#would love to hear if someone has a reasoning or explanation for this (even if it's just ur personal reasoning for tw'ing one and not

[someverygaymoth]

More living castle???(no pressure I just love it!!!!)

First of all, I love you, anon. Secondly, YIPPEE!!! YIPPEE!!! I LOVE TALKING ABOUT THE LIVING CASTLE!!!

Okay, so let's cover the basics! So, Nightmare's castle is alive, and its halls and corridors move around as it pleases. Doors disappear, rooms shift around, all that jazz. Oh, oh, and the castle LOVES Nightmare. He's the castle's very favorite. It will do anything for him. He's spent more than a thousand years with the place, after all. It bends to his will by choice, not because he makes it. Whenever he walks somewhere? He always finds himself there unnaturally quick. He wants to be hidden away? The boys won't be able to find him unless the castle thinks they should.

The castle is very, very protective of him. Nightmare always warns the new boys to stick together in the first few weeks here. To never walk anywhere alone. It's for good reason. When he just got Killer? The castle would trap him in a loop for hours at a time, until Nightmare finally noticed and went to find him. Once, it trapped him somewhere for days, after threatening Nightmare. The castle wouldn't even let Nightmare reach him until It'd been nearly four days. Killer nor Nightmare were very happy about that.

For a while, Killer assumed the castle was doing Nightmare's bidding, and he was just lying about it having a mind of its own... well, until the castle began to trust him, that is. See, the castle is also very, very mischievous. It plays jokes. Tells secrets. Whispers, and coaxes. One day, Killer gives in and follows. He learns all sorts of things, mostly about Nightmare and mostly harmless things, but it's delightful and intriguing to taunt him with a piece of personal information that Nightmare has no clue how he learned.

The castle pulls mean jokes, Killer has seen a floorboard snap out of place to trip him up a little, only to snap obediently back into place when Nightmare turns around and starts scolding the walls. He swears to god the shadows hiss with a quiet, delighted laughter. These jokes in Nightmare are all loving, of course. The castle is sure not to truly harm him.

Killer, however, semi-frequently turns the corner to his room only to fall down the flight of stairs that is definitely supposed to be by the living room, nowhere near his own.

Dust wakes up in the middle of the night after a nightmare and finds that his door is ajar... Moreso, that Horror's door is right across from his own. Horror lives in the room several doors down beyond the corner.

Horror is hungry and walks out of his room and down the hall only to walk right into the kitchen. The kitchen is a five minute walk away and down a flight of stairs. He looks back and sees the typical view from the kitchen door.

Cross doesn't take Nightmare's warning about sticking with someone seriously, and he goes to take a shower by himself, only to find himself completely lost and utterly confused. He thinks the boys are playing some kind of trick on him because he keeps hearing laughter. Dust finds him and drags him to Nightmare so he can be reprimanded. Cross gets a light scolding and another warning, this time with the explanation that the castle, it's very lively... and it doesn't take well to new folks. It needs time to understand you mean us, and it, no harm.

Killer tells him that whenever he got lost, he'd talk to the castle, and that would help. (He started telling it all his intrusive thoughts and eventually it would get tired of his shit and let him go) Cross starts talking to the walls and telling jokes while he walks alone, and suddenly, he doesn't get lost at all. He hears whispering and mumbling while he's eating some dessert in his room, so he leaves some in the corner. It's gone when he blinks, and the next day? The training room is right around the corner from his own room. It's safe to say he makes a good impression.

I'm also writing a little story about Killer's misadventures with the castle. Let me know if y'all would be interested in seeing that!

[mercifullymad]

okay i have a serious question. a few nights ago i posted (& then immediately quickly deleted) a rant about how every post i saw reporting on the words of the palestinian children, some as young five years old, who want to die (because of the overall situation in palestine and/or because all of their family members are dead) was being tagged "suicidal ideation tw" or "cw suicidal ideation" by nearly every user tagging it, & this deeply disturbed me for reasons i found difficult to enunciate. the closest i could come to enunciating the logic of this disturbance was that the function of trigger/content warnings is to protect the most vulnerable in our communities from being re-traumatized or reminded of their trauma unnecessarily, when they could otherwise choose to avoid triggering content had they the knowledge that allowed them to do so. and in this case, the most vulnerable in our communities are these children: children experiencing genocide, and children experiencing "suicidal ideation" (a term i think over-psychiatrizes and obscures the root cause of these feelings: GENOCIDE!!). THEY are the most vulnerable in our global community, and they are also the population in most need of attention and care. they cannot consent to the way their words are being distributed, interpreted, and framed (as a "suicidal ideation trigger warning" when they are. five years old.). and i think that ALL of us, yes even those of us who are suicidal, owe them this attention and care. if we are not actively experiencing genocide ourselves and their words leave us feeling triggered, we have the ability to call a warmline, talk with peers, text our therapists, etc etc. they do not.

i deleted this post because it seemed like too controversial a topic, & i am not palestinian and do not want to speak over others. but then aaron bushnell self-immolated and i am once again feeling angry at the double-standard. i have yet to see a post tagged "suicide tw" regarding bushnell's self-immolation, and he was a grown adult who made the choice to kill himself when he had nearly every other option of protest to choose from, especially as a white male army member (burn down/destroy whatever government buildings or weapons he had access to; burn important official papers; organize with other service members to engage in a mass movement of conscientious objection). aaron bushnell killed himself as an adult, freely, as a form of protest, and with many other options at his disposal as a white USA citizen. and yet nearly no one tags his posts "tw suicide" — in fact, i've seen many more posts about why we shouldn't consider self-immolation "suicide." meanwhile, palestinian children, who have no other protest options at their disposal, who are in a carceral situation, who simply SPEAK about wanting to die from the desperation of experiencing genocide and the loneliness of being the last member of their family alive — THEIR words are "suicidal ideation" trigger warning'ed to hell and back? i truly do not understand the logic. to return to my initial question, which i ask with sincerity: what makes these children more triggering than aaron bushnell?

[twice-inamillion]

The Company 

Slave Contract

Smut and Angst (Slave contract, idol turned sex toy, accepting fate )

Chapter 18

3890 Words 

(Miyeon becomes the CEO’s newest assistant and gets trained in her new role. Four idols learn about the consequences of signing contracts without knowing what’s in them. Future sex toys?)

It’s been a few weeks of hard work with setting up the survival show. Luckily, my new assistant, Miyeon, has been a great stress reliever.

After that first night, she was sore for a few days, but you kept her busy in other ways. At first, she was hesitant, asking me if this was really something she had to do. You asked if she read over the contract and said she slightly did but mainly browsed through it when signing. 

“You should have a copy; look it over and ensure you know about your duties.” 

It took her a few hours to go through everything, and with your explanation, she realized her actual fate, “So I belong to you then?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“I read you can even breed me if you wanted to.” 

“I could, but we can put that on hold if you like. You only need to help me out with some things.” 

“Like what?”

“I also want to make your former group members into my toys.”

Miyeon’s eyes widened from your statement. She was just with them not too long ago, and now she’s being asked to betray them so you can use them for pleasure?

“What you need to do is tell me some things about them. If they sign a contract like yours, I’ll take some years off it.”

Miyeon hesitates and thinks for a while, knowing she can’t return if she does this. 

“So what’s it going to be?”

“Okay, what do you want to know?”

———

“Jieun set up a meeting with the four girls. I want to meet all of them.”

“Of course, I’ll tell them to come later today.”

All the information Miyeon shared about her former members helped you set the perfect conditions for today’s meeting. You’ve always had a dream to claim a whole group for yourself. You know that you’ll have a set of four toys to play with at the end of the day.

It’s your last meeting of the day. Jieun is talking to Jennie and her group mates about the meeting and its possible lasting effects.

Jieun looks at her device and sees your message about letting them in.

“The CEO is ready for you.” She opens the door, and they walk in. 

“Oppa, you’re here to see the CEO?” says Lisa.

“No.”

Rose then speaks up, “He’s the CEO.”

“No, he’s Oppa; he helped us with moving in. A CEO wouldn’t do that,” said Lisa.

Lisa looks at you with an innocent face, waiting for your reply. “Rose is right; I’m the CEO of the company.”

“But we hung out together,” whined Lisa.

“Lisa, he might have his reasons,” replies Jennie

“Jennie is right; I do have my reasons. I aim to scout for talent and potential and put them into a group. I want to create an international girl group. As CEO, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to do that, but as a staff member, I’m about to see someone’s true personality. I want to debut you four as a girl group really soon.”

The four of them look at each other in excitement. Hearing about being a worldwide star seemed out of reach, but it is now possible. “Would you four be interested in the girl group I plan to create?” 

Lisa is the first to say yes, “Of course, oppa! I want to perform all over the world!”

Rose imagines herself on stage, singing music she composed to millions of fans worldwide, “I…I would love to as well.” 

Jisoo replied, “I, too, want to be in a group with them.” 

The three look at Jennie, who looks at you and replies, “Of course, I want to stay with my members forever!”

You then reply, “Great. I’ll make you four into worldwide superstars!” 

They giggle amongst and hold each other’s hands at the exciting news.“I plan on creating my personal label, and I’m interested in you four joining as the first group.” 

Jennie asks, “What’s the difference between it and the company?” 

“Priority and privileges.” 

Jisoo, confused, asks, “What do you mean by that?” 

“I’ll be personally working with you and providing you with all the best things. That includes clothes, jewelry, and deals with brands and magazines. I also plan to have a separate building for music recording, training, etc. You all will have access to the best, no compromises.”

The girls can't help but smile at the idea of having access to the best. Rosé's dream of being a musician is closer than ever; she must make this happen. “I want to do it.” 

“I assumed this was the case, so I prepared a contract for each of you as a group contract. I’ll talk to each of you individually since this will be an important decision.”

Jieun escorts all the members to individual rooms, so you can gather your thoughts before the meeting. After you’re ready, you call for the oldest, Jisoo. 

“Come have a seat, Jisoo.” 

Jisoo sits, looking nervous with the two of you alone.

“We went a bit over the group contract earlier, but I want to review your individual one this time. Is there anything you’d like to add?” 

Jisoo is already thankful for the opportunity to receive all the support from the company. She doesn’t want to overstep and get greedy, “No, I think I’m okay as it stands.”

”Are you sure? I remember reading in your profile that you wanted to be an actress. Am I right?”

Jisoo shyly tilts her head forward and replies, “Yes, I wrote that down when I joined as a trainee.”

”Are you still interested, or have you given up on that dream?”

There is a slight hesitation, “I want to sing and perform with my teammates, but I still want to be an actress.” 

There it is, the hook. “I can make it possible if you’re still interested.” Jisoo’s ears perk as she hears your words, “Really? How?”

The two of you talk for a while until you reach an agreement. Jisoo immediately signs the contract without a second thought after promising to support her as much as possible. Your only condition is for her to agree with your choices without a second thought. 

——

The next one you talked to was Jennie; she was much easier to talk to, and you could get straight to the point. She sat before you, “I’m going to be real with you; I want you and your members. Not just as artists but as my toys.” 

Jennie slides the contract to the side, “So this is what this contract is about… I can’t blame you; my members are cute. Is there someone you have in mind?”

“Rosé. She has an amazing voice, and her desperation to become a singer is such a turn-on.”

“She did say she’ll do something to become one, but the only issue is that she’s into girls, not guys.”

“Won't you think that would be better? Rosé tossing her interests to the side, that’s something I would love to see. I want to make her my plaything.”

Jennie bites her lip at the idea of her member being corrupted, “you know she’s a virgin too; well, everyone is except me, of course,” says Jennie while sticking her tongue out.

“You must be proud, huh.” 

It’s true; Jennie is proud of herself. With her by your side, she knows that her chances of being successful are much better with you. “Of course, I love being your toy babe. It’d be even better if you make all of us into your toys; just imagine playing with us whenever you want.”

”You know what a guy wants; you’re so bad.”

”I want to make sure you’re well taken care of.”

The two of you continue to talk; she even provides some ways to make the girls agree. 

———-

After Jennie, the next one was Rosé; she sat in front of you and asked, “Were you serious about introducing us to the international market?”

”Of course, with your talent, I know you all can succeed. I mean, with your voice, it's a guarantee.”

You see the sparkle in Rosé’s eyes; her dream of becoming a singer is closer than ever. “So, where do I sign?”

You pull out the contract, “This right here is your individual contract. It states the expectations from both parties, which is the label and yourself. Read it over, and if you want to add anything, let me know.” 

