#the world never knew what danger it escaped | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iove-untold · 2 days ago

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XOXO, gossip girl — 제이크

❨ those you trust most cause the most harm ❩

they say the truth always comes out. that’s exactly what’ll destroy everything for you. at decelis academy, where classmates separate into cliques, trust is fragile and popularity is currency, a ruthless gossip blog begins tearing down the carefully crafted lives of the elite students. when your own world is at risk of crashing down, you turn to the head of decelis’ computer club, hoping the help of a scholarship nerd could get you to shut down the site for good. (and not just for your own sake. to put an end to the bullying once and for all.) and through your little investigations which you were growing to love, you start to wonder—what if the real danger isn't the truth itself, but the one who's telling it?

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ; pairing: nerd ! sim jaeyun x elite rich girl! f. reader, wordcount: 9.46k, inspired by gossip girl, warnings include suicide, bullying, mentions of sexual misconduct, abuse, corruption, nepotism..? and a (lil?) bit suggestive (idk guys there’s js so much tension…), cursing, jake is a patronising DICKHEAD, heavy angst lowercase intended

continue reading … ¡!

i. to fly

YOU WERE DESTINED to fly.

being born into the l/n family gave you no choice but to be. the name was synonymous with wealth and competition, your parents owning one of the biggest department stores of your country and investing in shares all over the world. you inherited those wings since birth — but they were never your own. an inheritance you couldn’t escape. the wings came shackled with chains, heavy and cruel. chains that bruised, cutting deep into both your flesh and spirit, forcing you to keep flying no matter how much it hurt.

your father made sure of it.

it was rude of you and you knew it, but hearing your dense friends ramble on about how they ‘couldn’t get the new iphone 16,’ or that their ‘parents are being bitchy’ simply for placing boundaries did more then infuriate. if only anyone knew.

it wasn’t just physical abuse you experienced, it was mental torture. walking around the empty halls of your luxurious family apartment, your eyes would always be downcast, just incase eye contact at the wrong time with your dad would trigger him off. bruises didn’t just dot around on your skin — they pressured into the depths of your brain, making you paranoid doing even the slightest of what your dad would find disappointing. it altered your brain wiring to constantly be in fight or flight mode, and it made you quite literally miserable. your wings came shackled with chains, heavy and cruel. chains that bruised, cutting deep into both flesh and spirit, forcing you to keep flying no matter how much it hurt.

the only thing you’d been told your whole life was to be quiet. that silence was virtue, a pristine image of modesty. but it was a lesson you learnt long ago, that exercising your right to silence did you best. and when you grow up with such pressure, with your own image, you have to learn to fly. without a smile on your face, prancing around the world as if it were your oyster, you'd failed the portrayal of the family. to endure it all. to never fight back. that’s how you live, and how you’ll always live, ‘till the day you die.

at school, though, it was different. it had always been different. and you could only hope that’d never change.

decelis academy was a glittering world of privilege. the ivy-covered walls housed the children of ceos, politicians, and celebrities. the hallways were flooded with designer shoes, luxury handbags, and students who wore their wealth like a badge of honor. it was a place where power reigned supreme.

the elite system was an unspoken hierarchy, a social order dictated by wealth and influence. the richest families sat at the top, their children moving through life with an effortless arrogance. friendships were strategic, alliances fragile. everyone knew their place. the small percentage of scholarship children blended into the background, unseen, unheard, and unspoken of.

at decelis academy, popularity wasn't just a social status—it was a currency. it was what helped you climb the ladder of the hierarchy. and at the bottom of the hierarchy were the scholarship kids.

of course that was what you wanted to change. unlike your families not-so corruption clean background, for the world to be equal was all you’d ever wanted. not just the world you lived in. the world everyone lived in. it was hard to guess where you inherited your kindness from, but it seemed that was what made you all the more popular.

you found it more then absurd that scholarship kids, the smart, hardworking classmates of yours, were treated so harshly. they were but a small percentage of the student body, handpicked for their academic achievements. while their tuition was covered, they often paid another price. in a school like decelis, where wealth was everything, the scholarship kids stood out like ink stains on a pristine page. to you, they were an admirable bunch. because they had to work to the spot they’re at now, and you’d never had to do that. how you’d wished to live a life like theirs, knowing yours is just what they want. it’s selfish, you know it, but nevertheless, you can’t help but daydream on.

it was entirely selfish that you, considering yourself a decent enough person, never did anything about it. the scholarship kids. they were overlooked, ignored, or, in most cases, bullied. snide remarks, whispered insults, and casual, violent and uncalled for cruelty were a part of their everyday reality. and you still chose silence. you stood frozen at any sight of it all, akin to a deer in headlights, as if you couldn’t handle it. but you knew you could, because you’ve seen worse.

your secrets haunt you. day in, day out, your families expectations cloud down on your mind like a weight you haven’t been trained to carry. it doesn’t help that there’s a blog out, targeting everyone else’s.

the blog started small, almost as a joke.

modelled after gossip girl, it had all the hallmarks of teenage drama—a faceless author, a clever writing style, and juicy tidbits about the student body of decelis academy. at first, it was the kind of thing people read with half a smirk, more entertained than alarmed. who was secretly dating who? who was hooking up with who?

it was harmless fun.

until it wasn't.

the blog changed everything when it exposed mr. choi.

choi had been teaching history at decelis for years, and everyone had heard the whispers. the way he lingered too long near certain students, the too-familiar tone in his voice. but no one said anything—after all, he was a respected teacher. the blog, however, doesn’t care about reputation. nor respect. it published screenshots of his inappropriate messages, voice recordings of conversations no teacher should have with a student. the evidence was overwhelming, undeniable. within weeks, mr. choi was arrested for sexual misconduct. the school went into damage control, and for a while, the blog was hailed as a force for good. it had accomplished something the administration either couldn't or wouldn't do: it delivered justice.

but justice never stays pure. not for long.

the blog began digging deeper, shifting from exposing real dangers to airing the dirty secrets of anyone and everyone. one in specific — you still remembered the post about ellie hwang. how couldn't you? ellie hwang, half korean, half british. the face of wealth. she was cheer captain, top of her class (though that one was a little hard to believe) and she always had some boy at her feet. she had it all. or so it seemed.

the blog shattered that image in a single post. it revealed that ellie's father had abandoned their family years ago for a younger lady in australia and her mother was battling a drinking problem. it was too much, too cruel. ellie disappeared after that. nabi hadn't seen her in weeks, and the absence felt like a wound in the foundation of the school, fresh stitches opening to new, dangerous territory. then came the new wave of posts. students from wealthy families were being exposed for everything from fake friendships to family scandals. it felt like a power shift in the elite system, but it wasn't making anything better. it was just a new kind of cruelty, a new way for students to tear each other down.

for you, the blog was a nightmare waiting to happen.

you scrolled through the posts every day with a growing sense of dread, your stomach twisting with each new revelation. most of it from before were just harmless rumors—so-and-so had cheated on a test, someone else was caught making out in the library. what had changed? now, it cuts too deep. and you have secrets. secrets no one at decelis could ever find out. what would happen if the blog turned its sights on you?

you, the golden girl of decelis academy, the kind-hearted daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the country. what would they see if they looked closer? would they see the bruises you hid beneath your designer uniform? the way your father's voice could make you flinch? the nights you spent locked in your room, trembling with gut-wrenching fear?

you’re not sure what scares you more. your secrets coming out, or your inability to do somethimg about it all, waiting and worrying in dread. you knew something bad would happen. you could feel it. an unshakeable fear buried in the low pits or your stomach that reminded you:

you weren’t just destined to fly.

you were destined to fall.

ii. hotline help me out

TO ASK FOR help is to sacrifice your pride.

pride, is something you find yourself lacking in anyways.

the words repeat relentlessly in the depths of your mind like a mantra. you weren't used to asking for help, even so from a classmate you rarely even looked at. to be someone like.. you, meant that you didn't mix with people like sim jaeyun. lower downs. inferiority. that had always been drilled into your mindset from youth, that your social position since birth had always been higher then the others. and yet, you had never really felt like that. you always felt the lowest, smallest of it all.

standing now, infront of the computing room, you felt as small as you ever had been.

the computer lab was dim and quiet, save for the hum of machines and the occasional tap of keys. it wasn't a space most students wandered into unless they had a project due—or, like you, a problem they couldn't solve on their own.

you steeled herself and took a step closer. then another. and yet, he didn't notice you. you wished life played out like that for you all the time, rather then just this one interaction. that you could just disappear into the shadows without a care in the world.

jake sim sat at the far end of the room, earphones brushed passed his messy, fluffy black hair. his face was illuminated by the cool blue glow of his laptop, his too-large black rimmed glasses sat at the edge of his sharp nose bridge. his thick lips were pursed in concentration as his fingers moved quickly over the keyboard, focused and precise. he looked untouchable, locked away in his own little world.

you took a deep breath in efforts of self-motivation and took a step closer. then another. and another.

he still didn't notice you.

"uh," you mutter, clearing your throat. "hi." you say finally, your awkward voice a little too loud in the quiet.

jake didn't move, nor did he respond. his attention was fixed firmly on whatever it was that he was working on, as he bought his lip into his mouth lightly, his earphones clearly well serving their purpose.

"hello?" you tried again, a little louder and certainly more confident this time around.

finally, he glanced up, pulling one ear of his headphones off with a completely unreadable expression. "what?" he asked as he swiveled his chair to look at you. the single syllable was as dismissive as it was blunt, but it wasn't rude. he was interested in what you had to say, which was an experience you'd yet to encounter.

you straightened your broad shoulders as you weakly put your bag down on the table, brushing your perfectly-ironed uniform down per habit. there was no point sugarcoating it. you got straight to the point. "i need your help."

jake leaned back in his chair as he crossed his arms, his legs spread in a thoughtful manspread. his gaze flickered over her briefly, as if assessing whether this interruption really was worth his time. "with.. what, exactly? homework?" there's a slight edge to his voice, and you bristle at the comment.

"excuse me?" you scoff, your tone rising with growing indignation. the audacity of the boy you'd just met! he tilts his head, his eyes narrowing challenging-ly. "what? am i wrong?"

"yes, you very much are. i-" you hesitated. but just as soon as you hesitated, you plunged ahead. "the blog," you begin firmly. "i want it gone."

that got his attention.

his brows lifted slightly, and he tilted his head, a sign of his reluctant interest. by now, jake would've told you to get lost. but your idea is more then just interesting. it breaks stereotypes from jake's eyes -- on girls like you. people like you. he clears his throat. "and you thought i'd be able to help you because...?"

"you're good with computers," you said simply, with a shrug, as if it were worldwide news. "how could you not be? you're the head of a computer club. you must know how to.. like, hack and stuff. ...right?" "is that all you know about computers?" he let out a scoff, eyes narrowing tauntingly, as if to say 'wow, you are are stupid as i thought.' "right. and you thought i'd just drop everything and do that for you because...?"

you met his gaze evenly, your eyes narrowing just as much as his. you're not backing down. being in school, around people who don't confront you with abuse and taunts whenever you dare challenge back shows the real side of yourself. the real y/n. "because it's hurting people."

jake's lips twitched, caught in a strange limbo between shock and trepidation. y/n l/n stood before him, her quiet, barely there confidence radiating like a distant sun, both warm and unreachable. people like her were always unpredictable—maddeningly so. to hear someone like you openly speak about hurting other people was ironic, when it was her own people that took so much effort in doing it themselves.

the memory hit him before he could stop it—a flicker of anguish, sharp and searing, unrelentless.

park seojun.

his best friend. his brother in everything but blood. and the reason he could never look at the basketball team without feeling sick. seojun's face floated to the forefront of his mind: the tired smile he wore like armor, the way his voice cracked under pressure but never broke completely, the faint laugh lines that had disappeared in the weeks before the end.

the end.

it was the bullying that did it.

not the everyday teasing, but the calculated, vicious torment that only an elite could perfect. seojun was a scholarship kid—bright, kind, but painfully aware that he didn't belong. the basketball team had made it their mission to remind him of it. his mind flickers back to ellie hwang, the girl who dated the captain of said team, and how she'd disappeared.

serves the bitch right.

she had never been any better. none of the elites could be any better. but here you stood, right infront of him, and you showed no sign of backing down. it was admirable, in a reluctant sense, he thought.

jake's voice was hoarse by the time he snapped out of his inner torment to question you further. his lips quirked, not quite a smirk, but with the same, cocky intention. "what, people like you?"

your cheeks flushed in shame. he's not completely wrong, and that makes it worse. "people like everyone."

"why do you care, y/n l/n?" he sighs, his tone a mix of exhaustion and, reluctantly, growing respect.

you blinked, surprised by the question. "why wouldn't i care? the things it's posting—it's crossing the line. people are getting hurt over rumors and private stuff that shouldn't even be public."

he stared at you for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. "you think that's new?"

you frowned. "no. but this blog is different. it's not just gossip anymore—it's ruining people." you open your mouth, then close it again. your reluctance floats around your mind like a stubborn cloud, before you clasped your hands together finally. "i get it, okay? people like me. rich and entitled. but we all have secrets, jaeyun-"

"jake. not jaeyun."

your cheeks flush a little. "sorry. anyways, we all have secrets, jake, whether we're rich or broke. and whoever is behind it, clearly is going for whoever they can. who says you're not next?" you narrow your eyes to broaden your point. it goes silent for a moment of suspense before he sighs wearily. it’s funny, if only jake knew that those thoughts were exactly what applied to her in this very omen.

"you really have a lot to say, huh?" he grumbles, turning back to his computer. your heart sinks at his seeming dismissal, before scoffing sassily. "well, i clearly am a lot smarter then you think, then."

there was a pause. jake tapped his fingers against the desk, his gaze flicking back to his laptop screen. "fine," he said finally. "i'll look into it."

you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. "thank you."

"don't thank me yet," he muttered, the blog already pulled up on his screen.

you moved around the desk to stand beside him, your curiosity overcoming your discomfort. the blog's homepage was a stark black-and-white layout with bold, snarky headlines dominating the screen. your stomach twisted as you read the titles, each one more biting than the last. who could be doing this?

"any idea who's behind it?" jake asked, his tone almost lazy as he clicked through the posts.

"no," you admitted. "do… you?" you added on, wincing at the sheer awkwardness of your own voice. he glanced at you briefly, then back at the screen. "not yet."

his fingers flew over the keyboard, opening tabs, checking page sources, and scanning for any sign of identifiable information. you watched in silence, amazed by how quickly he worked. "it's hosted on a generic platform," he said after a while, his voice low. "nothing here points to an individual. whoever's behind it knows what they're doing."

your stomach sank. "so... what now?"

"i'll keep digging," jake said, his tone clipped. "but don't expect miracles."

you frowned, feeling the sharp edge of his words. most scholarship kids would act like how they’re assigned. lower. weaker. smaller. but right now, in front of sim jaeyun, you felt it the other way around.

"this isn't some movie where we hack into a system and find a big flashing sign saying, 'here's your culprit,'" he added, his eyes never leaving the screen as his typing grew more aggressive. "it takes time. effort. patience."

you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the irritation creeping up your spine. "i get it. but if anyone can do it, it's you. so i’m waiting.” his fingers hesitated for the briefest second before resuming their steady rhythm. you had belief in him, with a side of trust. that was new.

"what about patterns?" you asked after a moment of silence that drew on for far too long, leaning a little closer. "like... the timing of the posts? or who they're targeting?"

jake's lips quirked faintly, his smile teasing. jake sim was warming up to jang nabi, though she was the epitomy of what he hated. "you're smarter than you look, y/n.”

you scoffed, pointing an accusing finger at him. "what the hell is that supposed to mean?" to say you were pissed was a mere understatement. this boy, you barely knew, and had never spoken to, talking on your intellect? ridiculous.

jake shrugged, his voice scarily monotone as he scrolled through the blog emptily, bored. "thought you'd act like some dumb- ow!" he hisses, as he looks at you sharply. your glare pointed at him akin to that of a cat, you wield your bag as a weapon, holding it threateningly in the air.

"apologise." you grumble lowly, and jake can't help but burst into laughter at the sight. though, he’s not really laughing with you or anything. he’s laughing at you. reason being whether he finds you funny or completely and utterly stupid is beyond you.

"fine, im sorry," he begins, his laughter dying into sincere chuckles. "i got you wrong, y/n l/n."

"thank you," you begin earnestly. "apology accepted, jake sim."

as if noticing he’d been too nice to you, he seems a little more closed off now, his shoulders tightening as he closed the blog tab. "come meet me here tomorrow. lunch time is finishing soon, and i have places to be.”

you pick your bag up and stare at him, eyelashes fluttering as you looked into his eyes. it’s a shame. as embarrassing as the thought is, you were starting to enjoy jake sim’s company far too much for a boy you’d only ever acknowledged today. he raised an eyebrow, patting his face unconsciously. "what?"

