#just finished his route... again

[yoosung-ah]

this you?

[many-gay-magpies]

started playing the arcana again after only playing a little bit as a preteen. my one critique so far: muriel should be fatter

[lokh]

and listen. old men yaoi aside. wouldnt de-ageing snake like. defeat the point

[rosurie]

.᧔•᧓

[grimpancakes]

This dialogue from the OVA is making me sick, sick, sick (but in a good way) because Guildias has never, not once, seen Guys as anything but as a shadow of Myuca he can play pretend with (and a scapegoat he needs to keep in check),

but here, in this dialogue that was never present in the game, there’s potentially this implication that if Guys can make Guildias forget about Myuca for just one moment, just one, then he’ll see Guys as himself, and that’s literally all I wanted. He can be your new Myuca is you just train him, Guildias. Give him the carrot, and not just the stick.

[rookamell]

Nuance in the tags

[krenenbaker]

*sighs dreamily*

ah, Sariel~ ♡

[bangcakes]

.

[many-gay-magpies]

the game does not let you get polyamorous with it (sad) but my lovely apprentice is polyaming the hell out of these mfs. to me. she has two hands and she will be making good use of them

[kenananamin]

Tie my tie, marry me

Summary: The moment Nanami knew he never wanted to tie his tie by himself ever again and wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side. fluffy, nanami x fem!reader, nanami already loves everything you do but something about tying his tie was so intimate and special to him

It had been a year since Nanami officially asked you to be his girlfriend, but you had just started staying over during the weekdays. If either of you would stay at each other's houses, it would only be during the weekends when you both knew the next day could be dedicated to each other. Only recently had that unspoken rule changed.

You had both gone to the mall to shop for your new professional wardrobe and Nanami asked if he could buy a few extra things for you to keep at his house. You both knew what that implied and told him he could buy it, only if you could buy some stuff for him to keep at your house. You had both never been happier to spend more time and money at a crowded mall.

Nanami woke up a bit later for work than usual because of a power outage that turned off his alarm clock and did not charge his phone. You went into work after he did so you make his coffee and pack his lunch while he took a quick shower. You run into the bathroom to let him know he had less than 15 more minutes.

He steps out of the shower and grabs his razor to shave. You reach for the hairdryer he bought for you to keep at his house and start to dry his hair as he quickly shaves. You run out and start to rummage through his closet to set his clothes on the bed. Nanami finishes shaving and follows you out to get dressed.

"Shirt first, hurry," you take the shirt off the hanger and throw it to him.

Nanami begins to button the shirt when you get in front of him and start pulling his collar up and putting his tie around his neck. He looks at you with a questioning look and you quickly explain, "My dad taught me how to tie a tie. Never thought it'd come in handy since I never knew anyone who regularly wore a tie before you." You laugh at the memory but continue what you were doing to avoid making your boyfriend late.

Nanami however... his fingers stop buttoning his shirt. He looks at you, concentration and rush covering your features, but your fingers gently grazed his skin as you looped his tie. She's the first person to ever tie it for me, Nanami thinks. He had to learn how to do it from a video and was later corrected by some older male coworkers who showed him with their own ties.

The events of that morning finally dawn on him. You jumped out of bed right after you felt him jump out and started rushing around the apartment with him. He hadn't even mentioned that he was late, but you opened your eyes and knew what to do. He could smell the coffee from the room and heard the clanking of the leftover containers being opened and slid across counters from the shower. You dried his hair knowing that his route to work was not long enough to let it dry itself, and you took out exactly what he would have worn that day while he shaved. And now... there you stood before him, helping him tie his tie so his hands could do other things.

It seemed so... small. It was so small, so truly insignificant in the scale of life, something that could not hold weight in the world or change anything in the universe. But it changed his life, it was his favorite view in the world, and it would become his universe.

You look up at him and see him staring... and his hands not moving?! You move his hands away from the buttons and rush to finish buttoning it down. He takes your face in his hands and leans down to kiss you slowly. So very slow and soft. It stops you completely and you wrap your arms around his waist, relishing in the smell of his aftershave and body wash. Nanami deepens the kiss and moves an arm around your waist to pull you in closer. As much as you love when he pulls you in, the movement pulls you out of the kiss trance.

"Oh my god, Kento, hurry!! You're late, you're late!"

You step back and shove his pants into his arms. You tell him to hurry and that you'd grab his shoes to put by the door. You start yelling across the apartment that it would rain the entire afternoon and he needed to take the umbrella.

Nanami listens as you rustle through the closet looking for the umbrella and the light thud of what might have been his lunch bag and coffee thermal on the entryway table. He walks out the room putting on his suit jacket and sees you lightly jumping while telling him to hurry with his shoes.

Nanami leans down to tie his shoes but pauses after he's done. He goes to touch your bare leg since you hadn't even gotten dressed after waking up. You only wore his large shirt and underwear. He kneels and carefully lifts one leg to kiss your knee. He looks up from his kneeling position and says, "Thank you for helping. You really didn't have to."

His loving eyes close slightly while you lean down to give him one kiss as your response. "You're late," you whisper against his lips.

Nanami stands and takes his things while waving bye to you and your bed head. He heads out the door and begins a light jog to catch his regular train.

Yeap, she's the one, Nanami thinks.

Nanami spent his lunch break at the jewelry shop looking at rings that would look beautiful on your finger. There were so many engagement rings that would look gorgeous on you, but one caught his eye as he imagined that ring slightly moving on your finger as you tied his tie.

"I like that one. Do you have a size (your ring size) in stock?"

Nanami buys the ring at that moment and texts you to ask if he could come over to your house after work. He does not plan to propose on a regular Tuesday evening with no special plans, but he wants to hug you, smell your lovely perfume, take you some flowers, and give you a special thanks for helping him. And maybe, maaaayybe (most likely), stay over at your house to help him with his tie again the next morning.

[monstersholygrail]

As part of his job duties, Demon Guard often walked around the offices as a sort of patrol. Of course, he often used this as an excuse to just fuck around or to actually fuck. But for some reason that day he found himself actually walking further along his route than usual.

And that’s when he heard you in the break room.

“I swear, I’d sell my soul to fuck Demon Guard just once!”

Followed by you and whatever coworker you were talking to bursting out into a fit of scandalized laughter.

Something old and buried flickers back to life inside of Demon Guard. His long reptilian tongue slithers out as he licks his lips, a smirk spreading across his face. With only a few steps forward he makes himself known, walking up behind you and leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“I haven’t dealt souls in a long time, sweetheart, but for you I can give it a shot,” he purrs, relishing in the way you shiver against him.

You honestly don’t know how to respond, your face more red than a tomato. Unable to fully believe that he’s right behind you and heard what you said. You’re still pretty stuck frozen when he takes your hand and drags you out of the break room.

When you come to you realize he’s brought you to the camera room full of the security cameras. You barely have a moment to look around before Demon Guard’s mouth is on yours and he’s kissing the daylights out of ya. His tongue licks along your seam and you gasp, allowing him to slide right in.

You moan around his long narrow tongue, your own swirling around his in your need to finally taste him. You almost can’t believe this is happening. You’ve imagined this a million different times, touched yourself in so many ways. Now that it’s finally happening you expect to wake up at any second. But this is real. You voiced your desire out into the world and he heard it.

“Now here’s the bargain, sweetheart. If you don’t cum for me at least seven times, you have to give me your soul,” he starts, his voice raspy and addictive. You could listen to it forever.

He starts walking you back and the moment your ass hits the control panel he’s picking you up and plopping you down right on top of it. His eyes don’t leave yours as he pushes your skirt up to your waist and tugs your panties down.

Next his hands go to his unbuckle and he slides his pants down enough to free his enormous cock, though his gaze refuses to let you look away. He steps closer and pushes his tip through your soaked folds, growling as he sees just how wet and needy you are for him. As if your desperate panting and bucking hips wasn’t evidence enough.

“And if I can’t make you cum at least ten then I will bind myself to you for eternity to use as you see fit,” he finishes with a cocky smirk like he’s just composed the worlds greatest bargain and he’s so very proud of himself for it.

And you know, maybe he has.

Without waiting for the verbal bargain to be struck, like he knows it’s an offer you just can’t refuse, he slams his cock inside you in one smooth stroke. You cry out but you can tell he’s not satisfied with it, as if the stretch of his cock isn’t making your mind burst with unknown euphoria, and he starts in at a brutal pace.

His tail wraps around your waist, keeping you right where he wants you as he relentlessly runs his length up inside you. Not giving you a moment to catch your breath. Even as he hits every perfect spot along your walls he doesn’t wait to tease or savor. No, instead he focuses on ramming into them all over and over again. Each sensation crashing into one another until your body is buzzing with an overwhelming sensation of pleasure like you’ve never known.

Demon Guard watches you happily as you arch into him but with a direct intent. A certain intensity simmering in his gaze despite his dopey smile and light demeanor. Like he can see precisely just how close you are to the edge. His thrusts remaining so wildly consistent you have to stare at him in awe. The goal clearly to send you hurtling into your first of many orgasms.

