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s0fter-sin · 1 day ago

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pt.3 of my horror au! you can find pt.1 here and pt.2 here!

cw mild horror, fear

johnny opens his eyes

or- he thinks he does

it’s completely black, not a speck of light to be found anywhere; certainly not the lantern he’s started keeping on by his bed or the moonlight that should be coming through the curtains

he remembers falling asleep on the couch; he was exhausted after ripping out the fresh carpet from the sitting room, the pristine thing at odds with the smoke stained walls. it didn’t match any of the carpets or rugs in the rest of the house, too modern compared the vintage fittings and, new or not, that bothered him so it had to go

he just hadn’t been expecting the giant brown stain embedded in the hardwood underneath

he was turning over the pros and cons of buying a floor sander if he ever stopped foot off the property again, promising himself he was only resting his eyes for a moment, and before he knew it, he was out

now he doesn’t even know if he’s awake

“ghost?” johnny whispers. his voice echoes strangely; muted like he’s an in enclosed but long space and bouncing off things he can’t even hope to see

he has no idea where he is. he’s not in the basement, not with how dark it is; even the little cloudy window would be a wellspring of light compared to this. it smells damp too; musty with stillness, like not much air gets to it

johnny sets a hand in the soft dirt beneath him and sits up, some kind of cloth falling off his shoulders. he reaches out with shaking hands, searching for any kind of balance - a wall, furniture, something - and slowly gets to his feet

“ghost, you here?”

his fingers meet nothing but open air and he almost tips over. he has no equilibrium, nothing grounding him; the dark so all-consuming, he might as well have not moved at all

air dances over his cheek and he gasps and spins around when a large hand latches around his wrist and johnny hisses as he’s tugged blindly forward

“ghost?” he asks and the hand tightens

he doesn’t know what to do with the relief trying to warm his belly

“hey, slow- slow down, i can’t see,” he gasps, stumbling over the uneven ground. the whole thing bowed and curved, gravel flicking out into the depths with every step like it was carved out by hand and never smoothed out

johnny swallows hard and clutches at ghost’s arm with his other hand

“ghost, can… can we go back upstairs?” he whispers, futilely pulling at his sleeve. something old and animal in him claws at the inside of his skull, baying and screaming that he not raise his voice; to not break this unnatural still darkness too harshly. “please?”

ghost just leads him deeper into the void

until he suddenly stops and johnny covers his mouth to mute the beginnings of the scream ripping from his throat when he runs into his back. he digs his fingers into his cheek, forcing a slow breath through his nose

“…you want to show me something?” he guesses and flinches as the air in front of him rushes like ghost’s moving very quickly. something scratches, like rock on rock, and he flinches as he takes his other wrist and cups his hands around something big

ghost’s hands fall away and johnny reflexively clutches the thing to his chest

“don’t leave,” he begs. “please don’t leave me down here.”

silence

he runs his dry tongue over his lips. “ghost?”

those same hands close around his biceps and johnny all but melts into the body-warmth at his back. ghost smooths down his arms, covering his hands with his, and pulls the thing away from his chest to eye-level

like he expects johnny to be able to see it

the way he can

johnny frowns, rubbing over the thing with his thumb. it’s heavier than he expected from the sound it made along the ground; smoother than the rocks he’s seen around the property and the gravel he kicked around down here

ghost’s chin drops on his shoulder and he jumps, pausing as he rolls into his neck and he can clearly feel the wide grin on his face

he blinks and something makes him press back into him, to try and see him with his body. there’s a cleft in his top lip he’s never noticed before and he’s practically shaking, rocking against his back like he’s trying to urge him to go quicker

johnny spins the rock around in his hands, trying to feel what it is, what would make ghost so - almost childishly - excited. his fingers catch on a crater, shallow and smooth like it’s been carved away. he drags his fingers down and feels another, around the same size. his frown deepens and his fingers slow as he finds another hole, this one going straight into the rock

ghost shifts behind him, his grin widening against his skin and something in johnny curdles, his hair standing on end

it feels like he’s not breathing, the dark so complete it’s stealing the air from his very lungs as he works his fingers down the rock; stuttering when the texture suddenly changes. he hits a fissure, then another, another; curls his fingers underneath and feels it flatten out. strangely familiar grooves run along it before it changes and becomes thinner, becomes sharp-

johnny screams

johnny screams and drops the human skull ghost placed in his hands

he throws himself away from ghost and runs blindly into an earth wall. he scratches at the uneven surface, screams still ripping from his throat and feels wet heat on his fingers as his nails scrape and break. his voice cracks, almost shrieking when ghost’s arms suddenly wrap around his waist and pull him back into his chest

“let me out!” johnny screams, fighting his arms, trying to run but run where it’s too dark- “please, let me out, let me out, please!”

ghost’s body curls over his, effortlessly holding him in place as he wrenches in his grip and wails and /screams/. he presses his face into the side of his head and johnny strains to get away, to stop touching him, to run-

and falters when he feels the contours of his face

ghost isn’t smiling anymore

“please,” johnny sobs brokenly, his legs going out from under him. but ghost tightens his grip and doesn’t let him fall. “let me out… please, i wanna get out. please, please…”

he keeps begging, mindless and panicked and almost screams again when ghost tugs him back a step, his fingers digging into his clothes. he doesn’t want to touch the skull again, he doesn’t want ghost to leave him, he doesn’t want to be lost in the dark-

ghost’s giant hands grip under his thighs, pulling him up and he slings his legs around his waist, burying his face in his throat as he sobs

his weight tilts and johnny flinches as his back suddenly touches dirt, arching up into ghost’s body to get away from it- he doesn’t want to be underground anymore, he doesn’t want to be buried anymore-

ghost wraps an arm under his back, holding him tight to his body, and johnny shrinks even more at the scrape of dirt and brick against the outside of their shoulders as he crawls them through some kind of hole

his weight shifts again, falling into the cradle of ghost’s hips, and he sobs at the feeling of going up

the arm crawling them forward presses against his armpit and johnny cringes at the screech of metal on concrete as ghost shoves something out of the way, involuntarily peeking out behind him

and gasps in pure relief at the moonlight streaming through the basement window; the dim yet powerful light making his eyes ache after so long in such total darkness

he can’t bear to look away from it, even as his eyes twitch and squint, still clinging to ghost as he crawls them across the basement to the stairs. he gets to his feet, not even stumbling with johnny’s added weight, and he strains to keep looking out the window as he climbs up. only when they reach the top step does he wrench his eyes away, desperately searching for the nearest window

and ghost seems to know it; angling him to look out the dining room into the backyard as he carries him to the couch he fell asleep on

johnny keeps his fingers tangled in his hood as he sets him down, holding him close. he doesn’t even try to pull back and he feels him drop to kneel between his legs, compressing himself down the way a man of his size shouldn’t be able to

his breath stutters on an inhale and johnny forces himself to drag his eyes away from the light, to take his first real look at the source of all his terror; the ghost in his walls…

and he’s just a man

his hair has been hacked at, patches ripped out and uneven, too fine to dread but matted together all the same. thinner patches struggle to grow through shiny scar tissue; some blunt and wide, others looking like burns. but beneath the caked in dirt and years of grease… it might be blonde

his hoodie and jeans sit tight and loose in turn like they were bought for the build of a very different man, hiding dirty skin so pale he didn’t even know it was possible, almost /translucent/; veins bright and bulging beneath his skin like he’s never seen sunlight

and with the size and complexity of the cavern under the basement… maybe he hasn’t

but it’s his face johnny gets caught on

his light lashes do nothing to hide the fine scars dug around his eyes, like he scratched at them with his fingernails and after only his short time in the dark, he can guess why he did it. his pupils look permanently dilated, forcing away the deep brown of his irises; unblinking, desperate to take in as much light as possible. more scars cut through his skin, so old and light they almost blend in, difficult to see through the dirt staining his skin

but none of it, the scars, the filth, the uncanny wrongness…

none of it hides how beautiful he is

ghost slowly reaches up and johnny freezes as he brings his thumb to his cheek, wiping through the sticky tear tracks on his skin. it makes his sleeve fall back and his heart seizes at the thick, ragged band of scarring ringing his wrist

he swallows heavily as ghost brings it back to his mouth, sucking his tears from his skin. it splits the cleft in his upper lip wider, splaying over his thumb. ghost doesn’t look away and johnny’s heart beats loud in his ears as he reaches for his hand, tangling his fingers through his own, and lifts it to his mouth

his hand shakes as he gently runs his thumb over his bottom lip, catching on his chapped skin and the smaller scars splitting it, but ghost stops his hand; moving his thumb up to his top lip

the cleft matches up to a thick scar running up his cheek, just skirting his nose and almost meeting his eye and johnny’s violently reminded of the body’s worth of blood stained into the floor of the sitting room

“the sk-…” he falters, a shudder creeping up his spine as he remembers the feel of it in his hands. “the person downstairs; did they do this to you?”

ghost cocks his head and johnny’s thumb slips into his mouth, caressing his inner lip

“did… did they put you down there? in the dark?” he tries again

he sucks at his thumb, a gentle self-soothing pressure

“the couple who used to live here…” johnny breathes, slow with realisation. the couple who lived here for thirty years. the couple the realtor refused to tell him anything about…

“they were your parents.”

but she never said anything about a child

“your parents put you down there,” he repeats and feels sick with grief for a boy he’ll never know. “was… was it your mother?”

ghost rears up on his knees, crawling above him and caging him in against the couch and johnny gasps as he lets out an animalistic snarl in his face, spittle flying onto his cheek

“sorry, i’m sorry, it wasn’t her- it wasn’t her, i know she didn’t do it,” johnny rushes out, flattening himself against the couch and tries to pull his hand away when he presses into it even harder, his thumb pressed to his eye tooth

ghost pants, teeth still bared in a deranged snarl. his mouth twitches, lips slowly falling to cover his teeth. his tongue runs over his lips, gathering the spit from them and tickling the edges of his thumb

“y-your father…?” he tries and his breath catches as he nods

johnny slowly copies him, still pressed back into the couch

ghost’s eyes flicker up at him like he’s checking his reaction and keeps lapping at his thumb, long almost apologetic passes of his tongue as he works down to his palm. he leans in and johnny’s breath stutters as he laves his tongue up his cheek, cleaning up the spit. ghost lets out a low groan, nibbling along his cheekbone and goosebumps prickle his skin

he sinks back down, mouthing a trail down his throat and he shivers as he bites at his collar, tugging it away with his teeth to expose his collarbone

“ghost…” johnny sighs and he pauses

ghost noses at his sternum and sits back on his heels, nuzzling his forehead into his belly as he pulls something from the front pocket of his hoodie

something heavy tumbles out with it but he ignores it in favour of the bundle of cloth ghost pushes into his hands, wrapping his arms around his hips and sinking his chin into his thigh. johnny’s heart sinks as he gently unfolds it, careful of the unthreading edges and torn holes and has to bite his lip hard

it’s a ragged patchwork blanket; hardly big enough to cover a child. and hand embroidered onto it, in faded and dirtied gold thread is a single word

“simon,” he reads, tracing the once-loved letters

simon perks up in his lap, making a gurgling almost purr in the back of his throat; the closest thing to speech he’s heard from him in the month he’s lived here

“your name is simon,” johnny breathes

he thought he considered everything about how he ended up a prisoner in his own house; a serial killer toying with his food, a stalker he never noticed, a random psychopath chomping at the bit for his next victim and johnny was just unlucky enough to draw his attention

but if this is the only thing simon has left, his only proof of before… he’s been down there, left alone in the rotting dark, for decades

since he was a child

“i’m so sorry, simon,” johnny whispers thickly

but simon just frowns

like he’s never heard an apology in his life

johnny presses his eyes shut for a moment, just for a moment; to let himself feel the pain and the fear and the grief, then refolds the blanket just as tenderly as he opened it. he presses it into simon’s chest and his heart catches at the way he hugs it tight, dropping his chin to nuzzle into the fabric

he flinches as he takes his hand in his, jerking back, but johnny keeps hold of him; gently tangling their fingers together and rises to his feet

“come on,” he beckons, walking backwards towards the stairs

simon’s grip tightens around his blanket. but he follows him, up the stairs johnny sprinted down the morning after he first saw him, across the landing with the vents he counted and dreaded walking past, into his bedroom

where it all began

johnny pushes the door wider and riley pops his head up from his dog bed, tensing and about to jump up when he sees simon behind him

“back to sleep, riley-boy,” he soothes and riley droops and burrows straight back under his blanket, nosing it up over his face until only his ears stick out

he smiles and turns back to simon- but it drops when he sees how he’s frozen in the doorway; quick, wide eyes darting around the room. around the master bedroom, clutching his blanket to his chest like he’s afraid of it being stolen

“it’s okay, simon,” johnny promises, rounding him and takes his other hand in his. “he’s not here anymore; you can come in.”

he slowly steps backwards and with the gentlest tug on his hands, simon follows

but lets out an almost involuntary sounding hiss, squeezing his eyes shut and twisting away from the automatic lantern set up on his bedside table

johnny looks between them, at the warm light that’s been his beacon for the last few weeks, and the man he needed that safety from

he holds his breath

and flicks off the lantern

chills immediately creep up his spine; the encroaching shadows smothering him like waves and it’s only simon’s hand in his, the gleam of moonlight catching his eyes, that keeps him above water

johnny squeezes his hand and brings him to the bed, silently coaxing him under the covers. he’s stiff, holding himself so rigid it almost looks painful, and he leaves the covers around his waist, not wanting to make him feel restricted when he’s already so visually unsure

“just like you did for me,” he murmurs, remembering the scrap cloth of a blanket he woke under

simon’s most prized possession

his only possession

simon cocks his head, that same primitive yet studious look in his eyes as he watches him climb in next to him and tug the covers up to his shoulder. he looks at it then the side over his waist, and pulls it up until it covers him up to the neck

johnny can’t help the smile tugging at his lips and sinks deeper into the bed, the blanket riding up higher

until they match

“we’re safe here, simon,” he promises

simon’s wide brown eyes stare back at him and it’s all to easy to lose himself in them

💀🧼

when johnny wakes up, simon is gone; only a dirt-stained imprint of him left on the sheet and pillowcase

and his phone sitting innocently on the side table, beside the lit lantern

#how many times did little simon scream and beg to be let out of the dark? how long did cry out apologies?#how long did it take before he finally gave up?#simon cant speak. theres a lot of words he doesnt know. but he remembers every single word that came out of johnnys mouth #because they came out of his #this ended up so much longer than i intended it to be lmaoo #simon being so excited to show johnny the bones of his father; to show off how he killed him and can protect them both #just for johnny to be terrified and poor simon just doesnt understand #i need that spongbob WAIT!! meme where hes about to get crushed #i know this ends on a cliffhanger #however… i genuinely dont know if ill write more #and im sure about that this time!!#the moment in the basement was really the only other thing i wanted to write and if anything it would just be more of this #johnny slowly getting less and less scared and rehabilitating simon until he spends more time in the house than in the walls #simons always going to be fucked up #hes spent nearly 30 hears in a basement that cant get therapied away #and johnnys already unhealthily attached to him bc simon is so instinctual that hes just dedicated himself to him #and hes just messed up enough to like that #coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt #we’re a team. ghost team #ghoap #soapghost #ghostsoap #john soap mactavish #soap call of duty #soap cod #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii

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makeitworse · 2 days ago

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he’s not me

˖ ࣪✦ su-bong (thanos) x f reader x dae-ho | nsfw dc, mdni

freshly single, you’re out on the town hunting a rebound from your shitty ex. but did you really think he’d let you get away that easy?

c/w: dark themes! drug addiction, very toxic relationship, violence & abuse, choking, possessiveness, manipulation, dub+noncon, cunnilingus, semi-public unprotected sex, degradation, so much angst a/n: sequel to this (or a standalone). this became so much longer than i intended.. there’s alot going on. i intentionally left the ending open. it’s your choice if they do/don’t eventually get back together

it’s your first night post-freedom from su-bong, and you couldn’t be more eager to sink your teeth into someone new.

you walk the crowded streets under fluorescent lights in the tiniest dress you own. the type you’d keep hidden in the back of your closet: su-bong wouldn’t like it. he’d ask who you think you’re trying to impress. well nevermind him. fuck him.

you spare a wink to every man that you checks you out. you don’t avoid brushing against them, you don’t even flinch when you feel their hand lingering a second too long as you pass by. you’re in need of a distraction tonight, and any man will do.

you float through bars, and the men gravitate to you. you’re not really listening when they tell you about their business or their crypto or all the women they have on speed-dial as if you’re meant to cum on the spot. the lines you did before you left the house had made it impossible to zone out.

you were chucking back any shots that slid your way. you were in a rush to drown out the thoughts of your ex creeping in.

you couldn’t hold glasses too long, else you’d remember the shatters that littered across the floor when he threw them. you couldn’t stare at doors too long, else you’d remember hearing his fist denting the wood and blood marking the spots. you said you were done being with him, and he showed you exactly why.

you take deep breaths to ground yourself. attention from old drunks at the bar was a shitty pre-game; you needed someone who could pound the memories of your ex out of you.

back on the street, you were already wobbling with the weight of all the please-fuck-me drinks they bought you - but who’s counting anyway? you bee-lined to the first place booming with flashing lights and music.

you’re leaning at the bar, squinting through the pulsing LED lights to scan the crowds. your breath hitches as a hand lands on your ass.

you face him, hoping to god it’s not you-know-who, and thank fucking christ it’s not. god, you need him out of your head already. this guy’s not hot enough to do the job though.

you tune him out as he talks your ear off, and you continue to check out the selection. your gaze lands on a man sitting at a table with his back turned to you, hair falling down his neck: nam-gyu?

you really couldn’t tell through all this rainbow flashbanging of the lights.

you watch him turn his head to the side, chatting to the person sitting next to him. his face is full with a warm smile, and focusing through all the music you could just hear the gentleness of his laugh. yeah that’s definitely not nam-gyu. but colour you attracted.

you honed in on him.

the few people around the table took notice of you, and not-nam-gyu turns in his stool to face you. he’s gorgeous.

you hadn’t noticed that his hair was actually half-up in a ponytail. strands fell around his face, and he eyed you curiously with that kind smile. you wanted to sit on it.