"i think jaeyun is a nicer name, and i think it suits you more." you begin, hand on the doorknob. "just because other people don't agree doesn't mean you have to change yourself. your name is your identity."

jaeyun sighs, brushing you off dismissively. and yet, a small tendon of his heart tugs at the thought that you, y/n l/n, may be an anomaly in a system that so desperately needs change.

iii. the truth-teller

the truth teller had a long day today. they’re not sure how they feel anymore. they had one thing on their mind when starting this all — revenge. the truth teller’s heart is black with no pity nor empathy. the truth teller has seen far too much; and they want the rest of the world to see it, too. the truth teller has its sources. sometimes, people submit things into the website they put so much pride and effort into making. but most of the time, it’s all the truth tellers doing.

today's story is already planned out, every word carefully crafted for maximum impact. all guilt leaves the truth-tellers rigid body, for they are excited. as sinister as it sounds, the truth teller can only imagine the cries of his next victim:

decelis academy’s star basketball captain, baek sunwoo. the truth-teller doesn't like baek sunwoo.

they don't care for his cocky, above-it-all attitude or the way he carries himself like the world owes him something. his smug grin, his effortless charm—it's all a façade. they know baek sunwoo and his secrets like the back of his hand. dark and reputation ruining. just as he deserves. the truth-teller knows people like him. serial heartbreakers. egotistical princes who treat everyone else like pawns in their little games. the truth-teller has dealt with people like him, and the truth-teller refuses to let people like him get away with it.

the truth-teller finishes typing the last few lines of the post, their lips curling into a faint smile as they reread it. they know the impact this will have. baek sunwoo, golden boy of decelis, is about to have his shiny image tarnished in the eyes of the entire school.

click.

leaning back in their chair, the truth-teller lets a small, satisfied sigh escape their lips. they know what's coming—the gasps, the whispers, the chaos that will ripple through the school.

but the feeling is fleeting. already, their mind is drifting to the next target.

their gloomy eyes sweep around the dark room, as if searching for inspiration among the shadows. the truth-teller has a few ideas—names that linger like ghosts at the edge of their thoughts—but nothing solid. not yet. they tap a pen against the desk, the sound sharp in the stillness. this time, the subject isn't someone they necessarily dislike. nor is it personal, not yet.

they don't need to rush. they have time. but still, a name lingers at the edge of their mind. it's someone untouchable. someone whose reputation glows like a beacon in the darkness of decelis academy. someone who never fails to put on a smile, whose kindness is practically legend.

the truth-teller doesn't know much about them yet.

but they know enough.

because no one is truly perfect.

and if the truth-teller has learned anything, it's that the people who shine the brightest always cast the longest shadows. a faint smirk tugs at their lips as their fingers hover over the keyboard. it's just an idea for now. but when the time comes, they'll be ready.

after all, secrets are meant to be uncovered.

and the truth-teller always uncovers the truth.

iv. secondary guilt

YOU FELT horrible. in fact, more then horrible. guilty. for something out of your control entirely. the decelis gossip blog hit back. it wasn’t backing down any time soon, not at all. perhaps it was just getting started.

there was no sight of baek sunwoo in homeroom today, and that made your heart sink even more. it wasn’t new that he was an absolute asshole, but his secrets were out for the world to see, and they weren’t pretty.

the blog started on a less serious notes detailing how he’d cheated in most of his midterms. it was easy to brush that off — it wasn’t anything new, was it? everyone cheated. you guess the only reason why some people do care is because of the competition. the unfairness of it all would probably get to others, but apart from that, you weren’t necessarily alarmed.

then it got worse. it detailed how his fathers’ clothing company were being investigated for stock manipulation, a scandal no one clearly knew of, not yet. to an outsider it may not seem much, but in a school like decelis where the rich ruled, it was obvious this would be the talk of the town for at least a few months. almost everyone’s parents here own some form of company — of course there’s competition, and of course it’ll never work out well.

and unfortunately, it didn’t end there. you could almost physically picture the harsh, garish pink text, that so evilly slandered sunwoos name.

you thought that was it?

not for the baek family. clearly, not for mrs baek, either-

might want to ask mr han about that one,

seeing as they’ve been spending quite some time together.

i doubt it’s related with geography.

you wince at the memory, closing your eyes momentarily to almost forget the blog. all of it. for your mind to just stay silent, even if just for a minute. you filtered out the ear wrenching sounds of your friends’ high pitched laughter, their voices filled to the brim with disgusting mirth – as if sunwoo’s now exposed world was any different from theirs – no, any different from yours. of course your friends knew relatively well about your struggles, but they could never know the extent. they’d never understand. whilst they’re worrying of their new chanel bags and dior purses, you’re worrying whether you’re coming home to hell on earth.

you sighed in relief as you remembered your daily lunch missions with jake, the distant boy you’d grown interested in. it’d been only a day since you’d last talked, but his quiet, almost calculating demeanor did more than interest you. no, in one way, you could say you were infatuated with the enigma that is jake sim. you wanted to know more, and it wasn’t just about the blog.

you politely excused yourself from your friends with a drawn on smile as you advanced passed them towards the computing room, your mind buzzing with questions. being the genius he is, did he figure it all out? is whatever evil person behind it all getting a piece of their own medicine? you couldn’t help but smile at the very thought of justice being served in its own, weird way, and your secrets being safe. after all, that was what mattered most, right?

sunwoo isn’t in school today. of course he isn’t. why would he be in school? his whole family life has just been exposed for the world to see. if you were in that predicament, you’d do the exact same. weirdly enough, although you’d done it all before now, as you stood by the door of the computing room, your hand fluttering at the doorknob. nerves filled you up head to toe, but unlike yesterday, it wasn’t paralysing – so you brushed down your uniform with a clean brush, and stormed ahead.

to your surprise, jake seemed prepared. rather than dismisively staring at his computer as if it was the only thing to him that mattered in the world, he was already peering at the door expectantly. his lips curled into a reluctant, puppy-like grin, but as quickly as it grew, it fell, as he cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders in efforts to come across as collected as possible. you greeted him lowly, placing your bag beside your chair as you took your seat beside him. his headphones rested around his neck, his hands rested on the pads of his laptop. it was open on a page filled with lines of code that you didn’t even pretend to understand.

“you’re late,” he said without looking up, though the corners of his lips twitched in faint amusement, coupled with a hint of intrigue.

“and you’re impatient,” you shot back, though you couldn’t hide the way your eyes lightened up instantaneously. the crease in his eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t respond, instead tapping a few keys before spinning the laptop to face her. the blog’s homepage was pulled up, its latest post glaring back at you.

“have you read this?” he asked, his tone clearly interested as he pushed it towards you. you nodded, your eyebrows drawn into an empathetic frown. “poor sunwoo.” you whispered to yourself, but he heard it. he tilted his head in an adorably inquisitive way, a silent beckon for you to explain. you sigh, fidgeting with your manicured nails. “it’s just- this isn’t gossip—it’s bullying. it’s like whoever’s running this gets off on tearing people down. first ellie, now sunwoo—what’s next? i know they’re not the nicest people ever, but i wouldn’t wish this on anyone.” your lips draw into an unintentional pout, your frustration evident. but jake stifles laughter, his eyes darting to the new mess you’ve left your hair in from the intensity from your little rant.

nonetheless, he hummed in agreement turning back towards his oh-so adored laptop.

“i’m just saying, this is going too far.” you add on, with a shrug. he looks back at you and studies you for a moment longer, then leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “and what do you plan to do about it?” his tone is challenging, playful, as a subtle smirk grows on his thick lips.

you blinked, caught off guard by the question. “well, that’s why i’m here. you’re the tech genius. i thought we could figure it out together.”

“together,” he repeated, his lips curving into a shameless smirk, by now. “interesting.”

“what’s so interesting about that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes with a scoff.

“just didn’t peg you as the teamwork type.” he grinned, as his eyes moved to look into yours.

you mouth fell open in mock offense, as you hit his shoulder roughly, your hair becoming even more of a mess. “excuse me? i’m a great teammate.”

he chuckled, a low, almost genuine sound that caught her off guard. “sure you are.” and yet, nothing could’ve caught you more off guard as his large hands tucked your hair behind your ears. he’d gone quiet, the only thing you could hear was his breathing – he was concentrated, as his eyes narrowed at the sight of you, all flustered and messy. you cleared your throat, pointing at the computer unnervingly, reminding him of the blog. his eyes almost darkened as he turned towards his computer, his face tightening with tension.

as you delved into the blog, youcouldn’t help but notice how… different jake seemed compared to yesterday. he wasn’t nearly as cold and aloof anymore—there was something almost warm in his demeanor, a faint softness that hadn’t been there before. and it was stupidly flattering. you had no care for coding. and yet, you had a newfound care for jake’s world. you leaned forward and watched unfalteringly. when you stumbled over reading a particularly technical term on his screen, he didn’t scoff or roll his eyes like he half-expected. instead, he leaned in closer, his voice low and patient as he explained.

“see? this line here,” he said, pointing to the screen. “it’s a signature in the code. not unique enough to trace, but it’s something.”

their shoulders brushed, and you felt a strange flutter in your chest. you ignored it, focusing on his words instead. “so, whoever wrote this—”

“—knows what they’re doing,” he finished, his gaze flicking to you. your eyes met, and for a moment, the air between you both felt charged, electric. as if you were stuck in a trance, one that has you wanting nothing but to stare into his round eyes till you physically couldn’t anymore.

“you’re staring,” he whispered, his lips parting softly.

your cheeks flushed. “no, i’m not.”

“you kind of are,” he said, biting his lower lip to stifle a grin, but he did it in a way that turned your stomach inside out. in a bad or good way, you’re yet to know.

“okay, back to the blog,” you interrupted quickly, moving to face his laptop yourself. but the moment lingered, hanging in the air like an unspoken question.

as the both of you continued, you found yourself rambling, a sign that you felt comfortable with jake listening in. about the blog, about the line between gossip and cruelty, about how some posts were crossing it. “it’s just… it feels like whoever’s running this doesn’t care who they hurt. like they’re just using people’s lives for clicks or attention or whatever.”

jake didn’t respond immediately. when he did, his voice was low, almost thoughtful. “maybe they think the people they’re exposing deserve it..?”

you frowned, turning to look at him. “deserve it? no one deserves to have their personal life plastered all over the internet, jake.”

“jaeyun,” he corrects, as he looks at his scruffy school shoes with pinkened cheeks. you grinned at that, your hand patting his back encouragingly as you pick your bag up. if only lunchtime was longer then it had been, if only the world was as kind to you as jake had been. “thanks for helping,” you said as you gathered your belongings, the glow on your face soft in the low lighting of the computing room.

“don’t mention it,” he replied, his tone lighter than usual. “see ya.” he spoke with such casual tone, a sign that seeing you was now an everyday thing. it made you a little giddy. no one’s cared that much about you before — it’s almost too good to be true.

v. the idiot with a painted face

DECELIS ACADEMY’s newest tactic included.. silence.

it had been days since the last update from the blog. not a single post, not even a whisper about who was next on the list. at first, you were relieved. maybe whoever had been behind it all had finally gotten bored, or maybe the backlash from the last post had made them reconsider. but the longer the silence dragged on, the more uneasy you began to feel.

you couldn’t quite explain it, but it was like you were waiting for the next blog to drop. the calm before the storm. life life had been far too calm, thus something bad was bound to happen.

so when you made your way to the computing lab at lunch, you couldn’t shake the unease. jake hadn’t messaged you in a while, either. after your last conversation, you had figured you’d see him again, but he’d been distant. maybe it was just the nature of his personality, but there was a coldness that had started to settle back into him. maybe he was just distancing himself since he probably thought the blog was over, just as you did. but seeing his message earlier that day to meet him in the computing room showed you otherwise. you had to admit, you were kind of looking forward to seeing him. he’d been… nicer than you expected. it was strange, but comforting in a way. and you wanted to know more about what he was thinking.

you walked into the computing lab, and there he was, sitting at his usual spot, eyes glued to the screen. he didn’t look up when you entered, and for a second, you almost considered turning back. but then, he noticed you, and his eyes flicked up in your direction.

“hey,” he said casually, his tone softer than usual. there was none of the usual sarcasm, just a quiet, almost reassuring calm, coupled with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“hey,” you replied, taking a few steps closer. you hesitated, unsure of how to start. the air between you had shifted since the last time you’d spoken. it felt lighter somehow, more comfortable. but you still weren’t quite sure why.

“you good?” he asked, studying you with that sharp look of his, like he was trying to read you. you nodded quickly, even though you weren’t really sure if you were. you hadn’t told anyone about what had happened last night, about the yelling, the anger, the frustration. the way your dad had slammed doors and ranted about your future as if you were just a pawn in some game. you didn’t want to burden jake with that. hiding your emotions was something you specialised in already. you had no difficulty keeping it that way.

but then he leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes still focused on you. “you sure? you don’t look like you’re okay.”

it was the gentleness in his voice that made you pause. it wasn’t how he usually spoke. there was something different in his tone, something… kind.

and for some reason, you found yourself unable to lie. maybe it was the warmth he was showing, or maybe it was just the way he was looking at you, but the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“i—” you stopped yourself. your heart raced. why was it so easy to talk to him now? “i just… my dad. he’s been really angry lately. it’s like everything i do is never good enough for him. he keeps telling me i’m disappointing him.” you blurt, and your eyes widen at your mistake.

jake’s gaze softened as you spoke, and for a moment, you could have sworn there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something like understanding, maybe even sympathy. "fuck, sorry, forget-"

“i get that,” he interrupts you quietly, leaning a little closer, as if he were giving you the proximity to speak more.

you felt a knot in your stomach loosen as he waited, his presence somehow comforting. no one ever listens to you. and now when someone is, who are you to dismiss the opportunity? you hadn’t meant to share so much, but the words came out anyway.

“it’s just… i don’t know. i’m always walking on eggshells around him. i never know what’ll set him off. i try to be perfect for him, but it’s never enough.” you paused, feeling your chest tighten. “i don’t even know what he wants anymore. i feel like i can’t do anything right.”

his eyes never left you as you spoke. it was like he was actually listening—like he cared.

“you don’t deserve that,” he said, his voice so calm, so assured. it was like his words were an anchor in the storm you felt like you were drowning in. you blinked at him, a little taken aback by how he seemed to understand, even though you hadn’t said half of what was really going on. “i just…” you swallowed, trying to hold it together. “i feel like no matter what i do, it won’t be enough. like i’ll never be able to make him proud. it gets worse when he gets.. aggressive.”

“you don’t have to try to be perfect for him. not for anyone.” jake let out a slow breath, the tension in his jaw slightly visible, but there was still a softness to his eyes. “...aggressive? y/n, what’s going on?”

you stared at him, his words sinking in deeper than you expected. for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “he’s quite.. uh.. a physical person.” you begin, swallowing the lump in your throat. “that’s how.. he, uh, scolds me. puts me in my place.”

jake’s eyes darken in both fury and something unreadable, his hand brushing over yours momentarily as he lets out a shaky breath. “you don’t deserve that,” he begins, his eyes warm. “no one does.”

your hands flutter at the touch and your heart at the fact that he wasn’t judging you. he was listening. the relief was overwhelming, like he had given you permission to just breathe. “thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

jake gave you a small nod, his usual aloofness still lingering in his posture, but there was something warmer in his presence now. a crack in the armor, just enough for you to see a different side of him. for some reason, you felt lighter.

“i mean it,” he said, as if trying to reinforce what he had just said. “you don’t have to carry all that by yourself.” you felt the weight of his words, but you also felt a little foolish for ever thinking you could carry everything alone. it was strange—this connection that was starting to form between you and him.

“so,” he said, changing the subject abruptly, though his voice was still surprisingly gentle, “about that blog… we still need to figure out who’s behind it. you wanna help me out with that?” you blinked, caught off guard by the shift. but then, the words sank in. he still wanted to help you take it down. as if he understood your worries, even though you hadn’t even told him the whole lot yet.

