#why did you even consider coming up close

[tonycries]

Madam Gojo - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru, the strongest clan leader in all of Japan - and the most dangerous, too. You, rejected by the elders, and totally not his future bride, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, arranged marriage, Satoru is a little (very) INSANE and down bad, the elders are awful, oral (fem receiving), use of “madam”, unprotected, créampie, kníves, overstím, féral Satoru, heinous things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. I need clan leader Gojo SO bad you guys don’t understand.

They say that the head of the Gojo clan is the one person who could burn down this entire world and get away with it, too. 

The youngest of all the clan leaders - and the most infamous - a man who keeps his friends close, and his enemies even closer. Enough so that you’ve heard whispers of his cruelty at every nook and cranny of those stuffy social functions your family has dragged you to. And it was more than enough to paint a picture of such terrifying power.

Of a sharp blade and an even sharper mouth. Of an angelic figure that left no evidence, nor anyone to tell the tale - only the final, hauntingly beautiful image of cloudy white hair, and electric blue eyes.

Eyes that were currently locked with yours, and didn’t seem like they’d stop any time soon. Dangerous. Magnetic. Twinkling with such odd amusement from across the long tatami room. 

Gojo Satoru, the head of the Gojo clan - your future husband.

“Tch, the Kamo girl’s family had a much better reputation than this one.”

Ah, right. How could you forget?

You shift awkwardly on the mat, managing to rip your eyes over to the line of elders behind Gojo, whispering just loud enough that you’d hear - and, of course, remember once more that no, the marriage proposal hasn’t been approved just yet.

And considering those disapproving glares you’d been so warmly welcomed with, it seemed that they were well and fully intent on keeping it that way.

“I can assure you,” you fight to keep the polite smile plastered on your face, painful and slowly cracking with each passing second being interrogated. “My family is well-respected in the community.” Eyes snapping over to a silent Gojo, skin burning at his intensity. “Very well respected.”

“Come now. We’re just saying.” Another voice speaks up, strained and tinged with a venomous tone you knew didn’t bode well. “Your lineage isn’t exactly illustrious, is it?”

The emphasis on “illustrious” isn’t lost on you, and it’s so fucking dramatic than you think you could almost laugh. Apparently, a few of the elders think so, too - because they’re positively seething at the sight.

Muttering an icy, “Something funny, dear?”

“Nothing at all.” you bite back any insults, sifting around the contents of your untouched dinner - the last thing on your mind right now when it seemed like you were the main scrutiny tonight. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Such attitude!” That offended croak is met with murmured agreements and nods from the end of the room, “The madam of the Gojo household must be demure- I told the young master we should go with the Kamo girl.”

God, why did you agree to this again? Something about strengthening your family ties? You felt sorry for the poor soul who’d end up marrying Gojo, because no matter how much beauty or power he held, it certainly wouldn’t make up for this. 

Scoffing, the words falling from your lips faster than you could register them. “Then why didn’t he?”

And this little question somehow seemed to have struck a nerve - multiple, in fact, as you watch in morbid fascination as the elders visibly bristle. 

“B-because-” one sends a hasty glance at their stone-faced clan leader, flushing at his still-unwavering gaze on you. “You- It doesn’t matter. Someone like you isn’t suited to marry-”

“Right, because this clan is that great.”

You freeze. The elders freeze. It seems like everyone in the world freezes except for Gojo - who only raises his brow. Letting your words hang in the air like a foul stench, studying just how awfully you’re digging your grave deeper in this hellish marriage meeting.

Eventually, the elder closest to Gojo’s right mutters a painfully saccharine sweet, “I knew we shouldn’t have let the riff-raff participate.”

And oh it was like a dam burst open.

“-out of the thousands of girls, for someone like master-”

“The scandal, too- imagine letting the Gojo name fall this far-”

“Isn’t worthy. Can’t let the bloodline be carried by some whor-”

You’re on your feet before you realize it. Whirling at the elders head-on, and if looks could kill then all those old fossils would be six feet under and their graves a dance floor for you already. 

Fists clenched, you spit, “If he’s so wonderful then you all can marry this oh-so-great bastard yourself-”

Oh. You’ve done it now.

You were fucked. You were so very, very fucked. 

You don’t even bother to meet Gojo’s stare, instead wondering whether you’d be able to outrun the strongest clan leader alive. Sure, you could take those old toads but-

“Sit.”

Your heart leaps at the voice, the first time you’re hearing it since entering this room - deep, almost-melodic, and for a second you don’t even recognize who it came from. Not until Gojo’s flashing you a mirthful grin, blue yukata shifting as he moves to sit cross-legged, “Sit.”

Oh, God, you didn’t know of any torture methods one could do while sitting - but you didn’t doubt that Gojo was an expert in all of them. 

And as your knees buckle, sinking ever-so-slowly to sit back down on the floor, Gojo tilts his head in confusion. Brows scrunching together as he gestures downwards.