He flashes you that cocky little smirk again like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. A loud moan falls past your lips as in that exact moment his hand slips between your bodies, finding your clit with alarming ease and rolling the bud of nerves so perfectly between his clawed fingers.

Your vision flashes white and you scream fiercely as you shatter around his cock. Your precious cunt squeezing the very life out of him if he had one. Demon Guard roars, literally roars, at the explosive friction of you clamping down on him. Yet he refuses to cum just yet, wanting to edge himself with the feel of you.

Though he holds you as you shake in his arms, helping you work through it. And when you finally clear the spots from your eyesight you’re quick to find him, already looking down at you. Wanting to catch every little reaction. Your pussy flutters as that smirk remains firmly on his face.

“One down, sweets. Six and Nine to go,” he explains, a wickedly playful expression flashing over his face so quickly you wonder if it was real or if you were only seeing things…

You’ve only had one orgasm so far. Something tells you by the end of the day you’ll be so delirious with pleasure you won’t be able to tell up from down.

[reidology13]

Reader goes to the triathlon w Jack and everyone's like 'omg is this ur gf' and he's like nooo this is my babysitter but they're like doing heart eyes the whole time and she's being rly cute w Jack and the whole team is like shipping them xoxoxoxoxoxo

you really got a hold on me

Aaron Hotchner x fem babysitter!reader

cw: age gap, canon typical lack of boundaries??? fluff, fluff, and more fluff wc: 1.6k a/n: this is my first req, which is a little bit terrifying, I hope it lives up to your expectations! I moved the triathlon so Jack's still around 4/5 just bc my girl has been pining for years and I don't want to stretch that out too much <3

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You kept Jack close, hands on his shoulders to keep him from disappearing into the crowd, although you knew he would be unlikely to stray from your side either way. People had started crossing the finish line about half an hour ago, and your best guess was that Aaron would cross it any second now. You were correct, as it would happen, and a few minutes later he appeared in the stampede, sweat-covered and grinning as his eyes locked on yours.

“Jack, look!” You crouched down beside the boy, pointing in the direction of his father, jogging towards the finish line.

“Daddy!” He cheered, and you whooped as he crossed the line, starting to slow down as he made his way to the table with water and medals.

Once he had navigated a route out of the crowd, you walked with Jack over to him, waving to try and catch his attention again now that you were both in different places. He met your gaze, walking to you, breath heaving.

“Hey, bud.” He leant down to hug Jack, picking him up and swinging him around before placing him back down and turning to you.

“You did amazing.” You smiled up at him, almost in awe, and he did something completely unexpected, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you into him, “Get off me! You’re all gross and sweaty.”

“Never.” You didn’t put up a fight.

“Should we leave you two love bugs alone?” A familiar voice rang out, and he released you, allowing the blonde to enter your field of vision.

“Garcia.” He said slowly, that stern, stoic mask slipping into place over his handsome features, and you couldn’t help but ogle when he looked like that. There was something about it, the way it set into the sharp lines of his jaw, suiting his strong facial features so perfectly. 

“Sorry, sir.” She said, although you had a feeling she wasn’t apologetic in the slightest, mainly from the broad grin spread across her face that promised trouble.

And then the pack descended.

A wolf whistle, “Hello, gorgeous. You the lady our man’s been seeing?”

“Um, no, I’m not-” You tried to clear up the obvious miscommunication, fueled by Penelope’s meddling, but you were interrupted, this time by a female voice.

“If he ever hurts you, feel free to call me.” She winked, and you felt your cheeks grow warm, becoming more embarrassed by the second.

“No, we’re really not-” Apparently, Aaron’s entire team had a thing for not listening, no wonder he was so tired all the time.

“Way to go, Aaron, but isn’t she a little young?” You rolled your eyes at that.

“I’m standing right here, you know.” You looked up at him, silently begging him to get his team in line.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” They went silent, and you breathed out a sigh of relief, leaning into him as you realised he still had an arm around you.

“I’m Jack’s babysitter.” You introduced yourself to each of the group, besides Penelope. You wished JJ was there, but she’d had a baby roughly a week ago, marathons weren’t exactly her mood right now.

You decide that you liked Jordan and Spencer the most, because they had stayed quiet while the rest of the team teased you about your nonexistent relationship. Once everything quieted down, and the novelty of you had expired enough for them to turn their attention to food, you turned to Aaron. You realised that in all of the excitement—first of the race, then the team—that you hadn’t really gotten to speak to him.

“Hi.” You beamed, feeling awkward after the team’s fast paced attack of moments earlier, worse because part of you wished it was true. Scratch that, every single bone, muscle, ligament, every cell in your body, wished it was true.

“Hi.” He smiled back, and you were completely oblivious to how you were just standing there, staring at him and his stupidly handsome features, until a pointed cough broke through your daze. You weren’t sure you liked Spencer anymore. The rest of the team’s eyes shot to you immediately, and you knew you were never going to hear the end of it.

“Aaron, can we go? I don’t like these people.” You groaned, the second part mostly joining. Mostly.

“Anything for you. Jack, are you okay with celebrating at home?” He tugged the boy’s hand lightly to capture his attention, and Jack nodded, smiling as wide as ever, entirely unbothered by the change of plans.

“I’ll make your favourite.” You grinned up at him, “And we can buy ice cream on the way home.”

“Are you sure you’re not dating?” Emily piped up, and you glared at her, taking a step away from Aaron, as if to prove a point.

“I’m very sure.”

“She’s half my age, Prentiss.” 

“Okay, I’m not half your age, please, you make me sound like a baby.” You scoffed.

“No, of course you’re not, I just happen to be very old.” He rubbed your shoulder gently in a silent apology.

“You’re only thirty-eight, Aaron.”

“Aww, you even fight like a couple.”

“Please stop, he pays me to be here. I would rather not lose half my paycheck for fleeing right now.” Technically, he wasn’t paying you for this, the outing with Jack was completely voluntary, which had nothing to do with Aaron post-run. Absolutely nothing.

“Oh, so it’s a sugar daddy thing?” She smirked.

“It’s a babysitter thing.”

“Okay, let’s go.” He grabbed you by the arm, commandeering you away from the group, and you heard a few loud comments about manhandling, as well as the word ‘daddy’ thrown around fairly liberally. “I’m sorry about them, they’re incorrigible.” He murmured against your ear, giving your arm a squeeze.

“It’s okay, I didn’t mind it.” He looked like he was about to say something, but before he could, Jack piped up, calling your name, “Yeah, bud?”

“I wanna hold your hand, too.” You could have cried, standing right there in the parking lot, only a few feet from the car.

“Oh, of course.” You and Aaron rearranged Jack so that he stood in between you, each of you holding one of his hands.

“I’m hungry.”

“Me too, buddy.”

“It might take me a bit too long to cook…” You trailed off, swinging Jack’s arm, “There’s a great barbeque spot about ten minutes from here?”

“Sounds great, Jack, what do you think?”

“Yes.” He seemed very sure for someone you were pretty certain had no idea what a barbeque was. Aaron loved to use the grill when he had the chance, and yet no matter how many times the word was said, Jack would still be surprised at dinner. You figured he would pick it up in a year or two.

You reached the car, helping Jack into the child car seat in the back as Aaron slid into the driver’s seat, turning on the ignition. Once Jack was safely secured, you circled around the back of the car and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Do you know the directions? Aaron turned to look at you, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

“I think so.” You nodded as he pulled out of the parking space, the way he turned his head to double check the space behind the car made the tendons pop out from under the skin of his neck.

You did your best to direct him, although you missed one or two turns, courtesy of Aaron’s side profile looking a little too good. It took about ten minutes longer than it should have to pull up in the parking lot of the restaurant, and the sheen of sweat that had covered his skin had dried by the time you walked in. You were seated in a booth next to a window, and Jack insisted on sitting on your lap until the food arrived. You helped him with his restaurant-branded colouring page, a drawing of a pig cooking sausages on a grill, which was rather grim to anyone over the age of eight.

After lunch, Aaron drove you back to your campus, parking outside your dorm building. You hopped out of the car, walking around to the other side to hug Jack goodbye, then turned to the driver’s door. Aaron rolled down the window, and you leant against the windowsill on your forearms to talk to him.

“Did lunch live up to your expectations?”

“I preferred the company.” 

“So, I guess I’m never getting to choose where we eat again…” You pouted, trying to distract yourself from the warmth that blossomed in your chest at his words, at how casually he could say something so disastrous. 

“Of course you can, it was wonderful.” But you were better. He reached out, one of his hands gently running down your upper arm as he spoke, and maybe that was why you did what you did next.

“Thank you for the ride,” You smiled at him, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. You stood there, leaning into the car, and time seemed to slow in a moment where everything was perfect. You stepped back, and reality crashed over you like a wave, a lump in your throat as you stumbled away from him.

“Have a good day.” He waved, and you nodded, licking your lips nervously, tasting the salt of his skin on your lips.

