being the poster child for ~pretty boy twink~ who's now getting older and aging out of those very rigid beauty standards solely because he's no longer 21. but gay men can be incredibly toxic when it comes to labels and what's attractive (i mean think about the fact that grindr literally has a body type filter so you can exclude whole subsets of people). so he's not saying that he's not attractive or not the general beauty standard, it's that he came out and fell face first into gay standards discourse because he was actively engaging and consuming queer community in a new light

allll of this to say i COMPLETELY get how it can instinctively rub people the wrong way when dan howell, who was famously coined "the hot one" for years and has had people drooling over him his entire adult life, says he's insecure. it can feel like a slap in the face if you don't consider his own struggles but i do think he's self aware and healed enough to know that he's very much within societal beauty standards (tall, straight sized, white, eurocentric features) and has actually benefited greatly in his career because of his looks. and he's unpacked a lot of his fatphobia and has made a point to be vocally body positive even going back to like 2016/2017

[a-haunting-memory]

Hii! Idk if ur reqs r opened rn but if it isn’t u can do this l8r 🫶 May i req a rocky rickaby x rich gn (or fem) reader romantic hcs? I need to spoil this sopping drenched cat… also, please take ur time, do whatever u need to do- take breaks if u need em! 💗

Aww, you're so nice, thanks🫶

finally I found some motivation to write so here we go! I wasn't exactly sure how to write it, but I tried.

In case you wanted me to write it differently or if you want me to include some other stuff I didn't think of, let me know and I'll see what I can do.

The reader is gn.

Romantic headcannons, but no mention of established relationship.

At first he didn't think much of the gifts that you gave him. He saw them as rewards for his succeeded runs.

However when you didn't stop gifting him, he started feeling a little confused and awkward about it. He wasn't complaining tho, hah.

He started showing you more and more gratitude.

Subconsciously he was looking forward to seeing you, but it wasn't really because he wanted to get something from you. He was just yearning for this nice sensation of feelings he used to get around you.

One evening when he came back from one of his adventures, you heard him complaining about him damaging his violin. - That was the moment you knew what your next move was.

He was really skeptical about borrowing you his beloved violin but he decided to trust you since so far you've never let him down.

When you gave him back his violin, he was in tears (of joy ofc). He couldn't thank you enough. It was his old violin but it was repaired now and it looked almost brand-new.

He offered to play you something on it as a token of appreciation ;3

You were already used to Rocky reciting some random poets he came up with in the span of the moment, but now it got more frequent and more personalized.

He's very grateful for everything you do for him. He might not always be the best at words but his actions speak volumes you wish those 'actions' were less disastrous tho...

You need to tone down spoiling him or else he might feel like he's using you which is not good cuz your poor boy feels awful with that😔

There is a possibility that once Mitzi catches on how rich you are and that you're close to Rocky, she might try persuading him into asking you to help the speakeasy or she might ask you herself.

If you ever deny helping Mitzi's drowning ship and give them a good reason why, Rocky won't ask you for it again. What you do is enough for him and he doesn't wanna make you feel used.

A/n: might update this later. I was in a crowded area and blasting music on my headphones while writing this. It was hard to focus. I'm tired ( ༎ຶ0༎ຶ)

ALSO! GIVE ME ZIB REQUESTS👹👹👹

[notgilderoylockhart]

Interview with the Vampire | faux rebind

When my copies of Interview with the Vampire, The Vampire Lestat and Queen of the Damned arrived I was shocked to discover that every single one had a sticker on the cover. Except it wasn't a sticker. It was PRINTED on the cover. Who does that?

And after finishing the first book I wanted them to match the vibe of the show. So I do what I always do when I love a book. I rebind it. Not a full rebind, I still wanted to preserve the cover after all, but a faux rebind, a protective book jacket that would look great on my shelf and keep the book from getting even more roughed up. I'm using the tutorial made by bindrebindery on TikTok or on Instagram . I love her work, she's incredible.

The first thing we gotta do is measure our book. It needs to be extremely exact, since we'll be working with millimeters here. The width of my copy is 10.4cm, and its height is 17.5cm. As per bindrebindery's tutorial we'll subtract 5mm from our width measurement and then add 3mm.

10.4 - 0.5 + 0.3 = 10.2cm

For the height we'll just add 3mm to the bottom and the top, so 6mm each

17.5 + 0.3 + 0.3 = 18.1cm

And for the back, we just copy the height measurement of 18.1cm and simply measure the width of the back which for my copy was 2.3cm.

I'm using 2.5mm thick cardboard and I would also suggest investing in a box cutter and a self-healing mat to not damage any of your surfaces. Now that we've got our pieces cut out, we can draw where we want to glue them to the book cloth. The space for the hinge in between the cardboard pieces depends on how thick your cardboard is. It's the width of the cardboard times 2 plus 5mm.

2.5mm x 2 + 5mm = 10mm

So the gap in between is 1cm wide.

We're also leaving a 2cm gap all around. I also like to invert-round the corners, to make it easier for me to fold it down later, but it's also possible to just trim off the excess on a straight line.

Now it's time to cut and glue everything down. I'm using bookbinder's glue for this and folding down the long pieces first. While the glue is drying I'm cutting out 2 more pieces with the measurements of our cover. These will be the sleeves that will hold our book in place.

I'm folding it and making sure it's not too tight on the book so it can slide in and out easily and then I'm cutting off the excess, a little more than 2cm in this case.

I also spent a hot minute designing a few embellishments. I got a few sheets of vinyl to play around with, to test my new cricut and ironed them onto the velvet, which worked fine for the bigger pieces, but those pesky little letters just did not want to stick. It took me a hot minute to iron each letter on individually. But it was totally worth it, I think. I love the look of it.

Look at that shine. Gorgeous.

Now all that's left is glue on some decorative endpaper, turn it over and go over the hinges with something (I like to use the bow handles of my scissors) and add our sleeve-pieces. I also like to slide in some paper just to make sure the glue dries properly and doesn't seep out and (God forbid) glues the sleeves shut. And that's it.

[megxplryxb]

How Can it be Over When it Never Really Started?

Pairings: Colby Brock x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Slight mention of smut, Kat and Sam's break up is discussed (no sides taken), No mentions of y/n

Notes: I haven't written for Colby in over a year so please be kind, I know i'm a little rusty.

The Las Vegas air was hot and sticky as you reluctantly opened the car door, removing yourself from the refreshing air conditioning of your BMW. The car locked with a beep as you tossed your keys into your handbag, rummaging around for a clip to tie your hair back, already feeling uncomfortable in the warmth of the desert. Dry gravel crunched under your converse, the hot sun already kissing your skin as you approached the entrance of an all too familiar house.

Everything looked as it did the last time you’d been here. The overgrown bushes at the side of the house still needing to be trimmed, the walls still screaming for a fresh coat of paint and the lights you’d all hung up for Christmas still dangling from the trees in the yard. But while things looked the same, the feeling was completely different. It was strange, quiet and sad. Any other time before today, you’d have walked in, skipping through the house, singing and dancing, looking for Katrina, but she didn’t live here anymore and that’s exactly the reason why you were here now.

Kat and Sam had broken up three weeks ago, ending their seven plus year relationship which came as a shock to many. While it was mostly amicable, she just couldn’t bring herself to return to the house she had shared with her ex boyfriend to pick up the last of her things. So instead, you had volunteered to go, wanting to make things as easy as possible for her.