“don’t i know you?”

he shakes his head gently, seeming almost disappointed in himself for not recognising you back. you bite your lip and feign trying to put a name to his face.

“oh!” you point to him, “you’re the guy who’s taking me to the dance floor.”

whistles and gibes erupted around the table. he glances to his friends, then shyly back at you. your palm opens for him, and with a friend’s nudge to his shoulder, his hand’s on top of yours.

your fingers weave between each other’s as you lead him to the floor. as you squeeze through the dancing crowd, he plants a careful hand on your back and keeps you close to him, pushing through people first to open the way for you.

he turns to you, and your arms wrap around his shoulders. “what a gentleman.”

he just chuckles, cautiously keeping that singular hand on your back. you can’t say you’re used to such restraint for a man.

“i’m sorry, i haven’t asked your name.”

you coo it to him, pulling him in to press your bodies together. he gasps under his breath.

“dae-ho.” he smiles gently, flustered.

you sway together to the music, quickly progressing to jumping and hands in the air. you’re both giggling through the flashing lights. your cheeks hurt from smiling and your throat’s sore from singing - but you’re moving in sync, moving like you were made for one another.

you already felt a flame flickering in your belly, even with such little words. you’d long forgotten your main objective: now you just wanted to keep basking in dae-ho’s warmth. you wanted to know more than just his name.

you brush the tip of your nose against his and catch his breath come out shallow. your hands slowly drag his own down your back, and he almost resists with uncertainty. but you gaze up at him through half-lidded eyes: irises pools of desire. dae-ho succumbs, and his hands rest on your ass.

you loll your head forward, lips grazing his jaw. his chest falls with a deep exhale.

“i’m sorry, gorgeous. we can’t do anything while you’re in this state.”

you furrow your brow with genuine confusion. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear in reassurance.

“i promise i want to, but you’re drunker than i am. it’s not right.”

oh. see, your ex wouldn’t have given one singular fuck about that. (there was one particular instance when you were sobbing after a bad trip, and he had the audacity to get hard.)

you cupped dae-hoe’s blushing cheek in your hand. “then can we see in the morning?”

your voice delivered needy. he notices, and sighs. you were a breathing moral dilemma for dae-ho. his first instinct wasn’t just taking what he wants. not like he would have.

“i shouldn’t let you go home alone like this, anyway.”

you smile together. you chuckle together. you want to kiss him. so you do.

but he pulls you away with a gentle hand on your cheek. you pout.

“i’ll make it up to you once you’re thinking clearly.”

a rough hand locks around your arm and snatches you from dae-ho. you knock into his chest and breathe in the smoke clinging to his shirt. you knew exactly who it was before you heard his annoying drawl.

“babygirllll, i’ve been looking for you.” su-bong squishes your cheeks with his hand under your chin, and you writhe in his grip. “you’ve had me so worried.”

dae-ho tensed upon seeing your resistance. “hey!-”

you watch su-bong stare daggers back at dae-ho. “and who the fuck are you?” he juts his jaw, taking a step closer. “huh??”

heads begin turning at his voice raising, with whispers among the crowd recognising him as a rapper. “fuck you think you’re doin’ all up on my girl, bro?”

“su-bong.” you hiss. he cocks his head ever-so-slightly in your direction, like he couldn’t care less about what you have to say. but you knew what he wanted.

“let’s just go.”

his hand lands on your waist, fingers digging in like he’s trying to break the skin. you don’t hide the fact that you wince. he mutters, “there’s my good girl.”

then he’s dragging you through the crowd, and you can’t bear to spare dae-ho a second glance.

su-bong kicks open a backdoor and shoves you out into a dark alleyway filled with dumpsters. he doesn’t spare you any time to observe your surroundings, because he leeches onto your face and invades your mouth with his tongue.

his knee pushes through your legs to dig up into your core. his long arms kept you in place, hold too tight to writhe free from.

su-bong’s touch seared your skin like acid - but it was a familiar sting. comforting even. you almost missed it.

your body submits to him. you kiss him back, you whine into his mouth. just like he wants. you won’t admit it to yourself, but you’re not even fully acting.

once you feel his grip loosen, you knee him in the crotch, shoving him away as he keels over.

su-bong’s groans of pain blends into a low chuckle. “fuck, you tease.”

“take a fucking hint, su-bong! we’re over!”

“mm,” he hums, like he’s not taking you seriously. he steps to you again. you step back. “you know much i need you. i can’t live without my pretty lady.”

“you’re a fucking cockblocker.”

su-bong bites his lip, eyes scanning over your outfit choice. that little dress that revealed a little too much.

“shit, baby,” his palms carelessly roamed all over your curves, ignoring you trying to push them away. “looks like you were just begging for my attention, huh?”

you scoff. “any man’s but yours.”

you catch the twitch of his eyebrow and clench of his jaw. you recognised well the signs of when he was getting ticked off. but you also caught the moment he cleared his head with a sigh. can’t fuck up his big chance now.

su-bong just shakes his head with a smirk.

“tell me, baby. who’d take you in-,” he pinches your chin. “-after they see you’re just a junkie with a pretty face?”

he makes sure to flick his gaze at you, catch the fleeting shame in your eyes. of course he does. he’s revelling in this shit. like he can save you from yourself if you just run into his arms now.

“it’s none of your business who i fuck. we’re not together anymore.”

“right,” he hunches over with a laugh. “and i guess we’ve both quit drugs too, right?”

you didn’t want to keep getting him off by provoking you, but you just couldn’t swallow down the words stinging your throat.

“like you didn’t get me hooked on that shit!” you spat. “fuck you!-”

you blink, and pain radiates all over your back. you blink again, and su-bong’s pressing into you. it takes a third blink to realise he’d shoved you against the alley wall.

it’s not the bruising grip of his hands on your body or his nails digging into your skin that scares you, it’s his piercing gaze. like his eyes are ripping you open.

“don’t.. even tempt me.”

his voice is hoarse, laced with want. need. he’s itching for a fix.

he brings a delicate hand up to caress your face. “i can be good, baby. i promise. i can do better for you this time.”

he’s planting soft kisses on your neck, goosebumps spreading across your skin as he whispers about how much he loves you, everything he’d do for you.

you shut your eyes as tears gloss over them. there used to be a point in time where you would’ve believed him. and maybe he would’ve meant it too.

but now, the love that binded you was replaced by an addiction: not only drugs, but each other.

the highs were full of screams and bruises and hate-sex. and the withdrawals were even worse. you were dying after every dose. you were killing the other, and yourself.

“we bring out the worst in each other, su-bong.”

“then there’s nobody else for us.”

no two people should ever hold the power to hurt each other like you do. you decide then- not even think, just state:

“i’m going clean tomorrow.”

su-bong scoffs. he doesn’t believe you mean it, and you’re not even sure you do.

“so you’re never seeing me again.”

after a beat, his expression turns solemn. he realises you’re not just provoked, you’re not just trying to hurt him- you’re serious.

his eyes trail off, lost in thought. your body braces itself on instinct. you don’t know what he’ll do to you next. but he just meets your gaze, black pupils swallowing his irises in desire.

“then why are you still here?”

and your lips were on his. your teeth clashed together and his nicked at your lip from the haste, but you kept kissing feverishly through the pain. your tongues twisted with each other’s: su-bong was desperate to reach every corner, taste every last bit of you for the last time. one last hit until you quit him cold turkey.

his hands greedily groped at your tits, your hips, your ass - while your own slid underneath his baggy shirt to claw at his back.

he bit at your neck, you scratched at his flesh. you rolled your hips into his, and he thrusted his hard-on back. he crashed his lips onto yours and kissed you like he was starving to eat you alive.

su-bong keeled over with a moan from the back of his throat as you grasped the outline of his dick through his pants, hot and damp with pre-cum.

in turn he pulled the hem of your dress up. you felt the twitch of his cock in your palm when he saw your pussy dripping- no panties.

“you fucking little-”

you forced su-bong down by his shoulders and he fell to his knees.

“shut the fuck up.”

you push him to your cunt and cry out when he latches on with a hot, open mouth.

he’s lapping at you like a dog. you slouch against the wall as your legs go numb, and su-bong crushes a hand around your hamstring to keep you in place for him. his other splits your cunt open with two digits inside, curling recklessly while he sucks your clit.

incoherent curses at him blended together with your whines. any ‘fuck you’ was lost in a moan when he’d pull his fingers in and out to hit your sweet spot.

he knew you were close with the way your voice went hoarse and your thighs clamped around his head - and that’s when the bitch pulled away.

he propped you up against the wall and tugged his waistband down, his cock springing free with a string of pre-cum.

“shit, baby.” he bit his lip and lined himself up with you. he groaned as his tip prodded your cunt. “you sure we’re over?”

“yes we fucking are.”

you moaned in sync when he thrusted in. for a beat, he stayed there, filling you to the hilt. his heaving body had you pushed up against the wall. he was savouring it. he groaned lowly into your ear.

“hurry up.”

your head knocked back into the wall as he snatched your neck into his hand and started slamming his hips into yours.

the throbbing in your crown was drowned out by su-bong abusing your cunt with his impatient pace, ramming into your cervix and eliciting a cry from you with every thrust.

su-bong was fucking you like you’ll drop dead when the clock strikes midnight. and in a way- the version of you that’d let a man fuck you like he hates your guts will.

su-bong stuck his forehead onto yours, beading with sweat. you saw yourself in his eyes: brows knotted, eyes laced with disgust. and his own were fawning over you, lips panting with a smile.

“you make me fucking sick.” you stammer out, feeling the knot undo with every ram of his dick to your sweet spot.

he presses a wet kiss to your lips that you don’t return. “i’m in love with you, baby.”

you unravelled then. su-bong maintained his bruising pace while your walls fluttered around his cock. he bit down onto your shoulder to smother his moans as his hips stuttered inside of you, and he came following yours.

your bodies slouched together. your hair stuck to your skin with sweat, and you thought you saw the dye dripping from su-bong’s ends.

you wish you hadn’t cum when you did. you wish you didn’t give him the satisfaction of that being the magic words. you wish you could tell yourself it wasn’t because of him.

without a second glance, you pulled his dick out of you with a grunt from him. smoothing your dress back down, you bump shoulders with su-bong as you move to leave. his arm shoots out around your waist to halt you.

and you just shove it off of you.

you keep your head forward, and as the door swings open to greet you with the booming club music, the only thought in your mind is to find dae-ho.

empty bottles of wine collected on the floor next to your side of the bed. futile attempts to ignore the scab your brain kept picking at.

it’s been months, and you can’t go a day without scratching at it to see if it still hurts. if you just left it alone, then maybe you’d actually heal.

you thought you saw him. you don’t even really know if you did, or if you just wanted to. a flash of purple hair amongst the club’s crowd had your throat burning with bile.

dae-ho’s arm snug around your waist felt you stiffen up, and he faced you: tears already clumping in your lashes. him taking you back home went without question.

now you were dozing off as dae-ho stroked your hair, half-lidded eyes full of adoration. he drew over the lines of your face with his fingers, his touch so gentle like you’d crack if he wasn’t careful.

if he was more like your ex, he’d try to see how rough you could take before you shattered. and then he’d pick up every piece to put you back together.

you were warm in bed with your boyfriend cooing you to sleep about how much he loves you, but tonight all you could think of is how he could never compare to su-bong.

dae-ho gets up to slide under the cover of his side. you gravitate to his heat, burying your face in his neck. he jumps when you plant a hand on the front of his boxers.

“hey- let’s save that for the morning, okay? after i’ve made you a coffee.” he chuckles.

he kisses your forehead. but for some reason, your skin seared with.. disappointment.

su-bong would have taken full advantage of you in your boozy state. you would’ve been irresistible to him, so well-behaved. so perfect for him.

..does dae-ho not want you?

you don’t even know why, but suddenly you’re sobbing quietly and staining his shirt with tears. and dae-ho’s comforting you, apologising if he said anything wrong, and none of it feels right. it’s just not what su-bong would do. he’s just not him.

su-bong hovers over the faces of girls in the bar crowd till he finds vaguely what he’s looking for. she’s pretty, probably. she looks enough like you from afar.

a little bit of chit-chat, and he’s thrusting up into her against the wall of the grimy restroom. he doesn’t look at her face, he wasn’t listening when she introduced herself. his eyes were screwed shut to keep his mind in the place he wanted. the place he needed to cum. and it slips from his mouth in a moan as he does.

a few seconds of shocked silence pass before the girl’s shoving him and mumbling cusses. “why didn’t you just fuck her then?!” rings out as the door slams behind her.

for months on end he’d been numbing himself with shit he wouldn’t let you touch - and still none of the harder drugs were giving him withdrawals like you leaving. needing you was hardwired into his brain chemistry. and well, you had been far more addicted than he was.

you’ll get bored of that guy. and the ones that follow him, too. but nothing will come close to the high that su-bong gave you.

and you always know where to find home.

#choi su bong x reader #su bong x reader #dae ho x reader #thanos x reader #kang dae ho x reader #player 388 x reader

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milkymora · 3 days ago

Text

left ✧ tsukishima kei x fem!reader ✧ smut ending

note: beware of the ending, it sucks. i wrote this at 4am and realized i was making it way longer than intended so i tried to give it a decent end (failing). it’s also not really proofread so beware of terrible writing & hideous grammar too lmao. mdni.

tw: drunk sex. oral (both r! & tsukki! giving and receiving). fingering (r!receiving).

“so,” tsukishima spoke next to you in a low voice, so that only you could hear it, stopping your zoning out.

you turned your head to him, the voice of the others fading into background noise. “mh?” you hummed, with your cheeks still full of food, inviting him to go ahead.

“how did you sleep?” he smiled, perhaps trying to sound somewhat innocent, although you understood immediately what he was hinting at.

playing it cool, you swallowed your bolus.

“pretty good. what about you?” you held the fork in your hand, partly covering your lips; something you had the habit of doing when eating in company of others.

for a moment, you left your eyes wander on his lips as he spoke.

“amazingly.” he responded, shoving a forkful of the pasta on his plate in his mouth. you watch the way his adam apple moves when he takes a swallow, thinking, for a moment, that that’s how it might’ve looked like yesterday, when he had his tongue inside your mouth. your eyes ajar slightly at the memory of how it felt.

though that wasn’t the place, nor the moment, to think about such things. you weren’t alone.

of course he didn’t really give a shit about it.

“everything alright?” he asked you, seemingly amused.

he knew what you were thinking about. it was written all over your face. or perhaps you were like an open book to him.

or, perhaps, he knew it because he was thinking about it too.

you cleared your throat, fixing your position on your chair, that was suddenly so uncomfortable. “yes.” you murmured, unable to hide your shame in being so goddamn obvious.

“huh? couldn’t hear you.” he leaned in to you, a grin from ear to ear that you wanted to smack away like never before.

“yes.”

“y/n, you look a little red.” shimizu pointed out, almost making you jump. you hadn’t notice her looking at you. was she listening to what you’ve been saying?

“ah, am i?” you nervously laugh it off, low key cursing your friend in your head for saying something like that out loud so carelessly.

“totally. here,” she chuckled, opening a bottle of water and pouring some into your glass, “have this.”

“should’ve given me some wine instead.” you laughed, drinking the fresh water in your glass. you weren’t one to drink, but it could’ve helped to ease up a little.