“You too.” You waved back at him, walking backwards from the car, “And shower! You taste like sweat!” You called out, hands cupped to your face to project your voice as you got further away from him, choking on your words.

He shook his head, an amused grin gracing his face as he pulled the car away from the sidewalk. You stood there, like a love stricken schoolgirl who’d just had her first kiss during a game of spin the bottle. 

Life changing.

Inconsequential.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

tysm for reading!!

Tags: @reidmoony-toast @selmasdaydreams - Comment to be added <3

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Seasons of the Year

Autumn is the nerdy girl in your book club. Pigtails, pleated skirts, too thick glasses. Whenever she's forced to speak up in class, she almost always stutters. Getting softer with each word until the teacher finally has mercy on her and let's her trail off. She has few friends, mostly other slightly dorky kids who band together because otherwise they'd all be stuck eating alone. You don't really notice her at first.

But then you read Jane Eyre and for once she isn't shy at all. She tells your whole book club all about the symbolism, the themes, how she doesn't fully consider it a gothic novel but that it definitely has gothic elements. Her cheeks are just a little flushed, her hands darting around when she talks. She's pretty, you realise slowly. When she isn't folded over herself or scurrying through the hall like she doesn't want to be caught.

Afterwards, you strike up a conversation with her. She's all shy again, not really meeting your eyes.

"My dad's got a whole collection of classics. Special edition prints, with these hand painted edges," you tell her. "Why don't you stop by and you can borrow some?"

She narrows her eyes at you like she thinks you're making fun of her. "Maybe. If I have time."

She doesn't drop by. When you see her in the halls after that, you always stop to greet her. But she looks so uncomfortable that you never get to have a conversation. Always running off with her head bent so far down that you wonder how she sees anything past the tips of her shoes.

After a few weeks of half finished sentences and always keeping her books clutched to her chest, you're about ready to give up. To take the hint that she doesn't want to be your friend.

But then... she starts seeking you out. Tentative at first. Waiting outside your class and only saying hello if you're alone. Changing her route so that it takes her past your locker. Sitting just a little closer to you at lunch, almost always two tables away so you're in her line of sight.

Maybe she realises you aren't setting up some elaborate prank by talking to her. Your hurried hellos become actual conversations. She starts walking you to class every morning. When you again invite her over to borrow some books, she actually shows up.

Standing on your doorstep with the trees flaring yellow and orange behind her, her hair pushed out of her face with a red Alice band.

"Hi."

You lead her up to your room and she perches on the edge of your bed like she's scared to touch it. Scared to be in your space.

You were in the middle of sorting through your makeup before she showed up and now you look over at her with a twinkle in your eye.

"Will you let me do your makeup? Please?"

Her eyes go all wide behind her glasses. "Uh I don't know...I don't really wear that stuff..."

You sit in front of her, your kit spread on your lap. "Come on! You'll look so good. You've got such a great bone structure, it's practically a crime to not try some bronzer."

"I guess..."

You carefully reach up and take off her glasses. She flinches. "Shh, relax. It doesn't hurt."

You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and tilt her chin up with your finger. When you smooth primer over her skin, she subconsciously tilts her face into your palm.

"That feels nice..."

Her eye makeup is the trickiest part. She flinches every time you bring the eyeliner even close to her. Eventually, you slip your free hand around the nape of her neck. She freezes just long enough for you to add some wings. Her ears turn a bright red and she ducks away from you, stuttering.

"Ah sorry. Were my hands too cold?"

"N-no. No, your hands are...perfect."

You end up so close to her face that when she finally opens her eyes after mascara and lashes, she gasps. You run your thumb across her cheekbone to clear away a little spilled eye shadow.

"All done."

Even after you step away, it's takes her a few seconds to move.

"Do you like it?"

"I look so different."

You stand behind her in front of the mirror and rest your chin on her shoulder. "That's the magic of makeup! It's a good different. And besides, we're matching."

"Oh." She touches her fingers to her lips and looks down at the lipstick smeared on her fingertips. "I didn't notice. I...I really like it."

You pull away and grin at her. "Aren't you glad you let me do it?"

"Yeah," she says, still staring at her fingers. "Really glad."

When your lipstick and then your lip balm go missing, you don't even notice. What was it the kids used to say back in elementary? That if your lips touch where someone else's did, it counts as a kiss?

Autumn walks home through the falling leaves and wonders if you realise you're her first kiss.

Winter is the student council president. Confident, clever, a guy everyone says is going to be a great leader someday.

Oh, but he's cold too. Doesn't have any real friends, only achievements. Everyone knows him. Everyone respects him. But being respected and being liked are not at all the same thing.

You wonder if he ever gets lonely. You walk past the student council office during lunch one day and see him at his computer, a half eaten apple forgotten at his elbow. You shouldn't feel sorry for him. He's on the fast track to an ivy league and a career in finance. In a few years, he's going to be richer than you could ever hope to be. He takes home every performance award in every subject.

You shouldn't feel sorry for him. But you do.

"Hey, you got a minute?" You lightly rap on the doorframe and he turns to face you, not at all ruffled by your sudden appearance.

"Sure. You're y/n, right? I think we had algebra together a few years ago."

"Yep. Before you started taking AP classes and leaving all us peasants in the dust."

You're not surprised he knows you, despite never being introduced or even having a conversation before.

You grin at him. "Is an apple really the only lunch you're having? You've got to keep your energy up if you want to protect your title as smartest guy in school."

He frowns at his apple. The parts he's bitten are already starting to brown.

"I'm not that hungry."

You lean in the door frame and cross your arms. "I'm supposed to let our student present starve? If I let that happen, who's going to be around to defend our debate title? Stand up to the tyranny of the chess club?"

He scoffs and uses the tip of his pen to nudge the apple into the waste paper basket.

"Come eat lunch with me. I've been wanting to join some clubs and you can tell me what looks best on a college application. You can call it community service if you want," you offer.

That gets you a slightly raised brow. The most expressive you've seen him yet.

"What are they even offering today? I don't really stop at the cafeteria."

"Oh, you're in luck," you say. "Mashed potatoes and gravy. And it's only slightly congealed this time."

"Yum." Still, he stands up to follow you. He's much taller than you realised, and when he picks up his backpack his muscles flex in a way that tells you he isn't afraid of hitting the gym. Again, unsurprising. Except for his lunch, he seems the type to have his life in perfect balance.

When you finally sit down in the cafeteria, it isn't long before the other kids notice him. You're scarcely two bites into your lunch when the student magazine editor starts asking him about the budget for next semester. When that's settled, the chess team are next in line to complain about the state of their boards and to ask pretty please for some new pieces. It's only when the bell rings that they finally leave him alone. His lunch sits untouched in front of him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

He shrugs and shoots you a half smile. "Thanks anyway. This was...nice."

It's only when he's gone that you start to wonder if anyone else has ever seen him smile.

You start taking him lunch in the office a few days a week. Mostly sandwiches and chocolate milk. Not exactly the pinnacle of good eating, but anything is better than nothing, right?

You always end up on his desk, ankles crossed while he reclines in his computer chair, chin tilted up slightly to meet your eyes. It's casual, easy. He's funny, in a deadpan kind of way. You end up learning a ton about college admissions, about extra credit, about Ivy League rankings.

When applications open, he's the first person you go to when you need help. Eventually, he just sighs and plucks your half finished essay from your backpack.

"Just let me handle it, jeez."

"Really? Oh my god, thank you!" You stand on your toes and pull him into a hug. "You have no idea how stressed I've been."

He freezes. And then slowly wraps his arms around your waist.

" 'Course," he mutters into the crown of your head. "I'd be happy to."

The thing about Winter as a season is that it can be so insidiously misleading. You assume the greatest danger is the ice, the cold. You don't realise that most deaths are from broken gas lines, from excess alcohol, from persistent coughs. You prepare yourself for all the wrong dangers.

You assume that if Winter wants something, he'll pursue it outright. You don't notice that your college applications are only being sent to places he's applied to as well. You don't notice the way he sneaks your name into the records for the debate team, the chess club, volunteering hours - a blatant forgery just so you have a better chance of being accepted at the institutions where he wants you.

You don't notice the way he always comes up to you when other guys are talking to you, dragging you away with a tight smile and an excuse about scheduling issues or needing your help with the budget.

You don't notice him falling for you until it's far, far too late.

Spring is the ultra cool, earthy girl in your art class. Always sporting a full afro or long goddess braids. Effortlessly chic, with gold jewellery in her hair no matter how busy school seems to get.

She moves through everything at her own pace. Not part of a clique but never alone either.

You've always known each other a little. Had a few classes together over the years, shared lunch once or twice. But life is hectic and your paths don't always cross as much as you'd like. So when you end up in art class hoping for extra credits, you're more than a little glad to see her.

She's talented. Her portfolio has art schools all across the country drooling, practically on their knees to offer her a full ride.

It would be easy to get jealous, and you have no doubt that more than a few of your classmates are. But you? You're just glad to see talent being appreciated.

It's a beautiful spring day when she comes up behind you and offers to give you some private lessons. Your hands are covered in charcoal, there's streaks of black on your cheeks and despite your efforts, your canvas is an unartistic mess.