Like her members before her, she just skims through the contract and asks, “Would it be possible to invite my parents and sister for my debut?”

”Of course, they are more than welcome to visit you. If you want, I can fly them over. I remember you mentioning that your sister is pursuing law, right?”

”Yeah, she’s still in college and looking to intern at a firm in Australia. You know that she’s been so supportive of me becoming an idol that I really want her to see my debut.”

”If that’s the case, then I promise you to make sure your whole family sees you on your special day.” 

“I promise that you won’t be disappointed; I’ll make sure that our group becomes the best group,” as she picks up the pen, singing her contract. 

———

Lisa, the maknae of the group, was the last member you had to meet. It didn’t take much convincing and only asked to be given the creative freedom to make choreographies and a space to dance. 

“You really got us, oppa. Or should I call you CEO-nim?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I’ll call you oppa.” 

“I’d like that.”

She smiles and asks, “Where do I sign?”

———

It’s been a few weeks since the members signed their individual contracts. It didn’t take long for them to see the immediate effect, such as a new apartment with rooms of their own, access to the new building, and other perks.

“Unnie, congrats on your internship!”

“Thanks, it all happened so suddenly. I can’t wait to spend some time with you.”

“When do you fly in?”

“In a few weeks, they even gave me an apartment and are paying for my accommodations.” 

“Really? That’s great. What firm are you working with?”

“That’s the funny part. I’ll be doing my internship through the Samsung group but will be in one of their subdivisions.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I got an email saying that they were looking for great talent and received a recommendation. I recently finished the acceptance process and will be signing the contract. The best part is that if they like me, they might offer me a job and pay for law school. I’m so excited, Rosie!”

Rose is more than happy to hear the good news from her sister. She’s been so supportive of her dream to become a lawyer; now it’s her time to cheer for her. The only thing is that she can’t shake off a feeling that something isn’t right, but she quickly puts it to the side and continues her talk with Alice.

——-

“Hello, mom, how is everything back home?”

“Everything is wonderful, Lisa. We have had some good news recently.”

“Really? What is it?”

“Remember how your father was thinking about expanding and was looking for investors for his restaurant?”

”Yeah, I do. He wanted to open up a new place, but it was expensive if he wanted to do it in the middle of the city.”

”Well, your dad found an investor. They want to invest in not only one restaurant but probably two or more. They want to remodel this one and expand the size. Your dad is so happy.”

”I’m so happy for him. He’s been working so hard these past few years.”

”What about you, sweetheart?”

”Good, I think coming to Korea was a great choice. I can’t tell you much right now, but I’m happy where I am. My group members make me feel at home.” 

————

All the members gather in your office, the four of them excited for the weekend to begin. 

“How are you four doing?”

Jennie responds, “Great, we have had a free day today, so we’ve been resting after a busy schedule.”

”Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting you all during your day off.”

The members nod, “It’s okay; we still have Saturday and Sunday off. You must have called us to say something important,” says Jisoo. 

“Yes, I wanted to ask how you four are adjusting to your new life?”

Rosé responds, “I love the recording and music room. I’ve spent most of my time there.”

”For me, it’s the practice studio; it’s so nice and spacious, I love it,” says Lisa.

”What about you two?”

Jennie responds, ”Jisoo and I like our new apartment. It’s nice to have our own space.”

Jisoo nods, “I agree with Jennie; we like the new apartment. Thank you so much.” The four of them slightly bow, thanking you for their new perks. 

“That’s great. I want to make sure that my future worldstars are given the best. Since you have tasted a bit of what I’m giving you, I think it's time for you to return the favor.”

The members were surprised by your comment and asked, “What do you mean?”

“The favors, remember. It’s in the contract you all signed.” 

Rosé responds, “I don’t remember seeing it.”

Knowing this was bound to happen, you pulled out a copy of their contract. You flip through the numerous pages until you reach the section you want to show them. “This is the part. It clearly states that you all are required to provide me with services on a regular basis in return for the perks you receive.” 

Rosé, shocked, says, “What kind of favors?”

With a straight face, you reply, “sexual favors, of course.” 

Rosé, Jisoo, and Lisa look shocked at your comment; Rosé stands up and tries to leave when Jennie grabs her hand, stopping her. “Don’t.” 

Rosé looks at Jennie in a serious expression and takes a seat. “Why didn’t you say anything before our contract signing?”

“I told you to check multiple times. You’re all adults.” 

Jisoo asks, “Is it possible to remove that part out?” 

“It’s possible, but that would mean you are breaking your contract.”

Rosé then asks, “Is that going to cost a lot?” 

“In simple terms, yes. The cost of a breach in the contract is a lot, plus the cost of room and board, food, training, and other expenses can be in the billions of won.”

They all look at each other, trying to figure out what to do. They don’t want to give their bodies as payment; it seems so wrong, but the cost of paying large amounts of money also seems too much.

“What if we can pay you some other way?” says Lisa.

“Listen, I’m going to be frank with you all. I want you four, so I’m going to give you an hour to think about it. I’ll step out and come back, so expect an answer.” 

You stand from your chair and begin to walk towards the door, ��Just remember that this will have a great impact on both your personal and professional life,” you say before exiting.

The four of them finally get a sign of relief with you gone. They stay silent, taking in what just happened a few moments ago. 

Jennie breaks the silence, “What do you all plan on doing?” 

No one answers; instead, Jisoo stands up and looks around your desk for anything that can help them. She moves the mouse off your computer, causing it to turn on. She sees a folder with the initials of each member, “Girls, come here.” The members stand up and circle around the computer. Jennie grabs the mouse and clicks on the folder with her name to see basic information and a copy of your contract. “Nothing helpful.” 

Suddenly, something catches Rosé's attention when she notices a fold named “Alice.” She grabs the mouse from Jennie and clicks on it. There are multiple files, but a video recording gets her attention. She clicks on the recording, and the face of her video pops out. “Hello, my name is Alice Park. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to intern at your company. You’re the biggest employer in Korea, and interning at your company is a dream come true. Pursuing law has been a passion of mine since I was young, so I will do my best to meet your expectations. Thank you so much, and hope to see you real soon.”

Rosé can’t believe it, Alice’s employer is you? Many things run through her mind to the point it’s hurting. “Did he plan everything out? What should I do? Should I tell Alice?”

Jennie and Jisoo notice Rosè’s sister in the video and try to ask her what’s going on. Instead, Rosè stays silent, gathering her thoughts and what she should do. “Rosè, what’s going on?”

Lisa continued searching when she found a file named “Restaurant Investments.” She clicks on it and sees her dad’s picture and other documents that mention investing in his business. “What’s going on?” She sees a brief interview that mentions his reason for doing what he does. He responds that he loves the expression his family makes when they taste his food, especially his daughter. However, since she was young, she would love his food which is one of the reasons he wants to do his best. “My daughter is trying her best to make her dreams come true, as an old man I should also do something that my daughter should be proud of.”

Lisa doesn’t have to think twice, she knows what she has to do. “I’m going to make sure his dreams come true no matter what.”

An hour passes by, the four of them are sitting in the chairs as you enter the room on the dot. Rosè and Lisa look at you with an intense expression while Jisoo holds both their hands. Jennie, who is sitting in the back looks at you with a slight grin but quickly hides it when you sit on your chair. 

“I gave you four an hour. What are your answers?”

There is a slight hesitation as the four look at each other, thinking on what to say. Suddenly, Lisa raises her hand and says, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

The rest of her members' eyes widened as the maknae of the group was the first to respond. You can’t stop yourself from smiling, “Good choice.”

You look at the other three and say, “Lisa seems to have more conviction than anyone else in the group.” You look in Jisoo’s direction, “Jisoo, I assumed you would be the first to say something, but I guess Lisa, the youngest out of your four, has more guts.” 

Jisoo clenches her fist, but she’s scared. There is no way she couldn’t be. “What about you Jennie?”

She lifts her head, “So you’ll keep your promise and make me known worldwide?”

”Yes, there wouldn’t be anywhere in the world that won’t know your name.”

’Okay, I’ll do it too. I’ll do whatever you want, even be your personal toy.”

Jisoo lifts her head, “Jennie…” Her younger members are much braver than her. She tells herself that she needs to be the one to protect them, but instead they’re taking the reins of their future. She makes up her mind, “I…I’ll do it too.”

”Great. Three out of four.” You look at Rosé who’s head is still down, debating about making the right choice. Her answer will determine not only her future but her sister’s as well. “Alright. If I do this, you promise not to do anything to Alice, right?”

”Yes, I promise.”

”Okay, I’ll do whatever you want; just keep your promise.” 

You smile, knowing that the four women in front of you have decided to submit to you. “I’ll make sure to try you four with a lot of care.” You stand up and check out their body as they stand. “I want to make sure that you're all serious about your choice. Undress yourself right here, I want to see what I’m going to be working with,”

Their eyes widened from your request; they didn’t think it was going to happen so soon. “Okay.” Jennie is the first one to undress by first removing her blouse, bra, pants, and underwear. 

“Good girl.”

”Thanks,” Jennie smiles from your compliment. 

The other two members follow, undressing themselves until they’re completely nude. Rosé is the last one to undress, she struggles to take her panties off with one arm covering her breast. 

“Take your arm off, I want to get a good look at you.” She slowly moves her arm and puts it to the side. “There, better?”

“Feisty one. If you don’t want to do this you can just leave.” Rosé pinches her arm, stopping herself from leaving. She wants to get out of there but knows she can’t. “No, I’ll behave.”

Satisfied with her answer, you continue to walk around them, inspecting their flawless body. Each one of them have small but perky tits, a flat stomach with a cute little ass. Lisa yelps when you touch her ass, while Jennie smiles. 

“Since you all have the weekend together, how about we have some fun.” The girls don’t have to guess what you’re trying to say, they know what type of “fun” you’re talking about. “Any volunteers?”

There’s a silence, no one moving or reacting in any way. “No volunteers? I guess I'll choose the one I want to have first.” You go around, tracing your finger against their back. You feel them tremble, not wanting to be the first to get chosen. 

“I really want to have all of you at once, but I want to give you some one-on-one attention. You’re all too good, I can't make up my mind.” 

You stare and them, looking up and down as you decide on who to fuck first. You see one of them grabbing onto their arm, looking nervous. You think to yourself it's always best to pick the one who has the most to lose and make them yours.

“Rosé, I want you tonight.” 

You exit the room, leaving her standing alone in shock. She trembles, realizing that she’s going to give her body to a man. She’s never once thought about having relationships with a male, not even in the slightest. 

———

Jieun walks into the room, “Rosé, dear. Why the sad expression?  You should be happy that he chose you.” 

There’s no response from Rosé, and instead frozen in thought. 

“Anyways, I’m here because I’m going to take all you with me to choose an outfit for when he asks for you. Just remember that the more effort you put in the better the outcome,” says Jieun in a serious voice.

As they enter the room they see multiple racks of lingerie. Rosé’s eyes go wide as she figures out what she is going to wear. 

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time. 

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.  

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant. 

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.  

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago. 

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile. 

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning. 

But why was he remembering all of that now? 

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision. 

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines. 

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door. 

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles. 

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once. 

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on. 

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings. 

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you. 

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter. 

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time. 

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him. 

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning. 

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either. 

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid. 

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.” 

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he��s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside. 

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass. 

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away. 

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment. 

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high. 

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him. 

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime. 

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game. 

3-2. UTokyo’s win. 

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink. 

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again. 

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe. 

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Saw your most recent thought about writing Gambit, PLEASE DO ITTT!! He has been my favourite ever since i was young... After watching Deadpool & Wolverine, the one who played by Channing Tatum... OH GOD I need him more now 🤚😔💥 ((But please take your time to write tho!! Don't wanna rush or pressure you about it ✨️

Part two here

‘What if this is it. What if this is the ending we get because we were the unlucky ones and that this is where we were meant to be regardless of how hard we try.’ You say one day and Remy stopped shuffling his cards.

‘And what made you come to that bleak conclusion, mon cher.’ He asks softly, having a feeling that you had been withholding this thought inside for a while, and it wasn’t only until now did it feel like coming to light in the presence of someone you felt safest with, or at least he assumed you did with how often you tended to stick to his side. You had lost your friend Jubilee a while back to Alioth and ever since then you’ve been stuck to Remy and admitting things to him in confidence that he beloved you would’ve told Jubilee…had she stayed a little while longer.

