#this got way longer than i expected hhhhhh

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

SEL……………………

i finally got around to reading this!!!! :3 im sorry it took so long PJDJD bUT honestly im glad i took my time w it because this fic really does deserve a thorough reading!!!!! and i think i needed time to just….. Absorb a lot of it. to be in a good headspace. i still cried though i dont even know where to begin honestly!!! 

sel……….. something about your writing just makes me sob. I DONT KNOW WHAT IT IS BUT…….. its just always so painfully soft. to the point where it hurts a little bit? 😭😭 in a VERY good way to be clear, but reading ur fics feels a little like going to therapy…. i cried a LOT reading this. so much of it is soooo heartwrenching but you never fail to patch it up w more softness and that’s just.

i take back the therapy comparison actually bc reading this felt more like going thru surgery…. getting scalpel’d and then sewn back together again….. but like. in a gentle way.

if u cant tell im a bit delirious rn bc there’s just so much i want to say 😭😭 but!! overall i am just in AWE of your writing style. always always always. how effortlessly u mess up my emotions…… i really do think its such a wonderful talent for a writer to have!!! i always without fail feel SO much reading ur fics :’3 if sel has a million fans i am one of them if she has no fans i am no longer on this earth 🙏🙏 u r so so so talented!! (but i expect financial compensation for every single tear i shed reading this PHDJD)

anyways!!! onto the actual fic… gosh. sel what have u done to me. i honestly truly dont know where to begin, i loved so so SO many things abt it, my notes are a mess, this might be a little incoherent but pls just know i adored this fic from start to finish…….. DEFINITELY one of my favorite depictions of gojo ever.

BUT OK im just gonna try to get all my thoughts out in a … somewhat ….. cohesive manner ….. i just hope u can feel the love i have for u and this fic <333333 im gonna take a page out of ur book and format this the same way u do when u rb my stuff!! and Hope that it turns out semi-structured… I FEEL A LITTLE LIKE IM WRITING AN ESSAY RN but im so unbelievably serious abt this sel. im treating this like a paper worth 80% of my grade.

When Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it. <- how DARE u start with this line u immediately shattered my heart 😔😔 this set such a distinct tone for the entire fic and its such a genius take on gojo….. his approach to love. his choice not to reach for it as a contrast to his somewhat greedy nature. more on that later though!!

BUT ON THAT NOTE………. gosh sel. i knew i was gonna love ur depiction of gojo in this obviously but i was really so so awestruck by how thoughtfully uve written him here 🥺🥺🥺 hes sooooo cute but he also feels so heartwrenchingly real, so vulnerable AND AND AND: soooooo human. i was completely enamored by so many lines and moments in this, when he gets shy and nervous and when his boyish side shines through. when you get a peek of who gojo Really is, when you strip away the godhood and resonsibilities and he feels safe.

You’d think this a rejection, if any, but he doesn’t move away from you, and the blush blooming at the tips of his ears says more than he ever could. 

Your eyes trail to the side of his neck, hidden in the shadows of his jawline; there’s really nothing, but sometimes you blink and see crimson, oozing, gushing, leaking—you shake away the thought.  

He looks cozy, almost boyish, beaming against the autumn breeze blowing on his thick gray hoodie. 

Gojo continues to eat, blabbering about a site visit he’s assigned to next week, but you don’t miss the way his ears are fully red and how he’s biting his lips to death. <- THIS ONE IN PARTICULAR…. literally had to take a breather after this hooowwwwww do u write him so cute. tell me ur secrets. hes so cute im literally tearing up writing this hhhhhh 😥😥😥

its a side of gojo that i think a lot of people dont explore, bc he never really shows it in the manga, but i really do think that its exactly how he’d be in a situation like this!!! one thats completely unknown to him and hinges on that raw, unguarded, human part of his heart…. its such an interesting side of him.

it can be super cute to read, like all the moments in this where he gets a bit awkward and blushes and everything, but other times its just….. Unbelievably Heartbreaking. like when he gets downright desperate and openly afraid. its so chilling in a way because gojo as a character is always so calm and collected and chill, but then u have these moments of unfiltered emotion that are just….. so hard to read? but also so interesting and just. so Good. so wonderfully written i was FLOORED….. this moment in particular:

“Wait,” he swallows, a franticness you’ve never seen before. His head stays down as he bites his lips, sunglasses hanging by his fingertips. You wonder what he wants to say, that even if it comes out messy, it’s okay. You want to tell him that it’s just you—that you’ll always want to hear it all anyway. 

What comes next is unlike any version of Satoru you have ever known—nervous and uncertain, almost like he’s afraid. He lowers himself, slowly coming down to his knees in front of you. A giant of a man so small in your presence. 

“I don’t know how.” he mutters, dropping his sunglasses to the floor. 

GAHHHHH……. PDJDJDBXBC ……… can u hear my heart breaking sel. a giant of a man so small in your presence……………. the way he opens himself up here. (and the way he drops his sunglasses!! the symbolism hhhh its so satisfying.) he comes off as almost helpless and thats just………… its so tough to read LMAO like truly!!! it gutted me!!!!! but i love it so much. and reader being so so SO patient (more on that later but sel shes literally my Wife i love her to death)

i think gojo is very much afraid of love, and that wounded part of him shines through so effortlessly in the way u write him here….. its such a realistic and grounded take and it just feels so right. which is probably also why it hurts so much :’3 but ive been thinking abt this a lot tbh, not just in regards to col but ALL your fics, just….. how good you are at really looking at a character and seeing their human side. and capturing it!! expressing it!!! lil habits of theirs, or vulnerable aspects that others might stray from…… im sure ive already said this and ill definitely repeat myself LMAO but!! youre such a wonderful writer sel. i really was so floored by all this!! how u make gojo feel so genuinely human, just in the way his ears go red or he bites his lip….

ohhhh also!! before i forget!!!!!! the divinity theme……. the god theme……. (explodes). literally every single time u write abt it i picture our braincells connecting PHDJDF i LOVE ur take on it so much!!

How does he tell you that he must be fucked in the head? That every second in his mind is another step closer to insanity? That he’s lost your tether on Satoru in pursuit of Gojo—of being a god? 

^ LIKE………….. this entire paragraph. how he feels himself seeking the ’gojo’ in his name instead of the ’satoru’… n how reader always only calls him satoru!! he is slipping away!!!! n distancing himself from the person who makes him feel most human!!!!! im rattling at the bars of my cage sel. 

BUT okok. lets talk abt my favorite part of this fic. there are Many bUT…… i think overall what affected me most and had me crying most (and obv also the main theme of the fic!!) is gojo’s relation to Love. his fear of it. but also his yearning for it. u show everything so subtly yet vividly and it feels so grounded and real!!! such a bigbrained take on him. how he loves reader but also fears how she affects him, how HE affects her…….. the softness he feels but also that panic. and just how closed off he is….

aaaaa there were just SO many lines that explored that part of him in so many different ways and i loved them all to bits:

It’s dangerous, he thinks, how you make wanting something so complicated seem so simple.

“I’ll tell you,” he starts, “but you have to look away." (....) “I’m fine,” he says to the back of your head, “you have nothing to worry about.” <- THIS… gahh… how he has to physically avert his gaze to lie to her. the symbolism here too… how his eyes reveal how he truly feels. im so weak for it sellllll ;w;

Gojo’s a pretty bad communicator; for how much he talks, he doesn’t really say much—and maybe that’s the root of all this. There are too many things he wants to say but can’t formulate in the right way. 

“I can’t.” he speaks softly. What hurts the most is that beneath his sunglasses, his eyes still hold the sky. You think you want to cry. <- ME TOO READER ME TOO .. the helplessness here. the helplessness and discomfort that gojo must feel….. oughhh

It’s threatening, he thinks, how you can say so much with so little. 

(…) how Gojo is now afraid of love, more than anything else, not because of loss but because he might not know how. <- if u listen closely u can hear my muffled sobbing in the distance

But it doesn’t come. You feel Gojo’s breath stilling before speeding up into little exhales. Something is wrong.

You realize that it must be true then, what they say, that those who love to be feared, fear to be loved, because you’ve never seen anyone afraid of something so good as Gojo is of this. <- (SOUND OF GLASS SHATTERING) SELLLLL I AM GRABBING U BY THE SHOULDERS…. this is sooo… so………… i cant speak just know i resonate a lot w col!gojo + i cried LMAO

Gojo hates it, how you’ve always had to adjust for him. He hates that he can’t give you this one thing, hates that you’re still so patient, that he’s still so afraid. He swallows, closing his eyes tight before opening them again.  “I want to,” he chokes out, “I just don’t know—”

^ this entire moment…… GOD. the fact that he isnt incapable of it or anything, he just literally doesnt know how!!! and the frustration of that…. someone like gojo, who is good at Literally Everything EXCEPT for giving and receiving love. ack. it hurts but its such a real aspect of his character and u depict that side of him so well…….. how he wishes he could give u this One thing. when ur so patient. :( hes a sweetie and hes flawed and hes trying his best.

i know ive said this before but…. i really do identify so so much with col!gojo!!!! im kind of in love w col!reader bc of that LMAOO she’s just….. to have someone love you so gently and patiently……… with so much care. yeah. i get why gojo is literally gutted by her presence. hes so Me. 

and THATS my segway into col!reader <333 my beloved. my angel on earth. i love her!!!!! so so dearly!!!!!!!!! she has this older sister vibe that just makes me want to hug her ☹️☹️🤧 

i talked abt this a tiny bit before but she really has this resiliance abt her!! shes so so strong and kind and those traits melt together so seamlessly. i love how gojo is physically the stronger one, but when it comes to the emotional aspect reader is just so much more brave and willing to be vulnerable….. even when its scary for her too.

and how that rubs off on toru!!!! i adore their dynamic SO much and you wrote it so thoughtfully sel!!! i lovelovelove them. and its so perfect for gojo too…. i know u and i agree on this but i genuinely dont think any trope works better for gojo than slowburn/friends to lovers…. u just Get it

there’s just something so sweet about the way they interact, how they help each other!! their love is so so so tender and gentle and just. loving. its a slowburn and thats comfortable for both of them. there is just so so much care between these two!!! and getting to see the way their relationship slowly blossoms was such a treat 🥺🥺

“I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” When you offer your heart to Gojo, he looks at you softly. 

^ this gutted me like a sad fish. ive said this before but ur ability to turn my heart into sashimi w only a couple of finely chosen words kills me every time

Once Gojo turns to give you the cone, you reach for his other hand tentatively, shyly—your fingertips grazing his palm lightly. You want to give him an out if he can’t take this, but he doesn’t move. He twitches a little, as if he’s been caught off guard, but that’s it. <- FUCKKKK . sorry. im just ;; shes just ;;;;; the way she ALWAYS gives him an out in case its too much. she loves gojo so patiently and tenderly and thats exactly how he deserves to be loved :(

You choose to show him slowly, gently, like the trickling introduction of water to a man who is first learning how to drink. <- THISSSS GOD ur choice of words sel….. u really get such a good grasp on their dynamic and love just from this single sentence

It grows organically that way: knuckles brushing as you both reach for the stapler, pinkies touching whenever you walk side-by-side during site visits—until you’re able to hold his hand fully again, leaving that little infinity between your palms for him to close (hopefully, one day). <- THE SUBTLE INTIMACY;;;;;;;

Shoko asks what you are and you don’t know what to tell her other than you’re happy and it’s good. <- SHOKO MENTION but also i adore this line. stuck out to me a lot while reading!! tbh i think this is all love needs to be; it doesnt have to be labelled to mean something. theyre happy and its good!!

(i always get so giddy when i see how much our views of gojo overlap also .. i have a fic thats literally just this one line!! a relationship w gojo that isnt quite a relationship but the love is there and thats enough :’3 im just. aaa. im so thankful for u sel!! our gojo discussions mean the world to me <3)

You chuckle, without judgment, “I don’t either,” you lean forward, foreheads touching, “but do you want to try together?” <- MY HEARTTTTTTTT SHES SO….. shes like if someone gathered a bundle of the softest sweetest loveliest flowers n turned em into a person :< theres so much love in her heart!!

if i was gojo i’d be bawling LMAO just!!! to be treated so tenderly!!!! so patiently!!!!!! i doubt he’s has ever been met w so much tenderness and love :( it must feel scary to him but reader is just always so reassuring… to me the One dynamic that will always make me crumble is a patient, kind person who chooses to love someone who’s damaged and afraid. its difficult and tough but!! the love is there!! and the patience is so healing to me.

and needless to say u portrayed it soooo wonderfully…. u show how hard it is for both of them, how much theyre both struggling but still willing to bare their hearts to each other… how reader has to tiptoe that line between fondness and love and intimacy, not get too close but not too far… how its kinda like trying to take care of a wounded animal — if you move too quickly itll try to stumble away.

CAN U TELL IM NORMAL ABT THIS phddjjd i just. sel………… there is a tiny lil portion of my heart that belongs entirely to u and ur gojo and ur delicious takes on him <3333 

but angst and hurt/comfort aside theyre also just. SO cute. i was gushing over them the whole time!!!!! im especially weak for shy nervous gojo SEL HES LITERALLY SO…… i dont know who im more jealous of at this point. theyre both so cute. u can sense their history and fondness for each other just in the way they speak, and the air between them is just so so so warm. i want them to adopt me i think. or just be their friend. or join their relationship 

It’s always like this with Gojo: he pulls you in and you follow. No matter the distance between you, when you sit down together like this, it still always flows so easily. The banter you’ve built together over a decade and more shines through no matter what state your relationship is in. 

“You know…” he looks to the side, pouting, “whatever you do….” “Like…?” you coax lightly, trying hard to hide the small smile forming on your lips. He grips his pants tighter, fabric bunching under his fingers, “When you hold my hand… those things. You get it.”  You wonder how many versions of Satoru you’ll meet in your lifetime, and if this one, shy and nervous, will be one you’ll fit into the crevices of your heart just like all the others. 

^ GOOD GOD (i exploded.) sel im literally so serious u r DAMAGING my brain hes way too cute. i think that if i flustered gojo like this i would simply fall to my knees and cry. hes just the cutest guy in the world i think. blushy and sweet. its embarrassing how down bad i am for him

You nod, opening your mouth. Gojo’s eyes widen, nearly dropping the spoon at your request. You see the flush of his cheeks and smile, corners of your mouth extending wider. The spoon is shoved to your mouth too quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed to feed you.  <- cutiepie 😭

“Too sweet.” “Like me, right?” he winks. “Sure,” you drawl sarcastically and Gojo smiles like it’s high praise. 

You turn to him, a shy smile on your face. The tips of his ears are blush red but he looks at you the same, “Your hands were cold,” he pouts, “is this– is this okay?”  “Yeah, it’s warm. Thank you, Satoru.” you nod, beaming.

^ CUTIEPIEEEEEEE 😭😭😭

“There’s a secret ingredient.” He swallows before he scoffs, “What?” (...) “Love?”  You’re surprised because he says it so casually, and Gojo’s never talked about love, has never even mentioned the word since this shift in your relationship. He realizes a beat late by the expression on your face and gets flustered, thinking immediately of ways to brush past it.  (…) “if it is?” you whisper, pretending to stir your coffee.  Gojo doesn’t know how to approach this, really, but he’s come too far to back out now. He clears his throat, mentally running through what he wants to say, then, “Good. ‘Cause that’s what I put in your coffee too.” 

^ this whole scene……. psjdksbxjdbjxkzkz. so cute.

When he leaves for missions, you kiss his cheek, pull him in by the hand and linger there, shyly. He gets embarrassingly red but tries to cover it up by telling you not to miss him too much (even though you know you will, and he knows he’ll miss you more).  Your near-kisses with Gojo happen more frequently, and it comes to a point where he even manages to land one on your forehead, while you fall asleep next to him on his office couch. 

^ sel 🤝 the most gutwrenching heartfluttering depictions of subtle intimacy i have seen in my life

You stand there stunned for a good minute before you shake out of it, laughing. Gojo yells about how you’re being so mean, making fun of him when he’s like this, but you aren’t—not really. <- the banter!! the playful teasing n laughter!!!!!!! theyre so comfortable with each other and its so fun to read. :>

and sel…… just as a final note; this should hopefully be obvious atp but i ADORE ur writing. so so so much. i love the way this is written and i had to stop literally every two seconds to write down a line that i loved. i think the only ones i havent mentioned yet are these!!:

There are crescent indents on your palm from squeezing your knuckles too hard. You think, is this how you form shallow cuts on your heart? <- SO PRETTYYYYYYY

You learn that Gojo sees himself so differently from how you do—and maybe that’s everyone, but Gojo tends to say things while doing the other. He says he can’t bother with kids, but continues to take so many of them under his wing anyway; he calls your cereal concoction disgusting but tastes it regardless; and he says he can’t think about love, doesn’t know how, but proceeds to try so much harder, everyday.  When you look at Gojo, you see a heart so big, so capable, that he can’t see it himself. 

^ this one means so much to me. ive run out of brain juice atp but like … sel ….. 🥺🥺🥺😥😥 the way u just understand him. hes not perfect, hes not a saint, but he loves and he loves and he loves even when it only ever hurts him. there’s something so human about gojo and ironically i think it hinges on how isolated he is? just… the fact that he continues to love despite that gap is so telling to me!!! i agree w reader so much, he doesnt understand how kind he is :( but he has a lot of love in his heart too.

u can probably tell but this rly did just tear my heart right out of my chest sel………….. im sniffling. tearing up. but im so so so happy and grateful that i found u and ur fics <3333 this really felt so healing!! im so excited to read more col sometime soon <33

give col!reader and col!gojo a lil kiss on the head from me pls 🥺

₊˚⊹｡ tell me about love (show me how) | gojo satoru

wc: 7.4k

summary: you teach gojo how to love. 

contains: f!reader in mind but no pronouns mentioned, descriptions of blood (typical jjk canon type stuff), shibuya onwards manga spoilers, implied minor character death, there are swears, suggestive bit at the end (but it’s funny!), lots of internal thoughts/dialogues, kind of canon divergent

a/n: relates to my short blurb, do you believe in love?, explores a lot on how i think gojo would be when it comes to love; ambiguous but linear timeline (jumps through scenes)

collection masterlist: conversations on love 01. do you believe in love? <- you are here -> 2.5. and my body keeps saying (it's yours)

When Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it. 

It’s unusual for him to be so restrained, being born into greed and predetermined purpose—a one-man clan fated to hold power close to God. There exists a hunger within him, insatiable and stubborn, unstoppable until he gets what he wants. It’s all he’s ever known: to take and devour, simply because he can. 

Yet with this, he doesn’t. He can’t seem to. 

“I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

When you offer your heart to Gojo, he looks at you softly. 

You catch his eyes and see the sky, bright, with flecks of light floating on his irises like cotton clouds in its periphery. It’s different from the piercing blue you’re used to—a terrifying riptide that washes you away. 

It wasn’t intended as a confession, but Gojo always takes whatever you have to say. He commits it to memory each time; how could he not? Words that come from you flow so naturally, so earnestly that the air around you shifts all on its own.

His lips part slightly, red spatterings lining pink inner corners before they close again. He doesn’t say anything, but you know Gojo and the fingerprints of his soul—the way he bites his lips to withhold himself from speaking. 

It’s dangerous, he thinks, how you make wanting something so complicated seem so simple.

He takes a small breath, then you feel it, pressed against you—the faint signature of his cursed energy overlaying his entirety. It tickles your skin a little, the effects of it brushing. You don’t remember the last time he put it up around you.

A million things run through Gojo’s mind for every split second he breathes, but at this point in time, he counts a million and one—one thought that if he touches you by infinity instead of his hands, he can have this good thing for now, that this is the only way how. 

You’d think this a rejection, if any, but he doesn’t move away from you, and the blush blooming at the tips of his ears says more than he ever could. 

.

.

.

The subtle intimacy you share with Gojo grows sporadically, from knuckles brushing to pinkies touching. He stands next to you more often, a few inches closer than he used to and sometimes, still, with an infinity connecting you.

.

.

.

When you hold Gojo’s hand for the first time, he jolts very slightly, as if you’ve shocked him. He’s started to put his infinity down around you again, and you continue the limbo of whatever it is you both are—except this time, he’s made it clearer, just a little bit. 

During the last few leaves of fall, Gojo skips to an ice cream stand like a pre-schooler on early dismissal. You trail behind him slowly, shaking your head affectionately; he’s the only adult you know that still acts like he’s 5. 

“You’re like a horse.” you jest, stopping next to him in line.

“You’re a snail.” he huffs, side-eyeing you, like a child.

You gasp exaggeratingly, hitting his arm. He fake-winces, but that’s all it is; Gojo’s the strongest and you don’t know of any human touch that has managed to hurt him, except—

Yeah. Your eyes trail to the side of his neck, hidden in the shadows of his jawline; there’s really nothing, but sometimes you blink and see crimson, oozing, gushing, leaking—you shake away the thought.  

When he receives his ice cream cone stacked with vanilla-strawberry-vanilla and rainbow sprinkles on top, the smile on his face parallels the sun. He looks cozy, almost boyish, beaming against the autumn breeze blowing on his thick gray hoodie. 

You wonder if he feels just as warm.

(Maybe that’s why you do it, then).

Once Gojo turns to give you the cone, you reach for his other hand tentatively, shyly—your fingertips grazing his palm lightly. You want to give him an out if he can’t take this, but he doesn’t move. He twitches a little, as if he’s been caught off guard, but that’s it. 

His eyes widen briefly, just a bit, before turning into the same soft skies frequenting them lately. 

“Sorry, is this okay?” you whisper, peering up at him. 

He stares at you for a while, his hand in yours unmoving. You leave a sliver of space between your palms–your own version of his infinity–just in case. And he takes it all in: how tiny your hand is wrapped around his, how gently you speak—how warm he feels now amidst this autumn breeze. 

“The strawberry’s really good,” he finally replies, pressing the dessert closer to you, “try it.” 

You give him one last look before you indulge in his request. Gojo’s always been good at that: pushing and pulling—pushing you away with non-answers only to pull you back in with something else. 

But he doesn’t let go of your hand, so you keep yours there, palms nearly touching. (You make a point not to mention how the parts that do touch become clammy for the rest of the afternoon). 

.

.

.

You start to think that your relationship with Gojo is going somewhere, then he disappears (‘gets sealed’ might be the more proper term). 

His absence is deafening. You’ve all lost so much, and it hurts, but you carry on knowing full well that this is what being a jujutsu sorcerer means. There aren’t many left to fight his fight, so you do what you can to. You stay with Shoko, mostly, if not going back and forth with Utahime. You can’t afford to be crying when the students, the kids—you can’t even bear to think about what they’re going through.

Nights are the hardest, when the world is quiet but your mind is loud, throwing far too many questions you can’t find the answers to.

What will Gojo come back to? Then the scarier thought: Will he even come back? 

You don’t want to doubt him, ever, but your mind continues to play back that day, like a final memory. The unintentional confession; his eyes like the sky. 

You don’t want it to be the last important thing you tell him. 

“I should start looking into retirement plans, like Nanamin.” you raise an eyebrow, questioning. Gojo’s never spoken this far into the future before, most especially his. 

“Work is shit now for you too?” you scoff, leaning back on the wooden ledge. 

Gojo rolls his eyes, skipping the coverage of his blindfold today. 

“Well, after I remove the old geezers and change everything, there won’t be much left to do.” 