“yeah,” you said, feeling a surge of determination in your chest. “let’s do it.”

jake’s lips curled into the slightest smile, like he was pleased with your response. “good. we’ll make sure they can’t do this anymore.” his kindness, though strange and unexpected, made you feel like maybe you weren’t so alone after all. it wasn’t perfect, but with jake on your side, you almost felt like you had a chance.

vi. the secret-exposer

an evil, evil thought brews in the depths of the secret-exposer’s mind.

it had started small—just a flicker, an idea at the edge of their thoughts. nothing concrete at first, just a passing thought, one that they dismiss almost immediately. but it lingered, like a shadow creeping in the corner of their mind, growing darker and more insistent with each passing moment, and here they sit now, in front of the blue-light screen of their laptop.

they’ve always prided themselves on revealing the truth. for, they’ve exposed the secrets of the elite, pulling back the curtain to show the world what they’ve been hiding. they’ve taken down the arrogant, the untouchable, the privileged. their blog—an anonymous, ruthless force—has done what the rest of society hasn’t dared to: tear down the lies, the facades, the walls built from wealth and power.

but this is different.

the idea takes root and grows, twisting in their gut like the thorns of a rose. beautifully harsh. it’s a line they’ve never crossed before, a place they’ve never dared to go. everything they’ve done up until now has been motivated by the truth, by a sense of righteous justice. they’ve revealed the hypocrisy, the cruelty of those in power. but this?

this isn’t just about revealing a truth.

it’s about destroying something.

someone.

their fingers hover above the keyboard, the cursor blinking in time with their heartbeat. their mind races, torn between the thrill of exposing something even darker than before and the strange, growing unease in the pit of their stomach. they’ve always been the one in control, the one who calls the shots. they’ve always made sure that what they exposed was deserved.

but now?

they look at the name on the screen—the name that’s been on their mind for days now—and the guilt comes crashing in. it's weird. the secret exposer feels an odd connection to this person. but alas, the secret exposer doesn't do friendship. doesn't do connection.

this isn’t just a matter of exposing a mistake, a flaw, or an unfair advantage. no. this time, it’s personal. this time, they’re going after someone’s entire life.

a life they could ruin.

a life they could break.

they feel it—this heavy weight pressing down on their chest. the guilt. the doubt.

but then their mind flashes back to all the rich kids they’ve exposed, all the hurt they’ve caused, the power they’ve taken away from the privileged. they’ve done it all before—why should this one be any different?

they remind themselves of all the things the elite have done, the lives they’ve destroyed with their carelessness, their arrogance, their privilege. the rich live in a bubble, insulated from the consequences of their actions, unaware of the damage they cause. they’ve earned this.

with that thought, the guilt starts to melt away. it’s replaced by something colder, something sharper, something that makes their hands shake with adrenaline. this isn’t about right or wrong anymore. this is about revenge. about making the rich feel what it’s like to be powerless.

they type the first sentence, then the second. the words flow now, faster, sharper, more decisive. they know the power of these words. they know the damage they’ll cause. each keystroke feels like a small victory, a release of all the frustration, the anger, the years of watching the rich get away with everything.

and with each line, they can feel the walls closing in on their target. the stakes are higher now—this isn’t just gossip. this is a life they’re toying with, someone they’re about to tear apart with nothing more than the power of truth.

they take a deep breath, letting the weight of what they’re about to do settle over them. there’s no going back now. once they hit send, there’s no stopping the fallout.

they take one last glance at the screen, the words staring back at them, final, unrelenting. a new story. a new secret. one that will burn everything to the ground.

and with a sense of chilling nonchalance, the secret exposer presses the button.

click.

the silence afterward is deafening. they stare at the screen, watching as the post uploads. their heart races, but not from fear—no, the adrenaline is all from power.

the guilt? gone.

it’s just another story, just another truth revealed. the elite will never see it coming.

and for the secret-exposer, the game has only just begun.

vii. to fall

YOU WAKE UP to the sound of your alarm, and for one fleeting moment, everything feels normal. your blanket is heavy against your chest, the early light filtering through your curtains. your phone is ajar to your bed, but unlike normal mornings, you don’t check it. instead, you take the time to spend your morning slowly, meaningly. you listen to the whistle of the kettle for your hot water bottle and the padding of rain against the tiled patio of your garden.

you stand in front of the mirror, the soft yellow glow of your vanity lights casting a warm hue over your skin. your makeup is flawless—subtle but enough to enhance your features. mascara brushes your lashes, blush adds life to your cheeks, and your lips shimmer faintly with gloss. your hair is styled perfectly, every strand falling into place like it’s been painted there by an artist’s hand.

today, you look the part. polished, effortless, untouchable. the kind of image that feels like armor. but as you finally reach for your phone to check the time, your perfect world cracks. there it is, sitting at the top of your notifications like a grenade waiting to go off: an email.

the sender’s name doesn’t even matter. you know what it is before you open it. your stomach drops, your chest tightening as your thumb hovers over the subject line.

"new post: the truth comes out."

your throat feels dry as you tap on it, the screen flickering for a moment before the page loads. and there it is. the blog updated.

and your name is right there, staring back at you in bold letters.

"it’s funny, isn’t it? the people who act like they have it all together are the ones falling apart the most..."

the words blur as your breathing picks up. you scroll, your heart pounding in your ears, each sentence hitting like a physical blow.

"she walks around decelis academy like she owns the place, flashing those perfect smiles, tossing that perfect hair. but what’s lurking behind all that? rumor has it, her home life isn’t quite the picture-perfect mansion dream she wants you to think it is."

"not all bruises are the kind you can see. thank her dad."

you drop your phone. it lands face down on the vanity with a dull clatter, but you don’t move to pick it up.

instead, you stare at your reflection. the perfect hair, the perfect makeup, the perfect image you spent so much time putting together—it feels like a cruel joke now. like a mask that’s been ripped away, leaving you raw and exposed.

how could they know?

you feel your chest tighten, tears welling up in your eyes. you blink rapidly, trying to stop them from falling, but it’s useless. they spill over, streaking down your cheeks and ruining the makeup you worked so hard to apply. your stomach twists, bile rising in your throat as you scroll down. it feels like your lungs have stopped working, like your body is too small to hold the flood of emotions crashing over you. fear. anger. humiliation.

your hands tremble as you reach for your phone, picking it up again to reread the words, as if somehow they’ll change. but they don’t.

"nobody’s that perfect. if anything, perfection screams ‘hiding something,’ and your girl’s definitely hiding more bruises than you’d suspect."

you let out a shaky breath, your mind racing. who wrote this? how do they know? your secrets—secrets you’ve buried so deeply—how could they have surfaced here, like this, for everyone to see?

and worse, what’s going to happen now? you don’t have answers, only the suffocating weight of panic pressing down on your chest. you look back at your reflection, and for the first time, you don’t see yourself. you see a stranger. someone who looks strong, but feels like they’re falling apart. someone who’s been stripped of everything they thought was safe. with trembling hands, you grab your bag, your legs weak as you move toward the door. staying home isn’t an option—your dad would notice, and that would only make things worse. but as you step out, the pit in your stomach grows deeper.

you know that once you walk into that school, everyone will have seen it. everyone will know. and the girl staring back at you in the mirror? she’s not the one they’re going to see.

the moment you step onto campus, it hits you again. the looks. they’re everywhere. pity in some, judgment in others. whispers behind cupped hands as you walk down the hallway. you can feel it, the weight of their stares, pressing down on you, making it harder and harder to breathe. you don’t stop. you keep walking, your head down, your fists clenched tight at your sides until you spot him.

jake.

he’s in the computing room, exactly where you knew he’d be. sitting at his usual desk, typing away, his headphones pushed back around his neck. for a second, seeing him makes you feel lighter.

you rush inside, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them. “jake, did you see it? the blog?”

he looks up, his expression unreadable. “yeah,” he says softly. his tone brushes it off like it’s nothing, but the furrow of his brows convey concern, care. like it isn’t your life that’s been plastered online for everyone to pick apart.

your voice cracks as you rant, pacing back and forth. “this is—it’s bullying. this isn’t just gossip, jake, this is—this is dangerous. they’re talking about my family, my dad, they’re—they’re—what if he finds out? he’s gonna–” you can’t even finish the sentence. the words stick in your throat like broken glass.

jake watches you, his lips pressed into a thin line, but there’s something in his eyes you don’t recognize. “look,” he says finally, his voice softer now, “it’s going to be okay. we’ll figure it out, okay? we’ll find out who’s behind this.”

his kindness catches you off guard, and for a moment, it makes you feel a little steadier. you sink into the chair next to him, burying your face in your hands as the tears threaten to spill over again. “i just don’t get it,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “who would do this? how do they know so much?”

jake doesn’t answer right away. when he does, his tone is careful, almost hesitant. “maybe... maybe someone close to you? someone who’s been paying attention?”

you freeze.

the words hang in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

and then it clicks.

your mind races, piecing together everything—the way he’d been so nice, so interested in every little detail about your life. the way he’d listened, pushing you to talk, to share things you’d never told anyone else. your breath catches, your stomach twisting in a sickening knot as you look at him sharply.

“you,” you begin, your voice airy as you latch onto the nearest chair for stability, the shock and betrayal knocking you off your feet. “you were behind it the whole time.” the weight of it all crashes down on you, and you feel like you're falling—plummeting, really—into something darker than you could’ve ever imagined. it's like standing at the edge of a cliff, your legs too weak to take a step back. your chest tightens as the realization sinks in deeper and deeper, like the ground beneath you is crumbling away.

the blog, his calm demeanor, his interest in you—it all makes sense now. he had been the one pulling the strings all along, pushing you closer to the edge without you even noticing. a small, cold smirk grows on his lips, as he shrugs with chilling nonchalance, turning back to his laptop. “some stories are made to be shared.”

you feel sick. like you’ve been caught in the current of a storm, unable to break free.

but then something soft stirs in you, a strange fluttering deep inside your chest. it's almost like a memory—a feeling that somehow connects to the storm. the feeling of butterflies.

you'd always hated that feeling, the way your stomach twisted when you were excited or nervous, how your heart seemed to race like wings in your chest. you’d dismissed it as a silly metaphor, a cliché you never wanted to believe in. but now, you can’t help but think of them—those butterflies—as you kneel on the cold floor, choking on your disbelief.

how had it happened?

you’d trusted him. jake. of all people. you should've known something was wrong, the way he’d been so... interested in you, in everything you said, in every vulnerable detail you shared. no one had done that before. it was the universes' message, and you ignored it. he’d listened with too much care, as though he was taking mental notes, storing everything away. and then, just like that, the tears come.

you can't hold them back anymore. the sting in your eyes burns, but it doesn’t matter. the pieces are falling into place, and there’s no way to stop it. his eyes, his words—they had all been calculated. cold. sharp.

your knees hit the ground as your sobs thumped with pure humiliation and fear, though the pain in your chest was far more drastic then the pain in your knees. it feels like hitting the ground with a force that could shatter bones. “why! do you find it funny? is it me? did i do something?” you wail, your face the epitome of pure heartbreak and hurt. “im sorry!” you sob, your chest shaking with agony. as the sobs wrack your body, you see the smirk fade from jake’s face, but it doesn't make the fall any less painful. the guilt comes crashing in, his hands shaking as he moves to help you up – but like a coward, he walks off.

falling... that’s what this all was. a slow, terrifying descent into something you didn’t understand, a fate you hadn’t seen coming. and in the pit of your stomach, it’s still the same sensation: the flutter of wings—the same butterflies, now broken and caged in your chest.

and as you kneel there, helpless, the world spins around you. because just as you’d felt like you were finally flying,

you’ve fallen.

reblogs n notes r supa appreciated :3 asw as comments, i love talking to ygs!

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tired-teacher-blog · 6 hours ago

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You were joking, teasing him to be precise, just a playful ruse you thought of testing with your boyfriend, but definitely did not expect for things to end up the way they did when you slurred the words between enticing giggles :

_ "Kirishima is seriously hot, ah! I envy whoever has the chance to be with him."

Yeah, you definitely did not expect what happened afterwards.

_ "You wanna repeat that?" Bakugou's grip on your wrists tightened as he pushed you onto the cushiony sofa, a furious look in his eyes and a scowl plastered across his face.

_ "Yeah, I mean he's handsome, nice, cool, every girl's dream hunk." you knew you were playing a dangerous game, one that you'd surely lose, but pushing his buttons seemed strangely entertaining.

Kirishima is truly a formidable hero and a dear friend whom you've always looked up to, sure, but that's it, you have no feelings above admiration for the man, because the only person you've ever loved is the one glaring at you right now.

_ "Stop it, this isn't funny!" it kind of was though, because beyond that enraged expression of his, lied something else that was yet to be deciphered.

_ "Are you mad or something?" you bit down on your lip to stifle a sneaky giggle, and watched as he visibly struggled with his thoughts.

He's never been one to be rendered speechless, but there he was, shaking in rage as the wheels were turning in his head.

_ "Is this your way of breaking up with me?" he carefully uttered after a moment of silence, sharp expression morphing to almost a grieving one.

This man is academically brilliant and incredibly skillful in battle since his school days, a gifted child that has become one of the best pro heroes in the world, a prodigy indeed. That being said, you've come to realize over the years of knowing him how tragically lacking he is when it comes to social cues, and this cruel little joke of yours was further proof of that.

_ "What?! No of course not! What are you saying?!" you immediately regretted your tasteless trick and adopted a similar expression to his, struggling under his brute force as he squeezed your wrists tighter.

He remained silent afterwards, as if granting you the opportunity to explain yourself further, and for that you were grateful.

_ "It was only a joke Katsuki I promise, please don't take it too seriously.. you know you're the only one I love and want to be with, right?" you spoke in a much softer tone than the playful one of earlier, your eyes reflecting the depth of your feelings for this man.

_ "You mean that? Because I swear I'll blow him up to pieces if you're serious about what you just said!" he growled almost menacingly, but there was also a hint of vulnerability lurking in his gaze.

You giggled softly and nodded your head before replying, "I mean it Katsuki, that was just a stupid joke and nothing more."

_ "Then say it again, say that you love me, I want to hear it again." he moved his face closer to yours, his crimson eyes reflecting an intensity that pierced your soul.

_ "I love you Katsuki, just you and no one else." your expression softened as you replied in a whisper, and you could feel his body relax and his grip on your wrists loosen slightly after hearing your words.

_ "Again, say it again." he demanded huskily, his fingers traveling from your wrists to thread with your own.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, seeing his usually carefully concealed vulnerability out in the open, and couldn't help but repeat the words, "I love you.. I love you more than you know Katsuki.."

He leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of his unspoken emotions into it, and you melted in the sensation of his mouth moving slowly against yours in a rhythmic dance that left you tingling all over.

He leaned back slightly, eyes heavy and lips quirked in a satisfied smirk as he observed your flustered state, "good.. and now it's my turn to show you how much I love you.."

You opened your mouth to speak, but a squeal escaped instead as he scooped you up in his arms and strode towards your shared bedroom with purposeful steps..

Divider by : @/saradika-graphics

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geddy-leesbian · 1 day ago

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Resident Evil: The Darkside Chronicles ➳ Archives ➳ Operation Javier ➳ Characters

(Darkside Chronicles Archives Masterlist)

Leon S. Kennedy

Member of a secret US military agency. He was sent to a remote area of South America on Government orders to investigate Umbrella 's relationship to drug lord Javier Hidalgo. Having encountered numerous BOWs in the past, he has a working knowledge of how to engage BOWs in combat. Though generally a cool character, he tends to be awkward around women. His middle name is Scott.

Jack Krauser

A member of the US SOCOM. He was sent to a remote area in South America on government orders to investigate Umbrella’s relationship to drug lord Javier Hidalgo. Jack is an exceptional soldier who has led many successful operations. Even when he encounters a B.O.W. for the first time, he shows no sign of fear. He has never been quite at home in everyday society, and feels that each day he spends fighting in the military gives his life meaning.

Guide

A teacher in the village of Mixcoatl. While an exchange student, he worked for an NPO. When he returned to his home village, he became a teacher, and dedicated himself to raising educational standards. He was hired by a US secret military agency after they took notice of his high-level information gathering skills, and reliability, to work as their informant into Javier’s dealing in the area. He knew that spying on Javier could prove to be a dangerous proposition, but after seeing Javier’s tyranny take the lives of so many of his countrymen, he agreed to the US government’s proposition. Sadly, he was attacked and killed by a B.O.W. released by Javier in retaliation. As a result, Leon and his team were left with no choice but to carry on with their mission without a guide.

Manuela Hidalgo

The girl Leon’s unit saved in the church, and the daughter of the target of their investigation. Her mother died when she was only 5 years old. She was brought up wanting for nothing, smothered in her father’s generous affection. A certain event caused her to leave her live of luxury in Javier’s mansion. She spend 3 days and 3 nights in the jungle, and escaped to a village downriver called Mixcoatl. That night, the village was destroyed by the B.O.W. unleashed by Javier.

Manuela Veronica

The awakened Manuela; infused with the T-Veronica Virus. In spite of the fact that she mutated without having waited 15 years, she can control the power of the virus under normal consciousness. Moreover, just like Alexia, she can spit out blood that she can ignite, but using too much blood also means harming herself.

Files with no gifs to go with them:

Javier Hidalgo

A drug lord who built a powerful crime empire in the South American country of Amparo. He got his start by turning to drug dealing when he was only a teenager. By viciously and mercilessly murdering his enemies he found himself atop a massive crime syndicate. Because he uses his immense wealth and armed might to influence law enforcement, the actions of his organized crime ring go largely unchecked inside his own county. The Organization’s wealth has chiefly come from the drugs it exports al over the world, but recently it has been branching out into human trafficking. Javier holds an immoral philosophy in which he’ll do anything to get what he wants, and will place protecting those he loves above all. He rules with a ruthless intolerance of treachery and is very generous and compassionate towards those who follow him, which is why there are those who love and respect him as a hero.

Albert Wesker

The person behind the biological disaster in Amparo, and who has at least some involvement in every T-Virus related scheme to date. After being nominated to manage the Umbrella Management Training Facility in the 1970s, he was one of the foremost researches, active on Umbrella’s viral research programs. It was right around the time his colleague, Dr. William Birkin’s research on the T-Virus was nearing its completion that Wesker transferred to the company’s intelligence division. Wesker became the team leader of S.T.A.R.S, but that was only to conceal his true intentions. He used the disaster at Arklay to his own advantage. After guiding his subordinates to the mansion, he secretly went off to collect data on the nearly perfected B.O.W.s that had been developed there. His true intentions were discovered by Chris Redfield and a few other surviving S.T.A.R.S. members. It was thought that Wesker was killed by the Tyrant, but before he died, he injected himself with the T-Virus. After collecting as much information as he could, and escaping the mansion he went to work for one of Umbrella’s rival companies, bringing with him all the live battle data he had collected. That same year, right before the biological disaster and subsequent bombing of Raccoon City, he received help from the spy Ada Wong in acquiring a sample of the G-Virus developed by Dr. Birkin. Several months later, he attacked the Ashford family administered Rockfort Island and the Antarctic base in the search of the T-Veronica virus that had been developed by Alexia Ashford. He made off with the body of Steve Burnside, which was harboring T-Veronica. And as a new millennium began, he turned his interest to South America… Wesker comes into contact with a man frantically searching for a treatment for his daughter, the drug lord, Javier Hidalgo. He sold T-Veronica to Javier as an analeptic drug for a large sum of money and a stake in a collusive business partnership. What Wesker’s motives were for putting T-Veronica, whose effects would ripple throughout the entire continent, in the hands of Javier, no one knows.

