#it’s very clear they WILL in fact they ARE RIGHT NOW

[fangsandfeels]

It's not that Rook as a project manager/leader/decision-maker doesn't work or has no value. However, what bothers me is that Rook feels like they literally exist to fulfill that role, but they have no part in the story.

For instance, in DAO Warden ends up with the mission to save Ferelden because there is nobody else. The King is dead, their Grey Warden mentor is dead, everyone is too busy playing politics - and the Warden just happened to survive. However, at the same time, they also have stakes of their own. They all have their reasons to go on, to do all that:

Cousland: "I will find and kill Howe for what he did to my family"

Aeducan: "I will take back my throne from my traitor brother"

Tabris: "If darkspawn reach Denerim, nobody will bother to protect the Alienage, so I must do my best for Shianni and all the people there" // "I will kill every fucking shem in my way and I'm not letting the Blight take it from me"

Mahariel: "I lost my best friend to the taint and I almost died myself. I must make sure my people are safe from it, whatever it takes."

Amell: "I narrowly avoided the Rite of Tranquility in my own Circle and there is no place for me anywhere else, so I better get used to this Grey Warden thing" // "Fuck yeah! I got my freedom and no templars, no darkspawn will ruin it for me!"

Surana: "I narrowly avoided the Rite of Tranquility in my own Circle and there is no place for me anywhere else because I am a mage and as an elf I have slim chances of not being harassed in the first place. I really need to make this Grey Warden thing work."

Brosca: "I didn't survive this long just to die here. I will keep climbing out of this pit and nobody will ever look down on me"

These reasons make the Warden more than just a placeholder for team leader - they make the Warden a person with their unique struggles, motivations, and experiences.

In DAI, the Inquisitor is less detailed, but they are put in a unique situation - they have The Thing in their hand and now people think they're the Messiah. Also, the local Pope is dead, there is a gaping hole in the sky and people are losing their shit, and The Thing seems to be the key to dealing with all of that, so the Inquisitor literally has to be the leader.

(Let's ignore the fact that the Inquisitor is also appointed the leader because they can be conveniently turned into a scapegoat for the enraged mob should something go wrong.)

The Inquisitor can be a fierce believer committed to the cause. They can be a reluctant leader and a loud non-believer, but their motivation is clear: I'm dealing with this shit not just because it threatens the world, but also it affected me personally.

Rook, however? They lack that nuance and range. They join Varric behind the scenes for no other reason than "cuz saving our planet is a thing to do!". Moreover, somehow they instantly buy Varric's story that must sound like some tinfoil hat level insanity:

"Alright, so elven gods are real and one of them is hanging around right now and he wants to explode the Veil and drown the word in demons. Wanna join me and stop him? It'll be fun. Yeah, he is literally a god who can kill you in your sleep and you're the only person I've recruited so far, I think our odds are good."

After all, in DAO the darkspawn threat is obvious and very hard to ignore: Mahariel gets the firsthand experience, Aeducan and Brosca' city is literally under constant threat, and the rest of Wardens get a glimpse of what the darkspawn will do to Ferelden in Orzammar. There is no denying the necessity to fight them. But Solas, though? He is subtle. Racism and prejudice against elves play in his favor. The only people who understand the threat are the ones he revealed his secret to.

So, why does Rook join Varric without a shadow of doubt, especially if they aren't even exiled from their faction (more like asked to take a break)? They obviously has a place to return to and things to do, why get yourself involved?

In other words, Rook lacks personal reasons and deeper motivation to go after Solas, which makes them look inauthentic and awkward (even though they're supposed to be capable and skilled) because there is no essence to their interactions.

Moreover, there could be reasons.

Maybe, they lost someone due to Solas' machinations and actions, they realized that there was something mysterious about the tragedy and felt like they were going insane until they crossed paths with Varric who gave them answers.

Maybe they got framed by Solas' spies and lost their place in their faction, their political status, everything - so they literally have no other option but to start beef with a literal god.

Maybe they were one of the slaves freed by Solas' agents but realized that he expects them to die for him now, which rubbed them the wrong way.

It is a compelling reason: to find the mysterious and supposedly powerful being, to be able to thwart its scheming, to ask "Remember me?" right in their face or to demand answers. It's a powerful motivation to keep going, to gather allies and work with people. It would have even made Solas getting stuck in Rook's head more impactful and allowed for more personal and sharper conversations.

In fact, now I think that if Rook got absolutely wrecked due to Solas actions (as a collateral damage) and became a down on their luck depressed mess or a restless seeker of answers putting themselves into dangerous situations, it would have made for a much more protagonist.

What’s really jumping out at me on my second playthrough is that the writers of the first three games understood that your character was the main character. The Veilguard writers clearly thought that the main characters were their characters, the companions.

Every scene is about setting the companions up as cool or competent or sympathetic. Often, this is done at Rook’s expense. The companions get all the witty one-liners; Rook’s attempts at humor not only frequently fall flat, but are frequently called out for falling flat (even when they’re completely automatic and the player has no say in them).

The companions have all the knowledge and skills; Rook just brought them all together and gives them all pep talks so they can focus. I’m trying to edit out all of the comments where Rook is like “Um… what????” from my videos, and let me tell you, it takes WORK. There are A LOT of them. I can count on one hand the number of times when the Inquisitor or Hawke comes across as dumb, but it seems to be a built-in, unavoidable part of Rook’s character. I have not selected a single “purple” option in all of Act 1, and Rook is still coming across as the kid who tries to be the class clown to cover for the fact that he’s always confused. Rook’s role in most scenes is to say “Uhhh… what?” so that the companions look smart.

Rook is always the one offering sympathy and never the one getting it. No one actually comes to comfort you after Varric’s death. No one asks you how you’re feeling about having to lead the team now that Varric is gone. No one tries to reassure you or give you advice for dealing with the trickster god haunting your dreams. We’re told that Neve could keep Solas out of your head, but she never actually offers to do this for you. No one comforts a Shadow Dragon Rook when Minrathous is destroyed or a Grey Warden Rook when Weisshaupt is destroyed. Rook’s problems don’t matter. Only the problems of main characters matter.

Rook is a secondary character in their own story.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Kidnapped

Lemme just give my baby boi Bucky all the headpats in the world

Summary: You get kidnapped and Bucky has to rescue you

Your head hurts. Badly. And for once it's not because you drank too much the previous night. Lights begin to focus and the muted voices start to become clearer, unveiling the fact that you're currently tied to a chair and the deep cut on your forehead is currently dripping blood into your eyes.

"Look who's awake. About time." One of the masked people yanks your head upwards by your hair and you grunt at the sudden stab of pain.

"Missed me?" You grin, laughter punched out of your system when a fist strikes your stomach hard. Still, you manage to wheeze a laugh out, even as a fist strikes the back of your head hard, causing your vision to spin. "Missed you all too."

"Shut up and tell us where the Winter Soldier is!" The one whom you assume is their leader based on his mask's unique marking grabs your chin, lifting your head so that your gaze meets theirs.

"You want me to shut up or tell you where he is? You've gotta choose one —" You're flung to the side along with your chair, the floor slamming into your already injured side. Blood splatters onto the concrete floor from your coughing and you hear heavy footsteps stomping nearby.

Amateurs. They're terrible at extracting information and it's making you laugh at how pathetic they are. Unfortunately you can't enjoy the show as much as you'd like to because of all the pain you're in but at least there's some show to alleviate it. You focus on your breathing, centering yourself. You have to keep a clear mind, backup will be here soon so all you have to do is buy time. Even without your earpiece, you know that reinforcements will show up at some point. Hopefully before you actually die from your injuries.

You know that Bucky will come storming to your rescue. Probably.

It is rather ironic that your kidnappers only need to continue holding you hostage to find the person they're looking for instead of trying to beat his whereabouts out of you. The pain is getting rather annoying, especially considering how long your injuries will take to heal. This is going to put you out of commission for about a month, and the thought of being stuck in the house for a month is scaring you far more than your kidnappers could ever do.

The floor is rather cold, freezing to the touch really and you would like to not be in contact with the floor, but your kidnappers don't seem to share your sentiment since they keep squatting down to yell at you.

"It's better for your knees if you put my chair upright so you don't have to keep squatting down to talk to me. Also do keep your voice down, I'm not deaf you know." There are times where you curse your witty tongue, this is one of those times.

One moment you're on your side, lying on the floor. The next moment you're sent flying into a wall, the chair nothing but splinters in a pile underneath you. Fingers dig into the soft flesh of your throat, squeezing the air out of your lungs. You kick the air, struggling instinctively and dig your fingernails into the arm as hard as you can. which is not very hard considering how much air and blood you're losing. Black spots begin to crowd your vision and you're about to send an apology to your boyfriend for being the sassy idiot that you are when suddenly your body collapses to the floor, lungs heaving as they gulp down as much oxygen as they possibly can.

Coughing, you massage your throat. The bruises are going to be ugly, and Bucky is probably going to explode upon seeing your injuries. You would feel bad for your kidnappers if it wasn't for the fact that they nearly killed you and ruined your nice little record of not getting kidnapped.

"I will not ask again. Where is the Winter Soldier?" The leader roars, slamming you against the wall.

"You know, it's a bit hard to talk when it's kinda hard to breathe." You hit his arm. "Also, I believe he's right behind you."

A loud thud echoes in the now empty room as a metal fist collides with flesh and the leader crumples to the floor at the feet of a furious super soldier. You lean against the wall, panting as you push your hair out of your eyes, wincing when you accidentally touch the wound on your forehead.

"Took you…long enough." You huff, looking up at Bucky.

"Maybe I wouldn't have to do this if you didn't get captured." He scowls, kicking the leader's now unconscious body.

"Try intentionally walking into an ambush by yourself and let me know if you get out alive." You grit your teeth, using the wall to stand up despite all the ringing in your ears and the blurriness in your vision. Your head is starting to hurt worse, and all the blood you're spilling onto the floor probably isn't helping either.

"Well, you're alive right now aren't you?" Bucky scoops you up. "So don't go dying on me or I'll have to clean up your messes too."

"Don't recall having too many messes for you to clean," you tiredly mumble into his chest. Your eyelids feel heavy, black starting to cloud your vision and you want nothing more than to close your eyes and sleep forever but Bucky keeps jostling you, snapping you awake with every step he takes. "You make a terrible groom, can't even carry your bride properly."

"My bride needs to stay awake or they'll die." He frowns, purposely shaking you. "I mean it."

"Try not to sound like you actually care about me or I might start believing it."

Bucky simply grunts, definitely out of annoyance and continues the way too long walk out of the building, jostling you all the way. Your fingers clutch at his shirt tightly as you take in the sights before you, realising that Bucky had single-handedly fought his way in just to get to you.

"Can't believe you didn't invite me for this party. Seemed fun." You groan.

"Wasn't so fun knowing the only person I can tolerate on missions could die before I reached them." He murmurs, worry sparking in his ice blue eyes.

"Tolerate? Pretty sure I make for better company than that." You weakly poke him in the shoulder, giving him a glare that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"Dream on, doll." The sound of a jet landing drowns out the rest of his words and he carries you inside, laying you out on a stretcher so that the doctor can tend to your wounds. You give him the finger as he turns to leave and he throws one back over his shoulder.

"Don't miss me too much while I'm gone, doll." With that, he disappears into the cockpit and leaves you with the doctor.

"As if I'd miss that bastard," you mutter to yourself, finally closing your eyes and drift off to sleep, ignoring the way your heart clenches at the thought of Bucky fighting his way through the base just to rescue you.

When you wake, you're back somewhere in Avengers Tower, bandages decorating your head and chest. You partially recall this place being the medbay, and judging from the look on Bruce's face your wounds aren't that bad, at least not now.

"Hey," you croak.

"Welcome back," Bruce smiles. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got slammed into a wall multiple times."

"That's not far off. You'll be back in the field in give or take one month, don't worry." He hands you a glass of water which you accept gratefully.

"Where's Bucky?" The question slips out before you can stop yourself.

"Missed me that much, doll?" Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The brunette walks in with the largest smirk you've seem him make, automatic door sliding close behind him.

"Was asking so I could avoid seeing your ugly mug so soon." You bury yourself back underneath the blanket, ensuring that the fabric covered your face.

"How unfortunate that I chose to walk in now." He takes a seat next to your bed, quietly signalling to Bruce for time alone with you. Bruce nods, slipping out of the room and Bucky lets out a sigh. "Doll?"

You make not a single peep, not even when Bucky pokes you through the blanket so he takes matters into his own hands and yanks the blanket off you. You yelp, hands scrambling to pull the blanket back but the super solider is faster and tosses the blanket onto the table behind him before folding his arms over his chest.

"What?" You scowl, mimicking his actions.

"I didn't know your idiocy had no limits." His brows furrow. "What were you thinking, springing that trap with no escape plan? Were you looking to die?"

"If I was, it was a very unsuccessful attempt." You roll your eyes, turning over so that your back faces him.

"Be honest with me." He turns you over, grip softening when he realises how much he's hurting you but he doesn't let go.

"I wasn't trying to die, okay? But if I did, well…" You look away, hating at how your chest constricts when you see the pain in his eyes. "Would've been fine."

"It wouldn't have been!" He snaps. "It's not fine if you just go off and die!"

"Right," you mutter, playing with the sheets. Tears are beginning to form in the corners of your eyes, and you refuse to let him see your weakness. Biting down hard on your bottom lip, you try to push your emotions down before they can overwhelm you but the tears keep coming anyways. Dammit.

"Doll I —" He takes a deep breath. "I don't want to see you to die, alright? Or at least I don't want to see you die before me."

You lie there in silence, tears still streaming down your face and staining the pillow beneath. Fist clenching, you stifle a sob. Shit, you really don't want to crumble in front of Bucky of all people.

"You…matter. A lot. To me." Bucky forces the words out, but his gaze is soft, and so is his touch. His fingertips gently press against your skin, little spots of warmth amidst the sudden chill that has set in. "So don't go dying on me, alright?"

"Only if you make the same promise." You mumble and his eyes brighten. Giving you a genuine smile, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

"Deal. Now get all the rest you need, I'll always be here."

"If you're expecting a 'thank you', I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed." You give his cheek a poke.

"You're welcome." He grins, ruffling your hair. He grabs the blanket, tucking you in with it. "Heal up, or I'll have to go on missions by myself and that would be boring."

"Well, can't have a bored super soldier now, can we?" You smile back at him, grabbing his hand. "Hold on."

He huffs in annoyance, but his eyes say otherwise. "Won't be letting go any time soon, doll."

[wttcsms]

anatomy of desire, satoru gojo

part ii. initial incision

with mysterious circumstances centering around a first year med student’s “suicide”, you do something stupidly noble: reporting to a detective that you saw satoru gojo slipping out the backdoor of the very same building yu haibara supposedly jumped from. in doing so, you start a twisted, sick game of cat-and-mouse with the most powerful and insane student on campus. the only thing keeping you alive? the fact that satoru gojo is apathetic towards everything and everyone, besides you. ( fem!reader )

chapter contains mentions of suicide, the first confrontation between you & gojo!!!!! word count 3.9k [ previous ] [ next ] [ masterlist ]

“You know, it’s perfectly normal to still be in shock after what you’ve just witnessed,” the blond haired detective sitting across from you pushes the tiny paper cup of tap water towards you. Your mouth is dry, but you don’t trust yourself enough to stop your hands from shaking and not spilling water everywhere, so you ignore it. 

Detective Junji Wakimiya looks no older than his early thirties, but he carries himself high, with all the experience and stature of an experienced, older gentleman. He has perfect posture, and you’re not sure how much they’re paying him to work as a police officer, but the suit he’s wearing is perfectly tailored to fit his body. Chances are, it’s a department store suit and not designer, but it still looks good nonetheless. His voice is deep, but when he speaks to you, it’s almost as if he’s taking care in saying the words gently, like he doesn’t want to scare you. 

Maybe he just wants to lull you into a false sense of security. 

After all, he reminds you that this isn’t an interrogation, and that you aren’t called in here because you’re a suspect, but rather a witness. And then, before you can ask, he clarifies that no one here is a suspect because yes, something awful has happened here tonight, but until he gets all the facts sorted, whether this “something awful” was a crime or just someone’s final choice remains to be decided. 

“Apologies for making you relive through this ordeal once again, but I’ll need you to reaffirm for me the timeline of events from your viewpoint.” He takes a sip out of his own cup, as if to signal to you that it’s safe for you to drink your own, but you swallow your spit and clear your throat before repeating what you’ve just told him.

“My name is [Name] [Surname]. I’m currently a senior studying journalism here at Tokyo Metropolitan College. Earlier today, I overheard a student having a secret conversation by the vending machines near Murakami Hall, which is where a majority of liberal arts majors have their classes. I didn’t recognize the voice, and I was being nosy when I chose to eavesdrop. I heard him mention on the phone that after tonight, he would ‘be set for life,’ and I was curious as to what he meant by that. So, I got a good look at him, saw that he was a medical student, found him online, and then I started to follow him. I lost sight of him for a few minutes while talking to a classmate, and by the time I entered the laboratory building, I was exhausted and decided that this was stupid. As I walked out, I heard the screams, and that’s when I—” 

You choke up on the last part of your statement. When you blink, you see Yu Haibara’s crumpled up body smack dab on the pavement, his blood streaming out, leaving streaks that the school’s landscaper will have to pressure wash out. 

“—that’s when I saw Haibara’s dead body.” You whisper out the last part, and Detective Wakimiya is nice enough to not make you repeat your statement once more. 

“I see.” He says, setting down his cup. “As a senior in college, you must be considering postgrad jobs now, right?” 

You’re not sure what this detective is trying to get at, but you nod slowly. 

“You seem to be bright. Very ambitious, with the way you seem to want to… How did you put it? Hunt for a good story?” The small talk — is there a bigger picture here, or is he just trying to put you at ease? You know you shouldn’t be paranoid; it’s not as if you’re being suspected of a crime or anything, but after your statement was given, you were certain that you were going to be let go. 

“How do you know what’s a good story or not?” 

“Pardon?”

“What makes you want to chase down a lead over others?” 

“Um… It sounds stupid, sir, but I get a gut feeling.” You mumble, feeling awkward and like a child. “An instinct, I guess? You know, like… When you feel like someone’s watching you, and you turn around, and someone is. It’s a weird sense.” 

He nods. “Interesting. And so, when you chose to follow Haibara, you got this feeling as well?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Quite a story, wouldn’t you agree?” 

You wait a few seconds before replying. “Yes, sir.” 

“You’ve got good instincts, then. Even if things don’t necessarily turn out quite the way you anticipate them to. That’s just how life goes.” He leans over the table, reaching for his recorder and stopping the recording. “Even if things get scary, like I’m certain tonight was, you should still listen to your instincts.” 

You look at him curiously. Just an innocent piece of advice from a well-meaning adult? Whatever it is, you agree. “I will, sir.”

“I’m sure you have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow, what with your classes and whatever else a college girl gets up to.” Detective Wakimiya is funny in the way he seems to think he’s some sort of old man. He acts like it. 

He gives you a reassuring smile before pulling out a business card. “Here’s my number and email. If anything else about this night, anything that you might have forgotten to add to your statement, comes to mind, please reach out. I’m available at any time.” 

“Yes, sir.”

You see Yu Haibara’s face everywhere the following day. 

The picture everyone seems to be using is the same: a headshot photo of him, probably from his most recent undergrad graduation. His hair is a little shorter than you remember, but he’s smiling wide for the camera, practically beaming. He looks cheerful, happy — excited for the future, even. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet, and Haibara is already haunting the halls of this college. 

There are posters and flyers tacked up on the walls of every building on campus. There’s going to be a candlelight vigil held in his honor tomorrow night; you’re not sure who the hell could possibly organize an event that big on such short notice, but in tiny, barely there font, you’re not entirely surprised to see EVENT GENEROUSLY FUNDED BY THE GOJO FAMILY. 

If you open up any social media, even LinkedIn, there are nothing but memorial posts for him. Selfies of him and other students, throwback photos, and embarrassing videos. He even has his own personal hashtag: #YuWillBeMissed. Classy. 

Last night, he was haunting you, too. When you closed your eyes after your interrogation with the detective, all you could see was Haibara’s accusatory face. You’re not sure why he’s blaming you, of all people. Maybe he’s upset with you because you couldn’t mind your own damn business. Whatever his beef with you inside your head is, you couldn’t get a good night’s sleep. And when you open the doors to the Tokyo Metropolitan Student Journalism clubroom, it’s evident you’re not the only one who couldn’t rest.