You hum in response. He does make a point. 

“Also, Megumi won’t need me anymore,” he pouts, whining, “who else will want me around?” 

You try to hold back your laugh, wanting so badly to tell him that Megumi doesn’t even really like him around to begin with—but you figure breaking Gojo’s heart isn’t really something you want to do if you value your peace. 

“I don’t know,” you reply, shifting your weight, “I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

Even now, especially now. You wish you were with him, too. 

.

.

.

The day you hear of Gojo’s potential return, you drop your breakfast outside the 7-Eleven near Jujutsu Tech. You’re supposed to meet up with Utahime for a weekly check-in but your feet take you to Shoko, and the footsteps in your heart have never echoed louder. 

This is the first good news in a while—especially after finding out about the state of Megumi and what happened to Tsumiki, your sweet girl Tsumiki. 

When Gojo comes back, it’s like he never left. He pops out of the box joking the same way, talking the same way. He proves himself to be the strongest all the same, and when he wins—there are scars, but he wins and that fact stays the same. 

So, when you reach for his hand now and he moves away, you’re stuck wondering what’s changed. 

.

.

.

You let it stay that way for a while, your understanding extending to Gojo the way it always has—you don’t push, and he gives you what he can. It honestly isn’t all that bad, because at least he’s still talking to you like he used to. 

Jujutsu society is still shaken from its core. You and all who have survived bear the task of building everything from the ground up; it’s exhausting, especially since most of you are still mourning. 

Megumi’s been put in an induced coma; you understand why but it still tugs at your heart when Shoko tells you it might take a while. Everyone else has been assigned to sweep through the rest of Japan to ensure that any remaining curses are taken care of. 

You see Yuuji and Yuuta visit Megumi sometimes, along with Maki and Toge when they’re free. Gojo’s there pretty often too, using healing sessions with Shoko as an excuse to see the boy he’s practically raised at 17, with you. 

But while Gojo’s smiles to everyone else remain as charming as ever, you can always tell when they’re untrue. 

.

“Are you okay?” 

You find Gojo a little after midnight on the rooftop of the faculty building. The city always looks pretty from up here—a sea of lights reflected up on the sky. It’s a running joke that rooftops are Gojo’s ‘thing’, but you know he really only comes to places like this to think. You wonder what’s on his mind now, coming here every single night since being unsealed. 

Despite how quiet you try to be, sneaking up on Gojo is almost impossible; he senses you before he hears you, sees the familiar traces of your cursed energy through his Six Eyes. 

“Can’t sleep thinking about me?” he teases, looking straight ahead.

The steps you take towards him are careful, afraid of running him off like you seem to be lately. You sit beside him, leaving a space larger than you usually do, then shrug, “These days, yeah.”

It’s times like this when Gojo forgets how honest you can be, how he takes your word for everything, completely. 

It’s threatening, he thinks, how you can say so much with so little. 

“Well, maybe I can suggest—” 

“Seriously, Satoru,” you grip the ledge tightly, knuckles turning white, “please.” 

You tend to let Gojo dodge your questions a lot of the time, his elusiveness a hallmark of who he is. So you never sound like you do now, serious, pleading. 

Gojo fiddles with his fingers, pondering. He hums lowly before speaking, “Does it matter?” 

It hurts you a little, how that’s even a question. He should know better than to ask that to you. 

“It matters to me, Satoru,” you sigh, “you know it does.”

You barely catch the way his brows furrow at your response, but there are creases on his blindfold that can’t be created by anything else. And Gojo knows—is so painfully aware of the way you care. 

Since coming back, he’s never felt like he’s fully returned. It’s an odd existence of in-between, like he breathes everything and nothing all at the same time. The emotions are even worse, overloading his senses with feelings he can never pinpoint. 

How does he tell you that he must be fucked in the head? That every second in his mind is another step closer to insanity? That he’s lost your tether on Satoru in pursuit of Gojo—of being a god? 

“I’ll tell you,” he starts, “but you have to look away.”

You’ve always treated Gojo tenderly, patiently, and he knows, without a doubt, that no matter what he says you will continue to do the same. But he can’t allow that, not anymore. Not after the way you looked at him that day.

“Okay,” you mutter, turning your head the other way. 

He breathes out and you can almost picture it: half-bitten lips and eyes like low tide. 

“I’m fine,” he says to the back of your head, “you have nothing to worry about.” 

A breeze picks up and brushes past your neck. It’s a lie. He knows it, knows you know it too, but—

it’s easier this way, he thinks, to give you answers when you’re not looking.

Gojo’s never found a weakness he can’t work around, but he might have just found one with you—in your eyes, that read through his every lie. If you turn around now, he’ll want to tell you everything.

“Satoru,” you whisper, letting his name fill the air. You get it—him, and even when you don’t, you try damn hard to because you refuse to let Gojo carry all of it on his own. 

There are crescent indents on your palm from squeezing your knuckles too hard. You think, is this how you form shallow cuts on your heart?

“It’s just me,” you continue, facing him when you say it. 

He takes you all in—your eyes that hold the city lights, your lips, the only vessel that handles his name so delicately. It’s that look on your face again and Gojo’s hit with an ache in his chest—the overwhelming truth that whatever it is, he feels the same. 

.

.

.

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he’s certain he’ll never tell you: that when he looks at you upon his return and finds an emotion he refuses to name, he’s never felt so afraid.  

He takes in the shadows under your eyes and the sunkenness of your cheeks—the number of blinks it takes you to reign in tears on the brink of leaking. The way your voice shakes when you say his name.

Shoko tells him about it because she knows you never will—about how you’ve been running yourself dry, speeding through colonies to gather intel for any possible way to break the seal. She tells him about the sleepless nights, how she catches you standing outside his office at 3 a.m. before travelling to Utahime the next morning. 

And he cannot comprehend it at first, cannot understand how he’s caused you to crumble this way. 

If this is all because of him, how you’ve broken yourself all for his sake, he can’t allow it. To see you ruin yourself over him, over anyone ever—you deserve better.

So, when Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it; he cannot possibly take any more from you if this is what is left of you when he does. 

.

.

.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you catch him by the door of the conference room. 

Rebuilding an entire society requires work and apparently a lot of meetings. Gojo doesn’t usually go to most of them, leaving you and Utahime to carry the chunk of his attendance when he’s not there. In the rare times that he does show up, he makes it a point to be the last one in and the first one out. Utahime hates him for it but you don’t blame him—he isn’t exactly amicable with other figures of authority.

He pauses when he steps out of the door, hands in pockets as he turns to face you. 

You’re not mad or anything, just stating the fact. He’s always known you to speak this way. You lean against the wall next to you, keeping your arms crossed. More people continue to file out of the conference room, some eyeing the two of you curiously as they pass by.

Gojo glances at them, suddenly self-conscious as he clears his throat, “Right, I’ve been avoiding the paperwork you left in my office,” he emphasizes, practically announcing it to everyone in the vicinity, “let’s finish it now.” 

You don’t know whether it’s irritating that Gojo’s so terribly bad at acting, or comforting that he still can’t, for the life of him, successfully lie in front of you. 

He motions for you to follow him as he strolls down the hallway, but you intentionally lag a few steps behind, careful not to encroach on his space lest it make him avoid you any more than he already is.

Stepping into Gojo’s office after so long feels weird, like you belong here but only to a memory of it—as if closing the door behind you feels like activating a muscle you haven’t for a while. It’s been months after all. 

Your eyes skim over the entire room, zeroing in on the stacks of paper lined up on his desk; paperwork has always been Gojo’s least favorite part of the job, often leaving you to do them with him (or alone, when you’re feeling generous). Not much has changed in his space; the mini living area still exists to the left of the room, with little bits of you in its interiors—the pillows, the coffee table books. 

Gojo plops down on the sofa chair and props his feet up on the ottoman, giving four scrolls to his phone before pocketing it. He has the audacity to casually offer you the seat across from him, as if nothing’s wrong—as if he hasn’t been avoiding you for god’s sake. 

Ever since the rooftop, he’s canceled lunch with you six times for reasons that you’re now realizing are less likely to be true. He’s kept a distance of at least one person in between you at all times, and to this day, you still don’t understand why. 

You sigh, taking a seat and leaning back to cross your legs. 

“You’re so bad at acting.” you start.

Being with Gojo for so long, you’ve come to realize that there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 

“I technically wasn’t lying.” he replies, sticking his index finger up. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” you snicker, nodding to his desk. 

It’s always like this with Gojo: he pulls you in and you follow. No matter the distance between you, when you sit down together like this, it still always flows so easily. The banter you’ve built together over a decade and more shines through no matter what state your relationship is in. 

Neither of you say anything until Gojo replaces his blindfold for his sunglasses, placing the piece of cloth on the coffee table. 

You break the silence. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you ask quietly. Gojo aches at that, how you still choose to regard him so kindly. 

Why has he been avoiding you? It’s a good question, completely valid with how he’s been treating you lately, but he could draw up every answer he has, all one million and one, and still not know what to say.

Gojo’s a pretty bad communicator; for how much he talks, he doesn’t really say much—and maybe that’s the root of all this. There are too many things he wants to say but can’t formulate in the right way. 

“If it’s something I did, can you at least let me know?” you continue. Gojo frowns, how can you be wronged yet still think of yourself as the one to blame? 

“Why do you do that?” he tuts, head tilting sideways as his hands dig deeper into his pockets. 

“Do what?” you furrow your brows, confused. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t worry about it.” he says dismissively. 

You arch an eyebrow; he has it all mistaken. 

“Satoru, I’m not worried because I feel guilty,” you sit up, inching towards the edge of your seat, “I’m worried because you’re pushing me away.” your voice is level, but your pupils shake.

Something grips at his chest seeing you this way; together or apart, he seems to be the main contributor to your heartache. 

You wonder if confronting him like this is any good if he’s not going to say anything anyway. 

“If you want space, that’s okay, I get it, but,” you exhale, “at least just tell me why.” 

This entire time avoiding you, Gojo’s had you on his mind—the million and one. He’s come to terms with what he feels when you’re together, and how it amplifies when you’re not. 

It’s shitty of him to practically ghost you, not just in text but in real life too. But he’s thought about it logically, really, that removing himself from your life should be just like ripping off a bandaid—painful but quick. At least that way, you’d get over it fast. 

He’d been resigned to doing that and that was the plan—until now. 

All it takes is seeing that look in your eyes, and his resolve falls apart. 

“I can’t.” he speaks softly. 

What hurts the most is that beneath his sunglasses, his eyes still hold the sky. 

You think you want to cry. 

You take this as your answer and close your eyes, taking a deep breath before getting up to leave. If this is goodbye, you don’t want your last interaction to be an awkward memory of him watching you bawl in his office chair. 

You push yourself up with the armrest only to sit back down—because Gojo is right in front of you, blocking your way. His infinity is up but touching, a tingling sensation sweeping across your knees. 

“Wait,” he swallows, a franticness you’ve never seen before. His head stays down as he bites his lips, sunglasses hanging by his fingertips. You wonder what he wants to say, that even if it comes out messy, it’s okay. You want to tell him that it’s just you—that you’ll always want to hear it all anyway. 

What comes next is unlike any version of Satoru you have ever known—nervous and uncertain, almost like he’s afraid. He lowers himself, slowly coming down to his knees in front of you. A giant of a man so small in your presence. 

“I don’t know how.” he mutters, dropping his sunglasses to the floor. 

You blink once, twice, still surprised by what’s in front of you. Gojo has always towered above you, has always known how to do anything and everything so effortlessly without fail. 

Watching him now, with every inhale and exhale dragging in slow motion, you do your best not to startle him. 

“How to what?” you whisper, the moment so fragile. 

He looks up, eyes locking with yours. A reaction happens in that moment—the split second of all his thoughts collapsing into one. You see a clear sky, blue and bright as day, the Satoru he saves for you—while he sees you, with that look on your face, the one that he knows has always only meant love. 

The sincerity in your gaze overwhelms him—makes him look away before it becomes too much. Red blooms at the tips of his ears as he bites the inner corners of his lips, fingers grabbing at the fabric of his pants. You’re afraid he might run away again, but he doesn’t and stays right where you are. 

“You know…” he looks to the side, pouting, “whatever you do….”

“Like…?” you coax lightly, trying hard to hide the small smile forming on your lips. 

You wonder how many versions of Satoru you’ll meet in your lifetime, and if this one, shy and nervous, will be one you’ll fit into the crevices of your heart just like all the others. 

He grips his pants tighter, fabric bunching under his fingers, “When you hold my hand… those things. You get it.” 

And you do (get it), so you don’t push, taking whatever Gojo has to give you like you always have. 

The tension relieves from you slowly, comforted by the fact that at least he’s given you his reasons now (no matter how vague they still seem to be). That at least there are no non-answers this time. 

You tell yourself that it’s okay, that you’re content as long as Gojo’s in your life even without the possibility of becoming something more. 

“Ok—”

But there’s always one thing you forget about Gojo—

“So show me how.”

—in the moments you least expect it, he speaks the words that matter most. 

.

.

.

You choose to show him slowly, gently, like the trickling introduction of water to a man who is first learning how to drink. 

In the first few weeks of you and Gojo readjusting to one another, he turns on his infinity again—but only when he gets close enough to touch you. Lunches together happen more often, dinners sometimes too. Then he puts his infinity down, indefinitely. 

For the most part, your relationship falls into the usual steps of your dynamic with Gojo; there’s no pressure for anything and he likes that, appreciates the time you’re giving him to learn things at his own pace. 

It grows organically that way: knuckles brushing as you both reach for the stapler, pinkies touching whenever you walk side-by-side during site visits—until you’re able to hold his hand fully again, leaving that little infinity between your palms for him to close (hopefully, one day). 

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.

.

The faculty room is cold, especially during winter. The heating system is never warm enough to keep your hands from shaking whenever you mix your morning coffee. 

“So loud so early,” Gojo saunters into the kitchen, hands in pockets as he approaches the pantry. 

You stop mixing, ceasing the clinking of the spoon against your mug. “How are you not freezing?” 

He shrugs, grabbing his box of (heavily sugared) cereal. “I guess I’m just hot.” he says, turning to wiggle his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and set your coffee on the table, Gojo following with a bowl brimming with cereal and milk. 

Mornings usually consist of you and Gojo, with an occasional new hire who has an early class that day. Most of the time, it’s just you two though, with Shoko coming in much closer to lunch time already. 

“Want some?” he asks, holding out his spoon.

It’s routine—Gojo asks and you decline, choosing to save yourself from the cavities that he somehow manages to evade despite having a diet of 80% sugar. 

Today though, you’re feeling a little adventurous. 

You nod, opening your mouth. Gojo’s eyes widen, nearly dropping the spoon at your request. You see the flush of his cheeks and smile, corners of your mouth extending wider. The spoon is shoved to your mouth too quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed to feed you. 

“Too sweet,” you scrunch your face, swallowing down the copious amount of sugar you’ll feel for days. 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Gojo throughout this whole relationship trial period, he recovers from any state within a nanosecond. There’s no end to how shameless he can be. 

“Like me, right?” he winks.

“Sure,” you drawl sarcastically and Gojo smiles like it’s high praise. 

You sip your coffee slowly, revelling in the heat that flows down your throat.

“Can I have half of that?” you point to his bowl. Gojo looks at you, confused, but slides it over anyway.

What happens next is an abomination to Gojo’s eyes—pure absolute disgust: you pour half of his cereal into your coffee and mix, sipping and crunching on a few pieces every now and then. 

His face contorts into complete distaste, horror and revulsion in the way his mouth hangs open. 

“What are you doing? That’s gross!” he nearly yells, reaching over to bring your mug down. His hand covers yours for a moment, the contact still causing gallops in his heartbeat. 

You laugh, giggling as he processes what you’d wasted his cereal on. It honestly doesn’t taste that bad, you think. 

“You’re weird,” he says to you, the grin on his face uncontained. This morning, he feels fond, like the butterflies in his stomach are warm, tickling him from the inside. “Give me.” he motions to your mug. 

You hold it up for him to take a sip but he keeps his hand over yours when he tastes, sticking his tongue out once the bitterness of your coffee hits. You set the mug down, preparing to reach for your spoon, but he takes your hand in his, long fingers slotting right between yours, interlacing. 

Gojo doesn’t normally reach for your hand, much less interlace them together (a recent evolution to your hand-holding), but this feels nice, how your fingers fit right in the spaces of his. 

You turn to him, a shy smile on your face. The tips of his ears are blush red but he looks at you the same, “Your hands were cold,” he pouts, “is this– is this okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s warm. Thank you, Satoru.” you nod, beaming. And it’s not a competition but he hopes you see the light in his eyes, how it feels to be ignited within him only when he’s spending breakfasts like this with you. 

.

.

.

Shoko asks what you are and you don’t know what to tell her other than you’re happy and it’s good. Gojo’s existence is loud and vibrant, easy to spot from miles away—but he cares for you discreetly, in the hand that gently rests on your lower back while crossing the street, and the seemingly unlimited supply of your favorite coffee when you have no recollection of restocking it ever. 

He gives you a new mug for Christmas, one with little cereals painted all over while you give him his own tube of hand cream that he claims always smells like you. 

During the faculty New Year celebration, you overhear one of the new hires make a move on Gojo. You aren’t bothered by it or anything, simply walking past to sip your sake by the couch. You can hear them talk a bit from the kitchen, but you try not to pry despite how curious you are about his response. 

Until—

“I’m taken,” you hear Gojo say bluntly. 

Everything rings in your ears after that. The countdown music is loud, but your heart beats louder; there are murmurs and footsteps around you, but only one man crouches down to check on you, glass of water in hand. 

You snap out of it and see blue, the sky—a familiar light; you don’t think you can control the smile on your face, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions to paint on something lovesick. 

And when he smiles back, pink lips stretching wide—oh your heart can’t take it. He places one hand on your knee, rubbing gently. You hear it faintly, how he asks if you’re okay, but all you can do is nod, words failing to express how you feel right now.  

The countdown starts. 3 — and you take his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks to an image of him on your phone from many, many years ago. 2 — you go closer and his eyes go wide, a mixture of panic and surprise, but soft at the same time. 1 — you lean in and his eyelids fall shut, his chest on rampage. Then it lands, there, on the tip of his nose: a delicate peck and the smell of sake mixed with mint (like the lip balm you always carry around in your pocket). 

When you pull away from him, you’re smiling the biggest he’s ever seen, and he can’t feel it from how numb his cheeks have become, but he’s doing the same. 

.

.

.

That kiss to his nose serves as the catalyst to the months that follow: Gojo becomes more comfortable touching you now, and though he blushes every single time, there’s nothing to be ashamed of because you do too. Shoko can’t believe the slow burn this is taking you both, having watched this on the sides since you were both 22, but you think you like it—like the slow drizzle of honey on Gojo’s favorite breakfast waffles. 

“How is it?” you ask, watching as Gojo takes a big bite. 

“D Beft.” he replies, mouth full as he chews. You take the seat beside him and take a spoonful. 

“There’s a secret ingredient.” you say mischievously, wiggling your eyebrows. 

He swallows before he scoffs, “What?” cutting up another piece, “Love?” 

You’re surprised because he says it so casually, and Gojo’s never talked about love, has never even mentioned the word since this shift in your relationship. He realizes a beat late by the expression on your face and gets flustered, thinking immediately of ways to brush past it. 

You had meant to say that you used that infused sugar he buys whenever he goes to Kyoto, but… you suppose love works too. He should know by now, right? 

“If it is?” you whisper, pretending to stir your coffee. 

Gojo doesn’t know how to approach this, really, but he’s come too far to back out now. He clears his throat, mentally running through what he wants to say, then, “Good. ‘Cause that’s what I put in your coffee too.” 

You laugh and the tension dissipates; there are hearts in your eyes for how hard Gojo has tried after denying himself of this for so long. 

He stares at you—at the laugh lines by your eyes and the soft curves of your lips, the moment moving much too slow, stop motion in his mind. He’s drawn in until you’re all too close, a few centimeters from your noses touching. 

Your laughter dies and your cheeks feel like they’re on fire; he’s so close you think he might kiss you. The signs are there—his eyes scaling your face to focus on your lips, his tongue peeping ever so slightly to wet his lips. 

So you wait. 

But he doesn’t, because he moves away after wiping his thumb on the side of your mouth. Even though you know there was nothing there. 

Gojo continues to eat, blabbering about a site visit he’s assigned to next week, but you don’t miss the way his ears are fully red and how he’s biting his lips to death.

.

The tension this time is different; instead of a growing rift, you can’t seem to be close enough. Every time you part ways, he lets go of your hand more reluctantly—as if he wants to say more, do more, but stops himself while he still can. 

When he leaves for missions, you kiss his cheek, pull him in by the hand and linger there, shyly. He gets embarrassingly red but tries to cover it up by telling you not to miss him too much (even though you know you will, and he knows he’ll miss you more). 

Your near-kisses with Gojo happen more frequently, and it comes to a point where he even manages to land one on your forehead, while you fall asleep next to him on his office couch. 

It’s driving you crazy, this tension—the mixed signals of it all. You try to kiss him a few times on the lips, but he evades them each time. You’ve caught Gojo staring at your lips more times than you can count; if that isn’t a sign, you don’t know what is. 

Now that Gojo thinks about it, he’s come so far yet the prospect of kissing you properly still scares him. What if he fucks up? Doesn’t do it right? What if it’s not how he wants you to be kissed? 

There’s that secret Gojo will never tell you, of how seeing that look on you has never gotten him more afraid. And he’s worked through that now, but it’s evolved into something else: how Gojo is now afraid of love, more than anything else, not because of loss but because he might not know how. 

And kissing you, loving you this way—he’s never done it before, doesn’t know how to make you feel love without his lips shaking and heart palpitating; how to do it while letting you know he feels the same. 

.

It happens during an assignment out of town. Curses aren’t as bad as they used to be, but they’re still stronger than what any of the available sorcerers right now can handle. 

You don’t remember the last time you saw Gojo use his technique that way—almost forgotten how powerful and ruthless he can be. Every time since, holding your hand, keeping you close—he’s just been your Satoru. 

Your apartment for the weekend is a two-bedroom unit with one bathroom and a decently sized living area and kitchenette; Gojo always chooses the room in front of the bathroom because he tends to wake up in the middle of the night to pee (information you know from your many other assignments with him before). Still, going as what you are now—it feels different. 

There’s a charged air between you as you move around the unit; you make your nightly tea while Gojo looks through the groceries for some crackers. It’s peaceful and quiet—domestic almost, but there are goosebumps on your skin for reasons you can’t explain. Being around Gojo lately has felt that way.

He brushes past you to throw the finished packet of crackers and the feeling intensifies; it’s not awkward, just tense, like anticipation sitting deep in your bellies, waiting on each other to make the first move. 

He announces that he’ll use the bathroom first, if you don’t mind, and you motion for him to go ahead. Your mind is fuzzy and having Gojo around seems to only make it worse.

When you walk past the bathroom and straight to your room, you hear Gojo humming that soft pop tune from a popular girl group on the radio earlier. You giggle, thinking it’s sweet—how he sings obnoxiously around everyone else but is admittedly pretty good when it’s just him, alone. 

You still have the rest of the weekend in this area, having agreed to monitor the site and any nearby locations for other suspicious activity, but at least the worst of it is over (maybe just to you though; Gojo hates paperwork). 