You smile at her like she's heaven sent.

"Would you really? I know art is subjective and all, but I'm afraid everyone thinks I'm objectively bad."

She tilts your head at your canvas, beads in her braids clinking.

"Not as bad you think. I can see what you're trying to do. You just don't have enough technique yet."

When you meet her after school, the classroom is gold and hazy with the late afternoon sun. She makes you sit at her easel and leans on the back of your chair.

"Draw some perspective lines for me."

You try to, but by the third line her hands are already coming up to guide yours.

"No. Always try and stick to your vanishing point. Like this."

Her voice is low in your ear and you can smell her perfume, something sweet and flowery that makes you want to bury your face in her hair.

"See?"

"Mm-hmm. Easier when it's so direct."

"Good."

She stays right by your chair for the rest of the lesson, occasionally leaning down to adjust your grip. When the day is done, your hair smells like her perfume and your fingers ache from work well done.

She doesn't seem like the type to have a boyfriend. Maybe you're being unfair, but you just can't see it. She's so nonchalant, so very much herself, that the antics of teenage boys seem so very beneath her. She must like someone though, because a few weeks after she starts tutoring you, you get a glimpse of her latest piece. A sketch of her leaning down to kiss someone, their face obscured by the fall of her hair.

If it were anyone else, you would tease them relentlessly about it. Who do you got a crush on so bad that you want to draw them?

Not her though. You respect her art too much to make light of it like that. And when her portfolio starts filling up with love poems, with tributes, with re-interpretations of Le Printemps and Le Sommeil... Well, you pretend not to notice.

It's only at the very end of the year that you start to really wonder who it's all about. When you finish your final piece - the best canvas to date, the one you and her poured hours of work into - she leans down and presses her lips against your signature. It leaves behind a lipstick print in a deep, gorgeous red. Somehow brings the whole piece together.

"I love it," you tell her, eyes on your art.

"So do I," she says, eyes on you.

Summer is the tanned, laughing jock who's always filling up the hall with his voice. Friendly, likeable. Just about everyone has a crush on him.

Not a bully, though he has the size and strength for it. Helpful, in his big, well meaning way.

His future is clear for everyone to see. Working in his dad's construction company until its time to take over, marrying a girl just as pretty and golden as him, becoming the kind of father that other kids look at and long for. It's a good life. It suits him. Days filled with sunshine and love and laughter. He deserves it.

So when he asks you to tutor him, you assume he doesn't want anything more than a better grade. Books and calculators spread out on the bleachers after practice, the smell of fresh cut grass in the air, summer sun warm and gold over the football field. If you were more his type, you'd call it romantic.

As it is, you just appreciate the good weather and the good company. When his teammates joke that he's tanking his grades on purpose just to spend time with you, you laugh and say you're sure he's got better things to do with his time that that.

It takes a few months, but his grades do improve. And when you go through the homework together, it's clear that he understands what he's doing.

"Well champ, seems my work here is done. You're ahead of the class, you understand the methods and your papers have all come back with Bs and above."

You shrug, smile at him. "You're free to go. Have your afternoons back."

"What?" He frowns at you, water bottle halfway to his mouth. "No. The year isn't over yet."

You laugh, a little flattered that he seems so upset to see you go. "I know. But you don't need me anymore. Just practice the problems I marked out for you and you'll be just fine."

For once, he seems at a loss for words. You stand, sling your backpack over your shoulder. It's just you and him left on the bleachers, the empty football field a behemoth between you and the school building.

When you're halfway across, he catches up with you. Grabs your backpack and stops you in your tracks.

"What about English? I really need some help with the novel. And my chemistry is a mess. Seriously, we can't stop now. You can't just...leave me like that."

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he sounded almost panicked.

"I think Jackson from homeroom is your best bet with chemistry. Oh, and I'll send you my English notes. I did a whole section on themes and stuff."

He frowns again. "No. No. I don't want any of that. I want you."

The skin at the nape of your neck prickles, despite the late afternoon sun being full on your back. Was he always so much bigger than you? How didn't you notice it before?

"Hey, listen. I know you're worried. But we've put in tons of effort. You know your stuff. When exam season rolls around, you'll be just fine."

You try and walk away but he's still holding onto your bag.

"I can pay you."

"I don't want money," you say, irritated and offended both. "I never wanted to be paid for any of this. You're a great guy. I'm happy to help you out."

"Then stay."

Why is he being so persistent? His hold on your backpack tightens when you don't immediately answer.

"Please."

That decides you. How can you say no when a nice guy is practically begging? You're not a monster.

You sigh. "Fine. But only until after homecoming, 'kay?"

"Sure," he says. "I'll let you go when I'm done. Promise."

In the last light of a long summer day, you make the mistake of believing him. 

[heliosunny]

I've read a manhwa with the plot of MC being in a marriage of convenience with the ML in their first life and they work hard to make it work/feel like an actual marriage but the guy didn't give it much thought so they died and in their second life, the MC just decided to not focus on the guy but that somehow attracted the guy's attention

So that premise with Mydei (or Phainon, I just thought it suited Mydei more) where in reader's first life they had loved him and dedicated their whole being to him but they end up dying so in their second life they were more confrontational and willing to potentially piss off Mydei but that just had the opposite effect on him.

Bonus I guess if he remembers what reader did after a certain time and makes him fall harder (or go full on yan route idm)

Yandere!Mydei x Reader

[Artist]

You had loved him once.

It was a quiet, steady love, the kind built on careful devotion rather than reckless passion. A love that manifested in the way you always reached for his hand in public, in the way you made him pomegranate juice exactly as he liked it, in the way you handled every social obligation so he wouldn’t have to. A love that, despite being arranged, had been genuine on your part.

Mydei, however, had never given you much thought.

Your marriage had been one of convenience, a political arrangement that benefited both parties, nothing more. You knew that. You had known it from the start. But knowing didn’t stop you from hoping, didn’t stop you from trying to be someone he could come to love.

Yet you had tried.

You learned his preferences. You shielded him from trivial nuisances. You defended him against enemies in court. You ensured his home was warm when he returned, even if he never cared whether you were there waiting or not. You gave him everything you had to offer, even as your own needs went unnoticed, unfulfilled.

And then, one day, you died.

It was an illness, slow but inevitable. The kind that ate away at you little by little until there was nothing left to give. You had fought to stay by his side, to live long enough for him to notice you, to care. But as you lay on your deathbed, your body weak, your breath shallow, Mydei had stood beside you with the same unreadable expression he always wore.

“It’s unfortunate” he had said, his voice calm. “But there’s nothing to be done.”

He hadn’t held your hand. Hadn’t begged you to stay. Hadn’t even asked if you were afraid. And so you died, alone in a marriage that had never truly been shared.

But then, against all reason, you awoke again.

A second life. A second chance.

And this time, you wouldn’t waste it on him.

----

The first time you met Mydei again in your new life, he had the same detached expression, but this time, you weren’t the same.

“Oh. It’s you.” he said, mildly surprised.

You stared at him, deadpan. “Tragic, isn’t it?”

He blinked at you, clearly taken aback. In your past life, you would have smiled softly, eager to please. Now, you met his gaze with all the warmth of an ice sculpture.

“You seem different.” he noted, as though observing the weather.

“Yes, well, dying does that to a person.” You crossed your arms. “But don’t worry, I’m not here to cater to your every whim anymore. I have better things to do.”

His brow furrowed slightly, a reaction so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn’t known him so well. It was funny. For the first time, Mydei found himself unsure of how to proceed.

Days turned to weeks, and you continued to avoid him as much as possible. When you couldn’t, you treated him with polite indifference.

“Here, I brought you tea.”

Mydei raised a brow. “Tea?”

“I just grabbed the first thing I saw.” You sipped your own drink with a smirk, watching as he hesitated before taking a sip. No more pomegranate juice, but you made no move to correct it. Let him suffer.

He gave you a long, unreadable look, then quietly finished the tea anyway.

You weren’t sure when it started, but Mydei began seeking you out more often. Not for anything important, just small, meaningless interactions that, in your first life, he would have ignored entirely.

“You’re busy” he observed one day, watching you pour over books in the library.

“You’re perceptive” you deadpanned, not looking up.

“I can help.”

You finally met his gaze, incredulous. “You? Help? With something that doesn’t benefit you?”

“I’m capable of generosity” he replied smoothly.

You scoffed. “Sure. And I’m the Empress of the Universe.”

To your growing unease, Mydei only chuckled, as if thoroughly enjoying the challenge you presented. If he had ignored your love in your past life, he now seemed intent on prying into your every thought in this one.

You weren’t sure which was worse.

What made it all the more complicated was that Mydei had no idea you had already lived and died once before. To him, this was just the first time you had ever looked at him with anything less than quiet admiration. And while he couldn’t understand what had changed, he was undeniably intrigued.

-----

The third prince’s birthday celebration was an unavoidable event. No matter how much you wanted to stay far away from Mydei, you were both expected to attend.