“hah,” tsukishima scoffed, “you? drinking?”

you turned your head to him again. “yeah,” looking right into his eyes, you grabbed the bottle of red wine the waiter brought on the table a couple moments prior, opened it, poured some into your glass and slowly consuming it, never detaching your eyes from his. “drinking, like this. what about it?” you deadpan.

and he didn’t as well. he kept eye contact all the way, until you put the glass back on the table, which made it way harder for you not to turn red. “nothing. can i have some too, miss?” he asked, that arrogant smile never leaving his lips.

“sure.” filling his glass to the brim, you mimicked his tone of phrase. “as much as you want, sir.”

“get a room, you two!”

the both of you whipped your heads towards the voice it came from, finding a little yachi looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “seriously.” she added after seeing your shocked faces, a smirk you’ve never seen on her doll face.

heavy silence fell between you two as you noticed that also daichi, sugawara and shimizu were peering at you with what looked like amusement on their visages.

kei cleared his throat with a cough that sounded vaguely forced and went back to eat, before attempting to change the subject.

you still noticed the subtle blush on his cheeks, though.

apparently, you weren’t the only one who wasn’t expecting the others to have heard your interaction.

“any, uh..” he drank another glass of wine, licking his lower lip, where a drop was starting to slide down his chin, “any new about the team we’ll play against after winter break?” he inquired, a question thrown in the air to be answered by anyone, but he specifically looked at daichi for a response.

“nope, nothing. they’ll let us know on monday or close.” daichi spoke with his typical fatherly voice. “m’kay.” dryly replied the tallest, pouring himself yet another glass of wine.

“woah, slow down, tsukki. leave us some.” yamaguchi chuckled, teasing his friend. “he’s right. at least ask us if we want some as well.” you joined in.

tsukishima huffed. “anyone who wants a sip?”

everyone shook their heads. everyone except you.

“me.” holding the glass between your index and middle fingers, you slid it towards his direction.

he looked at you, and wordlessly filled it halfly. as he was placing down the bottle, you grabbed its neck.

“don’t be stingy.”

an inquisitive stare began showing on his traits, looking at you in such way you didn’t know how to interpretate.

you wanted to ease up. and it was doing the job amazingly. so much, that you didn’t even realize you were slowly getting light headed.

seeing he wasn’t budging, you sighed. “c’mon, just one more glass. i know what i’m doing.”

“do you?” he pried, that tint of concern that made those butterflies dance in your stomach every time.

“mhm.” you pointed your half filled glass with your chin. “don’t be boring. you’re not my dad.”

he kept still a couple more seconds, but, in the end, he gave in, adding another two inches of the fruity liquid, which you wasted no time bringing to your lips to relish it fully.

your throat burned, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.

the others had returned to each minding their business, when shimizu offered to go outside to smoke a cigarette. it wasn’t her habit at all, nobody’s habit in your group, however, just like it wasn’t your habit to drink, she wanted to do that in that social situation.

after all, a cigarette wasn’t gonna kill anyone.

just like another glass for you, you thought.

most of the members got up from the table, basically everyone. shimizu was the only one who wanted to smoke, along with yachi and asahi, but they hall felt the urge to go outside to take a break of fresh air and stretch their numb limbs, that had been sat down for a good hour now.

which left you, tsukishima and other members who were too far from you to be minded at all, alone in that big table.

a sigh flied out of your lips, the afterstate of the alcohol lingering in the walls of your mouth. without thinking twice, you grabbed the bottle once more.

“you shouldn’t do that.” his tone reverberated in your ear, like a warning.

“i’m still doing it–” you began, “then fill mine too.” he interjected before you could finish.

you rolled your tongue on your teeth within your closed mouth to hide the grin that threaten to betray your pokerface you’ve managed to hold for quite awhile.

you filled his glass, after you did with your own.

“cheers.” you lift your glass. he meets it, then a ‘clack’, and you’re both shoving the booze down your throat once again.

“you know,” you start, your inhibitions fading away every seconds that goes by. “i’ve bought you something.”

“me too.” he stated, unfazed, placing down his glass. he shifted his position on his seat to face you, moving his right elbow over the chair and his left one on the table.

“oh?” your heart fastened. “what is it?” you question.

he fidgeted with his black tie. “i’ll show you later.” he murmured.

“what? no, you can’t tell me this after you’ve made me curious!”

“oh, i can.” his foot gets between your legs the moment you move to face him as well. your breath cut short at the gesture, without really opposing to it.

“why?” instead, you ask.

“because. don’t insist.” he slides up his foot, reaching your knees.

instinctively, you close them, squeezing the tip of his shoe between them.

his gaze falls down. “what are you doing?” you question, tightening your squeeze as you feel his shoe trying to move forward. “we’re not alone.” you alert.

your statement makes him go quiet, getting lost in his own thoughts briefly.

“would you let me do it if we were alone then?” his tone cuts short too, his ears turning peach.

“do what?”

it was useless to lie or play stupid anymore. you knew what he wanted to do, god, everyone noticed the sexual tension since the beginning of that dinner.

and you wanted too. still, you needed to hear him say those dirty words. you wanted to see for how long he could keep going, before giving in. because, as much as you wanted, you were not gonna give in first.

“say it.” you loose your squeeze a little, just to make him come closer your crotch. after a couple more inches, you tighten the squeeze again.

his chest rises and falls at the view, unable to unlock his gaze from your thighs, his cheeks now visibly red, a mixture of the alcohol and excitement. “hey, now,” his whisper closer to a whine. a beg.

the sound of a door being opened and voices chatting in the distance made you snap away, pushing his leg away from your body. “uh—” he jumped backwards, gripping the chair’s backrest as to not fall down.

without being given time to realize, your friends had returned to their little outside break. kyoko, daichi, tadashi, sugawara and yachi all went back to their respective seats around you and kei, along with the other guys at the other end of the table.

“my god, you actually finished the whole bottle?” tadashi lifted the empty bottle with his hand, shocked to see not even a drop was left at its bottom.

you raise your face to him, taken aback by his sentence. “i’m so sorry– i’m gonna buy another one for you only, guys.” you looked at the bottle, noticing just then that you seriously finished a whole bottle with him in less than an hour.

“no! no, it’s fine.” yamaguchi laughed, ashamed. “i didn’t mean to actually make you feel bad, sorry.” he scratched the back of his neck, flashing you a sweet, displeased smile.

“i don’t care, i’m buying it anyway... i genuinely didn’t realize.” you got up from your seat, your purse in your hands. “be right back.”

quickly, you pulled your coat over your shoulders, heading towards the bar at the other part of the restaurant, crossing the hall hastily.

you walked up to the bartender, ordering two more bottles, each with a different flavor as to accommodate to your friends’ personal tastes.

as you wait for the barman, who has went to grab the bottles in another nearby room, you feel a pair of hands go to lay on your shoulders.

“sly, smart girl.” tsukishima whispers in your ear.

heath spreads all over your body as his warm breath tickles your ear. you grab his hands and place them on your hips.

“finally noticed, huh.” you whisper back, leaning the back of your head on his shoulder. “took you long enough.”

his thumbs draw circles on your hips, pulling them against his groin, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

your eyes widen when you sense his erection on your ass.

“give it to me.”

and that was all you needed to hear to let go of that last drop of dignity that the alcohol hadn’t taken away from you still.

“there you go!” the bartender returns to the bar, the two bottles you’ve ordered in his hands. but the girl who had come to take the order is not there anymore.

your back hits the cold tiles of the restroom aggressively, legs hooked around his waist as he holds them up in place with his hands, fingers digging into the naked flesh of your thighs.

“hey-” you gasp, out of breath, as his tongue slides up your neck, sucking on its sensitive skin to leave red hickeys all over it, making your eyes roll back in ecstasy. “take those off,” you ask, no, beg, tugging pathetically at his boxers with pure need.

his pants are scattered on the floor, his boner throbbing into his now too tight underwear, rubbing against your covered clit, soaking those poor panties to the point of wetting his underwear too.

his head moves away from your neck in hearing your request, strings of saliva rolling his chin from both corners of his mouth, to watch your face.

“no, you take them off.” is his only reply, dropping you down from his hold and taking a step back, standing still in front of your hyperventilating, messy frame.

your eyes fall down on his bulge, staring at it for so long he begins to chuckle. “first time seeing one?” he asks.

you don’t respond. instead, you take a step closer, kneeling down, so that your face was right in front of it. your hands are shaking mildly, but his legs are as well, so you’re not too bashful about it.

“first time seeing yours.” you murmur, feeling your chin being lifted of a couple inches, his thumb on your lower lip.

“suck it.” he moves his finger upwards, into your mouth. you suck on it for only a moment, feeling it leave your mouth almost immediately.

“no,” he laughs under your confused face, “not this one.”

your fingerstips curl on the fabric of his underwear, as your lips start printing slow and wet kisses on his pube, slipping them down. your hand goes to grab the shaft, while your tongue slides down, beginning to suck on his balls.

you stroke his dick up and down multiple times at a slow pace, before sliding your tongue from his shaft to the tip, finally taking it into your mouth with a hum.

your hands caress his tense abdomen, his thighs, his hips, as your tongue runs all over his veins, your head moving back and forth in smooth movements.

his hand goes on your head, guiding your movements, hissing pleased sighs with clenched jaw, fighting the urge to pull his dick down your throat further.

you take it out your mouth to slap your tongue with it, whilst continuing to stroke it with your hand. when you’re about to start sucking it again, he moves backwards, his back hitting the door.

“i wanna do that to you,” he pants, going to grab your triceps to pick you up from the floor.

you place your hand on his nape, jerking his face towards yours to kiss him avidly, tongue seeking his. he doesn’t pull away for a hot minute, until pushing you on the toilet, spreading your legs and kneeling down between them so rapidly you can’t even think straight anymore.

you watch as he removes the remaining cover up of your pulsating pussy, wasting no time and burying his head between your legs, lifting them over his shoulders and beginning to lick your entrance with such energy you find yourself struggling to stay put.

“fuck,” you throw your head back, your clit swelling up as his tongue stimulates your good orgasms, making you forget everything else, even the public place you’re having sex at.

“feeling good?” he questions, hot breath against your cunt causing shivers to roll down your spine. “yes,” you cry, pushing his head against you, “keep going,” you hiss.

soft moans fill the room as his middle and ring fingers penetrate you, curling into your morbid walls, sloppy sounds so awfully good to hear growing as he fastens his speed, making you go nuts, moaning and whimpering like the slut you were for him.

tsukishima knew you were nearing your climax when your breathing began so fast you sounded like you were crying, begging to go faster, and faster, and faster—

two knocks on the door. then a phrase.

“guys, are you done fucking in there? we’re about to go.”

spoke a voice you haven’t heard well enough to recognize who it belonged to from far behind the door.

you were a total mess, dripping liquids from your freshly fucked hole, with your shaking legs still around his neck.

and he wasn’t any better, being completely naked, crouched in that filthy bathroom floor with the taste of sex in his mouth and his sticky fingers and upright, sore dick.

you looked at the door, then at each other, a mixture of fear and frustration on both your messed up faces.

another voice laughed from behind the door, “y’all did get a room in the end.”

this time, there were no doubts whose voice that was.

✧ previous

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq!! x reader #hq tsukki #hq fanfic #hq x reader #hq #hq!!#haikyuu tsukki #tsukishima kei fanfiction #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukki x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #✧ mora’s hq!!

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izumkay · 3 days ago

Text

~KNOTTED DESIRES~ |CH-4|

—SATORU GOJO

♡Pairing- SatoruGojo×Fem!Reader (main), Nanami×Reader.

♡Summary- As a new teacher, you step into the prestigious halls of a modern high school, ready to guide and inspire your students. But your plans take an unexpected turn when Satoru Gojo, a charismatic and self-assured senior, makes a move on you, challenging your boundaries and professional. What starts as a clash of personalities quickly evolves into a forbidden connection, leaving you both caught in a whirlwind of desires.

Gerne/Tags- Age difference(8 years), Student-Teacher relationship, Satoru is obsessed over you, high school setting, Love triangle, complicated relationship, happy ending.

Warnings!- MDNI. Explicit sexual content, angst, mentions of death, blood, fluff, strong language, hurt/comfort.

Wc- 9.1k

Previous chapter!

It was Friday afternoon, and the school library was quieter than usual, the only sound being the occasional rustle of pages turning or the soft tapping of keys from students finishing their assignments. You were seated at one of the long tables, your textbooks and notes spread out in front of you. Gojo sat across from you, a smug look on his face as he pretended to focus on the math problems you had written out for him.

"You know," you said, trying to keep your tone even, "you’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t at least try."

Gojo leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, that signature grin still plastered on his face. "I’m trying," he said, though his posture clearly suggested otherwise. "It’s just more fun watching you get frustrated."

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. It was always the same with him. No matter how much you tried to help, he always found a way to make it harder. His charm, his teasing—it was a constant distraction. You glanced at the clock, wondering how much longer this was going to take.

"You’re not taking this seriously," you said, shaking your head. "I don’t know why you even asked for tutoring if you’re not going to—"

Gojo interrupted you, leaning forward slightly. "I am serious. But you’ve got to admit, I’m kind of fun to be around, right?"

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. "That’s not the point."

"Sure it is," he said with a wink. "But we can get to that later."

You felt your face heat up slightly at his boldness, but you quickly dismissed it. He was always like this, pushing boundaries just to see how far he could go. It was infuriating, yet… somehow, you couldn’t help but feel a small part of you intrigued by it.

The tension in the air was palpable. You tried to ignore it, focusing on the math problems in front of you, but Gojo’s presence was impossible to escape. His gaze never left you, his eyes playful, almost daring you to look at him.

"Alright, Missy," he said, breaking the silence. "What’s next? I’m getting bored."

You shot him a pointed look, but before you could respond, Gojo leaned forward, his voice dropping low. "You know, you look cute when you’re frustrated."

The words hung in the air between you, and you felt a flutter in your chest, quickly squashing it down. You couldn’t let him get to you.

"Stop," you said, your voice a little firmer than you intended. "Focus, Gojo."

He didn’t seem phased, though. He just smiled, leaning even closer across the table, his breath warm against your skin.

"Come on, just one more round of problems. If I get them right, maybe we can call it a day," he teased, his voice low and smooth.

You couldn’t deny that the way he was acting, the way he was looking at you—it was starting to affect you. You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore the rising heat in your chest, the way your body responded to his proximity.

"Fine," you said, your voice a little shaky. "Let’s get through this, and then we’ll call it a day."

Gojo’s smile widened, and he leaned back in his chair again, but the playful glint in his eyes never disappeared. The tension was thick, and you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could keep pretending that everything was fine. How long you could keep resisting the pull he seemed to have on you.

Gojo stretched lazily, his arms reaching high above his head as he let out a dramatic sigh. "I’ve got all day, Missy. But I don’t know if you do." His voice was smooth, laced with a teasing undertone, and the way his eyes glinted only made your heart beat faster.

You ignored the flutter in your chest and turned your attention back to the math problems. "You can’t be serious. Focus."

But as you started to explain the next problem, you felt his eyes on you again, studying you in a way that made you self-conscious. His gaze never wavered, and you found it hard to concentrate on the numbers in front of you.

"I think you’re distracting me on purpose," you muttered, your voice almost too quiet.

Gojo chuckled, his smirk never fading. "What? Me? Distract you?" He leaned in closer, resting his chin on his hand as he stared directly at you. "I’m just here for the tutoring, Missy. Don’t flatter yourself."

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your pulse quickening as the space between you seemed to shrink. The quiet tension in the air felt thick, almost suffocating. It was as if you were teetering on the edge of something, something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

Gojo, noticing your discomfort, leaned back again, but his eyes still held that same intensity. "I’m just messing with you," he said casually, though there was a playful edge to his words. "But seriously, you’re cute when you’re all flustered."

You tried to ignore him, focusing on the math again, but his words kept circling in your mind. Cute. Flustered.

Why was it so hard to focus when he was around?

"Okay, okay," Gojo said, his voice suddenly softer, though still playful. "Let’s actually get through this, then. I’m kind of curious to see if I can impress you."

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Impress me?"

He nodded, that smug grin never leaving his face. "Yeah. Let’s see if I can do this right. Then maybe you’ll finally stop giving me that look."

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at him. "What look?"

"The ‘I’m-so-done-with-you’ look," he said, his voice mocking but playful. "You know the one. It’s cute, but I’m sure I can change it to something else."

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the rising heat in your cheeks. Why does he always do this?

"Focus, Gojo," you said again, though your voice was quieter this time, more hesitant.

Gojo didn’t say anything for a moment. He just stared at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to figure out what you were thinking.