The sound of running water stops and you hear the bathroom door swing open. You don’t see Gojo when you exit your room but he leaves the door open to release any remaining steam.

There’s a reason why people say showers are good for the mind. You’re happy for those who’ve found it, but that couldn’t be you, because the only thought plaguing your head right now is Gojo—and whether you should greet him goodnight, if you should kiss his cheek or hug him tight. The tension between you now is palpable, an electric current waiting to zap on both ends. 

Your mind is so out of it that you don't realize you’re missing your skincare bag until after you finish brushing your teeth and dressing for bed. You open the bathroom door with the sole intention of going back to your room to get it, but instead, you’re met with a wall of chest.

Gojo’s eyes are wide, bright blue with damp strands of white falling like curtains barely shielding the sky. He’s just as surprised as you are, toothbrush in his hand as you hold up the towel wrapped around your head. 

You’ve seen Gojo in his pajamas many times before—white long sleeves with gray cotton pants, but your eyes trail to his collarbones and the way the bathroom lights cast it under a soft glow. The redness on his cheeks, a visual manifestation of the heat on yours. 

Gojo can’t stop staring at your lips, at how soft they look—at how soft you look fresh out of the shower. The little baby hairs sticking out under your towel are cute, and he leans in without knowing—a pull he can’t seem to resist. For once in his life, Gojo’s mind is still. 

You try to meet him halfway, tiptoeing, but you’re a little out of your element; you don’t know where to put your hands and your heart’s about to explode out of your chest. When your noses touch, you can’t breathe, closing your eyes while you wait for it. 

But it doesn’t come. 

You feel Gojo’s breath stilling before speeding up into little exhales. Something is wrong. You open your eyes and find him staring back at you, a version of Gojo you haven’t seen in a while—that you rarely see ever, except that day during your confrontation in his office. 

Concern laces your features and you move back a little, hands coming up to caress his cheeks. His eyes still look frantic, but they focus on you when you cup his face so gently. 

“Satoru,” you whisper, voice grounding. His breaths slow down a little. 

You realize that it must be true then, what they say, that those who love to be feared, fear to be loved, because you’ve never seen anyone afraid of something so good as Gojo is of this. 

“Satoru,” you repeat, massaging his temples with your thumb, “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Gojo hates it, how you’ve always had to adjust for him. He hates that he can’t give you this one thing, hates that you’re still so patient, that he’s still so afraid. He swallows, closing his eyes tight before opening them again. 

“I want to,” he chokes out, “I just don’t know—”

You chuckle, without judgment, “I don’t either,” you lean forward, foreheads touching, “but do you want to try together?”

You learn that Gojo sees himself so differently from how you do—and maybe that’s everyone, but Gojo tends to say things while doing the other. He says he can’t bother with kids, but continues to take so many of them under his wing anyway; he calls your cereal concoction disgusting but tastes it regardless; and he says he can’t think about love, doesn’t know how, but proceeds to try so much harder, everyday. 

When you look at Gojo, you see a heart so big, so capable, that he can’t see it himself. 

You nudge his nose with yours and he breathes deeply, closing his eyes once again. If he doesn’t do this now, how much longer ‘till he does? 

Gojo hums before nodding his head slightly. His hands come up to cover yours, toothbrush wedged in the spaces between his fingers; they’re clammy, he’s sure, but he’s kept you waiting long enough. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, everything trembles—his pupils, his lips, the breath he takes. It’s all shaky and nervous, but your lips touch and all you know is that you like it there. He’s a little bit stiff but you don’t mind, pressing closer just for a little bit before pulling away. 

Gojo keeps your hands in place, half-lidded eyes staring at you lazily. His ears are fully red now but he’s giving you a look you’ve never seen before—like lightning crackling in the gaps between his eyelids. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, you don’t expect it to be by the bathroom door of a rented apartment, while away on a mission. You don’t expect it to be in your pajamas, towel wrapped around your hair as you’re getting ready for bed. You definitely don’t expect him to guide your hands down his neck while he places his on your lower back, squeezing lightly before pulling you in to kiss you again. 

This time, his lips move more pliantly, parting yours slightly; he tastes mint, mixed with the strawberry candy he had earlier and it’s nothing he could have ever imagined before, but is now everything he’s ever wanted. The push and pull between you is magnetic, soft lips and the intermingling of held breaths. All Gojo can think of now is to take, to devour—to keep you with him, like this, always. 

You wonder if Gojo is lying—that he’s never done this before, because you don’t think you can kiss anyone after this and not think of his lips on yours. 

By the time you part, the air is significantly warmer. Your fingers thread through the hair at the base of his neck and you smile, sighing. Gojo looks warm, with his swollen lips and flushed cheeks. 

“That…” you trail off, nudging his nose. 

Gojo looks at you fondly; to ever even think he could have this now, with you—he doesn’t believe in any higher being but you must be his prayer come true. 

“We can practice a bit more, I think.” he pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips. 

You feel it against you, something solid and firm against your stomach and your eyes go wide at the realization; Gojo does the same. 

“Satoru, you–” he moves back and freezes, untangling himself from you completely. There’s a faint outline on the crotch of his pants and your whole face goes red. 

“Let me use the bathroom real quick.” he panics, rushing past you and closing the bathroom door. 

You stand there stunned for a good minute before you shake out of it, laughing. Gojo yells about how you’re being so mean, making fun of him when he’s like this, but you aren’t—not really. 

It’s been a long time getting to this point with Gojo, but considering all things, you think, this might just be the beginning.

thank you notes: i would also like to shoutout @stellamancer for leaving such lovely comments on dybil that it actually kinda pushed me to write this longer piece connected to it!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[bngjwn]

hi yes i’m very late i know i’m Sorry  bUt pls enjoy this gif of yoongi being the cute baby he is because it’s gonna be rare for you to see jiwan like that hfjdgfdjk ANYWAYS hello !! my name is liv ( she/her ), i’m 19 and in the gmt-4 timezone, and i bring to you my son BANG JIWAN. now, he’s not the most sociable or outgoing guy out there, but he has his charms i promise. he’s been through a lot in his life and nowadays he’s just ,, dealing with things as they come his way lmao you can find his unfinished stats HERE and i don’t have a plots page just yet but i’m literally open to anything !! i might have one up in the future, though jkdjdshjs under the cut i’ve gathered some information about jiwan, so if you wanna plot with us just like this post and i’ll come bother you uwu let’s get to it !!

tw: mentions of alcohol & drugs, death, jail-related themes

┅ ☆ ★ ✮ ∟ ‖ min yoongi. 26. cismale. he/him. ‖— extinguishing cigarettes on snow , black tattoos on pale skin , feeling the wind against your face. 」did you hear that BANG JIWAN is planning on attending the next race ?! i won’t lie, i’m pretty excited to see their BLACK ASTON MARTIN VANTAGE in person. i know people say they’re really  SELF-RELIANT , DISCERNING & PHLEGMATIC , but don’t you think they come off way too UNFORESEEABLE  ,  BLASÉ & CONTUMACIOUS ? i hear they’re always blasting RENEGADE by STYX ? oh well, they’re a member of the HELLCATS so i guess i shouldn’t complain.

╭ ⌑ past.

jiwan was born in gwangju, south korea, and his childhood was what most people would consider nice. he had nice things -- nice clothes, a nice house, nice friends, nice opportunities... it was really a shame his parents weren’t just as nice

he was often put under pressure by his parents ( two successful business people ), who never really understood why their son was so closed off like that. he got very good grades at school, but he was always that shy kid no one talks to. he was that child the teacher always forgets is in their class, and that was okay. he liked being by himself; didn’t feel like he needed anyone else, even at such a young age

jiwan played by himself, studied by himself, went out by himself. he liked to sit alone in the park and just watch as people walked by. sometimes people thought he was weird, but he just enjoyed his own presence; always had, and that was a fact. maybe he indeed was a little weird, though

he tended to never initiate conversations with anyone, but would follow along with no issue if someone came up to talk to him. that’s the only reason why he was able to have a small circle of friends all through elementary and high school

things changed in high school, in which jiwan got involved with the wrong people and started doing things his parents definitely wouldn’t be proud of if they knew about it; they were only happy their son was finally socializing and being a normal teenager

well... not so normal, since his outings with his friends involved a lot of alcohol, drugs, getting his first tattoos ( in secret ) and irresponsible car rides on the outskirts of town. around that time, jiwan fell in love with the way the wind hit his face when he went shotgun in one of his friends’ cars or just drove himself, smiling brightly for what felt like the first time in his life, loving the adrenalin it gave him

in the middle of his third year in high school, his parents died in a plane crash while flying to an important business meeting in another country. jiwan suddenly found himself as an 19-year-old orphan with nothing on him besides his excessive quietness. he cried at their death and felt horrible for all of the bad things he’d ever thought about them ( and thankfully not said ), but he also felt angry in a way he’d never felt before

frustrated with the loss of his parents, he went out with his friends and drank his ass off, accidentally starting a club fight that got him into a lot of trouble

he actually ended up being dragged to the police station after that, being sentenced to a year in jail, completely unable to bail himself out because of his heritage money being frozen by the bank

needless to say, jiwan wasn’t happy at all to be going to jail right after his parents died. he had so much resentment inside himself, so much hatred but at the same time he went back to being the quiet guy he was before he got involved with the wrong crowd

somehow, no one messed with him during his time in jail. he was still only 19, but the way he portrayed himself to the outside public was something that made people feel intimidated, somehow. none of his “friends” from before the accident happened came to visit him while he was locked up, which he pretended not to care about, but deep inside, he felt a bit hurt

being in jail taught him that he really couldn’t trust anyone besides himself. if he was an individualist before, it got even stronger after he got out of jail a year later

it was tough to get his heritage money back, going through a lot of paperwork with the bank, but when he finally did get it back, he used most of it to buy himself a nice car and then ride off towards busan -- he had visited the city once before and felt immediately drawn to it

in busan, it wasn’t too tough to settle down, since he still had a bunch of money left, so he quickly found a small flat for himself, which contrasted a whole fucking lot with his fancy ass car, but, you know... priorities

he went back to being the quiet one among everyone else, getting random jobs here and there, riding on his car by himself and experiencing the happiness it gave him without anyone by his side -- it was literally the only thing keeping him alive. it was nice, he never really minded being by himself, and it was a big surprise when a group of guys approached him one day, telling him they had seen him riding just out of town and wanting to know if he’d like to join them to form a group of people who also raced. it was very out of the blue, but jiwan accepted. he had nothing to lose anyway ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

╭ ⌑ present.

jiwan is part of the original members of the hellcats, way back when the gang was just starting off, so he’s often seen as some kind of inspiration for people who have joined later on ( even if he himself doesn’t quite understand that )

he’s a full time racer, not having any other side jobs because it’s just too much effort and he really can’t be bothered to overwork himself for some cash he very obviously doesn’t need -- everything he earns goes straight to upgrading his car or just maintaining it in general

he’s a very good racer, has lost a few races in his lifetime, but never got super crazy over them like some people in his gang get

jiwan’s still living in the same fucked up flat he got when he moved to busan; he doesn’t think it’s necessary to buy something bigger

╭ ⌑ personality & extras.

he won’t tell anyone this, but his car’s name is actually kiki

jiwan doesn’t often talk about his feelings, since he tends to keep everything to himself, but if he trusts someone enough ( which is hard ), he’ll definitely have some deep conversations with them about anything and everything

he doesn’t have anything against anyone. he’s a peaceful guy. yes, he has some resentful feelings inside himself, but never lets it show. most of the time, he will appear calm and collected and like he doesn’t give a shit about what’s happening around him

he’s had some pretty bad things happen in his life and by now he doesn’t get impressed by too little; he’s become indifferent to most things

in the love department...... he doesn’t do very well. he mostly sleeps around and has casual flings or just friends with benefits and no strings attached at all, but when he falls in love with someone, he falls hard, and becomes someone else entirely, always trying to protect them and make them feel loved. it’s really a contrast to the person he usually appears to be

tbh, he’s only ever been in one serious relationship, which ended pretty badly, and even if he didn’t hold a grudge against his ex ( doyeon ), the fact that he still does to this day just sends him and he can’t help but bite back

that being said, he doesn’t initiate any fights, but if instigated, he will retaliate

btw he’s not very competitive so he’s really only in it for the racing part lmao it pisses him off sometimes when other people in his gang get really fucking mad when they lose a race. like. calm down greg it's soccer

doesn’t care about the rivalry between the kings and the hellcats. if you’re nice to him, he’ll be ( moderately ) nice to you. if you try to shoot him on the foot, he’ll do just the same to you

he actually has a black ragamuffin called bomi. in his most stressful days, he likes to go home and allow her to claim his lap as his favorite spot to sleep on. the image of him with his cat is probably the softest thing anyone’s ever going to see, so he tries to not show people that lmao

however DEEP deep inside ( really deep ) he’s just..... very soft. cares a lot about his friends and will do anything in his power to keep them safe and content. you just gotta earn his trust first

[compartmentalizinglmao]

.

[blueprint-han]

a musical encounter.

pairing: music major senior!han x music major junior!reader

genre: university (?? idk) au; fluff.

⇥ warnings: very terribly™ written by a person who has a -8.9 knowledge in music, also the singing parts are not very well described and this may seem incomplete because i’m trying to force teach myself to write short, but oh well 🤧 I wanna write a longer fic based on this in the future hhhhhhhh. me after writing this fic: wow i really clowned myself at “short fic” didn’t I 🤡 also not proofread so be mindful of errors and google autocorrect <//3

word count: 1.7 K 🤡

⇥ disclaimer: this writing does not aim to represent the activities of the real Han Jisung, nor does it represent JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

type: blurb drabble 😭 (why can I never write sh0rt hmph >:( )

network tag: @stayverse @districtninewriters @inkidz + @sunoo-luvs

part of: the url drabble game; requested by @missinghan :’’) (requests for this are closed now!)

!!; song y/n is imagined to sing here is ‘Freedom 90, the Pitch Perfect Version (of course, with pre added acappella). You may find the song here, if you wanna listen to it. hhhhhh this is based on my rusty research about music equipment (which may be wrong) so if this is not what it’s supposed to mean please go easy on me. 😂

↯ note: hhhhh okay so this one has no direct mention or relation to your url but I rather picked it up from your url ~vibes~ (since the only idea that was dropping into my head was making han go missing ufhurg) so I hope you don’t mind ! Hope you like it uwu 💓 Happy reading. <3 Again this will not compare to your writing queen, but I tried. 😔 ⇥ dawn.☀️

“Gosh, this is a music recording, not a date — what’s there to be scared about?” Your friend chided, setting up the mic and the filter as you panicked behind the glass. “You’re a music major! Isn’t this supposed to be what you do?”

“You’re saying that like you aren’t one, and you totally didn’t freak out two days ago, Sana.”

Sana huffed, shaking her head before moving to connect all the wires in place. “Yeah. but…” Her voice came out low when she crouched down to fix all the wires. “The nerves shake off eventually. You’ve nothing to worry. Did you hydrate?”

“I’ve been sipping on this water bottle for the past half an hour!” You sighed, walking inside the booth to stand next to your friend. “And what do you mean ‘shake off’ — you mean that time you ‘accidentally’ broke the headphones when you wear putting them on?” A bite of your lip to stifle your laugh, and Sana’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

“Wow, you’re gonna-” She slapped your arm after getting up. “-bring that up even though we had an agreement that we’re gonna keep it a secret?”

“Okay, ouch that hurts!” You chortled. “There’s no one here though, I still kept my promise.”

“Yeah right, in a rented schoolroom studio, with cameras everywhere.”

“They still wouldn’t be able to hear me, right?” You pointed out, bursting into a fit of giggles, nervousness be damned when Sana pouted in defeat.

“Fine, now help me set this up. Come onnnnn…” Your friend shook your arm violently to kick you out of your laughter. You shook your head, crouching over again to fix the wires while your friend set up all the equipment outside the booth.

“All set?”

“Yeah…” You took a deep breath fixing your dress up a bit before reaching your hand out, fitting the headphones snug over your ears. Your eyes caught on something black lying on the tables, and you pointed it out.

“Whose headphones are those?” You pointed out, and Sana looked to the direction. “Eh,” she brushed it off. “Probably the person who’d received this room to record before, they’ll take care of it.” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, nodding. “Now come on, let’s start. We have to submit this tomorrow and I have a movie date, so it can’t get later than this.”

“Alright,” You chimed, clearing your throat once, twice before inhaling deeply. You were surely nervous before, but somehow singing always helped you disconnect from your surroundings, it was your escape — one of the main reason you’d chosen music technology in a heartbeat when you found out it was an option for your major.

“Ready? And, go.”

Sana hit a button, causing soft music to play through the headphones, a melody she’d carefully crafted over nights of 3 am coffee and many, many texts to you — most of them saying “I wanna sleeeepppppp waaaaa”. You’d obviously heard it before but you realised why it took her so long (nearly a week), because it was near perfection.

“Heaven knows I was just a young boy~”

The song went pretty smoothly on the most part, with Sana stopping you in between verses and and going over parts she wanted you to repeat, which you gladly complied. She was the senior, of course.

When it cam down to the last verse, about half an hour had passed — and you felt pretty good about it. your vocals were shining pretty well and blended with the music perfectly, which put you at ease.

“Okay, let’s finish this.” Sana said, focused on changing up the settings, before giving you a countdown, hitting play. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you waited for the beat drop to end, leading to your high note. That again. went pretty well, along with the rest of the song, finishing it up with an exhale.

When you removed the headphones and got out of the booth — you met the eyes of someone you did not expect to see standing there.

“O-Oh, hello Han-ssi.” You bowed down in gratitude, overly surprised of his presence.

Han was, just like Sana, your senior. He was one of the best students in your academy — of course, scoring the highest grade in all of his tests. Many would say otherwise because of his tsundere nature, but you could tell that he had a burning passion for music under those eyes. You’d listened to his tracks in various events your university hosted — and safe to say you were in love with his music. He had a way of making his tracks sound so… real? And natural — the kind that you wouldn’t get bored of no matter how many times you heard it.

Han bowed back and mumbled a silent “hello~” back to you before extending hia hand past you to grab the headphones placed on the table. Ohhh, so that’s why they were familiar. You’d noticed them hanging around his neck multiple times on campus.

Once he’d chatted with Sana and you for a bit (more Sana than you) and bowed before he left, you grabbed Sana’s arm before pulling her towards yourself.

“How long was he here for?” You whispered, a pout on your face.

“Umm, I think throughout the last verse?” Sana shrugged.

“What?” Your shoulders slumped. “Didn’t he come to pick up his headphones?”

“Are you seriously getting flustered right now?” Your friend narrowed her eyes playfully, making a teasing noise as she pushed at your shoulder.

“Ah,” You rolled your eyes. “Stop being so teasing, I’m just a little shy of anyone else hearing my singing.” You flapped your hand to brush her statement away — before she could say something or point it out how evidently flustered you’d grown of the fact that your role model — the Han Jisung — had listened to your music.

“Well, you’re a music major, kid. Get used to it.”

And with that, Sana bid her goodbye to you, helping you wrap up the place before hopping down the stairs, earphones plugged into her ears as she hummed a tune all the way.

You silently stood in front of the elevator, playing with the hem of your sleeves as you waited for it to arrive. Curse at your studios for being on the last floor of the building, waiting for the elevator seemed like an eternity.

You also didn’t notice the random person that stood beside you. it was getting late anyways, the sun was almost close to setting by the time you were done, so it was only obvious that the remaining students would go home.

“So, you sing?” A very familiar sounding voice echoed in your ears, and you flipped your head to the side, once again meeting the eyes of someone you didn’t expect to meet right now.

And of course, if was Han Jisung.

Now that you weren’t freaking out (but you were close to), you could focus on him a little more properly, and you immediately noticed the headphones hanging around his neck, again. He had a large black hoodie on, his hands were shoved into his pockets and his hair was neatly combed and parted. If you had to describe him in three words, it’d be “messy but clean”.

“Oh, h-hello again.” You bowed.

“Hi!” He reciprocated your actions, looking at you. “My question?”

“W-what?” Your eyes widened as you fiddled with the edge of your shirt.

“You sing?”

“I-” You started. “I do, I’ve loved singing since I was six.”

“Oh.” Jisung nodded, letting his words trail of for a second. “You sing really well. I listened to that last part of the song — really well done.”

Tensing up, a smile tugged at your lips. “R-really?”

“Yeah,” Jisung chuckled. “You have a pretty voice, Y/N. And that’s a genuine compliment.”

“O-oh.” You felt yourself grow bashful of his presence all of a sudden, your cheeks feeling hot as the heat spread to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You mumbled, diverting your gaze from your eyes as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s so sweet of you to say.”

“I mean it.” The boy said, frowning. at the sight in front of him — your eyes drifting from place to place and the way you shifted from one foot to other — you seemed to be uncomfortable, but in reality you just didn’t know how to respond. “You okay?”

“A-ah, I am, it’s just.” Moving your hands around, you tried to put your thoughts into words, only to fail miserably, before you sighed and collected yourself. “I just really like your music a lot, and I…” You trailed off, rubbing at your shoulder. “Kinda look up to you, so hearing you say that, it just means a lot to me. Thank you”

The boy standing beside you beamed like sunshine at your response, gently poking at your shoulder as he eyes you mischievously.

“You look up to me, huh?” He giggled when you stumbled over your words, bringing a hand to rake through his hair. “You’re adorable, I’ll tell you that too.”

“Oh my god stop, do you want me to combust?” You laughed, the nervousness laced throughout your statement.

“Okay fine,” Jisung nodded, attaching his headphones to the audio jack of his phone, rummaging through his playlist. “You wanna come to my studio once?”

“What?” Your head snapped in his direction, eyes widening as you took in what he said, excitement filling your veins? Han Jisung’s studio? Seeing him make music in front of your eyes? Is this a fucking dream?

“I mean, only if you want to, of course. I was just asking because you seemed like you’d like to see my music making process. You don’t have to say yes though.”

“Oh gosh, no, I’d love to!” You yelped, stopping him in his tracks. He smiled gently, nodding at you as he scratched his chin in thought.

“So, tomorrow morning is fine?” He looked at you with almost, almost pleading eyes, and you felt like your heart melted into a puddle on the spot. He was cute.

You smiled, shyly nodding as you quickly went through your schedule in your head. “I can work with that.”

“See you tomorrow morning then.” The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open as the both of you got in, giggling at each other.

You couldn’t wait for tomorrow morning, that was for sure.

*silently puts on clown hat and leaves*

↯ note: 🕯️ ignore me this is just a small prayer that tumblr doesn’t make me battle the tags yet again 🕯️ may the tumblr gods be in my favor atleast this once ;-; 🕯️ ⇥ dawn.☀️

[piceuscelus]

The witchers buy a teenage omega (Jaskier) so that they can augment their dwindling population. The Witchers treat their slave like little more than a walking womb, stuffing him full with a half dozen or more pups each year and using him during their ruts even if he's already knocked up. I know birth isn't your thing but if you could focus on how big Jaskier is and how little the witchers care about his comfort as he gets more and more swollen with their young, that would be great :))

hhhhhh anon this is just - hhhhhnnnngggggg jesus christ

i had so many ideas for this and like,,, so many specific things i wanted to try and do but it was just Too Much. i might have to write more if the inspo strikes me tbh.

non-con, breeding, and pregnancy below. (no birth, only vague mentions of babies.)

It’s somewhat rare that an omega is compatible with Witchers, but when they do find one – well.