It had been a rough couple of weeks for your best friend, the break up hitting her hard and she'd never felt more alone. Kat had been staying with a friend for the last couple of weeks, tying up some loose ends before she left Vegas in the rear view mirror once and for all. You arrived yesterday, driving to Sin City to help with her move back to LA, knowing that she needed you now more than ever. Break ups were never easy and you wanted her to know she didn't have to go through this alone.

Taking a deep breath in, you pressed the ring doorbell, stomach in knots as you waited patiently for a response. Sam knew you were coming, you’d organised it with him yesterday to make sure it was ok, not wanting to completely blindside him upon your arrival. Of course he didn't mind. It hadn't been easy for him either and you were sure he was just as heartbroken as Kat.

“Hey, I’ll be right down.” You heard a familiar voice say through the speaker, your eyes widening upon the realisation that it wasn't Sam. Fuck.

“Oh hey, yeah cool, take your time.” You reply, moving back from the door, tugging at your bottom lip nervously, a sudden feeling of uneasiness creeping up on you.

There was a slight shuffle on the other side of the door before it opened and you were met not by Sam but by his best friend Colby, who you'd slept with two months ago.

“Hey stranger, long time no see." He smiles, pulling you in for a hug, wrapping himself around you. His scent was intoxicating, warm and comforting and you hated how much you had missed being in his arms.

“Hi.” You blush, reluctantly pulling away from him, avoiding his gaze until he closed the door behind you.

“You could have just walked in y’know, like you always do.” He teases as you shake your head, shrugging. “I didn’t really know what to do honestly, I guess it’s just kind of weird now that Kat’s gone.”

“Hey, you know you’re always welcome here, right? That’s never gonna change.” Colby states but you’re not sure even he believes that. You’ve seen how break ups go, how it damages not just the couple but the friends involved too.

“How is Kat? I texted her a couple of times but she hasn’t really been responding.” He frowns, biting his bottom lip. You could see the sadness in his eyes, he was hurting too. You all were.

“She’s doing ok. I mean, she’s devastated obviously but she’ll get there, it’s just going to take some time.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine what they’re both going through right now. Sam is so quiet, he’s not really talking about it much.”

“Where is he anyway?” You look around, noticing the place was oddly quiet.

“He kind of chickened out last minute. I think he was afraid you were going to murder him, so he went for a run.” He jokes but you know he’s also kind of serious.

“Why would I do that? I mean, he just broke my best friend’s heart, it’s no big deal.” You reply sarcastically.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I kind of want to kick his ass too.” The black haired boy smiles and you can’t help but notice how utterly beautiful he looks right now.

“He knows I don’t hate him, right? Like, I wish I did because it would make things a hell of a lot easier but, at least he was honest y’know? He didn’t string her along or cheat on her. I’m just sad it didn’t work out for them.” You admit, holding back your tears.

“I know, I am too, it fucking sucks.” Colby sighs, throwing an arm around you, trying to pull you closer to him but he feels how reluctant you are to lean into him.

“I better get this stuff packed into my car. We’re heading back to LA in the morning.” You say as Colby nods his head, the corner of his lips turning downwards, leading you to the kitchen where Katrina’s things are laid out on the dinning table. There’s not too much left, just some clothes and shoes, bits of make up and unopened post and a framed picture of you all at the beach from last summer when Sam and Kat were still happy and you and Colby hadn’t blurred the lines of your friendship.

“That was a good day.” Colby chuckles from behind you. His hot breath hitting the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah it was. They looked so in love here.” You frown, running your fingers over the picture.

“They were.” Colby agrees, holding the other side of the frame. “You looked so beautiful that day.” He whispers, causing you to shake your head.

“Yeah right.” You laugh, rejecting his compliment.

“I’m serious. Shit, I remember seeing you in that bikini for the first time too. All of the guys were looking at you and that douche bag asked for your number, remember?” He quizzed, causing you to chuckle. You remember it like it was yesterday, the guy strutting towards you while you sunbathed with Kat. He’d been so cocky, certain he was leaving with your number until you ran to Colby, kissing his cheek. Pleading with him to go with it and pretend to be your boyfriend. He did it without a second thought, arms draped over your body, nuzzled into your neck, placing little kisses on your shoulder until the guy got the hint and left you alone.

“Of course I remember, you wanted to kill that guy.” You tease, turning to face Colby who looks at the picture once more. “Yeah, I did. Fuck, I was so jealous.” He curses as you furrow your brows, a little surprised by his admission.

“Why?” You ask, your breath hitching as he takes the frame from your hands, placing it on the table.

“You know why.” He insists, his lips hovering over your own, backing you into the table as your heart fluttered.

There had always been something between you and Colby, an unspoken attraction that neither of you dared to explore until two months ago. The timing for anything other than a friendship had never been quite right, one or both you seeing other people. But he had always been flirty with you, sharing subtle touches or glances when no one else was looking and for the longest time, that had been it. That was until New Years Eve, at a house party hosted by Jake and Tara. Colby had been by your side all night, getting your drinks, laughing and dancing and when the clock struck midnight his lips were immediately on yours, like he’d been waiting an eternity to kiss you. It only took you a moment to kiss him back, his hands finding a home on your hips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, ignoring all the whistles around you, your friends screaming that it was about damn time.

Not long after, you arrived back at the house, the kiss not being enough for either one of you, both of you needing more urgently. Colby had quickly dragged you upstairs, undressing each other before you even reached his bedroom, lips never parting as he pressed you into his mattress. It wasn't what you thought it would be like, it was slow and sweet and Colby took his time with you, afraid he'd only get one chance at this. The next morning you awoke in his arms, limbs still tangled under the sheets until you managed to wiggle your way out without waking him, leaving before you had to have an awkward conversation about the night before.

"Colby, I can't do this right now." You sigh, shaking off your thoughts as you move away from him again.

“Do what?” He asks, raising a brow.

“Do this, whatever this is..” you state as he lets out a deep breath.

“Are we ever gonna talk about it?” He questions, folding his tattooed arms across his toned chest.

“What is there to talk about? It was just sex, wasn't it?" You shrug, causing him to scoff and you swear you can see a look of hurt on his face.

“We both know it was more than that.” He states, staring at you, almost begging you to be honest with yourself.

“When has it ever been more than that for you, Colby?” You argue, taking aim at his long list of conquests.

“When it was with you." He answers honestly, leaving you shocked. “That night when we kissed, I thought that was it, you know? That me and you were finally on the same page about us. But when I woke up the next morning you were gone and I never heard from you."

"I wanted to save you the trouble of telling me it was a one time thing." You admitted, lowering your head, embarrassed to look at him right now.

"That's all you thought that was to me? Do you not know me at all?" The boy asks as you let out a nervous laugh.

"Yes, I know you Colby, which is exactly why I left! I've seen your countless one night stands walk out that door the next morning, hoping that you'll call them again and you never do! You just move on to the next one and I'm not judging you, that's who you are. I just didn't want to be one of those girls that expected more from you." Colby looks at you, shaking his head, a prominent frown on his face as he walks closer to you. This time you don't move, frozen still as he cups your face.