(There will be screencaps of each character in the model viewer with different angles, zoomed in on different details, etc. in separate posts in the future :))

#leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #jack krauser #major krauser #manuela hidalgo #resident evil the darkside chronicles #resident evil darkside chronicles #darkside chronicles #operation javier #my gifs #gif set #albert wesker #javier hidalgo #CODE:Veronica

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sherewrytes · 2 days ago

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Love and Gunshots, Eren x Black Reader

Gang member Eren x Introvert black reader

Summary: In a dangerous urban landscape, y/n, an introverted Criminal Law student, finds herself drawn into the violent world of the Sixx Gang through her protective cousin, Onyankopon. When she locks eyes with Eren Yeager, a hot-headed gang member, a twisted game of desire and danger begins.

As Eren becomes obsessed with y/n, he threatens to unravel the fragile balance Ony has maintained to shield her from their brutal lifestyle. With loyalty tested and violence lurking at every turn, the lines between love and danger blur, leading to a dark climax where the heart proves just as lethal as a gun.

Genre: Dark Romance/Crime Modern au

Warnings: Graphic violence, drug use, smut, obsession

Chapter 8: Breaking point

I felt numb as Erwin led me out of the room, away from the chaos. My mind was racing, still trying to process everything I had just witnessed. The last few hours felt like a blur—one moment I was dealing with the shock of seeing Eren and Ony so close to killing each other, and the next, I was being dragged into a hell I never signed up for.

I glanced over at Erwin, who kept a steady pace, his presence calming despite everything around us. The weight of the situation settled deeper into my chest as I realized how much danger I was in, how much I had been pulled into this world of violence, drugs, and lies.

Erwin stopped outside the door of the warehouse, looking back toward me. His eyes softened slightly as he spoke. "You’re safe for now, Yn. I need you to stay away from this mess. For your own good."

I swallowed hard, the words not reaching me fully. Safe? How could I feel safe when I knew my life was tangled up with these people? When I knew what was happening back inside, what might be happening to Ony, to Eren... to me?

"I don’t belong here," I whispered, more to myself than to Erwin. "None of this is my fight."

Erwin gave me a look, his lips pulling into a tight line. "It’s not your fight, but it’s been made yours. Now, you need to be smart. Don’t let yourself get dragged deeper than you already are."

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if I could keep that promise. The pull of this world, of Eren and Ony, felt like a gravitational force I couldn’t resist, no matter how hard I tried. But I had to try.

Erwin sighed, looking around cautiously before turning back to me. "I’ll take you home, but you stay low. Don’t reach out to them. Not now."

I opened my mouth to say something but stopped myself. What was there to say? That I was scared? That I didn’t know how to escape? Instead, I just nodded again, more to him than anyone else. I had no other choice.

As Erwin started the car and we pulled away from the warehouse, I glanced at my phone, a mix of texts from Ony, from Eren, from people I didn’t even know. And yet, none of them mattered as much as what was happening right now. How much farther could I go before it all shattered?

And then the thought hit me: What would happen if I did choose a side? Would it save me or destroy me?

When the car pulled up to my house, my heart sank as I saw my mom and aunt standing by the door, their expressions serious. But it was the figure beside them that made my stomach drop—my father. I hadn't seen him in years, and the last time I did, things were far from good between us.

I stepped out of the car, still in shock. "What is he doing here?" I muttered to myself, though the question was clear. I didn't expect him to be a part of this situation, especially not after all this time.

My mom looked at me, her face strained with worry. "Yn, your father wants to talk to you. We... we need to figure out what’s going on. This situation is dangerous, and—"

"You really think I want to be involved in this?!" I cut her off, the frustration bubbling over. "I didn't ask for any of this! I don't need his help now!"

My father stepped forward, his face hardened but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes—concern? Guilt? I couldn’t tell. "Yn, we need to talk. About everything," he said, his voice low but firm.

I took a step back, shaking my head. I hadn’t prepared for this. Not today. Not with everything that had happened, with the chaos, the violence, the lies. "What’s there to talk about?" I shot back. "You’ve been gone for years. You don’t get to come back now and act like everything’s fine."

My father’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced at my mom and aunt, as if silently asking for permission to continue. My aunt was quiet, her eyes scanning me with a mix of sympathy and concern, while my mom stood by, wringing her hands nervously.

I wasn’t sure how to feel anymore. The weight of the past few hours, the violence I had seen, the decisions that had been made without my consent—it was all crashing down on me. And now, my father... He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t make it go away.

“I’m not part of this world, Dad,” I finally said, my voice breaking. "I don’t know what you think you’re here to fix, but I’m not going back to any of it."

My father opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. I could see the frustration in his eyes, but there was something else there, too. Regret, maybe. But it didn’t matter now. He wasn’t going to be able to change anything, not when everything had already spiraled so far out of control.

I turned away from him, walking inside, hoping the distance would help me clear my head

"My dad glanced at me, his face unreadable, before asking, 'Is Levi running shit?'

I froze at the mention of Levi's name, my heart skipping a beat as my dad described him in that all-too-familiar way. It was like the world had shifted again. "Excuse me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. My dad's eyes narrowed at me, his tone stern.

"Short guy, white, temper—shorter than he is..." My father continued, his gaze flicking to the car still parked outside.

My mother, who had been standing in the background, sighed in resignation. "Yes, that’s the man who was here earlier," she said, sounding almost defeated.

I turned to look at my mom, then back at the car, and that’s when I saw it. Erwin. He’d opened the door and stepped out, strolling over to my dad like it was no big deal. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my mind was racing. This was impossible.

"Erwin, get yuh mother cunt out here, man." My dad’s words were harsh, but there was something about the way he spoke that made me feel like I was missing a huge part of this story.

Erwin didn’t even seem phased. He just walked up to my dad like they were old friends, a casual smile on his face. "Reggie, what’s good?" he said as if it were any other day.

This was a nightmare. I couldn’t process it. I had known Erwin for years, sure. But him being connected to my dad, to them, this—this was a whole different level. My world felt like it was turning upside down, and I couldn’t breathe for a second.

What the hell was going on here?

I stood there, completely frozen, unable to speak, as I watched my dad and Erwin interact. The realization slowly dawned on me: this wasn’t just some random group of criminals I had gotten involved with. It was bigger. So much bigger. My father knew them—had worked with them. Erwin knew my father. I was in deeper than I’d ever realized, and I had no idea what to do next.

Was I even safe anymore?

I stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to believe what was unfolding before me. My dad and Erwin talked like old friends catching up after years apart, completely ignoring the turmoil brewing inside me.

Erwin reached into his pocket, pulled out a joint, and passed it to my dad like it was a regular Sunday afternoon. "Like old times," Erwin said with a smirk.

My dad took it without hesitation, lighting it up and taking a long drag. The way they were so casual about it all made my stomach churn. How could he sit here and act like this when my life was spiraling out of control?

"So, what’s the deal with Ony?" my dad asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I hear his name mixed up in this mess."

Erwin raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the car. "What’s the deal with Jarmark?" he shot back.

My dad rolled his eyes, his tone heavy with frustration. "He’s in jail, Erwin. You know this."

Erwin’s gaze shifted to me, and my heart sank. The look he gave me wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t comforting, either. It was assessing, like he was trying to figure out what I’d do next. "Reggie," Erwin started, turning back to my dad, "she’s on Levi’s radar. And you know he’s crazy as fuck."

That statement hit like a sledgehammer. I clenched my fists, fighting the wave of panic threatening to take over.

"On Levi’s radar?" my dad repeated, his face darkening. He looked at me then, his eyes narrowing as if seeing me in a new light. "What the hell did you get yourself into, girl?"

I opened my mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words. How was I supposed to explain? That I hadn’t gotten into anything? That it was all Eren? That I was just trying to live my life, but these men kept pulling me into their chaos? My dad wouldn’t care. To him, it wouldn’t matter how it happened, only that it had.

"Don’t look at her like that," Erwin said, flicking ash from his joint. "This ain’t her fault. Blame your nephew and that stubborn-ass Jaeger kid for dragging her into this."

"Jaeger?" my dad muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. He shook his head and took another drag. "I should’ve known. Levi’s favorite little psychopath."

"Exactly," Erwin replied. "And now she’s in the middle of it. Levi’s been watching her like a hawk. You know how he gets when he sets his sights on something."

My dad cursed under his breath, pacing in front of the house. He stopped abruptly, pointing at Erwin. "You tell Levi to back off. That’s my daughter, and I won’t let him use her to settle his shit."

Erwin shrugged, his expression neutral. "You think I control Levi? If I could stop him from being Levi, the world would be a better place."

I couldn’t hold back anymore. "What does he want from me?" I snapped, my voice shaking. "Why can’t you all just leave me alone?"

Both men turned to me, my dad looking surprised while Erwin simply raised an eyebrow. My dad stepped closer, his tone softening slightly. "You’re mixed up in something bigger than you know, baby girl. I’ll fix this. Don’t worry."

His words were meant to be reassuring, but they felt like a lie. How could he fix this when he was part of the same world that was tearing my life apart?

My mom’s voice cut through the tension like a razor. "How exactly do you plan on fixing this, Reggie?" she asked, arms crossed, her glare sharp enough to cut steel.

My dad sighed, rolling his eyes in irritation. "I told you to keep her out of this neighborhood," he shot back. "You didn’t listen, and now I gotta clean up a mess I didn’t even start."

"Don’t you dare put this on me!" my mom snapped, stepping forward. "You’ve been absent for years, and now you wanna play the blame game? No, Reggie. This is on you, too."

They locked eyes, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around their argument. I wanted to disappear, to pretend I wasn’t standing there listening to my parents argue over my life as if I wasn’t even present.

Erwin, leaning casually against the car, watched the exchange with a bemused expression. My dad turned to him abruptly, his frustration spilling over. "Where the fuck is Ony’s ass, anyway?" he demanded.

Erwin shrugged, taking another drag of his joint. "He’s with Levi," he said nonchalantly. "Handling the aftermath of all this bullshit."

My dad frowned, his jaw tightening. "Handling it how? What’s that short bastard doing to him?"

Erwin smirked, but there was no humor in it. "What Levi always does—making sure no one steps out of line again. Ony’s in it deep, Reggie. You might wanna have a word with your nephew before Levi does something permanent."

I felt my stomach drop at his words. The thought of Ony suffering because of this made my chest ache. Despite everything, Ony had always tried to protect me, even if it meant sacrificing his own peace.

"You better not let Levi go too far," my dad warned, pointing a finger at Erwin. "That boy may be my nephew, but he’s still blood. I won’t let Levi take things too far."

Erwin chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You don’t let Levi do anything, Reggie. You know that better than anyone. The best thing you can do is stay out of his way and hope he doesn’t decide Ony’s too much of a liability."

My mom gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Reggie, do something! You can’t just let this happen."

"I’m working on it," my dad snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Damn, woman, give me a minute to think!"

I wanted to scream at all of them, to tell them to stop talking about me and Ony like we were chess pieces in their game. But I stayed silent, my heart pounding as I tried to process everything.

Erwin finally stood up straight, tossing the joint onto the ground and stomping it out with his boot. "If you’re serious about fixing this, Reggie, you better move fast. Levi’s patience is already razor-thin."

He glanced at me, his gaze softening just slightly. "You might wanna stay out of sight for a while, kid. Things are gonna get uglier before they get better."

With that, he turned and walked back to the car, leaving me standing there with my parents and a thousand questions swirling in my head.

Ony’s mom started pacing the yard, her hands wringing as she muttered under her breath. “My son... turning out just like his father,” she said, her voice trembling. “I thought I raised him better. I thought—”

“Stop it,” my dad, Reggie, cut her off, his tone sharp. “This ain’t the time for this.” He turned to me, his intense gaze pinning me in place. “Tell me, Y/N. Why? How the hell did you even meet this boy, Eren?”

I froze, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. My dad stepped closer, his voice quieter but no less commanding. “Answer me. How’d you meet him?”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “It was on the porch... here,” I admitted reluctantly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Reggie’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at me like I’d just confessed to a crime. “This porch? Right here?”

I nodded. “Yes... I had just come back from class. Ony was out here... smoking with Eren.” I hesitated, unsure if I should continue.

“And?” Reggie pressed, crossing his arms over his chest. “What else?”

I glanced at my mom, who looked as if she wanted to interject but didn’t. I took a deep breath and finished, “They were cleaning guns.”

The yard went deathly silent. My dad’s expression darkened as he took in my words, his jaw clenching. Ony’s mom froze mid-step, her hands flying to her head. “Cleaning guns?!” she shrieked. “In front of my house?!”

Reggie held up a hand to stop her, his eyes never leaving mine. “So you saw him, what? Thought he was charming? Thought he was a nice guy?” His voice was dripping with disbelief.

“I didn’t think anything at first!” I shot back, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “He was just... there. I didn’t know who he was or what he was about. Ony introduced us, and that was it.”

Reggie let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “That was it, huh? That was enough for you to get mixed up in all this shit?”

“It’s not like I asked for this!” I snapped, my voice rising. “I didn’t ask for any of this, Dad! I didn’t ask to be dragged into your world or Ony’s world or Eren’s world. I just... I just wanted to come home from school, and then—”

“And then you made a choice,” Reggie interrupted, his voice hard. “You chose to let him into your life. You chose to let him pull you into this mess.”

Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “I didn’t know it would be like this,” I said quietly.

Reggie sighed, running a hand down his face. “Of course, you didn’t. None of you kids ever do. And now look at where we’re at. Ony’s in Levi’s crosshairs, Eren’s a damn loose cannon, and you’re... you’re caught in the middle of it all.”

My mom finally spoke up, her voice trembling. “Reggie, stop blaming her. She’s just a girl. She didn’t know—”

“She should’ve known better!” Reggie snapped, cutting her off. “But now it’s too late for that. The question is, how the hell are we gonna get her out of this?”

Reggie paced the yard, his frustration radiating off him in waves. He turned back to me, his finger pointed like a dagger. “You might live in the hood, Y/N, but you ain’t from it. Do you even know what kind of shit the 6ixx gang is up to? Do you even know where all this started?”

I stared at him, unsure how to answer. His words stung because they were true. I didn’t know the depths of it all—only fragments, bits and pieces from overheard conversations and Ony’s cryptic warnings.

Reggie tilted his head back, letting out a bitter laugh toward the night sky. “Lord Father, help me here tonight,” he muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath before looking back at me. “You think this is some petty beef, Y/N? Some schoolyard bullshit that’ll blow over? You’re playing with fire, girl. And the worst part is, you don’t even know how hot it burns.”

“Dad, I—”

“No,” he interrupted sharply. “You don’t get to talk. Not yet. Let me tell you what you’re tangled up in.” He gestured wildly toward the street, the porch, everything. “This ain’t just about Eren or Ony or whatever little drama you think this is. The 6ixx gang? They’re in deep—drugs, guns, money laundering, you name it. They don’t play fair, and they don’t forgive.”

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting. The weight of his words settled on my chest like a brick.

Reggie continued, his voice rising. “And you? You’re just some college girl to them. You’re a pawn. A pretty little pawn they’ll use to get what they want. Do you understand that? They don’t care about you, Y/N. Not like I do. Not like your mom does.”

I glanced at my mom, who was standing silently to the side, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Reggie,” she started softly, but he wasn’t done.

“No, don’t ‘Reggie’ me,” he snapped, turning back to her before focusing on me again. “You think Levi gives a damn about your degree? About your future? He’ll chew you up and spit you out, just like he’s done with everyone else who’s crossed him. And Eren? He’s no better.”

I flinched at his harsh tone, tears prickling at my eyes again. “I didn’t ask for this,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“But you’re in it now,” Reggie shot back. “And you need to understand what’s at stake. This ain’t just about you anymore, Y/N. It’s about your family, your future—everything.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Eren's pov

I was exhausted, every part of my body aching from the endless assault. The pain was sharp, brutal, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. All I could think about was Y/N—her face, her voice, her refusal to choose between me and anyone else. She was the only thing that kept me grounded in the chaos.

I stole a glance at Ony. He looked just as defeated as I felt. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes empty, like the fight had drained him of everything. I could feel his pain, the weight of everything that had led to this point. And then there was his mom—her reaction had hit me harder than I expected. The way she slapped him, the way she let him go so easily. She had always treated him like the problem, like he was the one who’d brought all this mess into their lives.

I didn’t get it. Ony was just trying to protect what was his, just like me. And yet, here we were, being punished for things that weren’t entirely our fault. I hated how she treated him, hated how she kept pushing him away when all he was trying to do was survive. The look in his eyes when she slapped him—it was a mixture of hurt and resignation. He wasn’t going to fight her anymore. But I wasn’t like him. I couldn’t let go. Not yet.

As I stared at him, I started to understand a little more of what drove him, what drove me. We were both stuck in this endless cycle, bound by loyalty, by love, by the need to control something in a world that constantly felt like it was slipping away. And Y/N... Y/N was that thing for me. She was my reason to keep fighting, even when everything else was falling apart.

Levi had been right about one thing—if she wasn’t part of my world, I’d have nothing left. But I couldn’t let that happen. Not with her. Not when I knew she was the only thing that could give me a sense of peace, even if it was fleeting.

The room was silent except for the occasional grunt or mutter. My head was pounding, but I couldn’t shake the thought that everything was spiraling. Levi had pushed me to my limit, and I had barely managed to hold onto my sanity.