Even now, the team in charge of the school’s paper is going insane. You walk into a storm — the copier is running at full speed, and when it gets jammed (because school printers can smell fear and anxiety; they will never work when you need them the most), one of the editors for the paper curses and kicks it. A few juniors are furiously typing away at their laptops, and unlike most mornings, no one even acknowledges your arrival with a polite “good morning”. Even Sakura, for once, looks serious. 

“For the love of God, this is awful advice. We need to be instructing people on how to properly dress at this funeral. Three inch heels at a candlelight vigil is serving cunt! Four inches is giving insensitive bitch who doesn’t care about anyone besides herself!” Sakura points furiously at a line some freshman writer must have typed up in their draft. “In twenty minutes, we need a perfect edition for today’s paper. Does this look perfect to you?!” 

Tucked away in a corner of the room, you see this semester’s exchange student whispering in her phone, staring wide-eyed at the fit Sakura is throwing. 

“Osamu,” Kotori says, clutching her phone like it’s a lifeline. “I really can’t wait to be back in Osaka.” 

There are good schools in Osaka. After surveying the mess here, you even consider asking her if you can tag along with her.

It’s a sick, vain — insensitive, even — thing to notice, but you can’t help it. A majority of the girls here must have heeded Sakura’s sage advice and opted for sleek, shiny three-inch high heels. Not a single heel in sight appears to be any higher.

You suppose the noble pursuit of serving cunt is always preferable over being a bitch. Especially when you’re attending an event to remember a dead classmate.

Your peers have enough decency and decorum, at least, to keep the complaints of their heels getting stuck in the grass to a minimum. You’re honestly shocked at the amount of people who are in attendance; with the low acceptance rate and exclusivity of the school, it’s hard not to find a familiar face. Every med school student must be here, though; if even the liberal arts and STEM undergrads could make it, surely they could. 

“I heard there’s going to be a dinner afterwards,” a voice pipes up from next to you. Startled, you turn to your right, only to see Kotori beaming at you. 

“Really? Who’s catering?” You fiddle with the candle you’ve been given; everyone gathered in the main square was handed one. 

The food being served at a memorial should be the least of your concerns, but when your meager stipend barely covers cup ramen and protein bars, your stomach jumps for joy at the prospect of a meal that comes with a side of vegetables and an actual entree. 

“The Gojo family is hosting, but I heard a rumor that it’s going to be steak and lobster. So, it must be true.” 

If Haibara is inescapable, Gojo must be his shadow. He lingers around after every thought you have of Haibara, and you don’t know why, but it leaves a bad aftertaste. You briefly wonder what his interrogation with Detective Wakimiya was like. Probably nothing more than a conversation glazing the Gojo family. That’s how most interactions with older adults go for him. You’ve heard, once, that Gojo and the professors often have a funny dynamic. He makes it out to where it seems like they’re doing him a favor, but really, anybody on this campus would kill for a chance to be in his good graces. 

So what exactly was Haibara’s relationship with Gojo? They must have been close enough to where Gojo felt so bad, he would want to host and sponsor a candlelight vigil for him. Everyone around you who murmurs an anecdote about Haibara seems to only have positive things to say about the boy. Apparently, he was bright and ambitious, friendly and helpful, funny and a little weird, in a good, boyish way. He was a total open book. No one could see him killing himself. Someone even thinks he must have just accidentally fell. 

That’s the fan-favorite theory at the moment: that it must have been a bad accident. That Haibara probably was just fooling around, or trying to film a TikTok, and then he died. As morbid and awful as it makes you sound, a fleeting thought occurs.

Maybe he was pushed. 

It’s gone the minute the vigil starts, though. You don’t know why you even think that; too many true crime podcasts must be rotting your brain. That, and maybe the guilt of you basically stalking the poor guy during his last few moments on earth. 

I’ll be set for life. 

He probably was just trying to go viral on TikTok. Boys do stupid shit for online views all the time, and while Haibara must be intelligent enough to attend this school on a scholarship, it’s not like he was immune to bad decisions. Instead of worrying about the why behind his fall, though, you turn your attention to the elevated platform on the square. There’s a podium set up; usually the dean or a guest speaker will come here to give a speech, but tonight, it’s Satoru Gojo. 

Much like everyone else here, he’s dressed in all-black. Black long sleeve button down, black slacks, shiny black loafers. He walks up to the podium, but he’s not greeting the audience with his signature smile that he seems to always wear. Instead, he looks devastated. A few strands of his hair are hanging in his face as his head bends down. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, like he’s trying to practice a few breathing exercises. The crowd went silent the minute he came into view, and they’re still silent now. When Satoru Gojo is around, the world stops for him. No matter what.

After a few more seconds, he finally lifts his head, greeting the crowd with an obviously tight, forced smile. He messes with the microphone for a bit before addressing the audience. 

“Good evening,” his voice is hoarse, almost as if he’s been crying before he went onstage. Between that, and his uncharacteristic disheveled appearance, he might have been. Crying, that is. It’s weird — thinking about Gojo crying. It sounds insensitive, but you never thought of him as someone who experiences the sad and disappointing emotions other mere mortals are privy to. “I suppose the reason for why we’re all gathered here tonight needs no introduction.” He takes a deep breath. Someone is already bursting into tears. 

“Yu Haibara is — was — what I considered to be a beacon of hope in my life. He was bright. Not just in an academic sense, but something about him always radiated pure joy. As his upperclassman, I was assigned as his “buddy” during his first year orientation. I remember meeting him for the very first time, and being taken aback. I mean, we all talk about the baby first year glow, how med school hasn’t hit them yet, but damn—” Gojo lets out a sad laugh, shaking his head. “He was something else. I could tell from just lookin’ at him that nothing was going to dull his shine. He always had a positive outlook on everything, was always an optimist. I’ve never met anyone quite like him.” Gojo’s voice has a bit of a tremor to it, and more people are tearing up as they watch him grip both sides of the podium, as if to keep him stable. 

“I’m afraid that I’ll — that we’ll — never meet anyone like him ever again.” 

Gojo continues on with his speech, talking about all the things Haibara talked about accomplishing, how confident Gojo was in his potential. That Haibara was hilarious and the best junior anyone could ever ask for. That the Zenin School of Medicine will never find another student as bright and bold and ambitious as Haibara. That he’ll be missed. That Gojo has a lot of love for him, but that he hates the choice Haibara made; that despite it all, he’ll still always harbor a lot of love for him. And at the end of his speech, he reveals that the Gojo family will start funding a scholarship in Haibara’s honor, using Haibara’s name, so that way his impact will never truly die. That his spirit will still remain as strong as ever here at this college. 

Gojo’s the first to light his candle, naturally. He holds it up high, almost as if he’s aiming for the night sky. Too bad there isn’t a single star to be seen tonight. 

“To Yu Haibara!” 

Someone else sets their candle aflame, bringing the flame to someone else’s unlit wick, and eventually, going down the line, your candle gets lit, too. You share your flame with Kotori, and once the square is glowing with the comforting orange warmth only several hundred candles can provide, everyone raises their candles high.

“To Yu Haibara!” 

In the following seconds, everyone is silent and solemn. The mourning lasts only as long as the time it takes for Gojo to descend from the platform, and the conversation immediately starts back up again. All signs of despondency seem to evaporate the minute Gojo’s loafers hit the grass, and the crowd immediately parts to make way for him. 

Groups of people rush to him, to compliment him on his speech, to let him know that they’re always going to be here for him if he needs a shoulder to cry on. Every step he takes, he’s never not being bombarded by people. When he makes it closer to where you’re standing, Sakura inches towards him. 

“That was such a beautiful speech, Gojo.” She says, pretending to dab at the corner of her eyes with her black silk scarf. Sakura didn’t tear up once during the ceremony, and she would never dare to risk smudging her makeup in front of Gojo. “And you’re so strong for being able to stand up in front of us and talk about such a good friend without completely breaking down. It must have been awful to see his body, right? I know so many saw him before the cops could come and shoo everyone off—”

“Thanks,” he smiles at her, his hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks. “Between you and me? I had to hold back my tears a few times.” She gasps, staring at him with wide eyes before nodding. He’s about to walk off, but then he adds, “Fortunately, what got me through was probably the fact that I didn’t ever see his body. I was in the medical school’s library preparing for an exam all night when that happened. Wanted to avoid the sight at all costs, too, so I couldn’t even stomach opening any social media.” 

You’re not eavesdropping, you rationalize. Granted, you’re not even hunting for a story, so you’re not sure what your justification for listening in on their conversation is. It’s their fault for having a conversation so close to you, anyway. Anyone with ears can hear them. 

But your stomach is lurching now; gone is your appetite for steak and lobster. Instead, you can feel yourself being filled with dread. 

During Gojo’s “emotional” speech, you were taken aback at just how torn he was. Haibara must have truly been a close friend if Gojo’s voice is shaking when speaking about him. He even needed to grip the damn podium to keep himself upright. 

Maybe it’s because it’s so dark in the nighttime, but you couldn’t help but notice how there was no true force or stress in his grip; no familiar sight of white knuckles from holding something so tightly. And his eyes — they’re obviously the most captivating feature of his. The type of blue that’s only seen in one in every one hundred million, you’re sure. But they’re not red-rimmed or puffy, and during the speech, there was no shine that would indicate he’s on the verge of tears. And you’re certain it’s all in your head when you’re punched with the same realization that the emotion Gojo portrays to his audience never reaches his eyes. Everything about him outwardly screams a boy heartbroken over the death of a good friend. He’s full of grief, but his eyes remain as empty as ever. 

You’re not going to dwell on it any more than that; at least, you weren’t going to. Now, after hearing what he just told Sakura, you’re conflicted. 

You know what you saw that night. You saw him. You saw him. Why would he lie about his whereabouts? 

Your heart is pounding as he walks past Sakura, slowly but steadily making his way closer to you. You should just let him be; everyone handles grief differently. Maybe he was just dissociating during the speech. Maybe trauma is making him want to bend the truth a little bit. Maybe he’s beating himself up over not being there to stop Haibara, and that’s why he’s pretending he wasn’t at the scene of the crime. 

No — you forcibly remind yourself. There is no “scene of the crime.” There wasn’t a crime committed. 

But that instinctual feeling in your gut intensifies the closer Gojo gets, and it’s now or never. Right before he can slip away, you reach out for him, tugging at the fabric of his sleeve, near his wrist. He pauses, turns a bit, looks down at you.

Has he always been this tall, this imposing?

“Yes?” Despite you rudely grabbing at him, he’s nothing but cordial. You swallow hard, bringing your voice to a whisper. 

“Were you there?” 

“Pardon?” He’s smiling, but he tilts his head in confusion. “There… as in where, exactly?” 

“At Old Kashimo Laboratory. When Haibara died.” You clarify. 

“Ah, I wasn’t. I had an exam to study for, so I spent all night in the library.” He blinks, before frowning. “I wish I was there, though. I’ve been wondering if there was anything I could have said or done to change the outcome of that night…” 

Your gut twists, and you swallow hard. “But that’s the thing, Gojo.” You don’t want to say it; there’s a part of you that protests, and the stronger side of you, the one that says maybe you shouldn’t leave this unanswered, dictates that you do. “Why are you lying about being at the library?” You say it so softly, you’re not even able to hear yourself speak.

But he does. You know he does, because the look in his eyes turns cold, colder than you’ve ever seen them. For the first time, you see a glimpse of emotion behind his icy blues. But it isn’t grief, and it isn’t anger. You don’t know what it is, and you almost regret grabbing his sleeve in the first place. 

“That’s a pretty harsh accusation to make.” Gone is his cordial tone. You resist taking a step back from him. “A pretty baseless one, too.” 

“I saw you.” You dare to look him in his eyes. “That night. You were leaving out the back door of the building, and a minute later, Haibara’s body was found. I don’t know the med school’s campus all that well, but the library certainly isn’t behind that old lab, is it?” 

Gojo stares at you for what feels like forever. You’ve never been scrutinized before, but you wonder if this is what a cell under a microscope feels like. The feeling of being completely and utterly exposed is a scary one, and it sounds so silly. Who is scared of friendly, kind, golden boy Gojo? 

No one is. But right now, the man staring you down isn’t the Gojo you’ve heard stories about. 

You blink, and he’s back to smiling at you, almost as if the conversation you two shared never even happened. Maybe it never did. Maybe you’re the crazy one. 

“Well, it was nice chatting with you.” He’s speaking at his normal volume now. “Hey, what was your name again?” 

He poses it as a friendly question, but you know better. 

“[Name].” 

He repeats it back, obnoxiously slow, sounding out the vowels and all. “Pleasure to meet you, [Name]. I hope I see you soon.” 

Somehow, he’s made a pleasantry sound like a threat.

[oncasette]

𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗦 𝗜 𝗛𝗔𝗩𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗗 𝗜𝗡 𝗠𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧

zayne li x fem!reader, boyfriend!sylus qin x fem!reader

summary: 1.0k

But, then, before he has a chance to open his mouth, a head of white hair filters past his field of vision and sidles up next to you. He sticks his hand in your back pocket, and tugs you against his hip, and Zayne feels that fluttering feeling take flame until there’s only the ashes of butterfly wings in his gut. 

or the one where zayne is surprised to see a man he's never met picking you up from the hospital after a routine checkup.

content: jealousy, unrequited love

masterlist | beat you to it masterlist

It’d been a year or so since you’d re-inserted yourself into Zayne’s life. It’s a wonder, really, how he’d managed to make it through this long without you. That he’d let you slip through his fingers way back when. He doesn’t think he’d be able to do it, now, given the circumstances. Not with the tight grip you held over his heart.

Being your primary care physician had been easy enough when you’d started seeing him. He’d managed to explain the brunt of his lingering butterflies to the crush he’d held for you as a child and get on with his days, but that’d been before he started seeing you outside of the hospital. In cafes and bakeries and his own home, at times. Now, he’s starting to come to terms with the fact that that crush had morphed into something bigger. Something lingering. 

You’d grown more comfortable with him, and him, in turn, with you. You texted him about new macaroons you wanted to try the next time you met up with him on his lunch break, you brought him a cupcake on his birthday with a single candle when he’d neglected to buy one for himself, you wormed your way into his life and his mind and he wasn’t fond of any idea that removed you from it. 

Still, Zayne doesn’t think he’ll ever truly get used to touching you. Even in this context, with his hands covered in latex under the harsh luminescence, he has to focus especially hard to keep his hands from quivering. It’s gotten better, at least, from when he was a child. He remembers placing bandaids cockeyed over your shredded knees one summer because he couldn’t keep the tremor at bay. No, at least now, he can conduct his checkups with a semblance of professionalism. 

“Everything looks like it should,” Zayne says, his eyes flickering up to yours as he looks through your chart. He misses when it was all still paper and folders. It gave him something tangible to hold, something that felt finite. Real. Something to fiddle with while he avoided your stare.

“Good. That’s good, right?” you ask, looking up at him with an overwhelming amount of trust clouding your gaze. It pinches at his chest, before dissipating into the fluttery feeling he’d grown accustomed to.

“You’ll still need to monitor your heart and your fatigue levels with your increasing workload,” he says.

“I can do that,” you say softly. You’d always been good at listening to him, even if you were a bit stubborn about it at times. 

“Other than that,” Zayne nods, clearing his throat and turning the tablet off and setting it on the counter. “It’s very good.”

“Great! Does that make me free to go then, doctor?” you ask. He hates the way his face heats up at the honorific. Thankfully, it’d been a couple of weeks since his last haircut, and the tips of his ears were shielded from your eyes. You’d been calling him that since you were children. Each time he’d patched up a bump or a bruise, you smiled up at him with rosy cheeks and called him doc. 

“One last thing.” He fishes through his pocket to grab a mint, holding it out for you in an open palm. “Yvonne will help you reschedule for your next appointment in eight weeks.”

“Thanks, Dr. Zayne,” you chirp, offering him the toothy grin he remembers from his younger years. He opens the door to the examination room for you, following you out and watching you as you walk to the front desk to reschedule. He briefly considers stopping you, considers asking you to dinner when his shift ends, considers doing anything more than watching you leave with his tongue held tight between his teeth. 

But, then, before he has a chance to open his mouth, a head of white hair filters past his field of vision and sidles up next to you. He sticks his hand in your back pocket, and tugs you against his hip, and Zayne feels that fluttering feeling take flame until there’s only the ashes of butterfly wings in his gut. 

You hadn’t mentioned that you were seeing anyone, not that he’d needed that information to conduct this round of checkups, but, still, this had to have been new. Fresh. Stinging. An open wound with blood still pearling at the seams. 

From this distance, Zayne can faintly hear you say, “I told you you didn’t have to come inside. I would have found the bike.”

“And we can find it together just as easily when we leave, sweetie.” The man shrugs, kissing the crown of your skull. Zayne’s feet feel frozen to the ground. He should go. He has other patients to take care of, things to attend to in his office and with the attendees, but he can’t move. He’s stuck staring, tongue heavy in his mouth. His chest aches with a feeling he’d long forgotten.

“You are all set,” he hears Yvonne say and then, as fast as you’d come, you’re leaving. It’s the smallest of mercies to see you wave at him, his own hand coming up tentatively to reciprocate the gesture with his thumb clutching something small against it. Once you’re out the sliding glass door, he watches the man pull you into a lingering kiss. He hates how easy it is for you to lean into him, how eagerly you pursue his lips. He hates how much it makes his stomach churn and his eyes feel wet with something akin to embarrassment. The back of his tongue reeks of bitterness as he recalls all the opportunities he’d had and all the times he’d pushed them aside in favor of claiming that he’d have all the time in the world to tell you how he felt. Of course he’d waited too long. He’d always waited when it came to you, stalling for time until the ice finally thawed around his heart so that it was warm enough to house you there. 

Zayne swallows, finally managing to avert his gaze. He lowers his hand. There’s another mint in his fist. 

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.10  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.12 (getting close to the end)

p.11

AN: very very very sorry for the late post! I do have a clear ending in mind for this (typed up my outlines and everything) and I'm hoping to wrap it up soon--thank you for your love and support! and my cute anons asking for updates. it really had been encouraging even when i'm not feeling great. I hope this chapter is up to par, been feeing a bit of a block and a bit shy with posting. sometimes I focus on the negative and forget i'm doing this as a hobby. (get a bit self conscious and wonder if i'm even good at writing haha) so thank you again for the love and support. If this sounds disorganized please tolerate me ♥️ i'm ranting now, so please--

warnings: this story may cover sensitive and uncomfortable topics. please read at your own risk, violence, lashings, blood, mental breakdowns, yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside your moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

anons, anons, anons (if i say it three times will you appear?♥️)

Your eyes locked onto it immediately.

He’d forgotten his school bag at home, which was so uncharacteristic for the always-on-top-of-it Megumi. The fact that he's gone off without it was a surprise in and of itself.

And being the good, responsible figure you were, you decided you needed to get it back to him. Sure, you could’ve just texted him, but the nagging curiosity ate away in the back of your mind.

You deserved that much…right? 

Over the past few years, both you and Megumi had grown, though in ways that felt fundamentally different. It seemed like only yesterday when you towered over him by at least a foot, but now, at 22, standing on the edge of what felt like both everything and nothing, you began to pick up on more around you. Each time he came back, it was as though he had learned something new, gained some insight or skill that added to the ever-growing distance between the person he was and the person he was becoming.

And with those changes came those unwelcome feelings that gnawed at the back of your mind. Jealousy—Admiration. A sense of responsibility that weighed heavier than it had any right to. Overwhelming affection that felt almost instinctive, but no less unsettling. A little too...much for deep thought. And astonishment at the person who regularly sat in front of you at the dinner table—so far removed from the boy you once knew. 

Meanwhile, your life felt stuck in place, confined to the monotony of daily errands and long hours indoors. Days blurred together, weeks slipped by unnoticed, and yet that nagging ache in the back of your mind never left. So desperate to go off the beaten path. 

And the trail leading to Jujutsu High was gorgeous. Thick trees lined the path, their leafy branches casting intricate shadows on the pavement. The sunlight peeked through in golden streaks, making the entire scene feel almost surreal. The warmth on your face nearly euphoric. You’d only ever seen pictures of this place when you looked it up online, but they didn’t do it justice. 

“Woah. And who might you be?” 

The sudden voice shattered your focus, making you spin around so fast you nearly lost your footing. Your pulse spiked, heart pounding in your chest as you stumbled back a step, clutching the two bags in your hands like a damn lifeline. For a brief moment, the world around you blurred, leaving only a splotch of leaves in your line of sight.

Your gaze snapped to a face far too close for comfort—definitely too close.