You shrug. ‘Merely an educated guess. That and the copious amounts of times where we’ve tried and failed to escape but I’m pretty sure that’s evident, considering that we’re.still.fucking.here.’

Remy sighs, gets up from the table and walks across the room and takes his place next to you, shoulder to shoulder and as your thighs briefly touch. ‘You may think me stupid for thinking this mom cher, but it is the truth of my heart, and that truth is that I’m glad we’re here.’ He admits but starts laughing soon after upon looking at your confused face, finding it adorable.

‘Care to elaborate on that?’ You then said as you started at as though he had grown a second head. What did he mean by that? That he was happy he was trapped here? Had Remy finally gone mad, you weren’t quite sure but decided that you would hear him out in hopes that there was a logical explanation after a confession like that after all.

‘With pleasure,’ Remy began, ‘the reason I say this because if I weren’t here then I would’ve never met you, built a friendship with you and so on, so while I share your want to leave this place.’ He then leans in real close to you, so close to the point you could feel his breath fanning your face and his lips ghost over your own as your heart went nuts in your throat. ‘I can’t help but thank it for brining us together, for I wouldn’t have thought to experience a love quite like ours mon cher.’ Remy concludes and you couldn’t help but smile.

Remy has once told you that you did exist in his timeline, just with a minor detail in the fact that you weren’t a mutant like him. You were friends, close friends, but one day you died protecting him, he’s never forgiven himself since and still hasn’t. ‘Brave soul, courageous heart you had.’ He had said while fighting back tears as you held him just as he began to weep over a you that wasn’t you; Regarding whether or not you were together was a question that was never answered nor asked, for you didn’t want to reopen old wounds Remy chose to close for a reason.

You had a Remy back home but he was with Rouge and you weren’t even remotely as close as Remy and his variant of you were. You were barely even on speaking terms because of how little you interacted with one another. So needless to say your absence wasn’t felt nor missed in the slightest, but you didn’t have the energy nor the ability to care about that anymore.

You gently shove him in the chest. ‘Cheesy bastard.’ You muttered as Remy chuckled, pulling you into his arms as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, breathing you in as you melted into his warmth, feeling safe from all harm and most importantly; loved.

‘Don’t you know. All Remy’s to ever exist are romantics at heart mon cher?’ He playfully said as he tightened his grip on you, planting one more kiss on your forehead, humming in content.

‘No. I only know one Remy who’s a romantic at heart,’ you told him as you lifted a hand to gently boop him on the nose, ‘you and that’s the only Remy I need to know, for you are the best Remy out of all of them. At least in my opinion.’ You finished as you then kissed him on the cheek.

Remy smiles softly at you as he felt himself becoming more content with his fate if it meant sharing these moments with you for the rest of his life, you made life here bearable and he couldn’t imagine going back to a life where all he had to remember was your name scrawled into a cold, unforgiving headstone. ‘And your opinion is the only opinion I ever want to have for the rest of my life.’ He says as he held you tighter before smothering you in kisses, smiling widely as he heard you giggle and squeal for mercy, while back home you may not be anything to him, but here? You were everything to him and more.

[periprose]

Hi! :)

I’m craving some Logan Howlett angsty fluff and I really like your writing style… Do you think you could maybe do a fic where either Logan and reader are in the heat of the moment and his claws come out and he scratches her. Or where Logan has a nightmare and the same thing happens. Either way the reader ends up comforting him.

Thank you! 🩷 :)

Hi!! So sorry for getting to this so late 🥹 loved the idea btw :) ended up doing a bit of a mix of both? If that makes sense.

/

"Out with it."

Your voice rings out clearly among the X-Men, the throng of battle no longer around you all. It was a more exhausting battle than you would've thought, but nothing irks you more than knowing that Logan has been apparently thinking of you as someone to play babysitter to. He hadn't trusted you to make your final blow to the enemy, and instead scooped you away to safety before lashing out with his own claws.

Logan clearly has something to say to you, and you want to hear it. You're not going to let him escape again- the way he always does, nonchalantly, refusing to acknowledge how he treats you.

Charles stiffens next to you in the helicarrier. Watching the tension, feeling the palpable heart-wrenching sensation between you and Logan. He doesn't know how you got to this point.

"Listen. Just because you didn't have it doesn't mean you're not a good X-Man-" Logan starts dismissively.

"But I did! I did have it!" You shout back at him, and then inhale carefully. "Nobody told you to rescue me, Logan. If I was about to die, then I was. I wanted that to be on my own terms."

"Don't talk like you're a fucking martyr when you've never had the privilege, kid." Logan's unnecessarily harsh tone has you flinching. "Do you know how many people I've seen die, for no good reason? Do you really want a bunch of Pentagon psychos to be your last memory?"

"Shut up." You shift in your seat, feeling small. "We don't get to choose when we die. Not like you."

Logan becomes visibly angered with that, the little taunt you've made towards his immortality. "That doesn't mean you have to go seek it out, dumbass."

"Oh really? Don't tell me you're getting soft, Logan." You glare at him, and Charles and Jean and Scott look at each other uncertainly. "Just because your life is so long doesn't mean the rest of us have forgotten what it means to be alive."

There's an unspoken, sudden charge in the air, now that you've mentioned what everyone else has the good sense to shut up about- Logan having lived so long and not caring about the consequences of his actions. Logan's eyes narrow until you feel sure that you've pushed him too far this time- he looks more animal than human, more Wolverine than ever- and you feel yourself inching forward, letting the anger of not being understood push you to fighting him- and Charles suddenly raises his hand in protest.

"Please, you two. I'm not sure what has transpired today, but I know you are better than choosing to have a physical altercation on a helicarrier flight." His calm, soothing tone makes you feel a little disappointed in yourself, and you settle back in your seat, refusing to meet his or Jean's glances of concern.

/

All you really wanted was an apology. A "Sorry, I won't do that again." Or even an explanation for why Logan keeps tabs on you all the time, never letting you be a real part of the X-Men, always safely on the sidelines. Were you just too weak?

Should you even be here?

You feel guilty for what you said to him. It's not a bad thing, you know, that Logan doesn't want you to get hurt- it's just that you want to do your job. You're not a kid.

It almost, almost justifies how you treated him, but even you know that was too far. You can't act as if you know Logan's life story- not even Charles or Jean would claim to do that, and they've searched his mind for memories several times.

Like it or not, the man was mysterious. He kept to himself on a lot of things, citing past hurt as his reason why- and you should've respected that.

"Maybe I am weak." You mutter to yourself, wondering why you can't restrain your emotions around Logan.

You're practicing shooting small, psionic blasts towards the target in your room- it's a great way to pass the time when you can't sleep- when you hear a groan, a shudder, an angry, deep growl-

It sounds like Logan. His room is right above yours, and the sounds are definitely coming from there- you hear him yell, and before you can stop yourself, you're bounding up the stairs to the third floor of the X-Mansion, bursting through his room's door with a ready hand, in case you need to fight.

/

Logan watches as you berate him in his dream.

Actually, it's not quite you- it's some venomous, evil, witch wearing your face. You giggle at him- you call him old- you don't take him seriously.

With every taunt, you fire another bright purple blast at him- and for once, his body doesn't heal instantaneously. He is getting old, getting hurt, watching as blood pools out of him. It's agonizingly painful.

He's going to die this time, without making it right with you- he's afraid that you're right about him, that he's a washed up sad old man who can't ever let people in.

"We don't need you anymore, Logan..." The not-you whispers softly, smiling a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and Logan can't help but believe it.

His self preservation instincts kick in, and he launches forward, snarling, claws out with a sharp snikt sound. He feels that even though he'll regret your death, he'll miss you immensely, it's just one more tally mark to several others.

/

"Logan. Logan!"

You're leaning over Logan's sweaty, clammy body in his bed. You watch as his hands fist in the sheets, and he tosses and turns in agony- you breathe in hesitation, in fear that he's not going to be okay- he grunts suddenly, and you're reminded of how Rogue tells you about his nightmares. They're frequent.

How out of touch could you have been today?

You gently-yet-firmly grab Logan's arm, shaking, and his arms move forward in a self-defense mechanism that seems practiced, as if he's been attacked in his sleep before, and before you can move away, there's a sharp snikt sound, a quick wave of claws, and a searing pain in your side.

It all happens before you can even blink. You fall off to the side, on the floor, writhing in pain. Logan's claws just nicked your side, it's essentially a scratch- but the pain is so much worse than you're expecting, and you fall to the floor again as you try to get up.

You breathe in harshly, holding back a sob, as you feel wet blood pooling through the side of your night dress.

"Jesus Christ." Logan pounces off the bed, waking to blood all over his claws, and he's leaning over your body, as you blink up at him hesitantly. He immediately panics, lifting you up and resting you on his squatted thighs. "Kid! Hey, kid, don't close your eyes-"

"..." You're just barely hanging on, but you listen.

And Logan feels that same sense of shame he felt when he attacked Rogue, when Jean "died", every single time he had accidentally unsheathed his claws towards someone who didn't deserve it.

Doubly so, considering it's like his terrible nightmare has come to life. But you absolutely didn't do anything wrong- he can't believe he was so angry with you.

He calls for help, in a slightly broken tone, and no one seems to be coming.

"Just a scratch." You try, but Logan shakes his head.

"No, no, no." Logan spits out. "How could I- I never meant to-"

"I'm sorry, Logan." You cough, and Logan feels awful that you're apologizing while bleeding out due to his actions. "I shouldn't have said what I said. You're not some unreliable old man who doesn't care..."

You flinch at a sudden, sharp pain, and Logan motions for you to stop talking, but you keep going.

"If anything, you're the opposite. You're there for me. And I'm sorry that I got so... so angry at you for that." You mutter to yourself, not aware of how Logan hangs onto your words. "You're protecting me from making mistakes, and I'm grateful."

"No, kid. You had a point before." Logan interjects, but you shake your head.

"Did I? Or was I being a brat?" You grimace at yourself.

"You did have a point. I was being selfish," Logan shakes his head and then swallows that urge to push you away. "I don't always know how to leave people well enough alone. Sometimes I'm too much."

He hesitates, and then continues on. "Like, I treat you as if you're a nuisance, right? But I always... I always want you next to me. And I know I should just sort my shit out like an adult. But I'm scared."

"Scared?"

"Of what happens. What always happens." Logan sighs in defeat. "I fall in love, and they die. I find my people, and they leave me because I'm such a jackass. There's too much surrounding me that just... ruins everything."

"No, no. I won't leave." You tighten your hand around Logan's, and he, despite wanting to say that you're wounded because of him, believes you. He's so grateful to hear you say it- he had no idea that's what was weighing on him so badly.

He loves you, he knows he does. Logan has never been the best with feelings, but for once, he's glad he was honest.

The first thing Scott sees when he finally makes his way to Logan's room, from all the way across the X-Mansion, is Logan whispering "I'm sorry," and... he thinks (he's not 100% sure), "I love you," to your very forlorn, softly curved-around-him body.

It's a very tender moment, and Scott feels he should leave.

Then Logan presses a firm, shaky kiss on your forehead, and then your lips, and you, with your limited reserve of energy, kiss him back, and then Scott interjects with:

"Hey!...?"

He seems taken aback as you both look at him. "I heard screaming? What is this, some sort of weird cult sacrificial scenario?"

"Logan... had a... nightmare..." You wince, and Scott sees the red on your night gown. "I need... medical attention."

"On it." Scott glances at Logan for permission, and he's currently trying to push all these mushy feelings back into his chest where they belong, and he wants to be there to help you in the clinic, but he's flustered with everything that's happened and he can only hand you to Scott without looking at him.

Scott smirks to himself as he runs you to the clinic of the X-Mansion.

"You and Logan, huh? I knew there was something in that fight today." Scott remarks as you cling to him.

"It's taken an embarrassingly long time for me to figure it out, but yeah." You blush. "Has everyone else...?"

"Jean's been running a bet for the last year." Scott laughs. "She says you both are two sides of the same coin."

You can't help but agree.

