#i read. ward. during finals

[il3x]

[Average yr13 student voice*] huh. why is Regent lowkey relatable

*spent the last six months in the Burnout Static Void

Worm Fugue is the funniest phenomenon I've seen in any fandom. Like every time someone offhandedly goes "yeah I read worm super fast, took me like a week somehow" twenty other people will emerge from the woodworks to talk about how they read worm in three days, six days, ten days, just an assortment of timespans in which it's fully unreasonable to read that many words. Worm has a secret Master power that compels you to keep reading and keep reading and keep reading no matter what, although I'm kinda curious how many people actually experience the Worm Fugue so uhhh behold a poll.

[ds-angel1]

Daddy´s least favorites

cw: SMUT(18+), incest, fingering, reader cries, ward is a bad parent like always, SO. MANY. NICKNAMES., DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT!!

wc: ~ 2,8k

a/n: hellooooooo! didn´t exactly (carefully) proof-read this one, sorry!!

You had always been sensitive—Rafe loved to call you a crybaby for it, teasing you relentlessly. But even as the sting of his words faded into affection over the years, you knew there was a painful truth beneath it. You felt things deeply, and that wasn’t always easy.

Growing up in the shadow of your family’s wealth might sound enviable to outsiders, but it didn’t shield you from the heartbreak of vying for your father Ward’s approval—or the devastating loss of your mother. Those experiences carved you into someone tender, someone raw, and someone Rafe couldn’t help but try to protect, even in his messy way.

Your older brother could be cruel with his jokes, sure, but when it truly mattered, Rafe was there for you. Always.

When you cried as a toddler because you’d lost your favorite stuffed animal, 8-year-old Rafe handed you a piece of candy and made silly faces until your giggles broke through your tears. When you were inconsolable over your father’s constant favoritism toward Sarah, Rafe sat beside you in quiet solidarity, gently murmuring, “I know, I know… it’s okay.” He did know. The two of you shared an unspoken understanding, a bond rooted in the same aching void your father’s love failed to fill.

Then there were the teenage years, full of heartbreaks and disappointments. On the eve of your 15th birthday, when the boy you liked stopped talking to you out of nowhere, you collapsed into Rafe’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. He didn’t hesitate. Pulling you close, he kissed your forehead and promised, “Everything’s gonna be alright.” You were too wrapped up in your heartbreak to notice the smirk he hid behind your back.

Now, at 19, you’d just scraped through college with barely passing grades—another milestone your father dismissed with a half-hearted nod. You weren’t the smartest person, and you knew it, but Rafe had always found ways to make you feel like you were enough.

A bad grade? He’d distract you with stupid jokes or drag you out for ice cream until your mood lifted. Summer school? He rode the bus with you every single day, waiting patiently for the final bell so he could walk you home under the blistering sun—because your parents couldn’t be bothered to make time.

Sarah and Rafe may have been closer in age, but you and Rafe were something different, something deeper. The five-year gap between you didn’t matter when it came to the bond you shared. He wasn’t just your brother; he was your anchor in a house that often felt more like a storm.

That’s why, during your weekly FaceTime call, when he announced he’d be coming home for an entire week during autumn break, you couldn’t contain your excitement. You squealed, clapped, and practically counted down the days like it was Christmas.

The morning of his arrival, you woke up buzzing with energy. You hadn’t felt this happy in weeks, maybe months. Without really thinking about it, you found yourself putting on your cutest top and skirt, doing your makeup, and styling your hair with care. It was silly, you told yourself—he was just your brother. But something about seeing him again made you want to look your best.

“Rafe’s here!” your dad called from downstairs, his voice carrying through the house. Four minutes early. Your heart leaped at the sound, and before you knew it, you were sprinting down the stairs, nearly tripping over yourself in your excitement.

You skidded to a halt at the front door, and there he was, standing in the entryway with that familiar crooked grin. His duffel bag hung over one shoulder, and his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

“Rafe!” you practically screamed, throwing yourself at him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, squeezing tight as you buried your face against his shoulder.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he chuckled, his voice warm as he hugged you back. One arm tightened around your waist while his other hand came up to cradle the back of your head. “Miss me?”

“So much,” you mumbled against him, your voice muffled but heartfelt. It had been months since you’d last seen him, and the comfort of his presence was overwhelming.

“You gonna let go anytime soon?” he teased, tilting his head back slightly to try and meet your gaze.

“Mm-mm, nope,” you replied, your grip only tightening. The faint smell of his cologne mixed with the crisp autumn air clinging to his jacket, and for the first time in a long time, you felt completely at ease.

—————————

The rest of the day, you stuck by him like a shadow, trailing him wherever he wandered in the house. It was as if you couldn’t bear to let him out of your sight, and truthfully, you couldn’t. Having him back after so long made you realize just how much you had missed him. The house felt whole again, and for the first time in months, so did you.

At dinner the whole family sat around the dinner table, conversations flowing and everyone eager to catch up with the 24-year-old who had been gone for several months.

“So,” Ward said, glancing at Rafe while cutting into his steak. “You seein’ anyone?” His tone was casual, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

Rafe paused for a moment, shifting in his seat. “Oh, uh… not really,” he replied, his voice light. “Been talking to this one girl, but it’s nothing serious.”

You froze. A mix of emotions churned within you—anger, sadness, jealousy. You hated the idea of him seeing someone. It wasn’t fair; he’d already been away for months, and now he might share what little time he had left with someone else.

As Ward launched into a nostalgic story about his heartbreaker days, your thoughts spiraled. Rafe, however, didn’t miss the way your lips had curled into a subtle pout. Leaning closer, he lowered his voice to speak only to you.

“You okay, pretty girl?” His words were soft, almost tender, and his piercing gaze sent your heart racing.

Caught off guard, you quickly smoothed out your frown and replaced it with a small smile. “Oh, uh—yeah. Of course, I am,” you replied, your voice not as convincing as you’d hoped.

Rafe studied you for a moment longer, clearly unconvinced, but decided not to press. He leaned back in his chair, ready to return to the conversation, when you blurted out in a hushed tone, “So… you’re talking to someone? Is she… nice?”

You’d meant to sound casual, but the words came out hesitant, laced with something you couldn’t quite hide. The moment you saw his eyebrows shoot up and that familiar smirk stretch across his face, you knew you hadn’t been as subtle as you thought.

“Aww, are you jealous?” he teased, his voice quiet but amused as he leaned in closer. The soft chuckle that followed made your cheeks burn.

“What? No—” you stammered, your protest weak and unconvincing.

Rafe only grinned wider, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. “Yeah, yeah. Sure, kiddo.” He reached over and lightly tapped your hand resting on the table. “C’mon, you know you’ll always be my number one girl.”

His words sent a warmth through you that you couldn’t quite explain. You tried to hide the pleased smile tugging at your lips but failed miserably. Instead, you muttered a quiet, “Thanks…” and hoped he didn’t notice the blush creeping up your cheeks.

—————————

The glow of the fridge light spilled into the darkened kitchen, the quiet hum of its machinery the only sound cutting through the stillness of the evening. You stood there, staring blankly at its contents, your hand gripping the cool edge of the door. It was the first moment all night you’d been away from Rafe since he came home. He had asked you to grab him a bottle of water while he disappeared to the bathroom, and of course, you obliged. You always did.

As your fingers curled around the condensation-covered bottle, you heard the faint sound of footsteps behind you. Instinctively, you turned, your breath catching as your father’s figure emerged from the shadows. He stood by the kitchen counter, the sharp lines of his face illuminated by the faint glow. His posture was firm, his expression unreadable, save for the weight it carried—heavy, commanding.

“You’re happy to have Rafe back, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice even, though its edge cut through you. His fingers drummed slowly against the countertop, each tap sinking into the silence like a stone dropped into water. “Maybe it’s time you start thinking about your future too. College, maybe? Something worthwhile.”

“Dad, I—”

“I don’t want to hear any excuses,” he interrupted sharply, his words like a door slamming in your face.

“But Rafe and Sarah—”

“It doesn’t matter what they’ve done,” he barked, his voice rising impatiently. “What matters is you. You need to get your act together and stop wasting your life on things that don’t matter.”

The words stung. Each one a deliberate wound, striking deeper than the last. You opened your mouth to defend yourself, to explain, to plead for understanding, but every attempt was drowned out by his voice—louder, harsher, cutting you down before you could stand.

By the time the tears slipped from your eyes, hot and unbidden, you couldn’t stay any longer. Your chest tightened, your breath faltered, and without another word, you turned and fled. His voice followed you, sharp and biting, as you took the stairs two at a time and stumbled into your room. You shut the door hard behind you, muffling the world outside as sobs wracked your body.

“Pretty girl, what’s wrong?”

The voice was soft, familiar—steady as the tide. Through your blurred vision, you saw him: Rafe, sitting on the edge of your bed, his brows knit with concern. He looked at you like you were something fragile, something precious, and in that moment, the storm inside you softened just a little.

“D-Dad,” you choked out, your voice cracking as the words tangled with your tears. “H-he… he said—”

“Shh, angel,” Rafe murmured, already rising and closing the distance between you. His arms enveloped you, pulling you into his chest. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

His warmth surrounded you, his hands steadying your trembling frame as he held you close. You buried your face into the soft fabric of his shirt, your tears soaking into him as the safety of his presence began to untangle the knot in your chest.

“Ward said something to you?” he asked, his voice low but laced with barely contained anger. His hand moved to the back of your head, stroking your hair gently as you struggled to speak.

“H-he’s just so mean,” you finally whispered, your voice cracking like a splintered branch. “Why does he have to be like that? Why is he always so mean?”

Rafe sighed softly, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “I know, angel. I know,” he murmured, his voice filled with a tenderness that soothed even as your tears kept falling. His thumb wiped a stray tear from your cheek, his touch warm and deliberate. “He shouldn’t talk to you like that. You know that, right? He’s wrong.”

You nodded weakly, your exhaustion weighing heavier now, your sobs quieting into soft, uneven breaths.

“Let’s get you settled, yeah?” Rafe whispered, shifting slightly as he cupped your thighs to guide your legs onto the bed.

“But… I don’t have my PJs on,” you mumbled, your voice small and thick with the remnants of your tears.

“Don’t worry, princess, just relax. Let your big brother take care of you,” he said reassuringly, starting to pull the zipper of your plaid skirt down.

“Rafe, what—!”

“Shh… it’s okay,” his words cut you off, pressing kisses to your forehead and petting your hair — the affectionate gesture making your brain go fuzzy.

As his large hands tugged your skirt off, his lips trailed down to your neck, innocent affectionate kisses turning desire-filled and nasty—sweet to sloppy.

Your mouth stood agape, eyes fluttering shut as your head fell back to be cast upward. Rafe’s slender long fingers deftly hooked around the hem of your shirt, pulling it up your arms and torso, over your head, and onto the white rug next to your skirt.

Suddenly he pulled away, his lips disappearing from your now burning skin which caused you to straighten your head again and look at him — now with an embarrassingly noticeable flush coating your cheeks and chest.

It didn’t matter though, he wasn’t looking at your face; no, he was intently studying your body, only clad in a mismatching lace bra and underwear set, seated on the bed before him.

As you peered down at your attire along with him, taking in the revealing sight — a bra, baby pink and completed with small little flowers and intricate details on top. Your panties, are virgin white and accompanied by swirls and frills of lace at the top hem of the soft fabric.

You knew this was not how you should be dressed in the presence of your brother.

“C’mon, bedtime.” You knew sleeping in your bra wasn’t good concerning breast development but you didn’t say anything. Choosing to instead crawl into bed and cozy up in the warm scarlet sheets.

As you cuddled into your blanket and pillows you felt the mattress dip behind you, upon further inspection after you had turned your head, you saw Rafe climbing in next to you.

“You doin’ a bit better, princess?” The question made you remember the argument and the tears shed. You answered with just a small curt nod, turning back around to face the wall to hide the tears that started filling your eyes again.

Soon enough you felt Rafe’s hard chest pressed against your back and his comforting arms wrapped around you.

“I’m so sorry, pretty girl, you deserve so much better,” he whispered as he ran his fingertips over your arm.

“I’ll help you cheer up, okay? Just… just hold still for me, okay? Be a good little sister.”

With a confused face, you hesitantly agreed. Said confused expression soon turned to shock when Rafe’s hand tread scarily close to your thighs.

“You’ve grown so much.” His breath hit your ear tantalizingly as his hand gripped your thigh and pried it apart from the other.

"You’re a real woman now, huh? So proud of you. So so so proud of you, baby.” Your heart flourished and your mind melted, his praise overloading your body too much to even register that he had reached your panties and was tracing the edge of them.

A small kiss was placed on your shoulder, followed by a low, “I can give you what you deserve.”

His index finger snaked its way down into the fabric, making you gasp as he barely touched your most sensitive and private body part.

“I’m gonna provide for you one day.” His finger ran through your slit, teasing your puffy clit when he reached it. “I’ll take such good care of you.” He probed at your entrance, circling it like hyenas do their prey. He ignored your gasps and mewls and spoke further. “We’ll leave this place behind and we’ll be happy. Together. Forever.”

Two of his gnarled fingers plunged into your tight hole, pushing and stretching against the walls.

Your back arched and you let out a series of moans and blubbers — soon to be shut up by Rafe clasping his hand over your mouth.

He continued pumping his digits in and out of you, trailing kisses from the front column of your throat to the nape of the back of your neck.

You knew it was wrong, what you both were doing was so so incredibly wrong but it felt so great.

“You’re mine, yeah pretty girl? All mine,” he snarled as you reached your intense and overpowering high, your orgasm crashing onto you with a force of gravity itself.

Rafe slowly fucked you through your blissful haze, slipping his hand out of your now wet panties and licking his fingers coated in your essence clean.

“Rafe…” was the first word you spoke when he removed his hand from your face. Your voice was trial and shaky, your eyes wide and guilt-ridden as they looked at him.

“I know, I know. C’mere,” he inveigled your body to lay flat on his as he intoned validations and easements.

His hand glided up and down your bare back, repeating the same phrase under his breath — his version of a lullaby to get his baby sister to sleep.

“I got you, sweetheart, I got you now.”

[fushiguho]

❦ nanami kento stumbles upon you outside of the office for very the first time and he can't believe it, nor can he ignore the opportunity at hand.

content warnings pining, nanami is lowkey possesive with a filty mouth

based on this ask.

“hey, you.”

the familiar rumble of a voice is pulling your dull gaze away from the glass that you lazily nurse in your hand. ah, nanami kento from accounting. the blonde cracks a beautifully unfeigned grin, looking as handsome as ever.

“didn’t think this was your kind of scene.”

you feign a little smile, exhaling a breath somewhere between fleeting relief and utter embarrassment. nobody was meant to find you here—other than your date who strung you high, desperate and abandoned. it’s one thing to be to be ditched, but another to be ditched in a bar you wouldn’t otherwise be caught dead in, but alas.

“hey, yourself,” you murmur as you take an indulgent swig of your long island. “wasn’t really my idea.”

nanami is aware that this shouldn’t concern him, really, but he can’t fight the terrible sense that it must be him who makes it up to you. he hums, nodding once. while rocking back onto the heels of his feet, he stuffs his balled fists into the pockets of his tan slacks. the clock nearly strikes midnight and the man is still clad in his cerulean button down shirt; his speckled, yellow tie hangs uncharacteristically loose from his neck.