I looked over at him, leaning against the wall with that smirk plastered on his face, like this was all a game. And maybe to him it was. But not to me. Not to Ony.

And especially not to Y/N. She deserved better than this mess. She deserved peace.

But I wasn’t sure I could give her that anymore. Not with how things were going.

Levi’s smug face made my blood boil, but I stayed quiet. I didn’t have the energy to snap back at him anymore, not when my body was already broken and my mind felt like it was teetering on the edge. I glanced at Ony again, his head hanging low. His silence was unnerving, and it made me wonder if he was giving up entirely.

But giving up wasn’t in me. Not yet. Not while Y/N was still out there, dragged into all this chaos because of me. Levi might’ve been trying to make a point, but I wasn’t about to let him win. Not when it came to her.

Levi finally stood straight, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “Well, this has been fun, but I think you two have had enough for today.” He turned to Reiner and Jean. “Get them cleaned up and back to their places. We’ve got bigger shit to deal with tomorrow.”

Reiner gave a curt nod and moved to grab me, but I pulled away, struggling to my feet. My legs felt like they were about to give out, but I wasn’t going to let them see me weak. Not now. Not ever.

Ony slowly stood too, his movements stiff and deliberate. He didn’t even look at me as Reiner helped him walk toward the door. I could feel the tension between us, thick and suffocating. We were both pissed—at Levi, at the situation, at each other. But there was something unspoken in the air, a shared understanding that neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

As Jean shoved me forward, I couldn’t help but think about what Levi had said earlier—about Y/N being the source of all this chaos. It wasn’t true, not entirely. This wasn’t her fault. It was mine. I brought her into this world, made her a part of something she never asked to be part of. And now, she was paying the price for it.

When we got outside, the cool air hit me like a slap to the face. It felt like freedom, even if it was temporary. I looked up at the night sky, the stars barely visible through the city’s haze. For a moment, I let myself breathe, let myself feel the weight of everything that had happened.

Jean shoved me again, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Keep moving, Yeager. You’re lucky Levi didn’t put a bullet in you tonight.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say? He was right. I was lucky. But luck wouldn’t last forever.

As we approached the cars, I caught sight of my reflection in the side mirror of Reiner’s jeep. The bruises, the dried blood, the swelling—it all stared back at me, a painful reminder of how far I’d fallen. My face didn’t even look like mine anymore, just a mess of pain and regret.

I stopped in my tracks for a moment, unable to tear my eyes away. The person staring back at me wasn’t the Eren Yeager I knew. He looked weak, broken, defeated—everything I swore I’d never be. It made my stomach turn, the bitter taste of failure sitting heavy on my tongue.

Jean noticed me lagging and shoved me hard. “Move it, Yeager. You don’t have time to admire yourself.”

I almost snapped at him but caught myself. What was the point? I had no fight left for Jean, for Reiner, for anyone. All I could think about was the reflection, the bruises, the way Levi’s words echoed in my head. You like breaking things, don’t you?

Maybe I did. Maybe I always had. But looking at myself now, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to put the pieces back together. The more I stared, the more the reflection felt like a stranger—someone I didn’t want to know, someone I didn’t want Y/N to see.

Reiner yanked open the jeep door, and Jean shoved me inside. The cold leather pressed against my back, and I leaned into it, closing my eyes to block out the reflection. It didn’t help. It was burned into my mind, just like everything else.

In the silence of the car, I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven. My ribs ached with every inhale, my arm throbbed with every beat of my heart, but none of it compared to the weight in my chest. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d already lost everything. And the worst part? It was all my fault.

I glanced at Ony sitting on the curb outside the warehouse, his head hanging low as he toyed with the gravel beneath his feet. He looked like a ghost of himself, a man who’d just been gutted and left to figure out how to piece himself back together. His shoulders were slouched, his usually sharp gaze now dulled, and I could tell the weight of everything that happened was crushing him.

I thought about his mom throwing him out, the slap she’d landed on him echoing in my mind. Sure, he had his own spot, but anyone could see being with his family meant something to him. He carried them in everything he did. It was obvious. Hell, it was probably why he’d even tried so hard to keep Y/N out of this mess in the first place.

For a second, a flicker of something like pity tried to surface in me. But I shoved it down as quickly as it came. I couldn’t feel sorry for him. Not when I was sitting here just as broken, just as beaten—physically and mentally. And definitely not when Y/N was at the center of it all.

This wasn’t some accident, some random twist of fate. Ony and I both knew the risks, knew the game we were playing. And if he thought he could keep someone like Y/N away from me, he was wrong. She wasn’t his to protect.

I leaned back in the seat, my gaze still locked on him as Reiner started the car. Ony didn’t look up, didn’t move. Maybe he was as lost in his head as I was, running over all the ways we’d screwed up to get here. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. I wasn’t sure which one would’ve been worse.

Connie sauntered over to Ony and plopped down beside him on the curb, stretching his legs out in front of him with a groan. The two sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds the faint hum of the night and the occasional shuffle from inside the warehouse. Connie tilted his head back to glance at Ony, whose face was blank, eyes fixed on a patch of gravel as if the weight of the world had been buried there.

“Yo,” Connie said, breaking the silence. “You wanna crash at mine tonight? Or I can drop you back at your spot if you’re feelin’ it.”

Ony didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge the question. His fingers idly pushed at the small rocks near his boots, but his focus remained distant, somewhere far from where Connie sat. It was like talking to a wall.

Connie frowned, shifting a bit to lean closer. “Hey, man. You hear me? I said you wanna come back with me or what?”

Still nothing. The silence stretched so thin it felt suffocating, like even the night itself was holding its breath. Ony’s chest rose and fell steadily, but his expression didn’t flicker. He looked more like a statue than a man, trapped in his own mind.

Finally, Connie sighed, running a hand over his buzzed head. He pulled out a pack of rolling papers and a small baggie from his pocket, shaking them in Ony’s line of vision. “Alright, how about this? I roll you a blunt instead. That sound better?”

Ony’s fingers paused for the first time. He blinked slowly, his jaw tightening as if he were weighing the offer. A long moment passed before he finally shifted his gaze toward Connie, his voice low and hoarse when he replied.

“Yeah,” Ony muttered. “Roll me a blunt.”

Connie nodded, glad to get any kind of response at this point. “Aight, bet. Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you.”

He set to work, spreading the rolling paper out on his knee with practiced ease. The weed was already ground up, and Connie’s fingers moved deftly, sprinkling the green evenly across the paper. The rhythmic movements of his hands felt calming, almost therapeutic, and he wondered if Ony felt the same way watching him.

“So, you wanna talk about it?” Connie asked casually, glancing at Ony as he started to tuck the paper and roll it up.

Ony snorted softly, shaking his head. “What’s there to talk about, Connie? It’s all fucked.”

“That’s fair,” Connie said with a shrug, licking the edge of the paper to seal it. “But, like, I’m just sayin’, gettin’ it out might help. You been bottling shit up all night.”

Ony didn’t answer, just leaned back slightly, resting his arms on his knees as he stared ahead. Connie didn’t push it. Instead, he pulled a lighter from his pocket, sparking the blunt and taking a quick hit before passing it over.

“Here,” Connie said, holding it out to Ony. “This’ll do the talkin’ for you if you don’t wanna.”

Ony took it without a word, his fingers brushing against Connie’s briefly before he brought the blunt to his lips. He inhaled deeply, the cherry glowing bright as the smoke curled up into the cool night air. For the first time since Connie had sat down, Ony’s shoulders seemed to loosen, his posture relaxing just a fraction as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

“Thanks,” Ony muttered, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

“Don’t mention it,” Connie said, leaning back on his palms with a smirk. “You’re not the only one who needs to chill out after all this shit.”

They sat there like that for a while, passing the blunt back and forth, letting the silence between them grow comfortable instead of heavy. Neither of them needed to say much. The weed was doing its job, and for now, that was enough.

Jean, ever the instigator, leaned against the wall of the warehouse with that signature smirk of his, the one that promised trouble. He let out a low whistle, his eyes darting between Ony and the blunt in his hand.

“So,” Jean drawled, his tone thick with mischief. “What’s Yn think about all this? Bet she’s got a lot to say, huh?”

Ony’s entire body stiffened at the mention of her name. His hand froze mid-pass, the blunt hovering in the space between him and Connie. For a moment, it seemed like Ony hadn’t heard him—or maybe he was trying to convince himself that he didn’t. But then, without warning, Ony shot up from the concrete with such force it startled even Connie.

In a split second, Ony was in Jean’s face, his movements swift and aggressive. His jaw clenched tightly, and his nostrils flared as he stared Jean down. Jean, for all his usual bravado, looked momentarily caught off guard, his smirk faltering as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Yo, chill, Ony,” Jean said, his voice laced with a nervous chuckle. “I was just messing around.”

“Don’t.” Ony’s voice was low, dangerous, like a growl that seemed to rumble up from the depths of his chest. “Don’t bring her into this. Ever.”

For a tense moment, it seemed like Ony might swing. The air between them was charged, the kind of thick that made everyone else nearby tense up instinctively. Even Connie, who usually stayed out of these kinds of things, shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting between the two.

But then, just as quickly as he’d snapped, Ony stepped back. He ran a hand down his face, letting out a long, controlled breath as if he were physically forcing himself to calm down. His gaze flickered toward the warehouse for a brief second, then back to Jean. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, but the edge hadn’t entirely disappeared.

“Watch your mouth, Jean. That’s family.”

Jean nodded, swallowing hard as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Got it, man. My bad. No harm meant.”

Ony didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his attention toward Eren, who had been watching the entire scene unfold with a knowing look. Ony’s eyes locked with his, and the intensity in them was unmistakable. It wasn’t just a warning; it was a promise. Then Ony glanced back at the warehouse door, his jaw tightening for a brief moment, before looking directly at Connie, who held the now-limp blunt.

“Roll another one,” Ony muttered, sinking back down onto the curb.

Connie raised an eyebrow but said nothing, pulling out the rolling papers again as Jean slunk off, muttering under his breath. The tension lingered in the air, but Ony seemed to retreat into his own thoughts, his fingers tapping against his knee as he stared off into the distance. Whatever was running through his mind, it was clear the storm inside him was far from over.

I leaned against Reiner's jeep for a moment, watching Ony sit stiffly on the curb. His posture screamed tension, the kind that was tightly wound and ready to snap at any moment. A lesser man would’ve backed off, but I wasn’t one to shy away from poking a bear—especially when it was this particular bear.

Reiner had been trying to talk me down, something about picking my battles and how Levi would have both our heads if he caught wind of this. But I wasn’t listening. Instead, I peeled myself away from the jeep and sauntered over to Ony, feeling Reiner’s heavy sigh follow me like a shadow.

Sliding onto the curb next to him, I made myself comfortable, deliberately invading his space. I felt him stiffen the second I sat down, his body going rigid as if bracing for whatever nonsense he knew was about to come out of my mouth. I waited a beat, letting the tension simmer, before I finally spoke.

“I’d call a truce,” I said casually, my voice low and edged with amusement. “But the thing is, I want Yn for myself. And you already know that.”

I watched as Ony’s jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as he kept his eyes fixed on the ground. His silence didn’t deter me—it only fueled me.

“So how about,” I continued, leaning in slightly, my tone dipping into something dangerously close to a taunt, “you drop this whole big brother act and let me have her?”

The air between us grew impossibly heavier, the kind that pressed down on your chest and made it hard to breathe. Ony’s head turned slowly, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a look that could’ve burned through steel. It wasn’t anger—not fully, at least. It was something deeper, something primal, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of unease.

“What did you just say?” Ony’s voice was low, steady, but it carried a weight that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“You heard me,” I said, forcing a smirk to mask the tension crawling up my spine. “She’s wasted on you. I’d treat her better. You know it, I know it, hell—she probably knows it.”

That did it.

In a flash, Ony was on his feet, towering over me with an intensity that made even the shadows around us seem to shrink away. His fists were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white, but he didn’t swing. Not yet.

“You’re walking on thin ice, Jaeger,” Ony said, his voice barely above a whisper, but it was laced with so much venom it felt louder than a shout. “And you don’t want to see what happens when it breaks.”

I stood, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down even as my pulse quickened. “Maybe I do,” I said, my smirk widening, though it felt more like baring teeth.

Before Ony could make his move, Reiner’s heavy hand landed on my shoulder, pulling me back with a force that made it clear I’d crossed a line.

“Enough,” Reiner said sharply, his eyes darting between the two of us. “This isn’t the time, and it sure as hell isn’t the place.”

Ony didn’t take his eyes off me, his chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. “This isn’t over,” he muttered, his voice like a low growl before turning on his heel and walking away.

Reiner shot me a look that could’ve rivaled Levi’s in its intensity. “Do you ever know when to shut up, Jaeger?”

I shrugged, my smirk returning as I watched Ony disappear into the shadows. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Connie suddenly stood up, stepping into my space with a fire in his eyes. "I thought you guys were chill. Like, is Y/N really worth all this, man?"

His words hit like a punch, but I wasn’t about to let him see how much they stung. "Ony’s not gonna forgive you, man. You know how he is about his family. He’s only doing all this shit for them. Your shit’s got him and his mama on ends."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of truth I couldn’t deny. But instead of letting the tension break me, I threw my head back and laughed—a sharp, bitter sound

I couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled up, low and dark, as Connie's words hit the air. His face was scrunched up in that mixture of confusion and frustration, but all I could think about was how badly I’d just rattled Ony. Not just him, but everything around him. Family, loyalty, everything he thought he had a grip on—I was ripping it all away, piece by piece.

I leaned back, giving Connie a look that practically oozed smugness. "You think I care about his forgiveness?" I asked, letting the amusement settle in my tone like a bitter taste. "What the fuck does forgiveness even mean in this world? This is about power, and right now, I hold it. Ony? He's just a pawn in this game."

Connie's eyes narrowed, and I could see his frustration bubbling. He probably wanted to be the peacemaker, the one who made sure everything didn't go off the rails, but that wasn’t going to happen—not on my watch.

"Man, you’re playing a dangerous game," Connie muttered, shaking his head. "Ony’s loyalty runs deep, and you’re testing that line. He's not gonna back down from this."

I shrugged nonchalantly, the weight of my words heavy in the space between us. "Let him try. He knows who I am, and right now, I’m everything he can’t handle." My gaze flicked over to where Ony had disappeared into the distance, no longer looking back. "He’s too tied up in his little 'family' to see what’s really going on. It’s cute, in a way."

Connie looked like he was about to say more, but I cut him off, unable to resist. "And as for Yn? She's mine. No one else gets a say. If Ony’s too caught up in his feelings to protect what’s his, that’s on him. But Yn's not gonna end up like him. She’s gonna end up where she belongs—next to me."

Connie looked ready to snap, his face twisted in frustration, but there was nothing he could say that would change what I was going to do. I'd already decided, and no one, not even Ony, could stand in my way.

"You really think she’s gonna fall for your bullshit?" Connie pressed, his voice rising just a bit.

I let the laughter roll out again, louder this time. "We’ll see. I always get what I want, Connie. Always."

#aot x black reader #onyankopon x reader #aot onyankopon #eren yeager #eren aot #eren x y/n #eren x you #eren smut #eren jaeger #eren jeager x reader #eren fluff #eren jeager smut #eren x reader #attack on titan eren #aot x you #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #sherewrytes

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melorambles · 3 days ago

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okay, so Spite is highly entertaining. Especially once he and Lucanis reach their understanding and he's started learning more about the physical world. But I really don't see him as a sexual being. Protective, fascinated by Rook, possessive of Rook; yes. Sexual, no. He's a spirit of determination unwillingly pulled from the Fade and forced into the body of a man held together by denial, compartmentalization, the unwillingness to do what his enemies want, and a soul-deep knowledge that if he fails a contract his grandmother assigned him, he better hope it's because he died.

Lucanis describes surviving the Ossuary as shutting down, feeling nothing except what he had to in order to escape. Spite is in Lucanis' head, while he's disassociating his way through torture, trying to imagine his revenge because it's too dangerous to think of his family and his work. Because if he thinks of it too much, and he breaks, they might learn something from him and he refuses to allow that. When he runs out of revenge fantasies, he thinks about cooking. Because he likes cooking and there's nothing they can get out of him related to cooking.

Spite doesn't know anything else about living outside the Fade. The laws of reality as he knows them are different. He can't affect anything except for Lucanis. All he knows is that he and his host are trapped here and the people who did it want something from them. He and Lucanis agree they will not give it to them. They brought him here for something and he will Not give it to them. They took a spirit of determination and in their pursuit of their goals he became spite. But the only things Spite knows about the physical world are 1) whatever these people want, we aren't going to let them have 2) the host is good at killing things and the two of us together are Very Good at killing things and 3) wanting something means hurting anyone and anything in your way. Because that's how it works in the Ossuary. The Venatori want something from them, and hurt them when they won't let it happen. They want to escape and kill the Venatori who won't let them. In fact, the blood magic is the only thing keeping them from their goal. Is it any wonder that Spite hurts Lucanis when Lucanis won't do what he wants? Rook is literally the first person he's ever met with a different approach. Rook frees them by assisting them. By breaking open the doors and breaking the magic that bound them. Then Rook takes them out into the light, into a whole new world Spite has never seen - not even in Lucanis' head.