[anantaru]

more rich boy alhaitham pls🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽i love the concept and how u wrote it😭🙏🏽😭🙏🏽😭🙏🏽😭🖤

cw. ⪩⪨ fem! reader, rich boy au, rich boy alhaitham, process of falling for you HARD, a little possessive again because I cannot help myself, rough sex & very messy

whether you believe it or not, rich boy alhaitham has never been in love before— and the scribe thinks about one specific kind of love here, one you read about in books, one you can evidently witness between two strangers while crossing the street.

essentially, he was attractive and he knew it, a man blessed with extraordinary intelligence and talent, bringing to mind that he was exceptionally wealthy as well.

so, speaking from an outer perspective, those factors certainly couldn't be the reason as to why he was unlucky on finding his perfect match— in fact, no one could ever deny how greatly alhaitham was being admired by the people of sumeru.

or was he?

or perhaps, they really don't often pay attention to him, because you see, he doesn't want them to.

he purposefully keeps a low profile, with a veiled identity and ulterior purposes hidden right beneath, so that he could rest easy and indulge in a comfortable life— with his wealth continuously growing, yet no specific target on what to do with it, or on who to spend it on besides himself.

yes, it was true, he sometimes catches himself getting lonely.

but in spite of that, after he meets you it's different, because suddenly alhaitham finds himself in trouble without noticing how the feelings of love were already coursing through his veins.

how unnoticeable falling in love was, snap and it's over, it's astonishing how he just needed to get closer to you.

you swallow thickly, and it was foreseeable that you ended up in his bed again, it's on the point of each night that it ends the exact same way now.

both of you knew why you were sharing a bed again— lewd and lustful traces curving over the slopes of your body and stimulating your needs— how utterly interesting how fast someone's mind could simply switch off and decide that you were in love now.

just from a simple look, and alhaitham was yours.

and he never would've let this happen to himself— the stress on how to navigate through an emotion such as love, especially since there wasn't a rational answer behind the multiple explanations he read about in the past, nor could you buy real, pure love with money.

if it were for anybody at all, he would just brush it off or at least try, but you just had to be so cruel and invade his mind.

you feel his gaze on you now, and it's the way his breath tumbles over your parted mouth that you know he's done for— his tongue driving between your lips before lapping over your pink muscle as his hips leisurely push into you.

it drives alhaitham insane, no amount of money could even come close to this feeling of pleasure and genuine lust, it's like a heavy drug someone would grow addicted to in the twinkling of an eye.

you squeal when he bites down on your bottom lip, your trembling frame teetering on the edge of a rapid sensation while every slap of skin turns the bedroom aflame, until the pleasure goes straight to your puffy clit, overflowing your belly with butterflies.

a burning pressure pricks at your spongy walls as his cock repeatedly crowds you, giving your hips a good squeeze as alhaitham presses you back into his length, making sure you're taking him all at once.

your arousal was clinging to his toned abs and turned the view before you all the more sinful, your soft pussy glistening with your slick and his pre when he uses it as a natural lubricant to make it pleasurable to the both of you, hitting your aching spots just like that.

alhaitham can hear how much you're enjoying this and he hopes he doesn't give away how much he has been enjoying this as well. of course, it's much more evident in your case, precisely from the way your moans trembled and your hips stuttered and flinch into his dripping dick, your body attempting but ultimately failing to meet his thrusts half way as you're struggling to find any strength to lift your hips up.

alhaitham sees it's too much for you by now, he can also feel it in the way you're clamping around the base of his erection with dripping heat, until he was all soaked and wet in your oozing arousal.

needless to say, the wealthy man placed a mental note into the deepest depths of his brain for later— to, as one might expect, treat you to a glorious shopping spree with a luxurious dinner waiting for you afterwards.

basically wherever you wanted to go to, he would make it possible, because obviously he will make it happen just for you! and wether the feelings he was encountering right now were pure and good ..

.. alhaitham would do anything to keep you, and he won't ever lose you.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[natsarrownecklacx]

New Friend Of Mine

Natasha Romanoff x Reader Venom Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word count: 2,557

Summary: Natasha goes for a walk to cool down after a conversation with you doesn’t go the way she way she wants it to, while out she makes a new friend.

Warnings: Smut, minors DNI, venom Natasha, degrading kink, oral, fingering, forced breeding, heaving breeding kink, choking, dub con.

2K Follower Celebration

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3

Natasha sits in front of you, a heartbroken look on her face as she tries to take in your words.

She’d come into your shared apartment only moments ago, nearly bouncing off the walls in excitement, telling you that Tony had finally found a way to make it so you could carry Natasha and your biological child.

She was ecstatic, hopeful, damn near on the verge of tears with overwhelming joy. Now tears well in her eyes for another reason, one that has her feeling betrayed. 

You’d both made this plan together, had this dream together. The both of you, parents. Having your own little family to love and care for. Natasha wanted that with you more than anything. More than she thought she was even capable of wanting. She thought you wanted that too, you made her believe you wanted that to.

“It’s just not the right time.” You tell her, gently, as though talking to someone going through their first brush with grief or heartbreak. 

“I don’t understand.” Natasha sniffs, her teary eyes looking into yours and pleading with you for an explanation. “You said you wanted this. You- it was your idea to go to Tony with this. For us to have a child of our own. Do you not want kids anymore? Or do you just not want them with me?” 

Your eyes widen in shock, worry and guilt. She shouldn’t have to be upset because of your fears, you love her way too much for that. “No, baby. That’s not it at all.” You say, moving to straddle her and hold her face in your hands, knowing she needs your body close to hers for her to truly believe you in your next words.

“Natasha, I want nothing more than to have your babies. To spend the rest of my life with you. To raise and love our children together.” You say, hoping she can hear the sincerity in your voice. 

“Then why are you doing this? Why can’t we have our baby now, like we planned?” She asks, running her hands up and down your hips and holding you against her as if she’s afraid you’ll get up and leave. 

“I’m afraid.” You admit quietly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m so afraid that if we have our baby now something terrible will happen and we won’t be able to protect them.” Your bottom lip threatens to tremble, a sure sign that tears are not far behind, but you bite down on it and will the tears to stay hidden. 

“I can protect you Detka.” Natasha pleads, barring her heart to you through her eyes and the way she wraps her arms around you so tightly, pulling you flush against her. “I would- I will protect you both with my life.” 

“And I would do the same for you, Nat.” You say honestly, hoping she can sense the truth in your voice. “But that might not be enough, from either of us and I just can’t- I can’t bear the thought of having a baby, our baby who we will both love with our whole hearts and then have them taken away from us.”

You can see the tears in Natassha’s eyes about to spill over, the sight making you want to cry with her. “I’m so sorry, baby.” You whisper, running the pad of your thumbs over the swell of her cheeks. “I just need time.” 

Natasha nods despondently. She’s trying to be understanding, she knows where you’re coming from and how you feel, she feels the same way herself. She just wants this so badly. “I understand, sweetheart.” She says, trying to put on a brave face but her voice still comes out dejected. 

“Nat, I-“ You try to explain yourself further, to comfort the woman in some way, but what else could you do, you’ve said everything you need to say and nothing she says will change how you feel. “I’m okay, Detka. You’ve not done anything wrong, I just need a minute.” She says, gently pushing on your  hips, signaling you to get up. You do and she moves towards the door, missing the look of panic on your face. “I’m going for a walk, I’ll be back soon.” 

She leaves. She just walks out the door. She doesn’t even look at you before she goes. You can’t help but feel hurt. Neither of you are in the wrong. You didn’t have a fight. But you can’t help but feel slightly abandoned, left sitting alone in your shared apartment. 

All the lights on, noise from the movie you’d abandoned when Natasha came in still playing in the living room, giving the impression of the place being full. 

The second you turn it off the silence is defining. You're alone. She left. She said she’d be back, but god only knows when that would be. So you go to bed, move one foot in front of the other on autopilot until you’re dressed in one of Nats big T-shirts and buried under a comfortable blanket. 

Natasha makes it about half an hour into her walk before she comes to her senses and decides she needs to go back home to her wife. She turns on her heel mid step, intent on making her way back home, when a russell in the bush beside her catches her attention. Just as the black widow would be, she was on guard straight away, ready for whatever would jump out at her

Something does, a mess of back and gray and so fast she can’t stop it before it goes right into her chest. 

—------------------------------------

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, silent, slow tears leaking down your cheeks and Natasha’s pillow held tightly to your chest and between your legs, trying to trick your brain into thinking she’s still there with you. 

It’s not until three hours later that you're woken to the sound of the front door opening and closing, the noise barely rouses you from your sleep, knowing it’s Natasha by the way she locks the door right behind her and walks toward the room with a barely audible footstep.

You groan quietly into the dark room and coil tighter around the pillow in your arms, you just want to sleep. Natasha opens the bedroom door quietly, stepping in and making her way over to the bed. She doesn’t say anything as she peels the blanket off your body, nor does she say anything as she takes in the sight of you beneath her. 

It takes no time at all for her enhanced eyes to adjust to the darkness, her green orbs drinking in the sight of you wearing nothing but her black oversized T-shirt. The pool of inky black in her orbs grows, spreading like the hunger, the need, she feels for you.

“Nat.” You complain, turning away from her and burying your face against the pillow beneath you. “It’s cold, gimme back the blanket.” She takes in a deep, greedy inhale through her nose, her heightened senses allowing her to smell the result of you rubbing your bare pussy against her pillow in your sleep. 

The lack of response from her frustrates you, the feeling of her bone chilling cold hands sliding up your warm thighs shocks you, the icy feeling making you jump and turn toward her with wide eyes. 

“Natasha!” You gasp exasperatedly. Usually you’d be all for a late night fuck with your wife but right now is not the time. Not when she just walked out and left. Not when ye haven’t talked at all and NOT when she’s so damn cold. 

Natasha’s body drops onto yours faster than you can perceive the movement. Her hand is covering your mouth, her thighs tight on either side of yours, tapping you against her as she pulls off your shirt. She’s so cold. 

Your eyes widen at her, confused by her actions. You can’t see her, the darkness of the room prevents you from doing so. Her free hand trails up the outside of your thigh, moving up ward slowly until and across until she’s cupping your wet folds. You moan against her hand, your hips squirming against her.

She lowers her head to be aligned with yours, her lips grazing your ear as she finally speaks to you, her voice coming out somewhat strained, deeper. “I’m so cold, Detka.” She whispers, moving her body between your legs, preventing you from closing them. “But you’ll help me warm up won’t you, sweetheart.” 

Your words are muffled against her hand as you try to ask what the actual fuck is going in, what’s gotten into her. But she cuts off your mumbles by sliding her, somehow seemingly longer and thicker fingers, into your wet heat. 

Your head slams back against your pillow, your back arching off the bed and into her body. It feels as if you’re burning, the one and only source of heat in this whole universe and she needs you. Needs to claim you, claim that heat, to keep her from freezing to death. 

“I need you, baby.” She groans against your ear. “I need you to thaw me out.” 

She moves her hand from your mouth, bringing it down to rest on your hips, using it to guide you to fuck yourself on her fingers. 

Her words confuse you beyond belief, but they all but go unheard as she slides her fingers in and out of you, moving her mouth to place open mouth kisses to your neck, down the valley of your chest and down your stomach until she’s taking your clit into her mouth. 

“Jesus C-Christ, Natasha- fuck.” You all but scream out, the added stimulation from her tongue swirling expertly around your clit driving you to a fuzzy headspace. 

One of your hands scrambles to grasp at the sheets as the other winds its way into Natasha’s hair, pulling on the stands in an effort to keep yourself grounded. 

The red head groans at the action and something’s about it sounds more primal, more animalistic then normal. 

“Natasha?” You pant, confusion and arousal clouding your brain, along with the remnants of sleep. 

“Shh detka.” She answers, pulling away from your clit as she nuzzles against your tummy. “I just need you to be good and let me fuck you.” She says firmly, yet somehow softly. 

Her actions along with her words sends your brain into a frenzy, a flood of arousal pouring onto her fingers and she moves her mouth back down, removing her fingers and allowing her tongue to slide its way inside you. 

The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, it’s long and wet and feels so, so good. You scream out at the intrusion, feeling more full then you thought could ever be possible just from her mouth. 

“Oh god.” You cry out, your hands gripping desperately at her shoulders, trying to find something solid to ground you. 

Natasha only pulls you closer to her, her hands gripping your ass and holding you against her as if she's afraid someone will come take her last meal from her. She fucks you with her long tongue, thrusting it in and out of you and alternatings to suck on your clit until you cum with an arch of your back and a scream. 

Natasha pulls away and trails kisses feverishly up your abdomen, nuzzling her head against you. “Now you're all ready for me.” She says, lifting your legs under the knees to stand them, your ankles resting only a few inches from the back of your thighs. 

“What?” You ask, panting, still out of breath from your previous orgasm. 

When Natasha doesn’t answer you furrow your brows, tilting your head up to look at her, your slightly adjusted eyes allowing you to see her outline as she unbuttons and unzips her pants. Before she slides them down her attention snaps to your face, her hand coming to wrap around your jaw and force your head back against the pillow. 