"But that's just it, you're not like those other girls. There's always been something between us, more than a friendship, more than just sex. You make me laugh more than anybody, I don't have to pretend to be someone else when I'm with you. You've seen me at my worst and you got me through it, you Kat and Sam. Baby, I was an idiot for so fucking long, dating people I shouldn't have dated, being friends with people who I didn't even like. But I know what I want now and I want you. I want everything with you." He confesses, as you try to hold back tears.

"Colby, I..."

“What, honey? Tell me what you want?” He asks, his face inches away from yours and you could easily kiss him right now.

You know exactly what you wanted. When it came to Colby Brock, you’ve always known.

You’ve wanted it before he ever put his lips on yours, before you ever let him take you in his bed all those weeks ago and before he ever muttered that you were his as he came deep inside of you for the first time.

You wanted him, all of him but you knew that was something that just wasn't possible right now. Just as you were about to speak, the front door opened and closed with a gentle bang, footsteps approaching the kitchen as you quickly broke apart.

"Hey." Sam spoke, removing his headphones as you placed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes moved to Colby, who he knew would chew him out for this later.

"Hi." You greeted, moving to give him a hug.

"I'm sorry, I totally just interrupted something didn't I?" The blonde boy questions as you shake your head.

"Yep." Colby nods as you shoot him a look.

"No you didn't, honestly. I was just leaving." You reassure Sam but Colby takes your hand. "Please, don't go, we still have things to talk about."

You bite your lip, eyes focused on Colby as he pleads with you to finish your conversation.

"I really need to pack Kat's stuff."

"Hey, it's ok, I'll take Katrina's things to your car and leave you guys to it." Sam says as you give him a thankful nod. Once he's gone, Colby moves towards you again, his hands finding yours as you look into his ocean blue eyes, trying not to fall deeper than you already have.

"Colby, you know how I feel about you. Jesus, I was never good at hiding it." You joke, earning a small laugh from him as his fingers circle your palm. "But, right now, Sam needs you, like Kat needs me. We can't be together when they're like this, still heartbroken and lost." You state, beginning to choke up.

"Why not?" Colby questions, raising a brow.

"Because if we're together and one of them eventually moves on with someone else, it's going to get messy. They'll fight about it, they'll ask us to take sides and then we'll fight about it and probably break up and both be miserable too! Everything's just too complicated right now, not to mention we'd have to do long distance because I'll be in LA and you'll be here and–" You ramble on as Colby places his forehead on yours.

"It kind of sounds like you've already thought about this a lot." He teases, as you wrap your arms around his waist.

"Being with you, is all I ever think about." You whisper before he captures your lips with his. For a moment, you finally give in to him, melting into his touch as he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue over your bottom lip before he slides it into your mouth. He swallows a moan from within you, pressing you up against the counter as you grab his shirt, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful." He groans, placing wet kisses on your neck as you throw your head back. Suddenly, your phone vibrates in your pocket and you know it's Kat checking up on you. You had asked her to call you to make sure you didn't accidentally end up in Colby's bed upon your arrival and you were sure you would have ended up there if not for your best friend saving you at the last minute.

"Colby, shit, it's Kat." You whine as he finally detaches his lips from your skin. Once you told Kat everything was ok and that you were on your way, you hung up, both of you attempting to catch your breath.

"I really have to go." You state as he nods his head, pulling you close once more.

"Look, I know you think things might get complicated but that's only if we let them, right? I want to try and make this work, I want to be with you no matter what happens between them. I've honestly never felt this way about anyone before and I don't want to lose you." He confesses, kissing your hand as your knees almost go from under you.

"I don't want to lose you either." You reveal, a tear sliding down your cheek as he wipes it away.

"So, can we do this? Me and you, like officially?" He asks, grinning like an idiot as you shake your head.

"Slow down Mr. Brock, you haven't even taken me on a proper date yet." You tease as he kisses you again. "Oh, so it's like that huh?"

"Yeah, it's like that." You chuckle.

Well lucky for you I'm coming to LA next week, so how about I take you out then?" He suggests, as you wrap your arms around him.

"If we do this, we take this slow ok? Start with a couple of dates and see how things go?" You suggest as he nods in agreement.

"Sweetheart, we can go as slow as you want, just give me a chance to show you how happy I can make you?" He begs but you already know the answer.

Yeah, Colby Brock was a risk worth taking.

[dirtycombatboots]

I was writing a fanfic but something happened and now the file is damaged. I'm not sure I have it in me to start from scratch once again so I'll just pour this idea here, maybe someone will like to use it

One winter Eskel, injured, got stuck for winter in Lettenhove, small county of Kerak, taking full advantage of healer's hospitality. During winter he befriended a little boy who isn't afraid of a witcher and, in fact, is very interested in his stories. Eskel knows he shouldn't tell quite a lot of things, but some of them just slip out occasionally. Well, not like a child will remember any of those, so no harm. Winter end, Eskel goes back to his usual life. He doesn't come back to Lettenhove, path taking him to different parts of continent.

Little boy, however, has a very good memory and a newfound obsession with witchers. As he grows older and learns how to read, he tries to find anything about them in the books. His curiosity is somewhat satisfied when he is already a student at Oxenfurt and has access to Academy's library with a lot of ancient scrolls on history.

After graduation Jaskier, no-name young bard with nothing but his lute, is brooding in the corner of a small tavern in Posada. He is dead set on becoming the best bard, but he has nothing to write ballads about. No muse. Well, no problem, lets make one up. Since he was always obsessed with witchers, why not sing about them? Only needs a hero. A bit of searching for old memories plus everything he learned from archives, sketching what he thinks Eskel looked like (Jaskier was a child, he couldn't possibly remember Witcher's face in full detail), a bit of artistic choices to modify that face, a pinch of tragic backstory, sprinkle with personality that would do good for hero of ballads, and a suitable name as a cherry on top. Congratulations, you just created Geralt of Rivia.

While thinking about how to start working with this new character of his creation, Jaskier goes to take a look at the devil he heard local rumors of. He finds a cave with half-starved and incredibly intelligent Sylvan and a few dead elves. Creature turns out to be a surprisingly good conversationalist after Jaskier shares some of his bread with him. Jaskier promised to make up a story that will keep humans away from searching for the "devil" and receives an elven lute as gift, since otherwise it will just rot in this cave. That is how "Toss a coin" was made.

Toss a coin is more successful than Jaskier could predict in his most narcissistic fantasies. He writes a few more songs about Geralt and his career really takes off. At some point Jaskier realized that people actually think Geralt is a real person. Amused, he plays along, completely satisfied with his own genius. Especially when some people not only recognize him, but claim to have seen the White Wolf. They actually believe it.

Jaskier knows that Geralt is fictional but an artist needs emotions to make his art, so he intentionally falls in love with his character and intentionally makes Geralt in his mind harsher. Because Jaskier is dramatic bastard and unrequited love is perfect fuel for ballads.

After silently watching from sidelines the whole epic of Pavetta's bethrothal ball, Jaskier spins the story of how Geralt was involved a claimed the Law of Surprise. Jaskier gets invited back to play from time to time, watching Ciri grow, and realizes that somehow even Calanthe - a person directly involved in the whole thing, an eyewitness and active participant - believes in Jaskier's made-up story about Geralt's involvement. Jaskier knows it will bite him in the ass later, but this is too funny and he is just a bit insane so he indulged with pride.