And then, just as quickly, he leaned in once more, his lips just inches from your ear. "I can tell when you’re not focused, you know," he whispered, his voice low and teasing. "You’re thinking about something else. Something you don’t want to admit."

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing. Your heart raced, and your breath caught in your throat.

You tried to push him away, to keep some distance between you, but he was relentless. His presence was overwhelming, his words sinking deep under your skin.

Before you could respond, Gojo pulled back slightly, that damn smirk back in place. "I think I’ve made my point," he said with a wink.

You sat there, heart pounding, mind swirling. You wanted to say something, to scold him, to tell him off. But for some reason, the words just wouldn’t come. You were too caught up in the heat of the moment, the pull between you two growing stronger with each passing second.

You tried to focus on the math again, but your mind was a mess. His voice, his presence, it all lingered in the air around you. You could feel the heat from his body still radiating in the small space between you, and it was making it almost impossible to think clearly.

Gojo noticed the shift in your demeanor and, instead of continuing with the lesson, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on you. "You know," he started, his tone casual, but there was an underlying seriousness in it, "you’re not like the others."

You glanced at him, unsure of where this was going. "What do you mean?"

He grinned, that trademark smirk playing on his lips. "You’re not easily distracted, and you actually care about your job. It’s kind of… impressive." His eyes softened for a brief moment, almost as if he were seeing you for the first time. "Most people would’ve given up on me by now."

You swallowed, feeling your heart beat faster at his words. "Well, I’m not like most people," you said, trying to maintain your professional composure.

Gojo chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the little back-and-forth. "No, you’re not. You’re different. But I’m not complaining."

The way he said it, the weight behind those words, made something shift in the air. It wasn’t just playful teasing anymore. There was a deeper undertone to it now, something more serious.

You looked away, feeling your cheeks flush despite yourself. Why does he have this effect on me?

"Alright," you said, clearing your throat, trying to focus again. "Let’s get back to the math. You want to impress me? Then do this problem."

You handed him a new sheet of problems, but Gojo didn’t even glance at it right away. Instead, he just watched you, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick, almost suffocating, and you couldn’t help but feel the tension growing. You were hyper-aware of every little movement he made, every breath he took.

Then, Gojo finally spoke, his voice low and soft. "I could really get used to this, you know."

You blinked, confused. "Get used to what?"

He leaned forward again, closing the space between you two, his gaze intense. "Spending time with you. It’s… nice. Even if you’re driving me crazy."

You felt your breath hitch, and your mind went blank. "Gojo, we—"

He interrupted you with a smirk. "I’m not asking for anything serious, Missy. Just… some fun. But I’m not going to lie. You’re a little harder to crack than I thought."

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a second, you couldn’t speak. His words, his proximity, everything was overwhelming.

But before you could gather your thoughts, Gojo sat back in his chair, his smirk widening. "So, what’s it gonna be, Missy? Are you going to keep trying to ignore this thing between us, or are you gonna finally admit you’re at least a little curious?"

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and it made your pulse quicken. You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to stop playing games. But you also couldn’t deny that part of you was intrigued.

The bell rang, signaling the end of your tutoring session. Gojo stood up, stretching again. "Well, I guess we’ll have to continue this next time, huh?"

You couldn’t even respond right away, still reeling from everything that had just happened. Gojo winked at you before walking out of the library, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

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Gojo walked down the hallway, his mind racing with thoughts of how to get closer to you. Why won’t she just give in? He thought, irritation creeping into his mind. She’s so damn stubborn. But that stubbornness only made him more determined. After all, a bet was a bet, and he never lost.

He couldn’t help but replay the moments in the library, the way you looked when you were close to him, how your breath hitched when he spoke to you. There was something there, he knew it. You were just playing hard to get, but Gojo wasn’t about to let that stop him.

How could I make her crack? He leaned against a wall, tapping his fingers rhythmically. He thought back to his interactions with you, each one more charged than the last. You were always trying to maintain your professionalism, but he could see the way you’d get flustered, the little cracks in your armor.

A wicked smile spread across his face. I’ll just keep pushing. She’ll break sooner or later.

Gojo’s mind shifted to how he could escalate things, keep up the tension without crossing the line—at least not yet. Maybe another tutoring session… but this time, I’ll make it personal. I’ll get her alone again, get her thinking about me. He liked the idea of you being the one who couldn’t focus, who couldn’t stop thinking about him.

But there was still something about you that made him hesitate. He couldn’t put his finger on it. You weren’t like the others. He wasn’t used to feeling this uncertain, and that made it all the more exciting.

"Whatever," Gojo muttered to himself. "I’ll figure it out."

He pushed off the wall and walked toward the exit, a plan already forming in his mind. Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ve got the whole weekend to figure out how to make her crack.

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The next morning, you stepped out of the shower, your skin still damp and warm from the water. You wrapped a towel around your body, wiping droplets from your hair as you moved to your bedside table. As you reached for your phone, it buzzed loudly, interrupting the quiet of your room.

You glanced at the screen, and of course, the name that popped up made your stomach twist. Gojo.

"Hey Missy," the message read. "Can you come over? I'm feeling pretty sick. Could really use your help."

Your eyes widened slightly. Was he really inviting you over? You couldn’t tell if it was a joke, another one of his games, or if he was actually serious this time. The words felt almost too casual, but the thought of him being genuinely unwell made your heart beat a little faster. What’s his game this time? you thought, feeling the familiar annoyance bubble up in your chest.

You hesitated, staring at the message for a moment. You know better than this, you told yourself. This could be another one of his tricks. He’s just playing around again. But despite your better judgment, a small part of you wondered if maybe—just maybe—he really did need help.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Don’t fall for it. Not again.

But you couldn’t help it. The idea of going over there, of seeing Gojo in a different, vulnerable light, was tempting. Still, you needed to stay professional.

You took a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond.

You stared at the screen for a long moment, the silence in your room only adding to the pressure of making a decision. Should I go? You knew it was a bad idea. You’re his teacher. You can’t just drop everything for him.

But Gojo was different. Always unpredictable, always teasing, always pushing you to your limits. And now, he was asking for your help? You couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or just trying to manipulate you once again.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating. What if he’s actually sick? The thought lingered in your mind, but you quickly shook it off. No. He’s playing a game.

You could feel your pulse quicken as your thoughts raced. Finally, with a sigh, you typed back:

"I’m not a nurse, Gojo. What do you need me for?"

The moment you sent it, you regretted it. It felt too cold, too professional, and you were sure Gojo would just tease you for it.

A few moments passed before his response pinged back.

"Just a little company, missy. You wouldn’t leave me all alone, would you? I promise, I’m really sick. Could use a friendly face."

The message was casual, almost too casual, and yet the part about him being "sick" made your heart skip a beat. You tried to push that feeling away, focusing instead on how to keep things professional.

You took another breath, considering your options. The idea of going over there—seeing Gojo in his own space, vulnerable—made you uneasy, but part of you was curious. Was this just another game, or was there something else to it?

Finally, you typed out a response.

"Fine. I’ll stop by. But don’t expect anything more than that."

You hit send, not giving yourself a chance to second-guess. A moment later, Gojo’s reply came through, simple and teasing as ever.

"You’re the best, Missy. See you soon. ;)”

You put your phone down, feeling the weight of your decision settle over you. What the hell have I just agreed to?

You stood there for a moment, phone in hand, staring at the message as if willing it to change. But it didn’t. You had agreed.

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You quickly gathered yourself, forcing the nerves down, knowing you had to stay composed. You couldn’t let Gojo get the better of you again. After all, this was just a visit to check on him, right? Nothing more.

With a deep breath, you changed into something casual but still appropriate, grabbing your bag and heading out. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Gojo, imagining what his apartment might be like, how he would act now that it was just the two of you. You couldn’t help but feel that familiar mix of frustration and… something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

When you arrived at his place, the door was already slightly ajar. Gojo, ever the tease, was clearly expecting you. You knocked once, just in case, before pushing it open.

“Missy! You made it!” Gojo’s voice rang out, far too cheerful for someone who claimed to be sick. He was lounging on his couch, looking as laid-back as ever, a dramatic sigh escaping him as he laid a hand over his forehead, clearly pretending to be exhausted.

“Really?” You crossed your arms, eyebrow raised. “You’re ‘sick,’ and this is how you look?”

He flashed you a grin. “I’m very sick, Missy. You have to help me get better.” He winked playfully, clearly enjoying your annoyance.

You rolled your eyes, walking further into the apartment. “I don’t think I can help you with that,” you said, trying to sound firm. “What do you actually need?”

Gojo patted the spot next to him on the couch. “Well, for starters, some company wouldn’t hurt. Come sit with me. It’s lonely here without you.” His voice was smooth, almost coaxing, but there was something playful about it.

You hesitated for a moment before finally sitting down at the far end of the couch, keeping a comfortable distance between you. "You’re lucky I’m even here,” you muttered under your breath, but he heard it. Of course, he did.

“Lucky? No, Missy. You’re lucky I let you in,” he teased, sitting up and leaning toward you. “Besides, I think you enjoy being here with me. Don’t lie.”

You looked away, trying to ignore the growing tension in the air. He was right, in a way. Despite everything, despite how much he irritated you, there was a part of you that couldn’t ignore the pull. You shook your head, trying to clear the thoughts that had no business entering your mind.

“Well, what exactly am I supposed to do?” you asked, attempting to keep things light, but the words felt forced.

Gojo stretched lazily, still watching you with that smug, infuriating smirk. “For now? Just stay here. You can keep me company, maybe even make me some tea.” He paused. “But, I’ll let you know when I need something else.”

The double meaning hung in the air, and you could feel your heart race slightly. You didn’t know what to expect from Gojo anymore, and that was the problem. You couldn’t let your guard down.

You sat there, trying to remain calm, but Gojo's behavior was grating on your nerves. The audacity he had, acting as if you were there for his amusement. The playful tone, the teasing, it was all too much.

Was he seriously bossing you around like this?

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the irritation built up too quickly. His casual, carefree demeanor only added to the frustration that had been bubbling inside you since the moment you agreed to come over.

"Can you show me some respect?" you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. You had held your composure for so long, but Gojo’s blatant disregard for your boundaries had crossed the line.

Gojo blinked, momentarily surprised by the sudden shift in your tone. He straightened up slightly, but his smirk never faltered. "What? I’m just having some fun with you, Missy."

You stood up from the couch, the tension thick in the air. "I’m not your personal servant, Gojo," you continued, your voice tight with frustration. "I thought you were really sick. I came here because I was worried. But here you are, perfectly fine, wasting my time."

His smirk faltered, but only for a second, before he leaned back casually. "Oh come on, I’m just messing with you. You really think I need a tutor when I’ve got this much charm?" His tone was light, but there was an underlying hint of something more.

"No, I don’t think you need a tutor," you said, your patience wearing thin. "But I thought, for once, you could take something seriously." You shook your head, feeling the anger rise in your chest. "I’ve already wasted enough of my time with you. You’ve disrespected me enough, Gojo. I’m leaving."

You turned to leave, but before you could make it to the door, Gojo’s voice stopped you.

“Hey, wait,” he said, sounding more serious than before. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

You paused, your hand on the door handle, still seething with frustration. You wanted to leave, to get away from him and this ridiculous situation. But something about his tone, the slight change in his demeanor, made you hesitate.

You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You can’t just apologize and expect everything to be okay, Gojo. This isn’t a joke to me.”

Gojo’s eyes softened slightly, the smirk still present, but there was a hint of sincerity behind it. “I know. I just… I don’t know how to handle you sometimes.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to make of his words. “Well, maybe you should start by showing some respect.”

He nodded, finally sitting up straighter, looking at you with something more than just playful teasing. “I’ll try,” he said, voice quieter now. “But you have to admit, it’s kinda fun to mess with you.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I can’t believe I’m still here, listening to this.”

“I promise, I’ll be more serious next time,” he added, his voice now carrying a bit of the charm you had come to expect, but there was a hint of something else beneath it.

You were about to say something, but you stopped yourself. Maybe he was right—maybe you needed to learn to not take him so seriously. Or maybe he just needed to learn how to take you seriously.

With one last glance at him, you finally gave in. “Fine. But don’t ever pull something like this again. I don’t have time to waste on your games.”

Gojo flashed you that trademark smirk, the one that always made your heart race, but there was a quiet understanding in his eyes. "You have my word, Missy."

You walked out of his apartment, the air outside feeling strangely refreshing. Your heart was still pounding, but it wasn’t just from the frustration anymore. You couldn’t deny the pull, the way Gojo had managed to get under your skin, once again.

And now, you had to wonder… how much longer could you keep this up?

You stepped out into the cool air, feeling a strange mixture of relief and frustration. The confrontation with Gojo had left you with more questions than answers. What was it about him that made your heart race and your mind spin? Why couldn’t you shake the feeling that there was more to him than just his teasing persona?

As you walked down the hallway, you replayed the moments in his apartment. His nonchalance, his cocky smirk, the way he could make you feel both irritated and... something else. You were a teacher, a professional. You had boundaries, and Gojo had made it clear he was more than willing to test them.

But you couldn’t deny the pull. Despite your better judgment, there was something magnetic about him, something that made it hard to walk away and stay mad. Maybe it was his charm. Or maybe it was his confidence, his ability to make everything seem like a game, even when you knew it shouldn’t be.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pulled it out, already knowing who it was.

"Sorry for messing with you. Don’t be mad, Missy. Let’s call it even, yeah?"

You stared at the message, biting your lip. It was simple. It was an apology, of sorts. But it felt like he was still playing his game, trying to reel you back in.

"You really think an apology makes everything okay?" You replied.

A few seconds later, his response came through.

"Maybe not. But I think we both know I’m hard to stay mad at."

You rolled your eyes, even though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. He had a way of getting under your skin, but somehow, he always knew how to smooth things over—just enough to keep you from walking away.

You didn’t reply immediately. Instead, you shoved your phone back into your pocket and tried to shake off the feeling of being pulled in by him. You needed to stay focused, keep your distance. After all, you were his teacher, and you couldn’t afford to get caught up in his games.

But as you made your way to your car, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that you were already too deep. And maybe, just maybe, Gojo knew it too.

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Later that evening, as you settled into your routine at home, your phone buzzed again, already knowing who is it from.

"Just wanted to check in. I’m actually feeling kinda bad now. But I’m still hoping you’ll give me another chance to make it up to you. Dinner tomorrow?"

You stared at the message for a long time, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You had already told yourself not to get involved, not to let Gojo’s charm and confidence lead you astray.

But something inside you hesitated. You had a choice. You could say no, stand your ground, and keep the professional distance you’d always promised yourself. Or you could say yes, let him continue to mess with your head, to make you feel like you were just another part of his game.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and typed your response.

"Fine. But no more games, Gojo. Dinner, and then we’re done. Got it?"

The reply came almost instantly.

"Deal. You’ll see, I’m better at this than you think."

You sighed, putting your phone down. You knew you should have said no, should have ended this before it even started. But you also knew, deep down, that it was already too late.

After a few seconds, you immediately regretted your decision.

Fuck, you thought to yourself, your heart sinking. What am I doing? You were his teacher, for God’s sake. How could you be so impulsive? You had just agreed to go out to dinner with him—just like that. What were you thinking?

You ran a hand through your hair, pacing around your apartment. You were feeling a mix of frustration and guilt. You couldn’t let yourself get tangled up in whatever game Gojo was playing. He was charming, yes, and had this knack for making you feel things you didn’t want to feel, but you couldn’t forget who you were—who you were supposed to be.

You sat down on your couch, taking a deep breath and trying to compose yourself. You’d made your choice, and now you had to face the consequences. You weren’t sure what exactly Gojo wanted from you, but you couldn’t ignore the feeling that you were walking into dangerous territory.

With a heavy sigh, you picked up your phone and looked at the message again. His words were casual, easy—like this was nothing. Like he didn’t have any idea what kind of trouble he was causing. Or maybe he did, and that was part of the thrill for him.

You stared at your screen for a while, your thumb hovering over the keyboard, before you finally set the phone down and decided to sleep on it. There was no point in overthinking it now. Whatever this was, you would have to face it tomorrow. And for now, you needed rest.

But as you lay in bed, you couldn’t help but feel that knot in your stomach, knowing that tomorrow night would be anything but ordinary.

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The next evening, you stood in front of your mirror, trying to decide what to wear. You hadn’t expected things to spiral into this when you agreed to help Gojo with his math. The thought of dinner with him made your stomach twist. You had a strong feeling he wasn’t just interested in food or math, but you had to follow through now.

Focus, you told yourself, It’s just dinner. It’s not like anything will happen. You’re just going to eat and go home. Professional.

You finally settled on a simple outfit—nothing too revealing, but enough to keep things professional. You didn’t want to give Gojo the wrong impression, but at the same time, you didn’t want to look too stiff.