And, well, we know what it's like in Lucanis' head. Not even Lucanis wants to be in there right now. The man is still in survival mode, still boxing up anything that isn't useful or cooking related. Anything too personal that they can't deal with right now, because he's got a contract and he has to be good enough to fulfill it. (Because if he thinks about it too much he'll have to acknowledge just who knew where he would be and who would benefit most from the Venatori getting him.) Lucanis isn't truly living, just surviving and so Spite looks to Rook and how Rook interacts to learn how to be in the physical world.

#lucanis dellamorte #dragon age veilguard #spite dragon age #dav #dav spoilers

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storiesofaot · 1 day ago

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Warning: lots of (hopefully coherent!) text ahead 😂

I looove how you translate what we know about Kuchel in canon into this little AU! It's so fitting and would give Levi an even bigger motif to chase that trafficking company. The value of the tea set you had mentioned before has even more weight now, it's basically the key to why his mum is dead - because those people forced her into the Underground.

Hange being the child of the head of the company = future heir is SOO smart, it's such a good idea!! Yes, it would explain, like you said, why she knew so much about that subject, and why she's estranged from her family. It makes sense that she still has something to do with antiques through her job of selling them, just not in a "bad" and illegal way. And deciding to accompany Levi despite having that past is a huge step, it's very dangerous for her, she's risking a lot!

Ooh your idea of child Hange wanting to help Levi escape the Underground would definitely create that full-circle! Back then, she already puts herself into danger, and in the "future" she's helping him, too. Now I don't know if this is too far-fetched, but what if Hange and Levi escaped from that place together? So the scene you described of the company + Hange checking in on Kuchel and Levi, and seeing she is already dead. The traffickers, as you’ve said, decide to leave Levi to his fate there. Seeing this cruelty, Hange decides to, in the spur of the moment, not only help Levi escape but she herself runs away from her family as well.

The two manage to escape the location (which would be the moment Hange fully leaves that life of hers behind) and they plan to go to the surface together. (I imagine Hange has been born in the upper world as well, but the entire trafficking company moves between those two worlds so she might be familiar with how to move between those places?) But as always, something goes wrong (dramaaa), and only Hange reaches the surface, with Levi staying behind (does Kenny have something to do with this?) and only reaching that uper world years later, as an adult.

Hange somehow builds her own life, working as an antique dealer and trying to keep a low profile since she knows she’s never fully safe. But never forgetting Levi since she probably also wouldn’t have made it there without him. (Though I’m not sure if she’d remember his face; as you’ve already pointed out with Levi remembering her actions but not her face. Hmm but he might forget her more easily than she him, since he's been dealing with his mother's death 🤔)

And then years later, they meet by coincidence, through Levi looking for the cup!

(Aah this is so much fun! I hope you manage to do all the things you have to to today! 🙌🏼)

I don't want to repost the piece of art, so here's a link to it.

But I love that drawing SO much: it's giving antique dealer Hange x antique-stuff-loving Levi vibes, who's trying to find an old porcelain cup just like the one that belonged to his mother or something like that 😭 I know, that's not even a trope but still, now I want this so bad!!

#hange zoe #levi ackerman #levihan #i will tag this as #levihan detective au #starshower1215 ☄️#not word vomit but rather box of thoughts hehe 😁#throwing everything that comes to our minds into a bix box haha xD #hope what I wrote up there made sense - i didn't double check it 🥲

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redcherrykook · 1 month ago

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──𐙚 bad boy, good girl / highschool sweet♡s

────୨ৎ────

content: highschool sweethearts, parking lot blowjob, backshots, they r lovebirds, dirty talk, praise, big cawck JK, creampie, desperate seggs, getting chased by cops, jungkook smokes and sells weed, is tatted UP, oc is a quiet good girl nerd

note from cherry: this request is MONTHS old but i finally wanted to write smth fluffy and sexy, hope u guys like it!!

@rockstryoon 4 u <3

────୨ৎ────

the backseat of his makeshift hot box, ford taurus smelled like sweat and weed,

fogged up windows that blur the beautiful sunset behind the barrier, strangely, the best views are always on random gas stations or parking lots,

much like this back alley parking spot of a local grocery store,

"fuck angel, just like that" jungkook groans, his full sleeve tatto glistening with wet droplets that spurr from his worked up, heated body

"yeah? like this baby?" you mumble through the soft licks to his fat mushroom head, pink and swollen, leaking with his arousal,

you bat your lashes up at him, squeezing his heart in the meantime,

"so fucking good, imagine everyone knew what a slut you are f'me" clenching around nothing, you shift between his spread, muscular thighs, shoving his length into the back of your throat- fuck, he fills it out so well, hitting the very back

"you take me so well sugar" his hand combes through your long strands, slicking them away from your face while you work your hot mouth on his cock, he moans- a long, desperate moan as the grip tightens

your slick practically pools in your panties, clinging to every crevice but hidden beneath the plaid, light blue skirt

his half lidded doe eyes flicker down to your messy, half opened blouse where your tits sit perfectly, full view of the small swells that fit inside his large, rough palms, your stiff buds standing proudly, begging for his attention,

he reaches down to cup your tit as best he could, groping it, toying with the fabric that covered your nipples while he rolls his fingers over them

Jungkook was nothing like you, and that's certainly why you love him,

While you spend your weekends studying for your advanced literature classes, he drives around selling weed, getting little addtions to his sleeve tatto, skipping classes to go escape the world for a little, only to sneak into your room by your window, roughed up and with his signature leather jacket, a little scratched by the tree he needs to get on to knock down the window he knew would be open,

he loves that about you,

That you're so good.

Nothing about your sweet, innocence smile smells like danger- like a police report or a chance of rebellion,

he adores how you get shy everytime he stares too long, how he never needs to worry about having to pick you up drunk out of your mind but god- does he love how much you care,

how you sit on his lap and clean up his rough skin after a fight, how your eyebrows wrinkle in concern when he lights up yet another cigarette

"m'so fucking close angel" your boyfriend mutters, lip tucked beneath his teeth, the long, shaky digits on his hands yank your messy hair, gripping it so tightly your pussy aches for relief,

like a primal instinct, his hips start rutting into your mouth, chasing, running after the wet, squeezing sensation of your body engulfing his,

It only takes your soft, manicured hands gripping the muscles of his thigh for him to snap, stuttered hips that paint your throat with a coat of his cum,

your almond, ombre nails do it for him every time, how small your palm is compared to him, how feminine you are- smell, look, feel

"good girls swallow sugar" he winks and you roll your eyes, knowing that you loved to taste him,

slightly salty, but it tasted like adoration nonetheless, you lick it off your bottom lip as well, before meeting his exhausted, loving eyes

"c'mere" nose burried in your jumbled hair, he takes a second to inhale your scent, soft, fresh laundry with a hint of cherry that resembles your beloved shampoo,

you can feel his quickened heartbeat, body crunched up in the confined space but you need more, if you could crawl in his skin, you would, needing him everywhere

Jungkook showed you that love is sometimes unconventional, and that's the most beautiful part

"you did so good, so good at sucking dick aren't you?" jungkooks whisper lingers in your ear, husky, still out of breath from his high,

"oh god- please be quiet"

one hit to his chest, another,

"okay, okay sugar, let me make it up to you" he chuckled, catching your wrist before you could throw yet another soft punch to his toned chest,

he manuvers excellently in the small space, manhandling you like it was the easiest thing he'd ever done, until you're plump rear is pointed up, arched back perfectly on display and decorated by the bunched up skirt you decided on today,

"you're so perfect you know? So pretty" you can feel his hands round over your ass, spreading them to reveal your dripping femininity all bare to him, the thong you wore now pooling at your ankles,

"i love these little things, they make you look so sexy" refering to the white thigh high socks that squeeze your thighs, he taps them,

"gguk please" your hips wiggle tesingly beneath his hungry eyes, he can see your hands pressed on the seat and your head hung down in anticipation,

one harsh slap,

"be Patient pretty, you're a good girl right?"

onther one, your skin slowly shifting into being covered in a girlish pink hue,

"are you not hm? are you a little slut after all?"

just as he's about to deliver another harsh spank to your skin, your softened, desperate voice sounds all around him, making his lips elicit a small groan,

"no gguk, i'm a good girl"

"that's right angel, such a good girl" he breathes out and finally joins his body in with yours, his stiff, angryly throbbing length held heavy in his hand,

"feel how big i am?" he teases, watching with his mouth hung open while he guided his tip between your soppy folds, grinding between them to coat himself in your stickiness, he nudges your clit, thrusting against it to watch how you clench around nothing,

"mh.. gguk.." you whine once more, biting down on your lip to not yell in desperation,

"I know pretty, i know" as he says this, his tip aligns with your entrance, pushing all the way in with one go,

"god you're so fucking tiny" jungkook moans, gripping your hips to pull you back against his pelvis, his abs flex at the contact, stiffening once he's nestled his entire girthy cock inside of you,

you could feel everything, his raw, throbbing cock filling out every crevice inside your flush walls, veins bulging against your warmth

he's ruthless with how he fucks into you, giving you no time to adjust to his size that will remain a stretch forever, snapping into you with force as you rock yourself back on him, tumbling out whimpers from your open mouth,

"yeah.. so good, my pussy, all mine, made for my cock" his torso connects with your back, wrapping his muscular arms around your trembling form as he reaches deep into your cunt, embracing the overwhelming pleasure you can only whine, moan, and hope that he wouldn't stop now,

"fuck, fuck baby you're so sexy" its now his turn to whine, he's becoming restless with his movements, moans growing more high pitched and needy with every deep push into you, his lip ring grazed by his tongue over and over again,

it's becoming too much- too much to feel your soft, small back colliding with his half revealed, sweaty torso, feeling your walls squeeze him, sucking him in so well,

Jungkook's head is spinning when he catches a glimpse of your face, red cheeks, shut eyes and a drooly mouth that begs for him, the soft strands of your well kept hair now messily falling over your shoulders and features,

but he completely looses it when you decide to grind your hip up and down, everytime he'd thrust back in, you'd keep him there a little, only pathethically grinding into his burried cock even more,

"no fuck- sugar, if you keep doing that i'm gonna fucking burst" he whines, attempting to stop his rapid orgasm but it feels too good, way too blissed out to really try and stop you,

"gguk please, i need it" you cry out, only now he notices your shaky hand thats poorly trying to play with your clit, he replaces it quickly, drawing tight circles on it while you keep grinding your hips,

"cum for me pretty, let go, make a mess on my cock" begging, pleading with you to make it messy for him, make him feel how you fall apart on him,

and god, you do,

trembling underneath his body that fully surrounds you, your knees buckle as they dig into the fabric beneath you, you practically collapse on your forarms and tits, hips held up roughly by the many hands that still them,

"oh fuck sugar, you're so cute" he rasps, fighting the urge to cry out of joy, he'a watching your eyes wet with overwhelming pleasure but all you can do is moan, stumble out his name and feel him, feel him coat your insides in his milky release,

he swears in that very moment that he never, ever wants to stop making you feel good

"that's it baby.. that's it.. such a good girl.." jungkook speaks against your skin, his tired hips halting inside of you but he's fully wrapped you in his arms now, kissing your delicate shoulder, stroking your hair to slowly ground the both of you,

you feel his fluttered kisses collide with your skin and the spotty vision slowly returns to a normal one, the sun has set entirely now, leaving a small glow to illuminate your boyfriends face and body,

"hi" you giggle, pecking his nose when faced with the handsome boy again,

"there she is" he smiles, pulling your lips in for a deep, slow kiss

"my little treasure" he mumbles into your lips, words getting lost in what the both of you call only call love, a stronger word not having been invented yet

"okay but, i promise you i could beat jake Paul in a fight" the laugh that rumbles deep inside your boyfriends chest brings a fond smile to your face, even though he's ridiculous, you would never tell him that

"Course you could, look at that bicep"

"Right? I knew i wasn't crazy!" Jungkook exclaimes, flexing the very muscle you're fingers attempt to curl around,

"pass me the lighter sugar"

He takes the small object from you, igniting the weak flame to light up the brown cigarette in between his fingers,

"A blunt? Now?"

Your round eyes widen, melting his poor heart,

while you knew he loved to smoke weed, he doesn't really do it often,

given that he mostly sells it to whoever asked him for it, as long as they were at least sixteen

he hums, taking the blunt to his lips before dragging a long puff of smoke out,

"never a bad time" while smile slightly, he presses a few kisses to your jaw, nuzzling his button nose against yours afterwards,

"Don't we wanna leave soon? It's cold gguk"

he contemplates for a secod, but as his mouth opens to reply, sirens start blaring, a blue, radiant light right with it

never a bad time huh?

"shit" he reacts quickly, putting the blunt out and starting up his engine,

panic sets in, your heart thumps like crazy inside your chest and you could feel the cortisol pouring from your neurotransmitters,

"gguk what-"

"shh baby, buckle up, don't be scared" as he says this, he quickly takes off from the parking lot, speeding down the empty street while the siren keeps blaring, cop car closely following behind,

Jungkook is no stranger to the police and of course, you try to grow acustom to it, but you've never been directly woven into his escapades, not like this

anxiously, your hands fumble with each other, images of your boyfriend in handcuffs flooding your head in rapid time,

"hey, relax pretty, i got you, i got you i promise" he says, almost too reassuringly while reaching for one of your hands,

the other one continues steering, his foot steep on the gas petal but the cops don't back off yet,

"This is scary" you whine, whipping your head back to see you've managed to create a safe distance,

"Well not my first, don't worry" jungkook chuckles and if it weren't for him driving you would punch him in the balls right now,

"Somtimes I forget you're crazy" you tell him in all honesty, relieved when after a good 8 minutes, the road is starting to grow quiet again

"Okay miss perfect" your boyfriend teases, sticking his tongue out childishly

But you don't mind, sticking yours right back out just when you both fall into lighthearted laughter

"I love you sugar" he says, squeezing your thigh softly,

"I love you too ggukie, by the way.."

"Hm?" he hums, licking his lips while his eyes trace the road attentively

"Where are you driving to?"

"Wendys, you need to eat and I know your precious brain must be all jumbled from our little adventure"

you smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek, biting it afterwards

he truly knew you all too well,

"Best boyfriend ever"

Jungkook laughs, nodding in agreement

"Gonna have desert in your bed though"

#redcherrykook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic

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loonylupinblack3 · 2 months ago

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Wife?

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: Oscar accidently slips up in an interview and calls you something you're not.... yet

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: how is this man my favourite driver and i haven't written about him yet?

You were in the Mclaren garage, earmuffs firmly in place as your eyes followed the bright orange car on track. The remnants of the crash between Sainz and Perez could still be seen, your heart giving a nervous squeeze whenever your gaze slid to it.

You could feel cameras watching you, people’s eyes darting to you every now and then, wanting to see your reaction whenever something happened involving Oscar. For the most part you composed yourself well when watching your boyfriend race, keeping your panic, fear, and nausea to yourself. You were well practised in the art of keeping a steady facade, what with being an actress and having people stare at you wherever you went.

Still, you couldn’t help the little gasps that escaped you each time they passed turn 20 and Charles got dangerously close in the space between turn 20 and turn 1. Each time Charles got closer and closer to overtaking Oscar, and each time you were watching with bated breath wondering if this was the time he’d finally take your boyfriend’s position.

Yet he never did, and you watched with an overwhelming joy as Oscar finished the Azerbaijan Grand Prix first, the black and white chequered flag telling the world of your boyfriend's achievement. You laughed, clapping your hands, beaming at the screen in front of you. Cheers rose up from the people around you, guests and workers alike celebrating the success of the team.

You hurried out of the garage, walking the now familiar path to the crowd waiting underneath the podium, where you’d stay to watch Oscar retrieve his trophy. You’d known his last win hadn’t been perfect, and your celebrations together had been dampened slightly. Today though, you knew you’d be celebrating. You could already see your boyfriend’s telltale smile as he walked onto the first place podium, a restrained smile that looked polite to anyone else but to you confessed his excitement and pride.

You cheered with everyone else as he received his trophy, throwing his arm in the air triumphantly as his gaze searched the crowd. When he found you his smile widened just a tad. Still polite as ever but softer. His eyes were also telling you everything the distance between you wouldn’t allow. That he loved you. That he was so happy. That he felt like he meant something, which of course he did.

The next few hours were very busy for your boyfriend. He was the man of the hour, the person everyone wanted to talk to and congratulate. You’d had a passing kiss and hug, murmuring how proud you were of him before he was whisked away again, but you didn’t mind. You let these people have their precious few hours with him because after that he was all yours.

Oscar, on the other hand, wasn’t happy with it. He’d just made an incredible achievement in his life, something he’d been working for since he was a kid, and he wanted to celebrate with you, not reporters and interviewers.

So when he spotted you walking with Alex, Charles’ girlfriend, he took his chance, grabbing your hand and dragging you over with him. You gave him a confused smile. “What’re you doing?”

He shrugged. “Wanted to be with you. If I have to do this I want you to do it with me too.”

The reporter in front of him cooed, as did the surrounding people listening in. You gave him a smile, not minding one bit. Your boyfriend had such a soft, loving side the media didn’t get to see much, so you were glad they were finally discovering what a sweetheart Oscar was.

And that’s how you found yourself attending race briefings and interviews with your boyfriend. You had to admit, it was a little boring, and sometimes you couldn’t keep up with the conversation, your limited Formula One knowledge failing you during speedy discussions on cars and strategies. Still, you could see how happier Oscar was with you there, his hand resting comfortably on your waist, which was why you pasted on a smile and endured it.