Jaskier is his name – at least, that’s what the slave trader had told them. What his name is doesn’t really matter, overall; he’s a breeder. The world needs more Witchers, and the easiest way to make them is to find a compatible omega, and he’s a compatible omega. Past that, none of them really care.

When they first buy him, he’s a tiny thing, thin and just barely coming in to his purpose as a womb; his breasts are tiny, his hips barely wide enough for birth, but that’ll change soon enough. It always does. After the first pup, an omega’s body gets the message and adjusts.

And they’ll be giving him much more than just one pup.

– – – – – 

“Present,” Vesemir orders, and the omega squeaks but does as he’s told. Either because he’s been trained or because omegas always do what Alphas say, none of them know, but like his name, it doesn’t matter enough to think on.

Jaskier goes to hands and knees first. Eskel kicks his wrist out from under him. He squeaks again at the kick, but doesn’t protest; instead, he just shifts his arms back and drops his chest to the floor, turning his head so he can press nearly flat. The motion raises his hips higher, but Geralt nudges at his waist to make him lift them even more, until he’s nearly unbalanced on his knees.

“Hands,” Vesemir says, and Jaskier wobbles a little but manages to stretch his hands out behind him so he can grasp at his asscheeks and pull himself open, baring his cunt and his asshole. His cock is just barely long enough to see it past the curve of his pussy, probably a bit longer if he gets hard, but none of them care much about that. It’s not the important part of him, after all.

Vesemir bends and prods at the omega’s asshole, then his cunt, spreading the folds and testing the automatic production of slick by shoving two fingers inside him with no preamble. Jasker makes a sound, shocked, but there’s no pain in his scent and no blood on Vesemir’s fingers, just the first thin, watery beginnings of slick. It’s a good sign, means they’ll be able to fuck him full properly once his body gets the message that he’s being bred. 

“Never had a pup, have you?”

“N-no,” Jaskier mumbles. Vesemir tuts and smacks the tender join of ass and thigh. Jaskier shouts, but quickly tacks on, “Alpha, no, Alpha, I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Vesemir says. “Well, you will with us. More than one. Probably more than a dozen.”

Lambert snorts. “More than that,” he says. “Between the four of us…. Never mind if any of the others join in.”

Vesemir chuckles. “True. Alright, up, omega.” 

Jaskier grunts and scrambles to his feet, shivering when he’s finally standing. He does look good, even with as thin as he is, and he smells like a dream – he’s probably the most fuckable omega they’ve ever found. Just means they’ll be putting a lot of pups into him.

Vesemir reaches out and adjusts the omega’s collar so that the decorated ring is at the front. “We’ll have to get you some matching cuffs,” he muses. “Be easier to get you on the bench if we have something to anchor to.”

“Y-yes, Alpha,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at the floor.

“When���s your heat due?” Vesemir asks.

Jaskier makes a little, thoughtful sound, and there’s a moment’s pause where he clearly does the math in his head. “Two months, Alpha,” he declares, and Vesemir hums.

“Lambert, your rut is closest, right?”

“Two weeks.”

“Right, then you’ll pair with him first. That should trigger his heat, and that way we have a better chance to get him bred with a litter the first time around.”

“What if his heat doesn’t trigger?” Eskel asks. Ever the pragmatist, he’s been the most concerned about the logistics of such a young omega as a breeder since the moment they bought him. “Lambert’s an unfamiliar Alpha.”

“If it doesn’t, we’ll use the potion,” Vesemir says. “It’ll increase fertility anyway.”

Geralt hums. “Lambert’s pairing first,” he says, “but are we joining?”

“After the first two days, sure,” Lambert says. “I’ll be too possessive before that.”

“Fair enough.”

“A-Alpha,” Jaskier mumbles, quiet and shaky.

“What, omega?” Vesemir answers, even though they all turn when he says Alpha.

“Can I – will I have any clothes?”

Vesemir chuckles. “No, omega,” he says. “You’re a breeder. If you’re not pregnant, we’ll be breeding you to get you there. If you are pregnant, we’ll be breeding you to give you a litter. And if we can’t give you any more, well, we’ll be breeding you for the stress relief. Got it?”

Jaskier makes a small noise. “I – y-yes. Alpha.”

“Good, omega. Now, come on. We’ll need to measure you for those extra cuffs.”

– – – – – 

They end up lucky; Jaskier is even more fertile than expected. 

They can all smell it when he catches the first time, when Lambert’s rut starts and he takes Jaskier to the floor without preamble. Jaskier cries out and struggles, but only for a split second before Lambert’s cock is sinking into him and he’s going pliant, instincts much louder than any of his conscious thoughts. He catches on that first knot, which makes Lambert preen like an arrogant knothead.

Never mind that when Jaskier catches again the first time he takes Geralt’s knot, and then again on Eskel’s turn, they both preen the same damn way.

Three for a first pregnancy is a lot, but it’s fine. Omegas are built for birth, for breeding; and if he doesn’t survive it, well – omegas are plentiful. It’ll be harder to find a compatible one, but if they spend a season searching all the slave auctions, it shouldn’t be too hard.

And really, Lambert’s rut is more likely to kill him than the pregnancy.

“Alpha,” Jaskier whines, clearly overwhelmed as Lambert knots him for the fifth time in as many hours. “Alpha.”

Lambert chuckles. “Feel full yet, omega?” he asks, rubbing a large hand over Jaskier’s belly. “You’ve caught three times now – you’re gonna be bedridden, you’ll be so big.”

Jaskier squirms and sobs, thighs trembling as his body milks the knot settled deep in his guts even though it hurts. “Alpha, please.”

“Please what?” Lambert asks. “I’m already giving you more than you could ever want, omega. Got you all nice and knocked up, and you’ll never be empty again. Not if we have any say in it.”

“Too much,” Jaskier pleads, and Lambert snorts.

“Should probably get that phrase out of your vocabulary,” he says. “Oh well. We’ll train you up soon enough.”

– – – – – 

Since Jaskier’s heat had triggered with Lambert’s rut, it means they spend even more time breeding him. Even with him already caught, the heat is vicious, as if his body thinks it can take more.

They’re definitely not complaining. Jaskier makes the sweetest noises strung out on their knots, pained and desperately wanting all at once, and he’s so full of their seed that his belly is swollen no matter how long they leave him to leak. 

“Hell of a claim,” Eskel says, petting over the curve of it as he shoves his knot into Jaskier’s abused hole. The omega gives a choked scream, but his hips jerk back into the pressure all the same, eyes hazy with the heat. “Wonder if he’ll go into heat again like normal after this.”

“Shouldn’t, since he’s caught,” Geralt points out, shoving three fingers into Jaskier’s mouth to muffle his sounds. He sucks at them, sloppy wet and obscene, and Geralt’s cock twitches slowly back to life between his thighs. As soon as Eskel’s knot goes back down, Jaskier will get Geralt’s again.

“Yeah, but this heat is pretty brutal considering he’s already caught. Wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve ever seen if he still cycles as usual.”

Geralt hums. “Gods, that’ll be something – knotting him when he’s really swollen. Three pups already – he’s already shaping up to be the best breeder we’ve ever had.”

Eskel grunts and grinds his knot further into Jaskier’s body, making the omega choke on Geralt’s fingers. “Yeah,” he agrees.

Lambert mumbles sleepily where he’s still recovering from his rut. “Still need to train him, too,” he says. “Think it’ll be easier or harder with him carrying?”

“Easier,” Geralt guesses. “He’s already pretty suggestible. Obedient, too. All hopped up on pregnancy hormones and surrounded by alphas I think he’ll be easy to mold.”

“Hope so,” Eskel sighs, giving one more grinding thrust before his knot deflates and he shoves Jaskier’s hips toward Geralt’s lap. It’s easy to turn him, he’s so small and light, and slide right into his hole, gaping wide from the constant use over the last week. 

Jaskier melts into him with a high, pained little noise. “Alpha.”

“You can sleep,” Geralt offers. “We’re not going to stop, but you don’t need to be awake for it.”

Jaskier sucks in a trembling breath. “Oh – oh...okay.”

Geralt snorts and grinds his cock deeper just to feel the way Jaskier’s body spasms around him. 

– – – – – 

“Witcher pups don’t need milk as long,” Vesemir informs Jaskier, as he’s lying bedridden and so round with three pups that he almost looks comical. “You’ll birth, breast feed for two weeks, wean them off for one, and then we’ll give you more.”

Jaskier groans, clearly upset, but doesn’t protest. “Yes, Alpha,” he mumbles. “I – oh.” He jolts and reaches up to rub at his side. “Kicking,” he explains, when Vesemir raises a brow.

“Hm. Well, it’ll be over soon,” he says. “Get some rest. You’re due to go into labor in a handful of days, if that.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Jaskier says.

– – – – – 

The timing of the birth ends up great. Vesemir ends up going into rut almost as soon as Jaskier is ready to be bred again, the triplets weaned. 

He’s exhausted, clearly, bags under his eyes and a frown etched on his face, but none of them care. And he’s obedient, well-trained after an entire pregnancy of being fucked whenever they wanted; when Geralt gets him out of bed just to drag him downstairs and strap him to the breeding bench, he only grunts his discomfort at the pressure on his still-sagging belly.

“Don’t worry,” Geralt reassures him. “It’ll be swollen and full again soon.”

Jaskier mumbles something unintelligible, but when Geralt pets over his cunt, he’s already wet. 

“Good omega,” he praises, chuckling when Jaskier shivers clearly against his will. “Vesemir’s probably gonna give you another three all by himself. Wonder how many we could get you to carry, hm?”

Jaskier just makes more unintelligible noises, but then Vesemir is striding into the room, eyes bright with rut-fever, and Geralt backs up quickly.

Vesemir is mostly silent for his rut, no teasing or humiliating words like the others. For some reason it’s almost worse for Jaskier, being treated entirely like an object.

His cunt is still wet, though, and the more cum Vesemir pumps into him, until the pressure of the bench on his belly is more painful because of the swell, the wetter he gets.

“Look at that,” Lambert whistles, coming in to watch near the end of Vesemir’s rut. “Fucked you all through your pregnancy and you’re still desperate for it. What’s that rule we taught you, omega? Repeat it for me.”

“Whenever, wherever, however,” Jaskier repeats, voice breaking with each of Vesemir’s brutal thrusts. His knot is forming and against his will, Jaskier wants it.

“Again.”

“Whenever, wherever, however,” Jaskier says. Before Lambert can even ask again, though, he’s doing it again, and again, and again, until Vesemir’s knot slams into him and he’s taken in an orgasm he can’t control, body shaking hard enough to rattle his restraints on the bench.

“Good little bitch,” Vesemir growls, and Jaskier just clenches harder onto his knot to milk it.

“Think I’ll have a go when Vesemir’s done,” Lambert muses. “After all, you’re already on the bench. No reason to waste the position, is there?”

Jaskier moans tiredly. “Whenever, wherever, however,” he repeats. 

“Exactly. Good little breeder.”

– – – – –

Jaskier gives them nine pups in his first three years as a breeder. In his fourth year, between Geralt and Eskel’s ruts hitting at the same time alongside Jaskier’s heat, and several fertility treatments, they manage to give him seven at once.

It barely takes two months of that pregnancy for Jaskier to be bedridden and beside himself with the intensity of it. That doesn’t mean they stop using him, though.

Why would it?

Lambert’s rut hits just after Jaskier becomes bed bound. He spends the whole week of it in the same bed as Jaskier, forcing Jaskier to hold his own weight up on hands and knees so Lambert can take his pleasure, filling Jaskier even more full with cum.

“Look at you,” Lambert growls, grinding his knot into Jaskier’s body just to yank it out and then do it again. Jaskier screams with it, arms trembling where he can barely hold himself up, belly heavy and painful as it sways below him with each of Lambert’s movements. “All fucked full with our pups and still so fucking wet for it, like your cunt doesn’t know it’s done it’s job. We got seven this time, think we could get you to nine at once?”

Jaskier sobs. “Alpha,” he pleads. “Alpha, please.”

“Hush, omega,” Lambert orders. “Take your knotting like a good little bitch. What’s your rule?”

“When – ah – whenever, wherever – h-h – ow, however.” 

“Exactly. We get to decide when you’re done being a nice little hole to fuck, not you. Gods, you squeeze so fucking tight when you hurt, fuck.”

Jaskier sobs again, and hears as well as smells Vesemir’s approach. “Alpha,” he mumbles, head dropping. He’s so tired and everything hurts and – oh.

“Yeah, just like that,” Lambert coos. “You always do come on our knots. Such a good little omega. You do know your purpose, don’t you? You just get a little forgetful, sometimes.”

Vesemir chuckles. “Think we should bring the other two in here again? Make him remember for real?”

Lambert laughs, too. “Oh yeah,” he grunts. “Fuck, he feels so fucking good when he’s all sloppy and tense at once like this.”

“Oh, I know,” Vesemir agrees, and a hand cups Jaskier’s jaw. He lifts his head with the pull to find a cock in his face, and he takes it into his mouth with ease, not bothering to repress his gagging or choking as Vesemir slowly fucks his face. They’ve knotted his mouth so he passed out, before; a little gagging is hardly enough to put them off using his body. “Best breeder we’ve ever gotten. Think we’ll keep him once he can’t pop out pups anymore, even. He’s already such a good toy – may as well keep him for it.”

[transsexualhamlet]

sherlock holmes reactions part six (aka me losing my mind over the final problem)

Hi, I am once again reminding you all that I've formed a parasocial relationship with the crackhead detective 👍 This made me overly emotional for the fact that he didnt even die

But like

hhhmmmmmmmm those were certainly an interesting 14 pages

Yeah, I already made a post about how the final problem relates to yuumori's final problem and how incredibly sexy it is but yes now I'd just like to relay to you how absolutely heart brocken i am over this lol I will eventually get to reading the post hiatus stories i just. I haven't emotionally recovered from this yet

Yelling below the cut somehow this reaction feels longer than the story itself. but it's about half cracking jokes and half sobbing so be prepared

I mean, starting off strong with "well yknow since i got married my and sherlock's Very Intimate Relations had to be modified and all but we hadnt seen each other in a while so it was kind of jarring to see him crawling in my second story bedroom window clutching Wounds and closing the shutters absolutely fucking wasted losing his mind over some dude named moriarty"

We've been over this but. Oh my god why are they gay

I just like????? Imagine how fucking bizzare that would be to just see your old homie crawl into your window bleeding on your floor and asking to exit the other way in case he's followed like "hey bro can we Talk i hope you're not busy" WHAT IS HE SUPPOSED TO DO, SAY HE IS? Imagine watson just like "no dude I'm fucking busy go get killed"

But legitimately. That's certainly something. And like, I see a lot of books starting like this lmao but. Holmes's stuff usually starts off kind of easily with watson going "yeah so lately ive been Experiencing Sherlock Holmes" and spend 20 minutes on exposition with them having a Conversation but no. mans just fucking escaped a hitman and went directly to his boyfriend's house having apparently Never Before In His Goddamn Life mentioned his actual nemesis to this guy. How the FUCK has watson never heard of him before.

And how sherlock starts talking about it isn't any less funny he's just like "UHHH SO THERE'S THIS GUY. THIS ABSOLUTE MAN. AND HES REALLY IMPRESSIVE I MEAN HES LIKE SUPER FUCKING SMART AND HES LIKE DOING CRIMES????? SO I LIKE. I NOTICED AS I DO BUT HE NOTICED THAT I NOTICED AND I MIGHT HAVE MADE A LITTLE FUCKY WUCKY DUDE CAN YOU HELP ME LIKE. FLEE THE COUNTRY" and watson's like my dear sherlock What The Fuck

Im also loving how he calls moriarty a "mathematical celebrity" awhi;grih;oaewhhta;ioh;iaewh;ii;oewh;eh;rg mans just. ok lol hes a Math Celebrity that had to quit his math teacher job because EVERYONE JUST KNEW HE WAS A CRIME LORD LIKE THEY TOOK ONE LOOK AT HIM AND WENT MANS DEFINITELY HAS BODIES IN HIS BASEMENT I DONT WANT HIM TEACHING HERE

But yeah, it was interesting to see what the big deal about og moriarty was... especially since the deal simply did not deliver. There was not really a big deal. It's like reading the first chapter of a book and immediately skipping to the climax. Everything is so hyped up and clearly having been building for years and you just get like NO CONTEXT. I swear Moriarty wasn't goddamn mentioned any time before this. He's just suddenly the big guy and watson has just never fucking heard shit about this guy.

What's so funny about this whole situation is that I just. Cannot objectively know anything about Moriarty at all because sherlock just... does not go into what this dude's alleged crimes even were, other than. The fact that he like. Does them. He's just really involved in crimes. How? Why? For how long? In what way? For what purpose? NO FUCKING CLUE HE JUST. HE JUST DOES. And there's nothing to really suggest that Moriarty was honestly a really evil guy. They're all like trust me he was just. he was just really bad but show absolutely No examples of being such. The most evil thing we saw Moriarty do personally was call sherlock stupid for letting him get into the apartment. And even then he immediately followed it up with complimenting him lol

yeah, my impression of Moriarty was like. I expected him to be worse, honestly. I expected him to be like a cartoon villain because he was kind of made out to be one and then he's just honestly a really polite and refined guy?? Mans strolls the fuck into 221B like hi shawty and it is Not like yuumori obviously man's holding a gun but like. What the fuck they are just. They have never met before but They Clearly Have and it's. its so weird

Like honestly I don't dislike og moriarty. He's really what william tried to be (and fucking failed, but beside the point) but like. Dude's so powerful and for what. He just walks into the apartment with No Pretense like why sherlock holmes is that a revolver or are you just happy to see me oh my goodness you are a dolt why would you hold the gun that way. disgusting. disgraceful. dreadful. Oh my god. I love him I'm sorry

abngnahhghifeah;iewh and Why does sherlock describe him like that hes like "MANS A REALLY REFINED LIZARD /pos" HIEHIFEHW:HGIHOEWFEEW FOR WHAT. FOR W H A T

baaaaaaaaghhhhhh but likeeeee they went STRAIGHT to "you know what I'm here for" "you know how I'm going to respond" "well then" "yeah" "mhm" "damn well it really do be like that sometimes" "ur really smart by the way" "im fucking aware let's kill each other as we both Thought in our Minds" "yes lets" AHDHDHDHDFS WTF THIS IS INSANE

But damn uh. mutual destruction my beloved this is very different from sherliam but im not. im not. opposed to it tucks hair behind ear

I just. Holy shit they really went "if you destroy me I will ensure that we both go down hand in unlovable hand" "I wouldn't mind that"

Annnnd I just noticed that the actual lines for this part kind of. that kind of happened in chapter 31 when sherlock was like i would Gladly die to take down the lord of crime and william was like. hahahah yeahNO NO NO NO

BUT SERIOUSLY THO IM LOSING MY MIND OVER HOW SHERLOCK SAYS THIS WHOLE THING TO WATSON AND HES LIKE DAMN SHAWTY HES LIKE THE REASON FOR HALF THE CRIME IN THIS CITY BUT HES SO NICE THO??? LIKE I EXPECTED HIM TO BE TOUGH AND EVERTHING NO HES JUST SOME POLITE PROPER UNDERSTANDABLE MAN WHO JUST HAPPENS TO BE VERY DIABOLICAL shawty is having a Crisis

And then watson is like wowww that was cool you wanna spend the night and sherlock is like "UNFORTUNATELY BESTIE I AM BEING FUCKING TRACKED DOWN ID LIKE YOU TO NOT DIE WITH ME"

This bit gave me a Moment Moment because oh my god. Then watson is like "no shut up i'm coming with you i don't care" and i just had to Take A Minute because THEY SWITCHED PLACES AAH SHERLOCK IS TRYING TO KEEP WATSON SAFE NOW AND WATSON IS NOW MORE RECKLESS BC OF HIM AND. AHHHH

Completely random but. How sherlock still refers to 221B as "our rooms" to watson even though watson hasn't lived their in years........ shawty i am emotional.........

SO THEY GODDAMN FLEE THE COUNTRY TOGETHER BC WATSON SAYS THEY HAVE TO STICK TOGETHER AND SHERLOCK HAS A MOMENT WHERE HE'S LIKE YEAH NEVERMIND PLEASE GO HOME WATSON AND WATSON IS JUST LIKE. NO. AND HSERLOCK IS LIKE. DAMN OK I HAVE NEVER HEARD YOU SAY THAT BEFORE

But. Ok as funny as this is. They have this fucking Conversation on the train to switzerland where sherlock is like "I have not lived in vain" and watson is like "YOURE NOT DYING" and hes like "i have not lived in vain. like i said. this will not be a bad way to die" UHHHHHH DAMN SHAWTY

hhhhhh and it just Gets. it. it. it Gets. These fuckers get to switzerland and they stay in a hotel and then leave for reichenbach but watson gets this goddamn letter telling him that hes needed at the hotel to basically save this lady's life. And he doesn't. Like. he doesn't even want to go he's like FUCK IT SHE CAN DIE IM NOT LEAVING YOU but sherlock convinces him to go fULLY KNOWING THE LETTER WAS FUCKING FAKED BY MORIARTY JUST AS A PLOY TO GET HIM ALONE

AND THEN HE JUST. WENT ANYWAY AND WATSON HAD TO WATCH HIM JUST LIKE GODDAMN WALK OFF INTO THE SUNSET LIKE "LITTLE DID I KNOW THIS WOULD BE THE LAST TIME I WOULD SEE HIM BUT IT JUST. IT HAD THAT VIBE YKNOW"

God I just. Wow sherlock really did that huh. He really went and did that. And I went over it in the post about this compared to yuumori but it just RUINED me how watson just. Never saw what happened and there's just so little information about it that all they have is these assumptions and pieces that just suggest that these guys met up, walked up to the goddamn waterfall having a nice civil conversation about how talented and smart they both were at this and how they revealed their methods to each other and complimented them because of course they did

And they just sat up there talking to each other so long and Moriarty legit waited politely or even possibly was the one that suggested he write a letter to watson in which sherlock just went "damn lol moriarty's pretty nice actually anyway uhhhh sorry watson ily ✌" and just like. left it up there in his damn cigarette box

But just like. damn the insinuation that moriarty just sat there and watched while he wrote that entire goddamn letter, sealed it up, and then got up and went alright buddy let's go but it makes no goddamn sense if they wanted to actually kill each other and assure they themselves would survive I could name like 23 different ways they could have managed it so easily and they Didn't. they were really set on mutual destruction huh. There's no way they were even trying to do anything but Die Together at that point and that's Something huh

It absolutely baffles me how they could say that these guys had plummetted like, holding each other tho. Like. ok lol but How Do You Even Know

It was certainly a ride. But the fact that Watson had to actively try to think like Sherlock to figure out what happened in the scene was just. The cherry on top. Especially after they'd consciously started to switch roles in this i just. Damn.

In conclusion uhhhhhhhh gay people real I suppose

[cullxtheherd]

@joannabethharvelle hi i have no control over myself bye [x]

Linking up to the grappling point Jacob Seed winces into the darkness surrounding the sheen of his headlamp below. “Christ,” He remarks, going over the edge, “I am getting too old for this shit.” The upper levels of the mine are occupied by a healthy number of his men and, confident in his skills, he rappels down in search of something other than the humdrum banality of the day-to-day routine.