When Countess de Stael breaks up with him, Jaskier is drowning his sorrows in a bottle of gin on a riverbank. Oh, crap, he slipped and scratched his throat on something accidentally. He goes to the local healer to buy some ointment for scratches - bard with a scar on his throat would be absurd - and she is a lovely sarcastic young-looking elf with dark curls and just a bit of magic, named Jenny. Deciding that if he is suffering from a broken heart, Geralt should suffer too. Jaskier's drinking spree transforms into a story of fighting jinn, saving a mortality wounded bard and falling in love with a sexy dangerous witch. Welcome, new character, we will call you Yennefer. Thank you, Jenny, for inspiration. Jaskier is jealous and heartbroken, but he thrives on it and enjoys every second of his life misery very much, milking it for creative purposes.

Annual visit to Cintra, bad news. The whole family of three perished in sea waters. Lioness of Cintra is loosing her mind with grief. It really is a pity to see such a strong woman in such state, so to calm her Jaskier sings about Ciri as if she was still alive. Surprisingly, it helps.

Jaskier tags along on some idiotic, in his opinion, quest to hunt a dragon. It is a failure through and through, nothing interesting happening and no material for ballads. On top of that mountain Jaskier decides that he needs a break, perhaps a vacation somewhere nice. Maybe go to the coast. But he can never really get a break from his own imagination. Besides, a bit of a heartbreak seems like a perfect grand finale for this failed adventure. So, Geralt and Yennefer fight, than Geralt sends the bard away. Perfect. This way Jaskier will be able to suffer as much as he wants AND not be distracted by thinking about Geralt being present.

Unfortunately , no vacation for Jaskier. Cintra falls, and the bard finds out that, apparently, he gaslighted the entire continent into believing that not only Geralt exists, but Yenn as well, and that lion cub of Cintra is alive. Well, fuck, Jaskier really is a genius if he says so himself. If only Nilfgaard didn't have a bounty for his head, hoping to get information about the witcher. Really, the whole empire on a wild goose chase for a fictional witcher and a long dead princess, can you imagine. Jaskier knew it would bite him in the ass.

Being tortured by Rience is no fun, especially since Jaskier literally cannot give him any information, but firefucker doesn't believe Jaskier when the bard tries to explain that Ciri is dead and Geralt doesn't exist. He gets saved eventually and tries to lay low for some time. Jaskier may be a bit crazy, but he doesn't have a death wish.

The story ends with Jaskier meeting witchers of Kaer Morhen. To his utter disbelief, even they are affected by collective madness. They fully believe in Geralt's existence and have memories about shared life experiences with him. Even Eskel, which is another level of ridiculous. Because Geralt, at his core, IS Eskel, just with a whole lot of artistic liberties and a very successful PR manager of a bard.

There is no explanation given to why this happened. Maybe Jaskier just so convincing, maybe he is a bit magical, maybe it's his elven lute being magical. The only thing that gets explained during the story is why some people believe they actually saw Geralt with Jaskier. After visualizing his character for so long, Jaskier accidentally and unknowingly created a tulpa. Given magical nature of the world, sometimes its presence is noticed. But its not real, nothing more than a weak projection of bard's fantasies.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Worship

Hello!!! I thought I'd throw an idea out there :3 So I absolutely love god aus, but obviously you don't have to do that, just a thought, I'm just thinking of Janus or Virgil suffering in some way and Roman doing something to protect them, since they're always the ones comforting him? Might be fun to switch it up If you do decide to do this have fun! If not no worries :3 :3 – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: prinxiety

Word Count: 2232

In a world of many gods and goddesses, one of the lesser-known deities goes without a name, simply known as the Storyteller. Virgil is one of their few followers, living on the outskirts of a densely populated city. His is not an extravagant faith, but it is a potent one.

 

It's the same as it always is. Candles knocked over and his books scattered on the floor. At least they didn't rip any pages out this time.

Virgil sighs, crouching down. He sets his basket on the ground and focuses on making sure none of the pages have creased beyond repair. A few of the books landed on their splayed pages and he winces at the marring of the fading ink, but for the most part, everything looks to be intact. He gathers them to his chest and begins to rearrange them on the small plinth, careful to keep the covers turned toward the flames to reduce the risk of fire. When the books have been arranged just so, he picks up the candles too and reaches into his pocket for his flint and steel.

Out of the many shrines in the city, it's always the ones down at this end that constantly get ruined. Possibly because it's closest to the busy end of the alley, more likely because these gods do not carry the worship of the state. These are the ones that have smaller sects, no grand churches or temples or holy sites, and so they are the ones that require more constant upkeep. Virgil doesn't mind. He has an agreement with some of the people that worship the gods at neighboring shrines. He lets them know when the altar's been ruined, they let him know when his has been. Granted, he's not the only worshiper around here, but he is the most predictable.

At some point, he'll sit back and wonder why it is that this one is the one that seems to be destroyed most often, but that's something he can wonder when his fresh food from the market is not in danger of being swiped by cunning little mouths.

2.

He gets word that the statue on the cliffside had been defaced, and he packs a small bag to take with him. The path is lined with old rocks laden with moss and cracks. Small flowers take root and grow along the edge of the stone steps. At the top of the cliff overlooking the water, there is a circle of stones around the statue. Virgil winces at the crude glyphs painted over the statue's face, hands, and the book it holds aloft.

He sets down his bag and fetches the rag and water. The types of soap he would typically use to clean this are too harsh for the old limestone, and even the water he tries to use sparingly so he won't damage the statue's features. Wind and rain have worn away the details, leaving only the vague outline of a mouth, open in speech, a nose, and kind eyes watching the story weave itself together. As he works, he can help glancing behind himself every so often.

Was this a place where stories were told often? Was it only for special occasions?

Is there a more special occasion than being alive?

The words drift back to him and he smiles, turning his attention back to the statue. As he works, he tells the little stories of being alive. About the cats that run through the alley, begging for scraps. About the new merchants that have come to sell their jewelry and all the other stalls had seen fewer customers that day. About the new recipe his friend had tried and how good it had tasted. Small stories. Short stories. Stories that make up the patchwork of a life.

He wonders if that was the sort of story that would make it into any book, no matter how insignificant. He cleans the statue's hands and wonders if it would be willing to hold such a book.

3.

These were originally sung.

Virgil turns the page in the old book and squints at the faded words. It had been a chance find by an old friend, a book from ages long past that only Virgil had wanted in the end, for he was the only one who could recognize the god's name. He'd taken the fragile thing home wrapped in a cloth and thin string of twine, unwrapping it carefully by his own tiny shrine and reading by the light of the candle. There were words he didn't recognize, words he had no idea how to pronounce, and stories woven in tongues he could never hope to understand.

You could say, then, he was shocked when the thought that they were to be sung occurred to him.

What for? They didn't match any meter or pattern of any song he recognized, nor did he have any inclination as to what the tune was supposed to be. And even if he did, that was no guarantee he'd be able to sing it. No one had ever had the courage to say he was very musically inclined, let alone be able to sing songs of a god that had not been breathed since the book was last opened.

Still, now that the thought's occurred to him, it's almost impossible to get out of his head. So, he starts humming. No melody, not really a rhythm either, just reading the book and letting it decide when he should change notes. He just reads and hums and does his best to let them wash over him. Even if he can't understand it, maybe he can feel what it might have been like to hear them sung.