“i see,” he motions toward the empty chair beside you. “may i?”

you push the wooden stool toward him with an idle foot and he takes a quiet seat beside you, ordering a drink of his own. friendly words are exchanged between the blonde and the bartender. he must be a regular you think, watching curiously as he laughs with the handsome, raven-haired barman.

keenly, you leer around the bustling bar. a jukebox thrums and tipsy souls dance and sway. the dimly lit atmosphere is uncomfortably muggy and smells of alcohol and date night perfume. it’s overwhelming in a sense, and ironically, it doesn’t truly seem like his scene either, so why is he here?

“is this like… your spot?”

he shrugs noncommittally, a soft smile crinkling his eyes.

“sometimes i find myself here,” peering around as well, he takes a liberal sip of the amber liquor that sloshes in his old fashioned glass. “a good friend of mine works here. he made our drinks,” he nods to the handsome barman he had been chatting with earlier. “otherwise, i don’t think i would be here.”

“oh, of course,” your face grows considerably warm and you laugh softly but you don’t know why. he didn’t say anything that was particularly witty or humorous. are you flirting? nervous? “yeah, me either.” you finally mumble, consciously casting your gaze away to take another sip from your condensing glass.

some sick part of nanami is almost grateful that it was him who found you instead. he thinks you look beautiful, all dolled up for some loser. really, it’s a shame, but stumbling upon you tonight is nothing short of a blessing. there is static in the office that neither of you can dissent from, its gravitational pull indisputable.

you feel the heat of his lingering gaze during quarterly meetings. the trail of his dilated eyes watching as you saunter around like an angel in flesh. too often have you met his stare over the screens of your desktop computers; perilous, amber eyes peering over the golden rims of his glasses. those same eyes are reading through you right now and they can see your dismay.

it has to be him. nanami has to make this right—make you his.

“it’s a shame. you look beautiful tonight.” he admits, watching as you blush and turn away.

“god, don’t do that.” you groan, dropping your head into your open palms as you ward off the embarrassment that brews all over again.

the blonde laughs—rich and a bit puzzled.

“i mean it, he’s a loser.”

you shrug, not disagreeing.

a silent beat passes and then another.

“come home with me,” he then blurts, those golden eyes so soft and hankering. “please?”

all you can think is yes. your brain and heart scream in unison, pleading for you to nod your head and spend the night with your colleague—something that flaunts the reputation of being so foolish, yet somehow, all that you can ponder is the idea of leaving this stupid fucking bar with a man who actually gives a damn.

a sweet smile graces your lips and his heart throbs.

you nod. “okay.”

not even an hour later, you’re sluttily bouncing up and down the entirety of his cock on the expensively plush rug of his luxurious living room, failed date long forgotten. big, greedy hands encage your waist, guiding your crazed movements. his warm thumbs caress the even warmer skin of your stomach, committing your softness to memory.

“hic—he’s a f-fucking loser,” nanami hiccups, indulgently rolling his hips to meet yours in deep, deliberate thrusts. “yeaaah, he’s a fucking loser, huh?” he expels an unstable breath, nostrils flaring. “doesn’t matter, you’re all mine… mine, mine, mine.” the timber of his voice pitches progressively lower, trailing into something of a growl. “say it.”

“i’m yours.” you gasp, collapsing onto his chest from the force of his bucking hips.

he draws you closer, soft lips ghosting. “what’s mine?”

“my pussy, fuck.”

“what else?”

“my mouth, m-my tits, my body—everything!”

nanami groans, dragging you unbearably closer, slotting his lips against yours in a deep, filthy kiss. he’s gone, completely unabashed as he sloppily sucks on your tongue, glittery webs of saliva tethering you as one beautiful mess. he whimpers into the honeyed depths of your mouth as that pretty pussy swallows his cock the way it was always meant to.

your head spins when he’s drunkenly flipping you over, pressing you into the carpet with nothing but unfiltered lust. longing. firm, assertive hands are splaying beneath the underside of your quivering thighs, brazenly prying you apart as if you’re the last meal he’ll ever have. god, and the warm, pleasureful stretch that follows threatens to split you in two; it has you reeling.

“he wouldn’t fuck you like this,” he rasps, honed hips drawing back slowly, methodically. “don’t even know the fucking guy ‘n i could tell you he wouldn’t hah– fuck you like this, would he?”

you shake your head pathetically and nanami coos, whispering all of the horrible things he’s been waiting to do to you. he reaches an eager hand between your searing bodies, feverish fingers latching against your swollen clit and rubbing. you let off the prettiest cry, back arching into his touch like a whore.

“fuh— fuck me h-harder,” you’re so fucking pretty, brows furrowed as you pout for him, begging. nonsense tumbles from your pretty, parted lips and it makes his cock throb. “please… please. you feel soooo fucking good.”

obliging, nanami adds a little more of his body mass, fucking you with intention. the thick, pumping veins adorning the hooked length of his shaft twitch against the walls of your cunt and fuck, he feels it. he can feel the way you tighten up around him, sucking him in deeper and deeper and deeper. can feel how your clit pulses beneath the pad of his thumb, wordlessly begging for more. can even feel the way you’re about to make so much of a mess that it drips all the way down to the fat of his swollen balls.

“suuuch a p-pretty girl, fuck,” he babbles, messy brows knitting in his ever growing pleasure. woozily, his head is slumping to one side, something irrepressible overcoming him. “knew this perfect cunt would take allll that fucking cock… every fucking inch, huh?”

all you can manage is a slack jaw, a breath of incredulity leaving your lungs as you squeeze down the length of his cock. arousal pools in the lower half of your belly, creeping up the depraved arch of your spine in something heinous. nothing that leaves you makes sense anymore, only inaudible cries of how close you are and how good his cock is making you feel.

“i wanna cummm,” it’s whimpered between little your gasps of air as you tighten around him once more, swallowing all of his languid thrusts like your life depends on it. “please make me cum… wanna cum on your c—cock, goddd.”

a high-pitched wince falls from his mouth as he fucks you deeper, warm thumb dragging over your clit so tenderly that it makes you buck. you will be the death of him, he’s sure of it—if it’s not the way you’re crying out his name like he’s the only prayer you know, it’s the way you’re creaming down the entire length of his fat, glistening cock like you own it.

“yeeeah, cum on it… m-make a mess all over it—all over my cock,” deliriously, his lips are finding yours again, consuming the beautiful cries that tear from your sore throat. “soooprettysofuckingprettyfuuuck.”

like a gentleman, he’s fucking you throughout your entire orgasm, nursing you through it all before reluctantly sliding out with a groan. your hand finds fist as he desperately pumps his aching shaft. the sensation of your much smaller fingers attempting to match his pace is what has him emptying the contents of his sticky balls all over your cunt, your beautiful name on the tip of his tongue.

warm, syrupy ribbons of cum dribble between your swollen lips, your pulsing hole greedily sucking in his arousal as it creeps lower and lower. nanami watches drunkenly as you heave, plush thighs trembling in your overstimulation. he huffs an audible breath, wordlessly admiring you in this new, salacious light.

“you really do look beautiful tonight,” nanami smiles, fingers brushing your chin. “i mean that.”

n/a i absolutely got carried away

[xoxojuyo]

Nanny | jjk (m)

✦ summary: you take a babysitting job for the wealthy Jeon family, one night you get to see Mr. Jeon in the kitchen, finding him much more attractive in person than in photos. Despite his seemingly disinterest in you, he comes to you one night, summoning you to his studio.

✦rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

✦ pairing: dilf!Jungkook + f!reader

✦ warnings: married!jungkook, dad!jungkook, he is a father of two, older!jungkook, power imbalance relationship, he is your boss’s husband, mistress!reader, cheater!jungkook, swearing, kissing, boob play, finger licking, slight choking, fingering, degradation, penetrative s3x, no mentions of contraceptive use, he cums inside.

✦word count: 3.5K

✦a/n: this is written in first person, oopsie. hope you enjoy.

The clock indicates 9PM as I tiptoed out of the children's room, my steps light and cautious, mindful not to wake the little ones. I was the Jeon’s trusted babysitter.

My sister worked as Mrs. Jeon personal trainer. The woman would spend her whole day at the country club, pilates in the morning, then tennis and swimming lessons at the afternoon. She spent zero time with the kids, she is finally home after 7pm, but it was almost like she warded off her kids, I’m convinced she hates interacting with them, at nights she went to her room or to the patio to have dinner while FaceTiming an unknown man, that was my second hint that she could be cheating on Mr. Jeon, actually at that point I was pretty convinced. She went out with her friends during the weekend nights, going on clubs, bars or some girls night, she always had a plan, some days she wouldn’t come back until Monday morning, with her hair tangled and unkempt, pumps off and a dry colorless face.

She had fired the previous babysitter after she found out she was stealing some of the kids clothing and selling them online, she was an old lady who pretended to be a retired and experienced children psychologist, Mrs. Jeon never cared enough to read her resume, turns out she wasn’t, and it only took the effort of googling her name to find news about her other scams on rich families pretending to be a kind babysitter, and not only she was stealing the kids’ clothes, also Mrs. Jeon’s jewels.

Shortly after she hired a young kindergarten teacher, only lasted a week. Mrs. Jeon thought she was too flirty when she greeted her husband, truth is she never saw them interact, it might be the fact that the girl had a rising onlyfans page that Mrs. Jeon found about because the gardener had recognized her, and also because she was an impolite vegan, the girl demanded rudely to the chef to make her a special vegan meal, so Mrs. Jeon told her to not come back the next day.

Once the door clicked softly shut behind me, I let out a quiet sigh of relief. Babysitting could be exhausting, but I cherished these moments of tranquility after the children had drifted off to dreamland. I made my way to the cozy living room, settled onto the plush sofa, eager to enjoy a few moments of relaxation.

My sister received a call for help from Mrs. Jeon. Desperate because if she didn’t find a new babysitter before the kids finished their school day she had to stay with them for the rest of the day. My sister said she sounded as if someone had died, in complete panic. I got my sister’s call for help, she wanted to be in her boss’ good side and also to get my ass out of the couch once and for all.

I had just graduated, and conveniently unemployed. I had tried my luck in a big city, completely failed and had to return home. Had been rotting in my family home for almost a month until my sister told me she had a job opportunity for me.

- Just focus on taking care of the kids, don’t engage with the male employees on the house, she will think you are fucking them, she hates sharing her men. And if you get to see Mr. Jeon when he arrives early from work just say good night without making eye contact, no more exchange, understood?

In fact, I had never seen Mr. Jeon in person. There were huge family pictures all around the house walls, and small frames on the shelves that portrayed his beautiful face.

Mr. Jeon is a handsome man, with youthful features and athletic physique. From chatting with the maids I learned that he goes jogging at 6 AM, to the gym at 7, has breakfast at 8, then heads to work until 9 to 10 at night when he arrives home, takes a shower and goes to bed.

As weeks went by, my love for the kids grew, just as much as my curiosity for their gorgeous father.

The couple didn’t share a room, in fact, apparently they hated each other. They were a happy pair until she was “forced” to bare his children. Both families had agreed to unite in all aspects including business, but the warranty was to have at least one male that would take over everything one day. They did, the youngest of the two children was a beautiful and healthy boy, but Mrs. Jeon was left traumatized and deformed after the pregnancies, which caused the fall of their successful marriage.

Linda, their oldest maid said that it all started even before they got married, because both were compulsive cheaters that enjoyed to have interaction with people bellow their status, such as maids, trainers, secretaries, drivers, bodyguards, etc.

As I reached for a book from the nearby shelf, I heard a faint rustling sound coming from the kitchen. I paused, my heart skipping a beat. Perhaps it was just the house settling.

This weekend I had been tasked to stay over and take care of the kids while Mrs. Jeon was on a girls trip to Indonesia, she’s coming back on Monday.

I’d say Mrs. Jeon trusted me, I was her beloved personal trainer’s sister and I’ve been doing a good job taking care of the kids, acted as if the chef, the gardener, the drivers and the new pastry cook didn’t exist. She was happy with my work.

Her instructions were to just normally complete my Friday - Saturday routine with the kids, but to stay over to keep an eye on them at night, she didn’t trust the maids, one time she had a nightmare in which they all grabbed forks to kill them and fed her a broth made with their bones, ever since she’s been paranoid, she says they hate her so much she believes they are capable of doing it.

It was Friday night, the kids already asleep, I would usually go home after this, but I had to sleep on one of the guest rooms to check on the kids, and Saturday morning prepare them for their swimming lesson and entertain them for the rest of the day.

But then I heard it again, unmistakably—a soft shuffling, like footsteps moving across the tiled floor. My breath caught in my throat as I debated whether to investigate or retreat to the safety of the children's room. The staff had already ended their activities, they were all supposed to be in their chambers.

Summoning courage, I rose from the sofa and tiptoed towards the kitchen, my pulse quickening with each step. The dim light from the living room cast eerie shadows against the walls, adding to the sense of uneasiness that gripped me.

Peering cautiously around the corner, My eyes widened in astonishment. Standing in the center of the kitchen was a figure—Mr. Jeon, very alive and kicking.

He was so much more handsome in person, an unreal beauty. Blazer and tie off, sleeves up his elbows revealed his tattoos, they covered his whole right arm and hand, first three buttons undone letting me see part of his chest, he was bulked. A piercing adorning his lower lip, another on his right eyebrow, a couple more on his ears.

I had heard he did that to his body after he found out guys with piercings and tattoos gave Mrs. Jeon the ick. Apparently he really wanted her away from him.

- Who are you? He asked confused, looked like he already had a few drinks, was peering at the fridge looking for a beer.

- The babysitter.

- What happened to Ms. Barlowe? he asked while opening the beer can and pouring it in a glass.

- She was fired two months ago. I tried to respond as concisely as possible, but this man was making me feel things that would put this job on risk. He liked getting inside the staff’s panties? Then he could take me right here.

- What’s your name? How old are you?

- y/n, hadn’t you heard it’s impolite to ask a woman’s age. I’m old enough.

- Old enough? For what? He chuckled.

- To be your children’s babysitter. I said jokingly, nothing matters anymore, this man has me on my knees acting all flirty.

- Once we had a 16 year old. He said looking at me, taking a sip of his beer.

- Not that young, more like old enough to buy alcohol all that stuff. I said while looking down at my feet, shyness taking over me all of a sudden, I shouldn’t have said anything.

- Are you staying the night?

- Yes, I have to keep an eye on the kids while your wife is away.

- Then I’ll see you around doll, I need a shower. He winked and walked to leave the kitchen, when he passed by me he patted the top of my head.

What?! The nickname got me all confused and flustered, but then the way he touched my head, was it all in a “oh how cute” way? Or a “let’s fuck till daylight”?

I stood there, still processing the whole conversation we had, now I feel embarrassed.

Headed directly to the guest bedroom and took a shower too. I felt so hot, cheeks red and teary eyes. Got my pajamas on, don’t I own a prudish set? Pair of pants and an oversized tee. If he were to walk into the room and saw me wearing this, I bet he would laugh.