“Natasha!” You gasp, never having seen this side of her before. 

She brings her mouth to your ear, her hot breath hitting the side of your face, her hand still firmly around your jaw. “Stay down.” She orders and it's all you can do to nod in response as you hear her remove her pants and boxers. 

You feel her bare thighs press into the sides of your own, her fully naked body now positioned between your forcibly spread legs. You flick your eyes toward her, trying to catch a glimpse of what she's doing, only for your eyes to roll to the back of your head when you feel her push inside you. 

She's big, bigger than she's ever given you and so cold. The contrast of her cold cock sliding into your warm core sets your nerves alight, a whorish moan falling past your lips. 

“That's right.” Natasha says, pulling out and thrusting inside you again with more force this time. “Just take whatever I give you, like a good little whore.” She says, but it doesn’t fully sound like her, her voice different, deeper. 

You feel your stomach tighten at her words nevertheless, she's never spoken to you like that before and you didn’t think you’d like it, but you do. Your legs move from their standing position to around her body, the cold of her skin still shocking you a bit. 

Natasha quickens her thrusts, moving her hand on your jaw down to your neck, her movements stuttering when you moan and clench around her. “Fuck. I'm gonna fill you up, put a baby in you.” 

You don’t have a second to process her words before a hot thick spurt of cum shoots inside you, Natasha moving her free hand to your hip to hold you down as she uses you to ride out her high. 

It's not even seconds later that your own height crashes over you, sending your body through too many loops, your vision fades to back and your body goes limp on the bed. 

Natasha pulls out of you and stares down at the mess between your legs, using her fingers to push her seed back inside of you, not wanting to waste a single drop of it. 

She looks up and notices your unconscious state, a smile sliding over her face at the view. 

“Will it work?” Natasha speaks into the room, a black slimy, tendril creature emerging from her shoulder and materializing into a head next to her; venom. 

“It will work.” Venom confirms, nodding to the red headed woman before moving his gaze over to your sleeping form. “She’s so pretty when she’s asleep.” 

Natasha hums and nods in agreement. “I should have told her.” She mumbles, half ashamedly. 

“No.” Venom says, sliding back into Natasha’s body then taking his full form to hover over you. His big slimy hands run over your bare stomach, gently, hopefully. “She doesn’t need that kind of stress right now. We can tell her after the baby is born.” 

Natasha hums in agreement again, watching through venom's eyes as he tucks you into bed, one thought on her mind as she does so. 

Now nothing can stop her from protecting you and your child.

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3

A/n- I’ll be honest it’s not my favourite thing I’ve ever written but venom Nat is HOTTT so imma forgive

[steddiehyperfixation]

accidental eavesdropping (steddie ficlet)

based on this post by @imjust-that-shy. i hope i did this vision justice <3

The doors to the bathroom burst open, and - on some pure, inexplicable instinct and with nearly inhuman speed - Eddie darts back into the stall he'd just been about to come out of and leaps to perch on top of the toilet seat, crouched there like some sort of creature. 

He hears the sound of retching and the stench of vomit fills the air. He holds his breath, wrinkling his nose and trying to imagine what possible context could be behind Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley bursting in here together to puke their guts out. Eddie knows the two of them work together, he’s seen them sharing shifts at Scoops Ahoy when he's walked by. (Not that he often intentionally passes by the ice cream parlor and slows down just to catch a glimpse of Steve or anything… Although who could really blame him if he did? Like, come on, Steve in that uniform? Hello, sailor.) His mind is busy spinning stories of possible explanations, ranging from spoiled ice cream to sneaking alcohol and getting too drunk during their break. 

Eddie's leaning towards the 'drinking on the job' explanation, especially when the retching finally ceases and Robin says something about the room no longer spinning. Those little rebels, Eddie thinks approvingly.

“When’s the last time you, uh…peed your pants,” Steve is asking Robin now, in response to her telling him in a Russian accent to interrogate her. 

Eddie curls over his knees, tilting his head to try to peer through the gap between the stalls and the floor to put an image to his eavesdropping. Might as well, he’s kind of stuck here and there’s really not much else he can do right now. He can see Steve’s legs, one bent and the other stretched out in front of him, and Robin in the stall past him laying on the floor with her legs up against the stall wall as she answers, “Today…” 

“What?” Steve questions.

“When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw!” Robin says. 

Okay…what? Russian doctors and bone saws? Eddie’s now thoroughly intrigued, if a little (okay, a lot) confused. Maybe they’re talking about a movie they watched or something.

Steve’s legs shake with his laughter. “Oh my god.” 

“It was just a little bit, though.” Robin pinches her fingers together as she twists her body in Steve’s direction while he laughs again and mutters that whatever it is they took is still in her system. She pushes her feet off the stall and slides to sit against the opposite wall. Eddie can only see her legs now. “Okay, my turn. Have you…ever been in love?” 

Steve answers that he has, with Nancy, and makes a sound mimicking an explosion. Eddie remembers that, remembers seeing Steve and Nancy being all touchy and cute in the hallways at school while he was trying his damndest to convince himself that he absolutely definitely did not wish he was in Nancy’s place. It didn’t work very well. And it’s not working very well now either as Steve starts to go on about some new girl he likes now instead - some girl who’s funny and smart and can crack secret Russian codes (okay, seriously, what is it with these two and Russians?) and oh shit, he’s talking about Robin. 

Eddie very suddenly feels like he should not be here listening to this, eavesdropping on Steve confessing his feelings for someone. Not only is that, like, a private and personal thing, but also what if Robin likes him back and they start kissing or something right here in this bathroom where Eddie has to sit here and listen to it and that would just be horrible for him for so many reasons and- Eddie’s getting ahead of himself. Robin hasn’t even said anything yet, and her knees are pulled up to her chest and her voice shakes when she confirms she’s still alive after Steve asks if she’s OD’d there in the silence and she uncurls with a deep sigh. All signs that she doesn’t actually like Steve back. 

Eddie watches as Steve shifts and slides under the stall into Robin’s, and catches sight of the nasty bruise marring nearly half of Steve’s otherwise beautiful face as he does so. Now concern has been added to the list of emotions this eavesdropping experience has rollercoastered him through so far. The bruise looks fairly fresh and Eddie can’t help but wonder what the hell gave Steve a black eye like that and if he’s okay. 

After a brief spiral of concern for Steve’s face, Eddie tunes back into reality to find himself staring at Steve’s ass as Steve now sits with his back against the stall wall opposite Robin. Eddie blinks, expands his tunnel vision to include Steve’s lower back and Robin’s legs which are also visible beneath the gap in the stalls. 

“It’s not because I had a crush on you,” Robin is saying. “It’s because…she wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

“Mrs. Click?” Steve sounds confused.

“Tammy Thompson,” Robin clarifies. “I wanted her to look at me.”

Oh. Eddie should really not be listening to this. Robin is trying to come out to Steve, trying to share something deeply personal and vulnerable with him and only him, not knowing that she’s outing herself to an eavesdropping near-stranger as well. Eddie feels violating and intruding. He can’t imagine how he would feel if he found out someone he barely knew had been secretly listening in on him coming out - probably not great, probably terrified. This is something he shouldn’t know, not like this. 

“But Tammy Thompson’s a girl,” Steve says, his tone unreadable, and Eddie’s heart nearly stops, sure his own anticipatory anxiety is likely only just a fraction of what Robin must be feeling right now. 

“Steve…” 

“Yeah?” A pause. “Oh,” Steve’s voice goes soft. “Oh… Holy shit.” 

“Yeah,” Robin sighs. Eddie can see her hands nervously rubbing at her shins. “Holy shit.” 

Steve is silent for a few painfully long moments. Eddie’s hands curl nervously around his own shins. Is Steve going to be homophobic? Should Eddie be worried for Robin now? 

“Steve, did you OD over there?” Robin asks, trying to be light but Eddie can hear the anxiety in her voice. 

“No, I just, uh- just thinking,” Steve responds. 

“Okay…” Robin’s voice is barely audible. Eddie is holding his breath.

“I mean, yeah,” Steve says finally, “Tammy Thompson’s cute and all, but the only reason I never gave her the time of day was because I was too busy staring at Eddie Munson.” 

The aforementioned Eddie Munson releases the breath he’d been holding with an involuntary squeak and claps a hand over his mouth. Thankfully, neither of them heard him over the sound of Robin shouting. “What?! Eddie Munson?! You liked Eddie Munson?” she squawks, voicing Eddie’s own stunned thoughts perfectly.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms casually, completely unaware that he's throwing an eavesdropping Eddie into an absolute crisis right now. There's a soft thudding sound like Steve's hitting the back of his head against the stall wall. His voice gets kind of wistful, almost dreamy, as he says, “His rings, man. Rings and tattoos…and that long hair and those chains he'd wear… Honestly just his whole punk aesthetic thing had me mesmerized.” 

“Pretty sure he's metal, not punk,” Robin corrects him. 

Thanks, Robin. Also, what the fuck is happening right now? 

“Whatever. Still hot as hell,” Steve says. 

Eddie squeaks again and practically shoves his whole fist in his mouth to keep himself from making any more noise, his teeth knocking against his rings. The rings Steve likes, apparently. He feels like he's going to pass out, his heart beating so erratically it's making him lightheaded. King Steve - the popular, preppy, stupid, gorgeous, dumb jock Eddie's been crushing on since forever - just called him hot????  

“Did you hear that?” Robin asks suddenly, voice low and cautious. 

Shit. 

“Is anyone else in here?” Steve calls out. 

Fuck. 

Eddie bites down hard on his knuckles and holds his breath, going impossibly still. If they get up and search the bathroom, then he’s about to be caught red handed, crouched on top of a toilet seat with his fist in his mouth and his face flushed scarlet, eavesdropping on their private conversation about secret Russians and gay crushes. Eddie contemplates falling into the toilet and attempting to flush himself down it. Every god imaginable is receiving a silent prayer from him right now as he watches apprehensively through the gaps in the stall. One of those gods must've heard and taken pity on this poor gay disaster of a man crouched like a goblin in a bathroom stall, because after a few horrible seconds of silence, all Steve does is lean down to peer beneath the stalls for a moment before sitting back up and saying, “Looks empty. I think the drugs are making us hear things.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Robin says. Then she giggles, knocking her leg against Steve’s. “I still can’t believe you were into Eddie.” 

Steve flicks Robin’s knee. “I can’t believe you were into Tammy.”

“What’s wrong with Tammy?!” Robin protests.

“What’s wrong with Eddie?” Steve counters. “At least he’s actually got talent. Tammy’s a total dud - she wants to be a singer and shit but she can’t even hold a tune.” 

Eddie is going to die. He is actually going to die right here, right now, because Steve Harrington thinks he’s hot and talented. And then Steve starts mimicking Tammy, singing Total Eclipse of the Heart in a ridiculously goofy voice, and now Eddie is going to die because he finds that so stupidly endearing and adorable. Maybe he should just flush himself down the toilet, save himself from this hopelessly pathetic crush of his. Instead, he’s saved by the bathroom doors bursting open again and a new voice shouting at them, “Okay. What the hell?!” 

Steve and Robin collapse into a fit of giggles before being dragged to their feet by the newcomers and led out of the bathroom, leaving Eddie alone and reeling and struggling to process literally everything he’s just overheard. He finally hops down from his toilet perch and exits the stall like he’s in a daze. He’s not sure how long he had been camped out in there - probably only about ten minutes - but it felt like hours, so long that the world outside of that single bathroom stall almost feels foreign and unfamiliar now. 

Eddie grips the bathroom sink and stares at his flustered reflection in the mirror and whispers to himself, “What the actual fuck?” 

---

Later, years later, only after he and Steve are already dating, Eddie tells him all about this experience, and Steve laughs so hard he nearly cries.

(ao3 link)

[lukesandromeda]

gimme ur fav luke headcanons 😏

DATING l. castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

a/n: hi soleil it spooks me what u will do with this information but i also got so carried away with this for some reason and i did in fact not proofread it

• he’s a thief. so obviously as soon as you point out something in the store, uttering a quick “that’s pretty,” he’s nodding and pushing you along to go to another section of the store, mumbling something like, “sure is.” so as soon as you’re not looking he’s breaking the tag off the item and sliding it into his back pocket because he knows that if you were to see him, you’d scold him for his habit.

and when he hands it over to you later without an explanation, you’re asking, “how did you buy this?” and when he looks away nervously, you’re quick to lecture him about why what he did was wrong—but he doesn’t care; he gets to see the smile and appreciation from you.