As you arrived at the restaurant, you couldn’t shake the nerves building up in your chest. The place was quiet, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air. Gojo was already there, casually leaning against the table, looking like he owned the entire place. He spotted you immediately, of course, and flashed that same infuriating smirk.

"Missy, you actually showed up," he said, voice light, teasing. "I was starting to think you’d bail on me."

You gave him a tight smile, trying to maintain composure. "I don’t back out of promises," you said, sitting down across from him. "Let’s just get this over with."

Gojo raised an eyebrow but didn’t push the issue. He sat down and waved the waiter over, his easy charm apparent as he made small talk with the staff. You couldn’t help but notice how effortless it was for him to slip into that carefree attitude. He had a way of making everything seem so simple.

As the dinner continued, you tried to focus on the conversation. He spoke about school, about his plans for the future, but you couldn’t stop yourself from being distracted. Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing at you, his gaze lingering just a bit longer than it should.

"Are you gonna keep staring at me like that?" you finally asked, your voice a little sharper than you intended.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening. "You’re not as good at hiding it as you think. I can see how you look at me," he said, his voice dropping slightly, almost teasing. "I think you’re enjoying this a little more than you want to admit."

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, you simply stared at him, your heart beating a little faster. He had a way of disarming you, making you question your own feelings. But you had to stay in control. You couldn’t let him get the better of you.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Gojo’s gaze was still on you, his smirk never wavering, and you couldn’t help but feel a little flustered. You weren’t used to being in this kind of situation—alone with a student, especially one like him.

"You really think you have me all figured out, don’t you?" you finally said, trying to break the tension. You couldn’t just sit there, letting him toy with you. You had to stay professional.

Gojo leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looked at you with a more serious expression. "I know more than you think," he said softly. "You can pretend all you want, but I can see through you."

Your pulse quickened. Why is he doing this?

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your mind racing. "What exactly do you want from me, Gojo?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question had been on your mind all evening, and you needed an answer. This wasn’t just about tutoring anymore. There was something else at play here, and you couldn’t ignore it.

Gojo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just studied you, his eyes darkening slightly as he took in your expression. "I don’t think you’re as innocent as you act," he said, his voice low and teasing. "I know what you’re thinking."

Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t deny the attraction that had been building between you two. But that didn’t mean you could just give in to it. You were his teacher, and that line couldn’t be crossed.

"You’re crossing a line, Gojo," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You need to stop."

But Gojo only smiled wider, that confident, unshakable smirk of his never leaving his face. "I don’t think I am," he said, his voice now tinged with amusement. "I’m just having a little fun. Don’t worry, Missy, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want."

You clenched your fists under the table, trying to suppress the frustration building inside you. He was playing with fire, and you couldn’t tell if he even realized it.

"Let’s just finish this dinner," you said, your voice sharp now. "We’re not going to talk about this anymore."

Gojo seemed to sense your shift in mood, his smirk fading slightly. He leaned back in his chair, looking at you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something unreadable.

"Alright, Missy," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "We’ll talk about it later, then."

The rest of the evening passed in relative silence. The tension between you both was thick, but neither of you acknowledged it directly. As the dinner came to an end, Gojo stood up and gave you a look that made your stomach flip.

"Same time next week?" he asked, his voice light again, as if nothing had happened.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. "I’ll let you know," you said, standing up and grabbing your things. "Good night, Gojo."

"Good night, Missy," he said, his voice smooth and almost too casual. "Sleep well."

You walked out of the restaurant, the weight of the evening pressing down on you. What had just happened? What was this strange connection you had with him? You didn’t know, but you knew one thing for sure: this wasn’t over.

As you walked away from the restaurant, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his gaze lingering on you. Your thoughts were clouded, your heart still racing from the tension of the evening. You were trying to push it all out of your mind, but you couldn’t ignore how easily he got under your skin. It wasn’t supposed to be this way—he wasn’t supposed to have this much of an effect on you.

Apologies for the misunderstanding! Here’s the continuation, incorporating your feedback:

But just as you turned the corner to head home, you heard hurried footsteps behind you. You barely had time to react before a familiar voice called out.

"Wait!"

You stopped in your tracks, turning to see Gojo catching up to you. His breath was slightly ragged, but his expression was as carefree as ever. He flashed that signature smirk of his, the one that always seemed to make you feel like you were in the palm of his hand.

"I shouldn’t let a pretty lady like you walk home alone," he said, his tone light but his eyes gleaming with something more intense beneath the surface.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. What was he playing at now?

"Didn’t know you could be a gentleman too," you said, the words laced with slight mocking amusement, though you couldn’t entirely mask the smile that tugged at your lips. It was almost impossible to resist his charm.

Gojo chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "I have my moments," he said with a wink. "But I like to think of myself as a man of many talents."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth spreading in your chest. "You’re impossible," you muttered under your breath, but you couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you.

"I’m serious, though," Gojo continued, his tone now more genuine. "It’s late, and I don’t want you to be out here alone. Let me walk you home, at least."

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to turn him down, tell him to leave you be. But the other part, the part that had been affected by him all night, found it hard to say no. He wasn’t like any student you’d ever dealt with before. He was bold, confident, and—damn it—charming.

"Fine," you said after a beat, giving in despite yourself. "But just don’t try anything funny, Gojo."

He laughed again, the sound light and carefree. "Wouldn’t dream of it," he said, matching your pace as you began walking down the street together.

The walk was mostly silent, but the air between you two was thick with unspoken words. You could feel his presence beside you, the tension palpable even in the quiet moments. And despite your better judgment, you found yourself drawn to him more than you cared to admit.

As you neared your apartment, Gojo slowed his pace, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "You know," he began, his voice softer now, "I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier."

You shot him a look. "Which part?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The part where you said I should show more respect," he said, his voice almost teasing but with an edge of sincerity. "I’m sorry, alright? I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable."

For a moment, you were caught off guard by his unexpected sincerity. You hadn’t expected him to apologize, let alone admit he might have crossed a line.

"It’s fine," you said after a beat, trying to brush it off. "Just... remember your boundaries, Gojo."

He nodded, his expression turning serious for a moment before that familiar smirk returned. "I’ll try, Missy. But I make no promises."

You stopped in front of your apartment building, your heart racing for reasons you didn’t want to admit. "Good night, Gojo," you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

"Night, Missy," he replied, his voice softer than before. He stood there for a moment, watching you, before turning to leave.

You couldn’t help but watch him walk away, the lingering thoughts of the evening swirling in your mind. You’d agreed to dinner with him, and now this? What was happening between you two?

You didn’t have the answers, but you knew one thing for sure: this wasn’t over.

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It was a quiet Monday morning at school, and Gojo and Geto were walking through the halls with no real destination in mind. The buzz of students filled the air, but the two of them were lost in their own conversation, as usual.

"So, did she become your girlfriend?" Geto asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Or are you ready to accept your defeat?"

Gojo’s response came quicker than Geto expected. He had expected Gojo to brush it off or joke about it, but what he heard next caught him off guard.

"Oh... umm, no," Gojo said with a casual shrug, "but does a dinner date count?"

Geto stopped in his tracks, eyes widening slightly as he processed what Gojo had just said. Dinner date? He hadn’t really thought Gojo was serious about it. Sure, Gojo was always full of confidence and loved to flirt, but this felt... different. He was actually pursuing something.

"You’re telling me you went out with her?" Geto asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He was in disbelief. He hadn’t expected Gojo to get so serious about his bet. Not with their teacher.

Gojo’s smirk didn’t falter. "Yeah, I did," he replied nonchalantly. "I mean, I told you I was gonna win, didn’t I? It’s all part of the plan."

Geto stared at him for a moment, trying to process this new information. He had always thought Gojo’s antics were just part of his usual game, but now? It seemed like Gojo was actually invested in something—someone.

"Bro, you’re fucking serious?" Geto asked, his tone a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You went out with her? Our fucking teacher?"

Gojo grinned, leaning back against the lockers with his usual cocky attitude. "What can I say? I like a challenge," he said, his voice dripping with confidence. "And she’s not as untouchable as you think. I’ll have her wrapped around my finger in no time."

Geto couldn’t help but let out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head. "You really are something else, Gojo. You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But you’re playing with fire, you know that?"

Gojo just chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Fire’s my middle name."

Geto rolled his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t be able to talk sense into Gojo. Once his mind was set on something, there was no changing it.

"You’re crazy, man," Geto muttered, but there was a slight hint of admiration in his voice. "But I guess if anyone could pull it off, it’d be you."

Gojo shot him a wink. "Damn right," he said, before turning and walking down the hall, clearly satisfied with himself.

Geto watched him go, a mixture of concern and curiosity gnawing at him. He had no idea what Gojo was playing at, but one thing was for sure: things were about to get interesting.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

Later that evening, you were curled up on your couch, the soft glow of the TV illuminating your living room as you relaxed. Your favorite show was playing in the background, but your mind kept wandering. It had been a long week, and the tension between you and Gojo had only grown stronger.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen, and of course, it was from him.

"Heyyyy missyyyy, can you come over? I miss you sm😔"

You stared at the message, the words feeling like a punch to your chest. How could he always talk to you like that? So casual, so... carefree. It was almost as if he didn’t realize the line he was crossing, or maybe he just didn’t care.

You sighed, feeling your pulse quicken. Your first instinct was to say no. You knew it was wrong, that this whole thing was a terrible idea. But then, there was that feeling—the one that kept pulling you in every time you thought about him. That nagging curiosity, that unexplainable desire to see him again.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. No, I shouldn’t do this. You couldn’t afford to give in. You were his teacher, and he was... well, Gojo. The last thing you needed was to get tangled up in whatever game he was playing.

But your fingers hovered over the screen, and before you knew it, you found yourself typing a reply.

"I can’t just drop everything and come over, Gojo. What’s going on?"

You stared at the message, biting your lip. You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but part of you knew he wouldn’t make this easy. A few seconds later, your phone buzzed again.

"Oh come on, missy, I just wanna hang out! Besides, you know you want to see me :p"

You rolled your eyes at his confidence. He was relentless, and yet, there was something about his charm that always seemed to pull you back in. You set your phone down for a moment, taking a deep breath. You had to focus. You couldn’t let him get to you.

But then the next message popped up.

"Fine, don’t come if you don’t want to. But I’ll be here waiting... :D"

The smug tone in his words made your stomach flip. It was like he knew exactly how to get under your skin. You didn’t want to admit it, but a part of you did want to see him.

You stood up, pacing around your living room as you thought it over. Why is this so hard? You had to admit to yourself—he had gotten under your skin. You were a professional, you knew better than this. But that damn smirk, those teasing words... they kept running through your mind.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, your fingers were already typing.

"I’ll be there in 20 minutes."

You hit send, and as soon as the message left your phone, you regretted it. What am I doing?

But you couldn’t back out now. You quickly got up and grabbed your things, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. As you headed out the door, your heart was pounding. You were doing something you knew you shouldn’t, but it felt like there was no turning back now.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

You arrived at Gojo's place after what felt like the longest 20 minutes of your life. You parked your car and took a deep breath before stepping out. Your mind was racing with thoughts, but you tried to push them aside. You’re just going to hang out. Nothing more.

As you walked up to his door, your heart was pounding in your chest. You rang the doorbell, and within seconds, the door swung open. Gojo stood there, wearing a casual hoodie and sweatpants, his trademark smirk plastered across his face.

“Well, well, look who showed up,” he said, his voice smooth and playful, as if he knew he had you exactly where he wanted.

You tried to maintain your composure, crossing your arms as you stepped inside. “I hope you have a good reason for dragging me all the way over here.”

Gojo just chuckled, stepping aside to let you in. “Of course, missy. I’ve got plenty of reasons.” He shut the door behind you, locking it with a casual flick of his wrist. “But for now, just relax. I thought we could hang out and get to know each other better.”

You didn’t trust him, but there was no turning back now. You glanced around his apartment—modern, minimalist, and somehow very much what you expected from someone like him. He led you to the living room, where a couple of drinks and snacks were already laid out on the coffee table.

“Have a seat,” Gojo said, flopping onto the couch and patting the space next to him.

You hesitated for a moment, before sitting down on the opposite side of the couch. Your nerves were still buzzing, but you tried to ignore them. “So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

Gojo leaned back, his eyes never leaving you. “I don’t know… maybe just how things are going. You’ve been really busy with school lately, huh? I thought you could use a little break.”

You crossed your arms, trying to stay calm, but the way he was looking at you made it hard to focus. “I’m fine, Gojo. I can handle my job just fine.”

He grinned, shifting a little closer to you. “Yeah, I know you can. You’re pretty impressive, Missy.”

His voice was low, teasing, and it made you feel both flattered and frustrated. You didn’t know how to respond to him anymore—every time you thought you had him figured out, he just threw you off balance again.

Gojo’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he leaned in closer. “But I have to admit… I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. You’ve been on my mind.”

You froze, your heart racing. Was he serious?

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing,” you said, trying to sound composed.

Gojo just chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. “I think it’s a very good thing.” He leaned back again, giving you some space, but you could still feel the tension between you two growing thicker by the second.

The silence stretched on for a few moments before Gojo broke it again. “Tell me, why did you listened to me and came here..?”

You swallowed, feeling your throat dry. “uh—...” you didn't know what to say.

Gojo smirked again, clearly not buying it. “I think there’s more to it. You came over because you wanted to see me too. Don’t lie.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was he right? Were you just fooling yourself?

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Maybe.”

Gojo’s smirk widened as he moved closer again, this time brushing his hand lightly against yours. The contact sent a jolt through your body, and you immediately pulled your hand away, but Gojo didn’t miss it. “I knew it,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction.

You took a deep breath, trying to maintain control. “You don’t have to make this weird, Gojo.”

But he wasn’t listening anymore. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’m not making it weird, Missy. I’m just making it fun.”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was exactly what you had been trying to avoid, and now you were right here, in his apartment, with him so close you could feel the heat of his body.

You had no idea what was going to happen next, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t just a friendly hangout anymore.

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo #gojo x reader #jjk #izumkay fics #chapter 4 #knotted desires

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crispyadorablepotatochip · 3 days ago

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Well, I wrote a second chapter. 😅 Click below to read it!

Should old acquaintance be forgot

And never come to mind?

Should old acquaintance be forgot

And auld lang syne?

Auld Lang Syne, Robert Burns (1788)

The wind positively howls through the thin, broken window of Elphaba Thropp’s cottage. There’s no point in planning to fix it anymore after Fiyero has moved out. It isn’t something she can complain about and he can deny her fondly, this little push-and-pull song-and-dance they settled into—no longer lovers, but not what they used to be even further back when Elphaba wanted him badly from afar.

Fiyero can’t die, is the issue. The previous month he saw her hips go bad from walking up the mountain path and said: being frank, he cares too much to bear the sight of her growing even older. One day she will slip into death—as if she hasn’t been slipping into death since her very birth, she thinks, and harrumphs. But nevertheless they both understand that if he were a different person, less of who he is and more like who he pretended to be, he might be sitting next to her right now. He might be able to stand the world and not collapse like wet straw under the vast, sheer amount of it. He might love her less. They are both ghosts now, but he will never fade until their very existence is reduced to legend and rumor as transcribed by the Royal Historians of Oz. Who could blame him for skipping the end?

Elphaba flexes her hands. They smell like herbs from the garden even after hours after tending to it. Thyme and rosemary and Lurline-damned dill, which choked out everything else if she didn’t start ripping it out to pickle their vegetables. As could be expected, Fiyero made a horrible excuse for a scarecrow. The crows, in fact, were more likely to start pecking at his button-black eyes than they were to fly away, though the Crows were polite. She can live without him well enough—she can still garden and fetch water and tend to the world in subtle ways where it allows her to. Living won’t be that difficult, until eventually it is.

She doesn’t know what he’s doing that evening. His eventual plan was to escape to the fantasticalistic utopia of Canziss, unseekable except by sheer longing for it or happenstance; under the rainbow or home again. Fiyero left her right as the sun rose. The light fractured over the corners of his little burlap head into golden rays. He lifted his sack over his shoulder with a gnarled stick as a lever—the very image of a pilgrim. And then, like so many times before, he raised his arm for a casual two-finger salute, completely out of code. A last spit in the face to the Gale Force before he was gone.

The wind makes the room cold. Elphaba feels a resurgence of sentiment for when he really left—only for a heartbeat or two nailed into those crossed boards, beaten and broken. What a blessing never to know that feeling again. What a curse that he will, over and over until eventually foot-paths wear the dirt of the world down and it disappears at last.