Of course I couldn’t sleep a wink. Thinking the hot man was somewhere under the same roof. Foolishly kept imagining things, the way his hands would feel against my skin, his big hands around my throat, long fingers inside my pussy. Oh god!

The mere three or four hours of sleep I got, I slept them like a dog, after about three orgasms I achieved by rubbing my clit. It felt awful afterwards. He was a married man after all, he didn’t love his wife but they were together, he got two children who I adored and spent a lot of time with.

Mr. Jeon would never look at me like that anyways, I bet he had a bunch of women already. Models, celebrities, escorts.

Saturday morning I had breakfast with the kids, I usually arrive after they had finished. Once done we head upstairs to get ready for their swimming lesson. They had a private instructor every Saturday to teach them how to swim, I sat on one of the pallets by the pool.

After the lesson ended, the kids wanted to stay and keep playing in the pool, it was a hot day since summer was around the corner.

- Pleaseee! You can grab one of mom’s swimsuits. The oldest daughter insisted I should join them on their little chasing game inside the water.

- I’d like to but it’s almost lunchtime and then we have things to do remember? You wanted to go to the supermarket and buy snacks. I insisted that it wasn’t a good idea, even though I really wanted to jump into the fresh water, but maybe it would seem shameless.

I ended up getting in. One of the maids brought me one of the many Mrs. Jeon’s bikinis, she told me she grabbed it from a big bag full of clothing she was about to throw away. It was a tiny black Valentino bikini with a white outline.

We played for a while and then got out to have lunch, we sat in the outdoor dining table, all soaked, the tips of our fingers wrinkled from spending too much time on the water.

And then he comes out from inside the house, wearing a black polo shirt tucked in a pair of navy blue jeans, black Saint Laurent sunglasses. He took them out and looked at me from head to toe, licking his lips.

Was he home the whole time?! I’ve never ran into him on Saturdays. I was standing up beside the table, opening a can of sprite for the youngest son.

The kids waved at his father and continued eating, he gave each a kiss on their forehead and stood in front of me.

- When is my mother supposed to pick them up? He said, head lowered to look at me in the eyes.

- Tomorrow morning.

- I’ll tell her to take them today, have everything ready. He said putting his glasses on and heading to the garage.

I’m already imagining things, foolishly thinking he might have a hidden intention to ask his mother to take the kids early, maybe all he wants is my ass out of his house and I’m here all nervous believing he might want some alone time to fuck my brains out, very unlikely.

Once the kids were gone I went to my room, packed everything. I was meant to leave after the grandma took the children TOMORROW, now they are gone and I’m confused on what should I do.

More like expecting Mr. Jeon to come home and…

Toc, toc, toc.

He opened the door and looked at me sitting on the edge of the bed.

- On my studio, in five. He said and quickly closed the door and left.

What the fuck?!

I was almost having a panic attack before I knocked his studio door three times. I decided to change into a white tank top, no bra, white cotton panties and a pair of blue stripped pants, what I had intended to wear tomorrow.

Heard a small come in, and opened the door to enter.

He was sitting in a grey loveseat, manspreading, left hand on his crotch, right holding a cigarette between his lips, such a breathtaking view.

- Come sit with me. He ordered patting the couch.

I walked slowly, still shaking from the nervousness. Sat next to him, hands and eyes on my tights, I couldn’t look at him.

- Is this what you want? He took my hand with both of his, which made me look at his face. He was waiting for an answer.

- What do you mean? Of course I knew what he meant, I guess I just wanted to hear him say it to be sure.

- Do you want me to fuck you? Here, right now?

Yes.

He grabbed my face by my chin and pressed his lips against mine. He let me set the pace at first. His lips were soft, breath tasted like tobacco. I could feel how at times he was struggling not to kiss me harder.

So I let him slide his tongue inside my mouth. He grabbed my hips to place me on his lap, groaning at the feeling of my covered pussy on top of his crotch. He bit and dragged my lower lip, his kisses started to descend from my chin to my neck.

- From the first moment I saw you, your eyes were pleading me to fuck you, then I saw you in that tiny bikini, so naughty.

My pussy was throbbing, his words and his desperate kisses against my skin had me drunk in pleasure already.

He took the hem of my top to remove it, tits bounced right in front of his eyes. He chuckled and looked at me with a smirk, grabbed them with his huge hands, caressing them as if they were two stress balls. With his thumb, he started rubbing my nipples, eyes on mine the whole time.

- You like that princess?

I was a moaning mess, nodded and arched my back. It felt so good, a numbing sensation right into my pussy hole, soaking wet.

He left my nipples to grab my buttocks, automatically started to rub myself on his bulge. He closed his eyes and moaned, then kissed my lips hungrily. Grabbed my waist and helped me pace my movements, he laid back on the couch, locking his eyes to mine.

I stood up to remove my pants, once off he grabbed my hips and sat me on his lap, this time my back against his chest. His rough hands start to brush my body, from my breasts to my stomach.

- Open your legs princess. Obeying immediately to his command, I was already desperate for his touch down there, couldn’t help but to feel powerless under his touch.

I whimpered as I felt his hands pushing my panties to the side, and started to stroke my clit. He then took his fingers to my entrance only to remove them quickly. I moaned and turned my head to look at him in disbelief. He brings his fingers up to my mouth, coated with my juices.

- Lick them.

I slowly wrapped my lips around his long fingers, doe eyes staring at his while circling my tongue against his digits. Spit dripping from my chin and his hands, such a filthy sight. He then removed them from my mouth producing a popping sound.

He took those two fingers down my pussy again, inserted them into my pulsing hole. His hands are skilled, every move he makes hits the right spot, I dropped my head back in pleasure and let out an embarrassingly loud moan, he started kissing my neck, sucking and licking.

- Such a filthy whore, you like my fingers? He said with a deep voice, groaning in my ear. His eyes were fixed in my pussy the whole time, he seemed to enjoy watching his fingers going in and out of my hole.

He had been fingering me for a while, when I felt that familiar response down my pussy, a numbing sensation signaling my orgasm was close to take place.

Jungkook thrusted and curled his fingers hitting the right spot with insane accuracy each time. His cock throbbed underneath me, my thighs trembled as I tried to keep them spreaded. The sight spurred him on as he added another finger, I groaned loudly at the stretch he was now giving me with three fingers.

- Come on baby, cum all over my hand. He mumbled against my ear. It didn’t take long for my release to come. Jungkook groaned, shifting his hips to get some friction himself as he helped you ride it out.

He laid me against the couch before his mouth littered hot kisses across my chest only pausing when he felt my fingers delicately trail along the waistband of his pants, looking forward to undo the button. Jungkook met my gaze with a smirk on his lips.

- Please sir, can I have your cock now? I asked, my eyes innocently blinked up at him. Jungkook groaned at my words, he felt himself twitch desperately against his cotton prison as he looked at my doe expression patiently waiting for him. He gently pushed me on the soft silk couch before beginning to free himself. His cock slapped against his stomach, pre cum already leaking from the tip which he used as lubricant as he gave himself a few pumps.

My legs automatically opened for him to slot himself in between. I felt his tip prod at my entrance, he began to rub, coating his hard dick with my juices. Jungkook sunk himself into my throbbing heat. He started off at a slow pace, kissing my neck softly. Once he felt me clench him, Jungkook started to move faster.

My moans caused him to thrust harder as he found himself wanting to draw more of them out of my pretty lips. It didn’t take long for me to become cockdrunk as I clutch at his forearms, the intense arousal forming again in your stomach. Jungkook felt his balls tighten at my chants.

- Fuck! Yeah sir fuck me harder, I love how your cock feels inside me. My words spurring him to drive himself deeper inside me. My eyes rolled back and my body went limp in his arms as I came for the second time that night. My body was sensitive as he kept thrusting through My orgasm trying to chase his own. He watched my eyes roll as I let him continue to use me like the a slut.

- Oh my god! Sir, please cum inside me, I want your cum inside my pussy. My willingness to submit to him caused his hips to sputter and coat my walls. I could feel his cum warming me from the inside causing me to smile at the feeling of being full of the essence of my boss’s husband. The action solidified the new dynamic between the two of us.

Jungkook pulled his softening cock out of me gently, I heard him get off the couch and leave the room to get a wet cloth to help clean up the mess in between my legs. I snuggled my head into the pillows behind.

- You did so good for me baby, was this okay? Is this what you need? Jungkook asked, sitting next to me on the couch. He moved some hairs away from my face and began stroking my cheek awaiting a response.

- I loved it, thank you sir. I spoke with a soft smile. Jungkook’s helped me slip into the comfort of the bedding in the guest room, he laid in the bed scooping me into his embrace. I laid on his chest whilst he stroked my back, lulling me to sleep with his actions and for the first time I slept peacefully in the embrace of my new lover.

[flamingpudding]

Little Snippets #8

A/N: Recently reread an older prompt thread of Danny reincarnating as Tim and remembering his previous life at nine... that inspired this...

Something was different about Tim. They all noticed as they watched the third Robin as he went through the cave like a whirlwind on fire. Collecting small gadgets and trinkets, his laptop and other things before hurrying off with some kind of excuse again. Dick arched an eyebrow and glanced at Bruce. The first Robin felt tempted to as Bruce for help to figure out if something had happened during their last mission.

While near death situation weren't uncommon in their line of work, they never before had affected the young teen the way they have right now. Dick had first thought, the kid had suffered some kind of head trauma considering how disoriented he had been when he first woke up. But this, was ridiculous, it wasn't like Tim was acting all to different from his usual self but.... Dick shock his head. Maybe he was just imaging it. The kid was still the same, tinkering with gadgets and drinking coffee or energy drink in amounts the kid was still way to young to consume the way he does. Maybe the boy hit puberty finally.

In his room Tim dropped everything he had collected from the Batcave into a pile, before quickly grabbing a notepad and scratching out bullet points as well as adding new points. The kid then proceeded to start pacing his room, counting something down with the help of his fingers as he muttered to himself.

"Okay Tim, think... I should have everything I need... I just need to remember the blueprint and then build it. It's not like I never build gadgets of my own. It something I have always done once I got into it... so it will be easy to make it and then..." His muttered continued before he plopped onto the ground, not before grabbing his little multi-tool box. His hand grabbing his notebook once again as he opened it and began scribbling down.

"If I use the parts of the stun gun.... and then the chip set from the bat mini computer.... then use the metal from one of the many batarangs..." Tim mumbled to himself, before coursing as he dropped his pen. His hand going intangible for a brief moment. His eye twitches for a second before he took a deep breath calming down, then picked up his pen again. He really needed to get started on building that Fenton bracelet.

"They just had to knock me hard enough into the head that I would remember my past life...." Tim mutters quietly, annoyed with the goons he had fought during their last mission. He took another deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Memories that belonged to Danny Fenton flitting across his mind. When Tim had woken up the first time he hand't remembered for a hot second that he was Tim Drake, son of Janet and Jack Drake, ward of Bruce Wayne and third Robin to Batman.

He literally thought he was Danny Fenton waking up in a strange dimension. After his initial panic calmed down Danny, or rather Tim had anaylized his situation and figured out, he was remembering his past life. It made the most sense. At first that was easy to deal with, until Tim one day fell through the floor. Thankfully neither Bruce, Alfred or Dick had noticed that incident. But to Tim, that meant he unlocked his abilities from his past life.

Which how was he going to explain that? 'Oh hey Bruce, I woke up and I don't have a meta gene but I remember my past life and now I have ghost abilities.' Yeah... that would go really well with the paranoid old man. Someone Tim was currently babysitting until that man recovered from his grief.

That brought Tim to his next dilemma. Because he remembered Danny Fenton read comics, while he mostly read comics centered around Martian Manhunter his past self thankfully had a friend that was into Batman and had discussed the comics with him. That was lucky for Tim. Because Tim wasn't stupid, he had seen other kids at school read these kind of books before. So he was aware that he was currently experiencing and living through the plot of one of these reincarnations book.

A part of him was partially sure that he could blame that on some of his ghostly friends from his past life.

Eitherway, thanks to his past life's friend. Tim had knowledge of the future, even if he didn't remember everything. Bad point, he had by now figured out in which timeline he was. Or at least Tim believed he had, which meant he was to late to prevent the fall of the second Robin, but if he calculated right either Damian was going to appear soon or he would be joining the Teen Titans which meant one step closer to going to get attacked by an enraged second Robin coming back. There were targets painted on his back. At least he wasn't at the point at time where he had another insane fruitloop obsessed with him.

Tim groaned. "I swear if this life were a novel it would be called, 'how to survive your siblings rage after awakening to your past life'."

There was a pause in the moment where Tim just let his mind wander. Before sitting straighter and getting to work onto the things he needed to suppress his ghost powers for the moment as well as making plans for the inevitable appearance of his future siblings. He just hoped he remembered the order of events correctly let alone that they were from the timeline he was in, otherwise he would be screwed.

"And that is, if I really only remembered my past life and did not taking over another kids life.... And Ancients... please don't let this be a Joker Jr. timeline...."

[kastalani123]

Not my usual content, but I just. I wanna ramble, ig.

Do you understand how baffled I was about how the vampire book, written by a man in 1897, is essentially a PSA about how important proper communication is?? Even after I scrolled through Tumblr, saw the memes, read people geeking out about the relationships (platonic and romantic) in Dracula, I was still caught off guard, because. Like. Everything in this book is about communication.

Sure, it's kind of a given, considering it's an epistolary novel partially made up of letters between the characters, but. I dunno. From Dracula controlling Johnathan's lettres, van Hellsing refusing to tell anyone shit, the men keeping Mina out of the loop, to Mina using her telepathic link with Dracula, it's. It's literally all about how important actually talking to each other and sharing information is. Fuck, throw in the fact that "Harker", Mina and Jonathan's, arguably the main characters, last name means "to listen"/"eavesdropper", and that the book is Mina's in-universe creation to help compile, organize, and share what they know about Dracula, and the book's very essence becomes centered around information-sharing!

And I just. The narrative punishes just about every secret hidden, every time the characters don't communicate. There's the obvious, Dracula keeping Johnathan from sending out letters for help and Mina getting bitten because the men leave her home alone, but also. Van Hellsing not telling Lucy's mom that the garlic flowers and closed windows and so on are the treatment and she is not to touch them is what kills Lucy and her mom! They maybe could have survived if he just told them what's happening/what he's doing! And even the godsdamned telegram he sends to Seward! If he had just addressed it properly (communicated to the telegram boy properly!) then Seward wouldn't have been late and maybe could have prevented the massacre!

There's also Jonathan's diary right after he finally reunites with Mina, and obviously Mina's whole ✨ thing ✨ with the diary during their wedding is like. Peak romance, but Johnathan doesn't fully get better until Mina reads and shares it with van Hellsing and van Hellsing assures Johnathan that he's not insane. Sure, it's an oversimplification of PTSD and healing and such, but it makes sense, especially if you consider communication and information sharing as a major theme! Only sharing his experiences, reading through them himself after blocking off the memories, is what heals him! He cannot get better without knowing what happened, and without others knowing what happened, because knowing and sharing is important.