The candles flicker a little as the sun sets. The book doesn't look as though it's any different, but slowly it occurs to Virgil that he shouldn't be able to see as well in this level of light as he had when the sun was still out. He glances at the candles, then back at the book, and turns the page. Sure enough, the words stand out as easily as they ever have…in fact, they might be a little bit clearer.

He continues humming with a smile on his face.

4.

'Your god should be your focus, your life, your purpose. You should devote your life to theirs, as they have spent their existence to ensure you have yours.'

A lot of people like to talk about their gods like that. There is one house of worship that Virgil journeys past every moon devoted to a dark god—he's not exactly sure what the god's powers are, nor what domain he represents, all he knows are the black tentacle-like tattoos the acolytes wear and the fact that the god, apparently, prefers blondes. Every time he passes, he sees one of the priestesses surveying the courtyard—as if she were its ruler, not the god the temple was devoted to, but her—and the way she looks at him makes him hold his cloak a little tighter around his body. As though he were doing something wrong by not wearing his worship of his god on his skin as brazenly as they did.

Others talk about their gods. All the time. Every sentence, every little thing that happens, is because of their god. The rain, the sun, the harvest, the storm, the way their neighbor smiled at them this morning, the way a bird came and landed on their roof last night. Everything was attributed to some divine message, leaving no room for the quietness of life to breathe. Virgil feels exhausted just imagining that—what would be the point of being so controlling if you didn't have the time to breathe and enjoy the security of it?

And then there were those that thought he didn't worship. Not that they frowned upon him for it, but sometimes the way they talked…as though he couldn't understand what it was like to believe in a higher power. As though he didn't have the discipline to worship, as though he didn't have the faith. As though the shrine in his house didn't exist, as if the hours he spent writing his own story in a leather-bound notebook he'd saved every coin for wasn't worth it, as though he didn't believe.

But his worship isn't for them. It's for him, and his god, and that was enough. And if he arrived home to find a small pot of ink when he'd thought he'd run out yesterday, well, that was between him and his desk drawer.

5.

The thing about stories is that they're meant to be shared. Virgil is many things, but a man with a large group of friends, he is not.

In some ways, he is content not to share his worship. There's something unique, he's found, in storytelling. You can tell a lot about a person by the type of stories they read, or the types of stories they tell. Even if you don't believe so at first, over time, if you hear enough of them, you get to know that person quite well. Virgil is not keen on being so known, not by the sorts of people that he would share this worship with. Because they wouldn't understand, he tells himself, or it wouldn't be fair. He would have to show them how it feels by lying himself bare, with no hope of whether they would understand and do the same.

But sometimes, sometimes he gets…lonely.

His home is small. Humble. His bed has just enough room for his clothes in a trunk underneath. His kitchen is barely more than a stove and a small set of cabinets. He has a tiny desk, crammed into the space under his shrine. He has a few things on the walls, one old bundle of cloth wrapped around his traveling gear in the corner by the firewood. On cold nights, he sleeps right by the fire, and even then, he doesn't feel warm enough.

In the pages of the books, he reads about the importance of companionship. That nights are cold and colder alone, that we were made to warm each other and there is no other warmth quite like it. Sometimes he curls up with one of them, just to read about it and imagine it. He thinks that might be his most poignant worship: a strange yearning, a longing that worries itself into his bones and makes him ache tenderly. His is not a god that values pain and suffering, but he thinks his god might have a soft spot for wanting.

He does not doubt, but he would like to see for himself. Just once.

+1.

There is a man outside his door.

He opens it, a little stunned. Partly because there is no reason for someone to show up as his door unannounced, and partly because this stranger is sublime.

He invites the stranger in, belatedly, and sheepishly offers to cook. It's around that time of day anyways, and he has a little extra of the nice meat from the butcher because he did them a favor last week. The stranger smiles, thanks him, asks if Virgil needs help. Virgil shakes his head and offers the good chair, the one that doesn't creak when you sit on it, and carefully pours a cup of mead too. The stranger takes it and thanks him again.

Virgil tries to keep himself focused on the cooking, but he can't help glancing over his shoulder every once in a while to see what the stranger does. He spends a fair amount of time looking around, at the fireplace, at Virgil's desk, at the shrine, but mostly, he's watching Virgil. To the point where Virgil just starts talking, just so that it makes a little more sense as to why he's being looked at so by someone so…so.

The stranger listens perfectly. Laughs in the right places, hums in the right places, asks questions and offers comments when Virgil pauses for breath. Virgil asks questions of his own, and receives vaguer answers, more cryptic answers, though all delivered with some secret smile like there's a joke the two of them share. When the food has been eaten, Virgil expects the stranger to tell him who he is, or what he's doing here, but nothing comes. Instead, the stranger helps him clean up, and when Virgil says that it's alright, he's capable of doing it, please, make yourself comfortable, wanders toward the shrine. No small lump appears in Virgil's throat as the stranger reaches out to take one of the books.

Do you know, I think you're the only one who tried to sing them.

And Virgil…stares. Because no one should know that. No one does know that. The only way this stranger could know that is if…if…

His eyes widen. The stranger looks at him with a soft smile, and then the book is set down and Virgil's suddenly backed against the wall with that soft smile so, so close.

Oh, God.

The stranger laughs. It sounds like music.

For you, Virgil, you can call me Roman.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs@el-does-photography@princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl@raven1508

[absolutebl]

Do you have any recent recommendations for JBL TaiwanBL and KBL? Been rewatching only bls from 2021 2022 and I feel like I'm out of the loop for the more recent ones.

Maybe something from this year or late last year?

Great JBL, TaBL, and KBL from 2023 & first half 2024

asker added:

Genre = mostly anything. But pls avoid homophobic trauma (like Jazz for Two).

Fair. Okay here we go!

2023 Recs!

I picked mostly 9s and 10s for you with a few 8s I felt specifically might suit your taste.

I Cannot Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai

Japan Netflix

This classic friends-to-lovers BL is everything Japan does best. Angsty. Emo. Aching. Driven by real thirst. Yamato is deeply in love with his childhood bestie, Kakeru, and has been for ages, unable to hide his ungainly damaging high school need. He wants Kakeru in every way possible and it oozes off of the screen. Kakeru is silly and a little simple, but not frenetic or overly camp about it. He is earnest, and genuinely wants to keep Yamato in his life which means giving a romance (and gayness) a fair chance. We watch him realize his affection and what form it can take in a truly authentic way. This show was impossibly kind to both of its lead characters and I felt almost honored that I got to watch something so lovely and rare play out on my screen.

Our Dating Sim

Korea Viki

This is a perfect short form KBL, an office set reunion romance featuring geeks that really suits 8 eps with no fluff and no chaff. Just comforting and yummy. I adored every aspect from the casting to the pristinely simple premise to the quietly smooth execution. Sure it’s low stakes, but that makes it high domesticity and extremely warm and gentle. This is a fuzzy blanket of a story - a cozy BL. It lives in my rewatch pile and you know what’s best about it? Every single episode is in that pile. There’s no skipping with this one, it might be good natured and calmly sweet but it’s tight and the pacing is excellent.

I don't hand out 10/10 often (over 700 BLs watched, stil don't hvae 10 10/10s yet), these both got that from me in 2023. I consider both of them perfect BLs.