As always, behind Elphaba’s closed eyes she imagines Glinda suffocating in layers of blue or pink tulle while she waves like a queen to her subjects. Elphaba can’t recall the last time she’s seen a newspaper; the Animals who stumble into her secretive chain of contact tell her that Glinda is less of a figurehead than was probably intended. She hears only trickles of information, too sparse to construct any nuanced understanding of Oz’s socio-political landscape. She knows, at least, that Glinda lowered tariffs on agricultural goods from an independant Munchkinland, formerly their national breadbasket. Glinda outlawed the consumption of Animal meat and reinstated Animal suffrage. She officiated cultural appreciation programs with the Vinkus. And so on. Each of these acts gave Elphaba and Fiyero weeks of discourse to chew on—her sitting close to the fireplace and him in a rocking chair facing the window. She doesn’t expect that he will say goodbye to Glinda before he’s in Canziss. But he will think of her. They both do. Always.

Elphaba cannot remember her dreams by morning, though Fiyero says she has nightmares. Cries out Glinda’s old name in two syllables—Ga-linda—near the dawn, begging her for whatever it is she wants, whether it’s crumpled sheets and sweat or simply her presence, how Glinda used to smile up at her like the sun.

She’s aware enough of herself to have realized that they might have been in love once. Certainly Elphaba is still in love with her; but it doesn’t mean much. What is love? Devotion? They certainly had that, but Glinda was always too selfish to give up the comfort of the world for good and Elphaba was always too selfish to give up the good of the world for comfort. Today she is tired enough to stop worrying about wickedness or goodness, resigning herself to the universal gray fate of moral impurity. So it goes.

There is no-one left except herself, now. She wonders how she can live with such loneliness pressing in on all sides, whipping at her cheeks like the wind. Glinda must be lonely too. In years prior Elphaba and Fiyero could amuse themselves together—but now what? Is she to grow more bitterness like weeds in the place behind her ribs? More sorrow, more heartache? She wishes she were less like Fiyero; she wishes she could bear it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62117947

it’s all coming back to me now by jrm8097 (aka me) featuring Glinda Upland/Elphaba Thropp

Word count: 816

Tags: Grief/Mourning, mainly musicalverse and movieverse but with characterization inspo from the books, Propaganda, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, implied comphet lesbian Glinda, Angst

Fic summary:

“In her hands crumples a poster extracted from inside Glinda’s silk pillowcase. Bold text, red upon green. Bring HER down, it reads. The color is faded in neat divisions where she’s folded and unfolded it over and over again in study. The drawing doesn’t look very much like the Witch, Glinda always thinks. Maybe the nose is sharper? The skin—a sicklier shade, smoother, more wax-like than human? She can’t identify the flaws with any accuracy now. It’s been too many years. But the nails, yellowed, are wrong.”

Or, Glinda the Good is too old for this now.

Press “more” for the full fic!

Sometimes a great wave of forgetfulness

Rises up and blesses me

And other times the sickness howls

And I despair of any remedy

Prowl Great Cain, The Mountain Goats (2011)

—

The palace lies shrouded; after dusk, the etchings in the walls—harsh, angular—send shadows cascading down them in rippled little lines. Perhaps the whole structure really is made of emerald, but Glinda hasn’t ever bothered to ask. And who could possibly answer the question? The details of its construction must have been recorded in rare books somewhere, but as a matter of propaganda, the Wizard enjoyed spectacle. Oz needed its Emerald Palace as a cultural focal point of luxury and power, representing the hopes and wishes of every citizen, etc, so he said—then quoted a man named Jung, whoever that was—and anyways it isn’t like Glinda could threaten it out of him now. The Wizard disappeared in his replica balloon many years ago.

As the nation’s de-facto leader Glinda denounces his tactics publicly, but she has to admit that they were effective. Even after all her efforts, the past remains blurry and vague like hidden through the rainbow sheen of a bubble. She tried to collect the truth of the Wizard’s doings—every motion he passed or secret allyship he formed—but there is so much to do and so little time to do it. Only a few years into her reign, she saw that it was impossible to determine history with any accuracy. She would simply have to go on without it.

The Witch was good at history, she remembers. But the Witch is dead.

Glinda sits on her bed, legs wrapped in the beaded brocade of her blankets, and observes how under moonlight her skin stretches and sags with the weight of time. She feels very old all of a sudden. So far displaced from the bright-eyed student of Shiz or the strained socialite grappling with politics she only barely understands.

In her hands crumples a poster extracted from inside Glinda’s silk pillowcase. Bold text, red upon green. Bring HER down, it reads. The color is faded in neat divisions where she’s folded and unfolded it over and over again in study. The drawing doesn’t look very much like her, Glinda always thinks. Maybe the nose is sharper? The skin—a sicklier shade, smoother, more wax-like than human? She can’t identify the flaws with any accuracy now. It’s been too many years. But the nails, yellowed, are wrong. They got them together at the Emerald City—the other’s idea, of course. Glinda with green gems on hers and the Witch with glittering geometric shapes mimicking the architecture of the palace. It must have been the last time she ever got them done; certainly no-one would service an enemy of the state, and Glinda knows the woman wouldn’t risk being captured simply for the sake of fashion. Although, in retrospect, she probably did enjoy fashion—her black dresses emphasized her shoulders and slimmed down at her waist fetchingly. Before everything happened, the Witch always sported fresh manicures. She had been sketched into collective unconsciousness with outstretched claws.

Glinda closes her eyes and remembers the smooth texture of them, running her hands up and down Elphaba Thropp’s. Elphaba. Elphie. Her mouth presses into a weak line at merely the thought of the name. She tries to avoid it. Most days, so busy with her duties, it’s easy. But at nighttime the shape of the words haunts her head like an echo against an empty cave, trapping it inside to ricochet off her every thought. When was the last time anyone had spoken them aloud? Who was the last person to love Elphie and say it?

She can’t even imagine what it must have been like for Fiyero. In the end, they gave him a state military funeral and dropped all charges posthumously—even though the body was missing, of course. He might have eventually made a life with Elphaba if he hadn’t been killed. Glinda doesn’t know; she used to curse his legacy and think he was stupid for trying. Now she understands she simply isn’t that sort of person. She cannot be perfectly in love. And Oz, that she were perfect.

Glinda’s eyes are dry. She raises the paper up and her mouth goes even more tense. Then, delicately, she presses it to the corner of the picture’s, head tilted slightly. For deniability’s sake, the two mouths—one cold, one warm—do not directly overlap. And suddenly the paper is wetted, uncontrollable, with a surge of emotion so intense and tender that Glinda never wants to name it, wants to shove it away and lock it into a secret cabinet of her mind. She is too old for this.

When she finally draws away it comes with the realization that her tears have pulled streaks in the delicate ink. The single remnant she has allowed herself to keep of the Witch melts. There is nothing she can do about it.

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trainsinanime · 2 months ago

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I'm still considering whether I'll do any non-vague posting about this, but let me just say: Writing long and erudite posts about what you think is wrong with a French children's TV show does not absolve you from the accusation that you're doing… let's call it entry-level analysis. A post can be long and well-written and still just regurgitate the most basic, boring points, and some of them plainly wrong.

Actually maybe don't read this, it may be too salty itself.

"Adrien is sometimes too pushy", "Marinette is sometimes a stalker", "Alya is a bad friend because she's unwilling to bully a random new girl just because Marinette said so", yeah, yeah, we've heard it. More than once. Way more than once. Yes, even with receipts and quotes. Trust me, it's been discussed. These are the kind of standard hot takes of someone who is doing their first attempt at critical analysis, and I actually think on some level we should encourage that. I do believe fandom should be beginner-friendly in all regards.

But man, it can be annoying to read sometimes. Especially when someone uses these hot takes to justify the existence of salt fics. Let me be 100% clear here: Salt fics are not a reaction to flaws in the source material. Salt fics are materially different from fix-it fics. This becomes more clear when you track these patterns over fandoms, and in particular look at my favourite example over in Fairy Tail (sic).

That fandom has a number of fandom-specific plots, like some "angel of death sends main character back to relive the origins with the knowledge they had later" (also very popular in Harry Potter back in the day), but also one that is just 100% salt specific: It's about Lisanna, a childhood friend of the male lead Natsu, coming back from the alternate universe she was trapped in, and displacing Lucy, the female lead, who eventually leaves, sad and depressed, while nobody cares about her. The sentiments are all the same: Feeling depressed, feeling annoyed that your friends are suddenly interested in the new girl, feeling like you don't belong anymore, leaving your friend group to punish them and so on.

There are some differences as well. This whole thing was back in the days of Fanfiction.net, when crossovers were in a whole other section of the site and thus not easily findable, so the whole "…I'm going to run away to somewhere where people want me" never had the frankly hilarious addition of "…and when I'm there I'm going to marry Batman!", which spawned a whole sub-fandom in ML (its fans tell me that it's not all salt; I haven't bothered to check).

But the most important difference: The inciting incident never happened in canon. People just thought it might. In canon, Lisanna did return from her alternate dimension… and then immediately became a forgotten background character. Lucy and Natsu remained just as in love as they always had been, which is to say, very much except they don't seem to notice it. Their relationship was never strained even for a moment.

And still people wrote these stories that are functionally salt fics, with the same storylines, same emotions, same beats. Because salt fics are not about fixing what is wrong with the show. If they were, they'd spend all their time discussing the terribly fucked-up metro map. Salt fics are about exploring feelings of loneliness, isolation, "why are you hanging out with here when I told you she sucks" and just pure spite, in a way that you don't really see outside of pop songs. That is the end goal. The characters and plots are just a way to get there, and they will get twisted as necessary.

This is critical for understanding and discussing the phenomenon of salt fics. Alya is not actually getting demonised because she acted a bit stupid in one episode where everybody but Marinette acted a bit stupid. It's incredibly weird to hear this argument, and then all the supporting quotes for it, in the same post, right underneath, are all:

Alya: Okay, but do you have any proof? Marinette (angrily): Arrghlwargl! No!

Like, come on. Alya is getting demonised because people really want to. Because it works for the kind of story. These stories assume that it's Alya's job to always support Marinette unconditionally, and that any deviation from that, no matter how minor, is a highest order betrayal. And then they go full Count of Monte Cristo on her.

(Well, not really, that could almost be fun. Nobody ever has Marinette imprisoned for fourteen years, get out with the help of a hypnotist monk, use a buried pirate treasure to buy an island, then manipulate a telegraph line to… It's all just torn notebooks and such. Boring.)

The idea that people hate Alya for mostly valid reasons is just plain wrong and shows that you've missed a huge part of what's happening in the fandom. You could use all the Alya hate as an entry point into analysing what her role is in the show, how people in the fandom perceive her role, how people in the salt dom perceive her role, how her role and her personality shift depending on the needs of an episode at the expense of a consistent character and so on. There is some great analysis in that direction out there already, but more wouldn't hurt. "Alya is a bad friend sometimes because of Chameleon" remains an uninteresting take no matter how well you word it, though.

And that's just Alya. Adrien hate, for example, is its entirely own field. In short: Yes, some characters in this fandom are over-hated. Try digging deeper next time.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fandom salt #this ended up being longer than I intended

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personthattoleratesme · 1 year ago

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So, you want to study new phannies?

well, same, i don't know what happened to me either but let me try to explain, you might find it amusing

you see, I'm 19 now, so back when they first were active i wasn't enough chronically online to be obsessed with any internet personality. (for reference, i was five when dan posted his first video.)

then covid and lockdowns happened and through some twists and turns i was catapulted deep into the 1D fandom, more specifically the larry portion of it. it was incredibly toxic and unhealthy, but it was also so much fun and taught me a lot about fandom and shipping culture. i eventually moved on into much healthier fandom spaces and honestly thought (and hoped) i was over being a fan of Real Living Human Beings.

now, i had obviously heard of dan and phil before but never watched any of their videos. so when they announced the return of dapg and everyone here freaked out about it i thought, eh, might as well take a look.

i don't know what it was about them, their dynamic, the casual happy queerness, the way they love and care for each other, their little stupid quirks, dan's way with words, but it pulled me in so damn quickly. so far i have no regrets, watching them is so nice and comforting.

however it also felt so intoxicatingly familiar to when i first got into larry, which scared me at first because i did not want to go back to anything like that time of my life. by now i have realised that this is different. it feels like a better version of whatever i had going on back then, because this time there is no need for wild speculations and intrusive theorising. them being themselves and sharing what they want to share is more than enough. maybe it's just hopeful thinking but i feel like it is actually possible to have a healthy parasocial relationship with them.

i might have missed it just a teeny tiny bit.

also!!! i feel like i picked the exact right time for this new obsession because there's so much going on, it's so fun and i amm excited for the future!

dunno if the tumblr phandom is the right place for me, right now i am pretty content with just lurking and watching you guys do your thing

with love,

a new phannie

first of all i want to say welcome new phannie! i hope you enjoy and benefit from the enrichment of our little corner of the internet.

i really enjoyed reading your story. as soon as i read larry i had a visceral full-body reaction ngl, i'm so sorry you went through that.

you have really chosen an excellent time to become a phannie. the toxicity is mostly out of the fandom, dnp are in control of the narrative now, and we don't have to deal with all the phan proof shit anymore.

it gives me so much joy that nowadays their queer happiness can be a factor in becoming a fan of theirs. there's just something so special about how after everything they've been through - and everything we've been through as phandom - that there is now this wonderfully queer and happy space that can feel safe and inviting for young queer people.

i really hope that this parasocial relationship with them will turn out to be what you're looking for. when i was a teenager they helped me through so much, and now that we're all older and have been able to grow as people i think we genuinely have a very good and healthy parasocial relationship with them as a fandom.

thank you so much for your sharing your story, i genuinely find it so fascinating to learn about 2023 phannies.

you're totally welcome to lurk here for as long as you want. i was a lurker for a long time cause phannie tumblr kind of scared me. i used to only exist in the anon asks of other users and feel free to do the same.

now i want to know: what was your first dnp video?

#this ended up being longer than i intended #and originally i had a much longer part about larries vs phannies but i decided to not make enemies today #anon ask #answered

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shesnake · 7 months ago

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hello here's my little Armand essay. spoilers for season 2 and content warnings for discussions of racism, csa, intimate partner violence.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #armand #armand iwtv #the vampire armand #assad zaman #tv #dsg #lgbt media #writing #d #crit #this ended up being way longer than I intended but it's like 30% context for accessibility <3

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solavellan--hell · 12 days ago

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Another reason that I find appeal in the dynamic of Solavellan:

Ever since Solas took a body, he has never really had the chance to be a person.

He has been a soldier, a traitor, a leader, a symbol, a liberator, a scary story you tell to little elven children so that they don’t misbehave, the list goes on. He has always been the means to some sort of end, both for other people and for his own self (evident by the way he constantly disregards his own wants and needs). Once the mask of Fen’Harel is on, he becomes an idea. This is something he enforces himself, because this is all he has known to be, and it is the only way he knows to achieve his duty.

And then Inquisition comes around. This time, to achieve his duty, he is forced to pretend the mask does not exist. He is just some random lowly apostate who knows a lot about the Fade. And after some time, as an unintended consequence of having to conceal the persona of the Dread Wolf, he gets to see what it would be like to live without it. He has found companionship amongst spirits before, but that aligns with his nature as a spirit, not his nature as a person. As part of the Inquisition, he gets his first taste of not having to be something greater than himself, but simply exist in his body.

Of course, it’s not enough. The mask is still there and so is his responsibility to fix his mistake. He does not allow himself to forget fully. When he is with Lavellan, however, his resolve falters dangerously, which is why he ultimately has to leave her behind. But for that limited time, she is the one person that has been the closest to what he would have been as a person, simply existing in the context of himself.

Lavellan relies on him, but doesn’t push him or use him. She lets him help as much as he is willing. She gives him agency over his position. She is the first person that he lets close to him who does so. Even in their love life, she makes her feelings known, but lets him make the final decision. She kisses him, and immediately pulls away so that he can retract if he wishes. She asks him not to go by gently holding his arm. She tells him she is willing to give their relationship a try, and lets him take his time. She is firm with her love for him, but never holds him down.

The only exception to this, in my opinion, is Felassan. Though Felassan views Solas as friend first and leader second, he ultimately tells Solas that he has to keep up the mask of the Dread Wolf if he intends to be victorious, as we read in this codex entry.

This is paralleled by Lavellan telling Rook that the world may know him as the Dread Wolf, but she knows him as her heart. An identity that he created as a manifestation of his love for her. She ends up being the only person (besides from Varric) that separates Fen’Harel, the idea, from Solas, the person. A flawed person, but a person nonetheless.

And this is what I imagine for them post-ending. He has a task, yes, but one he chose with his newfound sense of agency. And with Lavellan beside him, he can finally freely exist as simply a person, love and be loved as simply a person. Not an idea.