Renfield's also an interesting case. I don't have the book with me right now to check, but as far as I remember, he tries to talk about Dracula, tries to get Seward to release him from the asylum so Dracula can't use him against Mina, but is dismissed entirely; as a consequence, Dracula gets in the building, kills Renfield, and bites Mina.

Even the language barriers! The villagers Johnathan meets on his way to Dracula's castle try so hard to warn him of the danger but they can't. They can't, because they don't speak enough of the same language, but they try so hard. But whatever does get through to Johnathan, such as that woman begging him to take the crucifix she gives him — that might've saved him. It keeps him unsettled and wary and he does keep the crucifix, which wards Dracula off. They can't communicate the full extent of the danger, but what they managed is probably responsible for him surviving.

And the whole idea is even mentioned in-text! Sure, Lucy saying that a wife ought to share everything she knows with her husband is definitely sexism-flavoured, but Johnathan says it too! He says that his idea of an ideal marriage is one without secrets! And Johnathan is effeminate, yes, he spends a good chunk of the book as the "damsel in distress", but he is still the hero! He is still the one who kills Dracula (with Quincey), and can therefore be assumed to be an intended role model. The (male) main character and hero of an 1897 novel says that a good relationship relies on communication. Sure, he doesn't always stick to it, mostly by agreeing to keep Mina out of the loop when van Hellsing pushes for it, but that doesn't discount that that is what Stoker set as the ideal.

I just. I love this book so much. It subverted just about all expectations I might've had about it and I'm so glad for it. It's undeniably a product of its time, with plenty of racism and sexism and ableism, but it's also so. Not, at the same time? It's so good.

[temiizpalace]

☆┊I SWEAR I ONLY FELL FOR YOU ON ACCIDENT..

SUMMARY: he never meant to develop feelings for you, and seven are these overwhelming feelings doing things to him.

CHARACTERS: leona, jade, jamil

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: cursing, CRINGE, spoilers for book 3!!!

ROMANTIC, PINING

NOTES: (kind of) based off this song + flustering boys who pretend to not be flustered ever + lyrics in fic not in order

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

🦁┊LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

“one time you crossed my mind and i promised id be careful”

he would have never expect his feelings to be like this after your first encounter.

the hostility he held towards you, he should’ve warded you away. yet you kept coming back. talking to him all buddy buddy.. it was admirable from the eyes of others. if he would’ve known better he would think you saw him as a large house cat (you do). well guess what, he ain’t.

at the start, he thought of you as nothing but a huge nuisance and thorn in his side in this already bothersome school. but after seeing your courageous news during azul’s overblot, he’s got a newfound respect for ya.

everything was fine from then. you’d bother him occasionally, and he’d allow you to bask in his presence. what? did you expect something else? well you’re wrong. but these moments have kickstarted some brand new fantasies for our beloved prince to indulge in.

it started off normally, he’s napping peacefully as you read a book next to him, giving him an occasional glance or two before focusing on the piece of literature in your hands. as we know, dreams can range in a wide variety of things. some can be absolutely blissful, some are really random, and others are just straight up nightmares!!

now, leona had no idea where to classify this one.

he walks into his room after finishing some duties concerning the kingdoms wellbeing.. being king is no easy task. “back already? that was quick.” your voice rang in his ears as he tossed the choking royal garbs to the side, making way to curl up in your lap. “can’t stand these people..” he murmured into your stomach, making you smile. you play with his hair, making an occasional braid or two before pausing. “hmph, why’d ya stop?” you lift his chin, looking him in the eyes. “i’m helping you de-stress.” suddenly, he feels pulled closer to your face, your lips barely ghosting each other til finally—

leona sits up quickly in a sweat, startling you as he emerged from the ground. what the fuuuucckkkk was that????? “ah, leona? are you okay?” you ask, concerned as to how quick he was to wake up. usually it’d take 10 minutes to get him out of a daze! “fine.” he grunts, getting up and walking towards the mirror hall.

“uhh, where ya going?” no response. he seemed grumpy, but you had no idea why. did you do something? nahhh, probably just typical leona. ..right?

you’ve noticed he’s been avoiding you a lot more lately. he will not respond when you say hi to him in the halls, will just up and leave if you see him in the botanical gardens, and will walk in the opposite direction of you just so you don’t have to cross paths.

now you’re concerned. was he mad at you? to put it simply, yes and no. yes because why are you occurring in his dreams???? are you crazy???? smh. get out. he’s the one dreaming but ok

yet no because, he’s no fool. he knows when he’s in love and unfortunately for him, this is love. you don’t understand how much he’s tossing and turning in his room because literally every gap in his head is filled up with thoughts of you, how much this aggravates him because he can’t get adequate amounts of sleep anymore. your fault!!!

he wanted to avoid you like the plague for at least a month to let these feelings wash over, but to no avail. someone just kill him and bury the body he’s hopeless. he cannot wait to be found six feet underground because feeling like this for a magicless human was the last thing he wanted.

that’s it, he’s never gonna tell ya. ever. just him and his thoughts. yep. mhm. yeah.. you’d look really nice in formal attire—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

he wants to scream but the best he can do is make a cringing face. how the hell do you make him so sappy??? this love stuff stinks… how could you do this to him?

🐬┊JADE LEECH

“one spark, you jump my heart and i feel it beating faster. yeah, it’s too late, im not ashamed.”

ah, love. something jade believed he’d never experience.

from the moment his eyes met yours, he’s always felt a twisting feeling in his chest. how peculiar.. to be fair, from afar you were quite bland to him. just another pawn and source of intel.

but then word began to get out you stopped two overblots, catching his interest. really? a magicless human? now he’s just dying to meet you.. and thank the seven he did. you had him the moment you spoke, your voice causing his heartbeat to speed up rapidly.

after azul’s overblot, though? jade is nothing but head over heels for you. without shame. he’s practically glued to your side, walking you to and from classes almost every day without fail, somehow always being your waiter whenever you ate at the mostro lounge, always having a hand on your back or shoulder.. huh.

it’s clear to anyone with half a brain that the leech twin definitely saw you more than merchandise, making them even more afraid to speak with you! whenever you were jade was like 2 feet behind.

only recently have you started to notice this. so, you’ll do what any normal person would do. ask him about it!

“hey, jade.” the eel-mer looks at you, an eyebrow raised with a polite smile. “is something the matter, prefect?” he asks, his demeanor the same as ever. “just wondering, but why’re you always around me? im not annoyed or anything! just.. just curious.” you stated quite bluntly, catching the boy off guard.

you could’ve sworn you saw him freeze with eyes wide, but the ability he has to rebuild his facade was impeccable. he pretends to think about it holding his chin before chuckling. “i suppose.. i just enjoy your company.” he smiles as you suddenly feel like an arrow was shot riiigghhttt through your heart.

“haha, really?” you laugh nervously, feeling the heat in your face flush to your cheeks as he stared you down with glee. before jade was able to respond, he was cut off by the sudden sincerity in your voice. “i enjoy your company too, jade.” you smile back at him, a sudden awkward silence falling before you.

“a-anyway, this is my class! gotta go! bye!” running inside the classroom, you try to hide the very obvious warmth in your face with your hands. THAT WAS SO CRINGE. IM FUCKED IM FUCKED IM FUCKED IM FUCKED. AAAGAGAGBABABAHAHAHAHAHA

this moment is going to haunt you for the rest of your life, you just know it. while you were dealing with the repercussions of the exchange, jade was in absolute heaven right now. his heartbeat was at an all time high, feeling nothing but sheer joy. falling for you was never his intention, but thank the seven he did.

the day passes by swiftly, nothing too out of the ordinary. as jade walks back to his dorm room, he flops onto his mattress face first into the pillows. an annoyed floyd looks at him with a disgusted expression, wishing this didn’t happen almost every day.

“yer so sappy, yknow that jade?” he grumbles, tossing a pillow at him with force. jade didnt care. it was worth it. all of it was worth it. falling in love with you was the best accident he’s ever made.

🐍┊JAMIL VIPER

“i’ll never see it coming but i know we’ll crash, cause when we’re with each other, yeah, we move too fast.”

kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill hi

those were the thoughts racing through jamil’s mind as you somehow convinced him to ride the magic carpet with you. what was he thinking??? he knows something is going to go terribly wrong whenever he’s with you.

not because of you (he hopes), but because of him! he’s a man who’s very meticulous about his work, making sure it’s done to absolute perfection. now, add you into the mix. it throws him horribly off.

when jamil first met you, he didn’t think much of it. you were a magicless human from another world. impressive that may be, that’s all you are. no major threat to kalim, so he’ll leave you be. then came the overblots.. you seemed more valuable than he originally thought.

then came his overblot. in all honesty, he hated you after that. or he thought he did. he always felt this burning sensation in his chest and this inexplainable image of you in his head nagging at him at any free chance he got! then came the scenarios.. domestic moments like brushing his hair, waking up next to each other, cooking meals for each other..

then he realized he fell into the deep end and fell in love with you. shit.

you treated him with such kindness! how didn’t he fall in love with you?? everything’s making his head hurt. the world must be upside down.

hearing kalim sing constant praise was nothing out of the ordinary, something he’s already grown used to and learned to despise. you on the other hand, your compliments send him to different universes. he swear fireworks get lit whenever you open your mouth and just explode all around him.

jamil’s behavior around you was a fairly noticeable difference to those close with him. he stuttered over his words, was a bit more expressive, and had a specific tone in his voice that seemed to be reserved for you. however, the most notable difference that almost anyone can see was the fact that THE jamil viper made a lot more accidents.

he seemed to embarrass himself every time he’s with you, but thank god you just shrug it off like nothing. screwing up was not something jamil EVER did before.. why must you ruin him like this? and these moments seem to just speed by, making it all seem like one huge fever dream that he just happens to remember. he hates it!

now, back to the present moment. he watches you sit onto the magic carpet, feeling the cold breeze in your hair due to the fact scarabia is much chillier during the night. he stares at you from the balcony, seeing as you turned back to smile at him. “you coming” you ask, watching him hesitate. “m-maybe i shouldn’t.. i must tend to kalim and—“

“do you trust me?” you ask, holding your hand out to him. he looks at you, taken aback by your sudden question. “what?” “do you trust me?” you repeat, a stern tone in your voice as you looked down at him with a certain gleam in your eyes that he just cannot resist. “..yes?”

jamil grabs your hand, pulling himself onto the carpet. the warmth from his palms spread throughout your entire body, suddenly regulating the your internal temperature. as you both kneeled on the carpet, your eyes met, staring into each other intensely. his hand subconsciously squeezes yours, holding to them for dear life, not wanting to let go.

while this was insanely romantic to you both, from outside perspective, it just looks like this 🧍‍♂️🧍

“ah, jamil, you’re squeezing my hand.” you laugh nervously, watching as the heat rises to his cheeks. “s-sorry. now then, shall we?” he clears his throat, sitting down properly before looking at you with a small smile. you can’t help but reciprocate, flashing him a grin before taking his hand again. “of course.”

before the carpet can take off into the clouds, cheering can be heard from inside scarabia halls.

it seemed kalim had a little.. arrangement for the both of you. jamil pulls his hood over his face in embarrassment as the carpet flies towards the glittering sky of stars, something both you and jamil can enjoy together.

A/N: jamil bias is EVIDENT (I kinda sorta didn’t go with the song that much and got carried away oopsies)

date published: 7/28/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[angstywaifu]

You're Alive - Garrick Tavis

Request: reader/Garrick fic where they are on separate teams during war games at the end of Fourth Wing so she thinks he’s dead along with Violet, Xaden and the others and it’s when they’re doing the death roll and she’s devastated but then they all make their entrance and have a little moment/reunion

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I keep my head low. I know what’s coming. I know what names are about to be read out. Have known since yesterday that it was coming. And I know as soon as his name leaves Captain Fitzgibbons mouth I’ll loose it. Know I won’t be able to hold back the tears I’ve refused to let fall. I ball my hands into fits as they start to shake, earning an apologetic look from my squad mates around me. Each name brings me closer and closer to theirs. The dread and panic rising with every name. One of my squad mates puts a hand on my shoulder, clearly trying to comfort me with the blow I’m about to take.

”Garrick Tavis.” The first tear falls as I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my tongue to stop the sob that wants to escape my lips.

”Xaden Riorson.” Then the rest of the tears fall as my squad mate rubs my back.

”Well, this is awkward.” A familiar voice calls out, my eyes flying open.

No. There’s no way. He’s dead. But as I turn my head in the same direction as everyone else, there’s no denying the group that stands off to the side of the formation. My eyes tacking each of them in. Violet had definitely seen better days. Bodhi had his arm in a sling. Liam was…. missing. And then. Garrick. Just a scar marking his face. But besides that he looked ok. But mainly. He was alive. Alive after thinking he was dead since I’d gotten back. He was…. alive. My body sways slightly, the squad mate who had their hand on my shoulder steadying me as I rock into them. I know they’re asking if I’m ok, but I don’t hear a word they say as I focus on Garrick. Before they make their way to the dais, his eyes lock with mine, giving me a reassuring smile before following Xaden.

I must go into shock, because the next thing I know Garrick is in front of me, his hand cupping my face as his lips form words I can’t make out. Around us the cadets start dispersing, all rushing off to enjoy the few days of freedom they have before classes start, or before heading off to their new postings. New postings. Shit, I was meant to go grab mine. I look down, noting how Garrick grasps two missives in his hand.

”Come on love, say something.” Garrick pleads as his voice finally registers in my head.

”Y-you’re alive.” I mutter out, a smile spreading across Garrick’s face as I start to register what’s happened.

”There she is. And yes, I’m alive. Alive and here. This isn’t a dream. This is real.” He tells me as he shoves the missives in his jacket pocket and cradles my face in both his hands.

I nod slowly, still trying to process he was here in front of me. Touching my face. Alive and breathing. Garrick must sense I’m still slightly panicking even though I’m responding to him. He quickly moves next to me, wrapping an arm around me as he assures my squad mate he’s got me before he guides me over to the dormitory. Luckily only the third years are in here, meaning there aren’t many prying eyes to witness Garrick leading me up the stairs to my room.

Once inside he kicks the door closed before putting up a silencing ward and leading me over to the bed. I sit on the edge as Garrick kneels on the floor in front of me, putting himself in my line of sight as if trying to reassure me he is here and I’m not just imagining it.

”How?” I ask as my eyes meet his.

”We we’re betrayed. The colonel knew what we’d been up to. Sent us there to die.” He tells me as he rests his hands on my thighs, a gesture I’m thankful for.

”But Liam… Soleil…”

”Didn’t make it. But I did. I’m here.” He assures me.

”For now. After today I won’t…” My words catch in my throat as I squeeze my eyes shut.

Yes he was alive and here. But those missives in his pocket would change that. I’d only have a few more hours to enjoy that he was alive and well before we got sent to different outposts. Probably to never see each other again.

I startle as he places something in my lap, and I open my eyes to see the missives sitting in my lap. “Open them.”

I open mine first. I can tell it’s mine as it bears a wax seal Garrick must have broken to read it. The other, was missing it. Clearly they’d had to rush assigning him an outpost seeing as he was thought to be dead until not even an hour ago.