Dressed in formal attire, you entered the grand hall, carefully ignoring Mydei’s presence beside you.

As expected, the noble ladies flocked to him almost immediately, their voices sickly sweet.

“Mydei, you look as composed as ever” one simpered, lightly touching his sleeve. “Surely you must save a dance for me?”

“And me as well” another chimed in. “It’s not often we get to see you at these gatherings.”

You sipped your drink and turned away, uninterested.

Mydei, however, seemed less inclined to entertain them. His gaze flickered to you, watching your utter lack of reaction.

“You’re ignoring me” he murmured, stepping closer.

You didn’t even glance at him. “Congratulations, you’re learning.”

His lips twitched slightly, as if amused. “Are you jealous?”

You turned to him at last, offering the driest look you could muster. “If I had a single grain of salt for every second I cared, I wouldn’t even be able to season a meal.”

He chuckled. And you had the distinct feeling Mydei wasn’t going to let you ignore him forever.

Sensing your chance to leave, you excused yourself quietly and slipped away. You navigated through the bustling crowd until you reached the gardens, where the young third prince stood alone, watching the lanterns flicker above. You wished him a happy birthday, exchanged brief pleasantries before excusing yourself, intent on leaving before anyone noticed. Unbeknownst to you, Mydei had followed—watching from the shadows as you spoke to the young prince with a warmth you had never once given him in this lifetime.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click as you stepped into your quarters, letting out a sigh of relief. The evening had been long. You had done your part, made an appearance, and now you could finally shed the pretense of civility and rest.

You barely had time to unfasten the heavy jewelry weighing on your ears before there was a knock at the door. Your brows furrowed. It was late. Too late for someone to be calling on you unless it was urgent.

Still, you already had a sinking feeling about who it was.

“Enter” you called, bracing yourself.

The door opened, and sure enough, Mydei stepped inside. His usually pristine attire was slightly disheveled, his coat unbuttoned at the collar. But what truly caught your attention was the way he moved, slower, more deliberate, as if something was weighing on him.

He had never been one to drink, and yet, something about him seemed... off.

You sighed. “It’s late, Mydei.”

“You left early” he countered, shutting the door behind him. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—something quiet and simmering beneath the surface. “Without informing me.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to retire for the night” you replied dryly, turning away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“I saw you” Mydei interrupted.

You stilled. “Saw me?”

“With the third prince” he clarified, stepping closer. “In the gardens. You seemed… close.”

You exhaled through your nose. “He’s a child, Mydei. I was wishing him a happy birthday.”

“And yet, you looked at him with more warmth than you’ve ever spared me.”

You turned to face him then, brows arching. “Are you jealous?”

Mydei didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied you. He took another step forward, invading your space, forcing you to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye contact.

“Would it matter if I was?” he asked at last.

You scoffed, stepping back. “No. Because it wouldn’t change anything.”

Mydei was a man of control. To be thrown off balance, to be met with resistance where he once found compliance, was undoubtedly foreign to him.

Good. Let him feel what you had felt all those years.

You turned away, signaling the conversation was over. “Go sleep, Mydei. We have nothing more to discuss.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, finally, he let out a quiet chuckle, a sound devoid of humor. “You truly are different now.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t look back.

Because if you did, you might have noticed the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides. And you might have realized that Mydei was far from willing to let things be.

-----

Over the next few days, Mydei seemed to have an unusual amount of free time. His duties, which once kept him busy, were now seemingly cast aside. Wherever you went, he was there.

It started subtly: walking in step with you through the halls, his presence a quiet shadow. Then it grew bolder. Sitting beside you at meals, his knee brushing against yours and never pulling away. Standing behind you, fingertips grazing the small of your back under the guise of guiding you forward.

You would have ignored it, written it off as coincidence—if not for the way his touch lingered. The way he reached for your hand absentmindedly, as if it were second nature.

One evening, as you sat by the window, lost in thought, you felt it again, his hand, warm and steady, against your shoulder. A familiar presence, yet wholly unfamiliar in its intent.

“You’ve been avoiding me” Mydei murmured.

“I’ve been living my life” you corrected, not looking up.

His fingers curled slightly, almost as if to pull you closer, but he hesitated. “And yet, somehow, I find myself a part of it more than before.”

You turned to him then, meeting his gaze directly. “Perhaps you should ask yourself why that is.”

A smirk ghosted his lips, though his eyes held something heavier. “Oh, I have.”

You had tolerated it long enough. Mydei’s constant presence, his lingering touches, the way he hovered around you as if he had never been indifferent.

The final straw came when he followed you into the private study, an intimate space he had never once stepped foot in before. You slammed the book you were holding onto the table and turned to face him, irritation burning in your chest.

"Enough!" Your voice was firm, unwavering. "What exactly do you want from me, Mydei?"

He arched a brow, unfazed. "I would think that’s obvious."

You scoffed. "Obvious? You ignored me for years, treated our marriage as a mere obligation, and now—now you cling to my side like a shadow. Why?" Your breath hitched slightly, but you pushed forward. "Is it because I no longer chase after you? Because I finally see this marriage for what it is?"

A flicker of something passed through his eyes—something unreadable. He took a step closer, but you raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"No" you said sharply. "No more. This ends now. I want a divorce."

For the first time since his sudden shift in behavior, Mydei’s expression darkened. "You don’t mean that."

"I do." You met his gaze head-on. "I refuse to stay shackled in a marriage that was never real."

He exhaled slowly, as if reining himself in. "And what makes you think I'll allow it?"

Your fingers clenched into fists. "Because it’s not your decision to make."

"You truly have changed."

You didn’t back down. "And I intend to keep it that way."

His eyes lingered on you, calculating, something darker stirring beneath the surface. Then, as if making a silent decision, he took another step forward.

"Then let's see how far you’re willing to go" he murmured.

-----

Determined to push him into agreeing, you invited Duke Laurent, a respected noble and someone with a clear interest in you, to visit. If Mydei would not agree to divorce out of reason, perhaps jealousy would make him let go.

Just as you began conversing with the duke, Mydei’s arm suddenly snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You stiffened at the public display of intimacy, something he had never once shown before. The duke’s expression remained polite, though there was clear tension in the air.

Mydei leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. "You think bringing another man here will make me release you?"

He turned his gaze to the duke, his expression composed but lethal. "You see, we are still very much married."

Before you could shove him away, he tilted your chin up and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of your lips, just enough to make the moment scandalous.

"Mydei—" You hissed, shoving at his chest, but his grip remained firm.

Then came his final blow, spoken with a smirk against your skin. "If you truly wish to fulfill the divorce, then surely, as tradition dictates, our marriage must bear an heir first. Otherwise, it would be incomplete."

The audacity of it, the sheer arrogance—

Fury surged through you. Without thinking, you leaned in and bit his shoulder, hard enough to make him tense, hard enough to leave a mark through his fine fabric. Just hoping it'll make him let you go. He inhaled sharply, but instead of anger, something else flickered in his gaze. Interest.

His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your waist. "How intriguing" he murmured, almost amused. "You’re becoming more and more fascinating."

You could only glare, breathless with anger, as he leaned in even closer. "I’ve decided—I shall never let you alone."

That night, Mydei made his final decision.

You found yourself restless, pacing in your chambers, feeling trapped in a game you never agreed to play. The door creaked open, and you didn’t need to turn to know it was him.

"Leave!" you ordered without looking up.

Instead, he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "You asked for a divorce. I gave you my terms," he said smoothly. "But I have a better idea."

You turned, narrowing your eyes. "I don't care for your ideas, Mydei. I want my freedom."

"And I want you," he countered effortlessly, closing the distance between you. "So, it seems we are at an impasse."

He reached out, tracing a hand over your wrist. "You see, I’ve realized something," he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. "I cannot let you go."

"Then you will have to learn."

"No" he whispered, leaning in "I will simply ensure that you never wish to leave."

This was no longer a battle of marriage or freedom.

This was war.

Then, his voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "If you try to run, I will find you. If you seek another, I will ruin them. And if you deny me..." His fingers trailed over your throat, "I will make sure you have nowhere to go but back to me."

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Wouldn’t I?" The smirk on his face only triggered you more. "You forget, my dear, I am not a man who lets go of what is his. And you? You belong to me."

A slow, measured pause before he added, "So fight me if you must. Hate me, struggle, scream. But in the end, you will always return to me. I will make sure of it."

---

Another day passed. Nothing happened. Until-

You were sitting stiffly in your chambers, the weight of Mydei’s last words still pressing against your mind.

Mydei entered, once again without your consent.

A goblet sat before you, filled with deep crimson liquid—the rich, unmistakable hue of pomegranate juice. It was his favorite, something he drank often, something he had tried countless times to get you to enjoy.

“I had the servants prepare this just for you” Mydei said smoothly, swirling the liquid in his own goblet. “It would be such a shame if you ignored my gift.”

You hesitated, glancing at the drink. Something about his tone made you wary, but refusing would only stretch this moment further. You reached for the goblet, only for Mydei to intercept, his fingers ghosting over yours as he picked it up himself.