White, unruly hair, gleamed in the sunlight, but it was his eyes, so unnervingly blue, that froze you in place. He was undeniably handsome. But the smirk that graced his face and the look in his eye as his head tilted slightly, was unnerving. As if you were some curious puzzle he’d stumbled upon.

“Lost?” he asked, his tone light and teasing, but there was an undeniable weight in his presence that sent a shiver down your spine. Then it hit you—the suffocating wave of cursed energy radiating off him. It was staggering, an oppressive force pressing down on your chest and making it hard to breathe. How had you not felt it before? It rolled off him in unrelenting waves, so overwhelming it left you momentarily speechless, rooted to the spot.

“What? You shy?”

His voice broke the silence, dripping with that insufferable amusement. He was just as bad as Toji it seemed. He tilted his head a bit more, his eyes glinting mischievously, as if your reaction was the highlight of his day. Your irritation felt obvious, but it was quickly drowned out by the lingering unease that his cursed energy evoked. Stranger danger. stranger danger.

You instinctively stepped back, trying to create some distance, but he didn’t budge. If anything, he leaned in closer, his presence invading your space with an air of lazy confidence, like he had all the time in the world to unravel whatever it was he found so intriguing about you.

You hadn’t even realized you were staring until he spoke again, the lilt in his tone making your cheeks heat with something closer to indignation. Still, you weren’t about to be rude—not with someone who exudes this kind of power. Not when he was the only one walking down this path with you. Not another soul in sight.

“Sorry,” your voice wavering slightly. “Do you… work here?” The hesitation in your tone was unmistakable, and his response was immediate—a wide grin stretching across his face. Fitting.

“That depends… who’s asking?” 

Before you could respond, your name rang out, a deep voice, heavy and familiar, cutting through the air from behind you. The grin faltered on the man’s face for the briefest of moments, replaced by a flicker of surprise as his eyes shifted past you to the source. You turned instinctively, already recognizing who it belonged to, even before you saw him.

Of course, it was Megumi.

“What’re you doing here?” His voice was blunt, almost tense, as he closed the distance between you in a few long, purposeful strides. There was no warmth, no casual greeting—just that demanding tone that made your chest tighten.

Why did he look so upset?

Oh, did you... mess up?

You barely had a chance to open your mouth before he was standing right in front of you, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly. His eyes scanned over you as if he was checking for some kind of damage you hadn’t even realized might be there.

“You... left your bag at home,” you voice was soft, quiet. He didn't seem to acknowledge your words as you attempt to hold up the bag. Proof of your...innocence? Why would you even need a reason to be here? You weren't doing anything wrong.

His expression never wavered, the clench of his jaw making it clear that your answer hadn’t fully soothed whatever was bothering him. His grip on your shoulders softened slightly, though he gave them a small squeeze, almost reassuring. But his attention shifted.

Gaze moving past you, and you felt the change immediately. His posture stiffened, his whole demeanor shifting into something colder, more guarded. Without a word, he stepped in front of you, his body casually yet deliberately placing itself between you and the white-haired man. His shoulders completely blocking you from view. The movement was subtle, but the message was clear. Just how did Megumi know a man like this?

“Gojo-sensei,” —Ah.

“What’re you doing here? I thought you were on a mission.”

The man—Gojo—let out a heavily dramatic sigh, looking completely unbothered by Megumi’s tone. “Finished early,” he replied with a casual shrug, hands crossing behind his head, far too relaxed. “But who’s this you’re hiding?”

His voice gave you chills, and you shifted uncomfortably, not able to see him, but no doubt that creepy grin was still slapped across his face. Gojo didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned slightly, trying to catch a better look at you around Megumi’s frame. “She’s not your girlfriend, is she?”

“No,” Megumi shot back, the word flat and final, his tone leaving no room for interpretation. Gojo raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright. Touchy, huh?” His voice was playful, almost sing-song, but the way his gaze lingered on you felt a little too probing, a little too long for comfort had Megumi clenching his fists.

You swallowed hard, heat rising to your cheeks. Whether it was from embarrassment, unease, or the palpable tension between him and Megumi, you couldn’t quite tell. You hadn’t interacted with Gojo much, but the way Megumi’s entire presence had shifted told you everything you needed to know—Gojo wasn’t exactly a welcome sight. Whatever lightness existed in the air before was gone, replaced by an invisible but tangible weight pressing between the three of you.

Gojo might not have been dangerous, but he definitely gave the impression of someone who liked to push boundaries just to see how far he could go. His teasing nature seemed to thrive on reactions, and you could tell Megumi wasn’t in the mood to indulge him.

A stray thought crept into your mind....maybe Megumi had never mentioned you to anyone here... The idea hit harder than you expected, a dull ache settling in your chest. You banished it before it could take root—now wasn’t the time.

“Yo! There you guys are!”

A bright and cheery voice shattered the lingering tension. You turned to see a pink-haired boy jogging toward the group, a huge grin plastered across his face. His eyes were wide and warm, his energy unmistakable—this had to be the friend from the photo Megumi sent. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, a friendliness so genuine it seemed to pour off him in waves, reminding you immediately of an overexcited puppy.

Megumi stiffened beside you, muttering something under his breath you couldn’t quite catch before reluctantly offering a grumbled greeting. Yuji skidded to a stop just in front of you, planting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. He straightened quickly, his grin softening into something almost shy when his eyes landed on you.

“Oh, hi!” he said, a light blush creeping onto his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his smile still firmly in place. “Sorry—I’m Yuji Itadori! You must be… uh…” His voice trailed off as his brow furrowed, the wheels in his head clearly turning as he tried to piece together who you might be.

Megumi let out a long sigh, his irritation practically radiating off him. “She’s with me,” he said flatly, stepping just slightly closer to you, his tone making it clear he wasn’t in the mood for explanations.

You couldn’t help but smile at him, his presence a much needed distraction. “Nice to meet you, Yuji,” you said warmly. Yuji’s face lit up even more at your friendly response. “Wow, Fushiguro never said anything about—”THWACK!

Before he could finish, Megumi stepped forward and smacked Yuji on the back of the head with a loud thunk that echoed down the trail, making you jump.

“Megumi!” surprise flooding your tone, trying to sound somewhat scolding. This had to be a first. You'd never seen Megumi so...

Yuji barely flinched, rubbing the back of his head for a second before laughing. “Jeez, Fushiguro! What’s with you today?” His grin stayed intact, though you couldn’t miss the slight wince that suggested the hit hadn’t exactly been gentle.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, still chuckling. “It’s fine! I’ve got an extra-thick skull anyway,” he added with a playful wink in your direction. You noticed Megumi seemed even more frustrated with the additional member, but he didn't comment on it. You wondered how long he'd hold out until he just left.

“Well, Megumi,” Gojo emphasized the name with a teasing lilt, his eyes flicking to you as if testing the waters. “This is…interesting. Didn’t mention you’d have company today.”

Megumi’s scowl deepened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s none of your business,” he shot back without hesitation. He hadn't even known you were coming. A mistake on your part obviously.

“Whoa, Fushiguro, didn’t know you were the overprotective type,” Yuji joked, though his curiosity was evident beneath the teasing tone.

Gojo leaned slightly. "She a friend or something?"

This all but confirmed your earlier suspicions. Megumi doesn't talk about you. You drew in a breath. “I’m his—” 

Megumi’s hand shot out, his grip firm but not harsh as it wrapped around your wrist. “We’re done here,” he muttered, his tone low and decisive. Without sparing a glance back, he began steering you away with purposeful steps, leaving no room for protest.

“Wait—what?” Yuji’s voice followed after you, completely baffled. But neither tried to stop him. Gojo chuckled quietly and gave a lazy wave. “See you around… whoever you are,” he called out, lighthearted, his eyes trailing you.

Why the hell was he so curious about you.

Megumi kept his grip on your wrist, practically dragging you along until the two of you reached a more private spot—a quiet little area tucked beneath an overgrowth of trees. Thick bushes surrounded the bench, adding a sense of seclusion that felt both calming and suffocating all at once. You recognized the place from earlier on your walk. It wasn’t far from the front entrance, and the realization sent a small pang through your chest. How many times would he make it obvious he didn't want you here until you'd get it? The self conscious part of you brain was screaming at you. feeling oddly shy with being here.

You stole a glance at him, catching sight of his face. His jaw, clenched, his gaze sharp and tunneled, like he was too lost in his own frustration to notice anything else. The tension in his features was unmistakable, and that tightness in your gut only grew.

When he finally let go of your wrist, you felt the cool air replace the warmth of his touch, though it didn’t ease the knot forming in your stomach. He sighed, his shoulders sinking slightly as some of the tension eased from his posture.

“What’re you doing here?” his voice, low but softer than before.

You could easily cry. Despite being the older one here, you felt more like a scolded toddler, small and out of place. But when your eyes met his, something shifted. The hard glare he’d been wearing was gone, replaced by a calmer expression, maybe even a little tired. His hands moved to his face, rubbing across his eyes as if trying to wipe away the remnants of his frustration.

You really needed to get ahold of yourself. Since when did it matter if he wanted you there? You were there to drop off something he forgot. Maybe it was just the embarrassment teens get when their overly affectionate parent comes to dote on them in front of their friends. Maybe theyd tease him about this later....

When he looked at you again, there was that particular softness in his gaze, the kind that made your chest ache. Your thoughts immediately cleared. Maybe he wasn't so upset with you...

“You embarrassed of me?” you joked weakly, forcing out a laugh that didn’t quite land. You prayed the faint hurt in your tone wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

Megumi’s eyes widened, caught off guard. Like he hadn't anticipated you actually being hurt by his actions. He could sense the tension in your voice, much like how you could sense his. He stared at you for what felt like forever, his mouth opening slightly as though he wanted to respond, only to close again as the words faltered. His head tilted just a fraction, his brows furrowing in thought, like he was scrambling for an excuse but coming up empty. The silence stretched between you, and for a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t sure what to say—or if he even could.

You chuckled, stepping forward to pinch his cheek lightly. “Relax,” you teased, quickly shoving down the lingering sting of your own feelings as you swung the strap off your shoulder and held the bag out to him. He wasn't mad at you. “I told you—I brought your bag. How can someone as responsible as you forget something like this, hmm?”

For a moment, Megumi just stared at the bag, like he couldn’t quite believe you’d gone out of your way for something so trivial. Slowly, he reached out to take it, his fingers brushing yours in the process. The brief contact wasn’t much, but you caught the faintest flush creeping into his cheeks.

“Thanks… mom,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual, almost shy.

He eyed the second bag slung around your shoulder.

"Oh! And this is for you." He took the bag quizzically, peeking inside only for his eyes to light up. "Thought I'd at least bring your favorite." The packed dinner was a good choice. The awkward tension from earlier melted away as a warm smile spread across his face.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at how cute he was, the tense atmosphere already fading away. A small lull settled between you, the kind of silence that felt comfortable rather than strained. The overgrown trees swayed gently overhead, their leaves whispered softly in the breeze, wrapping the moment in an almost serene stillness. It was starting to get cold out. Soon enough, he would be due for another birthday. Yours had already passed a few weeks back.

Without warning, Megumi stepped forward, pulling you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped securely around you, holding you close as his chin came to rest lightly on top of your head. The embrace was firm, not overbearing, and for a moment, you froze in surprise before leaning into it. He was always one for affectionate gestures... but....

“You should head back,” he said quietly, though there was a faint reluctance in his tone that made you nearly hesitate. You didnt want to leave just yet.

You nodded, your hands brushing his arms briefly before you pulled back. “Alright,” you replied softly, offering him another small smile before turning to leave.

As you walked back toward the path, you spotted Gojo and Yuji nearby, standing a little too still to pass as innocent. You were sure they were supposed to have left already, but there they were—watching. Not that you had anything you were particularly secretive about.

But Yuji’s gaze seemed to dart to anywhere but you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, while Gojo leaned casually against a tree, the ever-present grin on his face somehow managing to look even more smug.

The second your eyes met theirs, Yuji’s face flushed bright red. He muttered something under his breath, quickly averting his gaze as though he could disappear by sheer will. Gojo, on the other hand, stood there shamelessly. All cocky and arrogant. Immediately irritating you again.

Megumi stepped out from behind you, their eyes shifting over immediately. Gojo’s grin turned absolutely wicked, his quirked brow seeming ready to tease him endlessly. Yuji’s mouth twitched, as though he was trying—and failing—not to laugh, his wide eyes flicking between the two of you. 

Megumi, however, barely acknowledged them. He strode past you without a word, but as he did, you felt the faintest brush of his hand against your back. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but deliberate enough to send a jolt through you. Your cheeks warmed instantly, and before you could even process the moment, Gojo gave an exaggerated cough. 

By the time Megumi reached their sides, Gojo and Yuji were all over him, poking his cheeks and teasing him relentlessly. You couldn’t help but wonder if they’d ever let him live down whatever they thought they’d seen. For someone as stoic as Megumi, seeing him soften must’ve been quite the sight for them.

You sighed quietly, feeling a little secondhand embarrassment for him.

The walk home was pretty silent.

It was hard to find much to do when the house was as silent as it was. Time seemed to crawl as you went through the motions of your routine, everything blurring together in the same, boring monotony.

You and Megumi exchanged texts here and there, but as always, he was evasive about certain topics. He avoided talking about his friends, that teacher, and especially his missions. No matter how many ways you tried to bring it up, he always managed to steer the conversation elsewhere.

But he seemed more comfortable sharing through photos—pictures of the meals he was eating, scenic views, and even the occasional selfie with a classmate or two. It seemed he was trying to include you more in his day to day life, maybe sensing your growing urge for something different. You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about it.

He wasn’t supposed to be worrying about you like this��but when had Megumi ever not been thoughtful when it came to you?

He was always helping around the house, bringing home things you needed. He’d carry the heavier bags without being asked, and when he was home, he never went out much. Instead, he’d linger in your presence, watching the same TV shows you liked, or even sitting in complete silence, or even sun napping on the couch. A second shadow.

And if you were forced to admit it, he made the loneliness and monotony a lot easier to bear. His presence had a way of filling the empty spaces, making the house feel less like a silent box and more like a home.

When it came to you, Megumi seemed to have a sixth sense. He was always away at school when you were called out to your clan house, yet, without fail, he’d send you a message the second you got back, asking how you were. He always seemed to know when you were stressed or needed something—sometimes even before you realized it yourself. Megumi wasn’t just thoughtful. No, he was in tune with you in a way that felt almost uncanny.

And now that he was older… you couldn’t help but wonder. Did he still harbor that same puppy crush he had when he was younger? The thought made your head spin. Was he still seeing you in that light, or had it faded? He’d never fully confirmed it back then, never said anything outright. But he’d always been affectionate—hadn’t he?

Wasn’t he always like that? 

And yet… how would you feel about that?

No.

These weren’t the right questions to be asking. You still had a place here. You were still his stepmother. These weren’t the thoughts you should even be entertaining, not for a second. But the thought made you freeze in your tracks, the shirt you were folding suddenly feeling heavier in your hands. It was nearing his graduation—just a week away—and you didn't have the faintest idea what came after.

Would he be moving out? Would he stay home for a while to plan his next steps? Would he be doing Jujutsu work? 

And then there was the question you didn’t want to ask, the one that made your stomach twist. Would you still be allowed to stay here? Or would your clan come calling, pulling you out of the life you’d carefully built over the years? The main reason for you being here was Megumi and Toji. Forming those relationships and feeding small bits of information. But if neither of them were even going to be home....

No, surely they wouldn’t. Not after all this time. If they were going to do that, they would’ve already done it… wouldn’t they? Surely....They hadn't mentioned it before at least.

Toji had come home briefly the week before Megumi’s graduation, but it didn’t take long to learn he’d already taken on yet another mission. Despite the two of you growing closer over time, it never seemed to slow him down when it came to picking up those lengthy assignments that kept him away for days at a time.

This time was no different. He mentioned it was a high-profile case, one with the potential to drag on longer than expected. “Two weeks minimum,” and he wouldn’t be back in between.

It wasn’t anything new. Toji’s comings and goings had always been unpredictable, and you’d grown used to the empty spaces he left behind. But something about this mission left you uneasy. 

But for now, all you could do was wait.

come home

[ghostlyvoidbones]

Sonadow Lovebug AU - Pt. 2

a/n: Guy’s I don’t ship… I don’t ship sona… oh forget it.

summary: In which Shadow doesn't think he's delusional and Rouge is just trying to understand.

contains: Shadow's drug induced delusions, potential ooc (I'm not as familiar with Shadow and Rouge as I am the others, so I hope it came out ok).

wc: 2K

Rouge padded past the open door to Shadow’s room, clad in her cozy afternoon clothes while a coffee mug was raised to her lips in the middle of a sip. Although, after casting a brief glance inside she jolted to a stop, teeth clinking against the rim from the sudden, jerky motion. Lowering the mug, Rouge took a quiet moment to process exactly what it was she was looking at.

As a general rule, Shadow’s room had always been the most neat and organized out of all the members of Team Dark. His room was the definition of pristine, to the point that Rouge sometimes wondered if the hedgehog had an obsession with cleaning.

Which was why the state of it now was making her brain short circuit a little bit. From where she stood, Shadow’s oh-so-perfect room looked like a tornado ran through it. Twice.

Fabric and clothing items were scattered across the floor in rumpled clumps, coupled with books and the odd decoration here and there. The bed pressed against the far wall was unmade and everything on it was wadded up into a large ball, half falling off the mattress, a pillow already abandoned on the floor. All the furniture was skewed to some degree, an entire stool tipped over and forgotten in the corner.

Shadow himself was in the middle of the mess. Currently he had himself perched up on the top of his dresser, peering over one of the higher shelves drilled into the wall above it. She watched him scan the surface of it before dragging his entire arm across the empty space.

“What are you doing?”

At the sound of her voice, Shadow twisted his head around to look at her, looking her over briefly before turning back around and continuing his inspection of the shelf.

“I’m looking for pictures of Sonic.” Shadow answered promptly, unaware of the way Rouge squinted up at him in mild befuddlement.

“Right… Ok. I’m not sure if I want to know, but I guess I’ll ask. Why are you looking for pictures of Sonic?” Shadow didn’t even look at her when he responded.

“Why else? Don’t you have pictures of the echidna?”

Rouge bristled at the flatly delivered accusation, as if it were an obvious fact that everyone knew. Her shoulders hiked up and she brought the mug back up to her muzzle, partially to hide the blooming blush darkening her fur.

“I don’t have pictures of Knuckles! That would be…” She sent a pointed glare at the ground then shook her head clear of the thought. “Besides, any pictures I have are of people who I have a good relationship with. No offense, but I can’t really see that applying to you and big blue.”

Shadow huffed out a breath and hopped off the dresser. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sonic and I are in a very committed relationship.”

“Committed to mindlessly competing, maybe.” She mumbled into her mug before taking a long sip.

“Every romantic partnership has its quirks.” 

Rouge sputtered, coffee spraying from her mouth and staining her shirt. She barely noticed, however, as gaped openly at Shadow. He hadn’t even twitched. Hadn’t even hesitated when he said that. And yes Shadow had a sense of humor, he knew how to crack a joke. But Rouge got the distinct feeling that that wasn’t one.

“Now I know I didn’t hear you wrong.” Large bat ears swiveled forward, as if to emphasize her point. “Shadow, what on Mobius is that supposed to mean???”

Shadow gave her a weird look, lingering on where her spit-take launched coffee over her clothes and, unfortunately, the floor. 

“Competition can be healthy. It keeps things interesting.” Shadow continued,redirecting his attention toward searching his desk that he’d already stripped of all its papers and writing utensils. “Anyway, if you find any pictures of Sonic and I, let me know. Despite being in a relationship, I can’t seem to find any pictures of us together anywhere.”

The more he talked, the less she understood. 

“No- ok- see, that’s the problem.” Rouge swiped her sleeve across her muzzle where a few stray droplets of coffee trickled from the corner of her lips and stepped over to Shadow, putting the mug down beside his searching hands. “Since when have you and Sonic been dating?”

Shadow paused in his movement, glancing over at her with furrowed brows. “A while?”

“Does Sonic know that?”

“He should.”

Rouge searched his face as they went back and forth. Nothing faltered or flinched. As far as she can tell, everything Shadow said, he believed was true. 

“Why are you only telling me this now? Does anyone else know? Am I the only one who didn’t know?” She pressed, leaning into his space. A million thoughts blitz through her head, although one does seem to stand out a bit more than the others. “Actually, how long have you two even been together? Did he ask you?... Did you ask him?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Shadow sharply turned his head to the side, avoiding all eye contact. “The trivial details don’t matter.”