Lieutenant Y/N Y/LN, is hereby stationed at Samara outpost effective immediately.

I drop mine to the bed, taking Garrick’s with a shaky hand.

Lieutenant Garrick Tavis is hereby stationed at Samara outpost effectively immediately.

”You’re not leaving me.” I say as a small smile spreads across my face for the first time in days.

”Nope. Can’t get rid of my that easily love.” He tells me as he takes his missive from my hands and cradles my hands in his.

As I look at him, I know he’s thinking the same thing. Graduates didn’t get stationed at front line outposts. Not immediately anyway. Meaning we weren’t in the clear yet. We’d been stationed there on purpose. And I knew Xaden would be with us to. I might have just gotten Garrick back, but our lives were still on the line, and we’d be fighting every day to keep them. Us three would have to stick together, watch each others backs. Because I’d be damned if I’d lose Garrick again.

[mabaki]

Thorns and Roses! the whole family 😊

Caira / Rosa / Vince / Laurane / Mabaki The horizontal piece is how I envisioned this piece to be overall but it's not an ideal presentation for Socials so I made the vertical version above.

All the girls belong to @mme-chouette

Separate versions and long text below

I just draw out the whole thing and crop like half of it out LMAO bad habit.

in the OG verse, the kids are all adopted by both Caira and Mbk.

🌹🌹🌹🌹

Rosa (Rosakya) (Thief / Specter) was first. She and Caira already 'met' each other in the Dream. Caira awakens years before Rosa, and when it was Rosa's turn, she went out to search for Caira. She and Mbk butt heads at first as Rosa came to them during the time Mbk finally settled down with Caira, but they eventually came to an understanding with each other when Mbk had helped Rosa control her Specter powers.

Rosa is quite sensitive in sensing other vari's emotions and finds it to too intense at times, which affects her own feelings and thought processes and leads her to emotional outbursts. She also struggled with controlling her own powers as she disliked the feeling of a Specter's ability to give and take life force.

The first time Rosa acknowledged Mbk as a father figure was a slip-up and just accidentally called him 'dad'. He of course just stares at her in shock like, "Is that how you see me?" to which she admits yes, and they hug it out.

She joins the Order of Whispers first, and once Caira comes back from the Wizard's Tower, joins the Astral Ward.

🌹🌹🌹🌹

Vince (Vincent) (Revenant) was found by Mabaki during his solo 'patrol' round in Kessex Hills, specifically in Lychcroft Mere. Vince had managed to escape from a small group of Nightmare Courtier's grasps, wounded. When he arrived at Lychroft Mere, the fungal infection had taken over his weakened state, thus making him very sick.

Mbk likes to make rounds in Kessex Hills in search of the Toxic Offshoots for spores, but had found the sick and wounded sapling barely managing to fend off a forgotten/dormant Risen. Mbk comes in to intervene and, discovering Vince's sorry state, and brings him back home to nurse him back to health. With nowhere else to go, Vince ends up staying with them and thus becomes adopted.

Vince is the calmest and independent of the three kids and joins the Priory later, to follow Caira's footsteps in a way.

🌹🌹🌹🌹

Laurane (Guardian) was brought home by Mbk as a helpless Sapling who struggles with keeping focus. They met as Laurane was a recruit for the Vigil that Mbk had to help train (as a group of recruits). Noticing how much she struggled with many things, especially focus and becoming distracted, it had clearly reminded him of Caira's same issue, thus dragging her home in hopes that his wife could help.

Laurane was too 'green' even as a sapling and was adamant she could take care of herself, but Mbk had clearly disagreed judging by the way she acted around others. She had unfortunately not been granted as much knowledge as others from the Dream and it reflected so. Thus Mbk takes on the role of being her mentor and now father figure.