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #dragon age: the veilguard #solavellan #solas #dragon age solas #dai #datv #this ended up being a bit longer than I intended #there’s many other things I want to talk about that I kept out of this so it wouldn’t be 50 pages long #like Lavellan mentioning him leaving her breadcrumbs to find him and stop him #or Mythal’s role in the ending #I’ll probably talk about them separately

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mistyffa · 6 months ago

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Something I've been thinking about a lot recently is working with another feeder to blow up a feedee...

Especially if they're starting at the same size as us. Just having a cute NEET girl move in with us, her body all tight and toned. It starts small with my partner and I cooking her bigger meals than she's used to, always with a healthy slab of butter. There's always snacks lying around the house, specially curated to her tastes so she forgets she's even overeating. After a few months she's developed a nice, soft layer of pudge over her entire body, her hips are a little wider, a bit of a double chin is coming in, her belly pushes against her leggings and dresses, and she's started to slow down a little.

Then the weight starts to pile on faster. Depending on each of our moods, one of us feeds her more intently while the other comforts her and takes care of the house. Sometimes for fun we'll whisper about her progress just loud enough for her to hear us from the next room. We talk about how much thicker and softer her thighs are, how her tits have gotten fuller, how cute she looks when she's snacking on the couch. Then we act surprised when we walk into the den and see her double-fisting a soda and an ice cream sandwich with a sly grin on her face. By this point she's solidly chubby; her thighs and belly jiggle when she walks, and she hasn't quite realized the wardrobe she started out with is much too small for her now. She totally fills her athletic shorts, which nowadays she only uses to lounge around the house, and she always needs one of us to help clasp her bra.

Fast forward another year or so, and she's completely puffed up. She'd put on at least a hundred pounds and gone through two wardrobes. The first time she popped the buttons off a pair of pants, we went out for dinner to celebrate, but now it's become a regular occurrence. Her days all blend together for the most part. My partner and I would set up our work schedules so one of us will always be home with her, preparing her meals and feeding her so she doesn't have to waste any calories standing by the stove or moving the food from her plate to her mouth. Essentially every waking moment for her is spent completely stuffed. On weekends, when we're all home together, we like to have a little extra fun. My partner and I would cook her at least five full meals a day, each a couple thousand calories, with lots of snacks and sweets in between. When she's not eating she's splayed out on the couch, puffing on her wax pen. One of us cuddles her, rubbing her belly and squeezing her tits, whispering teasing words into her ear. The other kneels on the floor between her legs, holding her gut out of the way while she eats her out. Then the timer goes off, and it's back to pigging out.

At night, we'd stand her up in front of a mirror and point out every new stretch mark and curve. We'd talk to each other about how much we loved her huge hips and her hanging gut, how cute her plush arms are, how fun it is to cup her double chin when we kiss her. We never address her directly so she can squirm in her overwhelming horniness. Sometimes we like to pull out her old clothes and help her try them on. Lately it's taken both of us just to pull her old tshirts down over her belly and breasts, at least twice as wide as they used to be.

She loves it though. She loves the attention, the humiliation, the constant care, the approval she gets when she outgrows another outfit. She loves nothing more than lounging around all day, stuffing herself to her heart's content, smoking pot, and watching TV.

And we love it too, of course. Watching her grow and settle into her new body, then do it all again. Doing everything for her. Talking about our plans for her. Our next goal is to make her big enough that she needs help standing, which doesn't seem too far off, seeing as she's already huffing and puffing every time she needs to get up on her own. And we can't wait.

#this ended up being a lot longer than i intended 😅#here's hoping u like it tho !#feeding kink #female fat admirer #female feeder #ffa #soft feedism #weight gain #wg kink #female feedee #feedee belly #feedee girl #feedee encouragement #fat belly

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cowboygideon · 6 months ago

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I love so much how every time we see art and patrick before knee-gate, they're eating (or drinking) something "unhealthy." Like the hotdogs and the churros and the cigarettes, of course (which I'm now realizing are all phallic symbolism LMAO) plus the coca-colas and the beer. Because it just furthers this idea that Patrick is a kind of corrupting force to Art, who we know, as Ice, is a very controlled person. And then, during their final game, you have Art with his fuckass protein paste, or whatever, but Patrick with the banana, which obviously isn't unhealthy, but still something much more akin to the food of your average person—and he offers it to him! Jokingly, yeah, because he knows he's not going to take it, but also, like offering his hand, inviting Art to take part in his own corruption once again. Plus, a banana?? Could they have found a more dick-like food? Insanity.

Also I like that the one scene we have of the throuple in a room together (the party notwithstanding), Tashi is also drinking the beer. Because Patrick stokes the fire in her too, brings out a part of her that Art alone doesn't.

I was thinking about this because I saw a cut scene in the script, where Tashi and Art smoke a cigarette, and I found it really interesting. Because, for one, I understand why they'd cut it, since such a big part of the artashi dynamic is restraint, repression, both pushed further into the frigid parts of their personalities, so having them do something like that without Patrick around might remove some of that. But ALSO I think it was such a good scene because they both start coughing during it, and it sort of feels like their trying to make up for Patrick's absence with each other, but they fail. They need Patrick to push them completely out of their comfort zones—or else they'll just keep toeing that line between the familiar and the unfamiliar, safety and freedom.

Anyway, in conclusion, welcome back Adam and Eve and that fucking snake, enjoy your apple [polyamory].

#this ended up being so much longer than i intended #i know full well nobody gives a fuck BUT I DO #patrick zweig #the man that you are #challengers #challengers 2024 #art donaldson #tashi duncan #artrick #artashi #analysis #i guess??#throuple truther #fire and ice #patashi #also art is eve just throwing that out there

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uhbasicallyjustmilex · 2 months ago

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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 19th december, 2022 ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

this was my view the first time i listened to arctic monkeys. i was sitting in a parked car in the middle of a downpour, waiting for a friend who was at an appointment. i had an hour to kill, and i didn't feel like reading my book. i scrolled restlessly through my spotify library, and, on a whim, decided to listen to 505. it'd been on my playlist of 'to listen to' forever, but for some reason i'd never felt drawn to it until that particular afternoon. i pressed play, and when the song finished i pressed play again. and again. and again. i had goosebumps and my heart was full of something music hadn't evoked in me for a very long time.

i found the 'essential arctic monkeys' playlist and listened to everything i could, suddenly wishing that i had more than an hour, that my friend's appointment would go on and on so that i could stay here in this magical little bubble forever, feeling my heart opening itself up to something brand new and yet hearing parts of myself i'd known forever in the words, like they were somehow waiting for me to come and find them. it felt like someone had switched on a light. like something had come in and reignited a spark i didn't know i'd lost, and i was suddenly glowing with it. nothing had ever spoken to my creativity in the same way; after a long time squashing or trying to reshape it, i could feel it coming to life again, feel it being spoken to so vividly by the music it was as though they were having a direct conversation.

i love a lot of bands and a lot of music, but i've never fallen in love with any music as quickly or as deeply as i did with arctic monkeys. i don't think there's any other band that i've had such a profound first listening experience with, where i remember exactly where i was and how it felt. but the memory of listening to 505 and crying lightning and don't sit down 'cause i've moved your chair and arabella in that parked car, watching the rain slide down the glass and smudge the dusk, is something i know i'll remember forever. i could *feel* my world shifting on its axis, and, looking back, that instinct was totally spot on. completely out of the blue and in a way i never expected, arctic monkeys reunited me with my creativity in a way i'd needed for years. within days of listening to them for the first time, i'd started writing my novel, and a couple of months down the line i'd written over 40k. it was the most i'd written in years, and that's not even to mention the fanfic that rapidly became the most fun and fulfilling escapism i'd discovered in a long time. i felt myself seeing and connecting with the world around me in a brand new way that felt exciting and vivid, strange and beautiful and full of subtle, unnoticed meaning. it felt as though i had suddenly been given permission to write the world the way i experienced it, rather than trying to capture on paper what i thought other people wanted it to be.

as if all that wasn't enough, their music has also allowed me to connect with some incredibly special people and make wonderful friends both here and in real life.

it's truly hard to put into words the profound and unexpected impact this band has had on my life and just how much solace their music brings me, but at the very least i wanted to recognise that by acknowledging the anniversary of the first day i listened to them. it's a wonderful reminder of how the smallest action can change your life, and how those changes you need can find their way to you in ways you'd never have foreseen. i will be forever grateful to the serendipity of boredom and spotify playlists on that rainy afternoon in december 💖

#god this ended up being a waaaaay longer ramble than i intended #and i still don't feel like i've expressed what i really want to say #but i think everyone here probably understands 🫶#thank you to anyone who read their way to the end of this lol #i'm going to compensate for how soppy and serious it was by going and reblogging a bunch of cleveland gifs before i go to bed #arctic monkeys #alex turner #milex #tlsp #lulu posts

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hikamancer · 19 days ago

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A Perspective on Arthur, Dutch and Hosea

As the game progresses, there are a lot of ways Arthur becomes more and more similar to Hosea, most especially in chapter 6. Much like Hosea, Arthur questions and confronts Dutch on behalf of the well being of the other gang members. Like Hosea, he feels and expresses remorse for the decisions he's made in life and regrets that he has little time to change things and make them right. All throughout chapters 1-4, you can hear Hosea having heavy bouts of coughing, and it's implied that, like Arthur, he's dying of an illness. Hell, Arthur even looks kinda like Hosea when he was younger.

But perhaps the clearest example of their similarities is when Dutch outright says it during this conversation in chapter 5.

"You sound like Hosea. I miss... him."

What stands out to me about this line and its delivery is how dismissive it feels. When Dutch hears Arthur expressing concern about the rest of the gang, reminding him of the potential of costing more lives with his recklessness, he doesn't fully hear it as Arthur speaking. He hears Hosea's words, and it strikes grief in him, but he doesn't respond to what Arthur is saying.

I think that to Dutch, Hosea and Arthur always had their specific places/roles at his side. Dutch and Hosea co-founded the gang, united by a common dream. They'd been close friends for 20 years, and Hosea was always there as his consultant. He respected Hosea perhaps the most out of anyone in the gang, and he was one of the few people who he'd actually listen to and seek advice from.

On the other hand, Arthur is the boy whom he and Hosea raised. They brought him up into their life of crime, teaching him, instilling their values into him, and he became their protégé and the gang's lead enforcer. That's the way it was for Dutch. He was the leader, Hosea was the right hand and the brains, Arthur was the left hand and the brawn. And he loved and relied on them both for what they were. But while his love for Hosea was one born out of a more genuine respect of equals, his love for Arthur came with taking him very much for granted. Like a loyal guard dog.

But now Hosea is gone, and Dutch has lost the only voice that kept him in check. The disastrous Saint Denis bank heist and Guarma have left Dutch completely disarmed, but instead of actually reflecting on the deaths he's responsible for, and recognizing what's at stake for the rest of the gang, he instead scrambles to reassert himself and continue trying to "win the chess game" so to speak ("Maybe life ain't such a thing to cling onto so tightly").

(It's worth noting that the chess moves Dutch recites before intiating this conversation is an actual maneuever called "the Dutch Defense," where you sacrifice all your pieces to win.)

But Arthur has started to see things beyond just Dutch and his game, especially after his TB diagnosis. Though Arthur, at his heart, remains loyal to Dutch, he was also loyal to Hosea and, consciously or not, espoused himself to Hosea's ideals of prioritizing the safety and morality of the gang ("I guess I'm more interested in saving lives than winning at chess").

Dutch, however, does not properly recognize Arthur's shift in perspective. Throughout chapter 6, he views Arthur's many attempts at saving those around him as acts of disloyalty and betrayal. Because Arthur's role has not changed in his mind at all. Arthur is still meant to be his muscle, his workhorse, to have his back, because that's what he relies on him for. But Arthur is speaking and acting on ideas above that station. "You sound like Hosea." And so he dismisses Arthur's concerns, dismisses his actions as disloyalty. And it hurts him. All he can see is Arthur changing and turning on him, and that breaks his heart. And he responds to these feelings by detaching himself from Arthur, lashing out at him in anger and disappointment, clinging ever tighter to his own interests and leaning on Micah, a blatant yesman to all of his reckless actions.

It's not until the very end that Dutch is able to realize those feelings. When Arthur, beaten and dying, is lying at his feet. Warning him of Micah, telling him how he gave him all he had, that he tried so hard to save everyone and was still trying to save Dutch. This boy that he raised, that he loved for 20 years, gave him everything. And Dutch did nothing but take advantage of him until it was too late.

I think in that moment, not only did he see Arthur dying, he finally saw Hosea dying in front of him as well. Only then, once everything else had fallen apart, did he realize how much he loved Arthur, how much he loved Hosea, how much they and everyone else who died loved him, and that it was all his fault. And being confronted with that reality, seeing it in the fading of Arthur's eyes, hearing it in his last breaths, was too much for him to bear.

So he just walks away.

#this ended up being way longer than i intended #but istg this is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my thoughts on dutch and arthur's relationship #i firmly believe in dutch's love for arthur despite his deep manipulation and abuse of him #he loved that boy and gave him his life #but he also ruined his life #and arthur still loved him and was loyal to him til the very end!#they make me throw up #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #vandermorgan #text post #blog hika

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harleyquilt · 2 months ago

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Human!Kaneki x Ghoul!Touka hc:

They're at that weird stage where they've gotten close, but are having a hard time making their relationship official. Kaneki feels it would be wrong to ask, thinking he's already undeserving of so much, much less of Touka's love. Touka, meanwhile, has accepted that she does have feelings for him, but whenever she thinks to tell him, she freezes up, the words stuck in her throat. And so they stay in this awkward state for some time.

Frustrated, Touka decides to ask Yoriko for advice. Not wanting to admit her feelings aloud, she tries to present it as a completely made-up scenario that randomly came to her mind at that moment. She's already blushing by the time she finishes her question.

Yoriko knows better, of course, but isn't aware of Touka being a ghoul, so she tells Touka that she thinks cooking is a great way to show someone their intent. Touka frowns hearing this and noticing her reaction, Yoriko offers to help Touka if that's what she'd like to do. Embarrassed, Touka immediately protests and insists that this has nothing to do with her, unfortunately shooting down Yoriko's much needed aid.

Later, Touka skims through recipe after recipe, from breakfast to dinner, from savoury to sweet, but in the end, she's left stumped, knowing little about the differences in all of these meals. She's tempted to search for 'romantic' meals, but the thought alone embarrasses her too much to try. In a bid of desperation, she eventually texts Kaneki, asking him what his favourite meal is. He responds quickly, saying it is hamburger steak, and after a minute, he asks her why she wanted to know. Touka doesn't answer, instead focusing all of her attention into finding a good, easy recipe for her to make.

It doesn't take her long to find all the ingredients, and setting the list of instructions to her side, she stares at the counter, daunted by this new challenge. Opening each packet of food, her lips twist together and she presses the back of her hand against her nose. She swallows and slowly lowers her hand, reminding herself why she's doing this, and finding her resolve, she forces herself to prepare the dish.

The next day, she finds Kaneki alone in the staff room, and noticing her, he turns to say hi. Before he can, though, Touka presents him a small bento box, frowning and her lips pursed, but a warm, pink blush across her cheeks. He's surprised, shocked even, and when he reaches to take it, Touka immediately pulls it away, her intensity quickly melting into shame. She confesses that it might taste terrible, that she had no idea what it was she was doing, that this was a stupid mistake.

Kaneki smiles and takes the bento box from her, opening it to find a small, overcooked hamburger steak and a rabbit drawn on top with a drizzle of sauce. Kaneki's heart flutters and his eyes crease as his smile grows, tears threatening to fall. Touka is taken aback, yet she doesn't make any remark, watching him wipe away his tears before confessing that he didn't expect this at all. He takes some chopsticks and tastes it, letting out a small laugh when he does.

"What...?" Touka asks, almost cautious.

Kaneki takes another small piece to eat. "I'll show you how to make it next time."

Touka snatches the box and threatens to throw it away, but Kaneki protests, insisting he loves it all the same.

After a while, he finally asks, "why did you do this for me? You don't owe me anything, you know."

"Idiot." She lightly kicks his shin, watching him finish his bento. "I wanted to show you..." Her voice trails off.

Kaneki tilts his head. "Show me what?"

She looks away. "My, uh...my intent."

"What do--"

"I like you." She mutters, gripping the edge of the table she's leaning against. "Idiot."

"O-Oh." Kaneki looks back down at the empty bento, his cheeks suddenly very warm. A rush of thoughts pass through his mind, but in the end, all he says is, "I wasn't sure."

"And now that you know?"

He rises from his seat and stands in front of her, taking her hand. Looking up, she can see that he's as red as a beet, and his hand trembles while holding up her hand, but he looks at her with clear, steady eyes.

"Will you g-go on a date with me, Touka-chan?"