• hearing constant “i’m so sorry” when he comes late to hang out with you. he’s the head counselor and has so many responsibilities to the point that even begging mr. d to let him go and hang out with his girlfriend will never work.

so when he finally does have the time to hang out, he’s exhausted—beads of sweat from sparring evident on his forehead as he takes the backpack he had slung over his shoulder and tosses it to the ground.

and he’s trying to give you as much attention as he can as he shares stories from his day with you, but his adhd’s getting to him and his eyes are so, so heavy and—you finally ask him if he just wants to go to sleep, and he’s jumping out of bed and changing into comfortable sleeping clothes.

soon he’s back in bed with you, comfortable and grateful enough that the few time he gets with you is not as stressful as what he had to deal with before.

• omfg sparring is the worsttttt with him. he makes you schedule two whole hours, yapping about something like, “i’ll just tell any other kids who wanna practice to wait until tomorrow,” and you’re telling him how it’s not fair for you to take that practice away from someone else, and he’s rolling his eyes and leaving your cabin after pressing a sloppy kiss to your forehead and mumbling, “see you tomorrow.” when you do see him tomorrow, he’s already working on his footwork and smirks as you arrive. the next couple hours are brutal. there are no breaks. at that point, why did you even bring a water bottle?

because every time he has you pinned down and you’re grunting, your throat dry as you look over to your water, he tilts your head back to him with his sword and gives you a look that tells you to focus.

and every time he gets his touch on you, he’s ordering, “again.” he wins. “again.” he wins again. “again.” so many times that you repeat the same moves, and every time, his sword is lightly pressed against your chest and you’re muttering in surrender.

after the fifteenth time of hearing the word again, you drop your sword to the ground and shove him, knocking his sword out of his hands. you break down into tears of frustration, and he’s quick to explain to you that he’s not trying to make you angry—just teach you how to protect yourself.

• usually he’s the one to hold you in his arms and let you speak your mind; he’s usually your rock. but some nights, when maybe a new camper has gotten claimed, or maybe someone got a birthday gift from their godly parent, he’s laying in the crook of your neck as he suppresses his tears against the soft skin there.

he’s talking for hours, babbling about gods know what. you find yourself wondering: how did he go from talking about nick, his newest cabin mate, getting claimed as a child of apollo, to talking about what he would name a dragon? you didn’t mind, because at least now he’s not crying about his father and the stupid quest he’d sent him on.

eventually, after a long day of a fake smile and the stressful teaching of a six hour sparring class, he falls asleep, his last words of “i love you” resting on his lips.

• he’d been happy the entire night—the blue team, his team, had won capture the flag again. he’d had so much fun at the celebration afterwards, (or at least it seemed,) but now it’s time to get ready for bed. it’s 1:30 am, and you’re washing off your makeup in the bathroom mirror when luke comes in, reaching for another rag.

he stands next to you in the mirror, watching your reflection for a moment before his eyes flick over to himself. his jaw clenches, his eyes trailing up and down the left side of his face before he swallows and wets the rag.

he begins to wipe the dirt and grime off his face, slowing down when the cloth traces the scar on his cheek. he drops the rag in the sink and sniffles, walking out of the bathroom and into the bed. once you’re finished, you join him in your room and climb into the bed. you lay down, and he rolls over and rests his face in the crook of his neck.

you wonder why it feels weird for a moment, and then you realize he has his head tilted oddly so that the left side of his face is hiding in the crook of his neck. odd, you think, considering he’d been complaining about neck pain the day before. you lift his head up, hand tracing on his left cheek and he freezes, body tensing.

“luke?” you ask, your eyes searching for a reason to his odd behavior. you look at where your fingers are tracing; on the scar. you understand, and for a moment, you see his eyes fill up with tears.

you swallow and lean forward, pressing a kiss to his scar before resting your forehead against his. he closes his eyes with a pained expression. moments pass, and then he moves to rest his head in the crook of your neck again, but this time he doesn’t hide his scar.

[kentoxo]

I’m glad your askbox is back on ♡ may I request something with Yuta and how Rika would behave (would she?) towards someone he has a massive crush on? I feel there will be a Conversation™️ between the two when things get spicier with reader, idk~ ily, have a lovely day!

omg Rika would be soo like possessive but willing. like, she would never go out of turn, but she wouldn't just stand around and let him do whatever without explanation

pairing: reader (f) x crush!Yuta (aged up) ft. Rika

warnings: kissing, touching

a/n: ily2 anon!!! thank u for the req :') happy i turned on my ask right when you wanted to send a req

Rika would never let Yuta live it down.

He, too, never expected that he'd love anyone again the way he did Rika. It was a love so profound that he could not let her go. His soul is forever bonded and imbued with her love, something that has proven to be his biggest strength. But then, there was you.

Yuta's eyes would always follow you whenever you'd train, staring in awe at the way you performed as if fighting were a tango. He'd study you at a distance, sat at a few benches with Toge and Panda. With hands weaved together under his chin, he'd stare at you adoringly. But, Rika would remind him of her existence and lightly push the bench he sat on, forcing all three of the sorcerers to try not to fall forward.

"Huh?" Panda exclaimed, looking over at Toge quizzically. He looked up at the clouds, "the wind can't be that strong, can it?"

Yuta looked over at the confused pair with a sheepish smile, "sorry. Rika was... feeling playful."

Even in the dining hall, Yuta would work up the courage to go sit with you and the other sorcerers. Taking a seat across from you, he'd quietly hum a, "good evening, y/n."

You consciously had to make sure you didn't smile too much at his presence and would give a small bow, "good evening, Okkotsu." Although the both of you were similar in age, he was still Gojo's student, and you had too much respect for him.

When Yuta spoke to you, there were fireworks. His heart felt elated and full just hearing your words, and the way you spoke. How gentle the words came out of your mouth, your tongue flicking right at your enunciations. He could remain like this here, with you, forever. But, as he lifted his spoon full of soup, the spoon immediately shot out of his hand, and straight through the bowl and table, to the ground.

"S-sorry," Yuta hums in embarrassment, immediately letting out a deep sigh before beginning to clean up. But you jumped to your feet to help him, creating a bigger problem in Yuta's heart... and pants.

"No worries, let me help!" You chime.

Finally, with much time and patience, Yuta was able to confess his feelings for you. His dark circles felt as though they cleared when you reciprocated his feelings. But in Yuta's head, he was quite surprised that Rika had yet to react. Little did he know what was to come.

You contently invited Yuta over one night as he finally had some time off. Gojo was grateful for all the missions he had taken up during a short and very needed period. He relieved him of his sorcerer duties for a week, in which Yuta had no plans besides you.

When he entered your apartment, the air immediately went hot. Although the two of you hadn't done anything yet, the sight of you in a little tank top and pajama pants was enough to do things to Yuta. Your chest was bare under that tank top, and the pants were doing your ass wonders.

He'd just stare at you, watching your lips move as you asked about his day. But once you realized he wasn't listening (and he reason why), you immediately went quiet and felt your cheeks warm. Yuta's exhausted eyes lit up, energy returning to his pale skin.

In moments, his hands snake down from your sides to your waist, slowly making its way to your bum. His dark blue eyes hold hesitance, searching for constant reassurance in your own. "Is this okay?" He murmurs, cheeks completely flushed with his bottom lip wedged between his teeth. Once you give him the greenlight, nothing stops Yuta from enjoying you.

Cold lips meet your own, and the two of you finally closed the gap. The usually respectful and patient Yuta was now replaced with the ever hungry beast before you. His tongue dragged mercilessly against your bottom lip, forcing entry to tango with your own. He tasted of green tea and fig.

You could feel his fingers dent into your ass, his force pushing your body into his own. His back meets with the wall, and your body follows suit. He smells so good... feels so good... your hands sneak its way to the top of his pants, tugging teasingly. When you did, Yuta quickly pulled away.

He kept hold of you, staring down at your beautiful face. His heart could explode now from just the way your eyes met his own. They were filled with lust and worry. "m'so sorry to stop us like this... do you think it's okay if I have a moment? With Rika?"

Your cheeks go hotter, but you understood completely. You turn around and gesture the balcony, "go ahead there. I won't disturb you." You were not even an ounce upset, and Yuta couldn't be more grateful. Leaving a peck on your forehead, he calmly walked over to the balcony and slid the door shut behind him.

In the privacy of the outside, Yuta walked over to the ledge of the balcony, propping his forearms over it. He let out a long sigh before looking up to adore the stars. He begins to toy with his ring with an amused smile, "I never realized you could do that, Rika." He referred to the way she had made the ring spin while the two of you were kissing. "I must be pushing your buttons, huh?"

Rika was above him, holding onto the side of the building. Tears began to escape her body, her hand shakily reaching down at Yuta. "Yuta..." she cried, her usual shriek replaced with a calm whimper. Yuta couldn't dare scold her, for her feelings weren't wrong.

Turning around, Yuta looks up at her and smiles, "I know; this isn't fair to you. I would give the world to reverse what happened to you, and have you here with me properly. But that isn't what happened."

Rika remains still, her gaze falling to the door of the balcony, in which you resided on the other side of it.

Yuta continues to smile brightly, "I know you don't like sharing but she... y/n, she's good to me. And I need her like I need you. She keeps me safe like you do." He walks up to her, offering a hand. "Please be kind to her, Rika."

Rika leans down slowly, hesitantly. As she cowers her head, she asks quietly, "love me [still]?"

His hand pats her head gently, "always. That will never change, Rika. I promise." After a few moments, Rika seems to accept and finds comfort in his touch. Before she exits her physical form, she causes Yuta's ring to spin once more. He chuckles, shaking his head, "I know, don't worry."

Yuta joins you back inside, where you quickly jump up and rush to him. "Did everything go well?" You ask in a hush tone.

Yuta nods, "nothing to worry about."

[yaksha-lover]

cw: yandere, stalking, imprisonment

Malleus is locked in the castle - a mild territory dispute nearby, but his grandmother insisted he stay inside for the duration - when he sees you for the first time.

When you’ve spent as long as he has staring out the tall stained glass windows of his chambers, you learn to recognize the faces which roam your garden.

You are new.

He doesn’t think too much about you at first. Your novelty is the only thing that stands out to him; he doesn’t even think to ask Lilia where you’ve come from. Surely, you will be gone soon enough and his inquiry will have been pointless. Time proves him wrong.

Over the next few days, Malleus finds time between his magic and history lessons to watch you wander across the greenery. Perhaps you wouldn’t put in it such terms, you are working after all, but the fae can’t help but see it in that light.

He’s jealous, in a way. Perhaps that’s why you’ve captured his attention. He’s the one with wings, and yet, you are more free than he will ever be.

His grandmother- all his ancestors would surely scoff if they knew the heir to the Draconia kingdom was jealous of a human gardener.

That’s another thing he’s noticed from watching you. You’re human.

If your features weren’t enough to give it away, he’d also overheard Sebek complaining to Lilia about having more humans around the castle. His guardian had replied something about this being the exact reason he’d hired you, and then Lilia walked too far away for Malleus to hear any more of his explanation.

Even once he’s allowed to travel beyond the stifling stone walls of the castle, Malleus chooses not to approach you. It’s become part of his daily routine to watch you go about your caretaking of the bushes and the flowers; he would loathe to disrupt your genuine behaviour by making it known someone was watching you.

His eyes search for you as soon as he peers out his window. It’s second nature, an unconscious habit that’s begun to take hold in him.

As he watches you tend to the roses, Malleus can’t help but wonder how you would look dressed in an expensive silk of the same dashing red instead of your usual brown corduroy uniform. He’s sure you’ve never even dreamed of wearing fabric so expensive.

He thinks it would suit you. You might not have the look of the typical nobles he interacts with, but he certainly believes you have your own charm.

That’s another reason he’s become…interested in you. You’re so far removed from his own world, from any of them who sing his praises or whisper worries behind his back.

Of course you must know of him, but Malleus doesn’t know what you think of him. That, in of itself, is tantalizing and terrifying.

Malleus watches you until the sun sets upon the grounds and you’re forced to retire to your lodging at the corner of the property.

He falls asleep wondering what you dream about.

This habit of his goes on longer than it probably should. Although time doesn’t mean much to him, Malleus knows a couple months would be a significant amount of time to a human.

What would you think if you knew the crown prince was watching you day after day? Would you be flattered? Afraid?