She is the strongest of the three and is very Skritt-brained, and very carefree. Sometimes she forgets her strength and hugs everyone too tight (except Mbk, cuz he can handle that lmao)

~~~~

Well that was long. Thanks for reading LMAO Excuse me if the writing is janky, I'm just typing what comes to mind about them LMAO

[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 

[velvetlilacsdaisies]

Stay Still | B. Durran |

Bodhi Durran x fwb!fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT, MDNI, swearing, p in v, (unprotected sex pls pls be safe), cockwarming, not proofread well, switch!Bodhi, possessive!Bodhi, bratty!reader, poorly written smut, smut with little plot

A/n: hehhe this came out of my ass idk what got into me during my reading bonanza last night 🤭. I just felt truly inspired to try to write a full smut. This is my first official smut I’ve wrote so I would love feedback to improve on it if you have it, but I hope you find this as fun as I did!!

You sighed boredly laying on Bodhi’s bed, stomach pressed against the plush mattress, idly looking over a book about runes you tried to occupy your thoughts with. It had been thirty minutes since you arrived at the Section Leader’s door looking for some company in nothing but your black dressing robe and matching tiny nightgown underneath. Anticipating when he opened his door, he’d haughtily pull you into his quarters and ravish you like a man starved…but no. He merely gave you a once over before letting you in, and sat back at his desk doing his research on wards for Xaden.

You wanted to help as much as he did with resurrecting the wardstones for your friends, but now it had impeded on yours and his arrangement. It’s been two weeks since you last found yourself in the embrace of the man you craved, and you were desperate for the attention you lacked. It had become an unspoken routine you two had secretly engaged in since after Threshing last year. Only using each other other than for just distractions from the trials of surviving the Rider’s Quadrant at night, while during the day you were just squad mates.

You could feel another wave of heat go through your core at the thought of the secret that the two of you shared. You had been fighting the wanton desire since the last time you had found each other. Not that you weren’t satisfied by Bodhi, but you never stopped wanting him it had become glaringly obvious for you. You had even resorted to giving into flirty banter with Ridoc in front of him to get the Flame Section Leader’s acknowledgment, left with not even a sarcastic remark or scolding look on his part. Since Violet returned from Samara, there was a dire urgency to find answers on the wardstone.

But today was exemplarily tougher to push that ache down. After a rather intensive Flame Section sparring session after classes, you had been forced to watch Bodhi spar without drooling. His shirt discarded halfway through the session when he was challenged by Sawyer, the sweat glistening off his chiseled muscles. As if he knew the effect he had on you. The relic that swirled over his bulky biceps and veiny forearms and his dragon relic that loitered on the back of his left sharp shoulder blade down to the side of his refined torso. You had to take an extra cold shower once all the girls left the locker room to calm the burning desire that consumed you which proved to be no help.

You got off the bed, and made your way to him feeling impatient as your core throbbed once more. His back was towards you, displaying his relics that you admired and worshiped in the solace of the night. Your arms wrapping around his chest from behind, your nails lightly scratching his broad bare chest.

“Boh,” you whined, nipping at his earlobe. “Are you done yet?” You asked, a simper to your tone. The arousal in between your legs getting too heavy to bare, and clenching your thighs was no longer an option to fight the want for him. You wanted him now. No—you needed him, and you weren’t going to deprive yourself another minute.

“I don’t have much longer until I finish this section.” He murmured. He screwed his eyes shut trying to focus on the text in front of him, tilting his neck out of instinct to the side letting your lips press needy kisses down to his shoulder.

He had known when he saw you at your door in your skimpiest night clothes what you wanted. Finally making a move in the unintentional stalemate between the both of you. It didn’t fall on to blind eyes the way you went out of your way to be bratty throughout the last two weeks, attempting to get a rise out of him. It almost worked, but never being a jealous man, and clever enough to see right through you. The flirty comments to Ridoc, the way he could feel your alluring eyes burn holes into him during any time he was in the vicinity of you. He almost felt guilty leaving you hanging and to resort to blatant facades of making him jealous, a silent plea to just take you already.

He wanted to do nothing, but to fuck you and remind you who you belonged to.

You looked enticing, and every primal thought that flooded his mind he pushed down to the back of his mind when you appeared in front of his door. The churam he smoked an hour ago doing nothing to stop his chest from hammering, and the blood rushing to his manhood, twitching, at the sight of you. He had to use every ounce of his self discipline to keep his composure in check, letting you in without pouncing, devouring you like he wanted. Xaden would arrive back in Basgiath tomorrow expecting intel, and he hadn’t gotten very far in his research besides dead ends.

Your name got stuck in his throat barely sputtering it out as you sucked on the spot that you knew drove him wild, the conjunction of his neck and shoulder.

You weren’t exclusive with Bodhi, but you had learned everything about him that made him tick. From the littlest things like how his eyes lingered when your flight jacket was slightly undone bearing the slightest bit of cleavage in the low cut tank top you wore underneath—to what made him absolutely feral—the feeling of your lips with your teeth marking his sweet spot that would be barely concealed by the collar of his tight black training shirt the next day. Noting how he would wear the mark proudly like the patches on his jacket. Having a boyish grin when a squad mate would bring it up playing coy. No one knew they were left by you.

“I’ll help you after…” you purred, your hands traveling down his torso to the waistband of his night pants. Fingers nimbly tracing the barely grown out hair that led underneath the cotton. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you.” You pouted before peppering more kisses on his cheeks, feeling satisfied at the sharp intake of air he took at the movement.

You would get your way, there would be no other outcome of you showing up at his door tonight than to be ruined by Bodhi Durran.

“I’m expected to have something to report on tomorrow.” He protested weakly, savoring your mouth against jaw, but still keeping his eyes on the parchment.

His dissolve was close to crumbling, feeling the cold fingertips slip underneath his waistband. All he wanted to do was bend you over his desk, imagining your cheek pressed to the ancient texts laid out on the wooden surface as he railed into you from behind. His cock hardened more at the idea of him inside you.

“Xaden won’t-” you were cut off by the scrape of the wooden chair against the stone floor making you stumble backwards slightly. Bodhi abruptly slid his bottoms down, revealing half hardened manhood, sitting back down in the chair.

“C’mere,” he growled. His tone had a dangerous lilt to it, only making the wetness that had pooled in your panties grow more. His usual warm brown eyes blown out filled with something more than lust.

Your throat ran dry, obeying as you stepped in between his legs. He leaned his forehead against your stomach, inhaling steady breaths as if he could smell your arousal. His rough hands gripping your bare outer thighs before slipping under your nightgown, roughly kneading the soft flesh of your ass. Then he hooked his fingers around the fabric of your undergarments dragging them down your legs.

“You want me to fuck you, but have another man’s name leave your lips?” He gritted out through his, barely speaking above a whisper.

Bodhi knew he was overreacting, but when his cousin’s name came out of your mouth, his primal instincts came bubbling to the surface. A feral fire fueling him, no longer to be tamed. How dare you bring up Xaden, when you came here solely looking for relief from him after acting the way you’ve been.

You were taken aback by the words, leaving you stammering. “I-I’m sorry, Boh..”

This was a new side to him, you’ve never seen before. A nervous pang made your heart skip a beat, though excited at the aggressiveness in his actions.

“You think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing the last two weeks?” He cupped the back of one of your thighs, bringing a leg over his. “Think you were being sly?” He questioned.

You shook your head furiously, forgetting how to speak momentarily.

He pinched the inside of your thigh, only adding to the fire that blazed in your core, a soft gasp leaving your slacked jaw. “Use your words, babygirl.”

“N-no,” the words airily released from your throat, a pink tint to your cheeks.

He smirked, a dry laugh escaping him. “That's what I thought.” He dragged your other leg over his so you were now straddling him, knees perched on the extra wide seat. “Since you want to be a brat, you can sit on my cock until I’m done here.” He held his member with one hand, pumping slowly. “You got it?”

You gulped, watching how it twitched ever slightly, and his shoulders relaxed as he held himself. Nodding eagerly, biting your lip, still looking between the both of you awaiting for him to be inside you.

His free hand wrapped around your hair, pulling it, forcing you to look in his eyes. “What did I say about your words?” He growled. A soft moan left your lips at the gesture. His darkened brown eyes wavered in hunger and pride at the reaction.

“Y-yes, please…” you begged, feeling him rub the tip against your slick folds.

“Good girl, so wet for me,” he groaned.

He slowly inserted himself at your entrance, his hand finding your hip to help lower yourself on to him until he bottomed out inside you. His thick member stretching you out in a blissful sting that he could make you feel. You both sighed at the feeling, and you rested your head in the crook of his neck holding on to him with a near death grip.

You could feel yourself throb as he went back to working. His hands lightly brushing your sides every time he flipped a page or went to jot a note down in his notebook, causing jolts to go down your body. You tried to grind your hips to provide the teeniest bit of relief, Bodhi would only grip your thighs with a bruising force.

“Stay still,” he hissed, his head rolling back as he felt you clench around him again. A small smirk graced your lips, an idea coming to your mind.

One of your hands slid in between you, and found your clit. You moaned, as your fingers circled the sensitive nub.

“Y/n…” he warned, listening to the sweet noises you made in his ear, gripping the quill in his hand tightly. He had thought he had the upper hand in this, but as you touched yourself, his cock warming your insides, he felt the remaining bit of his dissolve crumble. “You’re such a fucking brat.” He held your hips, halting your movements.

“Do something about it then.” You challenged, pressing a chaste kiss to his full lips.

He thrusted up into you, sounds sweet as sin coming from your throats. A wicked smile twisted on to your face, finally. “I fully intend to.” He mumbled, pulling you into another kiss, this time longer and heated. You nipped at his lower lip, earning a hiss from him as you slipped your tongue into his mouth.

Drilling into you at a slow agonizing pace, your tongues fought for dominance, the kiss becoming broken up between strings of noises leaving the both of you. The slow burn pleasure painstakingly from the pace he had set. You tried to lower yourself up and down to go at a faster pace and to your dismay he slowed his movements more, squeezing your hips in caution.

You pulled away panting, “more.” You were a whimpering mess, frustrated to find your release. “Please, Bodhi.”

“Just because you get what you want doesn’t mean you still can’t be punished.” A lazy smirk etched on to his broad jaw. “I have to remind you who you belong to.”

He slowly thrusted up into you again, making you cry out. His face contorted to a look of pleasure as he provided deep slow strokes into you, the sight of him biting his now bruised lip heavenly.

“I’m yours, please.” You begged, nails biting into his shoulders. “Only yours.” You cried when he thrusted particularly harder when you said that.

“Y’ feel so good around me.” He drawled. “Like your pussy was made for me, sweetheart.” His words caused an effect on your whole body from your pussy clenching harder around him to your heart swelling from the praise.

The atmosphere felt entirely different from the usual casual hook ups from before. His forehead resting against yours, occasionally nuzzling your nose with his whispering lines of worship for you taking his time.

“Feels so good,” you panted, looping your fingers in his curls at the nape of his neck. You could feel yourself go dumb as his fingers found your clit, circling it with the same agonizing pace of his cock. You don’t know how much of this you could take. “Please, please, please let me ride you.”

“Do you deserve to ride me?” He taunted in between thrusts.

You nodded vigorously, “please let me make you feel good, Boh. Please.”

He stopped playing with your clit, bringing his fingers to your swollen lips. You sucked your juices off of them, tasting yourself as he leaned back in the chair.

“Mm, since you’ve been begging so nicely.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

The moans you released as you fucked yourself onto Bodhi’s cock were angelic. Letting you lower yourself up and down, watching as you got lost, getting drunk on his manhood. His hands had a firm grip on your waist, helping guide you down his length.

“That’s it, ride me like the good slut you are.” He watched your cunt sink onto him, swallowing his length whole.

You could start to feel the familiar coil of release start to come undone, and you knew you weren’t gonna last long. The sounds of your slick and his pants encouraging you to go faster.

Bodhi sensed the way you gripped him, you were going to climax, and met your rhythm bucking his hips upward. “You gonna come f’me?” He asked.

You could only mewl in response, the pleasure rendering you speechless as you rode him harder. Your vision blurred with stars, your body going rigid from the surge of tingling pleasure that electrified your body. The coil finally unraveling in your core as you orgasmed. You let out a throaty moan that was muffled by his lips, kissing passionately.

The tawny skinned man didn’t stop his movements, feeling his own release chasing yours. His aching cock twitched in need of relief. He muttered curses, his pace getting sloppier as he whimpered your name.

“Come for me, Boh.” You whispered softly. His arms wrapped tightly around your midsection, clinging to you like his life depended on it as he kept fucking you.

You felt the twitch, and his release shoot into you, a guttural groan following it. Feeling the mix of your arousals seeping out of you, his cock throbbing.

The heavy breathing from the both of you was the only noise in the room, you two staying in the position. You lightly scratched his scalp letting him regain his composure, his arms loosely holding you still. After a minute, he leaned away looking at you silently.

The intense gaze made you self conscious, clearing your throat as indication you were getting up. His arms only tightened around you once more, but he let his cock sink out of you, feeling your releases cover both of your thighs.

“I should get going,” you stated bluntly.

“Stay the night?” He reached over for the t-shirt that was crumpled on the floor beside his desk. Gingerly wiping you off first, being extremely gentle and careful to not be too abrasive with your sensitive parts, before he cleaned himself off.

You blinked in surprise, he never asked that before—let alone so nonchalant. You two never stayed too long in one another’s quarters after, let alone spend the night with one another. This would encroach the boundaries you mentally placed on this arrangement, ultimately entangling what you had already felt for the man in front of you.

“Aren’t you worried someone will see?” You asked warily.

He offered his usual boyish grin. “That’s kind of the point, sweetheart.”

Personally the pacing was weird for me to write, but I hope it gave you guys what you needed! The idea of fwb possessive Bodhi now has me in a chokehold lmao. Like I said, I am always open to improvements and feedback as this was a bit out of my comfort zone 🫶🏻🩷

[zevrra]

—cyberpunk 2077

synopsis: just some random headcanons i have for the cyberpunk men! :3

tags: 18(+) only, suggestive content, mention of explicit content, cyberpunk 2077, the reader is ‘v’, includes hc’s for vik, river, goro, & johnny.

viktor vektor—

a man who loves with his entire heart

he gets soooo excited when he talks about boxing

def accidentally falls asleep during movies

cares more about you than he does himself

is so so obedient

the second you ask for something he immediately says yes ma’am/sir

is 100% a fan of cute nicknames

the type to question why you would ever like an old man like him, especially when the two of you are intimate

is far stronger than you would’ve expected from an “old man”

noisy asf when it comes down to it

could care less about his own pleasure, he focuses everything on making you feel good

would let you ride his face for hours

switches between being a service top to a power bottom depending on the day

river ward—

leaves you a sweet/heartfelt message every morning for you to wake up too

his love language is soooo physical touch

but also buys you flowers every few weeks to replace the old ones

would hug/cuddle with you 24/7 if he could

you fell first, he fell harder

wants to have a giant family one day

loves cooking for you

is stressed constantly from work but the moment he’s with you it all melts away

100% has a breeding kink

constantly praises you for taking him so well

also a very, very talkative man

he talks you through every second of it

a soft dom

goro takemura—

hopeless romantic

wants to live a life of freedom but knows he will always be chained to his corpo master

doesn’t stop him from trying to live his life to the fullest and it’s all because of you

will never admit it but he loves getting gifts from you

keeps every gift you’ve ever given him

dislikes PDA as he has a very traditional outlook on life

would 100% save himself for marriage

is vanilla as vanilla can get

wouldn’t say no to trying new things inside of the bedroom, as long as they’re not too extreme, but almost always defaults right back to mr. vanilla

“i read a book on it once”

johnny silverhand—

quality time is his love language

wants to teach you how to play guitar but explains the cords like “so you do this with this finger and flip it over here and yeah for this you do that”

finally has you in his grasp and he’s never letting go

loves teasing you every chance he gets

would never say it out loud but you are his soulmate

gets a matching “johnny x v” tattoo

knows kerry is the better songwriter between the two of them so he asked him once to write some lyrics for a song for you

def sang it to you on your bday or anniversary

oh he so wanted to fuck you the second he returned to his body

a top without a doubt

loves watching you ride his thigh when you’re really needy

shotguns smoke into your mouth when you make out

[slytherin-pen]

The Secret

pairing: Xaden x Reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: ONXY STORM SPOILERS, DO NOT READ FUTHER

a/n: ok so during my reread ahead of OS i caught some foreshadowing whenever Xaden talked about family but specifically when Violet asked if he had any siblings. idk it just rang bells in my head, i honestly thought he would have a secret sibling but then we saw what actually happened..i’m still proud of myself like i caught that shit! anyways, here’s me giving my theory some life. also, happy day 5 of Xaden Week! @empyreanevents

“Xaden what is going on?” you ask as you jog to catch up to his long strides.

He’s been acting weird all day. Being short with you, not kissing you, and seemingly avoiding any physical affection since you and your squad arrived at Riorson House for your two-week rotation.

It was your first rotation in Aretia from Basgiath since leadership came to an agreement of sorts to both protect Navarre and the provinces outside of the wards. You had been excited, Rhiannan and Ridoc teased you constantly during the days leading up to it. It would be the first time you got to spend more than a day there while conscious. When Xaden brought you here after you’d been stabbed by a venin during War Games, you slept most of the time and once you were awake you all rushed out the door back to Navarre for Garrick and Xaden’s graduation.

Now that you think of it, Garrick, Bodhi, and Imogen have been acting weird since you arrived too. You had even asked Rhiannon if you smelt bad—worse than the usual smell you have after being on dragon back for hours—but she said no. Your confusion had only amplified.

An insecure part of you thought that he was about to break up with you. It’s the only explanation you could come up with. His friends are avoiding you. He’s avoiding you. Why else if not for knowing that the moment you arrived after not seeing him for weeks, he was going to end things? It angered you. Sure, they’re his friends, but you thought they were yours too. That you at least had some form of girl code with Imogen, and if she knew your heart was about to be broken she’d warn you. But you also knew their loyalty to him came above all else. That if he asked them not to say anything to you, they would listen.

You lunge, gripping his wrist and he finally stops to face you. “Can you answer me?” you snap. “What the hell is going on?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he exhales slowly. “I—just follow me.”

When all you do is glare at him in response, he sighs again. “Please?”