“On your…lap?” You question, as if the answer wasn’t glaringly obvious. 

The only response you get is a careless nod, Gojo spreading his knees further as if to prove his point. No care or concern as he plows on, “If you’d like, of course.”

It’s a silent staredown - you, and him - and the elders watching jaw-dropped, of course. None of you have ever known the young master to let anyone get this close - let alone give them a decision on, well, anything.

. 

A weighty beat passes. One. Two. 

He wins.

And you find yourself walking unsteadily towards Gojo’s imposing figure, all eyes on you as you plop down unceremoniously in his waiting lap. Warm - and it catches you off guard. Gaze flickering over his broad shoulder to look at the aghast faces behind you. Tension crackling in the air as they wonder the same thing as you at this very moment - just what type of torture method is this? 

“Interesting…I need this one.” You blink up in confusion, heart racing and oh- shit, when did he get so close? But Gojo’s chest only rumbles with laughter. Circling his long fingers around your waist, pulling you flush against his sculpted chest, “As the new madam of the Gojo household.”

What? 

The elders behind let out stifled gasps, as bewildered as you were. And you swear you saw one faint, though, you don’t get to take a close look, because Gojo’s gently grabbing your chin, tilting your head up at his pretty face. 

“Wan’ me to kill them?”

“Kill- why?” you sputter - both from his idea and the heat of his proximity. 

“Why not?” He looks at you through his long lashes, so deceivingly innocent that it makes your head spin. Tone so light, as if he was talking about something trivial like the weather. “An early wedding gift, maybe?” And he sounded like he was joking - you wished he was joking. But you knew better. 

So you swallow thickly, “N-no…thank you.”

At this, Gojo’s eyes twinkle. “Yeah, real interesting.” he coos, voice so uncharacteristically playful. And his lips are so close - too close. Running a thumb along your bottom lip, “Gorgeous, too. Tell me, pretty, what do you think of ruling over this trash?”

And you could feel every eye on you as you mull over the question. Weighty. Scrutinizing - except for Gojo who seemed like he was hanging onto your every word. 

Hell, might as well give ‘em a few heart attacks right?

Words that never come - because your body moves before your mind. And you’ve got one hand gripping his expensive Yukata, the other scrambling for his broad shoulders. Softening the blow as you crash your lips onto his.

Soft - it’s the first thing you register. Followed very shortly by the taste of those cheap lollipops from those local convenience stores you loved - strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because the kiss is over as soon as it happens.

Gojo’s pulling away with a strange light in his eyes, lips flushed a pretty pink, yukata dangling off his shoulder already. You have to train your eyes away from the milky skin, and over to the elders. Yeah, one really had fainted - three, now, actually. 

And only one of them is brave enough to pipe up a rapid, “You- how dare you dirty-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. In a split second, there’s a long dagger pulled out from his yukata, embedded deep into the tatami mat - not even an inch away from the elder who’d opened his mouth. 

“Out.” 

It’s so abrupt that for a second, you think Gojo’s talking to you, voice soft, and so so eerie. It sends shivers down your spine as you raise your eyes to look at his glare at the frozen crowd behind him.

Eyes wide, aura menacing - a grin gracing his features, absolutely nothing like the one he’d sent you - it was something so dangerous and cold. The temperature in the room dropping about ten degrees as he mutters, “I won’t say it twice.”

And immediately, it’s chaos. Each one stumbling over the other to run out the sliding doors first, none of them daring to look you in the eyes now. 

“O-of course, master.” the leader, seemingly, chokes out. One foot out the room already, “I’ll um- check that the servants are doing their work-”

“No. You all will stand outside.” Gojo murmurs, not even bothering to look at them. Instead, cupping your face closer towards his, “And close the door.”

That door could not have been shut faster, ringing in the tense silence. And suddenly you’re too-aware of the audience outside. Too-aware of being left alone with…your future husband? And the way he was looking down at you with something so dark in his eyes.

“So…” he runs his nose down your neck, breathing in your scent. “If you don’t want me to kill those bastards…what else must I gift you, my wife?” 

“Like what?” You gulp, back arching involuntarily into him. 

Gojo laughs at the reaction, teeth ghosting over your racing pulse. “An estate?” Dancing ever-so-slowly, up your jaw, “All the cars you could want?” He blows gently in your ear, chuckling as you yelp in surprise. “Maybe jewelry?” Kissing the tips of your ears, “You’d look gorgeous in blue. And the Zenin clan has the perfect necklaces I can…convince them to send over.” He pulls away, taking you in entirely, “Or maybe-” Lips now ghosting yours. “-something else?”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

You don’t know who leans in first, just that Gojo’s lips were so sweet on yours. So addictive. Palms cradling your face so softly, while his lips were anything but. 

“Open your mouth, pretty.” he pants into your lips. “Kiss your husband properly, now.”

Shit, you barely even realize the way you’re listening to every single word he says. Jaw falling slack to let him lick at the seam of your lips. Such a messy clash of teeth and spit and him - so hot and starved. Like he couldn’t get enough with the way he hastily moves to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. 