It was nearing the end of the briefings, freedom so close you could almost taste it, as Oscar finished up with the last couple of interviews. You were both ready to leave, the sky having turned dark long ago, and tiredness made way to a faulty filter in Oscar’s case.

“And you’ve got your girlfriend here,” the interviewer said, a young girl around your age, 23 or 24. “I bet she’s proud of you.”

Oscar turned to look at you, raising his eyebrows in question and you let a giddy smile cross your face. “‘Course I am. Couldn’t be prouder.”

Oscar, preening at your compliments, snuck a quick kiss on your cheek, much to the entertainment of the interviewer, talking of how wonderful you seemed together.

“Yeah, she’s amazing,” Oscar agreed. One thing you knew he loved nearly as much as racing was talking about you. “I’m incredibly lucky to her have her as my wife- uh, I mean-”

Your eyes went wide, as did the interviewer’s, her mouth dropping slightly. “Wife? Did we miss something?”

“Did I miss something?” you murmured to him, though you were not at all upset. Quite the contrary, actually, fighting the large smile threatening to spread across your face.

“No, no, I didn’t mean—uh, she’s not, not yet—uh, let’s move on—” Oscar was stumbling over his words, a rare sight, and you were biting your lip hard because you felt grinning like a maniac would not help him at the moment.

But he was going to receive many words later.

You received applause as you entered the stage, waving your hand at the audience as you sat down in the lush armchair, facing Jimmy Fallon behind his desk. You always loved going on his show, good friends with Jimmy on screen and off.

He gave you a warm welcome, speaking of your new movie that released a couple months ago and the launching of your new perfume, which you were quite excited about and more than happy to talk with Jimmy about.

“And, I’m sorry, I just have to bring this up,” Jimmy started, a mischievous glint in his eye. “We all saw Oscar accidentally call you his wife on live TV after that big win. Did he get a talking-to for that slip-up?”

The audience laughed and you with them, remembering Oscar’s flushed face when you got back to the hotel room, his rambled explanation and apology. You also remembered what had followed, which is what spurred you to give a sly smile to Jimmy – “There was definitely some talking” – and take out your left hand you’d been sitting on and flash it to the audience.

More specifically, the jewel sitting on your ring finger.

The crowd gasped and applauded, the noise in the room reaching the limit, as Jimmy covered his mouth in shock before clapping along, congratulating you. You were full on grinning now, drinking in everyone’s happiness that only elevated your own.

“So next time Oscar refers to you as his wife it won’t be a slip-up, huh?” Jimmy asked brightly.

You grinned, nodding. “Next time he calls me his wife it’ll be because I am.”

#f1 #fanfic #formula one #fanfiction #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #formula one x you #formula one fanfic #oscar piastri fanfic #mclaren #ferrari #carlos sainz

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lostfracturess · 2 months ago

Text

THREE LITTLE WORDS — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x gn!reader

summary — for twenty-four years, satoru gojo has carried three little words on the tip of his tongue, never daring to speak them aloud. growing up as the strongest sorcerer comes with its burdens, and loving someone means putting them at risk. but when you're about to marry someone else, satoru finally realizes that sometimes the biggest risk is never taking one at all.

word count — 7.4 k

genre/tags — childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, protective gojo, idiots in love

warnings — no explicit content (only kissing), mild violence mentions, references to injuries, angst, alcohol use, mentions of arranged marriages, family pressure, reference to assassination attempts

author's note — hey lovelies, with everything that's going on rn, i wanted to write something cute to maybe make someone smile today. there's a little bit of angst in this (sorry, yk me), but mostly it's (bitter)sweet moments. and i tried to keep it somewhat canon-compliant, but maybe not really. and i've written this with gender-neutral pronouns to ensure everyone can see themselves in this story. if you notice any places where i might have slipped up, please let me know.

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Three little words.

Just eight letters that had lived on the tip of Satoru Gojo's tongue for what felt like forever, desperately wanting to spill from his lips every time he saw you.

Three words that had haunted him through the years, through scraped knees and graduation gowns, through first dates and near-death experiences.

I love you.

Simple words that carried the weight of universes, that could change everything — or destroy it all. And so, he'd held them back, let them sit heavy in his chest, like a weight that pressed against his lungs with every breath.

Because loving a Gojo wasn't easy. It never had been.

Love had always been a foreign concept to him. Growing up in the Gojo clan meant learning about power before learning about affection, mastering close combat before understanding emotions.

Love was abstract, complex, something other people seemed to grasp naturally while he watched from behind barriers of privilege and power.

But with you? With you, it had been as clear as breathing.

It hadn't been the dramatic, earth-shattering revelation movies always promised. Instead, it was quiet, constant, like realizing the sun had always been there, warming his skin. It was in the way you shared your lunch without being asked, how you never flinched when his powers flared, how you rolled your eyes at his dramatics but smiled anyway.

Love had been the easiest thing in the world when it came to you. Understanding it, feeling it, living it — that part was simple.

It was everything else that was complicated.

Because Satoru knew what happened to people the Gojos loved. He'd seen it, lived it, carried the weight of those consequences since before he could walk. Love, in his world, wasn't just about feelings — it was about target signs and weaknesses, about giving your enemies a roadmap straight to your heart.

And your heart? That was something he couldn't bear to put at risk.

So he had learned to swallow those words, to tuck them away behind smirks and jokes and casual touches that never lasted quite long enough. He had become an expert at loving you silently, at pouring all those unspoken feelings into small acts of protection, of care, of presence.

Some days, the words would claw at his throat like living things, desperate to escape. On those days, he'd find himself watching you — the way you moved, the sound of your laugh, the simple fact of your existence in his complicated world — and the urge to confess would be almost unbearable.

But then he'd remember all the attempts on his life, all the enemies who would love nothing more than to hurt him through you, all the danger that came with the name Gojo, and the words would retreat back into his chest where they lived like a constant ache.

Loving you had been the easiest thing Satoru had ever done. Keeping that love silent had been the hardest.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 6 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The first time Satoru realized he wanted to say those words to you, he had been six years old and you were crying because some older kids stole your favorite crayon. You had both been sitting in the reading corner of your kindergarten classroom, and your tears were making his chest hurt in a way he didn't understand.

"Don't cry," he had said, reaching out to pat your head like his mom did when he was sad. "I'll get it back for you."

You had sniffled, looking up at him with those wide, watery eyes that made his little heart skip. "But they're bigger than you."

He had puffed up his chest. "So? I'm stronger."

Before you could stop him, he had marched right up to the group of second graders during recess. They towered over him, but Satoru hadn't cared. He was a Gojo, after all, and Gojos didn't back down.

Ten minutes later, he had been sitting in the principal's office with a bloody nose and a black eye, but clutched triumphantly in his hand was your favorite crayon. The principal had called his parents, of course. There was talk of his "concerning behavior" and "excessive force," but all Satoru could think about was how your whole face had lit up when he handed you back that crayon.

That night, as his mother tucked him into bed, she had asked him why he did it. And he simply said because you were sad.

His mother had given him a look that he wouldn't understand until years later. "The Gojo men have always been weak to those they love," she had told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He had wanted to tell you then, as you colored together the next day, carefully sharing that rescued crayon. The words had bubbled up in his chest like soda fizz, but he had swallowed them down. Because even at six, he knew that being around him meant trouble, and he didn't want to see you cry again.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 12 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Middle school had brought new challenges and new reasons to keep those words locked away.

Satoru had started to understand what it meant to be a Gojo — the weight of the name, the expectations, the suffocating responsibilities that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.

You were still there, though, somehow always by his side despite the chaos that surrounded him. When other kids whispered about his family, about the strange things that happened around him, you just rolled your eyes and shared your lunch with him like nothing was wrong.

He had nearly said it one autumn afternoon when you were both sprawled on your bedroom floor, supposedly doing homework but really just talking about nothing and everything. The late sunlight had caught your features just right, and you were laughing at something stupid he had said, and the words had almost slipped out.

But then his phone had rung. It had been his father, summoning him to an urgent clan meeting.

Another reminder of the life that awaited him — endless meetings about maintaining the Gojo name, about upholding traditions centuries old, about sacrificing personal happiness for the sake of the clan's future.

As he had sat in that austere meeting room, surrounded by stern-faced elders discussing bloodlines and duties and arranged marriages, all he could think about was your laugh from earlier that afternoon. How free it had sounded, how untainted by the weight of expectations and tradition.

How could he tell you he loved you when being with him meant dragging you into this world of rigid traditions and suffocating responsibilities? When loving him meant you might have to give up everything you held dear?

So he had swallowed the words once again, buried them deep, even as they burned in his chest like embers that refused to die. Because he would rather suffer in silence than watch the weight of the Gojo name dim the spark in your eyes.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 16 ⁺ 　 . ✦

High school was when Satoru had started deliberately pushing people away. He had built walls of arrogance and casual flirtation, keeping everyone at arm's length while making it look effortless. He dated casually, never seriously, and cultivated a reputation as someone who didn't do relationships.

Everyone had bought it except you.

You saw right through him, just like you always had. You called him out on his bullshit, threw erasers at his head when he was being particularly obnoxious, and somehow still showed up at his house with his favourite sweets when he was sick.

"Your ego's getting too big for this classroom," you'd tell him whenever he started showing off. He'd just grin and make it worse, because your exasperated sighs had become his favorite sound.

During lunch breaks, while others gathered around his desk trying to get his attention, you'd just roll your eyes and steal food from his plate. He'd pretend to be annoyed, but he had started packing extra of your favorites, just to watch you light up when you found them.

High school had also been the time when the clan's pressure had threatened to crush him. Every day brought new expectations, new techniques to master, new reminders that he wasn't just Satoru but the future of the Gojo clan.

He never told you, but your presence had kept him sane. You had been the only one allowed to see him practice with his cursed technique, sitting on the sidelines of the training grounds doing homework while he worked himself to exhaustion.

On the days when the pressure of being the strongest got too heavy, you'd wordlessly share your earbuds with him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder while some silly pop song played between you. And you'd hold his hand, and he'd squeeze back so tight it almost hurt.

In those moments, the words had been right there, sitting on his tongue. But he couldn't. Not when your friendship was the one pure thing in his complicated life.

But the words had nearly escaped one night when you were both sneaking back into town after a concert two cities over. You had been wearing his jacket because you forgot yours, and you were singing off-key to some pop song on the radio, and his heart had felt so full it might burst.

But then he had spotted a car that had been following them for the last twenty minutes, and instead of confessing, he had to lose the tail while pretending everything was fine. You never noticed, too caught up in your impromptu karaoke session, and he had been grateful for that at least.

He had driven you home in silence after that, the words buried so deep he could barely breathe around them. You had fallen asleep against the window, blissfully unaware of how close he'd come to changing everything between you.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 18 ⁺ 　 . ✦

College had brought a new kind of torture. Because then he had to watch you date other people, normal people who didn't have assassination attempts over breakfast or cursed energy that could level cities.

He still kept you close, though. He couldn't help it. You were his gravity, his true north, the one constant in his chaotic life. You were still the person who brought him coffee during all-nighters, who listened to his ridiculous theories at 3 AM, who somehow knew exactly when he needed a hug even though he'd never admit it.

The campus had whispered about it — about how the untouchable Satoru Gojo let you into his space so easily, how you were the only one who could barge into his dorm at any hour without fear of consequence.

They wondered what made you special, what kind of hold you had over him. If they only knew how many times he had bitten back those three words when you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder during late-night study sessions, or how his heart had nearly burst when you'd chosen to spend the evening with him instead of going to that party your crush had invited you to.

The words had almost broken free during your sophomore year, when you had shown up at his door at midnight, crying because someone broke your heart. He had held you while you sobbed, stroked your hair, and plotted seventeen different ways to destroy the person who hurt you (he had only acted on three of them, and nobody could prove anything).

He remembered how you had curled into his side that night, hiccupping through tears about how you "just wanted someone who understood you."

The irony had burned in his throat — he understood you better than anyone, had mapped every constellation of your moods and meanings, had memorized every shade of your smile.

But understanding wasn't enough when being with him meant inheriting all his complications.

You had fallen asleep in his bed that night, wrapped in his favorite hoodie, and he had spent hours just watching you breathe, his heart aching with how much he wanted to keep you there forever.

When morning came, you had smiled at him over coffee and thanked him for being "the best friend anyone could ask for," and each word had felt like a knife between his ribs.

He had wanted to tell you then, had wanted to show you how you should be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally. But he knew he couldn't offer you the normal life you deserved, so he had swallowed the words again and just held you tighter.

Instead, he had channeled all those unspoken feelings into being the kind of friend you needed. He walked you home from late parties, threatened anyone who looked at you wrong and pretended it didn't kill him every time you gushed about a new crush.

What you had never told him was that each crush faded as quickly as it came, because somehow they all fell short of the impossible standard he had unknowingly set.

He became an expert at loving you from arm's length, at being everything you needed while hiding how much he needed you.

The worst part was how naturally it all came to him — how easy it was to be the one you turned to, to be your safe harbor in every storm. Because loving you had always been as natural as breathing, even when it hurt.

Especially when it hurt.

College became an impossible balance of keeping you close enough to stay in your life but far enough away to keep his heart from completely shattering.

He dated casually, built up his reputation as someone who didn't do commitment, all while knowing that the only person he'd ever wanted to commit to was right there, wearing his hoodies and stealing his fries and completely oblivious to how much power you held over him.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 22 ⁺ 　 . ✦

After graduation, you had both somehow ended up in the same city. Different jobs, different lives, but still orbiting each other like you always had.

You dated other people, and so did he (sort of), but you still met for coffee every Wednesday and dinner every Sunday, still texted each other random thoughts at inappropriate hours.

Those Wednesday coffee meetings had become sacred. He'd show up at your workplace, two cups in hand — one with less sugar but lots of milk, the way you liked it, and his own ridiculously sweet like his smile, as you always teased.

He had memorized your schedule, knew which days you worked late, which mornings you had important meetings. On the nights when your job kept you at the office past midnight, he'd lurk nearby, pretending he just happened to be in the area when you finally emerged exhausted.

You'd roll your eyes but accept his offer to walk you home, and he'd fight the urge to take your hand every step of the way.

Sunday dinners were even worse for his heart. Sometimes you'd cook (badly), sometimes he'd order in (expensively), but it always felt so domestic it hurt.

The way you'd steal bites from his plate, like you always used to do, how you'd curl up on his couch afterward like you belonged there, the casual way you'd rest your feet in his lap while watching movies — it was everything he wanted and nothing he could keep.

The words had nearly escaped during one of those Sunday dinners, when you were both a little drunk on wine and nostalgia, laughing about all the trouble you had gotten into growing up. You had looked at him with such fondness, such understanding, and he had almost broken.

"Remember when you punched that guy at the bar who wouldn't leave me alone?" you had asked, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter.

"Which time?" he had replied, only half-joking. There had been several instances, each one burning in his memory because how dare anyone make you uncomfortable.

"All of them," you had laughed, reaching over to poke his cheek. "My hero."

The word had squeezed his heart like a fist. Hero. If only you knew how selfish his protection had always been, how each act of defending you had been as much about his own possessive need to keep you safe as it was about your wellbeing.

You had shifted closer on the couch then, laying your head on his shoulder in that casual way that always made his breath catch and his fingers had itched to run through your hair, to tilt your face up to his, to finally close the distance he'd been maintaining for so many years.

The words had risen in his throat like a tide. But then his phone had buzzed with an alert about another threat, another mission, another reason why loving him was dangerous, and he had bitten his tongue until he tasted blood.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 25 ⁺ 　 . ✦

It had gotten harder as the years passed. Harder to watch you live your life, harder to keep pretending he didn't want to be more than your best friend, harder to keep those three words locked away.

He had started taking more dangerous missions, throwing himself into his work with reckless abandon. Because if he was busy fighting curses and saving the world, he couldn't think about how much he wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to finally let those words free.

At least, that's what he had told himself as he accepted increasingly risky assignments, each one a little more dangerous than the last.

The other sorcerers had started calling him reckless. But how could he explain that facing down cursed spirits was easier than facing the way you looked at him with such concern? That physical pain was a welcome distraction from the constant ache in his chest?

But you were still there, still calling him out when he was being stupid, still patching him up when he came back injured, still looking at him like he was someone beyond his name and his power.

He always saved one small injury for you to tend to — a scrape here, a bruise there — even though his reversed cursed technique had already healed the worst of his wounds. It had become your ritual, you'd patch him up at your apartment, your coffee table covered in supplies that he didn't really need, both of you pretending this wasn't an elaborate excuse to be close to each other.

"You're going to get yourself killed one of these days," you had muttered one particularly bad night, hands trembling slightly as you cleaned a gash on his forehead that would have healed on its own in seconds. But he had let you fuss over it anyway, selfishly savoring every gentle touch.

The words had almost broken free one night when you were stitching up a particularly nasty wound on his side. Your hands had been gentle but your lecture was harsh, telling him off for being so careless with his life.

He could have healed it himself — you both knew that — but he had wanted your hands on him, even if they came with a scolding.

"You're not immortal, you idiot," you had said, and there were tears in your eyes that made his heart clench. "I know you think you're invincible, but you're not. What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?"

The raw emotion in your voice had nearly undone him. He had wanted to tell you then that he only acted so reckless because loving you from afar was slowly killing him anyway. That every mission, every fight, was just another way to exhaust himself enough that he wouldn't do something stupid like confess his feelings and ruin everything between you.