Part of him knows it’s not right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to pull himself away from the window.

He feels as though he knows you.

He knows that tulips are your favourite by the way you take your time when trimming the stems, going much slower than he knows you’re capable of just to spend a little longer taking in their smell.

He knows your favourite foods, having watched what you bring for lunch. On the days his grandmother is too busy to dine with him, he prefers to take his food in his chambers, so that he can eat with you.

He knows that you love to read, your breaks spent sat by yourself with a novel instead of with the other staff. He finds himself reading alongside you sometimes, picking up the same book he noticed you had with you. It’s almost as though you’re truly doing it together.

It’s during one of these breaks that Malleus notices someone talking to you, interrupting your reading.

A blond man kneels down beside you, clearly trying to start a conversation with you. You smile politely as you look up at him from your place under the tree, book face-down on your thigh.

You’re too far for even his superior hearing to catch your words.

He doesn’t miss your giggle at the man’s chatter.

Malleus lets go of the document he’s holding. He’s accidentally crushed it in his grip.

-

You and the other staff have been on edge since Edric got fired. It seemed so random - one day, he was managing the grounds and chatting with you about your novel, and the next he was gone.

The crown always had a good reputation as an employer - it was one of the many things that drew you to the castle. There was gossip about Edric after he left, rumours about things he’d done to deserve getting fired. You didn’t want to believe it; he was the only one kind enough to try and befriend you after the others had all but shunned you for being human.

He hadn’t even said goodbye.

There was nothing much you could do but continue your work as usual.

A couple days later, one of the castle guards approaches the garden while you’re working. Everyone pauses their tasks with held breath as the man walks past everyone and stops in front of you.

You can feel the stares of your fellow staff burrowing into your back; you’re next and they know it. Despite the fact that they’re probably happy to finally get rid of you, you catch a glimmer of sympathy in some of their eyes.

Silver has been friendly in passing before, but this time his face is serious as he speaks to you: “Please come with me, MC. The crown requests your presence.”

The walk is long and tortuous - you’re no longer afraid of being fired, more like getting struck down by lightning. You trust Silver, but you know his kindness ends where his duty begins.

You’re not taken to the throne room or in front of the queen like you expect.

You’re taken to the chambers of the prince.

Malleus Draconia sits cross-legged at the head of the wooden table in his room. There’s two steaming teacups, one sitting in front of him and the other at the opposite end of the table.

You’ve seen glimpses of him here and there around the kingdom, but this is the first time you’ve been able to take a good look at him. His presence is more intimidating than you’d even imagined, his tall stature and broad shoulders making him seem imposing even if you didn’t know his magical capabilities.

He smiles when he sees you, but his expression looks wrong. It makes something in your gut twist.

You don’t smile back.

“Thank you, Silver,” he says, his tone steady and revealing nothing. “Please, leave us.”

You want to beg him to stay, but he nods at his prince and does as he’s told, shutting the door and trapping you in.

Malleus motions for you to sit at the single empty chair.

“Please,” he says. “I’ve had them brew some tea for us to share.”

“…Thanks.”

“Do you like the centrepiece? I picked it out just for you.”

A glass vase full of fresh cut pink tulips sits in the centre of the table, on top of a dainty, white lace place mat.

“Yes…thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear.” He leans slightly forward across the table. “I want to make you happy, MC.”

“No offence, your majesty-”

“No need to be formal with me, my dear.” He continues to smile. The grin unsettles you further; as though he’s attempting to lull you into a false sense of safety, just waiting to sink his teeth into you.

“Why am I here? Why did you…set all of this up?”

“You’re here because you’re my beloved. I’ve watched you for months, you know.” Your stomach drops. “I wanted to stay away, to leave you be. I know now I was wrong. I should’ve brought you here much, much sooner, my love.”

“Watched? What do you mean? Why-” Your voice rises as you become more panicked.

The thorny vines growing around your wrists and tying you to the chair stop you from standing up.

You never even noticed them begin to bloom.

“Shh, there’s no need to have a tantrum. It’s all okay, MC. I know you will need time, but soon you’ll fall for me, as I have you. We belong together.” He stands from his chair, walking over to your side and placing his hand on your forearm as he kneels beside you.

“Please let me go,” you whisper, wetness pouring down your cheeks, despite how you try to hold in your tears.

His expression darkens as his grip on your wrist tightens to a level of discomfort. “We all have a role to play in the kingdom. It’s treasonous to not play yours.” He tilts up your chin to face him. “You wouldn’t want anyone else to end up like that little friend of yours, would you?”

[bleedingoptimism]

𝑜𝑚𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠

Steve loves his roommate. He’s funny and witty and knows so much about everything. And he’s kind of an asshole, but in a good way. Like, he doesn't take shit from anyone way. He would never hurt someone on purpose and he apologizes immediately if he does, kind of way.

When Steve first moved in with him, Eddie was kind of quiet and reserved, but once they started talking, getting to know each other, he showed just how wonderful he was. So, Steve really liked Eddie. The problem was… Steve kind of liked-liked Eddie. But he had no idea if Eddie liked him back. 

Until… he noticed Eddie’s nightly pauses outside his bedroom. 

The thing is, Steve has always had trouble sleeping. He’s never managed to just fall asleep when he hits the bed, it always takes a while and he sleeps very lightly. Usually waking up at least once in the middle of the night. But it’s fine, he’s used to it and he doesn't need much sleep to function properly, so he’s managed. 

The problem is, sometimes, when he’s stressed or anxious about something, he doesn't sleep at all. It's awful and it stresses him out even more. 

When he was in high school, he was in the middle of a really bad episode when he finally decided to talk to his father about it to see if there was something he could do to help. Silly Steve, thought maybe his dad would take him to a doctor but he just told him to lay down and pretend to be asleep until he actually was, so that his body would get the rest anyway and not shut down. Not exactly helpful.

Steve worked through his anxiety for having sleeping problems by doing yoga a couple of years after that. But, for some reason, when he can’t sleep, he still does what his dad told him. And pretends to be asleep.

So that's why he noticed Eddie stopping by his door every night. He didn't catch it right away. The first time he’d heard Eddie come home, drop his keys on the kitchen counter, and stroll down the hall to his room, it wasn't until he started moving again that Steve noticed he had stopped outside his door. 

He figured there had to be an explanation and put the thought aside but the next night, he did it again. And the next. And the next.

And Steve… Steve started looking forward to it. Playing with it a bit. Trying to figure out what underwear made Eddie stay the longest, laying in the bed in positions that he knew made him look good. He started wondering if Eddie would ever… come inside his room. If he could make him do it. Tempt him enough.

He realized too, that he was sleeping well again. That he always fell asleep right after Eddie looked at him and left for his room. And wasn't that something?

During the day, they both acted the same and nothing seemed weird. But during the night. Steve waited for Eddie, and Eddie looked.

And then, a couple of weeks into it, Steve is lying on his bed, waiting for Eddie to come home and his mind starts wandering, and he fantasies about Eddie, walking inside his room, looking at him from up close, waking him up with a soft touch of his knuckles on Steve’s cheek only for Steve to be already awake, waiting for him. He imagines Eddie touching him everywhere. Telling Steve what parts are the ones he stares at the most. What are the parts he wants to lick. To bite. 

Steve doesn't realize he’s hard until he hears the door open and he freezes, he can’t run to his door and shut it, there’s no time, the apartment it’s too small! Eddie will be here in no time. And he can't turn around and face the wall because he’ll make noise, Eddie will hear. So he just pretends to be asleep, as usual. Except he’s hard and he knows it's evident because he’s wearing his tight white boxers Eddie seems to like the most and they leave nothing to the imagination. He hopes Eddie will just think Steve is dreaming or something.

And he trains his ear, nervously trying to hear every step as Eddie walks down the hall. And stops in front of his door.

And he hears the softest ‘fuck’ like it was punched out of him. And then nothing. Eddie is just standing there, and Steve knows he’s looking at him. And he stays a while, the longer he’s ever stayed and Steve, he’s getting more and more turned on and he keeps hoping he’ll hear the footsteps come closer and not away. His dick twitches at the thought and he hears Eddie gasp and then the footsteps… Away from him, toward Eddie’s room. 

Steve turns to lie on his back and huffs. He needs to make a decision. To either stop this before it gets worse or... Do something about it. And then he hears it. A couple of minutes after Eddie shut his door. A muffled moan. Jesus Fucking Christ. Steve is lying on his bed, hard and thinking about Eddie, and Eddie is touching himself, thinking about him. This is ridiculous. 

He comes to a decision. Tomorrow. He’s doing something about it.

𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒𝑑

a coffee? while we wait... ☕🥐💕

(first part) 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠

(you are here!) 𝑜𝑚𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠

(last past) 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛

[merakiui]

Hello! I'd like to place an order for a flower bouquet with banana pudding and lemon squares for guests Floyd and Jade Leech (together) please!

yandere!floyd leech x (gender neutral) reader x yandere!jade leech cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping, dub-con, implied loss of virginity, mentions of implied death/murder, jade and floyd's morbid back-and-forth banter note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

You wake to the dreary interior of a stranger’s van, lying on your back with your wrists tied expertly above your head. There’s thick tape plastered over your mouth and it ensures you’re kept quiet. The only noise you manage to produce is a weak, muffled sob. Your struggle is brief and futile, for the restraints won’t budge no matter how hard you pull.

You realize, rather quickly, that your head is resting in someone’s lap. That same someone is currently peering down at you, his head tilted curiously. Two-toned eyes blink at you, shimmering with a childlike glee.

“Wakey, wakey, Li’l Shrimpy,” he sings.

Staring at him with wide, terrified eyes, you think you’ve just met the Devil. He senses your intent to escape before you can even act on it. Clicking his tongue, he wraps his arms around you and drags you into his lap, holding firm.

“No need to be scared. I’m not gonna hurt ya.” With a toothy grin, all sharp points flashing at you, he pokes your cheek. “Jade might.”

You’re made aware of the second man then. He turns around to greet you from the driver’s seat with a kind, close-lipped smile. He looks friendly enough, but there’s malice thinly veiled in those polite features of his. Both of them bear a striking resemblance to one another, but if you look close enough the differences begin to show through. Eye shape, the way the part in their hair sits, that stray dark strand… You look between the two of them, silently urging for an explanation.

Jade chuckles, feigning sheepishness. “I wouldn’t do anything without reason.”

“Hear that, Shrimpy? You’re in good hands. We just wanna play with ya for a bit.”

You shake your head, whining when his fingers stray too close to your throat. He pets you fondly, soaking in your terror like a parched plant. You squirm in his lap, inching as far from him as you can get, but he’s everywhere—clinging to you, his face in yours. He presses a wet kiss to your cheek. Revulsion shudders through you.

How did this happen?

You were on your way home from work when the van pulled up and the door opened. Arms shot out to drag you, kicking and thrashing, inside and then a rag was being held over your mouth. It wasn’t a far walk—safe by your standards! You’ve done it dozens of times prior.

So why now? And why you?

Lying there, perfectly at the mercy of two strangers, you wonder if it would’ve been any different if you knew them. Maybe then it would be easier to find some sort of crooked comfort in the midst of so much fear and uncertainty.

Jade slides out of the driver’s seat to join you and his brother in the back. You catch the scenery beyond the van during the slim second the door’s open. Trees reach towards a gloomy sky on all sides, tall, hulking pines that close you in with twin monsters. It’s isolated, the ideal location for something nefarious and foul. Your stomach churns, and suddenly you feel sick.

The door shuts, and the forest vanishes. Just like that. As if it was never there at all. As if someone’s turned the page in a novel and the landscape has fallen away to account for the next scene—one far more gruesome than the last.

His arrival has you pressing back against the other’s chest. In this enclosed space, both of them don’t seem to fit. It’s too compact to account for long, lanky limbs. For a short moment, you wonder if both of them are trees.

“Let’s take the tape off, shall we?”

“Ooh, good idea, Jade. I wanna hear Shrimpy’s voice.” In one hasty motion, the tape is ripped from your mouth. Stinging pain settles beneath your skin. You yelp.

“Now, Floyd, you’ll scare the poor thing to death if you handle them so harshly.” Jade’s words sound sympathetic, but his laughter dampens them with insincerity. 

“Oops. My bad.”

You open your mouth and then shut it. What can you say? What are you supposed to say?

More importantly, what won’t send you to your grave right away?