“Oh no, we’re talking about this.” She gave Shadow no time to respond, taking him by the arm and dragging him out into the living room. He went with little resistance and plopped down onto the couch as Rouge directed him.

From where she stood in front of him, Rouge took a second to analyze the dark hedgehog.

So far, there hadn’t seemed to be anything out of place. Shadow had been his usual, dark and mysterious self. Even just now, he spoke like he usually did. The only things that were out of place was the torn apart room and the fact that… he suddenly believed he was dating Sonic?

As far as Rouge knew, he had a solidly bitter opinion of Sonic up until yesterday morning. 

After breakfast Shadow had left for his mission, came back earlier than expected but no less successful, and turned in for the night without speaking much to either her or Omega. Which meant something clearly changed in the time between yesterday morning and when he returned from sending out his report to G.U.N.

She had two theories as to what it could be. Either Shadow was possessed or Sonic asked him out yesterday. Both very viable options, but something about it didn’t sit quite right.

“What happened yesterday?” She asked, crossing her arms and carefully observing the neutral expression on Shadow’s face.

“I already turned in my report. If you’re so curious you can just-” She was quick to cut him off with a hand held up to his face. He eyed it with clear irritation, not that his bad moods ever intimidated her in any way.

“That’s not what I meant.” Rouge massaged her temples before trying again. “I mean outside of the mission. Did anything out of the ordinary happen? It could be anything really, something new or unexpected.”

Shadow looked at her like she was the weird one. But regardless, he took a moment to consider. He tucked a closed, gloved fist against the underside of his chin as he mentally ran through the events from the day before.

“I’d been making good headway in the morning…” A pause, “Then when I’d finally found a lead, Sonic showed up.”

Rouge’s ear flicked at the mention of the hero’s name. Leaning forward in anticipation, she lightly urged him to continue. “Then what?”

“He distracted me.” The ensuing frown was comical. “Going on and on about wanting a race, because chaos forbid he can’t stay out of anyone’s business for more than a minute at a time. He claimed it was a tie but clearly I was ahead by-”

“That’s it?”

They both looked at eachother, Shadow minutely startled with himself when he realized his eyes had fallen shut at some point and a faint smile was teasing at his lips. Rouge zeroed in on the way he visibly shut away the emotions he’d accidentally let leak out.

“What do you mean?”

“So you just raced him? Nothing else happened?”

“Yes.” Shadow winced, curling in on himself, his hand shooting up to hold his head. It lasted for a second before he was pulling his hand away, casting a puzzled look down at his leg. “No… I think I got bitten by a mosquito. I remember Sonic annoying me about it. Then I got.. Dizzy. I assumed I’d been low on chaos energy, which was when I decided to leave and finish the mission before it proved to be a problem.”

For a moment, Rouge believed that he and Sonic got together yesterday, and Shadow was being all weird about it because he was shy about his new relationship. However, now it sounded like that wasn’t the case.

Not to mention that the lowkey overpowered hedgehog was low on chaos energy? That was suspicious in of itself, adding to the already weird shift in behavior. After all, Shadow had to have been using large amounts of chaos energy to feel any sort of repercussions, which didn’t make sense for something as small and low effort as a reconnaissance and tracking mission. And she knew that none of that energy went into racing Sonic. Those two had raced plenty of times in the past for her to know that certainly wasn’t the problem. So what was the problem?

“Clearly whatever happened that made you dizzy is connected to the-” she gestured vaguely at Shadow “you being slightly delusional and acting out of the ordinary.”

“I’m not delusional. My mental performance is perfect.” Shadow nearly growled out, leveling a heavy glare on Rouge.

“You think you’re dating Sonic. You know, the same Sonic who you greet with a fight nine out of the ten times you two bump into each other?”

“It’s banter. He knows there’s no hostility in it.” Shadow rocked to his feet, entering Rouge’s space. The tension was enough to make her unconsciously lean back, wings twitching behind her with the faint urge to fly away. “And I don’t think it. We are. I don’t appreciate you accusing otherwise.”

At this point Rouge couldn’t figure out what was going on. She’d love to believe the two are happily together, but her point wasn’t just superficial blabbering for arguments sake. Last week Sonic had passed by them while they were out and Shadow decked him in the face. His excuse was that he was paying back something the blue hedgehog did not too long before that, but said payback was still far too violent and angry to be ‘non-hostile banter.’

However, judging by whatever had gotten into Shadow right now, she wasn’t going to be able to delve into the subject anymore than this. So she forced herself to relax, trying to take the situation in stride. She held her hands up, making herself appear less of a threat while still holding her ground.

“Right. Sorry, it’s just hard to believe since you kept it a secret from me for so long. But I believe you.” Little white lies. “What I don’t believe is that whole thing about the chaos energy, it’s too weird to be a coincidence. I think we should go to where you felt dizzy and take a look around, just in case.”

Shadow doesn’t budge for a while. One would think she’d just threatened his entire family with the way he’s poised, coiled like spring ready to snap.

It took a bit of time for him to eventually calm down, shoulders dropping as he finally shuffled away. Rouge took the moment to breathe, surprised that she’d even been holding it in the first place.

“You’re right, I should have told you sooner.” Shadow looked down, opening and closing his fist experimentally. “And I agree. The whole situation does feel a little odd. It’d be worth it to check.”

“Okay, that’s good. Then I’ll get changed so we can head out.” She nodded, passing him to make her way down the hall to her room.

Her stride was steady and casual all the way to her bedroom door, which she opened and closed behind her. Once she heard the click of the lock slide into place, she dove for where her phone rested on the night stand beside her bed. She narrowly missed banging her shin on the frame but ignored it in favor of dialing a number.

As the phone rang, Rouge huddled into the corner of her room furthest from the door before crouching down. And when the call went through, she made sure that when she spoke, it was the quietest she’s ever been.

“Y’ello?”

“Sonic, are you and Shadow dating?”

“...What?”

<< PREV / NEXT >>

[urialnathanonwright]

Trump’s War on Science: A Betrayal of Public Health and Common Sense

You ever hear a bad idea so blindingly stupid you have to stop and wonder if it was cooked up by someone actively rooting for humanity’s downfall? Well, Donald Trump has managed to pull a double-header in that department. First, his administration is plotting to halt federal funding for gain-of-function research—critical work that helps us understand and combat the next global pandemic. Second, Trump’s team wants to muzzle the CDC, NIH, and other federal health agencies, halting their ability to communicate with the public and fund life-saving research. Folks, this is not just incompetence; it’s a slow-motion catastrophe.

Let’s start with gain-of-function research. Now, I get it—making viruses more dangerous in a lab sounds like the start of a bad sci-fi movie. But the reality is this: it’s one of the best tools we have to predict and prevent pandemics. It’s like doing a fire drill—you simulate the worst-case scenario so you’re ready when the real thing happens. But Trump and his enablers, in their infinite ignorance, want to shut it all down. Why? Because a bunch of conspiracy-loving Republicans blame it for Covid-19, even though there’s zero evidence to support that claim. None. Nada. Zilch.

Let me be clear: killing this research won’t make us safer—it’ll leave us defenseless. You think other countries will stop doing this work? Of course not. China, Russia, and others will keep pushing the envelope, while we sit here twiddling our thumbs, pretending ignorance is a shield against viruses. Spoiler alert: it’s not. Pandemics don’t care about your politics. They don’t care if you think science is scary or inconvenient. They just spread—and if we’re not ready, people die. It’s that simple.

Now, let’s move on to the second act of this disaster: silencing our top health agencies. Trump’s HHS has decided that all scientific communications must be vetted by political appointees before being released. Translation: they’re putting public health in the hands of spin doctors. This isn’t just unethical; it’s dangerous. During a bird flu outbreak, they’re delaying critical reports. Scientists can’t publish data, can’t approve grants, and can’t even speak publicly without some bureaucrat rubber-stamping it first. And all this during a time when trust in public health institutions is already hanging by a thread.

Let me spell this out: these actions are not about protecting people. They’re about control. Trump and his cronies are weaponizing ignorance, suppressing inconvenient truths, and sabotaging the very systems designed to keep us safe—all for political gain. This isn’t just bad policy; it’s an abdication of responsibility, a betrayal of trust, and a clear and present danger to every single one of us.

So, what do we do? We fight back. We demand accountability. We refuse to let science be politicized by a man whose grasp of facts is as flimsy as his hairline. This isn’t about left or right—it’s about survival. If we let this slide, if we let Trump’s war on science go unchecked, we won’t just be risking the next pandemic—we’ll be inviting it. And when it comes, the blame will lie squarely at the feet of those who chose politics over progress and willful ignorance over wisdom. Let’s make sure history remembers their names—and ours, as the ones who stood up and said, "Enough."

[maxdibert]

Yah so how the fuck did Remus manage to "forgive" Sirius? And why does everyone in the fandom always take The Prank as an opportunity to make Wolfstar angst... Like...no?

I'm sick of seeing posts that are like "Sirius going back to his house and having a breakdown" "Remus not talking to Sirius to Sirius sends him a letter about how sad and depressed he is because none of their friends are talking to him". Oh my gosh. ENOUGH OF THAT 😮‍💨

Oh no, the consequences to my own fucking actions--- No SHIT, Remus doesn't want to speak with you. WHY WOULD HE??? And people just completely shove Severus into the corner as if he wasn't also going through something. This fandom man...

Honestly, I’ve never been interested in Wolfstar, and not because I dislike the characters but because it doesn’t make sense to me. I mean, if I had to choose a pairing for Sirius among his friends, for me, it would clearly be James, because Sirius was literally obsessed with him. He wasn’t just his best friend; Sirius’ entire life revolved around James, and even 12 years after his death, he couldn’t move on, to the point of projecting James onto Harry and getting upset when he realized they were two different people. Look, Molly Weasley gives me the creeps, but she was absolutely right when she called him out, saying that sometimes it seemed like he wasn’t seeing Harry but James—because that’s exactly what was happening.

But beyond that, Sirius shows absolutely zero interest in Remus or at least zero empathy. It’s clear that if there was any glue holding the group together, it was James. James had more sense than the two ringleaders combined, or at least more common sense to know where the limits were. He was also the one who took care of Remus when he had nowhere to go after finishing school. My theory is basically that Sirius hung out with Remus and Peter because James tolerated them, and because having a werewolf friend gave him an excuse to act recklessly. If we look at SWM, Sirius remarks that he wishes it were a full moon because he’s bored. He couldn’t care less that for Remus it’s a traumatic moment each month, because for Sirius, it means going out, living dangerously, and messing around with his friends. What’s a trauma for Remus is an opportunity for fun for Sirius. He doesn’t consider what it represents for his friend; he doesn’t show that his reason for becoming an animagus is to provide moral support. Instead, he’s WISHING for the moment his supposed friend dreads most because, for him, it’s an exciting event. That’s not appreciating someone—it’s seeing them as a means to an end, a tool. That’s pure utilitarianism, not friendship.

Now, let’s move on to the facts. In “The Prank,” Sirius doesn’t care about the consequences. He thinks it’s funny and is totally thoughtless because that’s just who he is—someone who was never taught about morals or ethics and who basically chose a different “side” than his family’s just to spite them. He’s a rebellious and chaotic spirit who despises snobbery, and that’s about it. There’s no deeper philosophy, no deconstruction. Deep down, he behaves like any other Black, believing he has the right to control others—whether it’s ending someone’s life if they’re “stupid enough to fall for the trap” (Severus, in this case), which he justifies by saying they deserved it, or using others for his malicious ends (Remus). It’s James who has a modicum of conscience and who thinks about the consequences, stopping Severus because James was taught values and understands that certain lines shouldn’t be crossed. But also, I think James genuinely cared about Remus and probably understood what it might mean for him to end someone’s life.

Then there’s the post-Hogwarts relationship. Remus is always portrayed as being very close to the group when canonically, Peter was the one who was always trailing James and Sirius like a cheerleader. Ultimately, they chose Peter over Remus to be the Secret Keeper. This happened because CANONICALLY, Remus had distanced himself from the group, and CANONICALLY, it was Sirius who suggested Peter because he didn’t trust Remus—thinking he might have joined the dark side. This wasn’t something that came from Lily or James; it came from Sirius. Sirius was the one who considered that Remus might have betrayed them. Is that really what a true friend would think? How can people even consider there’s chemistry or a sexual subtext between them when canonically, Sirius repeatedly demonstrates that he doesn’t care about Remus at all? He only starts paying attention to him years later, after escaping Azkaban and realizing his best friend is dead, and his personal cheerleader turned out to be a traitor who ruined his life. Then, when only the two of them are left standing, Sirius starts giving him attention—but only because he’s the last one left. That’s it. Even Rowling herself described Remus ages ago as “the third wheel in a two-person relationship,” referring to Sirius and James. Seriously.

And let’s not forget that Remus never doubted that Sirius could be a traitor either—he always believed him guilty. It’s funny when they’re portrayed as missing each other, but missing each other from what? Remus thought Sirius was scum the whole time! And how could he not? He’d seen Sirius be cruel, even sadistic, and show zero remorse. It’s no wonder it fit for him to think Sirius had lost his mind.

As for how Remus handled all this, it’s no mystery: Remus is very similar to Severus in terms of his position. He was a vulnerable kid clinging to any lifeline to keep a low profile and feel safe. Sirius and James provided that safety—they made him feel protected and accepted. He never raised his voice or questioned their decisions because the mere thought of being rejected terrified him. Even as an adult, he keeps justifying their crap because he’s clearly incapable of going against those who gave him a place when he needed it. Remus is also a terribly cowardly man—he doesn’t have the guts to confront things. He has a super avoidant personality, which is crystal clear when he leaves a 13-years-younger pregnant woman because he can’t handle the pressure. A 17-year-old kid has to make him come back—is there anything more pathetic than that? At 38? Sirius clearly hurt him, but Remus knew that confronting Sirius meant confronting James, and if James had to choose between the two, he would always choose Sirius. So it wasn’t in Remus’ interest to speak up or express how he really felt because the idea of losing the protection that came with being their friend was far worse than feeling like crap over what Sirius did. That’s it, plain and simple.

Honestly, it’s such a shame and a total waste that everything gets reduced to couples and absurd adolescent dramas when the dynamics among those four “friends” are fascinating because they’re built on pure power relations and are deeply dysfunctional. But instead of exploring that, which I find genuinely interesting, it all gets thrown away, their personalities are rewritten, and it’s all turned into cheap teen soap operas. But whatever.

[hoiststowline]

Hello! Saw that your requests are open, love your writing!! Would you consider writing for Skyfire? I'd love to cuddle him and wish there was more x reader content for him. Either IDW or G1 up to you, and feel free to ignore if you'd rather not to!

skyfire/jetfire x reader

[a/n: hi!! omg, yes!! also, im sorry chat all I can write is hurt/comfort atm. many apologies.]

The effort scrounged was almost admirable, given the amount it took to stifle it, swallowing that sadness that had crept up the back of your throat. Though heavy evidence sufficed that you tried, yet it all was in vain as it was evident something was amiss, a fact that he would never ignore.

He’s categorically certain that warble in your words he’s never heard in past conversations. It fills his chassis with an overwhelming sense of apprehension and restlessness, presenting him immediately with a problem he does not know, but wishes to solve in a trice.

If Jetfire finds any words in your language to describe the tremble in your tone, they do not come to him easily. He’s instantly distressed, a slew of sentences rushing and fighting to escape first, but no combinations make any sense to say. This strikes him oddly, as usually there is never any ceasefire amongst conversation with you, always able to keep it from dropping off into a state of silence.

“Maybe tomorrow, okay?” You push forward, the slight quiver now nearly obsolete. “I’m not good company.”

But you’re always good company. It lingers longer than he’d like to admit, wanting to disagree with your argument wholeheartedly. It tips on the edge of his glossa, ready to be argued, but he’s spent too much time trying to pick apart the underlying message within your proposal.

“Jay?” You whisper when a moment too long passes, wondering if the call had dropped, as it has many times previously. “Are you still there?”

“Hm?” He muses, still unsure of how to proceed. “Apologies. Yes, I’m still here,”

“Oh.” It’s awkward, and that’s something you hate that arises even if it’s warranted. You’ve upset him, this is obvious, though it’s the last thing you wanted of the entire encounter. “Is…that okay?”

Would it be too forward to say that it’s not alright? In any other instance your cancellation would surely unsettle him, but he would not argue. You’re upset. You’re feeling an emotion that yanks on the chains of his own processor, wanting to be the protector, but also the consoler.

“Of course.” He settles on, opting to circle around this carefully, as to not push you further away. “May I ask you something? Before you go?”

In turn you pause, and Jetfire swears he can hear the gears turning in your head until you ultimately reply.

“Sure.” You sniff, trying to pass it off as normal, but it only slowly spikes his budding concern even more. “I can do that.”

“Whatever is the matter?” There’s a very muffled jolt at his inquiry, as if you were about to fall out of your chair. Without much hesitation, he continues, hopeful not to loose his insistence. “I can tell something isn’t right. But if you’re going to lie, please, at least humor me.”

An expected sigh, then you clear your throat twice before presenting a reply. “I should have known better to try and hide anything from you.” There’s a bout of static, as if you were moving around to another location to finish your sentence. “I’m fine.”

That did little to ease his worry, though he opted to let you go for now and try and reach you later on. “Alright.” He says, but doesn’t mean it. “Talk later then?”

“Yes.” You exhale, as if holding in an unforeseen breath. “I’ll talk to you later,”

Goodbyes are exchanged before the line clicks dead, leaving two parties isolated and unable to process their immediate problems. Jetfire cannot solve your unknowns in a timely manner, he doesn’t even know what he can do to help you, but the irresolution doesn’t last very long.

Within five minutes or so, he’s already too far gone into a haphazardly tossed together plan, redialing once more. He’s found himself uncharacteristically impatient, the line hardly clicks alive before he jumps straight out and says it, worry very present and then some.

Somehow, you conceded. Though not proud, his options were limited and the threat of sending Red Alert to your house was enough to make your situation a little more clear.

It tips on the edge of your tongue, eyelids heavy as your held securely against the side of his face. Jetfire mumbles, lips moving against the cotton of your jacket, thumb brushing against your leg in short motions. He’d wrangled you to the Ark without much effort, but partially, you knew you wanted his company. But didn’t want to be bad company, so instead absolved yourself from the comfort that was most desperately needed.

He doesn’t want you to fall asleep, wishes you would shed some of your burdens onto his shoulders. Jetfire would do it in an instant, but in this very moment, you wanted something else. And with how simple of a thing it was, he was in no position to deny such a request.

“Don’t,” He says, impossibly treading closer. “Don’t say it. Just…sleep.”

You swallow the resounding ‘I’m fine’ back, instead offering words you truly meant. “Thank you,”

Jetfire doesn’t reply, but it’s only because he catches your eyes finally closing, sensing it’s been a bit since you’d had a proper nights rest.