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho

Japan Gaga

This style of live action yaoi really only works from Japan. Basically: boys who fell in love in college end up living together but both are so repressed they actually don't realize they're in love. It's higher heat than we usually get from Japan's HEA stuff, and that part is also very well done, but it leaned into the "why don't they just talk for fuck's sake?" trope which is only exacerbated into undiluted frustration by the fact that they're already fucking. It's great, but watching requires more patience than usual, even for Japan.

Our Dining Table AKA Bokura no Shokutaku

Japan Gaga

A lonely salaryman (+ talented cook) gets accidentally adopted by a college kid and his little brother. I was always gonna love this show if they stuck to the original yaoi (which is very dear to my heart). And they did! Paralleling it almost exactly. It’s a quiet & cozy little parable of found family alleviating loneliness. Possibly too slow for some but definitely high up there for me as the best of what Japan can do with softness (like Restart After Come Back Home). It’s only flaw (if I dare say such a thing) is that it is not really “romantic.” Lovely & sweet but the romance beats are being used to build a family relationship, not just couple intimacy, but that's OK with me. This is a very safe show for anyone to watch.

Jun and Jun

Korea Viki

A delightful office romance about an ex-idol who joins cubical life only to find his new boss is his first love. Others boys are sniffing around too. Operative word being "sniffing" as much of this romance involves smell. With a snappy (sometimes even raunchy) script, enjoyable sides, a pretty as peaches cast, and descent chemistry this show made up for in style what it lacked in substance. I like fluff. I loved this. I smiled every moment I was watching. With tons of rewatch potential (especially the last few eps), my only caution is this is for fans of the BL genre only, I don’t think it’ll work for anyone else.

Love Tractor

Korea iQIYI

Most of this country-set BL had me feral for the beautiful broken city boy and his hot young farmer. Hyung romance, puppy/cat pairing, open frankness meets jaded reserve, language play, water hose frolicking, only one bed, just all my favorite tropes. This show was basically a light-weight Restart After Come Back Home and I’m not even slightly mad about that. But (and you knew there was a “but” comg) something about the cringe of the final 2 eps and the impermanence of the ending (both of which highlight the fact that ultimately these 2 are I’ll-suited: too different and too far apart) left me with the feeling that they probably won’t last as a couple. However, in this case, rare for me, I forgive it this finale for my love of the rest.

The New Employee

Korea Viki

So good, SO QUEER, so soft, a near pitch perfect office BL with conflict derived from that setting. Also found family and a lesbian bestie. Sweet & innocent (and out) Seung Hyun scores the office internship of his dreams. On his first day at work he gets into it with his cool reserved (and also v gay) boss. As you do. Frankly? This is what I wanted from this new crop of office set KBLs ALL ALONG. Rainbow rice cakes forever! Directed by queer activist Kim Jho Gwang Soo (Just Friends?) partly set in the same neighbourhood as the To My Star house. Gotta love WATCHA (Semantic Error, Light on Me).

Unintentional Love Story

Korea iQIYI

OMG the plot, forced into a totally understandable betrayal, falling in love despite himself, put into a corner he can't get out of, the AGONY, the eyes EMOTING at us in PAIN A boy who just lost his job due to faked corruption charges accidentally discovers his ex-boss's favorite artist, now a recluse. Evil manager offers him his job back if he can convince the artist to rejoin society. Instead, they fall in love. I found the artist a bit stiff and reserved but Gongchan (maknae of B1A4) is a fucking GIFT - he carried this show (which I do not expect from the idol element). He was lumous with extraordinarily expressive eyes, just drown in the emoting abyss. The external conflict, social tension and pressure is complex and beautifully executed, plus Korea gave us legit side dishes (NOT a love triangle, hally-fucking-luya). I’m not sure on rewatchability, and it didn’t whip me into a verbal frenzy the way some KBLs do, but it still gets a solid 9/10 for those damn eyes alone.

A Breeze of Love

Korea iQIYI

Tsundere insomniac grump reunited with his sunshine jock ex (human sleeping pill) who now hates him. Basketball is also involved. While the simplicity of a reunion plot makes this more cohesive than most KBLs, it is a tad stiff and slow, never managing to lift itself out of "pretty and pretty enjoyable" - I liked it but I don’t think I’m going to remember much about it. 

Bon Appetit

Korea iQIYI

Romance between an office worker the man from his past next door who cooks well. It was very sweet and cute tale of food as love in the All the Liquors family of KBL. I’m not wild about it, I did enjoy it, I was happy to have it show up on my dash, but ultimately it will simply become one of the KBL crowd.

Why R U?

(Korean adaptation of Thai original) iQIYI

Korea decided to remake, of all possible Thai BLs, Why RU? And that is exactly what we got: a short form, clean & pretty, slightly confusing, uneven chemistry, all the same tropes KBL that kind of cliff-noted the original but with none of the heat or complex relationship dynamics. I just … what world is this? Because it is BOTH bizarro land, and EXACTLY what I expected. How do I rate it? In the end I have to go back to simple questions: did I like it, would I rewatch it, and would I recommend it? Yes. Probably. And probably not. What the actual hell?

It did, however win my best kiss of 2023 which is why it's on this list.

Stay By My Side

Taiwan Viki

I wanted to pick SOMETHING from Taiwan but my other two options both had lots of trauma in them. So I'm going with this one.

This show was an interesting take on the "ghost boyfriend" trope. About a boy who is tormented by hearing the dead, except when he is around one other boy - desperation+proximity = love. Unfortunately, the story was erratic and waffled about. While the leads turned in solid performances and the sappy domesticity was off the charts, it never really had the strength of the narrative convictions such a strong concept should have supplied. Highly rewatchable and enjoyable for that sappy domesticity but not a whole lot more. Still I always give extra credit for the diabetes-inducing sugar content and rewatch capacity.

And some suggestions from 2024

I'm only suggesting stuff that has finished it's run and isn't currently airing.

Although I Love You and You AKA Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka

Japan Gaga

The promise of this show, younger cook courts older divorced office worker, should have been my catnip. I mean if someone pitched this to me in an elevator I would have downloaded it by the second storey. Unfortunately, it did not exactly fulfill that promise, not in the way I'd hoped. Did I still enjoy the ride, yes, but I feel just a little let down.

Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu

Japan Gaga

Kindly Ryota goes to uni and ends up rooming with his former childhood bestie, Kazuhito. Kazuhito doesn’t have a girlfriend for, as it turns out, cute roommate reasons. Same director as Old Fashion Cupcake, the framing is gorgeous and it is a stylish piece. As a friends to lovers cohabitation narrative this was a classic 2000s sweet yaoi. I enjoy that kind of tradition out of Japan even if it (and the characters) come off as a little slow as a result. Still, it's nice to get a traditional BL out of Japan that is satisfying, not slapstick, AND did not hurt us.

[l0velymia]

A Proper Celebration. - Levi x Reader

Summary: Levi's first proper birthday with his first love.

Warnings: Brief mentions of prostitution, Fem reader, not proofread! (Lmk if I missed anything).

A/N: Nothing like getting motivation to write again at 11:42 PM! Scheduling this to post exactly at 12:00 December 25! Happy Holidays everyone! (And happy birthday to my bbg)

-------------------------------------------------

Levi had never cared for Christmas, or rather, his birthday. Being from the underground meant there were no such things as a "proper" celebration. Unless, you wanted to draw more attention to yourself.