“I’m sorry. If I did anything to upset you, I’m sorry. So please don’t…”

“What’s there to apologize for?” Floyd grips your chin and turns you towards him. “You did nothin’ wrong.”

And that’s what’s so sickening about it. Not the leering or the kidnapping. Not the fact that they’ve trapped you here in the middle of nowhere, in a van that no one will ever find. It’s the unlucky innocence of it all—the fact that you are merely a victim of chance and nothing more. No grudges or revenge needed. No real motive. Just bad fortune.

Wrong place. Wrong time.

Looking into Floyd’s eyes, you can’t find a spot of remorse. You suspect it’s much the same for Jade, who tasks himself with untying the laces in your shoes and slowly slipping each off your feet. Floyd watches this with a lazy smirk.

“You ever think about gettin’ new shoes?”

“T-They’re my work shoes…”

“Yeah? Where do you work?”

You swallow thickly, helplessly gazing about the van. It’s messy, things strewn about in disarray. A blanket bunched haphazardly. Empty pill bottles. Candy wrappers. Old receipts. A first aid kit. A shrimp plush missing its eye. Despite all of this clutter, the interior smells eerily sterile. Fresh like mint. The juxtaposition tricks your nose and eyes terribly.

“An i-ice cream parlor…”

“Ooh. No wonder you smell so sweet.” Floyd pinches your cheek. “Don’tcha think Shrimpy smells yummy, Jade?”

“Quite yummy, Floyd.” He sets your shoes aside before turning back to you. Large hands run up the length of your legs. Even though you’re fully clothed, you’ve never felt more bare. “So much so I’m tempted to take a bite…”

You squeak when he squeezes your calves. A devious grin curls on his lips, revealing the beginnings of his pointed teeth. “A-Are you going to kill me?”

Jade hums, tilting his head as he pretends to mull it over. “What do you think, Floyd?”

“You wanna wind up another number on the news, Shrimpy? You think anyone’s gonna come lookin’ for you?”

“M-My family—”

“Will be very sad if they aren’t allowed the closure an open casket provides,” Jade finishes matter-of-factly.

Your heart plummets into your stomach at that implication. Biting back bile, you shrink away from both of them. They share a glance, giggling in unison.

“Poor Shrimpy, having to be pieced back together like a puzzle…”

“Stitched up like a patchwork quilt.”

“Mm, yeah, but that’s no fun. Shrimpy’s too cute to become chum. I don’t wanna put ’em in the ground.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Jade’s fingers work to slide you from your pants. You fall still in Floyd’s arms, looking on in silent horror. He gazes at you. “Don’t look so devastated. We won’t kill you.”

The first tear slides down your cheek. Soundless. Alone. Floyd leans in to lap at the rest that follow, tracing a line up your face with his tongue.

“Aww. You went and made Shrimpy cry.”

“Have I?” Jade moves in to dab at the tears on your left side. Pressing his fingertips to his tongue, he smiles. “So it seems.”

Your shirt comes off next, slid up until it stops at your bound wrists. Floyd gets impatient halfway through and, seizing a blade from somewhere in the back, cuts you free of the pesky fabric. Much like your hope, it falls around you in tattered pieces.

It’s when you’re turned and pressed face-first into Floyd’s crotch that you begin to panic. Jade slides the knife through your underwear, peeling it away with a satisfied sigh. You writhe uncomfortably. Floyd’s fingers are in your hair next, holding you up just enough so that he can reach down to pull himself free from his sweatpants. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen a cock before. Thick and veiny, achingly hard with pre-cum beading at the tip, it terrifies you more than the slick fingers prodding at your hole from behind.

Floyd takes hold of his cock and taps it insistently against your cheek. “C’mon. Open wide.”

You watch him through your lashes, your lips pursed tightly. There really is no other way, is there? You’re trapped between the two of them, your life in their hands. Or, more fittingly, snapped up in their jaws.

“Please… D-Don’t make me…” you whisper, but it’s a pointless plea.

Floyd tuts, temper flaring. “Don’t make me shove it down your throat.”

Jade’s hand massages your cushy ass. It doesn’t do anything to comfort you. “Be gentle, Floyd. I suspect this is their first time.”

“Is it really?” His gaze flicks to your face, searching for an indication that Jade’s observations are true. An odd light sparks in empty eyes. “You’re a virgin?”

A cold sweat washes over you. Your heart won’t stop pounding. Blood is rushing in your ears, trickling through your veins and electrifying your nerves. It’s too loud. Too dizzying. You’ve never felt fear so raw and cloying before. It claws at your throat, setting it aflame. It flicks on your fight or flight. It brings with it the animalistic urge to survive. Above everything else, no matter what it reduces you to in the end, survive.

“W-Will you let me go?”

“So you can go cryin’ to the cops? Yeah, right.” He scoffs and pats your cheek. “Either answer my question or open up.”

“How does this sound?” Jade offers just as one lithe finger slips inside your hole. You wince and grit your teeth at the intrusion. He chuckles and, without warning, forces a second inside. “If you’re good, we’ll stop by the ice cream shop when it opens tomorrow and get you a milkshake.”

Floyd’s lips split apart in a cheesy smile. “Aren’t you a lucky Shrimpy? Jade likes ya.”

You crane your neck to look at him. He smiles sweetly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Every other part of him seems so receptive to you, but his eyes betray him. They’re just as cold and dull as his brother’s. You’re nothing more than a cut of meat—an offering to sate his appetite.

“It’s important to feed your pets. They’ll starve otherwise.”

“You just wanna get yourself a sundae.”

“That, too.”

“We might as well get somethin’ to eat if we’re gettin’ sweets. Shrimpy can pick the place. Bet they’ve got great taste.”

“A brilliant idea. I’d like to know what sort of cuisine they’re partial to.”

You’re not sure how they can carry on like this as if it’s normal. It’s gross. You feel like you might vomit.

Floyd’s cock prods at your lips. This time, throwing your dignity aside in order to survive, you open wide.

You’re not killed, but something in you dies inside that van.

[splatashahowlett]

lethargic love

logan howlett x reader

the world has never been as quiet as in this exact moment.

you could hear your own breathing, your nose softly whistling. the soft sheets felt divine against your legs and the light breeze coming out the window tickled your face in the most relaxing way possible. the only thing that was lacking was your typical morning headache.

in the hope that this moment would never end, you kept yourself from moving, even the slightest. the truth was that even if you wanted to, you couldn't. logan's arms were wrapped around you and there was no escaping from those muscles.

logan and you had decided that you both deserved a weekend away from the chaos of xavier's school for gifted youngsters. you loved life back there and the kids were one of the reasons you felt fulfilled and happy today. but life at the mansion can sometimes become a bit overwhelming. so when logan came up with the idea of getting away from it you immediatly agreed.

that's how you ended up in the canadian mountains, in a small cabin probably older than the professor.

still with the purpose of not moving from an inch, you felt immediate disappointement when you started to feel hungry. so after a few moments contemplating if being half-starved was a good enough reason to get up, you came to the conclusion that you could make breakfast for when logan would wake up.

but when you tried to get up, you felt a strong kind of resistance around your waist. logan wouldn't let you go. at first you didn't want to wake him up, so you tried to slowly untangle his arms from your body. but it's when you felt him tightening his grip on you that you realized he was definitely awake.

"logan" you muttered his name softly; the only answer you got was a disapproving groan letting you know he didn't want you to get up. this made you smile fondly, knowing that he felt comfortable with you and wasn't willing on letting you go under any circumstances. you turned around, and found yourself only inches away from his face. his eyes were closed and eyebrows relaxed -which was unusual- so you enjoyed the view and explored every captivating peculiarity about him.

in the beginning of your relationship you would ask yourself everyday what you did to deserve someone like him in your life. but you came to the conclusion that you both chose each others for good reasons and that was an enough of an explanation.

you tried a second time to get yourself out of harms way but of course, you were still stuck in your own personal heaven.

"what could possibly be better then spending the morning in bed?" logan whined. you weren't used to staying in bed back at the mansion, it wasn't really a possibilty, so the idea was particularly attraying. you chuckled at his comment and kissed his forehead.

"good morning to you too" you said with a wide smile. without opening his eyes he nestled his face into your collarbone and tightened his grip around you again (if that was even possible).

"stay" logan said in a way that almost made your heart break. you could never get used to seeing him so susceptible and unveiled. so you stayed.

"I wasn't planning on leaving anyway" you whispered while gently scratching his head which was entrenched under your chin. you couldn't really wrap your mind around how love worked but you knew it did. and you weren't ready to give up on it; ever.

so you closed your eyes and sweared to whoever could hear you that you would never leave logan's side, even if it meant fighting his cimmerian battles with him.

"I love you."

those words were also a thing you would never get used to.

[abilouwrites]

WHO TELLS A TEENAGE GIRL SHE’D MAKE A PRETTY BRIDE

AND THEN LEAVES WITHOUT WARNING, ON A FRIDAY NIGHT

I’ve never been comfortable with love, rarely found comfort in another person. Except him, cradled in his arms on a Tuesday night. My leg over his, his between mine. My arms around his neck and fingers twisting the green curls in my fingers. He peppers kisses against my chest and collarbone, “I can’t believe we’re about to be second years” I murmur. My breath hot against his skin as his hands slide up my tank top.

“I want to marry you” Izuku whispers, so faint I can barely hear it. In the privacy of my room with my fan blowing the words wish away into nothingness.

“I do too” I agree, a little more firm. A little more existant than his, I lay next to him a happiness of just existing next to him. Of being with him, a hopefulness of the future.

Oh how quickly that was ripped away from me. A startling Saturday morning, knocks on doors. Shouts from downstairs. Letters taped to doors, each one. Even mine. Scribbled handwriting and some stains through the ink. I stare at it as I ride the elevator down. Baggy sleep shorts and one of his shirts I took last night after we did our homework together.

Gone, just like that. Like he just disappeared; gone out to nowhere. Izukus excuse to leave me after telling me he loved me. Because he was worried about my safety. Mine and everyone else’s.

“How do you feel y/n?” Momo asks as I stare in silence at my letter. Biting at my lips and picking at my fingers, “y/n?” She repeats my name softly. Passing me a cup of green tea. It shakes in my hand that I grasp for it. Her reflexes catch it from my slippery grasp and she sets it on the table. She sits next to me, a friend from my elementary days. A girl I’ve known my whole life. She wraps an arm around me and holds me to her.

“I don’t understand” I repeat again and again, as if the more I say it the clearer his reason for leaving me will become. Leaving me after I’ve told him how many times I’ve been left. In this same situation, again and again I have loved and love has been ripped away from me, “why would he leave? He’s safest here?” I try to make sense of it. But there is none.

No logic was made in his choice to leave. But he still left, “he told me he loved me” I whisper, “he thought I was asleep but I wasn’t and he told me he loved me. And now he’s gone”

I’m still reeling from this, standing slowly. Iida chastises me but I’m in my own world. One where I need to lay in bed and mope, wail and cry until the hurt leaves my body. Until I don’t want to run out and find him, I’m too tired to keep begging for someone’s love and affection. I don’t have it in me anymore to love. And maybe that sounds selfish but to be gifted a note that says he wants to protect me and the school but still leaves me. Knowing it may hurt me more than death to see him leave.

I close my door, sinking to the ground on shaky legs and sore bones. A lump shoves itself into my throat; I bow my head and I’m overwhelmed by the smell of him. The sweet cinnamon of his cologne. Vomit biles in my throat as I rip the shirt off. A desperate attempt to rid myself of him. A shoving cleanse of everything he’s gifted me.

Tears fall down my face, thick hot tears fall down my cheeks. Bowing at the curve of my lips, snot running down my nose. I’m shirtless crying in my dorm room, wailing and sobbing like some stupid girl but the boy I loved and the boy who told me he wanted to marry me just left me. Left me with no good explanation. God I want to die.

Air doesn’t feel like it’s air, and I can’t breathe. I’m weak as Momo lets herself into my room. Quiet and gently she grabs a shirt from my closet and tugs it over my shoulders.

“Shh. I know y/n just breathe”

I don’t fight her, I don’t fight as she lifts me into my bed. And lays with me, I don’t fight. I don’t have anything to fight. As the tears fall from my face and collect on my pillow, as they stick my eyelashes in clumps. As my nose runs and tears fall into my open mouth.

“He told me he wanted to marry me..” I hiccup against her skin, “and then he left me”

I repeat it again, softer this time. Like the way Izuku said he wanted more, more than just a girlfriend, “he told me he wanted to marry me, and then he left me”