[guttedwhxre]

─ 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 ❞ multiple slashers

UNDER THE CUT: bo sinclair, michael myers, billy loomis & stu macher

tw: reader death ment, violence, torture ment

author's note: photo courtesy of @/pngsnail <3 also, hi everyone! i missed you, did you miss me?

michael is one of the most particular of the slashers, and dating him means you must be able to handle his peculiarities. this requires patience and resilience to do so, losing your temper would only result in pissing him off. michael won’t have quarter for being patronized and demeaned, not anymore. a pissed off michael typically means a deadly michael — but your death won’t be immediate. he’ll toy with you, gradually making your life worse and worse. he’ll allow you to keep blowing up at him, snap at him, until one night michael ends it all, for good. as you look up at him while you bleed out on the floor, cursing him under your breath, he’ll slowly don his mask, and leave you there without a second thought. 

while he won’t allow a bad temper, or disrespect of any kind, michael is surprisingly lenient about you boundaries. as long as you’re firm, and gentle he’ll let it slide. in fact, he almost encourages it. in his own, twisted way. again, michael will push you in small ways until something is done about it. here you can blow up, or collect yourself and gently, yet firmly tell him what he’s done wrong and ask him to stop. that’s only the first part however, as you have to consistently keep these boundaries, or michael will push, push, and keep pushing. 

don’t let him threaten you. he’s not actually trying to kill you when he holds his blade to your neck, no, just testing you. even if you’re into that, you have to be able to differentiate between play time, and a test. once you know that’s he’s testing you, cut him off there. ask that he doesn’t put his knife to you outside of play time, and he’ll slowly drop the knife from your neck, tracing it down your front as he tries to initiate play. however, if you let him press the cold steel into your neck, sit still as his gaze rests on his knife and your supple flesh - he’ll stop there, for now. then another day, when he comes home, he’ll “accidentally” cut you with his knife, watch as you rush around to clean and cover up the wound, gently asking him to be more careful next time. more little “accidents” will follow, each one more life-threatening than the last, and it’ll become more apparent that michael is toying with you. he just wants to see what will happen! just because you let him each time, he wants to see your breaking point. if that ends in your death, well, michael still got what he wanted. to see you break. 

to be clear, michael isn’t very picky about what kind of person you are. just stay consistent, keep your boundaries and make them clear, don’t be a pushover, then you and michael will be very happy together.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

bo is a simple man. at least, that’s how he’d describe himself. he describes his ideal mate as the perfect house-spouse kind — docile, quiet, stays out of the way. but that is far from the truth. someone who submits with no questions asked, all of the time, would bore him. nah, bo sinclair needs someone to match his temper, his fire, not take any of his bullshit. when he blows up, shouts, you need to be able to stand your ground, and sometimes shout right back. it surprises him being challenged, excites him, even. go ahead baby, put him in his place. 

like with michael, constantly shouting and losing your temper at bo wouldn’t be the best idea. it wouldn’t result in your death, just a constant, toxic cycle of fighting and making up. it’s not fun, nor is it worth the exhaustion. you have to be able to know when to fight fire with fire, and when to back down and let bo do his thing. 

bo, to be totally honest, isn’t the kindest guy. he puts on a front for the tourists, sure, but that’s just that – a facade. to be with bo sinclair, you have to have tough skin. he’ll throw more than one insensitive comment your way, about your hair that day, your complexion, hell your weight, even if it’s not intentional. he’s never had to hold his tongue before, why would he now? you’ve gotta stand up for yourself, or else the comments will keep coming, and probably worsen over time. 

all of the sinclair brothers have been through a lot, and it’s affected them in different ways. but for all of them, bo especially, empathy will go a long, long way. take into consideration why he lashes out the way he does and be able to understand why. you don’t have to excuse his actions, just be able to tolerate them, and of course — stand up for yourself. 

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

with billy and stu, you’ve gotta be able to take a joke. a lot of jokes, at that. at your expense, the expense of others, billy and stu have absolutely NO filter and that won’t change when you’re around. be happy it doesn’t! it means they trust you. billy is meaner than stu by a longshot, so be prepared for them to take shots at you. to get them to stop, or at the very least let up a little, go at them right back! joke back or tell them to fuck off, either works. just avoid the topic of mommy issues unless you want a knife to your neck in a not fun way. 

you don’t need something super special to make them interested in you — just be you. do your own thing, mind your own business, be content with yourself. that kind of casual confidence is enthralling, and if one of them picks up on it, trust me, the other will know shortly after. 

gotta be okay with a little kick-back every once in a while — stu likes to party and billy is just fine tagging along, so that means you have to be too! stick to one of them the whole party if you need, though i don’t suggest it as it can very well lead to semi-public sex. unless, sweet thing, that’s exactly what you’re looking for — then be my guest!

stu is handsy. incredibly so. he needs to touch you often, so you’ve gotta be okay with physical contact frequently. he can’t help it! you’re so precious and touchable it makes his heart melt (and his cock hard). if you say no one too many times he’ll tattle on you to billy, which nobody wants — least of all you. billy is fiercely protective of both of you, and stu knows how spoiled he is. he will surely use that to his advantage, even if it’s to your detriment. 

billy often takes the lead when it comes to the three of you, and stu gives up control willingly, eagerly even. you don’t have to be as excited about it as stu is, but it’s best to hand control over day to day decisions to billy. he gets a little bitchy if you don’t, and no one wants a bitchy billy. just whisper to him that he knows best, that’s he’s so strong and capable…and then maybe you can slip a little suggestion in, and he’ll take it. since you’ve been so good…so yes, they’re both very susceptible to seduction.

billy and stu just want you to be you. if you can accept them at their ugliest, most carnal, real selves, they will gladly accept you.

xoxo, babe 💋ྀིྀི

[chdarling]

Hello darling,

I hope you're all right and everything's going well for you. I just wanted to write to you to let you know that I just finished the second book of The Last Enemy (and because of the ending I'm kinda dying to see what the hell is coming next). I'm not gonna ask you when you're planning to release the third book, as I'm sure many people already delight you with such question. I just wanted to say that your fic became, in a few weeks, very important to me.

I started reading the first book around mid-December, when I was still in London. I've been a marauders fan since 2019, but obviously when I got the chance to study a whole semester in London I became obsessed with them again (that city is magical, I swear). The point is, now I'm back at home in Italy, and it's so strange for me to think about the fact that I started this story when I was still in my uni dorm. Leaving London has been very difficult, but somehow, this ff has really helped me go through it and made it easier. I really miss reading it already, and it's only been two days. I swear I don't know what to do with my life now.

I grew to love your characters deeply, they have a special place in my heart. What I really loved about your writing is how canon they are, as an old fan I kinda struggle to appreciate the characterization of the marauders in the new fandom, and it's really not easy to find someone who writes about them in such a canonical way. I loved how you managed to give all of them complex traits, making it clear how none of them are perfect human beings, how sometimes they can be clueless, cruel or hurt people without even realising it. How they all have their fears and imperfections. That really makes you a good author, as young as you might be, it's admirable.

Besides the characterization of our beloved teenagers, reading this ff was an amazing experience. I had so much fun, I swear I cannot remember how many times I laughed. I loved all the funny moments of friendship, relationships and events in general, as I said before it really helped me going through a hard time, and I'll always remember that.

I wrote all this just to thank you for this piece of writing, it made my heart lighter. I can't wait to read how it goes on, and I'll be there to support you. In the meanwhile, I hope you're okay <3

There’s something so beautiful to me when people tell me about how TLE has been with them through different transitions in life. Perhaps it’s because I have been reflecting lately on all the different (and occasionally turbulent) life stages this story has seen me through, but it really touches me. Thank you so much for sharing, and thank you for the kind words. ❤️❤️❤️

And I agree — London is a magical city!!

[bbywhitefox123]

description: the tape Rafe and Mia filmed backfires, but Mia still has hope that Mason might want to sleep with her. So Rafe ends up bringing Mia to a party that Mason is supposed to attend.

warnings: semi-public sex, car sex, p in v

Mia leaked the video the second she got home, and only two hours later it went viral. Not for the right reasons, though. It was hard for a blowjob tape to go viral for the right reasons, anyway. However, Mia had hoped that at least Mason would now think of her as more than a pillow princess. She didn't know what Mason thought, however, she was very aware of everyone's thoughts in Outer Banks.

They thought that Mia’s daddy wasn't giving her enough money, so she began to sell her holes.

“What were you thinking?” Sarah exclaimed the moment she arrived at Mia’s house.

Mia’s eyes traveled from her bathroom door to Sarah’s concerned face. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since the video was uploaded, and Sarah was already panicking.

“Thinking…” Mia repeated, trying to remember what thoughts might have crossed her mind while she had Rafe’s fat cock in her throat. Frankly, it was quite hard to think while being deep-throated. “I thought that it might be thrilling, no?”

Sarah’s eyes widened at the calmness of her best friend's voice. “No!” she shouted, throwing her hands in the air in frustration.

“Oh,” Mia said, looking down at her lap. She was sitting on her bed in her tinnie-tiny pj shorts.

Sarah’s brows furrowed at her friend’s child-like actions - except for the fact that children didn't film adult videos and leak them.

But before she could say anything else, her phone buzzed. Mia couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief wash over her. Sarah had been relentless with her lectures on keeping private moments… well, private. And after that video leak, Mia had heard enough. No one knew Rafe was the one behind the camera, and she planned to keep it that way.

“I have to go, M’s. Topper got in a fight,” Sarah sighed, grabbing her things. “But don’t think we’re done here.”

Mia plastered on a polite smile, nodding as Sarah left, the sound of the door clicking shut signaling her true relief. The moment Sarah was gone, Mia let herself fall back onto her bed, stretching out with a deep breath. “Finally,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

A creak from her bathroom door pulled her attention, and she looked up, watching as Rafe strolled out with that smirk of his, waving his phone lazily in the air.

She raised a brow, eyeing him with a half-smile. “What’s that? You filming yourself jerking off to my laundry?” she teased, crossing her arms as she settled into the mattress.

Rafe scoffed, tossing his phone onto the bed beside her. “Got my annoying sister off your ass. You’re welcome.”

Mia rolled onto her stomach, glancing at the texts he’d sent to Topper. She realized there was no actual fight — just Rafe, manipulating the situation to his advantage. She felt his gaze lingering, and a sly grin crept onto her face as she caught him in the act. The position she was in gave Rafe the perfect view of her heart-shaped ass.

“Oh, enjoying the view, are we?” she teased, arching her back just slightly, making it clear she knew exactly what he was looking at. Rafe felt his dick twitch at the sight of her ass peeking out of the short cotton material.

Rafe tilted his head, not even bothering to hide his stare. “Peach suits you,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing yet undeniably admiring.

Mia smirked, meeting his gaze with a defiant glint in her eyes. “Guess you can look,” she said, barely a whisper, “but don’t think you’ll get away with anything else.”

Rafe snorted, walking around the bed and letting his hand travel from her tight to the center of her lean back. He did exactly what she told him he couldn't. And in one swift motion, he undid her bra through the thin material of her tank top.

Mia’s mouth went dry as she looked up at Rafe, who was smirking devilishly down at her. His fingers moved to her jaw, caressing, and then he tugged on her lower lip.

“We’re friends, remember?” Mia found a little power in her voice and decided to use it.

Rafe smirked, pushing his thumb inside her wet, warm mouth, “The best of.”

Mia leaned in close, brushing her fingers along Rafe’s hand, her gaze steady and unwavering. Her lips quirked up in a teasing smile as she looked up at him, her eyes wide and unguarded. Rafe felt a rush of heat, his pulse picking up as he tried to keep his cool. She didn’t say a word, but the way she lingered, so close he could feel her warmth, said enough.

“You know,” she murmured softly, taking his finger out of her warm mouth and watching the saliva string between them. Her voice was laced with playful defiance, “I could keep you here all night if I wanted.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened as he fought the urge to give in, knowing he had somewhere to be. If only it wasn't for the damn party where he would get his next dose. But the thought of leaving was getting harder with each passing second. And so was his dick.

“Don’t tempt me,” he replied, his voice low, catching the glint of mischief in her eyes as she slowly pulled away, leaving him with only a taste of the tension hanging between them.

Mia wiped her mouth as she rolled back to the middle of the bed. “Where are you going, anyway?” she asked, sitting up.

It was a little after eleven p.m., and she was ready for some Netflix before she could fall asleep. Mia took her bra out and threw it on the edge of the bed before she pulled her laptop closer.

“Nate’s party,” Rafe answered quickly as if he wanted to get over with it.

Opposite to Rafe’s disdain, Mia’s eyes sparkled with excitement at his words. She looked over her shoulder. “Nate like Nate Richards? Mason’s friend? Is that the Nate you’re talking about?” Mia asked question after question, her chest rising with excitement while Rafe furrowed his brows at her.

“I guess—”

“Cool. I’m coming too,” Mia declared, getting up from her bed and quickly walking to her closet without waiting for Rafe to finish his sentence.

Rafe watched her with parted lips, his eyes glued to her jiggling ass. He would’ve much fathered have Mia cumming in her bedroom, instead of her coming to this party.

“Yeah, I’m not taking you,” Rafe said nonchalantly.

Mia stopped herself before she could take out a dress from her closet and turned on her heels to look at him. She pouted her glossy lips and gave him the biggest eyes she could. “Please, Rafey,” she begged.

Rafe gulped, the image of her sucking him on her knees playing in the back of her head. Fuck, he was getting hard all over again.

“I’ll do as you say. I just want to talk with Mason, nothing more— I’ll listen to you, and we’ll leave whenever you want… I’ll be good, I promise, Rafey,” Mia uttered on and on, but not a single word reached Rafe. He was too focused on watching her pretty nipples and the outline of her pussy that the shorts gave.

When Mia noticed where Rafe’s eyes were, she quickly took her tank top off her body without a second thought. Rafe watched with a watered mouth as her perky tits spilled out before he looked up at her face. The power she had on him was unbelievable.

“—You can even pick my outfit and all,” Mia finished her rant but by the look in Rafe’s eyes she knew he heard only the last bits of her words.

“Huh?” He furrowed his brows, fighting the need to look back at her bouncy tits.

Mia chuckled at him, biting her lip as she began to walk closer to him. Rafe’s hungry eyes were glued to her tits that bounced with each of her steps. He couldn't help but imagine how soft they would be in his palms and how she’d moan when he sucked on them. She gave him good material for his late-night jerking sessions.

Mia wrapped her hand around his arm, feeling his hard muscles. She had seen his body more times than any girl had, and she knew how strong he was. And that turned her on more than she cared to admit.

“C’mon,” she smiled at him, pulling him closer to her closet.

Rafe stood in front of the hung clothes and looked at her all confused. The Mia he knew hated when guys had opinions on her clothes and here she was, letting Rafe pick her outfit. He wasn't even sure she was serious until she stripped off her shorts. Rafe’s eyes widened as she took in the view. Mia, his best friend, stood in front of him with her tits out and her pink thong buried between her pussy lips.

“You’re wet,” Rafe pointed out before he could stop himself.

Mia looked down and chuckled. “I guess you’d have to pick a pair of panties, as well,” she said, folding her arms in front of her tits.

Rafe drew a sharp breath as he turned his attention back to her closet. He scratched the back of his head as he looked through her stuff. Outer Banks was one Hell of a hot place and Mia was known for having her ass out, so Rafe had to work with little less fabric than he had imagined.

“I like that dress,” Mia pointed out when Rafe pulled one of the many hangers. A short white dress was dangled down on the gold hanger.

Rafe smirked as he looked at it, “Didn’t I buy it?”

Mia nodded sweetly, the memory of his surprise gift causing her to bit her lip.

“Uhmm…” she hummed, folding her arms behind her as she stepped forward. “I love it when you buy me things.”

Rafe scoffed, trying to bite down his smirk. “Do you now?” he teased, his arm sneaking around her bare waist as he pulled her against his body.

Mia nodded, looking up at him. Her glossy lips twisted into a smirk, catching his gaze. She couldn’t stop herself from giggling. Mia had him wrapped around her pedicured finger. He was sooo whipped.

“So, Rafey. Why don’t you choose the dress Nate Richards would be taking off tonight?” she said, batting her long eyelashes at him.

Rafe snorted, biting back a remark that would’ve had her mood ruined. For a second, he thought whether he should tell her anyway - having her not go to that party was the best outcome. And he likes to gamble.

“How are you so fucking confident he’ll want you?” Rafe breathed out, furrowing his brows. He was so damn fascinated by her.

Mei cocked a brow. “You, boys are very simple. There’s nothing you wouldn't do for sex.”

Rafe tilted his head to the side. He did understand what she meant, but oh how much he loved to watch her lips move. Mei made her point and Rafe daydreamed about that glossy mouth of hers. The same mouth he had around his dick a few days ago. Even the thought of it made his dick hard.

“Just like you’re taking me to that party with the hopes of getting under me,” Mei gave another example, taking her hands off him.

Rafe leaned against the closet door. Biting his lip as Mei bent over to take the dress he had dropped. She had the best ass for doggy style or spanking. And Rafe was getting heated-up just thinking about it. It didn’t help that Mei used to date some of Rafe’s friends and he got to hear about the bedroom part from both sides.

“M’not a bottom,” Rafe muttured, his eyes glued to her tight body.

Mei only rolled her eyes at his statement before she put her dress on and turned around for Rafe to zip it. His cold hands melted against her hot skin as he dragged the zipper as slowly as he could. And when he was done, he placed a kiss on her bare shoulder. Mei laughed at the gesture before she walked away to pick some shoes.

“I’m not carrying you, Peach,” Rafe tasked the moment she picked up a pair of high heels.

Mei groaned, turning to look at him. “Okay, when has that happened— You know what, I take it back,”

Rafe smirked at her. “Exactly. You’ve got the stamina of a baby deer in those things, and I’m not breaking my back dragging you around again.”

Mei rolled her eyes, slipping her feet into the heels anyway. “First of all, I’ve never asked you to carry me. Second, you’re just mad I get more attention than you when we’re out.”

Rafe laughed, pushing off the door to close the gap between them. “You’re delusional. Nobody’s looking at you when I’m in the room.”

Mei gave him a playful glare, her hands going to her hips. “Oh, really? Last time I checked, you were the one begging me to zip this dress so I could distract your enemies.”

“Enemies? Nah, sweetheart,” Rafe said, tilting his head as he let his eyes sweep down her body, slow and deliberate. “They’re just guys who want what I’ve got.”

Mei’s cheeks flushed, but she kept her composure, shooting him a smirk. “What you’ve got? Hate to break it to you, but this—” she gestured to herself— “isn’t yours.”

Rafe stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Sure about that?” His voice was low, teasing, with just enough of an edge to send a shiver up her spine.

She held his gaze, refusing to back down even as her pulse quickened. “Positive.”

Rafe’s smirk widened, but instead of pressing further, he backed away, his hands raised in mock surrender. “If you say so, Peach.”

Mei huffed out a laugh, brushing past him to grab her bag. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he called after her.

She didn’t respond, but the faint smile tugging at her lips was all the answer Rafe needed.

The party was already in full swing when they arrived. The bass from the music thrummed through the walls, and the smell of booze and smoke hung heavy in the air. Mei walked in first, her heels clicking confidently against the floor, her dress hugging her body in all the right places. Rafe trailed behind her, his jaw tight as his eyes swept the room, already annoyed by the way guys were looking at her.

Mei’s target wasn’t hard to find. Mason stood near the kitchen, a beer in one hand, his other slung lazily around some guy’s shoulders as he laughed at something. Mei’s lips curved into a sly smile, and Rafe immediately picked up on the shift in her demeanor.

“You’re not seriously thinking about him,” Rafe muttered as he leaned down to speak in her ear, his hand brushing against her lower back.

“Why not?” Mei replied with a coy glance over her shoulder. “He’s hot, and I’m bored.”

“Hot?” Rafe scoffed, straightening up. “You’ve got low standards if that’s your type.”

Mei rolled her eyes. “Just because I don’t want to bang you doesn’t mean my standards are low.”

“Cute,” Rafe drawled, crossing his arms. “But Mason? Come on, Mei, the guy’s dumber than a bag of rocks.”

“That’s okay. I’m not trying to have an intellectual conversation with him.” Her tone was sharp, but her grin was teasing. She gave Rafe a little wink before striding off toward Mason.

Rafe watched her go, his jaw clenching as she swayed her hips just enough to draw attention. He wanted to roll his eyes at how obvious she was being, but the truth was, it pissed him off more than he cared to admit.

By the time Mei reached Mason, Rafe had already decided he wasn’t going to let this happen. Not tonight. Not with him.

Mason grinned when Mei sidled up to him, her hand brushing his arm as she leaned in close. Rafe could see her laughing at whatever Mason was saying, her hand lingering on his chest. It made his stomach churn.

Without thinking, Rafe grabbed a drink off the counter and strolled over. “Hey, Mason,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder a little harder than necessary. “Didn’t think you’d show up tonight. Weren’t you saying something about skipping this one?”

Mason looked confused, glancing between Rafe and Mei. “Uh, no, I don’t think so—”

“Really? Could’ve sworn you said something about how boring these things get.” Rafe cut him off smoothly, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

Mei narrowed her eyes at him, catching on immediately. “Rafe,” she said sweetly, her smile tight. “I’m sure Mason doesn’t need you putting words in his mouth.”

“Oh, I’m just making conversation,” Rafe said, shrugging innocently. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

But he didn’t leave, and his presence was enough to throw off whatever vibe Mei had been trying to create.

It happened again ten minutes later. Mei had managed to pull Mason onto the makeshift dance floor, her hands running up his chest as she pressed closer to him. Rafe leaned against the wall, watching with a dark expression before deciding he’d had enough.

He pushed off the wall and cut through the crowd, grabbing Mei’s wrist lightly but firmly. “Can I borrow her for a second?” he asked Mason, not bothering to wait for a response before pulling Mei away.

“What the hell, Rafe?” Mei hissed, yanking her arm back once they were out of earshot.

“You looked like you needed saving,” he said, his smirk infuriatingly smug.

“Saving?” Mei repeated, glaring at him. “From what? Having a good time?”

“From making a mistake,” Rafe shot back, his voice low but heated. “You don’t want Mason. Trust me.”

“Why do you even care?” Mei snapped, crossing her arms.