He isn’t sure what Rachel and her team have been up to around these parts but as he touches down the stench of manufactured Bliss tinges the atmosphere, it’s ghostly green blurring up the edges of his vision. “Dumbest mess I ever heard of,” He grumbles annoyed and mocking the most recent installation of Faith Seed, “Let’s put it everywhere, brother Jacob, wah-wah-wah. We can put it in the water- p l e a s e, Rachel.”

Unlatching from the secure line he looks around, “Put it in the water my ASS!” Trying to get a sense of the size of the cavern he is in he reaches up, manually swiveling the light source attached to his head. “Stupid bitch o’clock, all the time.” Feeling more incensed than usual he drags on, “Who in their right fuckin’ minds woullll-hhhHHH!”

The last thing he is expecting to see down here in the dank gloom is a person staring back at him, slumped as they are. And especially not the Rookie. It takes him only a second to shake off the startle she’s given him, “Looks like you’ve got yourself in some kinda’ pickle, huh?”

Adjusting the light he makes his way, large and looming as he is and casting jagged, horrible shadows against the rock wall she’s using for support. “Hm,” It’s all he has to say on the matter of her injuries as he stoops nearby and he reaches into the pack he carries against his rear. “Sit still or I’ll make you,” Given the Bliss laden air he clarifies, “Understand?”

Not waiting for an answer he tucks a large wad of wild sage between his molars and he chews, “Ain’t got much by way of things for something like this,” Removing the bitten down plant matter he sticks it in the opening of an infected looking wound, “Quit your damn hollerin’.” Moving to undo his belt he gripes loudly as well, “Can’t hear myself think, woman.”

It isn’t ideal but he does recognize the need for improvisation in this situation so he grasps the hunting knife, unsheathing it from the holster on his thigh in a fluid, practiced motion. Moving a few feet away he eyes a pile of nearby sticks that have been left here by God-knows-who from fuck-knows-where to make some kind of semi-functional fire. They aren’t perfect and one is half rotten but, “Leg looks serious. I don’t think there’s no way you’re getting out of here without some fashion of splint, girl.”

Taking a half second of pity on her and her situation he shuts up, hands busy lopping off a short length of his belt. Gathering what usable support he can from the pile of branches he sets them down closer to where she is, occupying himself for longer than he needs. “Here,” He passes the shorn bit of leather to her and a small, quarter full, uncorked vial of Bliss, “You take that and bite down.”

Jacob Seed is an observant individual and the way she eyes him makes his expression sour. He isn’t by any means put off by her apprehension but he does think her smarter for it. “Now let’s make one thing clear here, between you and I, darlin’: I don’t like you just as much as you hate me. I don’t admire you or your mission or whatever crusade you’re on down here.” He eyes her seriously, glaring before speaking again, “But.” The word hangs, heavy, “You’re only useful to me alive, tool.”

“We go topside and split our separate ways you keep your fucking mouth shut about this, you understand me?” He hasn’t been patient or particularly careful with her as of yet, annoyed by her general presence in Hope County and, now, in his way and in need as she is? He very nearly gags, sick with the thought of fraternizing on this level with the enemy.

“Now,” Shifting focus back to the task at hand he grips a wide, meaty hand above her ankle, “You say when and we’re settin’ this leg best I can.” Taking a side eye, fleeting look up at her he goes for useless distraction instead of action, lips moving for the sheer droning rhythm.

“You know, one time, Joseph came tearing up outta’ the fields, headed right for the barn where I was workin',” He speaks as if she was there, or knows anything surrounding that time of their lives; he doubts she has read the Book. “Just a hollerin’ and carryin’ on: Jacob, Jacob!!” When he is sure the Rookie isn’t paying attention he places his hand above the break, “The new Mama’ broke Johnny’s fingers, come quick!”

“Those people were vile- yes! Even worse than me, honey.” Taking in a slow, deep breath he musters all the strength in his body, “And I said,” Without warning or hesitation he pulls and pushes, her colored and varied language selection filling in the blanks. “Nothing at all,” Jacob very nearly hollers over her, remembering needing any kind of available anchor point during times of trauma, “I set her God damn livelihood on fire.”

Moving quickly he doesn't have time to think, field training taking over as he braces his meagre splinting material with the remains of his belt. It isn’t long enough. “Fucking! Give me your belt- now!” Jacob doesn’t wait, "Come on, come on!" He reaches trying to hurry her along with impatient, wiggling fingers and when it is undone he pulls harshly at the end he is given, "Finally."

It doesn’t take long for him to finish what he has started and? He’s certainly done better work with less supplies. But? It is dark and it will have to do.

Though it isn’t what anyone would call temperate down here he sweats from the exertion of giving it his best under the circumstances. Despite listing his distaste for her moments ago he slops against the rock wall beside her, catching his breath. He eyes her curiously, taking care not to be seen.

“Not sure when I ran out of gauze,” He makes mindless conversation to fill the cavern with anything but pained, labored breathing and expletives. “This’ll have to do for now,” Shrugging out of his 86th emblazoned camouflage he motions, “Just need a second.” He says it more for her than himself, certain the only thing keeping her from going into total shock is the copious amount of Bliss in the air and, now, in her system.

The walkie pinched to his pack grumbles to life and he takes his attention away from her for the time being. The group exploring the cave above is concerned about the various and sundry noises. He is quick to order them outside with a directive to set up camp both topside and at the lower rear exit - he will need supplies and cover and it will be much too easy to send those occupying out.

“So,” He says, hunched over her and tying his shirt tightly when she comes to again, “Got a name besides Rookie? Or do you just prefer Deputy?”

[iturbide]

Character Breakdown! - Marianne 💖 and Dorothea

MY GIRLS

How do I feel about this character?

I love her.  I love this gentle girl who has gone through so much pain and hardship, who’s lost her parents to what she believes is a curse that she shares, who is afraid of herself as much as she fears the hatred of those around her.  I can’t tell you how many times I started talking to my screen while going through her supports, because you’re wrong Marianne you do deserve happiness you are good at things I believe in you even if you don’t believe in yourself.  She’s very relatable, honestly, with her shyness coupled with self-deprecation as a defense mechanism to keep people away, not to mention the deep depression; again, mental health issues are generally a taboo thing in media, so I was more than a little shocked when I got her A support and realized just what she’d been praying so fervently to the Goddess for.  But I also love that about her: she held strong, and she made it through to a better place, which is such a wonderfully hopeful story for anyone with similar struggles, showing that things can get better if you just hold on.  

Who do I ship this character with romantically?

I have an answer this time and technically I spoiled it in an earlier character breakdown.  Because it’s Dimitri.  I love these two broken people and the idea of them managing to support each other, using one another as an anchor to keep from falling further and slowly pulling themselves back out of the lonely places they’ve fallen, both with the other’s help and with the other in mind.  I think they would make a wonderful pair since they understand the other’s struggles so deeply, and I’m aiming for their paired endcard in my AM run in progress.

Also, not gonna lie, I do low-key ship her with Hilda because cotton candy girlfriends.  I just think they’re sweet and I love how Marianne laughs in their A support, how bright and open and cheerful it sounds.  It just does my heart good.

Who is my brOTP for this character?

Marianne deserves to have so many friends.  Aside from Claude (who is friends with just about everyone, this is non-negotiable with me), I really love her supports with Ignatz, and how he’s so gentle in coaxing her out of her shell and reassuring her that he enjoys sharing time with her.  They’re sweet, and I love their friendship dearly.  Also, surprisingly, Lorenz is another one who comes to mind; their A support was one of those that hit me right in the heart, and the fact that he’s so conscious of her feelings and urges her not to force herself to talk about things that upset her makes me think they would be very close friends, with Lorenz looking out for her and even running casual interference for her when she gets overwhelmed before inviting her to tea so she can calm down.

What’s my Unpopular Opinion™ about this character?

Okay so I know that Fandom loves the idea that Marianne is Berkut and Rinea’s kid.  And my unpopular opinion is that that is a terrible, terrible thing to do to her.  

It’s not that I don’t find the idea appealing, because in all honesty, I do.  The notion that Berkut and Rinea, or some reinarnations of them, had another chance in Fodlan and fell in love and had a daughter is delightful, and I would love to see it.  But let’s not forget that canonically, Marianne’s parents disappeared and are presumed dead, deeply traumatizing her and leaving her terrified of her own Brand and the monster she might become.  After what happened with Berkut and Rinea in Valentia, having them meet a fate that scars their daughter so utterly in another land and another life is utterly devastating, so I would much, much rather have her parents be anyone else than see these lives destroyed again and in the process destroy their child’s peace of mind.

What’s one thing I wish would have happened with this character in canon?

Okay so this is maybe a weird one but I wish she could appear in every route even if you don’t recruit her.  Because I obsessively collect every student I can recruit in my own runs, I’ve had to do a fairly substantial amount of digging for fic writing purposes, but everywhere I look for non-VW runs...you don’t see Marianne.  She doesn’t appear at Gronder in AM, nor does she appear at Myrddin or Derdriu in CF.  And while it’s entirely possible that her absence has a benign cause...well, if you’ve read her Supports, there’s a far more likely, far more dire explanation -- and that thought breaks my heart like little else.  So I wish she could have appeared somewhere over the course of non-VW routes, just so that we can see she made it through her depression and found something to cling to.  Even if it does open up the possibility that she might fall on the battlefield, the idea that she might have fallen outside it where no one could see or know hurts somehow worse.

and of course the diva herself

How do I feel about this character?

Glorious.  Stunning.  Inspired.  Dorothea is a phenomenal character, someone who I endlessly enjoy seeing and talking to through the game.  She’s cultivated this perfect image of herself for the monastery to see, but as you get to know her the truth is so heartfelt: while she comes across as just a girl looking to find a husband during her time at Garreg Mach, she came from nothing, enduring abuse during her life on the streets of Enbarr before she was found by chance and brought into the Mittelfrank Opera Company; she’s terrified of going back to that when her looks and her voice no longer pass muster, and she’s looking out for her future with a keen and critical eye, even though she has no real expectations of finding love through it.  And this can all come out before the timeskip, no less: afterward it’s...honestly a little heartbreaking, to see how deeply the war has affected her.  

While Marianne has found something to fight for and managed to get her depression in check, Dorothea has gone in the opposite direction, seeming to succumb to depression instead.  The war has had a dire effect on her mentality, such that she feels it’s stripped her of all but the ability to survive (”only thorns left on this rose,”) and so many of her lines and comments just feel bleak and lost.  There aren’t that many characters in 3H who really embody the impact that war can have on people, because so many of the characters are stepping up specifically to fight for what they believe in and holding strong to their resolve for the sake of their loved ones and their homes.  Dorothea is the standout example of someone who’s fighting just to make this all stop, because she can’t take it anymore.  The war affects her so deeply, in ways that it doesn’t seem to hit other students, and I end up feeling like she more than anyone is at risk in the War Phase because of it. 

Her character is just very raw and very powerful in surprising ways and I love her.

Who do I ship this character with romantically?

hhhhhh

it’s Lorenz okay

It’s always been Lorenz and you know what I’m already under the cut so just skip to the next header if you don’t want to read my long rambling explanation of where the fuck this comes from.

So in my first playthrough (Golden Deer forever), I spent...roughly 170 hours getting to the end.  This is almost entirely because I played on Normal mode and did an endless number of auxiliary battles grinding supports between all the characters -- and since I did, in fact, go the extra mile of recruiting every single student and professor I could in my first playthrough, I had a lot of characters to work with.  (I actually still missed out on some because I didn’t unlock their C’s soon enough -- Marianne with Ashe and Ingrid with Annette didn’t get unlocked until my next run since I knew what to look out for.)  This is a big part of how I ended up liking Lorenz in the first place: I worked through all his supports this way, and saw the full measure of him rather than just writing him off after how rough his C supports were mostly across the board.

Out of all his different supports, though, there were three in particular that stood out to me: Leonie, Mercedes, and Dorothea.  With Leonie, he learned to relax his strict notions of separation between nobles and commoners and accept the idea of friendship with her as equals.  From Mercedes, he got rightly scolded about treating commoners as beneath his notice and unworthy of consideration where marriage was concerned, and rightly corrected when he floated the idea of marrying her since it continues to fall in line with valuing nobility and Crests over personal character.  And in Dorothea, he absolutely met his match: not only is she someone who has near-identical motives in her quest for a spouse (not necessarily looking for romance so much as the perks that come with an advantageous marriage), but she’s someone capable of playing him directly, playing his emotions to reveal the folly of his mindset.  The way he laughs in their A support...I don’t think he laughs like that anywhere else.  It’s open and it’s earnest and it’s joyous, even as he concedes that she has utterly bested him.

And that, really, is what sold me on them.  Having grown so much over the course of those years, having met so many people who affected him and broadened his view of the world, when Dorothea bested him at his own game, I think he really did fall for her in truth, rather than just admiring her beauty and her craft.  In the end, both of them get everything they wanted and more: Dorothea gets the reassurance that she’ll be taken care of for the rest of her life, Lorenz can boast if he wants about marrying the star diva of the Mittalfrank Opera...but more than that, they’re equally matched as partners, both bringing different strengths to the table to improve conditions in the Alliance for everyone (and especially the commoners), and able to engage in productive back and forth with one another, challenging the other thoughtfully and coming to agreements and compromises on good terms.  I love how well-matched they are and how well their personalities play off each other and I think that they could have an incredibly powerful, productive partnership.

...also I totally ship her with Petra too because their supports are fantastic and also Petra is wonderful and deserves the best.

Who is my brOTP for this character?

Ferdinand von Aegir.  I love their supports so much and how he goes out of his way to try to understand her perspective, and changes her understanding of him as a person in the process.  She understandably has things to work through, given their history and her own misconceptions about him back then, but I love the idea of them banding together as dear friends who do their best to support each other as best they can.  Also, Dorothea and Bernie is a delight, and I love the idea of Dorothea keeping in touch and helping to draw Bernie out of her shell bit by tiny bit.

What’s my Unpopular Opinion™ about this character?

Are.  Are there popular opinions about Dorothea?  I actually don’t see that many character impressions about her: most of what I see is fanart, and it mostly seems to be because she’s pretty.  I guess if I had any unpopular opinion, just based on the way I usually see her on my dash, it’s that she’s a whole heck of a lot more than just a pretty face: she’s cutthroat when she needs to be, incredibly capable as a fighter as much as a singer, and would probably make an excellent spy if the situation called for it.  I don’t think it’s fair that she’s treated mostly as eye candy when the truth is that her character is so much deeper than shallow beauty, both before and after the timeskip.

What’s one thing I wish would have happened with this character in canon?

This is silly but I wish we could have heard her sing more.  The only real song we hear from her if I’m remembering right is in her supports with Edelgard, where she improvises a few lines about the Empress-to-be.  And her voice is glorious!  I would have loved to hear her sing more, rather than getting so much from Manuela (which was...pretty painful, honestly, I do not care for her singing voice at all).  Especially considering how important singing is to her, not just as a former opera diva but just as a part of her life in general, it feels like a shame that we couldn’t hear her sing more throughout the game, either in her Supports or even in the choir sections at the monastery.

Give Me a Character  

[charmspoint]

One day I will stop disappearing. (1) the first ask about ships. Red Mars isn't lost yet, so what about Suwa and Takeuchi? (2) the second ask is about ships. 1,17,18, but maybe there is some question that you would like to answer, but no one asked it? (3) ask about mutual. I'm sorry, but I can't make sense of the question. Now I feel a little silly.

Please don’t worry about it! I do these for fun and when I need to get my mind off of things or just want something to talk about so don’t feel obliged to do them all hjbh this isnt your job, I won’t mind if you disappear and miss some. I appreciate it a lot that you do all of them I just don’t want you to feel like you have to you knowhgvhvvh <3<3<3<3<3<3<3

This got long so under the cut

Send me a ship to rate

Suwa x Takeuchi

vomit / don’t ship / okay / cute / adorable / perfect / beyond flawless / hot damn / screaming and crying / i will ship them in hell

I am the only one writing stuff in this fandom so I can do what I want uwu. I do ship them exclusively queerplatonically tho, I can’t imagine either of them having romantic or sexual feelings for each other. And I doubt we will get much more backstory on them then we already got (tho i am expecting we’ll get more from Suwa since his is more set up) but I’m just very interested in the time before the other vampires joined, the two of them would be all alone in a building full of humans. There is also the idea that Suwa was feral for a long time and we don’t know how he got out of it so I like to imagine Takeuchi figured smtng out, he’d be all over something like that. So I like to imagine the two of them simply finding home in each other as two things of same in the middle of a world they no longer belong to. It’s that feeling of home, acceptance and belonging I get when I think about them, rather than any romantic or sexual feelings.

Shipping asks

1. What was your first OTP?

HhHhhH The first one i remember is Soul X Maka from Soul Eater. Soul Eater was the first anime I watched when i was like ???? 11-12. And obviously since i was that age i consumed other media before that and probably saw other relationships but for life of me I can’t remember them. That’s probably because when I discovered Anime i discovered fanfiction too so Soul x Maki is the first ship i remember actually searching and reading fics for, sorta getting involved into  a fandom for the first time, tho i wouldn’t be actively involved until i started writing for Durarara. I still haven’t rewatched Soul Eater in its completion since i watched it that first time ;-; Every like 5 years or so my brother and i will start a rewatch and never get very far hjbhjhj we watched it together first so we wanna rewatch it together too but maybe at this point we should just watch it separately. We aren’t very good at watching shows we actually like together hvhjh

17. Are there any popular ships that you just don’t like? What are they?

As I said I think my shipping tastes run p vanilla so I usually like the popular ships or at least don’t mind them much. That being said I did think of few.

Endhawks – I used to be passionately against this because I passionately hated Endeavor but since my feelings for Endeavor simmered down my feelings for this ship also simmered down from ‘THIS WAS MADE IN HELL’ to ‘gross no’. While I do think it’s best for Enji and Rei to separate or at least distance themselves, I hate this idea of Enji immediately getting into another relationship with someone that much younger then him who idolizes him. Like my man, that’s just not what you do when you are recovering from being abusive towards ur last spouse, that’s just a recipe for disaster. I do like their relationship as friends tho but I don’t like the idea of Hawks healing Enji or being a relationship where he can finally really fall in love or something because that just makes me very uncomfy.

Gojohime – apparently this is??? Pretty popular??? I had no idea until Foxy told me ppl were legit considering it endgame. Like…I’m just really not into ships where the guy and girl obviously hate each other and don’t get along and the way Gojo acts around Utahime can classify as nothing but piggy tail pulling. I like ships in which Gojo is compelled to act more mature and responsible but not ships that make it seems like his partner would be his babysitter or his mom or something and that’s v much the vibe this ship is giving me.

Itadori x Nobara – this ship doesn’t have bad vibes I just HEAVILY prefer them as besties. I like that JJK has little to no romantic fumblings and that the main three can just be friends J it’s refreshing. It just wouldn’t feel right for me if they hooked up.

18. What is your favorite unpopular ship?

So this is kind of interesting thing to ask cuz most of my ships that aren’r popular come from me uhhhh roleplaying bnha for over 3 years I think now. Yeah so I used to be super involved into the bnha roleplay community and the thing is with roleplay that you start looking for popular ships (My first was Tododeku) and then it kind of….goes off all over the place with time. The thing is roleplay servers die out and you follow people elsewhere. Sometimes you stay with the entire group, sometimes you just follow 1-2 people you really like. You change servers, you change groups, you stick by the few ppl you really like roleplaying with and eventually you ship together whatever the fuck because at that point the partner is more important than the ship. With a good partner you can make everything work. I mained Hawks, Shouto, Shinsou and sometimes Tamaki and one of my fav rp partners (we mostly rp ocs now) mostly mained Sero so….we did a LOT of Seroroki. I very rarely this ship anywhere but it was very fun we did it in a lot of aus. Same goes for Izuku x Sero X Shouto which we did with another friend in such a nice domestic au it was great. Also Momo x Shinsou with another partner, we didn’t do this for long because the server shut down soon after but uhhh they did yandere Momo and it was such a fantastic performance it sold me on yanderes forever.

Some honorary mentions of other crack ships I did: Midnight x Hawks, Kurogiri x Hari x Kai, Tamaki x Camie, Shishikura x Shouto.

That’s just off the top of my head all of these were surprisingly very good and fun, as I said, the partner matters not the ship. I think this is why I’m like way more lax in shipping in bnha then like in jjk. In jjk I need a ship to have a chemistry I can consider at least somewhat romantic to consider it, in bnha just fuckin everything goes because I’m so used to it just being this sandbox I can do anything in.

Uhh as for bonus question uhhh

29. Do you like OCs (Original Characters)?

I like ocs a whole lot I have a metric shit tone of them and I’d like to talk about them but idk how to start in a way that would be interesting to anyone ;-; rip

[starrywonn]

cafe latte

not requested

a/n: a purely self indulgent barista jisung au bc i was STRESSED and i was watching re-feel and a LOT of cafe videos

pairing: barista! han jisung x baker! reader

genre: fluff

scenario type: bulletpoint

word count: 1.9k

warnings: none

jisung was a barista at the nineteen cafe

honestly speaking, he didn’t even plan on working here

he helped his friend, chan, once because he was bored of waiting for him and somehow, he got dragged into working at the cafe

he wasn’t complaining though

i mean he got some pretty amazing coffee, unlike the acrid, watered down liquid the uni cafeteria served

and he got to hang out with his friends who also worked there

so jisung was a real winner here

until the cafe’s main baker, woojin leaves the shop

jisung was almost bawling when he announced it

jisung: does this mean i’ll never get to eat any of your chocolate croissants anymore??? T^T

woojin: if you keep this up, i’ll bring chocolate croissants for everyone but u

jisung: nOOOOO i’m sorry :“”“”“” i love u please…. not my croissants…..

honestly, at that point, woojin wasn’t even sure if jisung loved him or his pastries more

but woojin still had to leave and they had to find a replacement asap

recruitment posters were put up all over the campus

baker needed! nineteen cafe @ jyp university. walk-in interview

so when you, a broke university student, see it, you thank the heavens

you baked pretty often and your creations weren’t too bad if you said so yourself :]]

plus the cafe was on campus grounds so it’s definitely worth a shot

you stand outside the cafe and your legs turn to jelly

“come on y/n!! it’s just an interview!! you have to do this or you’ll spend the rest of your life broke!!!!!” you whisper scream to yourself

you finally make your way in and look around the cafe

soft acoustic music is accompanied by the chatter of patrons and the clinking of cups on ceramic saucers

a well-built man dressed in a white button up and black pants tends to the cash register

there’s no one ordering anything so you scutter up to the counter

“hi, uh, i’m here for the interview?”

“ok hold on,” the man turns around, “channnn, there’s someone here for the interviewww”

a blond walks out of the kitchen, covered in flour

“hey, i’m chan. the manager here. i’m gonna make this quick since i have to continue to try and make brownies,” he dusts his hands on his apron and gestures to an empty table in the cafe

“what’s your name?”

you stutter out your name and he scribbles it in a notebook he takes out from his pocket

“alright, y/n, how long have you been baking for?”