“Let me.”

His hand cupped your chin, tilting your head slightly. Before you could react, the cool rim of the goblet pressed against your lips, the sweet aroma of pomegranate thick in the air. The moment the liquid touched your tongue, warmth flooded through your body. A strange, numbing sensation curled through your veins, heavy and inescapable. Your limbs felt sluggish, the world turning soft around the edges.

Your breath hitched as your body betrayed you, sinking against the silk sheets.

Through your hazy vision, you saw Mydei standing by the door, watching. His expression was unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Rest well, my dear”

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he moved closer, his fingers brushing against your cheek before he slid into the bed beside you. His arms wrapped around you, firm yet deceptively gentle, caging you against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and in your hazy state, resistance felt… unnecessary.

“You’ll understand soon” he whispered, his breath fanning against your ear. “You don’t need to fight anymore. Just listen to me.”

Your thoughts wavered, slipping further into a fog. Your body felt too heavy to move, your mind too sluggish to argue. His presence, once suffocating, now felt… inevitable.

Through the night, he held you close, his grip never loosening. Each time your thoughts stirred, his voice was there, murmuring soft reassurances, reinforcing his presence, reminding you he was always there.

By the time morning light crept through the curtains, your mind was no longer as sharp as before. The idea of pulling away seemed distant, unnecessary.

He was still here.

His arms remained locked around you, as if this was how it had always been. His breath, slow and even, ghosted against the side of your neck, warm yet oppressive.

“Awake already?” His voice was low, thick with the drowsiness of someone who had slept well.

You swallowed, trying to shift, only to realize just how intimately entangled the two of you were. One of his legs had hooked over yours, anchoring you beneath the weight of him. His fingers, idly tracing over the fabric of your nightclothes, stopped just at your wrist, where his hold subtly tightened.

You were trapped.

“I need to get up” you muttered, voice still hoarse from sleep.

Mydei didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, his arms curled around you more securely, pressing you deeper against his chest. “You don’t, actually,” he murmured. “Stay.”

Something in his voice made your stomach twist. There was no plea, no request, just the quiet certainty of a man who had already decided what would happen.

“I have things to do” you tried again, frustration slipping into your tone. “You can’t just—”

“Can’t I?” Mydei interrupted lazily, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you properly. His hair was slightly tousled, falling over sharp eyes that gleamed with something unreadable. “You haven’t been well. I think it’s best if you rest today.”

“I feel fine” you lied, pushing against his chest.

He caught your wrist easily, his thumb pressing against the rapid beat of your pulse. “Do you?” His smile was slow, knowing. “You still look dazed. You’re warm. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were falling ill.”

Mydei had always been perceptive, dangerously so. And in this moment, with your thoughts still sluggish, you knew you were at a disadvantage.

“Mydei,” you tried to keep your voice steady, “what did you do?”

His grip on your wrist didn’t waver, but his expression softened into something almost… fond.

“I’ve merely helped you see things clearly.” His fingers traced over your knuckles before he lifted your hand, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your palm. His lips curved against your skin. “You always try to run. You make things so difficult for yourself.”

“You drugged me.”

Mydei sighed, tilting his head as if mildly disappointed. “It was just a little something to help you relax. To stop you from making rash decisions.” He leaned in closer, his nose grazing against your cheek before his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “You wouldn’t want to make any rash decisions, would you?”

A surge of unease coursed through you, your body screaming to move—to fight. But your limbs still felt leaden, and Mydei knew it. He had planned for it.

“I thought we had an agreement” you gritted out. “You can’t keep me here like this.”

“What do you mean by 'keep you'? You’re mine, my dear. You always have been.”

Your breath hitched as he finally released your wrist—only to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him properly.

“You’ll understand soon enough.”

----

Visit [2] [2*]

[fayevalentiinee]

❝You ruined me.❞

When the storm outside mirrors the chaos within, some truths drown in silence — and others burn hotter than the rain. That was exactly the case for Gojo Satoru when it came to you.

p1 -> here // mlist. -> here

Gojo Satoru noticed your absence almost immediately in the days following the incident —and he hadn’t regretted something this deeply in a long, long time.

Of course, he noticed. He always had. Even before the bet, he’d been watching you — drawn by something he couldn’t explain. You were magnetic.

That was why he could never turn the dare down when you were the subject. It was never about proving himself with girls. It wasn’t even about proving Geto wrong.

It was you. Then suddenly, you were gone. Not literally — but gone from him.

You began switching classes. Changing your usual routes. You stopped showing up in the places that once gave you peace — the quiet courtyard, the corner table in the library, the tree you always read under.

That tree became a silent monument to your absence, one Gojo couldn’t pass without feeling the hollow space you left behind.

He tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. But denial crumbled the moment he sought out one of the few people you ever willingly spoke to.

Unfortunately for him, she was fiercely protective of you.

Sharp tongue. Calm demeanor. And absolutely no patience for him.

“Where is she?” he asked Shoko that day, trying too hard to sound casual.

But everyone in his circle had already noticed the shift in him — even the most oblivious, like Haibara. Gojo looked unwell: jittery, unfocused, scanning every hallway and courtyard like he was searching for some divine treasure.

He snapped more often, even at Geto’s harmless jokes. His sunglasses were frequently missing, and during classes, he’d squint out the window at that damned tree like he was expecting someone to appear out of thin air.

Shoko regarded him with a long, unreadable look before lighting a cigarette.

“Why?” she asked coolly. “Trying to finish the game?”

He had no answer for that. He knew he was in the wrong — should’ve told you, should’ve explained, shouldn’t have let it begin as a joke. Should’ve admitted he’d been drawn to you long before the dare.

Now his thoughts looped endlessly — should’ve, shouldn’t have, circling around his head in a repetitive cycle. The guilt was a weight on his chest, making every breath harder than the last.

A week passed before he finally saw you again.

Across the courtyard, your gaze landed on him for a single moment — then slid right past, as if he was no one to you, a stranger.

Your look wasn't angry. Not hurt either, just... indifferent. Like you were trying to erase the memory of him before it could cut too deep into your soul that you bared to him.

Gojo’s breath caught. He stepped forward, reaching a hand out instinctively — but stopped short of touching you.

“H...” The sound lodged in his throat.

His sunglasses slipped down the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t force you to stay, couldn’t demand your attention — because some part of him knew he didn’t deserve it.

His hand hovered in the space between you, then dropped, useless and heavy at his side.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

The world moved on around him — students laughing, wind rustling the trees — but all Gojo could feel was the cold, that same empty silence you left echoing behind.

He stood there, arm still half-outstretched, like someone trying to catch something they had no right to hold.

You never looked back. Of course you didn’t. Why would you?

He stayed rooted to the spot long after you disappeared around the corner, throat tight, chest burning. The sky felt too bright. The air too thin.

He ran a hand through his hairb— frustrated, helpless, ashamed. And then he laughed.

Low. Bitter. The kind of laugh that didn’t sound like him at all.

“God,” he muttered. “I really fucked this up.”

He sank onto the nearest bench, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His sunglasses dangled from his fingers, forgotten.

Because what was the point?

He couldn’t take back a moment. Couldn’t erase a dare. Couldn’t return to that first time he saw you beneath that tree and choose better.

He never should’ve led with a line. He should’ve told you the truth the moment it stopped being a game. He should’ve—

The list was endless. A voice finally broke through the spiral.

“You look like shit.”

Gojo didn’t look up. He didn’t have to. He knew that voice.

Geto sat down beside him anyway, eyes like a fox trained on the same corner you’d vanished behind.

“She’s really not talking to you, huh.”

No answer.

Silence stretched between them — thick, heavy. Heavier than any curse they’d ever faced.

“I didn’t think you’d actually fall for her,” Geto added, his voice lower now. Quieter, softer.

Gojo’s jaw clenched. His fingers tightened around the bridge of his glasses.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Me neither.”

It started as a drizzle. Then, it became a downpour.

You’d always loved this kind of weather — used it to settle your nerves, to drown out the world. You never faced your emotions directly. Instead, you buried them in distractions: a good book, a warm drink, ambient noise.

The window fogged up as the rain picked up. You stepped closer, pressing your fingers against the glass, absentmindedly tracing patterns into the condensation. Before you realized it, you were drawing something.

Your hand stilled at what you drew.

A familiar cartoon face stared back at you — Gojo, grinning the way he always did when he’d sneak doodles into the corners of your notebooks. “I’m annotating,” he once claimed with fake solemnity. For which you’d smack his arm while laughing until your sides ached.

Your smile faltered. Then your breath caught.

Through the blurred pane and streaking rain—another Gojo.

You blinked, rubbed your eyes. Squinted through the downpour. No illusion. He was really there.

Standing beneath your window, looking up — the tree behind him, the one you hadn’t approached since that day, stood like a silent witness to whatever was about to happen. Once your sanctuary, now only watching.

He stood motionless. Soaked to the bone. Hair plastered to his forehead. Shirt clinging to his frame. Hands buried in his pockets like they were the only thing holding him together.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not now. Not in this place. But there he was: under the bare limbs that had once held your laughter, your silence, your peace.