Rafe opened his mouth, then closed it, his jaw working as he tried to come up with a good answer. When he couldn’t, he just shrugged. “I just do, okay?”

Mei arched a brow, her lips curling into a smirk that held more frustration than amusement. "You just do, huh?" she mocked, crossing her arms. "That's not an answer, Rafe. It's an excuse."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his blue eyes locking onto hers. "Why are you making this such a big deal?"

"Because you're being a hypocrite!" Mei snapped, taking a step closer. "You screw around with half the girls in this town, and I don't say a damn thing about it. You're at every party, pulling girls into closets, making out with them in kitchens, and I don't care. So why the hell do you care if I want to have a little fun with Mason?"

Rafe's face darkened, but Mei wasn't finished. "Should we list names? Jessica, Lauren, Kate, Ashley, Sofia... oh, and let's not forget Clara from last weekend. Everyone knows about Clara, Rafe."

His lips parted, but no words came out. She'd hit a nerve, and they both knew it.

Mei leaned in, her voice dropping to a lower, more pointed tone. "You don't see me pulling you away from girls, do you? You don't see me cockblocking you. You can do whatever the hell you want, Rafe. So why can't I?"

For a moment, Rafe just stood there, his fists clenching at his sides. He hated hearing her say it-hated being reminded that she didn't care what he did, because maybe a part of him wanted her to. But he also hated the thought of Mason-stupid, clueless Mason-touching her, kissing her, taking her away from him, even for a night.

"You're right," Rafe said finally, his voice tight. "You don't care, and I shouldn't either."

Mei blinked, her anger faltering for just a second. She hadn't expected him to admit it so quickly-or at all. But before she could say anything, he stepped closer, his tone softening just enough to catch her off guard.

"But maybe I don't care about them," Rafe said, his eyes searching hers. "Not the way I care about you."

The words hung between them, heavy and unspoken for far too long. Mei's breath caught, her heart skipping a beat. She didn't know whether to believe him or to laugh in his face.

"You're full of shit," she said, her voice quieter now, though it lacked the usual bite.

"Maybe," Rafe admitted, a small, rueful smirk tugging at his lips. "But I meant it."

Mei scoffed at Rafe, a sharp, bitter laugh escaping her lips. “You meant it? Sure you did,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m going to find Mason and finish what I started.”

Rafe opened his mouth to protest, but she was already walking away, her heels clicking against the floor. His stomach churned, but he stayed rooted in place, watching as she disappeared into the crowd.

Mei found Mason near the kitchen again, his easy grin and casual demeanor drawing her in like a magnet. She didn’t hesitate, slipping into his space and tilting her head up with that signature coy smile.

“Hey,” she said, her voice dripping with honey. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

Mason raised a brow, his grin widening. “Avoiding you? Nah, Mei, you’d know if I was avoiding you.”

Her smile deepened as she leaned closer, her fingers brushing against his forearm. “Good. Because I was hoping we could pick up where we left off earlier. You’re the only person here who seems remotely interesting.”

Mason chuckled, taking a sip of his beer as his eyes scanned her face. “You’re bold. I’ll give you that.”

“You like bold, don’t you?” Mei countered, her voice teasing.

“I do,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to her lips before flicking back up to her eyes. “But…you’re kind of young for me, Mei.”

Her smile faltered, just for a second, before she quickly recovered. “Young? I’m eighteen. That’s hardly young.”

“For me? It is,” Mason said, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re…I don’t know, innocent. Sweet.”

Mei raised a brow, her ego bruised. “You think I’m innocent?” She laughed, but it sounded forced. “You don’t know me very well, do you?”

Mason shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe not, but I can tell. You don’t belong in a room full of assholes like me, Mei. You’re better than that.”

Her jaw tightened as his words sank in. Better? Innocent? She wasn’t sure if she was insulted or flattered, but she didn’t like how it felt.

“Well,” she said, straightening up and tossing her hair over her shoulder, “maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do. I’m not as sweet as you think, Mason.”

Mason chuckled, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, Mei. But I’m not going to be the guy who proves you wrong.”

Her lips parted in surprise, but Mason gave her an apologetic smile before stepping away, leaving her standing there, her pride wounded and her determination burning.

Mei downed the her drink, the alcohol doing little to temper the frustration bubbling in her chest. If Mason thought she was too innocent, then she’d make damn sure he saw otherwise.

She spotted him a little while later, leaning against the wall with a group of friends. Her steps were purposeful as she approached, her hips swaying just enough to catch his attention.

“Mason,” she said smoothly, interrupting the conversation. “Dance with me.”

He hesitated, glancing at his friends, but Mei wasn’t about to take no for an answer. She grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the dance floor before he could protest.

Once they were surrounded by the pulsing crowd, Mei turned to face him, pressing herself closer than she normally would. Her hands rested on his chest as she leaned up to his ear. “Still think I’m too sweet for you?” she whispered, her voice low and sultry.

Mason’s jaw ticked, his hands hovering at her hips before he reluctantly pulled back. “Mei, you’re proving my point.”

“Am I?” she challenged, her eyes flashing as she took a step closer. “Or are you just scared?”

Mason didn’t respond, his gaze flickering between her lips and her eyes before he finally stepped back, his hands falling to his sides.

“You’re gorgeous, Mei,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “But you don’t need to prove anything to me—or anyone else. Trust me, you’re better off without guys like me.”

Mei’s heart twisted, anger and embarrassment warring in her chest as she watched him walk away. But as she stood there, her cheeks flushed and her pride bruised, she realized she wasn’t done yet.