“about six years”

he scribbles again

after that, the interview is a blur from your sheer nervousness

“ok, this is the last bit. can you make a batch of brownies? we have to gauge your abilities”

you follow him to the kitchen

“wait, weren’t you trying to make them just now?”

chan ignores your question

“if you need anything, just call me!!”

and with that, he strides out of the kitchen

oh, wow, okay, so this was happening now

you put on the apron on the counter and pull out all the ingredients and utensils

it’s like something takes over you

your hands move on their own and it truly is a beautiful sight :“))))

jisung walks into the back to get ready for his shift but to get there, he has to get past the kitchen

the smell of chocolate wafts into his nose

he pauses

this was the best thing he’s ever smelt

"god? is that you?” jisung whispers

you snort, “yeah but you can call me y/n”

jisung freezes up and his eyes widen

“holy shit. cool. gotta go. uh, bye.”

jisung runs out and almost slams into chan

“woah woah woah, what’s got you so jittery??” chan asks

“nothing BYE”

jisung bolts for the cashier, “ changbin, i’m here!!!! you can go nOw”

changbin, although very confused, leaves

it’s about a little into jisung’s shift when you come out to call chan

in your hands are a tray of the freshly baked brownies

you offer one to chan and he almost cries from joy

“this …. is absolutely amazing….”

he passes one to jisung who is still shaking on the inside

jisung bites a corner off the chocolatey treat

he almost swears that his soul leaves his body because it was THAT good

he gives you a thumbs up and a big smile

chan offers your brownies to a few others who all give great responses, making your confidence shoot up

“okay, y/n, we’ll send you an email if you’re accepted,” chan says

“ok, thanks”

you leave the store and celebrate

that went way better than you had expected

all you have to do now is to wait

that can’t be that hard right?

oh but it was

every notification from your phone and laptop made you leap from your chair

it’s two days later when you get the email

dear y/n, we are pleased to announce that you have been hired as nineteen cafe’s new baker. please come to the cafe tomorrow for your first day. thank you.

*cue celebration pt.2*

the next morning, you bust into the bakery, ready to kick some butt

the cafe is empty, save for chan and changbin setting up

the early morning light pours into the cafe through its ceiling-to-floor windows

chan notices you and hands you a slip of paper with all the stuff to be made

“there’s a file of recipes in the kitchen. it’s on the shelf above the bowls”

you thank him and look through the list

strawberry shortcake, coconut cake, chcoolate chip cookies, brownies, blueberry muffins, raspberry cheesecake

and there was a second page….

the list was so much longer than you expected

one thing at a time

you took out the bowls and ingredients

following the recipe, you managed to whip up a pretty decent cake

the rest of the baked goods you made were also pretty good

you place them in the display fridge

you heaved a sigh of relief

you didn’t screw up on your first day!!!!

go you!!!

second day of work

good news: chan gives you free reign to experiment and come up with new stuff

bad news: the stand mixer breaks

worse news: the stand mixer can only be fixed a week later

kind of good news??: you’re gonna get buff

so you have to ask for help from the rest of the nineteen staff

working with all of them, BUT jisung, is great

but you have to get help from him since you don’t always wanna bother everyone too often

search chaos in the dictionary and you’ll get a photo of you and jisung baking

you’ll make a bowl of batter and having that half that bowl gone after 5 minutes

“HOW AREN’T YOU DEAD FROM SALMONELLA YET??¿?¿¿??”

or when you bake anything with chocolate

oh my GOD

you’ll go to grab a baking pan

and when you come back, the packet is suddenly so light

you: did you eat the chocolate again

jisung, chocolate covering his mouth:

you:

jisung, chocolate still covering his mouth: …no

he’d pop into the kitchen even when you don’t need his help just to screw with you

“oooOOOoo, is this a new recipe”

“nope. also don’t eat the chocolate chip cookies,” you say, still focused on making frosting

jisung just lets out a roar of laughter

“ok i won’t”

“but i’ll eat the muffins”

“jisUNG NO”

but all that eating of RAW batter and other stuff finally gets to him

jisung calls in sick

as much as you want to laugh at him, you’re kind of concerned,,,,

like he ate,,,, so much,,,,

you ask chan for jisung’s address so you can visit him

he gives you a face but gives you the address anyways

while carrying some porridge and medicine, you knock on his door

a very pale and dishevelled jisung opens the door but he gives you his usual goofy smile

“can’t get enough of me huh?” he chuckles weakly

“yea, sure whatever you want to think. anyways, i brought some stuff”

“come on in. it’s a little bit of a mess though”

his coffee table is covered in papers and his laptop is playing an episode of brooklyn nine-nine

cushions are strewn on the couch, a blanket draped over them

“i’ll leave the medicine on your kitchen counter but you should eat the porridge now before it gets cold”

jisung nods and you hand him the tupperware box

he gladly opens it and eats a spoonful

“this is so good,” jisung says

“thanks”

you sit next to him quietly as you watch the show

“how are you feeling??” you muster up

“i literally have not seen the light of day in 5 YEARS, my stomach has not known pain like this” he says between mouthfuls of porridge

“that’s what you get for eating so much RAW batter”

“i know but it was so GOOD!! it was totallly worth it”

you shoot a glare at him and he returns a cheeky smile

you try your best to keep a straight face but you can’t help laughing at him

the buzzing of your phone calls for your attention

you grab it and look at the caller id

“oh shit. sorry ‘sung, i gotta go. uni calls! bye!!”

you scurry out of jisung’s apartment and sprint to campus for your project

a few days pass and jisung returns to work

he’s back to almost bouncing off the walls

but when he comes into the kitchen with your tupperware box and a cup of coffee in his hands, he’s flushed red

jisung leaves them on the counter and zooms out of the kitchen

you finish kneading the bread and pick up the cup of coffee

a heart sits on top of the foamy milk

you take a few sips before realising the small piece of paper on the saucer

your cheeks feel a slight warmth as you read the note

“thanks for the food and stuff!! let’s get dinner some time soon ok?? - jisung”

you kind of want to scream but you probably shouldn’t

what do you do????

do you text him??? tell him in real life??? give him another note???? maybe you should just burn the note and pretend he never gave anything to you???? 

all that fills your mind for the rest of the day is the note

soon, it’s the end of both yours and jisung’s shift

you grab your stuff from the lockers in the back

as you try to leave, jisung tries to enter the narrow doorway

you shuffle left and jisung shuffles right

“sorry,” you say as you go in the opposite direction

and so does jisung

HHHHHH

you stay put as jisung moves past you

turning around, you call out, “hey 'sung! are you free right now? i know a good sushi place around here”

jisung almost jumps from his skin and you can see the crimson creeping up his ears under the fluorescent lighting

“yea- yea i am!! just give me a minute to grab my stuff,” he replies

he comes out with his backpack soon after

jisung grabs your hand and brings you out of the cafe

“lead the way!!”

[scribblesofanaricat]

The Middle

(title taken from the Jimmy Eat World song of the same name (I posted this yesterday and then realised it was the rough unedited version, so I panic-deleted it hhhhhh- ;-;))

~

Louise has always liked the sound doors make when slammed. To her, the way it rings out shouts on her behalf for the world to go to Hell.

It’s her so-called kitchen cupboards this time, each one jerked open and then flung shut at least twice over, as if something worth eating will magically materialise in there if she just looks again. As if she hasn’t gone through this whole song and dance a hundred times by now.

Stupid.

In the end, she resigns herself to shoving a couple of squashed, half-stale pieces of bread into the clunky toaster, arms aching up to her shoulders in protest. Just another day. Hours and hours of getting pushed around by managers who wear their fancy watches like the bloody crown jewels, made to take care of other people’s work as well as her own without a word of thanks, screamed and sworn at down the phone over things that’re (well) above her pay grade – and, worse than anything, called by that name, the one she’s told them isn’t hers…but it conveniently keeps slipping their minds anyway.

So the usual crap, really.

A crooked smile tugs at the corners of Louise’s lips. All of that – day in, day out – for the sake of this shoebox of a flat, not worth the paper the lease was drawn up on, and whatever’s on clearance at the supermarket. It’s so stupid.

But…maybe not for much longer. Maybe. She rubs the bridge of her nose between stiff fingers, her mind turning its back on the never-ending daily grind, on the limp combover of the mouth-breathing landlord who’d make a better magpie than a human and the gutters clogged with burnt-out cigarette ends and dirty needles. It wanders through new lands of the kind that’ve sneered down at people like her for so long. New streets she can stroll down without snotty faces glaring at her back and new alleys that’re safe to cut through. And…if she can just do this, then she’ll finally have a chance to pursue that part of herself which everyone who thinks it’s their business have always dangled out of her reach, that body, that identity-

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP

Louise jerks like some kid just let off a firework right next to her. Grey smoke curls through the measly excuse for a kitchen, pricking its fingers into her eyes. She snatches up a tea towel from the pile on the floor and flaps at the smoke alarm with it like a lunatic (while muttering every curse she knows through her teeth) until the stupid shrieking finally dies down.

And – she lets out a mirthless snort at the sight, burying both hands in her hair – of course, of course the toast has decided to burn to a crisp. In one movement, she rips the slices out of the toaster, even though the heat sears into her bare skin, and tosses them across the room into the bin. Whatever. She’ll survive.

Because that’s what Louise has always had to do. Survive. Especially when it became more and more obvious that nobody was planning on swooping in to help anytime soon.

Stupid…so, so stupid.

An hour or two later, curled up on the mangy sofa patterned like an old biddy’s blouse (where the landlord got his hands on something so horrible, Louise never wants to know), she wonders idly what all those managers are dining on tonight. Probably salmon or something, with posh chocolates to stuff their smug faces with afterwards and congratulate themselves on how hard they’ve worked to get there.

After all, the lot of them probably think as the next course is delivered on nothing less than a silver plate, nobody ever handed anything to me on a plate. Because they’re obviously the ones who have to fight tooth and nail every single day just to make some sort of life for themselves – with all the odds stacked against them right from the start to boot.

Ha.

Louise mechanically tugs the blankets a bit higher around herself in a half-hearted effort to both hold back the urge to beat her fists against the floor like a toddler and block out the familiar chill in the air. How likely is it that she has enough left in her wallet to pick up some food and (gasp) top up the gas meter? Somehow, she thinks not very.

That’s a nice little snag, isn’t it? She tries hard too. From the second she pries herself out of bed ‘til she can finally crawl back into it; even then, she lies awake time and time again, tormenting herself over the bills and the bugs. Yet who’s busy snatching up the rewards for all that? For the long grinding hours, the festering rubbish pile stinking up the street corner and gaggles of teenagers dogging her every step with slurs and threats whenever she has to wade through it, for bloody everything? Who wins? The system, always. Leeching off the blood and sweat and tears of all the ones who can’t protect themselves, because the damn thing has no face and a million faces at the same time.

That system, and everyone who pulls its strings and makes it dance its little dance, is just plain broken – maybe beyond repair at this point. And stupid. So very stupid. Why should she pander to it?

Reality comes to bite Louise yet again, this time in the form of BANG after muffled BANG, juddering the ceiling above her head. The people responsible – and she knows damn well who – aren’t troubling to keep their voices down, either.

Something spikes hot as lava in her chest. She hurls the blankets away, slams her hand down on the tatty arm of the sofa, pushes herself to her feet. No. No, nope, no. Not this, not tonight.

Within seconds, she’s out of her flat and up the dingy stairs (who’d they pull in as an interior designer? Batman?) onto the next floor. Before she can hammer on the door of Flat 3B and bellow shut it!, though, one of its denizens comes staggering out, clothes hanging off her and reeking of sweat.

She gnashes her teeth as soon as she spots Louise standing there with her fists clenched. ‘Don’ yer go puttin’ yer dir’y fingers anywhere near our door.’ The words are a lot less impressive than the old bat probably thinks. For one thing, they’re the kind of garbled that can only come from the bottom of a bottle; for another, the precious door she’s so protective of is already chipped and dented to all hell.

‘Are you really this thick or are you just too bladdered to get it through your skull?’ Louise retorts, chin jutting. Her shoulder gives another reproachful twinge as she stabs her finger in the direction of her own flat on the floor below. ‘Nice for the pair of you that you’ve worked out how to turn into a herd of elephants every bloody night, but none of us want to hear it.’

The other woman’s bloodshot eyes widen, face wheeling through an interesting spectrum of reds. ‘Yer think yer c’n stan’ there an’ tell me what ter do, do yer? DO YER? Yer little…yer stupid…fag!’

There it is. The low blow. It doesn’t send Louise reeling anymore; she’s been living with it way too long for that. Doesn’t stop it from being something that always manages to pierce the armour she’s had to build around herself, though.

She knows fine well what kind of poison everyone drips about her – muttered into the backs of their hands or hollered in her face, it’s all the same. Still, she wouldn’t have thought a bit of peace would really be so much to ask for. Another thing she must be wrong about.

So she turns and walks away, the mixture of gleeful cackles and slurred threats from behind her breaking through the brittle air. Sounds like Louise can expect egg splattered onto every inch of her own door tomorrow morning.

She just loves it when her neighbours greet her with breakfast. What a friendly, cosy little community the lot of them have here.

That flare of satisfaction darts through her veins again when she kicks her door shut. It makes the raging storm inside her audible and helps her to blot out the outside world as best she can. Who cares if someone out there might hear her? Who listens anyway?

Nobody. That’s who.

Louise stands there for a few minutes, just stands, with ringing ears. Her head gives a random little spasm in a certain direction. Maybe some twisted part of her is just instinctively drawn to it at this point.

She doesn’t want to. But as if by a magnet, her gaze is dragged over there anyway – towards the mirror hanging askew across the room. She puts it off for as long as she can, picking restlessly a pockmark on the frame. Mirrors. She hates them. All they’ve ever done is show her…this.

Her eyes zero in on everything humanly possible. From tracing every wrong curve in her face, every wrong line of her chest and shoulders and legs, and right down to marking the size and shape of her hands- God, it’s all wrong- and stupid, stupid-

The air’s too thick.

Her hands clasp themselves together over her head as if to somehow shield her. There’s no hiding from the prickling beneath her skin. Not right now. Even so, her legs begin to carry her up and down. Up and down. A bit like what’s going on inside her head.

Just a little bit extra a month. That’s all she needs. Her heart picks up speed at that thought. Nine pounds for the mirror to reflect back at her the image she’s wanted so much, for so long. And then…and then…what? What then?

Louise slowly lowers her hands, staring at the dusty specks swirling their sluggish way through the air without really seeing them. She knows how the world views her – hell, more like looks down on her. Why should she expect some injections, no matter how precious they are to her, to burst whatever nice thick bubble they’re all living in?

(So very stupid.)

But that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t.

The sofa cushions catch her as the bones seem to disappear out of her legs. She will not end up like her mother: ducking in and out of people’s lives, spending her days glued to godawful chat shows, running away at the tiniest bit of hassle. And besides…soon, there won’t be any need for tossing and turning at night over stuff like the pitch of her voice. Or the awkward hang of her clothes. Or strangers throwing her a death stare in the street and tugging their kids away from her, like she’s about to eat the little darlings alive when all she’s trying to do is get home. Soon, she’ll be tearing down the barriers they think they can obstruct her with.

She clutches the bundle of blankets against her empty stomach and clings onto that promise.

*

Stares, from every corner. They burn into the back of her head and follow her into the room until she pushes the door shut in their faces with one clumsy hand. The other just about manages to keep hold of the papers.

Those papers.

The interviewer hardly bothers to glance up at Louise. Obviously she’s just another little bump in his morning, another bit of business for him to get rid of. She slaps on a smile (and tucks her fingers in as best she can to hide the frayed ends of her nails) all the same.

He gives a vague gesture, which she can only assume is his way of directing her to take the chair across from him – one of those stiff plastic jobs that look as if they were nicked from some preschool, which is just great – without wasting his breath on her. Somehow, she plants herself down on it while miraculously avoiding actually biting her tongue in two. This place should hire her just for that, she reflects grimly.

Now here it is. The Moment, as Louise has been calling it. She blows out a shuddery breath and slackens her grip on the papers, instead sliding them across the table. One is her CV. Meagre, hastily compiled, but at least it has Louise Deegan printed on in black and white.

And the other…the other is her birth certificate. Which says something different. Different in a way she can hardly bring herself to look at.

His Highandmightyness glances over both, expression never so much as twitching. Until it does. Louise watches with a tight throat. She’s used to this: the moment where the penny drops and people cotton on to who – or what, since this one thing tends to automatically brand her as something subhuman in their eyes – they’ve got in front of them.

If only that could make it any easier. If bloody only.

He says nothing. He’s probably not allowed to. Not to her face, anyway. Something in the room still shifts, as though the table separating them has suddenly grown another twenty feet. Louise is used to that too. All those faces thinking how much better than her they are. It’s just…stupid.

She jumps through the usual hoops: her (short) employment history, why she wants to leave her current job (she thought up some generic answer ahead of time) and the rest. She needs this. So badly. Yet there he sits, not taking the trouble to nod at anything she says, letting silence hang between them as soon as he’s asked all the questions on his little script.

Then he finally sees fit to raise his head – but it’s like he’s looking straight through Louise, at the grey and ivory wallpaper behind her. Her heart throws itself against the cage of her chest. Sweat creeps across her clenched palms.

His words are cool and steady; careful, even. But they fall like a hammer blow. ‘I believe I’ve heard enough for now. If you could close the door on your way out?’

His monotone ‘thank you for thinking of us’ spiel rushes past Louise’s ears like the water she dipped her head into this morning (how else could she make any attempt at scrubbing her hair when the landlord won’t get off his arse and fix her shower?). She barely remembers to retrieve those fatal papers before she all but dives back into the waiting room, where that sea of withering stares surges higher and higher, freezing every limb so she can’t even smash her knuckles into those stupid faces, blurring her vision, smothering her nose and mouth…

*

It always circles back to this. No matter what she tries to do; no matter how many backbreaking days or sleepless nights she passes. Here she is again, slumped at the same old table while muffled thuds and drunken bawling from the floor above echo around her skull and a phone she doesn’t think will be ringing anytime soon watches her from the corner. The same old bills are spread out in front of her, cold as a death warrant. And the same old tears sting her eyes.

Stupid. So stupid.

[secretariatess]

LEN/MIDORI for uh T, Y, U?

T- Truth1. Are they honest?You’re more likely to get a straight answer from Midori than you are Len.  She’s pretty honest unless she’s got a reason to hide something.  Len’s somewhere in middle ground because I wouldn’t say he’s completely dishonest.  Depending on what’s being talked about, he’ll give half-truths, roundabout answers, or flat out lie.  Those who can break the wall (or were already behind the wall) he has, he’ll be more honest.2. Can they tell if someone’s lying?They both have a gut sense that tells them if someone’s not being truthful, though Midori can be easier to trick.  Len fits the phrase “takes one to know one,” so anything that fools Midori isn’t going to fly by him.3. Is it obvious when they’re lying?With Len, you never really know.  If he gives you answer that’s not roundabout, then it could be the truth, a half-truth, a joke, or a lie, and as far as anyone can see, he’s got no tell.  Midori has a certain tell that Len’s able to pick up on, and will be exaggerated the bigger the lie is.  So little lies she can get away with. With big lies it’s obvious, but she says it with such determination and rigidness that it’s clear she won’t give you the truth as it is.4. Have they lied about anything they regret lying about?Midori’s thrown harsh words (such as “I honestly hate you”) to family members she really loves, but in a moment of built up anger wanted to hurt them.  It was several years before she could come face to face with them again and amend what was said.  Len’s numbed himself to the guilt of lying, so it would have to be a really big moment for him to feel regret over it.  At the moment, I can’t think of anything he regrets lying about.5. Have they told truths that were spread against their will?Not that I can recall at the top of my head.  Both of them are not easy trusters (now that I think about it, it’s amazing they let each other in enough to get married), and don’t tell people they don’t trust deep truths about themselves. Or other truths they don’t want to spread around.

U- Underdog (My mind insists on either putting these in the form of a word or alphabetically)1. Have they been bullied?Midori’s experienced being bullied when she was young.  When she became a teenager and entered in Riverside, a foster boarding school, she exuded almost a tough girl mien as kind of a defense without realizing it.  Len actually strays more towards being the bully, so that’s next question.2. Have they bullied anyone?Midori’s only done defense.  Strike first, and she’ll make you regret it.  Len would be considered more the bully.  He does a lot of practical joke kind of stuff or daredevil things (collecting spiders from around Riverside to plant in a breakfast dish in the cafeteria, and going to the top of roof to try and climb all the way down).  But he also does a lot of teasing and annoying because he loves reactions.  Not stuff like flat out insulting, but things he knows will get under someone’s skin.  when he was younger he did it a lot to Midori because he liked her (and she gave the most visceral reactions), but he’d also do it to people he didn’t care for.  Like a girl named Relsha who was infatuated with him.  Even if he didn’t intend on being mean, his tactics to some came off rather harsh and hurtful, and not everyone took what he did as a joke or trying to get under their skin.3. Have they ever been physically attacked by a bully?Len’s had abusers/tormentors before he went to Riverside, so if they count as bullies, then the answer would be yes.  However, I feel “bully” is too soft a word for that.  Midori’s also been physically attacked.  And because of the situation and the fact that the bully who would physically attack was a sister, the issue was never addressed in time.4. Have they ever been doubted?Both of them have. Midori was considered the weak link in her family.  She ended up gathering a group of friends that took down the evil part of her family.  Len . . . was always expected to cause trouble and it was widely believed by many adults who were put in actual charge of him without a harmful agenda that he wouldn’t amount to anything.5. Have they surprised people with being good at something?Midori’s surprised friends with her prowess with fighting.  But that was more because she never shared her life before knowing them, so they never knew that she was trained when she was young.  Len surprised staff at Riverside with becoming the top Search Agent in the country, which is basically a bounty hunter meets private investigator, to put it simply.

Y- You1. How old were you when you created them?Uhhhhhhh . . ..  Twelve?  Thirteen?  Around there.  Len’s actually been around longer, but his name wasn’t originally Len.  I think I made him closer to when I was twelve, and Midori closer to when I was thirteen.2. What inspired you to create them?lol, um, the Vocaloids. Eyyyyeaaaaaah.  I had an idea of creating my own Vocaloid like characters.  They weren’t originally supposed to be a part of a big story as they are now, but here we are.  3. Were they different when they were first created?Oh yeah.  Midori not so much, but Len definitely.  Midori was inspired by Miku Hatsune, and her earlier designs had her in a costume that was based off Miku’s own traditional costume.  But with the development of her character, her taste in clothing led her away from that design and more into rough and tumble clothes (actually, no skirts now! Only on special occasions).  Hair and eye color remained the same (mint green) and her hair had slight variation in style.  Her personality has become more defined and she’s a lot more strict than she used be.  Len was ORIGINALLY named Kuro Ameiro.  Kuro had black hair that went slightly past his ears, wore a coat like Ed Elric’s without the symbol on the back (though I didn’t know who he was at the time), had a sword as his weapon of choice, and had a bit of a more serious personality.  Now, he’s known as Len, he has really long blond hair that’s kept in a ponytail 99% of the time, wearing a coat like Ed’s isn’t something he’s opposed to but wouldn’t last long, daggers and other bladed items that can be thrown are his weapons of choice, and he’s definitely not as serious anymore.  I actually didn’t want to name him Len because that was his original draft name (guess where that came from), but Kuro was not fitting him (also, “Shiro”, Kuro’s sister, wasn’t fitting Liesha correctly).  At this point, however, I think he’s developed enough and styled differently enough that while the inspiration can be seen, he’s a different character altogether.Maybe one of these days I should do comparison art of the two to show how much they’ve changed.4. Do you enjoy writing them more than other characters?Len is one of the character I enjoy working with the most, and definitely more than Midori (sorry honey), but the both of them, yeah.  They’re part of the original seven characters whose story ultimately opened up the world I have now to something bigger, and had even opened the door to restarting older stories I had abandoned by the time I created them.  So they have a special place in my heart and are part of the reason why I don’t really want to write the decalogy I have planned.  Because then that’s the end.  It’s such a melancholy feeling.5. What’s your favorite thing about them?Their personalities and their relationship dynamics.  Just imagining their married life together, and how they grow to a point where their personalities actually end up complimenting each other.  Also, it’s so fun writing the scenes where Len pesters Midori, before they admit they like each other, because there’s so much hidden intent and other things behind it that they either don’t know or won’t admit to.