Now they were just like branches. Reaching but empty.

The moon was hidden behind dense clouds. The world outside glowed blue and silver — washed out and breathless in that way only rainstorms could render.

You opened the window, he looked at you from down there. Eyes hollow. Expression unreadable. And then — he broke.

“You win!” he shouted, voice cracking. “Okay?! You fucking win!”

No response. Only the rain. He paced, dragging both hands through his hair until his scalp stung.

“I was stupid. I am stupid. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. I didn’t know it would matter. I didn’t know you would matter this much. But you—”

His voice collapsed.

“You ruined me.”

The words fell from him like a confession. Desperate. Shattered.

“You’re in my head. Every second. Every goddamn second. And I deserve it. You were right to walk away. You were right not to look back.”

Thunder rolled overhead, low and distant — like it was syncing with his collapse.

Gojo looked up again, meeting your gaze — clothes and skin drenched. His hands hung limply at his sides, rain tracing slow paths down his lashes.

He tilted his head back, staring at the sky now like it owed him an answer.

“But I miss you,” he whispered shouted. “More than I know what to do with.”

And he stayed there. For long seconds after the clouds passed. Long after the cars drove by, yearning.

Because no amount of rain could wash him away from you.

His gaze drifted back to your window hope clinging to him like a second skin, trembling and raw. Just one more moment. One more glance. One more miracle.

Instead… the window closed. Soft. Quiet. Final.

He stared at it, lips parted, rain drops now carving paths down his cheeks — hiding the things he couldn’t say. His expression twisted, something splintering behind his eyes.

A laugh broke from him — jagged, trembling, nearly a sob. It had become a habit, the madness of missing you cracking him open in strange ways.

He kicked a rock at the base of the tree. Hard. It bounced into the dark, clattering against nothing.

“Of course,” he muttered, broken. “Of fucking course.”

He dragged both hands through his soaked hair, pulling hard— like he could yank the ache out from the root.

Then — click. The window opened again. He froze. You stood there; Still maddeningly composed. But something was different this time. Something colder. Sharper.

He opened his mouth then—

Splash.

A full shower of water hit him square in the chest. It wasn’t rain this time. It was hot.

Not boiling, but hot enough to sting. Hot enough to jolt him. It seeped through his already drenched clothes, a shock of heat against the chill.

He stumbled back, blinking rapidly as steam curled off his shirt.

“What the—?!”

You stared down at him, still as stone, bowl empty now in your hands. Voice calm. Eyes glinting.

“You looked cold.”

Then—slam.

The window shut. Harder than before. Gojo stood there, stunned. Water dripping from every inch of him. Steam curling faintly off his chest like your contempt had a temperature of its own.

Another strangled laugh ripped out of him. Unsteady. Grief-laced. Almost hysterical.

“God, I fucking love you,” he whispered to the empty street.

Then, a quiet click echoed as the dorm building door unlocked — and the night held its breath...

taglist: @tootiecakes234 @slvvt4geto @redcellghost @slightlystressed @aroura-yuh @miiikooooooo @reveriennn

i think ts was too dramatic but bear w me

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR VI

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 2.7k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: I'm finally home!! For some reason tumblr was blocked on my laptop there, which was why I wasn't that active but I hope you all enjoyed the other scheduled posts. I wanted to get this one out to y'all as soon as I could, so I hope my jet lagged brain managed to proof read it fine...if not oops. Also, I think the last chapter of this was scheduled so people were missed on the taglist, i should've fixed that for this chapter but let me know if you were missed! I'm sorry about that! Also did anyone catch that supernatural reference?

MILO'S APARTMENT

You were fucking panicking.

The second you saw that text on your phone, you were out the door and en route to Milo and Anthony’s apartment like it was a goddamn emergency—and to you, it was. You didn’t even say hello. Just beelined straight for their wine rack and uncorked a bottle like your life depended on it.

Halfway through chugging it, Milo snatched it from your grip.

“Talk or no more wine,” he said flatly. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You groaned, dragging both hands down your face before collapsing onto the couch. “I fucked up.”

“Okay, well, you better start talking, because I swear to God—was it the match? You never told me how it went. Was he an asshole?”

“No,” you said, sitting up. “No. Dick was great.”

“Okay…” Milo said slowly.

“And so is Jason.”

He blinked. “Who the fuck is Jason?”

You explained. Everything. From the amazing date with Dick to the equally amazing time with Jason—each moment fresh in your mind and impossible to ignore—to the absolute mess you’d found yourself tangled in now.

“And now they both want to go out with me again,” you finished, looking like you might actually pass out from sheer stress. “And I don’t know what to do.”

Milo stared at you.

“I fail to see the problem here.”

You gawked at him. “I can’t date two guys at the same time!”

“Why the fuck not?” he demanded. “You’re hot. You’re single. And you’re exploring your romantic portfolio.”

You hesitated, then exhaled. “I feel bad.”

Milo narrowed his eyes at you like you’d just confessed to murdering someone’s puppy. “You feel bad?”

“Yes!” you groaned, collapsing against the couch cushions like the weight of your sins had finally taken you down. “I went out with Jason. After my date with Dick. Who, by the way, I also really like. And now I’m just… spiralling.”

Anthony, who’d been eavesdropping, finally emerged from the kitchen, casually sipping from his own glass of wine like this was better than anything Netflix could offer. He leaned against the doorway, perfectly at ease. 

“So let me get this straight,” he said, one brow raised. “You went on a date with one hot guy, then met another hot guy who you also went on a date with, and now both of them want more?”

You glared at him, deadpan. “Yes.”

He took another sip. “Girl, if that’s not the universe begging you to experiment, I don’t know what is.”

Milo jabbed a finger in your direction. “Exactly! You’re not cheating. You’re single. You’re exploring. Gathering data.”

“I’m not running a clinical trial,” you snapped, though a laugh escaped despite yourself.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Anthony muttered into his wine. “You’re treating this like a double-blind study with ethical guidelines.”

You covered your face with both hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“No,” Milo corrected, setting down his glass. “A nightmare is getting ghosted by someone who still watches all your stories and likes your dog pics. This? This is a champagne problem.”

You peeked at Milo through your fingers. “So… what do I do?”

“Date both,” he said without missing a beat.

“No.”

“Date. Both,” he repeated, completely undeterred. “No commitment. No promises. Just casual. See who actually fits into your life. Who listens. Who remembers your coffee order. Who quotes Austen and doesn’t flinch when you spiral into a lecture about neurotoxins.”

“Dick could keep up when I went full brainiac mode,” you murmured. “And Jason… Jason quoted Austen. Unprompted.”

Milo clutched his chest like you’d personally wounded him. “Be still my heart.”

“And they’re both so… different and amazing in their own ways,” you added, softer now, more to yourself than to them. “Dick is light. Safe. He makes me feel seen. And Jason is—”

“A walking red flag with a Shakespeare soul and hidden depth,” Anthony chimed in, deadpan.

You laughed despite yourself. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Milo gave you a pointed look. “Babe. You’re not choosing between a villain and a hero. You’re choosing between two men who see you. Who want to know you. If they’re both worth your time… then take the damn time to find out who you want and get to know them.”

You hesitated. “And if it blows up in my face?”

Milo didn’t blink. Just reached for the wine and refilled your glass. “Then we’ll be right here. With a playlist, ice cream, and a very detailed hit list.”

“Color-coded,” Anthony added with a sage nod. “Naturally.”

You exhaled, dragging a hand through your hair. “I hate how much sense you two make.”

“We’re gay. It’s our burden to carry,” Milo said solemnly, raising his glass. “To emotional clarity and romantic chaos.”

Anthony nodded, raising his own. “And may the best man win.”

You stared at them both like they’d sprouted wings or grown extra heads. “This is still ridiculous.”

“This,” Milo countered, pouring more wine into your glass, “is the golden age of options. You’re allowed to figure it out without pledging your undying love to the first man who makes you laugh.”

“I kissed Jason,” you muttered into your glass.

“And?” Anthony sipped. “Did you enjoy it?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Too much.”

“Exactly.” Milo held his glass up. “Right now, you just don’t know what you’re allowed to feel.”

You looked at them—these two chaotic bastards who somehow made emotional turmoil sound like a well-curated spa retreat—and let out a long breath.

“…I know I still feel bad.”

Milo rolled his eyes. “That’s because you’re a good person. You can feel bad and also let two hot guys take you out. Both things can be true.”

Anthony raised his glass. “To moral ambiguity and excellent taste in men.”

You clinked yours against theirs, muttering, “I’m going to hell.”

Milo grinned. “Then take both of them with you, babe.”

BATCAVE

Meanwhile, Jason was still riding the high from earlier. The night air was cool against his skin, the streets quiet beneath the hum of his bike. He was halfway to his apartment when the notification came through.

A case update.

He didn’t hesitate. One hard turn of the throttle, and he was veering off course, heading straight for the manor.