If Mason wanted her to prove him wrong, then that’s exactly what she’d do.

~~~

Mei’s fingers slid up Mason’s chest as she backed him into the bedroom, her confidence radiating even as her heart raced. She’d caught his attention again, and this time, he didn’t stop her. His lips tugged into a slow smirk, and she leaned in, her breath brushing against his ear.

“So, still think I’m too sweet?” she murmured, her tone dripping with challenge.

Mason chuckled, his hands finally landing on her waist. “Maybe I was wrong about you,” he said, his voice low.

She grinned, pushing the door closed behind them. Her lips found his, the kiss hot and electric as her hands tangled in his hair. For a moment, she reveled in it—the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of proving herself. But as Mason’s hands began to roam her body, a flicker of doubt crept in.

The taste was wrong. The way he held her was wrong. It wasn’t…

Rafe.

Her mind betrayed her, conjuring his face instead of Mason’s. She could practically feel Rafe’s cocky smirk, hear his rough laugh, smell his familiar cologne. The thought jolted her, but instead of pulling away, she leaned in deeper, trying to shake it off.

“Mei,” Mason murmured against her lips, his hands tightening on her hips. But his voice wasn’t the one she wanted to hear.

Outside the cracked door, Rafe leaned against the wall, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. He’d been watching them earlier, his blood boiling as Mei had flirted her way into Mason’s arms. It didn’t matter that some blonde was draped over him now, her lips on his neck and her hands pulling at his shirt. His eyes kept flicking back to that door, his imagination running wild, each thought worse than the last.

“You good, baby?” the blonde purred, her nails raking down his chest.

Rafe forced a smirk, his hand sliding to her waist. “Never better,” he lied, pulling her into him. If Mei wanted to play this game, so could he.

Back in the bedroom, Mason’s kisses trailed down Mei’s neck, but her mind was far from the present. She closed her eyes, biting her lip as her thoughts drifted to Rafe. The way he teased her, the way his hands lingered just a second too long when he zipped her dress, the way he always seemed to know how to get under her skin.

Her breathing hitched, and Mason paused, pulling back to look at her. “You okay?”

She nodded quickly, her hands framing his face to pull him back to her. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, her voice shaky.

But as their lips met again, she couldn’t stop herself. In her mind, it wasn’t Mason she was kissing anymore. It was Rafe—arrogant, infuriating, complicated Rafe.

Her fingers curled into Mason’s shirt as she kissed him harder, desperate to drown out the confusion swirling inside her. But the more she tried, the more Rafe’s face, his voice, his touch consumed her thoughts.

And it was driving her crazy.

Mei's back hit the mattress, and her heart pounded against her ribs as she pulled Mason-or at least she thought it was Mason-closer. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. She closed her eyes, her hands running up his chest, and in her mind, it wasn't Mason above her anymore.

It was Rafe.

His smirk burned into her thoughts, his cocky, teasing words echoing in her ears. His hands weren't soft or cautious like Mason's-they were rough, confident, possessive. As her nails dragged along his skin, she could almost hear Rafe's low chuckle, the one that always made her stomach twist in the best and worst ways.

"Thought you wanted Mason," the Rafe in her mind teased, his lips brushing her ear as his hand pinned her wrist to the bed.

Her breath hitched, her body reacting to the idea of him rather than the reality in front of her. "Shut up," she murmured, the words spilling from her lips before she could stop them.

Mason froze for a second. "What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, pulling him back down, desperate to keep going, desperate to hold onto the fantasy she was spinning in her head.

Rafe's voice was still there, taunting her. His lips moved from her ear to her neck, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to send a shiver down her spine. His hands roamed her body like they owned it, rough and unapologetic, setting her every nerve on fire.

"You like this, don't you?" his voice growled in her mind, and she could only gasp in response.

The lines between fantasy and reality blurred as she arched her back, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Rafe..." she whispered before she could stop herself, the name slipping out like a confession.

Mason pulled back, his brows furrowed. "Did you just say Rafe?"

Her eyes snapped open, the illusion shattering as reality crashed back in. Mason stared down at her, confusion and hurt written all over his face, and Mei's stomach dropped.

"I-" She scrambled for an explanation, but her lips wouldn't form the words. Her heart raced, her mind a mess of guilt and frustration.

Mason sat up, running a hand through his hair as he sighed. "Mei, what the hell?"

She couldn't answer, her thoughts still spinning with the image of Rafe - his smirk, his touch, his everything.

"Maybe I should go," Mason said, shaking his head as he climbed off the bed.

Mei didn't stop him. She couldn't. Because deep down, she knew the truth.

It wasn't Mason she wanted.

It had always been Rafe.

Mei stormed out of the bedroom, her mind racing and her chest tight. Her body was buzzing with frustration, not just at Mason for turning her down, but at herself for not being able to get Rafe out of her head. She needed to find him - now.

She moved through the crowd, ignoring the drunken laughs and blaring music as she asked around. "Have you seen Rafe?" she demanded from a girl near the drinks table.

The girl pointed toward the corner of the room with a smirk. "Over there, probably charming the pants off someone."

Mei's jaw clenched as she turned in the direction she'd been given, and sure enough, there he was. Leaning against the wall, Rafe had a blonde pressed up against him, his hands gripping her waist while his mouth worked against hers. The sight sent a flash of heat and anger surging through Mei, her nails curling into her palms.

What the hell was he doing?

Without thinking, she marched across the room, her heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floor. Rafe didn't even notice her approach, too caught up in whatever nonsense he was whispering in the blonde's ear. Mei felt her stomach twist at the sight, her frustration boiling over as she shoved her way between them.

"Move," Mei said sharply to the blonde, who blinked in shock but stepped aside, intimidated by Mei's sudden burst of authority.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his smirk lazy and amused as he looked down at Mei. "Jealous, Peach?" he teased, licking his lips as if to taunt her further.

Instead of answering, Mei grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down to her level, crashing her lips against his in a kiss that was equal parts anger and need. Rafe froze for half a second, startled, but quickly recovered. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her back, just as fiery and aggressive as she was.

The room around them seemed to disappear, the music fading into the background as Mei poured all of her pent-up frustration into the kiss. Her fingers twisted into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against her lips.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rafe muttered when they finally broke apart, his voice rough and breathless.

Mei glared at him, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. "You're mine tonight," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Rafe's smirk widened, his hands tightening on her hips. "Oh, is that how it is?"

"Yeah," Mei said, her voice low and daring. "You got a problem with that?"

"Not at all, Peach," Rafe replied, his eyes darkening with something that made her stomach flip. "Not at all."

Without another word, she pulled him back down, her lips crashing into his once more, determined to drown out every thought and feeling in the only way she knew how-with him.

Rafe let out a low chuckle as Mei yanked him toward the door, her grip firm on his wrist. "In a rush, Peach?" he teased, though the heat in his voice betrayed that he was just as eager.

"Shut up and move," Mei snapped, throwing a glance over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes blazing with determination.

The cool night air hit them as they stumbled out of the house. The muffled thump of the party music faded into the background, and Mei's heels clicked against the pavement as she led him to his car.

Rafe smirked when she stopped in front of his sleek black SUV, her chest heaving with adrenaline. "Could've just asked nicely," he drawled, unlocking the car with a click.

Mei didn't bother with a reply. She shoved him against the side of the car, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt as she crushed her lips against his. It was messy and desperate, her frustration pouring into every kiss, every nip of his bottom lip.

Rafe groaned against her mouth, his hands sliding to her waist and pulling her closer. "Damn, Peach," he muttered, his voice rough and teasing. "Didn't know you were so needy."

"Shut up," Mei hissed, her fingers already fumbling with the handle of the back door. She yanked it open and shoved him inside, climbing in after him.

The space was tight, but Mei didn't care. She straddled him on the backseat, her dress riding up as she settled on his lap. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him into another searing kiss.

Rafe's hands roamed her thighs, slipping under the fabric of her dress and gripping her hips. "You sure about this?" he murmured, his lips brushing her jaw.

She glared at him, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Do I look unsure?"

Rafe grinned, his eyes dark and hungry. "Fair point."

Their movements became a blur of urgency-clothes tugged aside, breathless gasps filling the confined space. Mei's mind was a whirlwind, her frustration and desire finally colliding in the only way she could think to satisfy them.

Every touch, every kiss, every groan that escaped Rafe's lips sent a jolt of electricity through her. And when he finally pressed her back against the seat, his hands firm on her hips as he moved against her, all the tension she'd been carrying melted away, replaced by pure, unfiltered heat.

"Peach," Rafe groaned, his voice low and wrecked, his forehead resting against hers.

"Don't stop," Mei whispered, her nails raking down his back.

And for once, Rafe didn't have a smart-ass comment. He just gave her what she needed, every moment a chaotic, messy, and perfect blur.

Rafe's hands gripped Mei's thighs tightly, his fingers digging into her skin as if anchoring himself. The cramped space of the car only heightened the heat between them, their bodies pressed together with no room for hesitation. Mei's dress was bunched up around her waist, the fabric forgotten as Rafe's rough palms slid along her bare skin, his movements deliberate and teasing.

"God, Mei," he muttered, his voice thick and uneven, lips brushing against her ear. "You're driving me fucking insane."

"Good," Mei shot back, her breath hitching as his mouth trailed along her neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses. Her hands fumbled at his shirt, pushing it up and over his head with a huff of frustration when it got caught on his arm.

Rafe chuckled darkly, helping her with a cocky smirk. "Impatient much?"

"Shut up," she snapped, her hands moving to the button of his jeans, popping it open with more force than necessary. She didn't have time for his snark; her body was buzzing with frustration and need, and every second they spent talking felt like a waste.

Rafe leaned back against the seat, watching her with hooded eyes as she worked on freeing him. His lips quirked up in that familiar smug grin, but there was something more in his gaze-something darker, hungrier.

When she finally succeeded, her hand wrapped around him, and Rafe let out a sharp breath, his head falling back against the window. "Fuck, Peach," he groaned, his voice low and guttural.

Mei shifted on his lap, aligning herself without hesitation. Her eyes locked onto his, daring him to say something snarky, but Rafe was too far gone for words. The moment she sank down onto him, a sharp gasp escaped her lips, her nails digging into his shoulders as her body adjusted to the intrusion.

"Jesus," Rafe hissed, his hands flying to her hips to steady her. His grip was firm but not controlling, his thumbs stroking her skin almost tenderly. "You're-fuck, Mei."

Her head fell back as she began to move, slow and deliberate at first, testing her limits. The stretch burned in the best way, and the friction sent shocks of pleasure through her body, curling in her stomach like fire.

Rafe's control snapped as she found her rhythm, his hips lifting to meet hers with every thrust. His hands guided her movements, his fingers pressing hard enough to leave marks. The car was filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing, the slap of skin against skin, and Mei's soft, breathless moans.

"Rafe," she whispered, his name falling from her lips like a prayer, and it sent him over the edge.

He surged forward, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue tangling with hers as their movements grew more desperate, more frantic. One of his hands slid up her back, tangling in her hair, while the other stayed on her hip

Rafe's hands gripped Mei's thighs tightly, his fingers digging into her skin as if anchoring himself. The cramped space of the car only heightened the heat between them, their bodies pressed together with no room for hesitation. Mei's dress was bunched up around her waist, the fabric forgotten as Rafe's rough palms slid along her bare skin, his movements deliberate and teasing.

Rafe's grip tightened as his movements became rougher, need overtaking any restraint he might've had. Mei's fingers dug into his shoulders, her nails dragging down his skin, leaving red trails in their wake. Every roll of her hips sent shivers through her, the pressure building inside her like a storm ready to break.

"God, Rafe," she gasped against his lips, her voice breathless and trembling. His name spilled from her mouth like a mantra, each syllable laced with desperation and pleasure.

"You feel so fucking good," he growled, his voice gravelly and low. His lips trailed down her jaw to her neck, sucking at the delicate skin there, his teeth grazing just enough to leave a mark.

Mei's head fell back, her hair brushing against the roof of the car as her body arched into him. "Harder," she demanded, her voice low but commanding, and Rafe didn't hesitate.

He gripped her hips harder, lifting her slightly before slamming her back down, each thrust hitting deeper and harder than the last. Mei's cries grew louder, her hands tangling in his hair as she tugged, pulling his head back to capture his lips again in a messy, heated kiss.

The car windows fogged up, the air inside thick with heat and the scent of their bodies. The cramped space forced them closer, their movements tangled and frantic as they chased their release together.

"Look at me," Rafe demanded, his voice sharp but full of want. His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face toward his as his dark blue eyes burned into hers. "I want to see you."

Her eyes fluttered open, locking onto his, and the intensity in his gaze sent a new wave of heat rushing through her. Her body trembled, her breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps as she teetered on the edge.

"I can't-" Mei started, her words breaking off into a moan as her body tightened around him.

"You can," Rafe murmured, his lips brushing against hers, his voice softer now but no less commanding. "Come on, Peach. Let go."

That was all it took. Her body shuddered, waves of pleasure crashing over her as she cried out his name, her nails biting into his skin. Rafe wasn't far behind, a low groan tearing from his throat as he gripped her tightly, his body tensing as he found his release.

For a moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing, their bodies still tangled together as they came down from the high. Mei rested her forehead against Rafe's, her eyes closed as she tried to steady her racing heart.

"Feel better now?" Rafe asked after a beat, his voice teasing but still rough from the intensity of what they'd just shared.

Mei let out a soft, breathless laugh, her lips quirking into a small smile. "Shut up," she muttered, but there was no bite to her words.

Rafe smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Didn't think you'd actually go through with pulling me out of the party for this," he said, his tone smug.

Mei rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward. "I needed to prove a point," she said, leaning back slightly.

"Oh, you proved it," Rafe replied, his grin widening. "And I think I won."

Mei scoffed, sliding off his lap and smoothing down her dress. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," she shot back, though the faint blush on her cheeks gave her away.

Rafe leaned back, watching her with a satisfied smirk as she adjusted herself. "You're not getting rid of me that easily now, Peach," he teased, his tone light but his eyes lingering on her with something deeper.

Mei didn't respond, but the way her lips curled into a small, secretive smile told him everything he needed to know.

previous next

[arivsxq]

Meddle about chapter 3

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Theme: strangers to lovers, angsty shit

Warnings: smut, hookup, fwb, mdni, maybe slow updates

Word count: 4,6k+

Songs: Meddle about-Chase Atlantic

Heartbeat-Childish Gambino

A/N: Wrote a longer chapter this time as a little apology for the few people who waited so long. Sorry again but I try to upload more regularly this year:)

The next morning, I was running late. Again. I'd hit snooze one too many times, and now I was shoving books into my bag with a granola bar hanging from my mouth, cursing my existence. I barely had time to throw on a hoodie and sneakers before rushing out the door. It was the second day in a row where I looked like a homeless person. If my parents saw me like this they would definitely scream their guts out.

By the time I got to campus, I was already exhausted. The philosophy lecture hall was halfway across campus, and I knew if I stopped for coffee, I'd be even later. So, against my better judgment, I powered through, speed-walking like my life depended on it.

And that's when it happened.

One second, I was focused on not tripping over my own feet. The next, I slammed right into someone, sending both of us stumbling back.

"Oh, shit—"

I barely had time to process before strong hands gripped my arms, steadying me before I could fall flat on my ass.

And of course. Of course.

It was Jungkook.

Because why wouldn't it be?

He looked down at me, eyebrows raised in amusement. "You good?"

I blinked up at him, momentarily thrown off by how close we were. His hoodie was slightly oversized, sleeves covering part of his hands, and his dark hair was tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed. The morning light caught on the two piercings on the corner of his lips, and—

Nope. Absolutely not.

I stepped back quickly, clearing my throat. "Yeah. Fine. Totally great."

He gave me a look, like he didn't quite believe me, but he didn't push it. Instead, he smirked. "Running late?"

I huffed, adjusting my bag. "What gave it away?"

"The fact that you almost knocked me and yourself unconscious."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please. You barely moved."

"Strong reflexes." He grinned. "Perks of being me."

I hated that I almost laughed.

Instead, I shook my head, moving past him. "I gotta go."

"Wait."

I paused, reluctantly turning back. "What?"

Jungkook tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning my face like he was debating something. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable yesterday," he said finally.

I blinked, caught off guard. "What?" I said again.

"The coffee thing." He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I wasn't trying to push anything. Just... wanted to talk."

Guilt twisted in my stomach. I let out a slow breath, suddenly feeling very aware of how awkward I'd made everything.

"I know," I admitted. "I just had..." I hesitated. "two cups of coffee"

Jungkook studied me for a second before nodding. "Okay."

That was it. Just okay. No guilt-tripping, no passive-aggressive remarks. Just acceptance. It threw me off more than anything else. Before I could say something else—what, I didn't even know—Jungkook took a step back. "I'll see you in class," he said, and then he walked away, leaving me standing there like an idiot.

"wait-"

He turns around with a questioning look on his face.

"What about later? I-I mean... after the lectures. Only if you have time, we don't need to-"

"yeah, sure" he smiles and disappears after.

Did I just stutter???

***

By the time I slipped into my seat next to Carla, the professor had already started scribbling something on the board. I tried to act casual like I hadn't just made an absolute fool of myself five minutes ago, but Carla's sharp gaze immediately landed on me.

"You're late," she whispered, leaning in.

"Tell me something I don't know," I muttered, pulling out my iPad.

Carla ignored my bad mood, her eyes narrowing. "Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"

I hesitated for half a second too long, and that was all she needed.

"Oh my god," she gasped, her voice a little too loud. "Is this about Jungkook?"

My entire body stiffened. "No," I lied instantly.

Carla's smirk grew. "So if I turn around right now, he's not gonna be looking at you?"

I refused to take the bait. "I don't care what he's doing."

Carla, being the absolute menace she was, twisted in her seat anyway. I heard her inhale sharply. "Oh. My. God."

I sighed. "Carla—"

"He's staring at you."

I groaned, dropping my forehead onto the desk. "I hate you."

Carla giggled. "Oh, babe, you love me."

I peeked up at her, only to find her grinning like she'd just won the lottery. I knew that look. It meant trouble.

"What did you do?" I whispered harshly.

"Nothing," she said, way too innocently. "I just think it's interesting that you rejected coffee yesterday but suddenly have plans after class today."

I glared at her. "How do you even know that?"

Carla rolled her eyes. "Please. I saw your face when you walked in. You look like someone who just did something completely out of character."

She wasn't wrong.

"Annnnddd I overheard Jungkook telling Namjoon"

I sighed, resigning myself to the fact that Carla would never let this go. "Fine. I might have... invited him to hang out."

Carla's jaw dropped. "You invited him? As in, willingly?"

"Would you keep your voice down?" I hissed, glancing around.

Carla's expression turned gleeful. "This is huge."

"It's really not."

"It is." She paused, then gasped. "Oh my god, do you like him?"

I choked. "Absolutely not."

Carla narrowed her eyes. "Liar."

"I literally just met him."

Carla smirked. "And yet, here we are."

I wanted to argue, but the professor shot us a pointed look, forcing Carla to finally shut up. I exhaled in relief and focused on the lecture, but my brain refused to cooperate. I was too aware of the fact that Jungkook was sitting just a few rows away.

And worse? I could feel him looking at me.

***

After class, I practically sprinted out of the lecture hall before Carla could interrogate me further. I had a break before my next class, and Jungkook was nowhere in sight. Maybe he'd forgotten about my invitation. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe—

"Hey."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Spinning around, I found Jungkook standing there, looking amused.

"Jesus," I muttered, clutching my chest. "You need to stop sneaking up on me."

He raised an eyebrow. "I literally just walked up."

I huffed. "Whatever."

Jungkook chuckled, then nodded toward the campus café. "Still down?"

I hesitated. "For what?"

His lips twitched. "To hang out? You did invite me, remember?"

I internally cringed. "Right. Yeah. Sure."

Jungkook gave me an amused glance but didn't push it. We made our way to the café in comfortable silence, and I tried not to overthink the fact that I was willingly spending time with him.

Inside, we grabbed drinks, him, an iced Americano; me, a caramel latte, and found a spot near the window. I wrapped my hands around my cup, suddenly unsure what to say.

Jungkook beat me to it. "So, what's your deal?"

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He smirked. "You seem... hard to read."

I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "You act like you don't care, but I don't think that's true."

I stared at him. "That's a bold assumption."

Jungkook sipped his coffee, unfazed. "Am I wrong?"

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. Annoyingly, he wasn't. I did care. I just hated admitting it.

Instead, I deflected. "And what about you? What's your deal?"

Jungkook tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

I gestured vaguely. "You just randomly show up at my friends' dinner, stare at me in class, and now you're analyzing my personality like it's a project."

He smirked. "So you did notice me staring."

I groaned "I walked into that one."

Jungkook laughed, a soft, genuine sound that caught me off guard. When I looked up, he was watching me, his expression more serious than before.

"For real, though," he said, voice quieter. "I think you're interesting."

I swallowed. "You don't even know me."

"Not yet," he said simply.

I didn't have a response to that.

Jungkook didn't press me for one. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee like he had all the time in the world. I stared out the window, watching students hurry past, my thoughts a tangled mess.

"I think we would make great friends" he interrupts the silence.

I blinked at him, unsure if I had misheard. "Friends?"

Jungkook nodded, completely unfazed. "Yeah. You know, the normal kind. People who hang out, talk, maybe send each other stupid memes at 2 AM. Friends."

I squinted at him. "Do you usually pursue friendships with people who actively avoid you?"

He chuckled. "You haven't exactly been avoiding me."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he had a point. I could have ignored him and shut down every attempt he made to talk to me, but instead, here I was, sitting across from him, sharing coffee.

I sighed, stirring my drink absentmindedly. "You're persistent, I'll give you that."

"I prefer determined," he said, smirking.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Fine. Friends."

Jungkook raised his cup like he was toasting. "Friends."

We fell into an easy conversation after that. Turns out, he was surprisingly easy to talk to. He told me about his photography projects, his love for late-night drives, and his weirdly specific obsession with collecting vintage film cameras. In return, I told him about my art major, my stress over exams, and my terrible habit of procrastinating until the last possible second.

"So basically," Jungkook said, resting his chin on his palm, "we're both disasters in different ways."

I snorted. "Yeah, pretty much."

The time passed quicker than I expected. Before I knew it, my break was almost over, and I had to get to my next class. I glanced at the time and groaned. "I gotta go."

Jungkook stretched, standing up. "I'll walk with you."

I hesitated for a second but didn't protest. We stepped out of the café, the campus buzzing with students rushing to their next classes. The air was crisp, the sun casting long shadows across the pavement.

As we walked, Jungkook glanced at me. "So, do I get a contact name in your phone now? Or am I still 'Unknown Number'?"

I huffed a laugh, pulling out my phone. "Fine. But if you send me dumb memes at 2 AM, I'm blocking you."

Jungkook grinned, typing his number into my phone. "Noted."

I saved his contact, glancing at him. "Happy now?"

He grinned wider. "Very."

As we reached the building where my class was, I turned to him. "Guess I'll see you later."

"Yeah," he said, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. "Later."

I walked into the lecture hall, feeling oddly lighter than I had in days. Maybe having Jungkook around wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.

***

Who would've thought that four months later, Jungkook would be one of my closest friends? But here we were, sitting in his living room. My legs were stretched out over his, tangled in the most casual way, like we'd been doing this forever. His feet rested on the other end of the L-shaped couch, his laptop perched on his thighs as he absentmindedly scrolled through something.

The room was dimly lit, the only real light coming from the TV, playing some random movie neither of us were paying attention to. A forgotten bag of chips sat between us, and my half-empty iced coffee was precariously balanced on the armrest.

Jungkook suddenly let out a dramatic sigh, closing his laptop with a soft thud. "I'm so over this assignment."

Not even looking up from my phone I respond "You say that about every assignment."

"Because they all suck," he shot back, tossing his laptop onto the floor beside him. "Seriously, who thought writing an essay about 'the emotional depth of visual storytelling' was a good idea?"

"Uh, your professor?"

He gave me a flat look. "I refuse to acknowledge that man's existence."

I laughed, nudging his leg with my foot. "You just need a break. Wanna order food?"

Jungkook perked up instantly. "Now you're speaking my language."

"Pizza?"

"Obviously."

I reached for my phone to make a call but then I see a message from my father.

Father:"Were invited to dinner by the Kim's."

I roll my eyes. My thoughts get interrupted by Jungkook's voice calling me.

"What's with the eye-role?" he tries to tease.

"Just my father. We're invited for dinner by the Kim's" if my annoyed face doesn't tell what I think about the plans my voice definitely does.

"Which Kim's exactly?" Jungkook hesitates.

"Your smart ass friend Namjoon?"

"Oh these Kim's"

Jungkook smirked, leaning back into the couch. "So, what's the problem? Namjoon's cool."

I groaned, throwing my phone onto the coffee table. "Yeah, but his parents are the problem. And also mine but that's not the point. They're like... I don't know, fancy? Pretentious? The kind of people who judge you based on how well you hold a wine glass."

Jungkook chuckled. "So like your family"

"True but shut up"

He shrugged. "I mean, I could come as your emotional support."

I snorted. "Oh, sure. I'd love to see my father's face when I show up with you. That'd go over well."

"Hey, I can be classy." He sat up straighter, clearing his throat before saying in an exaggerated deep voice, "Good evening, Mr. Kim. A pleasure to see you again. The duck confit is simply exquisite."

I burst out laughing. "Oh my God, stop."

Jungkook grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "I'd fit right in."

"Yeah, until you start talking about video games or making fun of Namjoon's philosophy books."

"Fine, fine. But really, is it that bad?"

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "It's just... my dad has this weird thing about the Kim's. Mr. Kim and dad have a long history of business dealings and stuff. Like, they're this perfect family in his eyes, and I always feel like I have to act a certain way around them. You know, be 'proper' and 'respectable' or whatever. It's exhausting."

Jungkook nodded, his playful expression softening a little. "I get that. But hey, if it makes you feel any better, Namjoon's probably suffering through it too."

"He is" I sighed. "I know him since I was 6. This guy doesn't have a great poker face"

"You got this," Jungkook said, bumping his knee against mine. "And if it gets unbearable, just imagine them all in clown wigs. Helps me get through awkward situations."

"That explains a lot"

"Hey"

The rest of the evening passed in comfortable laziness. We ordered pizza, half-watched a movie, and talked about everything and nothing until it was late and I had to drag myself off the couch.

***

The moment I stepped into my walk-in closet at my parent's house, I knew I couldn't just throw on any outfit. My parents took these dinners seriously, and showing up in anything less than polished perfection was practically a crime in their eyes. So, instead of my usual laid-back style, I went for a sleek black dress, nothing too extravagant, but just enough to say, yes, I belong in this ridiculous world of power plays and social niceties. A pair of delicate diamond earrings and designer heels completed the look.

By the time I made it downstairs, my mother gave me an approving glance, my father barely looked up from his watch, and we were ushered into the car.

When we arrived at the Kim estate, a sprawling mansion that made even our home seem modest, I sighed inwardly. The moment we stepped through the grand entrance, Namjoon and his parents greeted us with the usual warmth laced with underlying expectations. My mother was already deep in conversation with Mrs. Kim about some charity gala, while my father and Mr. Kim exchanged firm handshakes and business talk.

And then, just as I was about to zone out, my phone buzzed in my clutch.

Jungkook: "How's the royal banquet?"

I bit back a smile and texted back.

Me: "Currently contemplating my existence between a five-course meal and a conversation about hedge funds."

Jungkook: "Sounds thrilling. You need a rescue?"

Me: "Always"

Jungkook: "I'll send a helicopter"

I rolled my eyes but felt strangely lighter. If nothing else, at least I had Jungkook's sarcasm to get me through the night. The dining room was an opulent display of wealth, all crystal chandeliers, gold-trimmed dinnerware, and a floral centerpiece so large it practically needed its own zip code. I took my designated seat between my mother and Namjoon, the latter offering a polite smile as I settled in. Across from me, his younger sister, Jihye, was already scrolling through her phone beneath the table, clearly just as thrilled to be here as I was.

"So," Mr. Kim started, his deep voice carrying over the soft clinking of silverware, "I hear the expansion in Singapore is progressing well."