Thank you so much for asking, and thanks for you patience!  ^_^  I was at the church for most of the day, showing it off and such.  XD

[littlemissyina]

Valentine’s Day

This was written for the Flower Challenge currently going on in the Ikemen Series Amino! This is my first fic using my OC, Yina, in her fully fleshed form. I’ve used her name in past works but now I’ve really got her down and I’m excited to use her and develop her more.

I also need to work on my IkeVamp OC hhhhhh

Anywaysss hope you guys enjoy!

Valentine’s Day

Ikemen Sengoku - Sasuke x OC(Yina)

It had been close to a month since Sasuke and Yina had returned through the wormhole into the present. It was a hard decision for both, but they knew that it was the right choice. Although they felt like they did the right thing, there were moments when they would question themselves.

Should we have stayed?

The first few days were hard - Yina and Sasuke had initially decided to go back to their own apartments and try to resume their lives, all while trying to work out the new relationship that had just started between them. When they had landed back at the present-day Honno-Ji memorial, Yina had begun crying instantly.

"Don’t leave me, Sasuke," Yina said, clinging on to the ninja.

Sasuke wrapped his arms around Yina, stroking her hair. "We won’t be apart for too long. I will come by tomorrow," Sasuke said. His stoic face didn’t give much away, but Yina could see the hint of concern in his eyes.

Yina nodded as Sasuke swiped his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping the last of her tears away. He had walked her home that night, and stayed until she was able to fall asleep.

After a week of trying to live on their own, they had decided to move in together into Sasuke’s apartment. It was larger out of the two and was closer to Honno-Ji than Yina’s apartment. Moving in together was like 2 pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly with each other. That first night they spent together was the first time they both were able to get a decent amount of sleep since returning to present-day Japan.

They had been living in perfect harmony for the last few weeks, and their first "holiday" as a couple was fast approaching:

Valentine’s Day.

Yina had decided to make her special homemade fudge and wanted to try and make some chocolate shaped like his beloved ground spikes. She had stopped by the local market to grab what she needed, when she saw a beautiful bouquet of pink Peruvian Lillies. She delicately took the case and placed it in her cart and brought it home to put as their table centerpiece.

Luckily, Sasuke was working late that night in the lab, so Yina got some needed time in the kitchen, perfecting her edible ground spikes. Once the chocolates were solidified into their general shape, she brought the tray over to the table, turning on the TV as she began to shave off bits and pieces of chocolate, putting in detail after detail, just as if she was working on a kimono commission.

Working on the chocolates was both therapeutic and bittersweet. It helped connect her to her friends back in the Sengoku period, but it also made her miss them dearly. She missed the simplicity of living in that era, and the many people that lived both in Azuchi and Kasugayama. She missed the beauty of Japan’s landscape during that time. There was so much color and life, it never failed to take her breath away. The clear nights were always a treat, especially when her and Sasuke were able to sneak away to the rooftops and stargaze for hours.

She missed all of her friends, especially Yukimura. Sasuke would always call them the "three musketeers" or, when they would be at a banquet, he had drunkenly called them the "three caballeros".

"Cab of what?" Yukimura would always say, constantly in a state of confusion when Sasuke would spew out terms from the future.

When Yina had quiet times like this, she would always feel a bit melancholy, but there was one constant throughout her time in the Sengoku that she was immensely grateful for:

Sasuke Sarutobi.

He was her first friend in the Sengoku period, and was able to help her acclimate quickly. He was always able to make her smile and laugh when she was having a bad day, and, in turn, her happiness brought light into his life.

He was always her pillar of strength and support when she needed it the most. He always seemed to sense when he needed to be there in Azuchi, before they had relocated to Kasugayama. When they had left Azuchi and made their home in Kasugayama, Sasuke did his best to make sure she was taken care of.

She smiled to herself as she finished the last chocolate ground spike, covering them and placing them back into the fridge so they wouldn’t melt. There were still a few hours until Sasuke would be home, so she flopped herself onto the couch and started to binge watch some shows. She only made it three episodes in before falling asleep in her blanket burrito.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sasuke left the lab with a skip in his step, successfully finishing all of his pending tasks on his latest project. He felt bad that he had to be out longer than usual, but, in one months time, it would be all worth it. A rare fraction of a smile dawned on his face as he thought of Yina’s reaction when he brought home the good news.

He could see it in her eyes ever since they came back to the present day. Although they were both relieved to be back with the modern day efficiencies and luxuries of technology, nothing compared to the friendships and bonds they forged with the warlords. He tried his best to comfort her, but even he had moments of sadness when he thought about his BFF. Living together has made it easier on them both, but they missed their time living in the past.

He spent the last several days in his lab pouring over formulas and theories, digging up everything he could find on wormholes and their patterns. There were several whiteboards in his space filled with never ending equations, his notes scribbled everywhere around it. Some of his time was spent in the library, reading old periodicals, but when he was not there, he was in his lab speed reading what he can online while working out his own theory.

"For her," he would remind himself. "For Yina."

When he got to his front door, he stopped to take a calming breath. His stoic face would never give it away, but he was vibrating with excitement.

"Yina?" he said, opening the door. "I’m home. "

He walked in, seeing fresh flowers on the dining table, the TV still on, and a pile of blankets on the couch. Sasuke walked over to the blankets, peeling it back to find-

"Eh?" Sasuke raised an eyebrow, expecting to see Yina under the blankets, but she was not there. "Yina?" he called out again.

"Sasuke! You’re home!" Yina said, opening the door from their bathroom. She had taken a shower and was just finishing when Sasuke came home.

Sasuke froze, taken aback by what he saw. Her hair was wrapped up in a towel, and all she wore was one of his green v-neck shirts. The hem came down to the middle of her thighs, perfect for her to use as a house shirt/dress. His jaw went slack as his hand came up as if to lift his mask-

Only he wasn’t wearing his mask.

Yina walked up to him, a huge smile on her face. Her arms snake around his neck, coming up on her toes to kiss him on the lips. "Welcome home," she said, kissing him again.

The feeling of her lips on his brought him back to reality, wrapping his arms around her. He hugged her tightly, inhaling her freshly showered scent. "You smell nice," Sasuke whispered into her ear.

Yina giggled, looking up at him. "I made something for you."

She untangled herself from his arms and led him out into the kitchen. She gave him another kiss before telling him to take a seat at the table. Sasuke looked over at the bouquet of flowers.

"Do you know what those are?" Yina asked, heading towards the fridge.

"They look like Alstroemerias," he replied, stroking one of the pink petals.

"Astro what?" Yina asked.

Sasuke smirked. "Alstroemeria. Also known as Peruvian Lily or Lily of the Incas. It was named after the Swedish botanist Claus von Alströmer."

Yina chuckled as she made her way back with a covered tray. "You’re like a never ending encyclopedia. Well, it’s a part of your gift so-" she set the tray down next to the flowers and took the cover off the chocolate. "Happy Valentine’s Day, Sasuke."

Yina watched Sasuke carefully as he examined the tray.

She used the fudge that was made as ground, then set the chocolate ground spikes in a way that it looked like someone had actually thrown them. Some were resting on top of the fudge, while others were pressed into it. Each one was unique, all of them turned and spun to add to the illusion that they were thrown. Sasuke turned the tray left and right, looking at it from all angles.

"You made all of these?" he asked, picking one up.

Yina nodded, sitting next to him. "Yup, thought they would be perfect for my moderately awesome ninja boyfriend."

Sasuke popped one in his mouth, the chocolate instantly melting the moment it hit his tongue. He turned to Yina, pulling her onto his lap as he kissed her. He held her like that for a while, gently tugging at the towel on her head until it unraveled and fell to the floor.

He brought their foreheads together as he ran his fingers through her wet locks. "Thank you, they are delicious," he said, kissing her on the nose. "I actually forgot today was Valentines Day."

"Well, you’ve been very busy, so I’m not surprised. But this is my day to shower you with love! You’ll have your day next month," Yina said, kissing him on the cheek.

Sasuke grinned, knowing this could possibly be the best White Day gift he could give to her.

[cinnaminsvga]

going for the gold | yoongi (m)

→ summary: yoongi is ecstatic when they win the bbmas; some might even say too elated → genre: the absolute WORST crack/smut you will ever read → warnings: masturbation, ass play, trophy play, don’t take this seriously lol → pairing: yoongi x trophy (HHHHHH) → words: 5.2K → a/n: thanks @comfyeol for being my biggest anti i love you comrade (but for reals: thanks for supporting my kinks you’re the best) also, dialogue in italics is said in english k bye please don’t kick me out of the fandom peace

t.k.t. masterlist here

“And the Billboard Music Award goes to...”

The air in the T-mobile area is filled with electricity. The tension is almost tangible as Yoongi can sense his band mates holding in their breaths, their pupils shaking from the nerves. Yoongi’s eyes happen to glance in the direction of their leader, the two of their gazes meeting. Yoongi watches as Namjoon attempts to swallow down his nerves, making Yoongi reach for his friend’s shoulder for a comforting nudge.

If they didn’t win, it would be a huge disappointment for sure. After all, they have travelled all the way here just to possibly accept an award that would put them in the international spotlight. So many of their fans would be enraged, saddened, and dejected because all their effort would have gone to waste. But in the end, life would just return to normal, wouldn’t it? They didn’t need to win, or at least that’s what Yoongi tried telling himself.

But if they did win, however... so much could change. Their lives and careers would change, and Yoongi isn’t a hundred percent sure whether that is an entirely good thing or not. After rising higher and higher at speeds unlike any other K-pop group has known, what would happen when they reached the top? None of these musings would come true anyway, because they couldn’t possibly win, could they?

Could they actually win the BBMA—?

“BTS!”

The crowd immediately implodes, and Yoongi isn’t sure at first whether he hears it right.

Even as the booming overhead speakers start playing Blood Sweat and Tears, Yoongi really couldn’t believe his ears. The crowd is going wild, making Yoongi assume that his loyal fanbase has actually taken over the arena. He sees the sections to his left and right screaming his friends’ names; their fans from all over the world have come to witness their achievement happen before their very eyes.

Soon, the disbelief fades and euphoria rises to take its place. A giddy smile envelops his face as he pats his brothers on the back, all of their eyes crinkling with unrestrained joy. Even as Yoongi follows his band mates to the stage, he can’t help clapping over and over to himself, the rush of adrenaline and electricity finally entering his system and making him want to scream in triumph.

All the years of trials and tribulation have finally led them to this moment, and Yoongi would be damned he wouldn’t let himself have a little happiness. He is going to hold that damned trophy in his hands if it’s the last thing he does.

It isn’t much a surprise, to be honest—Yoongi has been known to be a bit of a trophy hoard. He can’t help himself; he needs a bit more time just digesting the information that ‘wow, we actually won something after so many years of people putting us down!’ The trophies give him an acute sense of accomplishment and contentedness, because it is physical proof that they have succeeded, despite what their haters said. Also, it is always nice knowing that all those shitheads who spat at him are all probably pissing themselves in shock.

So even as Namjoon starts saying what he assumes is a wonderfully sentimental speech, he can’t help but be too distracted to properly understand the words coming from his best friend’s mouth. His eyes flit from Namjoon to the trophy in his hand, his fingers already itching to touch the cool metal.

Yoongi is so distracted that he barely catches Namjoon saying “Please ARMY, remember what we say: love myself, love yourself.” Yoongi fights to keep the grin off his face, smirking internally at the tiny and discreet spoiler Namjoon had just dropped. He can already imagine the uproar it will cause when their fans realize that Namjoon had really revealed the next album’s title.

Eh. The album’s release was still a bit too far into the future. He had other concerns at the moment, and that included getting his hands on that beautiful, microphone-shaped trophy.

The moment the group starts dispersing to go backstage, Yoongi immediately dives for Namjoon. He taps Namjoon’s wrist to get him to pass their beloved award to him. Namjoon hands it over almost immediately, his own two hands shaking from the adrenaline and probably unable to hold the slightly heavy metal for any longer. Yoongi is more than fine with that, because that just meant more time with the trophy for him.

There’s something just so elegant and powerful about trophies. There are sleek and thin ones, like the ones Music Bank usually give. There are more intricate ones, like the one they had received from MAMA.

Oh, don’t get Yoongi started on the MAMA trophy. That thing felt so lovely in his hands, he was pretty sure he could’ve gotten off to just holding it.

This BBMA trophy, on the other hand? Completely different from anything he has ever held. It is weightier than most of the trophies they have received, and the ribs along the microphone figure feel pleasant to his touch. The golden plaque, along with the black base, provides a great place for his fingers to find purchase on.

In short, Yoongi is fucking enamored.

Their walk to backstage is as noisy as per usual, but what did anyone expect with BTS? He can hear his band mates all hooting and jumping in glee, even high-fiving the presenters and other staff they pass by. But Yoongi remains quiet, his eyes only trained on the love of his—

“HYUUUUUNG WE DID IT!” He hears Jimin scream, who runs toward him to hug him semi-aggressively. Yoongi curses, the sudden weight of his dongsaeng almost making him lose his grip on the trophy.

“Jimin! You almost made me drop the trophy,” Yoongi chastises, but the grin on Jimin’s face is anything but apologetic.

“So what? We got this cool pop-up thing as proof enough! Isn’t this prettier than that lump of metal?” Jimin snorts, holding the aforementioned card with pride. Yoongi isn’t sure what type of drugs this kid was on if he even considered the thought that a piece of paper was worth more than this golden statue.

“Are you even hearing yourself speak? How can that arts and craft piece of paper even begin to compare to this wonderful masterpiece?”

Jimin only laughs harder, his absolute happiness only making his giggle rise to a cute squeak. “Oh hyung, you and your trophies! You’ve always liked them better than anything else in the world, huh?”

Yoongi recoils, the comment searing itself into his brain. “What did you say?” he splutters, but Jimin has already walked ahead of him.

While the rest of his members have all walked away to the interviewing sections, his feet grind to a halt instead. He stands stuck to the wall, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

What had Jimin meant when he said ‘he like them better than anything else?’ That is absolutely ridiculous! He likes a lot of things more than trophies: his family, music, lamb skewers, sleep, his members (most of the time), and...

The trophies...

Ok, maybe he holds trophies quite high up in his list, but there’s no harm to that, is there? It’s ok to like material things once in a while, especially since he has earned it fair and square. Yoongi decides to just shrug off the thought, and instead he laughs nervously at himself for even hyper analyzing Jimin’s passing comment.

Why had he been so bothered?

“Oy, Yoongi-ah! Why are you still standing there? We’re making the kind interviewer wait!” Seokjin appears from behind a crowd of media team members, his hands on his hips in his trademark motherly stance. He can hear his other members giggling, always excited to see their eldest hyung scold the second eldest hyung.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he gives his roommate his most deadpan stare. “Yeah, yeah. No need to nag so much. I was just tying my shoe.” He lies, but it seems to appease the elder.

Yoongi is about to follow Seokjin when one of the BigHit managers taps him on the shoulder.

“Oh, Yoongi-ssi! Let me take that trophy from you; it must be heavy.” The well-meaning hyung says, not waiting to hear Yoongi’s protests as he promptly takes it away. The manager-hyung slaps him good-naturedly on the back, but Yoongi just wants to scream in anguish. “Wouldn’t want you to carry the heavy thing while doing your hundreds of interviews, huh?”

Yoongi would not, in fact, have minded very much. But there isn’t much he can say on the matter, because the manager-hyung has already walked away.

So when Yoongi finally joins the rest of his members, they all immediately sense the sudden drop in his mood. (Yoongi has the tendency to let his pout become a hundred times more prominent when things don’t end up his way; Namjoon says it’s cute.)

“Aww, hyung is pouting again!” Namjoon laughs, draping an arm around his shoulder. The lady interviewer smiles at the display of camaraderie, despite not understanding the Korean words being spoken.

“Wow, it looks like all of you are really close to one another!” The interviewer squeals, causing the others to laugh congenially. Yoongi does not laugh.

“Oh, we are! I was just saying how he,” Namjoon points at Yoongi, who frowns even more, “is pouting more so than usual today.”

“Why is he pouting? I’m sure you all should be smiling until your mouths fall off, especially after that phenomenal win!”

“It’s because he can’t flaunt the trophy off to the cameras!” Jimin shouts giddily, making Yoongi’s head snap at him.

“You little--!”

“Anyway,” Namjoon cuts him off, a stern glare on his face. Yoongi’s mouth clamps shut, and he forces a smile (a grimace) on his face. “Of course we’re ecstatic! Mr. Suga over here is probably just pouting because he wasn’t able to introduce himself to Nicki Minaj earlier.”

“Oh! You saw her? Who else have you met?”

And so, the interviews go on and on, with most of the questions being generally about the same thing. Eventually, Yoongi is able to take his mind off the trophy for the rest of the night, since the general giddy atmosphere from his group mates have slowly affected him as well. By the end of the night, he has forgotten all about the trophy, and even dances along to the remaining performances by the other western artists.

It is only when they return to the hotel room does he finally remember.

“Hey hyung! The manager-hyung says that they want to take some group pictures of us with the trophy for promotional pictures. Let’s go!” Taehyung enters the room without knocking, immediately rushing up to Yoongi and pulling him away from his unfinished meal without so much as waiting for a response.

“Wait, you brat! I haven’t even put my chopsticks down yet,” Yoongi grumbles, but Taehyung only laughs, grabbing the chopsticks out of his hand and just placing them on some random table.

“Too slow, too slow! And shit, your suit is already wrinkled! The coordi-noonas are going to get pissed! They need to do some touch-ups before we take those pictures,” Taehyung hums, grabbing Yoongi’s hand to pull him faster to the other room. “C’moooon why are you so slow!”

“Why are you so annoying?” Yoongi retorts, but he is too distracted by Taehyung’s words to really be too irritated.

They are going to take a picture with the trophy again.

When they reach the room where they will be having their mini photo shoot, everyone has already gathered. The coordi-noonas immediately pounce on him, all of them tutting at his messy suit and the small piece of rice still stuck to his upper lip.

“Hey, at least I haven’t taken my suit off!” He defends himself, but his mind is elsewhere. More specifically, where the fuck is—

“You looking for this, hyung?” Jimin appears out of nowhere, holding the trophy in front of Yoongi’s face. Yoongi restrains himself from making grabby motions for the object, fighting to keep a calm and collected stare despite his mind screaming ‘take it take it take it take it!’

If Jimin is fazed by Yoongi’s tense glare, he chooses not to comment. Instead he says, “It’s a beautiful trophy, isn’t it? Nicer than even the MAMA trophy, huh?” Jimin sighs dreamily, pretending to use the trophy like a barbell. Yoongi’s eyes follow the motion like a pendulum.

“Heck, it even has a greater grip too! My hands wrap around it perfectly, almost like it’s made for it.” He says, and Yoongi has to suppress the choked gasp from coming out of his mouth.

“What the fuck Jimin?”

Jimin raises an eyebrow at him. “What? Was it something I said?”

Saved yet again by circumstance, Yoongi doesn’t get to reprimand Jimin for his “unintentional” innuendo since the photographer-hyung was already calling them to go to their places.

“Alright, you’re good to go Yoongi-ssi.” The coordi-noona pats him on the back, breaking him from his slight reverie. Yoongi remembers to thank her before going to join the rest of his friends, where Jimin has already situated himself in the middle (with the trophy no less.)

“Look at Jiminie! He’s in the middle again,” Jungkook laughs, earning a soft slap from Jimin.

“That’s Jimin-hyung to you! And fine, I’ll get out of the middle. Who wants to stand here with the trophy?” He asks, before his gaze lands on Yoongi.

Yoongi isn’t sure if he had actually seen Jimin smirk or not.

“Ah! Yoongi-hyung, you should be in the middle this time! After all, you’re as short as I am anyway,” he teases, and Yoongi’s signature pout makes another appearance.

“Hey, I’ll have you know that I am at least 1cm taller—“

“Aw sheesh hyung, let’s move it! I’m ready to get back to my room and drink!” He hears Hoseok whine, earning a whistle of agreement from Seokjin.

Jimin then shoves the trophy in Yoongi’s hand, which he almost drops in surprise. Luckily, the trophy indeed has a good grip, so Yoongi manages to hold it steady in his hands.

Yoongi barely gets to relish in the feeling of the magnificent weight in his hands before the photographer was calling them to focus.

“Alright boys, I need your best smiles for the camera! Yoongi, make sure to face the trophy just right—no, tilt it a bit to the left—perfect.” He raises a thumbs up, and he immediately starts the session.

Out of all of them, Yoongi was probably smiling the largest.

“Thank you everyone for your hard work! You can all go nuts now; just know we have to wake up at 6AM tomorrow so don’t go too wild, alright kids?” their manager-hyung jokes, causing everyone to chuckle lightly.

“Oh, don’t worry hyung! We’re responsible. Can’t say the same for Yoongi-hyung, though!” Jimin laughs, making Yoongi shoot another glare at the younger.

“Why do you keep trying to pick a fight, huh?” He growls, but he can never really stay mad at the cute kid, so the threat pretty much dies at the sight of Jimin’s mischievous grin.

Before Jimin could reply however, their manager-hyung intercepts the conversation. “Yoongi-ssi? You can give me back the trophy now; the photoshoot is over.” He says, his hand already extended to reach for the trophy.

Yoongi panics, fear seizing him at losing touch with the trophy again. ‘Think, think, think...!’

“Um, can I return it tomorrow instead? I want to take some pictures of the trophy to send to my, uh, parents. They want to see how the trophy looks like, you know?” Perfect, Yoongi! Sounds just about believable.

Manager-hyung’s eyebrows furrow. “You can just take a photo right now though?”

Fuck. “Um... I want better lighting?”

Luckily or unluckily, Jimin saves him (unintentionally or not). “Aww, don’t mind him! He’s not gonna do anything bad to it. I’m sure Yoongi-hyung will return it good as new tomorrow.”

(Yoongi makes a mental note to buy something nice for his dongsaeng when they get back. Maybe treat him to some barbeque.)

“Well, I suppose.” Manager-hyung acquiesces, but not before giving Yoongi a stern look. “I want that trophy back tomorrow morning, ok? No tomfoolery, or else Bang PD-nim will have both our heads, understood?”

Yoongi barely manages to shoot him a discernable nod before he was already out of the room in a flash, almost slamming the door on the way out. Despite the room being close to his own hotel room, Yoongi’s out of breath by the time he locks his door.

With his heart beating frantically, Yoongi strides over to his bed, placing the trophy with extreme delicateness on the soft linens as if it were ready to crumble in any second. Yoongi sits beside it in wonder, his eyes never leaving its shiny tinge for even a moment.

He finally has the trophy all to himself.

...now what?