Of course, his mother still made an effort to celebrate her baby boy's birthdate. Always trying to make it as special as possible. Sure, maybe a little bit of bread and a small gift might not seem much to the average person. To him however, it was everything. It showed his mother's love and persistence to make him feel special on his special day. Even if that day was usually followed by his mother coming home late or bringing men over to pay debts she made for his birthdate.

After his mother passed and he was taken in by Kenny, birthdays and holidays weren't exactly a priority. Instead of celebration, his days were filled with excessive combat training or stealing. Anything but a proper celebration really.

--------------------------------------------------

So naturally, Levi was caught off guard when he was awoken by his love shuffling around his office carrying a tray of food. "Oh! I'm sorry Levi! Did I wake you? I just wanted to surprise you since it's your birthday after all.. Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas by the way!"

She smiled softly and set the tray down on his desk before frowning a little and massaging his shoulders and neck. "Didn't I tell you to stop sleeping on your desk? You're gonna end up with a sore neck if you continue that."

Levi relaxed into the massage, staring at the food in front of him. A bowl of steaming hot soup paired with a few pieces of bread and hot tea.

"I didn't know they were serving soup today? Eyebrows said we were getting served something else."

"That's because I made it silly! I woke up early to make it for you so you better enjoy it!" She giggled softly.

Levi blushed faintly at the thought of her putting in so much effort just for him.

"Thank you, brat." "Anytime Levi!"

The following hours were both torture yet heaven, he would find gifts around his office all from her, growing more and more adorable and endearing with each passing hour.

He found a new painted tea cup set, chuckling to himself as he saw your "artistic" talent on the cups. He set them aside. Refusing to use them as to not damage them. They were from you after all, they need to be cherished and protected like you.

--------------------------------------------------

In the afternoon, he spent his time in his office signing and reading paperwork even though Erwin gave him a rare day off as it was the Captain's special day.

She burst into the room smiling.

"Heyy Leviiii!!! Can I hangout here for a while?" "Do I have a choice?" "Nope!"

She sat on his desk, raising an eyebrow whilst staring at his work.

"Is Erwin making you work on your birthday? I could've sworn I asked him to give you a day off.."

Levi shakes his head, trying to avoid cracking even a small smile.

"Yes Y/N. He gave me today off. I just chose to complete this sooner rather than later." He said, mentally chuckling at the pout his love gave him.

--------------------------------------------------

"But today's your birthday and it's Christmas Levi! You shouldn't be working..." She stares off into space for a moment. An idea popping into her head. "I should be spending time with you! Put something winter-appropriate on and I'll meet you outside of the bakery we always go to!" She said enthusiastically before running out, not even giving Levi the chance to agree or disagree. As if he'd ever say no to her.

--------------------------------------------------

And that's how Levi ended up inside this lovely bakery. Next to him? His darling love excitedly scanning all the pastries and bread in the store.

"Come on Levi! Pick something out!! There is so much cool and yummy stuff here!!" She eagerly gasps as she looks around the beautifully decorated bakery.

"You seem more eager than me, why don't you pick something out? And I'll pay for it." He suggested, looking around the bakery as well.

Y/N gasps at his suggestion, as if she's offended. "Nooo! It's your birthday! You should pick. And I'll pay for it! You shouldn't be buying your own birthday present."

Levi cracked a slight smile at her protests, before returning to his normal dead face.

"Alright, alright. I'll pick something out. Only because you keep persisting."

--------------------------------------------------

The pair spent the rest of the day looking around the town, occasionally entering a shop to buy something. Both of them went back to the base, hand in hand. Levi carrying the heavy presents while Y/N carried the smaller, lighter, presents.

They sit in front of a roaring fireplace, tea and a shared pasty in front of them. Her head on his shoulder. His hand gripping her waist softly, pulling her close to his warmth.

"I hope you had fun today, Levi. Even though we did nothing too special. I still hope you enjoyed yourself."

"I did, thank you. For everything. For celebrating my birthday and spending time with me. For putting up with my nonsense all this time."

He hesitates to continue, but decided against it.

"And.. thank you, for loving me. Just as much as I love and adore you."

He admits, waiting for her reply. Looking at the fireplace.

His world briefly comes crashing down as he's met with no response. That's it! He took a leap of faith and he instead fell-

Levi hears a few small snores coming from the girl resting her head on his shoulder, body relaxed and asleep. He smiles ever so slightly and kisses the top of her head.

Yeah, Levi would go through hell and back, He would go through all of the shit life has planned for him, as long as it meant that he would be able to spend his god-forsaken life with you. As long as he'd be able to experience nights like this, with you.

--------------------------------------------------

All rights reserved © l0velym1a || Do not copy, translate, alter, repost onto other apps/medias my work without my approval + credit.

[ashc-from-ao3]

A dog with separation anxiety

Sirius black x reader

When you returned home to your tiny house that you shared with your boyfriend of four years, Sirius Black. You did not expect to find the place in ruin. Pillows were throw everywhere, stuffing leaking out of them. The couch had several deep gasses in it. The coffee table was broken and the kitchen was a mess, you carful,y ventured further into the house, weary of every sound. It was the height of the wizarding war and this damage could be caused by death eaters, and if they were still here they would no doubt Avada you. When you walked into the bedroom the mess was even worse. Blankets torn to scraps, the ensuit bathroom was slightly flooded from a burst pipe and a window was broken. You immediately noticed that Sirius, or his body, was not present. Panic filled your heart and you rushed around the house looking for any clues as to your boyfriend's state of health.

"Sirius? Sirius?! bloody hell Sirius where are you?" The house was a single floor place and there weren't too many places Sirius could he hiding. Your mind flickered to the worst, being captured by death eaters and tortured for information. With shaky steps you went to sit on the ruined couch, a sob escaped you as your mind ran over the possible scenarios. It took you another hour to calm down enough to think rationally, you had to go look in with the other Muraders, make sure Sirius wasn't with one of them. You apparated to Peter's first.

"Peter? Peter!" The small mousy man was cowering in the corner when you arrived, after noticing it was you the poor man relaxed and stuttered out.

"H-hello (Y/n)...wh-what do you want?"

"I'm looking for Sirius, when I got home the house was a mess and he was nowhere to be found...I need to know he's safe" Peter's eyes for wide and he started shaking.

"He-he's missing? Sirius is missing?" You sighs and went to console him, a though right now you really needed some consoling of your own.

"I haven't looks in with Remus or Lilly and James yet, he's probably with one of them. I'll let you know later okay?" After receiving a nod from the scared man you alerted to Remus' place. The sandy haired werewolf was curled up on his couch and shaking. The night before had been a full moon and he was always like this afterwards. You dropped to your knees beside him and he jumped.

"(Y/n)? What are you doing here? Did Sirius send you to check in in me again? I'm fine, just shaken"

"Actually no, Sirius did not send me, I'm looking for him. I got home and the house was wrecked and he was no where to be found. I asked leter if he had seen him but he hadn't, I just came by to see if you had. I guess not." Remus frowned and pulled you into a hug.

"Oh goodness, I'm sorry. Do you think it was....death Eaters?....." You tensed up a little and shook your head.

"I'm trying not to think of that, anyway how are you? How did last night go?" Most full moons the other three Muraders would leave their houses and go help Remus, this time all three had serious order business that they had to attend to.