My father nodded, always the composed businessman. "Yes, though we had to make some last-minute adjustments to accommodate new regulations. Nothing we can't handle."

I tuned out almost instantly. Business talk at these dinners was as predictable as the perfectly plated gourmet meals in front of us. The first course, a delicate amuse-bouche that looked more like art than food, was placed before me, and I forced myself to take a bite, despite my complete lack of appetite.

I stole a glance at Namjoon, who seemed equally unenthusiastic. Despite his reputation for being a genius, he was, at the core, still just a guy who had been shoved into this world whether he liked it or not.

"How's university treating you?" he asked, voice low enough that it didn't interrupt the ongoing corporate negotiations happening to our left.

"Oh, you know," I sighed, "thriving under capitalism, questioning my existence, the usual."

Namjoon chuckled. "Sounds about right. Jungkook keeping you entertained?"

I nearly choked on my water. I cleared my throat, trying to play it cool. "Why would you assume that?"

Namjoon arched a knowing brow. "Because he's Jungkook. And you're... you."

I narrowed my eyes. "Care to elaborate?"

Before he could, Mrs. Kim turned her attention toward me, her carefully poised smile in place. "Darling, your mother was telling me about your latest art project. How wonderful that you still find time for such creative pursuits."

My lips twitched. "Yes, still clinging to the last remnants of my soul."

My mother shot me a warning look, but Mrs. Kim merely laughed, as if I had said something utterly charming rather than laced with sarcasm.

"Well, creativity is important," she said smoothly, sipping her wine. "Though, of course, I'm sure you're also considering more... practical applications for the future."

There it was. The inevitable nudge toward "real-world" aspirations, the ones that involved boardrooms, mergers, and an existence carefully molded into the expectations of high society.

I didn't get the chance to respond before my phone buzzed in my lap again.

"Uh yeah but I actually want to presume art"

My mother lets out a fake laugh and says "Young people and their imagination. Of course, she has other plans for the future. After all, she is the heir of a million dollar company"

Bitch.

She shoots me one last look before I look at my phone.

Jungkook: "Tell me you've at least been served something edible."

Me: "If by edible, you mean a piece of asparagus decorated like a museum exhibit, then yes."

Jungkook: "Tragic. Need me to smuggle in a burger?"

Me: "Tempting. You'd get past security?"

Jungkook: "For you? I'd find a way."

A warmth spread through my chest, but before I could type a response, my mother's voice cut through my thoughts. "Darling, put your phone away. It's rude during dinner."

I bit back a sigh, slipping my phone back into my clutch and returning to my untouched plate. Across from me, Jihye smirked knowingly, clearly having caught on.

The second course arrived,some kind of seafood dish with a name too long to remember, and the conversation steered toward future prospects. Mr. Kim, ever the strategist, turned to Namjoon with a measured look.

"Have you given more thought to your role in the company after graduation?"

Namjoon's smile was tight. "Of course. Still weighing my options."

"Options?" Mr. Kim repeated, clearly unimpressed. "Your path has always been clear."

I didn't miss the way Namjoon's grip tightened around his fork. I felt a sudden, sharp pang of sympathy. The weight of expectation in a family like this wasn't just heavy, it was suffocating.

"I think Namjoon should have the space to explore his interests," I interjected, drawing attention back to me. "After all, wouldn't you rather have a CEO who actually enjoys his work?"

There was a beat of silence before Mrs. Kim gave a tight-lipped smile. "Of course, dear. But responsibility is a privilege, not a choice."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "Right. How could I forget?"

"Y/N!" My father warns me but I could care less.

As the courses continued, so did the thinly veiled expectations, the strategic questions, the careful way my mother kept nudging me to say the right things, to act the part.

By the time dessert arrived, I was more than ready to escape.

Another buzz.

Jungkook: "Still alive?"

Me: "Barely. Might fake an emergency. Thoughts?"

Jungkook: "Dramatic fainting. Classic. I'll give you a 9/10 if you commit to it."

I stifled a laugh, but Namjoon caught it, shaking his head in amusement. "Tell Jungkook he's a bad influence."

"Oh, he already knows."

As coffee was served, my mother turned to me with a pointed look. "We'll be attending the charity gala next weekend. You'll be expected to join...and your manners too."

I sighed internally but nodded. "Of course. Wouldn't miss it."

She smiled, satisfied, and returned to her conversation.

Jungkook: "What are your plans for next weekend?"

Me: "Apparently, I'm being paraded at a gala."

Jungkook: "Sounds fancy."

Me: "Sounds exhausting."

Jungkook: "I could always crash it."

I hesitated for a split second.

Me: "You wouldn't."

Jungkook: "Oh, baby. Don't challenge me."

I stared at the message, something dangerously close to excitement bubbling under my ribs.

Jungkook at a high-society gala? Now that would be a sight to see. As the evening dragged on, my patience wore thin. Just as I thought I might actually lose my mind listening to another story about market trends, Mr. Kim turned to me.

"Have you given any thought to internships? I know your father has some excellent connections. It would be a wonderful opportunity."

I hesitated. "I have some ideas, but nothing concrete yet."

My father, who had been mostly silent on my personal matters, decided now was the time to weigh in. "She needs to start focusing on more stable prospects. The art thing is fine as a hobby, but—"

There it was. The inevitable dismissal of my interests, as if they were just a passing phase. I clenched my jaw, forcing a polite nod instead of the biting retort I wanted to unleash.

Before I could say anything, Namjoon smoothly interjected, "Actually, Jungkook was telling me about an artist he's been following lately. Some really impressive work."

I shot him a look of gratitude. Namjoon, ever the diplomat, had just steered the conversation away from my impending existential crisis.

Mr. Kim hummed in approval. "Ah, Jungkook. Always an interesting one."

My mother's lips pursed ever so slightly. She wasn't the biggest fan of Jungkook, something about him being too carefree, too unpredictable. The irony, considering how much they admired Namjoon, who happened to be one of Jungkook's closest friends.

As the night wore on, I found myself feeling less suffocated, despite the setting. Maybe it was Namjoon's subtle interventions, or maybe it was knowing that, on the other side of my phone screen, Jungkook was keeping me grounded in my own way.

By the time we finally left the Kim estate, I let out a breath of relief. The car ride home was silent, my parents satisfied with another successful evening of networking but also angry at my behavior.

As soon as I was back in my room, I collapsed onto my bed and checked my phone again.

Jungkook: "You made it out?"

Me: "Against all odds."

Jungkook: "Proud of you. Wanna celebrate your survival with a coffe at my place"

I hesitated for a moment, then smiled.

Me: "Fine. But only if you make breakfast too"

Jungkook: "Why? We can buy something on the campus"

Me:"okay see you in class"

Jungkook:"Ugh fine, I'll make breakfast. Anything for the Chanel princess"

I set my phone down, feeling a little lighter. Maybe these dinners would never be easy, but at least I had people who made them bearable.

***

The next morning, I woke up to the soft ping of my phone, signaling a message from Jungkook.

Jungkook: "I'm up. Suffering. Hope you're happy."

I grinned, stretching lazily before replying.

Me: "Very. Now get to work, chef."

Jungkook: "Bossy. I like it."

Shaking my head, I rolled out of bed and grabbed a change of clothes before heading to his apartment. I had barely knocked when the door swung open, revealing Jungkook in an oversized hoodie, his hair still messily tousled from sleep.

"Morning, Chanel Princess," he greeted, stepping aside to let me in.

"Morning, Michelin-star chef," I smirked, peering over his shoulder. "Where's my gourmet breakfast?"

Jungkook scoffed, leading me into the kitchen where a pan of slightly burnt pancakes sat on the stove. "Listen, I never promised quality."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're lucky I'm too hungry to care."

As I grabbed a plate, he leaned against the counter, watching me with an easy smile. "So, how bad was the aftermath?"

I sighed, stabbing at my pancake. "Silent treatment from my parents. My mother is convinced I'll grow out of my 'art phase' and my dad thinks I need a reality check."

Jungkook frowned. "And by reality check, they mean...?"

"Corporate servitude." I rolled my eyes. "Yay, nepotism."

He snorted. "Yeah, you don't really scream 'corporate drone' to me."

I pointed my fork at him. "Exactly! But try telling them that."

There was a beat of silence before Jungkook said, "You know, you don't actually have to do what they want."

I looked up, meeting his gaze. It was such a simple statement, yet it held so much weight.

"Yeah, well, try convincing them of that."

Jungkook shook his head. "No, I mean it. You're the one who has to live with your choices. Not them."

I swallowed, unsure how to respond. Because as much as I wanted to believe that, the pressure was real. The expectations, the responsibilities, the constant reminder that I had a role to play in this carefully curated world my parents had built.

Jungkook must've sensed my hesitation because he reached across the counter, lightly tapping my wrist. "Hey. You have options. You just have to be brave enough to take them."

I stared at him, something warm blooming in my chest. He always made things sound so simple, so possible.

Before I could overthink it, I sighed dramatically. "It's not that easy."

Jungkook grinned. "Oh come on. If your parents disown you, you can sleep on my couch"

I scoffed. "I think I've suffered enough for your amusement."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, you keep things interesting."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't fight the smile tugging at my lips. For now, the weight of last night felt a little lighter, and the future was a little less suffocating. At least I had people like Jungkook in my corner.

[baepsays]

Suck it and See ⸻ how you met 𝗌̶𝗍̶𝗈̶𝗇̶𝖾̶𝗋̶ Suguru.

description: of all places, Geto Suguru didn't expect to meet a girl with knee high socks, who practically pulled him in like an eager sacrifice to the Siren— at a frat party surrounded by smoke.

cw: use of she/her pronouns, fem oriented reader, mentions of drugs, weed, and alcohol; nothing much this is mostly a meet cute-ish, lore stuff really, artic monkeys references everywhere, they mild nsfw stuff.

playlist inspired by the content.

What a pleasure it is to be surrounded by sweaty people you barely know in a room full of smoke. All because your best friend is an extroverted social butterfly of a freak.

Safe to say, Geto Suguru would be anywhere but here right now. But maybe he does need some free alcohol and free cigarettes, a finance degree is the furthest thing from causation of sobriety. And as an average university student reliant on caffeine, alcohol, and cigarettes—completing his last semester and starting his big-time finance bro job later this year might I add—he is oddly conservative when it comes to weed though, if we're talking about ways to numb yourself.

The fact he has seen people actually do much worse actual hard drugs and yet he has a bigger opinion about the devil's lettuce of all things available out there. The only viable reason which can be given is that he had a stoner roommate during his first semester and it was the worst time of his entire university life. And honestly, he has seen Gojo get high for the sake of trying it, that was not fun for anyone but Shoko who was filming Suguru trying to stop Gojo from jumping off the balcony to chase a cat he apparently saw (there was no cat).

But these are excuses really. Well, Geto Suguru would not say he is repulsed by weed. In fact, he has tried it himself once. It was mostly about going along with his high school debate team who wanted to get high during one of their out-of-town tournaments. And guess what. High Suguru went on and blurted out all his little animosities to big grudges against everyone there and somehow fell asleep next to a trashcan in the hallway. Thankfully no one remembered and the video footage of all of this happening went into his hands first. He made sure to delete everything and ask around without being suspicious if anyone remembered anything he said. He was safe since they all forgot about everything.

Since then, he has steered clear of weed, it does odd things to him which no other substances do. Even when he is drunk out of his mind or buzzing with caffeine and nicotine, he is never impulsive. He always has control. And the fact he let that control slip is very scary. Matter of fact, despite his side hobby of making fun of a scared Gojo during horror movie marathons, Suguru himself didn't like being scared by something unknown or letting himself slip out in front of someone he would rather not have seen him like that .

Yet here he was, at one of the more famous frats who are known for their weed more than their alcohol and what not. I mean, it's not about where you end up but what you're looking for, right? Maybe that doesn't make much sense but so doesn't his last assignment of the semester before exams start, which carries 40% of his marks.

And for someone who isn't looking for weed, his amazing friend makes sure to pull him right into the room full of—who apparently seemed to be—stoners. Supposedly Satoru knows someone there, but he also knows way too many people for his liking. The amount of time he has to stop, stand, and stare around to wait for Satoru to finish chatting with yet another stranger—infinite really.

Regrets of ending up in that room without any alcohol in his hand, seemed to have flown right out of the room with the smoke. And it might as well have been the residual of weed in the air, but what's happening in his head was alarming. Right across from the person Satoru apparently knew, sat this gorgeous being, looking ever so effervescent and oozing mystique surrounded by clouds of smoke (he is a poet everyone). Wearing, what in his mind seemed like, the most poorly constructed skirt, practically giving away the secret eighth wonder of the world—which are those thighs. And is that fishnet? Someone please check on him, is he having a nosebleed? If not, that tight top perfectly snug around your chest, might do the job. More over the breasts, it was the neck. How can someone find a neck that beautiful? I wouldn't know, ask Suguru.

Real question is who wears knee high socks in the summer? He is not complaining, it somehow really works for you, and it works wonders on him. Again, it might be the weed. It has to be, because Geto Suguru, who is the most calculated person you'll know—sly little shit who is known for being the level headed, mysterious, lady's man— he may be just as much of a menace as Gojo and just as silly, he just knows how to mask it. And he's losing it. He's losing that control, because why aren't his ears working? His eyes refuse to focus on anything but you dragging a smoke out of the joint, which was passed to you by someone. And his legs are moving on their own towards the couch where you are sitting with the only person who you seem remotely interested in, 'might be her friend' he assumes, while ignoring this other guy who seems to be high off his mind talking about who knows what. His ears already made the effort of blocking out every sound, including Gojo's, who was calling him out because he wanted to introduce Suguru to his friend.

"Hey"

Real smooth from Mr. Lady's man over here. Incredible opener to introduce yourself to this person who may or may not be a witch cause why is he completely under this sort of trance as if he is the one sucking on that joint. Also, the fact he is just awkwardly standing in front of you while you look up at him through your lashes, unbothered and definitely high, still sitting on that couch—he must've inhaled too much weed smoke.

"Did you mean to say that to me? Because I think your friend needs you over there actually."

You say after blinking at him twice, then point across to you where Gojo and his friend are sitting. It's rather a given to be confused by this random long-haired Rapunzel to awkwardly stand before you like he doesn't know any better about how to interact socially, he's not drunk definitely, you saw him and his friend stroll in through the doors just a few minutes ago. Why would you even bother to care enough to remember that? Well, Rapunzel here is too gorgeous for his own good, secondly, you're high and feeling rather needy.

Pre-finals week suck, universal sentiment shared by all degree pursuing students. So here you are on this couch, in some frat, with your friend who's seeing one of the frat members. All you expected was some good quality rich boy weed and alcohol, nothing more really. Sleeping with someone you met at a frat party, reeks of STDs. And yet here you are looking at this gorgeous man looking like he doesn't have any thoughts behind his eyes, contrary to what you assumed, from afar he looked like a manipulative man whore. The world might be full of surprises or he's a theatre major.

"Huh?" — is all Suguru somehow manages to utter, it's illegal to smell that good while also smelling like weed, what god forsaken perfume you're using? Those eyes are enough, why do you need to crawl through all his five senses and wrap your hands around his brain.

"Huh." You say with one raised eyebrow. Seems like you've found yourself an excuse to escape.

"Seems like you don't know anything other than three lettered words starting with h."

He just stares into your eyes and lets you throw that jab at him. Really just too enchanted to speak, it's not that this is something he's choosing to do. He'd rather sit across from you and socialize with Gojo, while staring you down from time to time, then after much considerable eye contact, he'll slide himself to your side of the couch, asking your permission to have a seat, with much charisma no one can deny.

Yet here he is, not drunk, or losing his mind with weed—purely high off of sucking in your presence. This is only the second time he has lost control over a situation, and this time he is completely sober. New discoveries are made every second he supposed. Because if a sly talker like him, one who especially finds existential joy in countering the opposing person's jabs, is standing here tongue tied—he believes climate change can be reversed then. (How wishful)

You get off the couch to stand facing him, way too close to him for his sanity's sake, between the narrow gap between him and the couch—you might be shorter than him but your gaze is too piercing. And yet he cannot look away.

"Would you rather I dragged you out of this room? Maybe the smoke is getting to your head huh?"

Takes a second for Suguru to contextualize what you just suggested. And without any power to verbally respond, he simply nods into agreement. Somehow in that moment his incognizant brain decided that maybe leaving himself to your devices in this situation is the most natural thing to do. In fact, you might as well have all consumed him and he couldn't care any less.

All he cares about is that you're taking his hands in your hands, which made him think it might be a missing puzzle piece that only fits in perfectly with his, and dragging him out after a little bye to your friend and Gojo as well. Suguru is really out of it. He's not going to hear the end of it from Gojo, while he retells this story to their friends in the most overexaggerated way, which is so impossible given how ridiculous he is acting right now. Anything less dramatic than a Shakespearean play wouldn't do justice to exactly what played out in there. Yet Gojo Satoru will make sure to put a shame to Shakespeare's dramatics. That's his headache for later, let's focus on the ache in his palpitating heart.

You drag him out of that room, into the big living room or space and then drag him through the crowd to one of the rooms on the first floor, and take him straight to the balcony attached to it. The balcony sits right above the pool. Below you two, you can see most people congregating around there, swimming or just dancing or talking. Most of the speakers are there playing every frat bro's Spotify rotation probably. It's dark enough and tucked away nicely for anyone to notice you two there even if they look up—you saw this balcony the first time you visited this house with your friend cause of the guy she was seeing and since it was not a party, it was clear in the daylight that it was a nice place to people watch from. Or just enjoy the music,

'And her lips are like the galaxy's edge

And her kiss the colour of a constellation fallin’ into place'

Suguru couldn't agree more. If he didn't know any better— he'd say the song was about you. Because right now he is pulling out the lighter out of his pockets. Moving it towards your direction and halting halfway in the little space in between you two. Suguru wouldn't write this out as some kind gesture. He would never even think of sharing his prized lighter. It has been with him since he found it one day visiting his grandma's village home with his parents. Lying in a puddle of mud near the river that flowed behind her house. Scratch random people he wouldn't even let Satoru touch it or let Shoko take a light with it. Yet here he is— silently helping you out all because it looked like with the roll of a joint tucked in your bra, you forgot to bring a light.

You stare back and forth between the burning flame and his face. Contemplating perhaps. Then you move forward grab a hold on his hand, which was holding up the lighter, just a bit far for you to easily lean in and ignite the blunt. So you move, move to now sit face to face with him, both your knees on either side of his thighs—hovering over him, hands holding his, which was holding his silver lit up lighter. You lean forward probably closer to his face than the lighter even, all while keeping constant eye contact. You move your head to your left and finally burn the joint pressed in between your lips, after what seemed like an eternity.

Once the smoke comes out, you unwrap your lips from the joint and smile at Suguru, not one of those half smiles you've been throwing at him all this time. A genuine laidback smile.

"Thanks uh- oh wait I don't even know your name"

"Well I haven't given it to you yet."

"You gave me your lighter, might as well give me your heart. How much more could your name matter?"

Well he might as well have given you his heart and what even is in the name, if he could he would give you the entirety of the galaxy, but It would probably fade out in your comparison.

"Suguru. Geto Suguru."

"Nice to meet you Suguru."

"And what more might you need other than my lighter, heart, and name in exchange for your name?"

"I don't know? Anything tempting you are offering? Perhaps a seat right here?"

Did you mean right there? There on his lap?

"I wouldn't ever deny you anything."

So you did in fact mean his lap. Cause you perch right up on there and drag a long smoke out of your joint, blowing the smoke up in the sky above you two.

"L/n Y/n. And I'll hold you onto that claim."

"Do you always ask people for names in exchange for a seat on their lap?" Suguru smirks and tries to regain some confidence and control over the situation. If he wants to keep you right where you are, he would need to get out of the haze of intoxication — which was ironically not the weed in the air but just your existence.

"I never really ask for names. Really bad at remembering them. And as for seats, hmm I don't know. Your legs looked more comfortable and warm than the cold floor. And you looked sweet."

"Sweet?"

"Why? Does that not describe your —chase Atlantic and Artic Monkeys, cigarette smoker, fuck weed i am better than that, only dark colors— aesthetic?"

"How did you know I don't like weed?"

"Made a face right as you walked into the room down there. Also anyone else would've asked to borrow this by now." You move the blunt in between your fingers slightly to signify what you're talking about.

"Does that not bother you?"

"I mean it doesn't bother you that I am smoking this right in your face, if you had said something I would've respected that as well. I don't really care what you think is the standard for intoxication."

Suguru just smiles. He doesn't really have a topic exactly to speak about. He is in fact not capable of doing much right now you've rid him of the taste of control and the only taste he wants to be acclimated with from this moment onwards is yours. And he doesn't care about this change. He knows your name, he knows the feel of your fishnets against your skin. He knows the material of your lethal skirt. He knows the vanilla and jasmine notes of your perfume. He knows the exact color of your eyes and how many eyelashes you have. And he thinks that is enough.

'You have got that face that just says

"Baby, I was made to break your heart"'

You might as well break his heart, do as you please with it. It burnt away from his grasp the moment you burnt the end of your joint using his lighter.

"Looks like they are more intoxicating than any drug in existence." Was he talking about the blunt? Because his eyes were aimed at your lips. And he was unaware of what he even let slip out of his own lips.

"Suck it and see. You never know." 

Not wasting a second with your unaware confirmation, Suguru moves forward. The hand on your fishnet clad thigh tightens, digging into the supple skin, weaving the fingers with the fishnet itself. The other hand, coming up to your lips, taking out the joint and throwing it out somewhere on the balcony, his fingers first touch your lips with light touches as if one touch is too heavy and you'll disperse into thin air. Slowly the fingers on your lips start pressing down on, well past both of your lips, making an audible gasp leave your mouth involuntarily. His fingers dig around the entrance to your mouth— rubbing your lips, then proceeds to press down on your tongue and graze over your teeth interchangeably. All while staring into your eyes, or staring at you, your eyes might as well be all white or shut close. Anything partially visible, is all a blur. 

And you allow him all of it. You allow him to twist his fingers up to rub his rough finger pads on the along the expanse of your hard palate and soft palate, borderline trying to choke you. You simply allow it. You allow those hands to explore parts of you even out of your own reach. One digging in your mouth, other trying to make itself at home on your thighs—practically memorizing every little stretch mark running along your skin. He wants to know it all, have it all and who are you to deny a starved man? 

When he's had enough of his little exploration, his own pairs of lips come crashing down on you. A sigh of almost a relief, leaves both your lungs. It is not quite relief, it is nice to finally have him kiss you—but his lips are the kind to leave your head dizzy, head swaying, forgetful of the whole process of breathing through your nose while he devours you, eyes flickering like unreliable headlights on the highway. You might as well be crashing out. 

His lips are caging in yours, tongue fencing with yours, hands roaming around you like he's gonna find the most prized treasure on the surface of your skin. Guiding your hips to force down on his lap and roll them into little grids of desperation. Who was exactly the desperate one here? 

At that point it all becomes too overwhelming to have your ability to breath taken away. So you push him off, with no ease. It was as if pushing him and pulling yourself back simply made him hold onto you harder. And when his lips did leave you alone, they go on to chase your lips to find his rightful place back on them.

You put one of your hands on his mouth to halt him, all that does is make you have goosebumps all over your body—having him look up to you with his desperate and hazed mono lids, the purple-brownish shade of his pupils burning you up. And him just heaving in your hand, short of breath, was of no help either. 

“I was talking about the joint.” you breath out with an exasperated sigh.

“Well I am not sorry.” He leaves a feather light kiss on your hand covering his mouth.

“What even are you?” Genuinely, how does a man with gorgeous hair and horrible vocabulary make you fold so easily? 

“‘I am a fool for you.” 

A/N: dividers by @/sister-lucifer & @/omi-resources, header from my own gallery. And I didn't proofread half of this ok IT IS HARD TO READ YOUR OWN WORK

more of stoner!suguru chronicles.

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[distant--shadow]

very much not a post about Cole, yes I brought up a question of theirs that got answered but that was in another post as an example of poor question selection and how it felt shitty in context of "hey I'm gonna give all of this attention to this last question" and getting that, which was lame (maybe I'm out of touch here, I'm not in any big servers or cliques, I'm not aware of the role the glasses play as a "lightning rod" still, as u say, or that it was still relevant. to me it has been made pretty clear (as Laura said) in campaign that she needs them but doesn't have them (I couldn't care less if people chose to make their own art with her wearing them, I'm aware of what making choices u enjoy for ur own fanart is), therefore my frustration on that getting asked. you have picked a post out of a few I made and q's I answered that would give this context (and how I'm more frustrated by the show as a whole as well as general fandom behaviour) . the most tasteless question by far was about gendering the future kids, that is what I'm annoyed at when I'm talking about needing your own headcanons confirmed, idk who made it and I didn't put much thought into paying attention to names behind them because at the end of the day I was just noting the overall quality of questions, I'm not gonna change my opinion on the question based on the person behind it. I also think it will always be valid to critique media you care about and also quesiton the behaviours of people that share space with you(as u are with me rn) (so yes I see u people saying "lol get over the term girlfailure, we got bigger issues going on in the world" then a moment later being like "omg cr fandom has so much casual misogyny" like yeah, you're partaking in casual misogny babe. yes I'm aware people disagree with this. this is my blog, I'm a person with opinions) I have since spoken to people who submitted questions, none of which got answered and people admit they sent both more in depth and lighthearted ones. yes from that I can conclude that the issue lies more with the curation, but it doesn't change the fact that I feel frustrated, and I had said that yes Laura is probably just picking out anything that looks like a quesiton in a quickly moving chat, u can see how she deflated when getting far enough through some of them.

once again, this whole post jumping into Cole defense is just showing that you're also agitated by something in the moment without the actual context you're "having to assume" and that's fair, but it's arguably just as reactionary as what you're saying I did. yes, I think the fandom behaviour needs to be different if it's going to have this much impact on the actual content of a show, that's the main thing here, I don't like the feeling of being catered or pandered to if this is what they think fans want to see, yes maybe a lot of this is me being reactive to that feeling. it's a blog. I'm sharing my opinions in the moment. I want others to see that despite the fact I make a fuck tonne of shipping art, I don't actually want that being lip-serviced like those are my needs during the sparse oppurtunities that we get for deeper character answers.

also, to end, to finish off this post with the tags "#the fires ya'll #kyle just lost his fucking house" like what???! OK????!!! do you feel righteous now? you don't think i 100% support them taking all the time off they need tor recover from this? that I'm not sympathetic? you really saying hey excuse you, don't be a bully, fires have happened? when the person I'm apparently targeting from your post is not cast or crew? (or in california, as far as I'm aware) like what? that's the "unkind" thing to say right there, I get that things are super rough and Laura is recovering from a lost voice because of everything going on. maybe they didn't need to rush it, maybe that doesn't change the fact they still recorded and chose the questions they did? I don't think many fans were thinking "oh i'll ask baby questions because there have been fires." I'm not gonna go into this any more but, super super lame behaviour.

I shouldn't be surprised by the fireside chat being the state it was, seeing as I don't follow any CR themed blogs myself or really go into the tags because I find it frustrating but still, the bleed over of fanon is depressing and a lot of you are showing your asses in terms of how you don't actually gaf about the characters or the story the players have chosen to tell.

I love my au's, I love my headcanons, I love my not quite canon ships, but they're for me and the people who chose to enjoy them if they want to. and what makes creating those things more fulfilling is trying to really be true to the character it's about, otherwise just go play with OCs

this will be my last salty post on the matter (guess we'll see) but man, the timing? all of this crazy shit is going on, it is well established that the audience is frustrated with how little downtime we've had with these characters and getting to see those long rest bonds we got to enjoy with previous campaigns, 4SD is over, and that's what you wanna ask about? it's selfish, honestly.

[thewingedwolf]

will they won’t they is annoying when it’s young people but sexy with old people and that’s why adama and roslin are unmatched