Well, he supposes he should take those pictures for his parents; they would probably want to print the pictures to display in their restaurant for everyone to see. Yoongi whips out his phone and snaps the few shots, taking care to take pictures from different angles to give his parents an array of choices.

Once he finishes, however, Yoongi is back at a loss. What does he do with a trophy for a whole night to himself? Why had he even wanted “alone time” with it anyway? In retrospect, he supposes he must have sounded weird when he asked to keep the trophy for a whole night. What could he even do with it?

Well, he guesses he should probably clean it, as he notices the numerous smudged fingerprints adorning the shiny paint. He grabs a small towel from his bathroom, wetting it slightly and begins to wipe the dirt away gently.

Even through the towel, he could still feel the ribbed texture of the microphone statue against his fingers, the rough feeling almost soothing to his touch.

After a few minutes of rubbing away however, Yoongi starts to get frustrated, seeing that almost none of the fingerprints were fading away.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbles to himself, furiously scrubbing the surface to no avail. “Maybe if I clean all the sides all at once...?” he trails off, forming a circle with his hands and rigorously just—

Starts pumping the trophy. With the towel. And his hands.

Yoongi pauses in his ministrations.

This is definitely not a good mental image that he wants people knowing about.

At once, Yoongi drops the towel and trophy as if they were boiling, flinching slightly when the award almost bounces off the bed. He just barely catches the trophy before it hits the floor, cradling it to his chest.

“Phew, that was close.” He sighs, glancing briefly at the trophy before placing it on his bedside table, still slightly spooked.

It’s not like Yoongi hasn’t done anything like that before. After all, he is a young man, and young men always have certain needs attended to. But why was he so affected by just touching the trophy like that? Sure, it sort of those look phallic, if you squint hard enough—

Woah there, Yoongi. You’re going into some serious kink territory right now. The fact that he just openly admits to himself that the trophy even looks remotely dick-esque is pretty bad, but it’s not like he’s going to fuck the trophy, right?

...right?

Holy shit, Yoongi is definitely not considering that. No fucking way. Sure, he hasn’t gotten off in a while, but that didn’t mean he is desperate enough to shove a trophy up his ass. He could always rub one out like a normal dude, which is definitely what he’s going to do. Right now.

He’s definitely not putting down his pants because he’s going shove the BBMA up his ass. He isn’t stupid.

Clad now only in his very rumpled dress shirt, Yoongi pauses as he stares at his still mostly flaccid dick, unsure how to start. He hasn’t exactly done this in a while, and he isn’t necessarily in frantic need or anything. But he already has his pants off and dick out, so he might as well just get this show on the road.

His usual spank bank usually consisted of old exploits with old partners, most of which really got his mind reeling and did the job well. But as he tries remembering one of his typical sexcapades, he finds that none of them seem to be working. He even tries thinking of some of the people he saw today (he had met a lot of people today, and majority of them were pretty good-looking) but he really couldn’t get Yoongi Jr. to cooperate.

By sheer coincidence as he tries to get his cock to respond, his eyes shift to the trophy that may have started this whole ordeal in the first place. He eyes the trophy warily, until he feels it—

Blood is actually rushing southwards. ‘What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—‘ Yoongi curses internally, but he can’t deny the strangely arousing idea of taking something so huge. OK, he fucking said it. He will admit it; he kind of wants to take the thing up his ass.

Yoongi is definitely no stranger to the wonders of his prostrate. In fact, whenever he has time to properly take care of himself, he often wanders south to pleasure himself, relishing in the sweet sensation of letting go completely untouched.

He’s definitely never taken something that wide before, and he’s honest to God scared to even attempt trying.

But it was there, staring at him. Urging him, tempting him.

Oh, fuck it. If it didn’t work out, he could always just stop anyway. Right?

Without thinking too hard about the consequences, Yoongi dives over his bed to his suitcase, rummaging quickly for his emergency bottle of lube and a condom. He stares dubiously at the pack of condoms for a second, wondering if the latex could properly cover the wide head of the award.

“Well, if people can wear condoms on their heads, I guess this will work.” He shrugs, before finally preparing his makeshift dildo.

He begins by brushing his fingertips over his back, the softness of his own touch sending shivers down his spine. He flips the cap of his lube with his other hand, fumbling to get some of it onto his fingers, trying to warm it up a bit before spreading it all around his rim.

He can already feel himself loosen in anticipation, his hole already awaiting the welcome intrusion. He chooses not to prolong it any longer and promptly presses a single finger into his ass.

“Ahh... nice.” He hisses, a grin already forming on his face but the night was barely over. He feels himself arch slightly as he wriggles his finger experimentally. Oh boy, he is going to need a lot more fingers to prepare himself for the upcoming storm.

By now, his dick has reached full mast, the anticipation making him almost shake like a leaf. His head is leaking profusely, but he refuses to touch himself. Instead, he starts pumping his finger in and out of his hole, loosening himself up even further before deciding he is ready for another finger.

Yoongi is generally a pretty quiet guy, especially during sex. So even he surprises himself when he lets out a loud gasp at the entrance of his second finger, causing him to bite his lip to suppress the following whimpers.

He never used to go crazy over two little fingers. It usually took thicker objects to get him very worked up, but he guesses that it all had to do with not having pleasured himself in so long.

He still needs more preparation, however, so the cycle continues until he is pretty much four fingers deep. His breaths have gotten heavier and heavier as time goes on, his teeth wearing his lips almost thin as he tries to stop his moans from escaping. He isn’t very sure how thin the walls around here are, and he isn’t really looking forward to someone finding out what he’s doing.

Eventually, he decides he can’t take it anymore and wants the trophy up his ass now. His dick is still crying for his attention, but he grits his teeth harder, wanting the pure sensation of release without any external help (because everyone knew that Yoongi was more of an ass man anyway.)

He pops his fingers out of his hole, barely muffling his groan as the feeling of emptiness makes him feel a little uncomfortable. He grabs one of the condom packets he had placed on the bedside table, taking his time as he tries to fit the rubber around the statue.

“How do those idiots on the internet do it?” Yoongi grumbles impatiently, having snapped the condom by accident as the thin elastic on the bottom could not properly encase the large head. It takes a few more tries before Yoongi finally gets the stupid thing on, before promptly drizzling a huge amount of lube all over it.

Yoongi knows that he would be stupid trying to fit the entire thing in his hole, so he is only really aiming to get the ribbed microphone head inside. He hopes that the rough texture feels as good in his ass as it does on his fingers, because he would really regret his life the moment things go awry. And oh boy, a lot of things can go awry (a complete understatement.)

With the trophy sufficiently lubed up, Yoongi takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself on what he is about to do.

Holy fuck. He really is the stupidest motherfucker alive.

“God, don’t reject me when I try to enter heaven,” he pleads to no one in particular, before grasping the award in his hand and positioning it over his waiting entrance.

Rightly so, he starts very slowly, the head of the microphone almost sliding past his hole before Yoongi positions it more properly. The first intrusion makes his eyes bug out almost comically, a stead strings of “holy fuck holy fuck” sounding almost like a mantra as Yoongi takes a moment to right himself.

When he feels he can do more, he trudges on, easing more of it in until he finally feels the—

“HOLY SHIT!” He all but screams, no longer caring about how loud he is about to be because the ribbed texture has just entered his system and he isn’t sure how much more he could take.

It isn’t exactly entirely too pleasurable just yet, what with Yoongi still too tense from the big ass makeshift-dildo up his ass, but it definitely didn’t feel bad. If the way his dick twitches is any indicator, he’s pretty sure he’s enjoying it.

Like the true trooper that he is, Yoongi doesn’t stop. He goes on and on, while more of his louder and louder whines escape his lips. He doesn’t even fucking care that Jimin is in the next room over and can probably guess what he’s doing—he’s too lost in this weirdly good sensation that he just can’t give a damn.

By the time the trophy was inserted deep enough that only the plaque and base were left, Yoongi was pretty much dripping every type of liquid from every available orifice on his body. His cock was weeping, his mouth was drooling, and his ass was wet as the ocean. Only thing left was if his nose started bleeding and his ears started leaking his liquefied brains all over the bed.

Yoongi couldn’t move; he wasn’t sure if he should. He tries shifting from his kneeling position into something more comfortable, but his movement jostles the trophy in just a way that it touches his prostrate, making Yoongi cry out in pleasure.

“Fuck!” He screams, instinctively going to grasp his cock to prolong the pleasure. He pumps himself a few times before managing to gather enough mental fortitude to stop himself. He forces himself to move his hand instead to grasp the base of the trophy.

After a few seconds of mentally debating himself, he realizes that he’s already too far-gone not to forge ahead. On the count of three, he slowly pulls out before plunging shallowly back in, his pleasure skyrocketing off the roof.

Shit, why hadn’t he done this much sooner? What else could he do with the other trophies they had back home? The Music Bank trophy always looked kind of phallic anyway...

All semblance of proper thoughts leaves him the moment he pulls out farther and pushes back even faster than before. His eyes squint so hard that tears almost start to flow, making him look like he is in pain. But oh boy, that could not be any farther from the truth.

“Yes, yes, yes!” He chants, the slow rhythm he has started making him lose his brain to mouth filter, not even properly aware of anything other than the euphoric feeling of having the trophy filling him to the brim.

He is so gone from this earthly plane that he doesn’t even hear the loud knocks coming from his door. He is still in the midst of rocking his hips back into the trophy when the person from the outside finally decides to shout him out of his trance.

“YOONGI-HYUNG! PLEASE HELP! JUNGKOOK JUST TOOK THE BIGGEST SHIT IN MY ROOM AND NOW THE TOILET IS CLOGGED BUT I REALLY GOT TO USE THE TOILET! LET ME USE YOURS PLEASE!” Turns out, the person disturbing his alone time is none other than Taehyung. Yoongi splutters a symphony of expletives to himself, trying to extract the trophy out of his ass as quickly as he can.

“I’m busy, you ass! Go to Seokjinnie-hyung or something!” He calls back, groaning when the trophy is finally removed. God, he’s never felt so fucking empty, and now he’s just 100% more pissed than he normally is.

“SEOKJIN-HYUNG IS OUT WITH HOBI-HYUNG AND NAMJOONIE-HYUNG AND JIMIN WON’T LET ME IN FOR SOME REASON! PLEASE HYUNG, I’M REALLY GONNA—“ Taehyung is still in the midst of his rant when Yoongi finally opens the door.

Yoongi had to hastily put on his pants and hide the, er, evidence away from prying eyes as quickly as he could, all while willing his painfully hard erection to go away. But the more Yoongi looked at Taehyung’s “I-got-the-massive-shits” face, the more quickly his arousal faded away.

“Do your fucking business then leave, you ass.” He growls, but Taehyung doesn’t even register his anger with how thankful he is to relieve himself.

And so, Yoongi is forced to listen to Taehyung’s loud grunts as he lets out what he assumes is the best shit of his life while he ponders the state his life has gone in just a mere 24 hours.

He is part of one of the most well renowned K-pop groups in the world, who just won a BBMA. And he had almost gotten off to aforementioned BBMA. Keyword: almost.

“Fuck.” Yoongi groaned.

(“FuCK!” Taehyung groaned in unison. “YES! Mission accomplished.”

At least one of them was happy.)

[two-in-one-skele]

Heeeeey, another drabble! Basically, I thought about how would Gill react to Yumi not only dating, but also another version of one of his past self. So it made get some inspiration to write this drabble over here about Gill still trying to get over his past with Yumi, despite forgiving her about it.

Anyway, enjoy!

Gill was starting to get worried.

He had been waiting for almost 15 minutes now and Yumi still wasn’t in sight. He had waited in front of her downstairs door, just in case she had something to do that took longer than expected. He even teleported inside, to make sure she just didn’t here him buzzing on the doorbell. But, no matter how much he called for her, she did not answer. He also tried calling her, but it never answered. He even texted her every five minutes, but she still wouldn’t answer and it was not marked as “Read”. Where was she!? He was starting to get impatient.

He tried texting her one more time, if she did not answer he will have to start looking for her. Thankfully, not to long after, she finally texted him back.

[ TXT ]: Sorry Gill! I was with a friend! I’m on my way, I’ll be there in about five minutes. I’m really sorry!

At least she was okay, that’s was what he was worried about the most, after all. She probably didn’t pay attention to the time. He couldn’t really blame her, it was very normal. Even he does that with Rony, sometimes.

Either way, he waited for about seven minutes instead of five. But, it was fine, he didn’t expect her to arrive exactly five minutes either. Despite being impatient, he managed to put it aside and wait. He could see her in the distance, running towards his direction, looking out of breath. When she finally reached him, she was panting heavily.

*You okay? You didn’t have to run like that. “I-I’m… fine… thanks. I just… didn’t want to…” she tried to talk, despite panting. *Okay, okay, just breathe. You don’t need to worry about that. It’s fine. He reassures her, so she could catch her breath. “O-okay…”

She took a moment to catch her breath. He wondered if she ran from all the way from her friend to here, but be didn’t want to ask, he might scold her for it. Thankfully, though, she did not, however, the bus stop was pretty far away from her house and because she missed the bus she did run from the stop to her house. After finally starting to breathe normally, she speaks up again.

“A-anyway, sorry I’m late! I-I kinda… didn’t pay attention to the time… s-sorry.” she apologized again, quickly searching for her keys. *It’s fine, Yumi. I’m not angry, am I? he asked rhetorically. “N-no, but…”

There was a pause. If he had eyebrows one would be raised curiously. Yumi was acting a little strange, she seemed nervous, more so than usual. Not to mention shyer. He thought of jokingly asking if she suddenly fell for him, today, but that would be a bit inappropriate. Besides, he knows very well that’s not the case. He hesitates to ask as he watched her finally finding her keys and unlocking her door.

*Did somethin’ happen, Yumi? You look a bit flustered. he chuckles. “W-what!? N-no, nothing happened!” she nervously denies.

An obvious lie, no one would’ve believed it with a reaction like that. He suspects that it might have something to do with the friend she was with earlier. He doesn’t think anything bad happened, but he was curious. Who wouldn’t be? However, before he could even ask her, he was caught off by her.

“C-come on! We can talk inside!” she pushes him to go upstairs, shouting. *Okay, okay! You don’t need to push me. he chuckles.

Despite not looking at her, he could hear her sigh behind him. Now, he’s seriously getting really curious. 

They talked for a while, about nothing and everything. How they were doing in life, things that happened when they were away from each other and what friends they made along the way. Of course, the conversation had to derive to talking about Rony. They were mutual friends and Yumi became friends with her after her horrid accident that caused her to lose one of her ribs. That particular topic was skimmed over quickly, as they both felt nothing but disgust and wrath for the being that did this. They didn’t want to bring the mood down. But Gill didn’t want it to go on about his stupid crush for her either!

*Come on! cAN WE NOT TALK ABOUT REALLY EMBARRASSIN’ SHIT! “Aheheehehahah! But, it’s fun, though! You’re all blue!” she giggles. *HHHHH! You did on purpose didn’t you? “Yep! But, seriously, though, tell me when! And how! And why!”  *Nooo… he whines. “Yeeeees!” she laughs. *Hhhhhhh… fine, but… to be honest, I’m not sure when or how… for the why well… hhhhhh. he was too embarrassed to finish.

There was a pause. He couldn’t look at her when he was talking but, he took a glace at her when he paused and regretted it immediately. She had an enthusiastic smile, excitement and loud curiosity was oosing out of her face. That child-like excitement, it’s been a long time since he hasn’t seen that. He had to hold back a smile, however, his even deeper flush could not be avoided. She, of course, noticed his reaction but, not for the right reasons. She thought he was just being a huge dork because his obvious crush.

*… W-Why do you even want to know, anyway? he asks, before saying what she wanted to hear. “Because! It’s-… I-I um…”

There was a brief pause, as she shyly scratches the back of her head, realizing what she was about to say kinda sounded embarrassing. However, the hesitation didn’t last long and she gave him a warm smile.

“I-I’m just… really happy that you found someone else. That you got over me… and forgave me too.”

Why did it hurt when she said that? He felt like his soul was twisting a bit.

“I-I was… I was scared that… t-that I-I ruined… e-everything for you. Because I did something so… h-hurful… e-even if I d-didn’t mean to… I-I’m sorry…”

She started sniffling a little, tears started to swell up and fall. It broke his soul to see her like this, still regretful for what she did, despite them having a long talk about it and him completely getting over it. He wanted to reach out to her.

*… Yumi- “I-I’m fine, I’m fine. S-sorry…” she apologizes again, wiping her tears. *No, don’t be. Listen, it’s fine, okay? You don’t need to worry about that anymore. Besides, I’ve done way more stupider shit than you to Rony and I still don’t understand how she still puts up with me. he chuckles.

She chuckles a bit too. However, he thought she was laughing at his semi-joke, when, in reality, it was because “If only he knew”.

*Tell you what… I’ll answer all of your questions, if you tell me what happened with that “friend” of yours. he grins. “W-what??” she almost shouted, bursting red.

He laughed, with only that reaction, he could definitely confirm that her “friend” was indeed the cause of her being strangely flustered, earlier.

*So…? Is that a deal? he grins. “… W-why… why are y-you so suddenly interested in my love-life a-anyway?” *So, you’re datin’? he leans in, his grin wider.

Her eyes widened out of shock and her expression immediately turned into regret. She was even redder than before, covering her mouth. Her and her big mouth. Stupid, stupid! At, this point she didn’t have any choice but to reveal everything.

“W-Well, a-actually, we haven’t exactly dated yet… w-we just confessed… t-today.” she explained. *… Ooh. That explains a lot. “Y-yeah…” *So… what’s he like? he asks, genuinely curious. “U-um… w-well…”

She briefly explain, with a lot of hesitation, how much of a dork Swap was. He was a huge nerd, overall sweet guy and pretty cute too, being so short kind of boosts this fact. Howerver, she knew he could be pretty sarcastic, overconfident and sassy, at times. He has a lot of issues and things he regrets doing too but, above it all, he tries his best to improve. That’s what she loves the most about him.

“Aaah! I-I r-really ranted to much! S-sorry! That w-was really e-embarrassing…” she hid her face with her hand, completely red. *Eheheh, that’s fine. Why did it hurt so much? It didn’t help that this all seemed somehow familiar, like he knew someone or… something similar to how she described him. However, he managed to hide his emotions with a smile.

*But… this kinda sounds familiar. “It does? Maybe you-”

Oh, fuck. She just remembered. This was why she didn’t want to talk about it in the first place! Swap is-… he’s-

“Shit… I-I just remembered… p-please don’t be mad, o-okay?” *…? Why would I be mad? he tilts his head. “B-Because I-… S-Swap, he’s-…” *He’s…? “…”

This was only making him worry even more. At first, he thought maybe she was overreacting but, now he thought that maybe he might actually get mad. He didn’t want to push her for an answer, however, as she seemed to already be gathering her courage to do so.

“He’s… f-from an a-alternate universe… h-he’s a Sans… I-I’m sorry.”

Upon hearing those words, it echoed endlessly in his mind, causing him to feel nautiously dizzy. It was both our of anger and the actual side effect it caused every time someone would utter either or “their” names. Sure, he didn’t sound like the Sans “they” knew, not Gaster or even just G, himself, but… He couldn’t help but feel almost… betrayed or replaced. Seeing that he looked very out of it, she tried to reach out for him.

“G, a-are you-” *Don’t touch me!

He got up from the sofa, both avoiding and pushing her hand away.

He wanted to leave. Before he lashed out, before he lost his composure. Despite feeling almost enraged and hurt, he didn’t want to do the same thing he did with Rony.

He wanted to leave. He started heading for the door, she didn’t even stop him, she didn’t even say anything. However, he could hear her trying not to make a sound, as she started to cry silently. She knew it would’ve hurt him, she deserved this, didn’t she? She was a horrible friend, always ruining things between them, wasn’t she? However, a sniffle and a sob escaped her mouth. He stopped his tracks, halfway opening the door.

*… I don’t hate you, okay? I just… I need some time to think... I’m sorry.

He closed the door behind him, teleporting back to his apparment. He wasn’t going to do anything for the rest of the day. Maybe tomorrow too, depending on how he feels by then. Why couldn’t he just have normal friendships with no drama?

[michameinmicha]

so ur bored? lemme help u out for the fandom thingy i know u like taz and hp so those two? that should give u a few minutes of sweet sweet procrastination time have fun xoxo

thank you!this got way longer than i expected wow

hpFavorite Male Character: (in no particular order)Remus, Sirius, Hagrid, Draco, Fred and George, Mr. Weasley, Harry, Dobby, Neville, Lee Jordan, James, Bill, Charlie, Dean and Seamus, Krum, Cedric…..Favorite Female Character: Ginny, Hermione, McGonnagall, Luna, Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, Lilly, Trelawney, Cho……Least Favorite Character: Umbridge makes me want to punch something, also Wormtail, also Snape , also Bellatrix, i mean they’re still great characters i just hate their guts this is a heard questionFavorite Ship: Remus/Sirius,  Drarry, Krum/Cedric, Krum/Ron, Cedric/Harry, Ginny/Luna, Hermione/Pansy can be very interesting yes, uh James/Lily is so good, Seamus/Dean obvi……Favorite Friendship: (with -s as to not be confused with ships) Harry-Ron-Hermione! the weasleys and Harry (i count family as friendship idc), Fred-George-Lee, the marauders, Neville-Luna-Ginny-Harry-Ron-Hermione, Harry-Sirius, Tonks-Hermione-GinnyFavorite Quote: “No need to call me ‘sir’, Professor” also ron has so many memorable quotes that i cant remember because im dumb afWorst Character Death (if any): HHHhhhhhhhhhhh sirius, remus, tonks, fred, hedwig, james, lily, colin fucking creevy, Moody, DOBBY, ALL OF THEM This made me so happy you have no idea Moment: I remember when i was younger i was so into harry/ginny and when they got together i was so happy!! in general i love it when fang drools on harry’s lap.Saddest Moment: that fucking mirror Sirius gave to harry breaks my heart every single timeFavorite Location: Hogwarts and the burrow

taz (i’m gonna limit this to just balance or i legit wont get my chores done)Favorite Male Character: uhhhhh angus? also thb ofc but also barry and davenport also clarrg also kravitz??? its hard cause i love so many Favorite Female Character: Lup? but theres also carey and killian and lucretia and n03113 and i probably forgot some? theyre all so good!!Least Favorite Character: hhhhhh idk theyre all so good? characters rly are ths show’s strength its hard to hate any uhhhhh jenkins was a bitch so him i guess and i hated edward and lydia because their game was so unfair and it made me angry and frustrated  (they’re also so much fun tho???)Favorite Ship: barry/lup i so so good also i cried at carey and killians wedding ofc also the whole tragic story of sloane and hurley was just so goooodFavorite Friendship: thb, lup and taako, lup and everyone actually, thb and angus the whole ipre just being one big family also magnus and carey also merle and lucretia man theres tons of good friendships in this im so happy rnFavorite Quote: ABRA-KA-FUCK YOU!✨ (it’s cliché but whatever)Worst Character Death (if any): theyre all rough my dude (*cough*magnus*cough*)This made me so happy you have no idea Moment: every time lup or angus show up also the whole thing where magnus learns roue stuff from carey and just u know the bonding moments Saddest Moment: HAH no way i could answer this without just listing every sad moment in the whole thing (and starting to cry and im good rn thx)Favorite Location: the moonbase and the starblaster? also the rockport limited and refuge

thanks again this was fun (i love being emotionally tortured)