She tenses, a small noise in her throat, and her fingers tighten around Kaneki's. She swallows and responds with a small, timid nod.

"Okay," she breathes. Kaneki, too, lets out a sigh of relief. "I would...I would like that. And maybe afterwards...you can show me how to make that stupid dish."

#this ended up being longer than intended #I was also tempted to make her bake a cake #she'd be even more embarrassed about that I think if she still remembers it years later canonically #maybe thatll be a different hc idk #tokyo ghoul #touka kirishima #ken kaneki #touken #kanetou #headcanon #ficlet #fluff #my writing

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dragonanon · 1 year ago

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can you do a chapter based on your Death!Reader and God!Brother hcs where Death wakes up from her sleep and goes to Heaven to check up on her brother's children and everyone is obviously terrified of her?

Hmmm…I’m not typically one to do requests because the urge to write is so sporadic and random for me. BUT I have been thinking about the initial confrontation in Heaven for a while now, so here are some head cannons for that. >w>

——

- It’s a typical perfect day in Heaven…Until it isn’t. Having seen what had become of your realm and learning Heaven was to blame for it, you’re on your way to rip someone a new asshole.

- Screams erupt from the Angels as the ground begins to shake and the bright sky darkens. Sera and Emily rush out just in time to join the Angels in watching in abject terror as a massive pool of darkness forms on the ground, and from it slowly rises a menacing figure.

- The figure is massive, and it only continues to rise until even the tallest building barely reaches its hips. Its six long horns twist and arch toward the sky, only making the figure appear even taller. Upon reaching its full height, the figure spreads its six mighty wings, each one sporting a menacingly sharp claw and all as shrouded in darkness as the rest of the figure.

- As its wings blot out the sun further, the figure opens its many blazing white eyes; two where you’d normally expect to see eyes, a third in the center of its forehead, and dozens more scattered across its wings and body.

- Sera lost all color as soon as she saw the figure rising, and somehow lost even MORE color when the figure opened all of its eyes. She looks like she shit herself, and Emily is panicking, trying desperately to get Sera to tell her what’s going on; she’s never seen the older Seraph look so terrified.

- With this unimaginably imposing figure now looming over Heaven, Adam decides this is the PERFECT time to attack, having been dumb enough to think this was a Demon attacking Heaven.

- The exorcists fly up towards the figure, ready to attack. This only angers the figure further however, and with a rumble that shakes the ground itself, the figure merely flaps its wings; creating a gust of wind so powerful it knocks all the exorcists back onto the ground.

- It’s at this point Sera FINALLY snaps out of it, rushing to Adam in mad panic and damn nearly strangling him while telling him to call off the exorcists. Which he does, albeit with some reluctance.

- This doesn’t stop him from asking Sera what gives, and her response is “Adam you absolute fucking fool, that is DEATH!”

- Now it’s Adam’s turn to look like he shit himself. “Death? As in, “the big man himself’s younger sister” Death?? As in, “the baddest bitch you’ve EVER seen, but can kill ANYTHING by just touching it” Death??? THAT fucking Death????” Ignoring that last statement, Sera’s frantic nodding in confirmation confirms to Adam that he has indeed fucked up. Big time. Adam then proceeds to lose all color in his face and practically cowers behind Sera as she cautiously approaches you, mentally preparing herself to be reaped on the spot.

- Back to your perspective however, you’re fucking PISSED. So pissed that you don’t even notice or stop to think that most of Heaven’s inhabitants likely have NO CLUE who you are, and are likely legitimately fearing for their lives. Meanwhile for all the older Angels and Angelic beings who’ve been alive long enough to have known you before you went to sleep, like Sera, they’re all still very much afraid, but it’s more in line with the “oh shit mom’s home early and she saw the mess we made in the kitchen, she’s gonna kill us!” kind of fear.

- The fact that they sent exorcists at you makes you even angrier. Like for starters, how fucking weak do they think you are that you could be stopped by just some low level Angelic beings with pointy sticks?? And then the audacity to even attack you to begin with, like THEY weren’t the ones who fucked up and you’re just some kind of strange intruder needing to be slain?? The INDIGNITY of it all!

- Your voice booms throughout Heaven, making even the ground tremble at the sheer intensity of it. “WHO DID IT?” You’re met with only silence, so you ask again with more force. “MY REALM IS A COMPLETE MESS WITH MILLIONS OF DISPLACED SOULS RIGHT NOW. SO AGAIN I ASK, WHICH ONE OF YOU FLAT FOOT CHILDREN DID THIS?!”

- Sera replies, voice trembling slightly. “Are…Are you talking about the exterminations? “IF THAT IS WHAT YOU’RE CALLING THIS MOCKERY OF MY WORK, THEN YES.” Sera looks visibly confused and concerned. “But…That SHOULDN’T be possible!…The exterminations KILL the Sinners; their souls should be gone, not stuck in Limbo! There has to be some kind of mistake here!”

- Hearing this, you can’t help but let out a brief but harsh cackle, making the ground jolt from the abruptness. “DEAR YOU HONESTLY THINK A SOUL COULD BE SO EASY TO DESTROY? A SOUL IS A POWERFUL THING FOR A REASON CHILD, IF THEY WERE SO EASILY DESTROYED THEN NONE OF YOU WOULD BE STANDING HERE BEFORE ME NOW!…SO ONCE AGAIN, WHO. DID. THIS?! AND SO HELP ME, IF I HAVE TO ASK AGAIN THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES.”

- Whilst Sera is dumbfounded by this revelation, Adam sees a golden opportunity to save his ass and points at Sera. “I-It was her! Yeah it was all fucking HER idea! I-I tried to tell her it was stupid, b-but she just REALLY wanted to go down and kill those bast- Demons! Yeah she REALLY wanted to kill all those poor Demons, can ya fucking believe this shit?!”

- Before Sera can defend herself, the darkness seems to intensify, and she can just FEEL every one of your eyes glaring daggers into her. “SERA…YOU SIGNED OFF ON THIS?? YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF, I EXPECTED SO MUCH BETTER FROM YOU! I LEFT EXPLICIT INSTRUCTIONS FOR HEAVEN AND HELL TO WORK TOGETHER TO SORT SOULS FOR THIS VERY REASON! AND NOW BECAUSE OF THESE BARBARIC “EXTERMINATIONS”, YOU’VE COMPLETELY DESTROYED THE BALANCE I WORKED SO HARD TO CREATE AND MAINTAIN. I HOPE YOU’RE PROUD OF YOURSELF, BECAUSE I’M CERTAINLY NOT!”

- It’s a strange and mildly amusing sight to see the head seraph get scolded like a misbehaving child by this massive dark entity. But here we are anyway!

- At one point during the tongue lashing you’re giving to your niece, Emily buts in and asks for an explanation for what’s going on; having not heard Sera’s previous explanation to Adam apparently.

- Your temper flares for a brief moment, and you just about launched into another lecture at the little shit who DARED interrupt you. But upon seeing Emily, you softened considerably, seeing that she was young and TRULY didn’t understand what was happening.

- “AH…I APOLOGIZE DEAR, BUT I DON’T THINK I RECOGNIZE YOU…COME CLOSER LITTLE ONE SO I CAN SEE YOU.” You slowly crouch down and lower your hand, offering Emily to climb onto it. Emily is hesitant, obviously a bit scared of you. But Sera encourages her to go to you, she knows that you won’t hurt Emily and it’s high time she meets her aunt anyway.

- With the small seraph in hand, you stand back up to your full height and bring her closer to your face. Now FINALLY able to see her properly, you speak. “YOU’RE FAIRLY YOUNG FOR A SERAPH…YOU MUST’VE BEEN BORN DURING MY SLUMBER, AND IN THAT CASE I APOLOGIZE THIS HAD TO BE OUR FIRST MEETING. TELL ME, WHAT IS YOUR NAME CHILD?”

- Her voice trembling slightly, Emily tells you her name and then asks who you are and asks if you’re a seraph like her and Sera. The innocent question gets a genuine laugh out of you, and despite it shaking the ground it’s a lovely sound. “OH CHILD, I AM FAR FROM BEING A SERAPH. THOUGH I CAN SEE WHY YOU WOULD THINK THAT. YOU WERE ALL MADE IN MY IMAGE AFTER ALL.”

- Seeing the visible confusion on Emily’s face, you elaborated. “LONG AGO, YOUR FATHER WANTED TO SHOW HIS APPRECIATION OF ME. SO FOR HIS FIRST SENTIENT CREATIONS, THE SERAPHIM, HE BASED THEM ALL ON ME.” Emily looks surprised, and follows up by asking how you know God.

- You give another genuine laugh at her question. “SWEETY I’M HIS YOUNGER SISTER, I AM “DEATH”, THE GODDESS OF WELL…DEATH. BUT YOU CAN CALL ME “D” OR “AUNT D”, MOST OF YOUR SIBLINGS DO.” Emily’s mind is blown “Wait! YOU’RE aunt D?! Sera told me all kinds of stories about you before you went to sleep, like the time you got into an argument with Father over his invention of the “Snuggie”. I never thought I’d get to meet you!”

- “IT WAS LITERALLY JUST A BATHROBE YOU WORE BACKWARDS, AND I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE HE THOUGHT THAT WAS AT ALL CLEVER.” You huff, feeling amusement and mild irritation at that memory.

- “SPEAKING OF YOUR FATHER, WHERE IS HE?” Sera speaks up, having managed to recollect herself, and explains that no one has seen or heard a word from God since before you went to sleep.

- The irritated snarl that leaves your throat sounds like thunder and shakes the ground, making everyone tremble with fear. “THAT LAZY BASTARD HAD ONE FUCKING JOB, WATCH HIS DAMN KIDS, AND HE COULDN’T EVEN DO THAT?! NO WONDER THIS ALL HAPPENED THEN, HE LEFT YOU ALL UNSUPERVISED!”

- Bending over, you carefully set Emily down before standing back up. “I HATE TO CUT MY INTRODUCTION SHORT, BUT APPARENTLY I NEED TO GO AND HAVE A LITTLE CHAT WITH YOUR FATHER.” You stare pointedly at Sera and continue. “DON’T THINK THIS MEANS YOU’RE ENTIRELY OFF THE HOOK EITHER. WHILE YES, YOUR FATHER’S ABSENCE IS MOSTLY TO BLAME FOR THIS DEBACLE, YOU ALSO KNOW BETTER THAN TO DO SUCH TERRIBLE THINGS. WE WILL BE DISCUSSING THIS MORE ONCE I FINISH WITH YOUR FATHER, AND IF I COME BACK AND FIND OUT YOU HELD ANY MORE OF THESE “EXTERMINATIONS” I WILL TURN YOU INTO A HOLLOW! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?” Looking at the ground, Sera nods and says “Yes Auntie D…”

- Satisfied with that response, you bid everyone farewell and slowly melt back into the ground, completely disappearing. Once you’re gone, the sunlight is back and it’s as if you were never there.

- Now the seraphim have to soothe the murmuring crowd while Sera starts attempting to get in contact with Lucifer to let him know that “Hey Aunt D found out about the exterminations and is NOT happy about it. She just got done yelling at me, and now she’s on her way to go read Father the riot act. Just warning you now because once she’s done with him, you’re probably gonna be next.”

- Lucifer receives the message and is now frantically trying to create peace offerings in hopes they’ll make you more amicable, while also preemptively planning his own funeral in case the peace offerings don’t work.

- Meanwhile in God’s palace, God is currently relaxing in an elaborate hot tub and watching American football on an absurdly large TV whilst drinking wine like it’s water. He’s pretty drunk and having a grand time yelling at the TV.

- His fun is interrupted through by you literally kicking in the door and storming in, you’ve shrunken down to your smaller size so all your features are actually visible now and not covered in darkness as you glare at your older brother with an intensity that could peel paint.

- God startled momentarily before seeing it’s you and giving you a dopey smile. He’s also in his smaller form, so that makes things slightly easier for you. “Ohhh heeeyyy Death!…You startled me thereee…It’zzzz beeen awhillle, huh?” You scoff at his slurred speech, in disbelief that he could be so drunk right now.

- “Yes, it HAS been awhile. Good to see that you still choose to spend your days getting completely wasted instead of tending to your children.” You answer tersely, and God rolls his eyes. “Zzstill the saaame old ssstuck up bitch…Tha kidzz are fahine Deee! Yyyoou should cohme haave ah drink wib meee.”

- You ignore God’s offer for a drink and cut right to the chase. “No, your kids are NOT fine! When was the last time you checked in on them?! Do you even know what they’re up to right now??!” God dismissively waves his hand and chugs more wine. “I juzzt checked on thhhem ah couple decades aghooo..They’rrre prohably makinnn neeewh liffe.”

- “God that is a load of shit, and you know it! I was JUST down in Heaven, and the seraphim told me that you haven’t seen or spoken to ANY of them since I left to take my nap eons ago! And furthermore, while you’ve been in here drinking the day away, your children have COMPLETELY destroyed the balance we created! They’ve been mass slaughtering Demons annually for millennia now, and Limbo is a complete disaster right now because of this!” Hearing this, God looks down at his bottle of whine, embarrassed, and mumbles an awkward “oh”.

- Silence hangs heavy in the air for a moment before God clears his throat and says. “Zzsooo…You’rrree NNOT gooing to drink wiff me?” At this you snap and snatch the wine bottle from God and chuck it at the TV, smashing the bottle and the TV. God shouts in anger but before he can ask you wtf that was for, you just lay into him. Calling him a deadbeat and pathetic excuse of a deity.

- “How can you just sit in here day after day, while your CHILDREN are out there causing such mayhem! Do you not love your children all??!” God is shouting back at you, his anger having sobered him up some so he’s not slurring as much. “How DARE you accuse me of not loving my children! I would giive ANYTHING for them and you know that!”

- “Then fucking ACT like it!! Don’t just sit in here and rot your mind with booze and TV!” God growls. “I don’t need you to tell meee how to handle my children! Why do you even care?! It’zzz not like they’re yours anyway!”

- “I care because they are part of MY family, and I want my family to be safe and happy, something that you couldn’t give less of a shit about apparently!” God throws his hands up at this point “Well what do you want from me Death, go hhhold their handz?! My children are ALL capable of thinking and being on their own, they don’t NEED me to do shit for them!”

- “That doesn’t mean that they don’t still need you there emotionally! But with the way you act maybe it’s best you ARE never there! After all, what use could any of them get from your pathetic drunk ass!!” This clearly struck a nerve as God points back at the door you came in through and roars at you to get the fuck out of his house. Growling, you give a harsh “Fine!” and tell him he can sit and be a drunk deadbeat all he wants because you’re done with him and his shit, and he’s NEVER to contact you again unless it’s in regards to his children or business.

- You stomp out of God’s palace and return to Limbo, wanting to start working on getting things cleaned up and cool off some before you go check on things in Hell.

- Once you’re gone though, God slumps his shoulders and hangs his head. With your venomous words echoing his head, he summons another bottle of wine and begins chugging it while he trudges into his bedchambers.

- He flops down onto the bed and picks up a framed photo and slowly brings it closer to his face. It’s an old photo, one taken shortly after God created the first few seraphim. You and God are both standing next to each other, arms around each other’s shoulders and leaning in close while the first seraphim all stand in between the two of you. Everyone is absolutely beaming, and God looks especially happy; so proud of his creations.

- Tears drop onto the photo as God remembers how things used to be back then, back when he was actually NEEDED by those around him and wasn’t just some brand figure who’s only job is to smile and wave. Even as he slowly sets the photo down, tears continue to fall and he holds his head in his hands. “…I’m sorry I’m so damn useless…Hopefully you’ll forgive me someday…Not that I deserve it though…I’m…so fucking sorry…” No one is there to hear God’s sobs, and eventually he passes out. He’d rather be dreaming of happier times anyway.

#damn this ended up being WAY longer than i intended #and with a bit of angst no less!#god isn’t a bad guy he’s just SUPER depressed and suffering an existential crisis #basically after creating the angelic beings he didn’t really have to do anything anymore #because the angels were able to create and think on their own #so there isn’t really anything for god to do now because the angels can do it themselves #with so much time on his hands he started questioning his existence and what he was even meant to do #he feels completely useless because he truly believes that if he isn’t constantly creating things then he has no purpose #he deals with this by holing up in his palace and drinking himself silly and getting high #he has not told you this primarily because he doesn’t know how #he’s much like his son lucifer in that he’s not great at discussing his feelings #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x death! reader #death reader #i like to imagine the seraphim have a group chat and sera just posts in it like ‘aunt d found out about the exorcisms. we’re all dead.’#and it starts blowing up with everyone freaking out and trying to figure out wtf they’re gonna do #lucifer is preparing for the ass whooping you’re gonna give him

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