You drop his wrist but put more distance between him as you walk down the halls of Riorson House. If this is really how he breaks up with you, you’re going to be livid. Two years together and this is how it ends? This is how he treats you? You’ll stab him. And then when you’re done stabbing him, you’re going to stab his friends too. You get it. Kinda. He’s officially the Duke of Tyrrendor—or at least has the title back. He has a lot of responsibilities on his shoulders, on top of everything he already has. It’s a lot, and it doesn’t leave a whole lot of time for him to be your boyfriend. But you didn’t mind. Now, you want to kick yourself for sitting around like a lost puppy waiting for him to throw you scraps.

He unlocks a set of double doors with a flick of his wrist and motions for you to enter the room. Your boots scuff along the cobblestone floors as you hesitantly walk inside. The room is bare aside from a square wooden table and three chairs. The lack of dust on the table tells you it had been moved in here last minute for this very occasion. You nearly scoffed. You were definitely going to stab him after this.

Xaden clears his throat. “Just—uh—sit down and I’ll be right back.”

You don’t even get to send him a withering glare before he’s out the door again, shutting it behind him.

You stomp to the chair on its own side, across from the side with the two other chairs, and plop down. Your knee bounces with anticipation. You can tell he’s nervous. You can count on one hand how many times you’ve heard Xaden stutter, but the sympathy you usually feel for him in those moments is nowhere to be found. How does he think you feel? You’re not stupid. You can tell something is going on, and his nerves only exacerbate yours.

Anger flares in your chest. He has no right to be nervous. He’s not the one being broken up with. He’s not the one being ignored and led to a sketchy abandoned room by yourself. What’s next? He tells you that you can’t join your squad on the next rotation? That he never wants to see you again? Tears prick your eyes but you blink them away. He doesn’t get to see you sad. You’ll stab him and then go cry to your squad. You know at least Sawyer would help you stab the others who knew about this.

As your thoughts continue to spiral, the door finally opens again. Xaden stands in the doorway, shielding your view of the hall with his body and the door.

You roll your eyes. “Just spit it out Xaden. I don’t have all day. Might as well get it over with.”

Confusion flashes across his face but he reins it in quickly. “I have something to tell you.”

“No shit,” you scoff.

Again with the confused face. As if he has no idea why you’re so angry. He really does think you’re too stupid to figure it out.

“Just try not to be mad at me,” he pleads softly. “I had my reasons and you know how far I’ll go to protect the ones I love. It’s not that I didn’t trust you, but no one who didn’t already know before the Apostasy could find out. It was the only safe option.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. Your face scrunches as you look him up and down. What the hell is he talking about?

He pushes the door open the rest of the way as he slowly walks inside. It isn’t until he’s made it past the doorway that you notice something behind him. Correction. Someone.

Your jaw drops as a child—a boy—who looks like the carbon copy of Xaden shuffles in behind him. He couldn’t be older than ten. He has the same black hair and brows. The same tawny skin and onyx eyes. His hands are held behind his back, just like Xaden’s. The perfect, confident posture that you only learn from years of being taught how to carry yourself as a leader. Regardless, you can tell the boy is nervous with the furrow between his brows. The way he keeps looking at Xaden for reassurance.

“My love,” Xaden begins, glancing from you to the boy, “this is my little brother, Jace.”

The boy—Jace—steps forward and dips his chin in greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss.”

Your mouth gapes like a fish, your brain still grappling with the fact you are not being broken up with but instead being introduced to a child.

“Little brother?” you manage to choke out.

Xaden nods, placing a hand on Jace’s shoulder as he guides him to sit down in a chair across from you, Xaden taking the seat next to him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner, but it was crucial no one knew of his existence until it was safe. Now that we have some form of an alliance with Navarre, his presence can be known by others but still kept quiet.”

“I—I’m sorry. You have a little brother. That’s why you brought me here?” you stammer.

Xaden tilts his head as he regards you with his inquisitive gaze. “Yes, love, this is why I brought you here. Why else?”

You shake your head, hoping that rattling your brain around will help unscramble your thoughts. “I’m just shocked is all,” you say. “It’s not at all what I was expecting. It’s wonderful to meet you, Jace.”

Jace gives you a shy smile and looks back to his brother.

“Why exactly has he been kept a secret?” you ask.

Xaden sighs and ruffles Jace’s hair, to which Jace swats his arm away with a glare that could one day rival Xaden’s. “As of right now, he’s my heir. With all the targets on my back, and even Bodhi’s who everyone thinks is my last living relative, it was the only way to keep Jace safe. You want to believe no one would kill a child for the sake of ending a family line, but I wanted to believe an entire kingdom wouldn’t keep venin and wyverns a secret from its people for so long, yet here we are. If anyone high up had known that Duke Lewellen was harboring my little brother—I don’t even want to think about what they would have done.”

You nod solemnly. He’s right. You would want to believe they wouldn’t kill an innocent child but you have seen just how far they’re willing to go to keep their secrets or further their agendas. Jace would have been an easy target.

“So now that you’re back, he doesn’t have to be a secret anymore?” you hedge.

“Kind of. Those who are trusted to come to Riorson House are allowed to know about him, but I ask everyone to not let it leave Aretia. Things are still rocky between Tyrrendor and Navarre despite the treaty, and I won’t take any risks when it comes to him. But now that I’m home to watch over him myself, I feel a little better about letting him out into the world.”

“I can take care of myself,” Jace chides.

You roll your lips together as you try to suppress a smile. He’s practically Xaden Junior and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. That your thoughts spiraled to something so terrible when in reality, Jace will probably be the greatest gift. He’ll at least make things a lot more fun around here.

Xaden smirks as he looks down at Jace. “Yeah, I’m sure you could, little man. You’ll give Bodhi a run for his money when he starts training you in combat.”

They joke and tussle each other some more while you watch with a fond smile. Your galloping heart is still slowing, still soaking in the truth, but the sight of Xaden and Jace laughing together soothes you. Xaden is so serious all the time, always brooding or giving orders. It’s nice to see him be a little more lighthearted.

As they calm down and remember their company, the seriousness returns to Xaden’s face as he looks at you. There he is.

“I wanted to tell you first, Xaden murmurs. “But I didn’t get to pick the rotation schedule. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s alright. I honestly—“ You halted, remembering Jace and deciding it wasn’t best to have this conversation in front of him.

Xaden seemed to realize your hesitation and told Jace to go find Garrick with a pat on his head. Jace smiles at you in goodbye and you return it. Xaden picks up his chair and moved it to your side of the table, leaning so his elbows rest on his knees and gives you his full attention.

You reposition yourself in your seat and grab one of Xaden’s hands to fiddle with his fingers in an effort to calm your nerves.

“I thought you were breaking up with me,” you whisper.

His head rears back, shock clear on his face. “Why the hell would you think that?”

Heat spreads across your cheeks from embarrassment. “You were acting weird. Everyone was acting weird. It’s just the first thing that came to mind, I’m sorry.”

Xaden places one of his hands on yours to stop your fidgeting, forcing you to look up at him. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. Everyone was acting weird because they knew I’d be telling you today and honestly, I was terrified,” he says, his voice cracking at the end.

Your brows furrow with confusion.

Xaden sighs and scoots his chair closer to you, your knees touching. “In the beginning, I had to keep so many secrets from you. And we promised each other to be truthful after you found out about the revolution. I worried that when you found out…you’d break up with me. It’s why I didn’t let myself touch or kiss you. I thought it would just make it worse for myself.“

“Oh, Xaden,” you sigh. You get up from your chair and crawl into his lap, straddling his muscular thighs as he moves his hands to your hips to support you. Your hands cup his face as you speak. “I don’t blame you for my insecurities. And I definitely don’t blame you for protecting your little brother. It’s quite sweet, actually.”

Xaden scoffs and looks away, a slight blush crawling up his cheeks. You smile at the man you love. The man you are so happy isn’t breaking up with you. It’s the first time you’ve been grateful he had another secret.

Onyx eyes meet yours and you practically melt at the love shining in them. “I’m so glad you aren’t mad at me,” he whispers.

“I’m glad you aren’t breaking up with me,” you whisper back.

His lips find yours, slow and passionate. As if he’s pouring his love into your mouth and making sure you savor every declaration.

He rests his head against yours, your chests heaving as you catch your breaths. “We are going to have a talk about why in Dunne’s name you thought I would ever let you go.”

You laugh, throwing your arms around his shoulders as your head tilts back.

There’s a smirk on his face when you calm down, but his eyes tell you he’s not joking. He won’t be letting this go anytime soon.

“So when do I get to watch Jace kick Bodhi’s ass?” you ask.

This time Xaden is the one to laugh.

[notlongtolove]

to get it anyway

a steel case to the face. that's the last thing you remember seeing. spencer’s voice, shouting your name. gunfire in rapid succession. you remember hearing sirens. maybe. you’re not entirely sure. hands, trembling, cupping your cheeks.  then, nothing.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff, hurt comfort

content: slight mentions of stitches and wounds. bau!reader gets hurt during a case and spencer is worried out of his mind—maybe even worried enough to confess his feelings for her???

word count: 2.3k

note: love the linked poem... also need someone to confess their undying love for me rn rn rn (also is this considered fluff? im not too good w tags)

a line: He cradled your head in his hands, shielding your body with his own when the gunfire went down. His world tilted on its axis—Instinct overtaking reason.

the final sour cherry we kept politely pushing onto each other’s plate, saying, No, you. But it’s so good. No, it’s yours. How I finally put an end to it, plucked it from the plate, and stuck it in my mouth. How good it tasted: so sweet and so tart. How good it felt: to want something and pretend you don’t, and to get it anyway. - cristin o’keefe aptowicz

A steel case to the face. That's the last thing you remember seeing. Spencer’s voice, shouting your name. Gunfire in rapid succession. You remember hearing sirens. Maybe. You’re not entirely sure. Hands, trembling, cupping your cheeks. 

Then, nothing.

Spencer’s pacing down the hallway, his hands restless at his sides as he calls out for the doctor who’s only just walked out of your room. Before he can get far, he feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder, firm enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Hey,” Morgan says, his voice low. “Hey!” he says again, louder, forcing Spencer to look at him this time, “You gotta slow down.”

“She—she was hit. In the head!” Spencer twists under his grip, his eyes darting toward the room where you’re lying behind a closed door. “Do you know how fragile the human skull is? She could have a concussion or—or intracranial bleeding, or—I need to—”

“What you need to do—is calm down,” Morgan interrupts. His tone is stern, leaving no room for argument. “You pacing and panicking? That’s not helping her. And it’s not helping you. You’re worried. We all are. I get it.”

But Spencer isn’t just worried. He’s terrified. He’s bone-deep, mind-numbingly terrified. You all get hurt sometimes—Occupational hazard. Duh. Everyone knows that. But it’s rare for any of you to actually end up warded in the hospital, rarer for it still, to be a two-hour wait with no definitive answers. The doctors had been maddeningly vague: We’ll let you know as soon as possible. No reason to worry. But how could he not?

“Don't tell me to calm down, I—” Spencer’s voice cracks. His chest feels tight, constricted. “Even small blows can cause severe brain damage. Nobody knows how fast—how fast neurons can start to—”

“Reid,” Morgan repeats, his grip not letting up. “They checked her. Twice. You saw it yourself. You saw them go in. I promise you—They’re on it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply. He doesn’t tell Morgan that 3.6% of hospital deaths occur because of medical negligence—A staggering 1.8% of those linked to head injuries. Doesn’t tell him how many journal articles he’s read on misdiagnosed head trauma or the cascading complications that can go unnoticed until it’s too late. The numbers run through his mind unbidden anyway.

“I’m gonna let you go now,” Morgan says carefully, studying Spencer’s face. “But you gotta stay calm, kid. You hear me? Hotch is already looking.” 

Spencer forces himself to look where Morgan’s nod directs him. Hotch is speaking to a local officer at the end of the hallway, eyes already darting warningly towards them. “I’m calm,” Spencer mutters, though his chest feels like it’s caving in and his breaths are shallow and his heart is pounding so hard he thinks it’s a wonder Morgan can’t hear it. Nothing about this feels calm at all. Not even remotely. 

He drags himself to the bench in the hallway reluctantly. As it turns out, sitting does little to settle him. His leg bounces uncontrollably and he bites at his nails, a nervous habit he hasn’t indulged in since childhood. Old habits resurface when the mind is in distress, he recalls. He doesn’t even glance up when Morgan comes by again with a peace offering in the form of a cup of coffee. Not even when Hotch had come to pass on his well wishes, a pressing call waiting for him back at the bureau. 

The minutes crawl by and Spencer counts each one. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty. At ninety-three, a doctor finally approaches. Spencer bolts upright, standing so fast that his head spins a little. You’re stable. Visitors are allowed. Two at a time. He barely registers anything else that the doctor says.

You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

The sharp antiseptic smell hits him first. Then it’s you, eyes blinking blearily as you try to grab a cup of water from the overbed table. The motion makes you wince and Spencer is at your bedside in an instant, his knees bumping gently against the frame as he leans down. 

“Stop I—I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” he says softly, scooping up the cup before you can strain yourself any further. 

“Thanks, Spence,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. You take the cup from him with a weak smile and lift it to your lips for a small sip.

Spencer’s gaze flits involuntarily to your temple. Stitches, eight of them, subcuticular running sutures, from what he can see. They start at your hairline, tracing a clean path down just shy of your cheekbone. He tries to tell himself it’s a good sign—clean wound edges, minimal scarring expected. He wants to say something but the sight of you, pale lips, fragile in the oversized hospital gown, usual biting sarcasm and saccharine teasing nowhere to be found, makes his heart ache. 

“How do you feel?” he finally manages. Even he knows it's a stupid question the moment it leaves his lips. 

“Like I got whacked in the face.” Ah, there you are.

Spencer chuckles meekly though ​​his attempt at lightness falls flat when he catches sight of the stitches again.

“S’not as bad as it looks,” You say tiredly, noticing his line of sight. “The nurse told me it was barely a concussion. A mild one at worst.” 

“Oh yeah? Would’ve been nice to know ‘bout two hours ago,” Morgan interjects, cutting into the quiet moment. Spencer startles slightly, having completely forgotten he was there. “Pretty sure our poor boy wore a hole in the tiles from all his pacing.”

The flush creeping up Spencer’s neck is immediate, spreading to his cheeks as he goes a little crimson. Regardless, he’s thankful for the soft laugh it draws from you. Eyes crinkling, lips curved. You look a little more like yourself now, even if the weariness hasn’t fully dissipated. It makes Spencer feel a little fuller, a little lighter. 

Spencer’s liked you since the first day he met you. 248 days ago, to be exact—But it’s definitely not like he’s kept count or anything. 

He thought he’d like you when he read over your application file. You’d cited winning a local checkers tournament at age 11 as one of your ‘greatest accomplishments to date’.

He knew he liked you when he caught you trying to explain the concept of gravity to Henry at his fourth birthday party using a juice box and a cookie.

When you quoted Aristotle in an attempt to convince Hotch to get a new coffee machine for the unit? Spencer was certain he’d fallen in love right then and there. Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work. Doesn’t it, Spence?

“Aw, Spence,” you coo softly, your voice carrying that honey sweet lilt he’s grown so fond of. “M’fine. Really.” 

For a fleeting moment Spencer almost believes you. Because the way his heart flutters when you reach over to squeeze his hand in reassurance makes him think he’s the one who should be hooked up to those machines instead. Your thumb brushes gently over the back of his hand and Spencer feels his breath hitch, swallowing hard. He swears he goes a little dizzy for a moment so he promptly takes a seat in the chair by your bed.

“It’s good to see you awake, pretty girl. You really had us worried there for a minute,” Morgan says. Spencer nods fervently in agreement. After a beat, Morgan just can’t seem to help himself, adding, “Well, some of us more than others.” Spencer’s certain Morgan’s thoroughly amused by how flustered he is—More so that you seem blissfully unaware. 

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Spencer pretends not to notice the pointed glance and shameless smile Morgan throws his way. “Don’t let this one fuss over you too much, though. He’s got that down to an art form.” The door clicks shut behind Morgan, and the room grows quiet again, save for the faint hum of the machines and the soft rustle of sheets as you shift slightly in bed.

“Do you remember anything? Before? After?” Spencer asks. He’s painfully aware of how your hand hasn’t moved from his. 

“Not much,” you sigh, your eyes downcast. “Lots of shots… shouting.”

Spencer nods grimly, his jaw tight. If he were being honest, he didn’t remember much either. The moment he saw you go down, his mind had gone blank, aside from the fuzzy static screaming in his ears. He’d lunged toward you as your body crumpled to the ground. The scuff on his pants and the sting of his elbow attest to that fact. His knees had scraped against the concrete as he cradled your head in his hands, shielding your body with his own when the gunfire went down.

His world tilted on its axis—Instinct overtaking reason.

FBI protocol was clear: never abandon your weapon, never turn your back during active gunfire. Subsection 28A, paragraph 2, page 36. Spencer knew it by heart. (He knew the entire handbook by heart.)

But Spencer also knew that if it ever came down to it, he’d take a bullet for you without hesitation.

“I remember you,” you admit softly, your voice a little stronger as you glance up at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“M—me?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, “I remember you calling my name. You holding me.” A faint smile tugs at your lips. Your fingers trace gentle circles into his palm as you sigh, “I only remember you, Spence.” ​​It sends a flip through him, right down to his toes—He short circuits. 

“I care about you,” Spencer blurts. His mind feels foggy, his words slipping out before he can overthink them. “Like, really care about you.” He winces internally. Filler words? Really? But with the way you’re looking at him—kind, expectant, devastatingly patient—he can’t seem to summon anything better. 

“I like you,” he tries again, his voice just a tad firmer. “A lot. More than I probably should. I—I really like you,” he adds in a rush. Real smooth, Spencer. 

You tilt your head, biting your lip to suppress a grin, and Spencer hopes you can't feel how sweaty his palms are.

“I know,” you say simply.

“Y—you do?” His voice comes out shakier than he likes.

“I do. Kinda guessed it from the teasing and stuff.”

Silence.

It stretches just long enough for Spencer to start panicking. He’s briefly comforted by the fact that even mild concussions can cause memory lapses and wonders if there’s any other way to make you forget this humiliating confession. 

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, rushing to fill the quiet. “I’m being insensitive. You’re probably overwhelmed enough as it is—I shouldn’t have—”

“I like you too, Spencer,” you say softly, cutting him off. 

“You—you do?”

"I do," you nod unabashedly, utterly unflustered. “I have for a while now, actually.”

His eyes widen. “You have?”

“Yes I have, and I do, I really like you too,” you say with a sheepish smile, laughing. “But if you keep making me repeat myself you’re gonna give me the headache the doctors keep saying I'm lucky not to have.” 

“S’not funny,” Spencer mutters, but he smiles anyway. The brightest smile he’s had today. Maybe even this week. Possibly even this year. “Don’t joke about that. I was really worried.”

“I know,” you reply warmly. “Something about pacing holes into the tiles, if I recall.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, a boyish laugh slipping out. He hadn’t imagined this moment unfolding in a hospital room, of all places. To be honest, he hadn’t imagined this happening at all. 