"It was okay...managed to get everything secured before I changed. It was weird waking up and not being with the others though...I did it though." You smiled and ruffled his hair before standing.

"Good job Remmy, listen. I'm off to look I'm with Lily and James. I'll let you know what I find there" Remus nodded and with a crack you had vanished on,y to appear a split second later in the Potter's house. Little Harry who was approaching a year old looked up from his spot on the floor and giggled. Lily appeared around the corner and smiled brightly.

"(Y/n) it's good to see you, Sirius was just here. He apparated off to your house just seconds ago." A sigh of relief crossed your lips.

"Oh thank god, I got back to the house and it was a mess" Lily giggled.

"Yeah, he was telling James about that,he hoped he'd be able to fix it before you got home. No such luck it seems" you laughs along with the redhead and smiled and bid her farewell, you appeared kne more time, arriving back at your house. When you landed Sirius was there looking sheepish.

"Hey doll......so uh you had a business trip and I missed you so much that I kind of tore up the house in your absence like a dog with separation anxiety… sorry?" You tried to keep a straight face but you couldn't"

"Sirius Orion Black, did you change and wreck the house? Because that's funny enough you might not get in trouble for scaring me." Sirius mumbled something about how he had infact changed into Animagus form and wrecked havoc on the house. You laughed and after a hug and a kiss you quickly reached out to Remus and Peter letting them know Sirius was okay. The poor man looked extreamly guilty he had made so many people worry, you just sat him down on the now fixed couch and cuddled him. He was safe, a little air headed but safe. And that's all you needed

[hikarielizabethbloom]

This is what J.D. Payne said about Sauron in the first season:

"There’s something in him that is sort of vaguely reminiscent of Gollum, when you watch it again, where you see these two forces driving within him. In some ways, Gollum is to Sauron as Sauron is to Morgoth, a little bit. The One Ring is operative on his consciousness at all times. And even maybe if he tried to turn away from it and be Mairon, the Maia, who, in the beginning, was good, there's this shadow that has operated upon his soul that he is enslaved to, that you always see, every decision he makes, takes him, in one way, towards the good, but it also takes him towards power. And power is his addiction. Watching back, with that in mind, it's fun to pick apart everything he says, or if he does retreat from the decision he makes."

It's possible Sauron thought to do "good" for a time, but power is his addiction, his way to further corruption. I don't care about Charlotte Brandström's words about his 'love' for Galadriel because the way it was framed on screen? Was not 'love', especially not romantic love. It will always end up looking twisted and extremely dark, and I'm not sure we should casually call this 'love'. I agree with Charlie Vickers when he insists on not using that word, because he doesn't wish to 'romanticize' the merciless, obsessive, abusive and cruel feelings that Sauron, a fallen angel with a god complex, can have for someone.

I don't mind that people find haladriel interesting, but after season 2? I cannot see Galadriel willingly go to him, not even for the affection she had for Halbrand. Sauron may want to possess her, but she will not yield to him, she will not be a willing participant in this.

This is interesting.

In real life I wouldn't call this love. Absolutely.

In fiction I do because it make things more interesting. It raises the stakes. If you take away Sauron's capacity for love then somehow he is less accountable for his actions. Because if he can't love then he does not really understand the damage he is inflicting upon others.

But I NEED HIM TO BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR HIS ACTIONS.

If he does love and still acts the way he did/does, then it is worse. Because he knows what it means to love, to care, and he doesn't care at all. Hell, he punishes the people he loves and loves/ed him in return. He did to with Adar, Celebrimbor and Galadriel. He will do it to Numenor. He destroys the things he loves because his love his selfish. He takes something pure and twists it untill it's not even love anymore. It's obsession. It's revenge. But once upon a time the love was there.

But no, I don't see Galadriel as in love with what Sauron is now. Same goes for Sauron. He loves Galadriel's light as long as he can use it for his bidding. They're both hunted by ghost of the other but they will never yield.

I don't see their relationship as a 'love conquers all' type, more like a 'love was not enough' one.

I don't know if I'm can explain myself clearly when it comes to them. Because it's complicated. Because I want it to be complicated. Because I love their twisted love story but, in canon, I want Galadriel as far from him as she can get.

In fanfiction, that is a different story...

Edit: I want to add that by acknowledging his ability to love I want in no way excuse Sauron's actions. Quite the opposite. Because he cares, he understands the difference between good and evil and he still chooses evil. That is canon.

He's not doing bad things for good reasons. The 'I want to heal ME' is just the company tagline. He is doing horrible things for horrible reasons.

[helloarchivist]

listen what i'm saying is, I know the perv trope thing with Sanji is annoying and overplayed. i know it is. i know that some of it is Oda's humor and some of it is like. shit that anime always seems to find one character to shunt onto, and I don't like it and nobody likes it but like

pretending that's the only character trait that he has, or refusing to connect the dots through what appears to both be some vestige of the Vinsmoke programming (since ALL of his brothers have the exact same kind of nosebleed awooga behavior despite their lack of other meaningful human emotions), and a strict adherence to anything Zeff taught him (bc children do not process trauma and traumatic events the way adults do, and at that point Zeff was not only his first and ONLY example of paternal love, but the only hand capable of reaching in and stopping the knife he'd been twisting in his own guts), isn't just stupid, it's a deeply shallow and backwards take of an incredibly complex character.

yes, Sanji is flawed. they're all flawed. that's half the point of the story, that people are more than the sum of their parts, or the circumstances of their birth, or their pain.

Sanji's journey in this story so far is one of broken shackles, of healing, of finding comfort in himself and trust in his found family despite how deep the roots of self-loathing and fear run in him. in that way, of course he took Zeff's perspective to heart. Zeff who cut a piece of himself off and chose Sanji's life over his own well-being again and again, when Sanji's birth father abandoned him to torment and death. Zeff, who thought he was wonderful, and kind, and intelligent, and nurtured his potential, and taught him how to make sure nobody could ever hurt him again, when his birth father discarded him as damaged goods. Zeff, who is proud, in his own way, to know what his son is up to, and for people to know that's his boy, when his birth father's only direct words to him were to make sure to never bring him the shame of letting anyone know they were related.

(and that's the wild part, one of the things that really breaks me about Sanji sometimes, is that he kept that promise, too. If WCI hadn't happened he might never have told anyone at all.)

Zeff saved Sanji in every way a hurt little boy could possibly be saved, and so when he said "You never hit a woman, that's wisdom from when the dinosaurs walked the earth." and "Beat any man's ass you want, but if I ever catch you raising a hand to a woman I'll cut your dick off and then myself too for teaching you that." like???

He's not being a misogynist, he doesn't refuse to fight women because he thinks they're weak and frail and the fairer sex that needs to be protected at all costs by big strong men, he respects Nami and Robin and Vivi and refuses to give up on his friends and even forgives Viola despite her almost killing him and agrees to help her, like?? he internalized everything Zeff ever told him, not just how to make risotto really well or how to pair wine to cheeses and desserts.

does Oda sometimes play that up for laughs, or run it to extremes? yeah, absolutely. I actively like to pretend Fishman Island was 10 episodes of political backstory and Jinbei. But those moments of hyperbole aren't the fucking point of his character, or his development, and to pretend like they are removes Sanji--and an incredibly poignant story about abuse, recovery, self-love, and the acceptance and importance of found family--from the story.