Inside the Batcave, the mood was noticeably different. Dick and Bruce were already suited up, arms crossed in near-identical stances, while Tim was anchored to the console, eyes scanning a rapid stream of data across multiple monitors.

“Took your time,” Dick said lightly, though the usual ease in his voice was dulled.

“I was busy,” Jason shot back, tugging off his gloves. “What’ve we got?”

Bruce turned toward the central screen, the glow casting shadows across his jaw. “We found a breakthrough.”

Jason’s easy mood evaporated.

Tim tapped a key, bringing up a profile. “To cut to the chase—we know who our ghost is.”

“Well, that’s great. Let’s track the son of a bitch down,” Jason said, his voice clipped with impatience as he stepped closer to the screen.

“It’s not that simple,” Tim replied, already typing something in. “There’s been no physical sightings in over four years. No residence, no digital footprint, no bank activity. Nothing directly traceable. We only got a name because of a flagged experiment—an old one that matches his signature. It was buried in an ethics report filed by his only known connection.”

Tim tapped another key.

“B/N L/N,” he said. “And the only person who might be able to help us find him—his younger sister.”

With a soft beep, the next slide loaded on screen.

A profile image appeared.

Jason froze. So did Dick.

“Dr. Y/N L/N,” Tim continued, unfazed. “Lecturer. Neuroscientist. Gotham University. She’s the one who blew the whistle on his unethical research, which caused the rift between them. Records show he’s made multiple attempts to contact her over the years. If he’s on the run from Joker… she might be the only person he trusts enough to go to. Or the only one who knows how he thinks.”

“She’s one of the youngest in her field,” he added, “with two PHDs—”

“Three,” Jason and Dick said at the same time before pausing.

Both men turned slowly, brows raised, staring at each other across the space between.

“How did you know that?” Dick asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Jason’s gaze snapped to him. “How did you know that?”

Tim looked between them, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Okay… do I even want to know what’s happening here?”

Bruce didn’t so much as blink. “Where can we find her?”

Tim cleared his throat, grateful for the shift back to business. “She’s scheduled to appear at the Gotham Futures Gala this weekend. It’s a high-profile event at the Fairmont. She’s a guest speaker. The event’s raising funds for youth science education and mentorship programs—STEM access, early outreach, that kind of thing.”

Bruce nodded, calculating. “Alright. I can go and see if I can—”

“No!” The word rang out in unison. Both Jason and Dick spoke at once, their voices overlapping in sudden urgency.

Bruce’s gaze flicked between them, unimpressed. “No?”

“I’ll go,” Dick said, his voice smooth and easy—too easy. The kind of voice he usually used to charm the high society. “You’re stretched thin with the Joker situation. Let me take this one.”

“Or I can go.” Jason stated. 

“You don’t even like gala’s.” Dick scoffed. 

“And you do?” Jason raised a brow. “You spend half the night dodging donors and sneaking champagne behind the curtains.”

“At least I clean up well.”

Jason crossed his arms. “You need to get back to Blüdhaven.”

“I’m on leave.” Dick snipped back. 

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose like he was already nursing a headache.

“Enough,” he said, tone edged with steel. “I don’t care which one of you goes. Just make contact with her. Find out what she knows.”

And with that, the ever-exhausted father of far too many turned on his heel and left the cave.

The second Bruce left the cave, the tension snapped like a rubber band. Both Jason and Dick turned in perfect sync, glaring at each other with the intensity of a pending brawl.

“I’m going,” they declared at the same time.

Jason scoffed, folding his arms. “How do you even know her?”

“She was my date!” Dick snapped, voice pitching upward as his patience immediately vanished.

Jason blinked. “Wait—the one from that dating app?”

“You signed up for a dating app?!” Tim choked, spinning around so fast in his chair he nearly tipped over. His eyes were wide, scandalized. “You?!”

Dick didn’t even spare him a glance. “Yes. And we hit it off.”  he said, sharp and pointed. “Now, how do you know her?”

“She’s the civilian I pulled out of that alley last week,” he said coolly, voice dipping into something just shy of smug. He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Should’ve walked her home, dickhead.”

Dick’s jaw clenched.

Jason smirked. “We grabbed coffee today.”

Dead silence.

And then—because he never knew when to shut up—Jason kept going. “She even kissed me.”

Dick’s expression shifted like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing with something sharp and disbelieving.

“You’re lying.”

Jason raised a brow. “Am I? You really think I’d lie about something like that?”

“I think you’d do whatever it takes to piss me off.”

Jason shrugged, unbothered. “That too.”

Tim opened his mouth, then closed it. Slowly wheeled himself back in his chair like he was watching a bomb about to go off.

Dick took a step forward. “She wouldn’t—”

“She did,” Jason cut in. “Not that it’s any of your business now.”

“That’s exactly what makes it my business,” Dick snapped.

“Funny. She didn’t seem to think so.”

“Alright,” Tim said quickly, raising both hands. “Before someone gets thrown into a wall—can we maybe, I don’t know, not have a turf war over a girl who clearly doesn’t belong to either of you?”

Neither of them looked at him.

Dick’s eyes narrowed into slits. “That’s it. I’m going to the gala.”

“Like hell you are!”

Tim raised a hand like a kid in class. “How about… rock, paper, scissors?”

Two sets of eyes pinned him to his seat. He shrank back a little. Then, after a beat, both brothers turned to each other.

There was a long pause.

Then, without a word, they stepped forward, hands balling into fists, resting on their open palms.

“On shoot,” Jason muttered.

“Obviously,” Dick snapped.

And they went.

“Rock, paper, scissors—shoot.”

Scissors. Paper.

Jason cursed under his breath.

“Always with the scissors,” Dick said smugly, shaking his head like an older brother who’d won this game a hundred times before. “You never learn.”

Jason’s glare could’ve peeled paint. But Dick was already sauntering off, throwing over his shoulder, “Better luck next time, Little Wing.”

“Best two out of three!” Jason called, stepping after him.

Dick scoffed. “I won fair and square. No one likes a sore loser.”

Jason grumbled something under his breath—low, unintelligible—but Tim was pretty sure it included cheater, rigged, and next time I’m bringing a taser.

“Fine!” Jason snapped, crossing his arms with a tight huff. “But I want ground rules.”

Dick paused and turned around. He arched a curious brow, arms folded across his chest, then gave a slow nod, signalling Jason to continue. “Go on.”

“First—we don’t tell her we know each other.”

Dick nodded without hesitation. “Agreed.”

Jason took a step forward, the tension between them tightening like a wire. “We stay out of each other’s way. And I don’t think either of us should sleep with her—not until she makes her decision. Things’ll get messy.”

Behind them, Tim mock-gagged. “Ugh. Can we not?” he muttered. He didn’t even want to think about his brothers in that context. He didn’t care that they were adopted—they were still his brothers, and thinking about them doing that was just gross on every possible level.

Dick held Jason’s gaze, steady and unflinching. “Fine.”

Jason’s tone shifted, quieter now—less about pride, more about principle. “And if this starts to mess with the case, or with us, we end it. Doesn’t matter where we’re at.”

Dick’s posture shifted slightly, his jaw tightening. But he nodded. “Done.”

They stared at each other for a beat.

“Whoever she chooses,” Dick said, calm and clear, “the other backs off. No hard feelings.”

Jason’s fingers curled at his sides. A long pause.

Then, he nodded. “May the best man win.”

Dick’s gaze didn’t waver. “For her. The best man for her.”

Meanwhile, Tim watched the entire exchange unfold like a tennis match—head swivelling between brothers, eyes wide. He looked personally offended that no one had handed him popcorn.

“I’ve got to tell the others,” he muttered under his breath, already planning the group chat text.

Dick left for patrol not long after, slipping his domino mask into place with the smug confidence of a man who thought he’d just secured a win.

Jason, who didn’t need to suit up for another hour, turned to Tim with a groan and a scowl. “Alright, nerd. How did you even know where to look for that flagged experiment?”

Tim blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. Uh—it was actually Damian.”

Jason’s eye twitched.

“He said the doctor might be a potential lead. Once we ran her name, we found the connection to her brother and his research. Looked solid.”

Jason exhaled slowly through his nose. Of course it was Damian. The demon spawn never let anything go. And this was exactly what he got for digging into her file on Batcave servers of all places. He might as well have slapped a neon sign across the screen that read I’m hiding something, please investigate. The one girl he was actually interested in—and she was tangled up in one of their ugliest cases to date.

Jason turned to Tim, narrowing his eyes like a man about to drag someone else into his personal war.

“You’re gonna help me.”

Tim blinked. “With… what exactly?”

“Reconning Dick.”

Tim frowned. “Didn’t you two literally just agree not to interfere?”

“I’m not interfering,” Jason said, far too quickly. “I’m making sure he sticks to the rules.”

Tim gave him a long, deadpan look. “Uh-huh.”

Jason just stared.

Tim sighed, resigned. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Nope.”

Another sigh. Tim rolled his chair back from the console like it was a death march. “I need a vacation. Or a therapist.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a real one, Replacement.”

“Don’t call me that.”

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