Instead, he had just made a joke about being too pretty to die, and pretended not to notice when you wiped your eyes. But he had caught your hand as you turned away, held it perhaps a moment too long, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in what he hoped felt like reassurance.

Your apartment had become his retreat those days. He would show up at odd hours, sometimes bleeding, sometimes just exhausted, and you would let him in without question. You never asked why he came to you instead of using his technique to heal himself. Maybe you had known, just like he had, that these moments weren't really about the injuries at all.

There had been nights when he'd fall asleep on your couch, lulled by the sound of you moving around your apartment, by the domestic comfort of knowing you were near. He'd wake up to find himself covered with a blanket, a glass of water on the coffee table, and his heart would ache with how much he wanted this to be his everyday reality.

Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he'd catch himself watching you as you worked on your laptop, curled up in the armchair across from him. The soft glow of the screen would wash over your features, and he'd think about how easy it would be to cross that small distance, to finally tell you everything he'd been holding back.

But then he'd remember the last mission, the close calls, the enemies who were getting stronger and bolder, and he'd force himself to look away. Because loving him had always come with a price, and he wasn't willing to make you pay it.

So he had buried those feelings deeper, thrown himself into more missions, and pretended that the ache in his chest was from the fights and not from loving you so much it physically hurt.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 28 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The breaking point had come, as these things often did, on an ordinary day.

You had both been in your apartment, having one of your regular movie nights. You were wearing old sweatpants and one of his hoodies that you had stolen years ago, there were takeout containers scattered across your coffee table, and you were arguing about whether the movie's plot made any sense.

It had been so normal, so comfortable, so perfectly you and him that something in his chest finally cracked.

Because he had realized, watching you gesture wildly about the movie's plot holes, that he had been an idiot. He had spent over two decades trying to protect you by keeping his distance, but you had been in danger this whole time anyway. Because everyone who knew him knew that you were his weakness, his soft spot, the one person who could bring the great Satoru Gojo to his knees.

And you had stayed anyway. Through every fight, every danger, every close call, you had chosen to stay in his life. You had patched his wounds, celebrated his victories, mourned his losses, and never once asked for anything in return except his friendship.

That night, he had decided tomorrow would be the day. No more waiting, no more excuses. He would finally tell you everything.

He had barely slept, spending hours picking out the perfect flowers, hoping they would help say everything his heart had been trying to tell you for years. He had practiced the words in his mirror, ran through a dozen different speeches, each one feeling more inadequate than the last.

But when he had arrived at your apartment building that morning, flowers clutched in sweaty palms and heart thundering in his chest, he had seen them through your living room window. You weren't alone. Someone else was there, someone who had made you throw your head back in laughter, who had pulled you close with an ease that made his chest constrict.

He had watched, frozen on the sidewalk, as you reached up to brush something from their cheek, the gesture so tender it had felt like a physical blow. The flowers in his hands had suddenly felt like they were made of lead.

Satoru had stood there for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, watching you be happy with someone else, watching you shine so brightly for another person. Then, with movements that felt mechanical, he had dropped the flowers in a nearby trash can and walked away.

Three words, still unspoken, had burned in his throat with every step.

For weeks after that, he had thrown himself into missions like a madman, taking on the most dangerous assignments he could find. Anything to avoid thinking about how he had waited too long, how he had lost his chance.

But then you had called him one night, voice slightly slurred from wine, asking him to come over. And like always, he couldn't refuse you.

That's how he had found himself back in your apartment, watching you pace back and forth, ranting about how empty it all felt. How you had tried to move on, tried to find what everyone said you should want — a normal relationship, a simple life, someone safe.

"But it's not right," you had said, running your hands through your hair in frustration. "Nothing feels right. They're nice, they're perfect on paper, but—"

"But what?" he had asked, his heart in his throat.

"But they're not you," you had whispered, the words hanging in the air between you like suspended stars.

A movie had still been playing in the background, forgotten as you both stood there, years of unspoken feelings spilled on the floor. The weight of your confession had made it hard to breathe, and for a moment, just a moment, he had let himself imagine what it would be like to close the distance between you, to finally say the words that had lived in his heart for so long.

But then his phone had buzzed in his pocket — another threat, another reminder — and reality came crashing back.

"You can't," he had said, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" You had taken a step toward him, and he had forced himself to take one back, watching hurt flash across your face. "Satoru, I've waited—"

"Then stop waiting," he had cut you off, hating himself for the way his words made you flinch. "This isn't—we can't—" A pause. "Do you know how many attempts there have been on my life this month alone? How many enemies would love to know that the great Satoru Gojo has someone he—" He had caught himself before the word 'loves' could escape. "Someone he cares about?"

"I'm not afraid—"

"Well, I am!" The words had burst from him with more force than he'd intended, making you both freeze. "I am terrified, okay? Because everyone I've ever—everyone who gets close to me ends up with a target on their back. And you—" His voice had softened despite himself. "You deserve better than that. Better than looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, better than wondering if each goodbye might be the last."

"That's not your choice to make," you had said quietly, and the resignation in your voice had been worse than anger would have been.

"Yes, it is. Because I'm the one who would have to live with it if something happened to you because of me." He had straightened his shoulders, pulled on the mask he wore for everyone else — cold, untouchable, removed. "Go back to them. Find someone normal. Someone safe. Someone who can give you the life you deserve."

"And what about what I want?"

"Sometimes what we want isn't what's best for us." The words had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

You had looked at him for a long moment, tears gathering in your eyes, and he had dug his nails into his palms to keep from reaching for you. Finally, you had nodded once, sharp and hurt.

"Get out."

He had turned to leave, each step feeling like he was walking through concrete. At the door, he had paused, his hand on the handle.

"I'm sorry," he had whispered, not turning around. Because if he had looked at you then, his resolve would have crumbled entirely.

The soft click of the door closing behind him had sounded like the end of everything.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 30 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Two years of carefully maintained distance had felt like an eternity. The clan's pressure had mounted with each passing month — meetings about bloodlines, about duty, about carrying on the Gojo name. His parents had finally put their foot down, presenting him with a list of "suitable" candidates from other prestigious families.

Satoru had turned it into something of an art form, really — how to be just obnoxious enough, just impossible enough, that each carefully selected partner would run screaming for the hills without him technically refusing anyone.

"This is getting ridiculous," his mother had sighed after the seventh failed meeting. "Are you going to chase away every eligible human on this earth?"

Yes, he had wanted to say. Because none of them were you.

You still texted occasionally — surface-level messages about holidays or birthdays, the kind of distant politeness that felt wrong after decades of intimacy. He had saved every message anyway, re-reading them late at night when missions left him too restless to sleep.

Your contact photo was still the same one from college, you resting your head on his shoulder, laughing at something he’d said. He couldn’t bring himself to change it.

Sometimes he'd catch glimpses of you around the city. You'd cut your hair, changed jobs, moved to a new apartment. He knew all this from the careful distance he maintained, from the reports he definitely didn't ask Ijichi to give him.

You seemed... fine. Happy, even. It was what he'd wanted, he told himself. You, safe and happy, even if it was without him.

The invitation had arrived on a Tuesday.

The envelope had been cream-colored, expensive. His name written in elegant calligraphy that had made his stomach drop before he'd even opened it. Inside, the words had blurred together, except for the ones that mattered.

You were getting married.

To someone safe. Someone normal. Someone who could give you everything he couldn't.

The invitation had sat on his coffee table for days, taunting him. He'd catch himself staring at it during his morning coffee, during late-night mission reports, during every quiet moment when his mind wasn't occupied with staying alive.

Your handwritten note had been worse than the formal invitation.

'I'd really like you to be there. Please come.'

His phone had been in his hand before he'd realized it, your number still muscle memory after all this time. The cursor had blinked at him mockingly as he'd tried to formulate a response.

'Congratulations,' he had finally typed, each letter feeling like a small death. 'I'll be there.'

Because of course he would be. He'd sit there and watch you marry someone else, would paste on a smile and give a toast if asked, would pretend his heart wasn't being ripped from his chest with every word of the ceremony.

It was what he deserved, really. He had pushed you away, had made the choice for both of you, had convinced himself it was for the best. This was the consequence of his protection, the price of keeping you safe.

He had gotten drunk that night, alone in his apartment, surrounded by the ghosts of all the words he'd never said. The three most important ones still burned in his throat, unspoken after all these years.

His phone had buzzed with your reply. 'Thank you. It means a lot.'

Four words that had somehow hurt worse than the invitation itself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day of your wedding had dawned grey and miserable, as if the weather itself was matching Satoru's mood. He'd been away on a mission until the last possible moment, taking out his frustration on cursed spirits with perhaps more violence than strictly necessary.

He had arrived at the venue late, soaked from the rain, his suit probably ruined. But he'd promised to be there, and he'd never broken a promise to you before. He wasn't about to start now, even if it killed him.

But when he had made his way inside, he'd immediately sensed the chaos inside. Hushed, worried voices had carried through the open doors. "Has anyone seen them?" "The ceremony should have started twenty minutes ago." "Check the dressing room again!"

But Satoru had known exactly where to find you.

The venue's grounds had stretched back to a small lake, and there, beneath an old maple tree whose leaves provided little shelter from the rain, you had stood. Your wedding outfit was getting steadily soaked, but you hadn't seemed to notice or care, staring out at the rippling water.

He had approached slowly, drinking in the sight of you. Even with dirt stained cloths and dripping hair, you had been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Everyone's looking for you," he had said softly.

You hadn't turned around. "I know."

"Three hundred people in there wondering where you've gone."

"Three hundred and one, now that you're here." Your voice had been quiet, almost lost in the rain. "Why are you here, Satoru?"

"You invited me."

"That's not what I meant." Finally, you had turned to face him, and the look in your eyes had made his heart stutter. "Why are you really here?"

He had taken a step closer, drawn to you like gravity, like always. "You know why."

"Do I?" Your voice was so small. "Because I thought I knew, once. I thought I knew a lot of things. But then you pushed me away, told me to find someone safe, someone normal." You had gestured toward the building behind you. "Well, I did. So why are you here?"

"I—"

He had caught sight of a small cut on his cheekbone in a puddle's reflection — the one injury he hadn't healed, the one he'd kept out of habit, out of the memory of your gentle hands patching him up all those years.

Your eyes had followed his, landing on the cut. Without seeming to think about it, you had reached up, fingers ghosting over the wound like they had a thousand times before. The familiar gesture had nearly broken him.

"Don't marry them," he had whispered.

"What?"

"Don't marry them," he had whispered again. "Please."

"Why not?" The question had been barely a whisper. "Give me a reason, Satoru. One real reason why I shouldn't walk back in there and marry someone who actually wants me."

"Because—" The words had stuck in his throat, years of habit holding them back.

"I love you," he had whispered, the words falling into the rain-soaked space between you, and suddenly he could breathe again. Twenty-four years of holding back, of swallowing those words, of carrying them like stones in his chest — and now they were free, floating in the air between you like butterflies finally released from their cage.

"I love you," he had said again, stronger this time. "I've loved you since we were kids. I've loved you through every fight, every mission, every time I tried to push you away for your own good. I've loved you so long I don't remember what it feels like not to love you."

"You—" Your voice had broken. "You idiot. You're telling me this now? When there are three hundred people waiting inside? When I've spent months trying to convince myself I could love someone else?"

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry, but—"

"Shut up," you had breathed, and then you had pulled him down by his lapels and kissed him.

He had kissed you back like a drowning man finding air, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. Your lips had been cold from the rain but soft against his, and when you had melted against him, he'd felt something in his chest finally slot into place.

Years of careful control had shattered like glass, and he had wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground in a surge of desperate joy. You had gasped against his mouth, and he had taken the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pouring decades of longing into it.

He had spun you around, your hands threading through his wet hair as he held you against him like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly. Rain had continued to fall around you, but neither of you had noticed or cared.

His hands had splayed across your back, holding you impossibly closer as he kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to make up for every kiss he should have given you over the years.

When you had broken apart, you were both breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together as the rain continued to fall around you. Your fingers had still been twisted in his jacket, and his hand had still been cradling your face like you were something precious, something he couldn't quite believe he was allowed to touch.

The weight of all those unspoken words, all those careful distances he'd maintained, all those moments he'd held himself back — it had all lifted away like mist in the morning sun. For the first time in twenty-four years, he had felt truly, completely free.

"You're so stupid," you had whispered, but you hadn't moved away. "There are three hundred people in there, expectations, plans, a whole life I'm supposed to—"

"Run away with me."

"What?"

"Run away with me," he had repeated, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Right now. Let me take you anywhere you want to go. Let me spend the rest of my life making up for lost time, for every moment I was too scared to love you the way you deserved."

"Satoru—"

"I know it's selfish," he had continued, words tumbling out like he couldn't hold them back anymore. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, not after pushing you away. But I can't— I can't watch you marry someone else. I can't spend the rest of my life wondering what if, knowing I let you go without fighting for you."

You had laughed, the sound wavering between tears and joy. "You really are the most impossible man I've ever met."

"Is that a yes?"

"My parents will never forgive me."

"I'll win them over."

"The clan will be furious."

"Let them be."

"Everyone will talk."

"Let them talk." He had cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the rain and tears on your cheeks. "I don't care about any of that. I just care about you. About us. Everything else… we'll figure it out together."

"Together," you had repeated softly, like you were testing the word. "You won't push me away again? Try to protect me by leaving?"

"Never again," he had promised. "I'm done running. Done pretending I don't love you more than anything in this world. Done letting fear keep me from the only thing that's ever really mattered."

You had searched his face for a long moment, and he had let you see everything — all the love, the fear, the desperate hope he'd kept hidden for so long.

Finally, you had smiled, bright and real, the smile he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Take me away from here," you had said, and his heart had soared. "Show me what it's like when Satoru Gojo finally stops holding back."

He hadn't needed to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he had swept you into his arms, your surprised laugh warming something deep in his chest.

"What about everything inside? My things, the guests—"

"I'll send Ijichi to handle it," he had said, already walking away from the venue, from the life you'd almost had without him. "Right now, all that matters is you and me."

"And where exactly are you taking me?"

"Anywhere you want," he had promised, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Everywhere. We have a lifetime of moments to make up for, after all."

You had wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your face against his shoulder. "I love you too, you know. In case that wasn't clear."

He had tightened his hold on you, something fierce and protective and overwhelmingly tender swelling in his chest. "Say it again."

"I love you, Satoru Gojo," you had whispered against his neck. "I always have."

As he had carried you away from the venue, the rain had finally begun to let up, sunlight breaking through the clouds. A new beginning, he had thought.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Looking back, Satoru couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. All those years wasted, all that time spent pushing you away when he could have been holding you close. He'd thought he was protecting you, but in reality, he'd just been protecting himself from the terrifying vulnerability of being truly, completely loved.

Because that's what you did — you loved him entirely, unconditionally, with a fierce devotion that still took his breath away. You loved him through the dangerous missions and the late-night emergencies, through the clan meetings and the political drama. You loved him through the nightmares and the victories, through every high and low that came with being Satoru Gojo.

Life wasn't perfect, of course. There were still threats, still enemies who thought they could use you to get to him. But they had learned, quickly and painfully, that you weren't some helpless weakness to exploit. You were his strength, his anchor, his reason for coming home safely every time.

Those old fears seemed ridiculous now. Because yes, loving him came with dangers — but you had always known that, had always chosen him anyway. And together, you were so much stronger than apart.

The clan had been furious about the wedding scandal, of course. But it was hard to maintain their anger when you handled every social situation with grace, when you proved yourself more than capable of standing beside the strongest sorcerer in the world.

Eventually, even the most traditional elders had to admit that perhaps the Gojo heir had chosen well after all.

Your old routine had shifted, evolved into something even better. Now when you patched up his wounds (the ones he still deliberately saved for you), he could kiss you afterward. When you fell asleep during movie nights, he could pull you close instead of maintaining that careful distance. When you brought him coffee during all-nighters, he could show his gratitude with more than just words.

The best part, though? The absolute best part was being able to say those three words whenever he wanted. And he said them constantly — whispered them against your skin in the morning, called them across rooms just to see you smile, breathed them into quiet moments like prayers.

"I love you" when you handed him his coffee, exactly how he liked it.

"I love you" when you rolled your eyes at his dramatic entrances.

"I love you" when you fell asleep on his shoulder during clan meetings.

"I love you" when you patched up injuries that didn't need patching.

"I love you" for no reason at all, just because he could, just because the words had lived in his heart for so long that letting them free still felt like a miracle.

And every time — every single time — you said it back, like you'd been waiting just as long to be able to say it freely.

Sometimes, on quiet nights when you were both home safe, he'd watch you doing something mundane — reading a book, making tea, existing in his space like you'd always belonged there — and the gratitude would hit him so hard he could barely breathe. Gratitude that you had waited, that you had loved him through his fears and his mistakes, that you had given him the chance to love you properly.

Because that's what he did now — loved you properly, openly, with everything he had. No more holding back, no more careful distance. He loved you the way you deserved to be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally.

And every day, for the rest of his life, he made sure you knew it. Three words, eight letters, repeated like a promise, like a prayer, like the most important truth he'd ever known.

I love you.

And every day, for the rest of your life, you said it back.

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author's note — after editing this, i realised it's more angsty then intended but oh my i'm sorry, i can't help it. but i hope it made you smile anyway. thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this story. your support means the world to me. in these challenging times, please remember that even the darkest nights eventually give way to dawn. sending lots of love your way <3

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