You’ll probably be out in three days. Maybe two if you’re lucky. He’ll ask you out then. Properly. Dinner at that Thai place you both love. A trip to the library you’d mentioned two months ago but never got around to visiting. He’ll take you to the park where he plays chess every Saturday. He’s going to do it all. The thought makes him absolutely giddy. 

Unbeknownst to the two of you, outside, Morgan hasn’t budged. Not an inch. He’s standing by the blinds, peering in through the narrow sliver. The panicked clatter of heels on the tiled floor announces Garcia’s arrival before she’s even turned the corner. Her face is the epitome of panic, teary eyes wide with worry.

“How—how bad is it?” she blurts, her voice shaking. “Oh god, did she make it? Reid called and—”

Morgan silences her with a gentle finger to her lips. “Shhhh. She’s fine.”

“Fine?! But—But Reid said something about brain trauma—and her neurons and—”

“Babygirl, you and I both know how he gets when it comes to her,” Morgan chides, “Nurse said it’s barely a concussion.”

Garcia lets out a deep, shaky breath, her shoulders sagging dramatically as relief washes over her. “Oh, thank god,” she utters, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m gonna kill that boy, d’you know what he told me?! He said—” 

“Hold that thought,” Morgan says, cutting her off with a smirk. “Our boy genius is a little… preoccupied right now.” He steps aside slyly, gesturing toward the blinds. “Take a peek. You’ll thank me later.”

Inside, Spencer has moved his chair closer to your bedside. One of his hands holds yours securely, fingers interlocked now, while the other traces soothing circles along your forearm. His smile is blinding, proud even, as laughter fills your face. When you shift, a strand of hair falls across your face, and Spencer gently brushes it aside, his hand lingering on your cheek.

Garcia visibly melts at the sight. She lets out a soft, adoring sigh as Morgan starts to steer her gently down the hallway.  “You know, when I told you last week that she wouldn’t know Reid liked her even if it hit her in the face, I didn’t mean it literally,” she quips, amused. 

“I know babygirl, I know,” Morgan chuckles, shaking his head as he places a hand on her shoulder. “Now, come on. I think I saw some jello in the cafeteria.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: magnets by niki soft spot by keshi

[zvdvdlvr]

Twilight Crack Scenarios with Mildly Unhinged Reader

(You’d easily fallen in step with the Cullens after accepting an internship position for Carlisle Cullen. You were a witty seventeen year old that- surprisingly- got along relatively fine with Rosalie to literally everyone’s surprise. You figured out about their condition, but didn’t really care. READ: BELLA DOES NOT EXIST IN THIS!!!!!!)

“Hello, my fellows!” you shouted into the house as you nudged the door shut with your foot. “It’s movie night, if any of you forgot- and it is my turn to pick.” After toeing off your shoes, you took both of your coffees to the living room to wait for the Cullen clan.

Rosalie and Emmett appeared in the blink of an eye, curling up onto the couch as you chug caffeine and turn on the Peanuts movie. “How was your day, kid?” Emmett asked, making Rosalie turn to give you a wry smile.

You shrugged, thinking of running around and doing labs all day for Carlisle. Nothing too eventful- oh! “There was this crazy old lady that came in wanting drugs,” you shrugged. “Brought a knife, did the whole, ‘Do you know how much I’ve invested in this town?!’ speech. Other than that, nothing.” As you finished your recap, Alice and Jasper flopped onto the couch beside you.

“Did she get her… drugs?” Jasper asks, handing you the chunky knit blanket that you’d fallen in love with during your first visit at the Cullen house. He let you lean your head on his shoulder as you kicked your feet- clad in extremely fuzzy Christmas socks- onto Emmett’s lap.

“Nope!” You slammed one of your freshly empty coffee cups onto the cofee table. “It was kinda funny seeing Carlisle go sicko mode, though. He did the whole,” you cleared your throat before going on in a deeper voice in imitation of the immortal, “‘get back, y/n, this isn’t safe. You could get injured-‘“

“Well, you could have!” Carlisle remarked defensively as he walked into the room. “And I do not sound like that.”

Emmett snorted. “Nah, dad, that’s a perfect imitation of you.” The hulking vampire reached over and gave you a high five as you and the other vampires (minus Carlisle) dissolved into laughter at Carlisle’s frowning face.

Do you think I look hot? Edward. Edward. Eeeddddwarrrrrrrddddd! Look at me Eddie. Ooh, I saw your nostril flare. Do you think I look hot, Eddie? I think I look stunnin’!

Edward Cullen had been listening to you pestering him for the past half hour- almost the whole class period. The immortal took great care to not glance over at you, who was doing God knows what from the desk across from him. His eyes closed and he tried to listen yo the teacher speak, but no.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Eddie-ward. Edddddieee! Edd- Oh, shoot, I have an essay due next hour.

Edward couldn’t stop the smile slowly twisting his lips as you frantically panicked about the essay that you apparently hadn’t gotten done. Edward was almost certain you had gotten over whatever it was you were doing that requires him to look over at you to see if you looked hot.

I don’t even care, you finally thought. Edward! Eddie! Eddddwaaaarrrrrrdddddd! Do you think I look hot?

With one minute left in the class, Edward heaved a massive sigh before turning his head to look at you.

A pair of scissors was perched carefully on your nose a tiny claw clip was holding some of your hair up in a way that made you look like a unicorn. Markers were taped haphazardly to your face. You looked like a pitiful Christmas tree.

The bell rang just as Edward started laughing, eyes closing as your giggling filled the room. Edward heard the teacher’s internal complaints about the two of you, but Edward was too busy laughing to care.

The Cullens had been out for the day: the weather was bright. You knew that the vampires were taking the day to hunt and stay away from humans. Though, you still drove straight to Carlisle’s after school because it was your second home.

You heard their voices filter through the door a couple hours laster. Heaving a sigh, you slipped your shoes onto your feet and padded out back to watch The Great Cleaning™️. Of course the immortals had known you were at their house- they smelled your familiar scent and heard your heartbeat.

Carlisle picked up the pressure washer and started cleaning off Esme first. Emmett waved his grubby, blood stained hands at you in greeting. Rosalie also looked up and gave you a smaller but equally warm smile.

Beside them stood Edward, Jasper, and Alice. Alice was closest to Esme, but she was talking animatedly to Jasper. Edward- noticing the two in conversation but also seeing and waving to you- nudged the couple and gestured over to where you were watching in amusement from the porch.

“Hi, y/n/n!” Alice yelled over the noise of the pressure washer.

“Hey Al!” You said back, knowing she could hear you with her hightened ability.

Jasper and Alice returned to their conversation. You assumed that Edward was picking at the crusted blood and soil under his nails as Rose and Emmett chattered. Esme had just stepped away from the stream of the water.

Alice, who was not paying attention and did not have her knees braced for the onslaught of water, was sent flying backwards.

Your mouth dropped open as Alice’s fairy-shaped body slammed so hard into a tree that she made an indent in the middle of the trunk when her marble-strong limbs crashed to the ground. Emmett and Edward were guffawing at the sight of Alice. Rose glared sharply at Emmett while Jasper walked- not ran- to help a laughing Alice to her feet.

No one seemed surprised: not even Carlisle (he just looked like he’d spent a millennia with zero sleep and somehow acquired these mentally unstable individuals who happened to be frozen in time just like him). The doctor just shook his head with an impatient expression.

When the vampires were done getting hosed off, Alice bounded over to you. She wrapped her soaking wet arms around you. “Hi!”

“That’s not the first time you’ve… flown into a tree, was it?” You asked, having an energetic Emmett elbow you in the side.

”Nope!” He howled with laughter. “You shouldve seen Alice when-“

“Hey!” Alice shrilled. “Don’t tell her that!”

Emmett laughed and laughed.

It was your turn to plan Mother’s day. At least, that’s what you claimed when you insisted on taking the lead of one of the hundreds of Mother’s Day celebrations that Esme starred in.

So after a month of planning, sneaking around, and scheming, you and the others are waiting on the sound of Carlisle’s car to bring out the woman of the day.

“Happy Mother’s Day!”

Esme acted surprised as you let confetti stream down from the ceiling and all greeted her at once. She immediately pulled everyone (including Carlisle) into a hug wuere ahe promptly started crying. “You guys. . .” She said.

Rosalie pulled away last, wrapping an arm around you. “It was y/n’s turn, this year.”

When Esme threw her arms around you and squeezed you gently, she felt a warmth where her heart should be beating. In such a short span of time, you had managed to make your mark on the family that would remember it for the millennia to come. “Thank you, my darling,” Esme’s voice cracked.

“You’re welcome,” you replied.

“Time for cake!” Emmett hollered after wiping his own leaking eye.

“But we-“

“We can all look at the swirling frosting designs in awe,” Rosalie cut in sharply, glaring at Edward. “Y/n can tell us how it tastes.”

You smiled lightly at Rose’s jump to defend you. You hadn’t forgotten that the vampires couldn’t eat- but you didn’t really know how else to make it feel like a party without cake.

“Lead the way, my sweets,” Esme said, a glowing smile lifting her features.

[darlingstarkey]

think later - the album (pt 1)

series masterlist

summary - y/n, formerly a pogue princess, finally had her big breakthrough and got signed to a record label in LA. little did she, her boyfriend rafe cameron and the rest of her friends know how things would really change as soon as she becomes famous.

authors note: these are fillers while i make up the next few parts. obviously not mandatory to read, but it gives more insight into characters <3 part 2 of the album is tomorrow!

wc: 2.2k

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex & suggestive language (mdni!), sweet!reader, slightlytoxic!rafe, snooping, diary reading, invasion of privacy, jealousy, angst, fluff fluff, soft!rafe (i might be missing more).

miss possessive: 

y/n wrote this song after one of rafe’s famous parties at tanneyhill. this was probably a month into the couple dating. she couldn’t help but feel territorial as she saw a blonde try her hardest to include herself in a clearly rafe's boys-only conversation.

giggling too loud at rafe’s comments, leaning in closer to him and batting her fake eyelashes at him, she was clearly trying to pounce on him. rafe of course, shrugs the girl off and continues his conversation with topper and kelce. 

after about two drinks, y/n gets enough of seeing this girl trying to get with rafe even after his continuous efforts to swat her away. sliding swiftly next to rafe, he drapes his arm around y/n’s waist like it’s second nature. 

the girl — god knows what her name was, stood there dumbfounded at your swiftness. y/n immediately makes eye contact with the girl and cocks her eyebrow up at her. “and you are?” y/n says sarcastically. don’t get me wrong, y/n is the kindest soul in the world and wouldn’t hurt a fly, but when it came to her rafe, she did NOT want to share. 

“lily.. and you?” the girl strikes back. stiffing up her back as if she's ready to fight for what she wants.

rafe on the other hand, looks down at you and only you during this interaction, absolutely fueled by the jealousy that is coming from you. you rarely got jealous, so this was a SHOW for him in itself.

“i’m y/n, rafe’s girlfriend. is there a reason why you’re trying so hard to get with my boyfriend right now? you could have anyone else in this party.” 

“oh y/n- i’m not..” lily stated but was quickly cut off. she was stunned by the situation she put herself in. obviously a touron, she had only heard of rafe cameron and y/n. after all, how scary could you be?

“oh, like you weren’t trying to give him the fuck me eyes? like you weren’t just about to put your hands on him? right babe. you might as well just turn around and take home the next guy who walks in.” y/n struck back. 

rafe, topper and kelce watched this interaction happen intensely, never seeing this side of the sweet y/n before. 

the girl scurried off to look at the floor or ceiling, knowing that even looking back at rafe’s direction would be the biggest mistake of her life.

“damn, doll. didn’t know you had that in you.” rafe smirked.

with pleading eyes, you look up at him and take his hand to show him exactly how lucky he is to have you. 

“sorry boys, we’ll be back!” y/n calls out to topper and kelce, who were just abandoned by the couple. 

2. sports car: 

the song that everyone thinks is about charles leclerc, but in reality, y/n wrote this right after rafe had bought his new ferrari. it was a bargain with ward of course, get a good business deal for the company and he’d get whatever he wanted. of course he chose the sexiest car ever; a gorgeous red ferrari. and he had the perfect passenger next to him at all times, you. 

“let’s go ride!” y/n would always say to rafe before they would drive off to various locations on and off of the island. 

seeing rafe drive that damned ferrari was intoxicating, almost addicting to watch. his big hands would grip the steering wheel while the other rested on your upper thigh. his hair would flop around in the wind perfectly, and his ray bands would rest on his perfect ski-slopped nose. occasionally while driving, he would look over at you with that damned smirk, knowing exactly what you were thinking.

you couldn’t help but write about how much sexier (how was this possible?!) he got after acquiring the damned vehicle. your imagination couldn’t stop itself from thinking about all the places you'd fuck him.. in the alley in the back, in the center of your bedroom, with the windows rolled down, on the corner of your bed, on the beach, or he could even do it on his own while looking at her (this has happened before, to his admission). 

3. what’s your problem?

one that should have probably not made the album. it was raw, emotional, full of anger and heartbreak. and sadly, this it was about rafe. shortly after their breakup, y/n couldn’t help but feel some sort of hatred towards the kook king. 

what did he think, he was some sort of god? he seriously fucked your life up after promising to stay with you through the hardships and especially through your up and coming fame. god, what was his problem? 

he left you feeling confused, hurt and unwanted. and knowing the previous version of rafe (well, from rumors from around the cut) you just had used this stereohype when it came to him breaking up with you -- he never cared, he just played you, etc. you were wrong.

crying in your room, you wrote this song out of imagination. lying to yourself within the lyrics like they would somehow cure you from the pain that you were enduring from the breakup.

“my mom said she don’t like you, should’ve seen that as a sign.” lie. your mom adored him. she would make him his favorite dinner every time he came over, try to scrounge up any kind of gift to make him, always gave him the biggest hug when he walked through the doors.

“thought i caught you smiling the night that you saw me cry.” lie. rafe would never smile when you cried, he would soothe you until you felt like you didn't need to cry anymore. whatever problems you had, you were very explicitly emotional about them, not afraid to cry. he was always there to pick you back up.

“i don’t give a fuck about you like i used to.” biggest lie of them all. you loved him, and you knew you always would. 

4. means i care 

written after your first argument with rafe, you two quickly learned that you had completely different communication styles. 

this song though, was specifically about how rafe communicated with you and felt about you. 

“if i cut you off, it just means i care.” he explained as he showed up at your doorstep in the pouring rain. the fight was stupid, like really fucking stupid. so stupid that you both couldn’t even remember what it was about if asked about it present day .

pulling you into a hug, you were obviously hesitant as you rested in his arms. "rafe, that doesn't excuse you ignoring me for days after one little argument. you can't just up and leave when things get hard with me." you mumbled into his shoulder, pulling away while looking up at him.

at this point, you were both drenched standing outside of your house.

"i know. i just.. tend to run away when things end up in even the smallest fights. but i promise you that i don't want it to be that way y/n. i adore everything about you. i just.. shut down because i feel like this is going somewhere. like actually." he says, looking deeply into your eyes.

later that night, after rafe had left, you sat confused with your feelings. you didn't forgive him easily, so you turned to the only person who knew rafe better than you did.

sarah.

"its just all he knows, y/n. it's not you i promise." she defended her brother. "if overnight he ends it, and runs away without a mention and ghosts you, it means he likes you the most." she explained.

you listened and learned exactly what she meant, using this moment to better understand the love of your life.

5. nostalgia

this one was personal to y/n. growing up a pogue meant that her family struggles were the most evident problem in her life. barely having any food on the table, her dad barely earning enough to make rent, and most of all, her mom going on and on about what her life could've been.

her first week in LA, she had a phone call with her father in which he reflected everything he had felt towards the changes in their lives. but, he also reflected on the regret that he had about his own. a previous kook, your father took the wrong turns during his teenage years.

it was always that, what could have been and what was lost. it was never what was happening in the present. everyone always had nostalgia, even towards experiences that had never happened.

you took your pen and paper, and wrote it to life. funny thing about nostalgia, didn't show up till i lost ya...

this was a song that rafe had heard over a facetime call that same week. he was stunned at your ability to harmonize and strum at your guitar, impressed by your ability to write out your feelings into a melody that was heaven to the ears.

although he loves ALL of your songs, this one pinches his heart a little more because of how much he could relate to it.

6. greedy

you and rafe didn't start off on the right foot, it wasn't love at first sight really. it was more banter and bickering. sass and cockiness.

he was rafe cameron after all. but still, you didn't let him in that easy.

it was at a bonfire on the beach, where you were finally dragged out of the house by sarah and kiara -- "girls night!" they screeched.

"i've been trying to talk to you all night, but i still don't know what you're about." rafe said frustratedly at you. "you'll never know much past my name, cameron." you smirked up at him.

this game of cat and mouse was entertaining, you couldn't help keeping up with it as he tried to dig into you and learn about you. his eyebrows furrowed as you give him the driest answers about your life.

"are you seriously this stubborn, or is it just an act? i seriously cant tell if you like or hate me." he said. you giggled and threw your head back drunkenly.

"no, i don't hate you, rafe. but you're gonna have to work a little harder to get me."

"god, are you gonna put me through hell just to know you?" he sighed and ran his hands through his hair, frustrated with the beautiful mysterious girl that was in front of him for the first time.

"who knows. but you're a cutie, cameron. i would want myself too." you winked at him as you walked back to your group of friends, who were confused as to why you were talking to rafe in the first place.

7. exes

this one was written by y/n's alter ego back when she was a teenager. never had an ex in her life, she hadn't even kissed someone before.

hearing stories about the girls at school go through the same rotation of going through boys, kissing them, breaking up with them, and changing their minds like origami. this was one of the first songs you ever wrote and honestly you had forgotten all about it.

the way rafe found out about this song was...very rafe like. although he was always your soft, sweet boyfriend, he couldn't help but be a little intrusive when he saw your song book out in the open. it was one he had never seen before, no one had. it was your oldest one and was hidden in a box underneath your dusty bed frame..

that was until you needed some inspiration with a new song and brought out the pink polka-dotted journal in which you accidentally left out.

it was like it was screaming his name. 'read me. read me. read me.' chanted through his mind.

when you went downstairs to chat with your mom about what you and rafe wanted for dinner, he pounced at the chance.

"yeah, we hooked up, then we broke up, then i said you really hurt me, but i still got your number and your necklace, kisses to my exes.." rafe read. his eyes widened with every word that he wrote. who was this? his girl? writing about her previous boyfriends? who could she have dated? its not like he can ask her, they'd only been dating for a month.

"see something you like?" you giggled as you stepped foot next to him. startled out of his mind he snapped the book together.

"n-no." he mumbled and set the book down. but before he could fully place it down, you took it from his hands and smiled at the slightly smudged pages.

"i'm a wild ride that never stops.. wow 15 year old me was reallll creative, huh?.." you laughed at the lyrics. rafe was dumbfounded.

"what do you mean?" rafe choked out.

"rafe, these aren't real lyrics. do you even know me? you were my first everything. its all something i made up." you looked up at him smirking. his serious demeanor quickly changed.

"well thank god for that." he sighed, as he cupped your cheek and kissed your lips passionately.

-

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xo, dylan