“Satoru-” you gasp, and he nips lightly at your bottom lip once you immediately shut yourself up because shit, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Calling the clan leader Gojo by his first name? Hell, you’ll see the gates of heaven before you see an altar. 

But Gojo himself seems to think the complete opposite. “Don’t get all shy now.” he pries away the hand covering your mouth. “Call me ‘Toru’.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, trying to will yourself to say this little nickname.

Too slow, apparently. Because his hands are suddenly everywhere - on your breasts, your hips, giving your ass a slow squeeze. “T-Toru-” you squeal. 

Gojo’s mouth drops into a soft oh! Immediately surging forward as if to claim your lips again - stopping mere millimeters from your lips with a pained grunt. Like it killed him to stay away. 

“See? Jus’ like that.” he angles your head just right, before spitting, once. Twice. Right into your pretty mouth. “N’ now you’re mine.”

And fuck if Gojo wasn’t going to prove it.

He’s laying you down on the mat, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Mine to wed. Mine to carry my legacy.” Thumb running over your hardened nipples as he urgently unbuckles your bra, throwing it behind god-knows-where. “Mine to-” Biting down, ever-so-lightly on your nipple, “-worship.” Hands dipping lower, and lower - just barely teasing the hem of your drenched panties. “Mine to ruin.”

You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - maybe from those words, which you’re sure he said loud enough for the elders outside to hear.

Maybe from the way he’s sliding a finger underneath your panties, sliding it up and down your puffy folds. Making you arch into him like such a slut as he pools your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips, popping them into his mouth with a low groan. 

“Oh. Fuck. Oh, fuck-” Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Not wasting a second before ripping off your flimsy panties, tucking them away into the waistband of his yukata. “Sweeter than I imagined.”

“S-so filthy-” you mewl, as he spreads your shaky thighs. Lips wobbling pathetically at how he’s admiring your glistening cunt. “Toru, no one’s ever…”

At this, his eyes are back on yours now. Half-lidded, pupil’s blown - and you don’t think you’ve ever even heard of the leader of the Gojo clan being so out of it, let alone see it first-hand. His voice strained as he breathes out a barely audible, “Shit- really? So then…” He’s moving to lick lewd little circles on your inner thigh, “...your husband’s gotta make this memorable, right?”

Gojo doesn’t give the time to even think about answering - he doesn’t trust that he has the fucking sanity to wait that long. Because you’re so pretty splayed out like this for him. Your moans too sweet. Your cunt too tempting. Too his. 

So, really, you can’t blame him when he’s plunging nose-deep into your quivering pussy, licking one, long stripe right up your swollen folds. And fuck the cute lil’ whines escaping your lips are so addictive that Gojo just can’t help but do it again. And again. And again and-

“O-oh my god, ngh- feels too good-” you card your fingers through his soft locks - something that would usually result in a lost hand or two. But for you - anything, for you. “More, Toru.”

Shit, if Gojo thought he’d lost his sanity before then he definitely wasn’t ready for this. 

“So needy.” he’s chuckling into your glistening folds. One hand throwing your legs over his shoulders, the other thumbing over your needy clit. “So perfect. Can’t believe no one’s ever hah- eaten out this pretty cunt before.”

Immediately, he’s squeezing his hot tongue past your folds. And it’s all you can do to buck your hips up so sluttily when he licks at your sloppy entrance. Your throbbing clit. Anywhere and everywhere Gojo could reach.

“Hngh- yes yes yes, too good.”

“Yeah? Ya like this?” He moves his fingers down from your already-ravaged clit, circling your sopping wet hole. “Ya like making such a mess on m’tongue?”

“W-wha-” The words get caught in your throat as you whirl down at the sight below you - Gojo. Gojo, with strands of white hair sticking to his forehead, eyes so glassy. Gojo, tongue lapping at your sweet juices, looking like he wanted to devour you with his eyes, as much as his mouth. 

At your reaction, he grins, furrowing his brow in mock-concern, “What’s wrong, pretty? Can’t talk?” Bullying his long fingers past that first feeble ring of resistance, massaging your plushy walls. “N’ you were so hah- feisty earlier. Thought my new mmpf- wife would be mouthy?”

You give his hair a warning tug, whispering, “Sh-shut up-” But it comes out more breathless than you intended. 

Gojo notices, of course he does. Because he’s letting out a whiny, “Sh-shut up.” Wrapping his pretty pink lips around your pulsing clit, “As you wish, madam Gojo.”

You hear a dull thud from outside, but you can’t even think about turning your head to look because Gojo’s drinking you in like a man possessed. Pumping his fingers in and out, expertly hitting that one spot with each and every thrust. Looking nothing like an infamous clan-leader and every bit on cloud nine as he rolls his tongue over your clit. Over and over and-

“P-please ah- oh-” you squirm.

“Move your hips like that. Yeah- jus’ like that, pretty- fuck-” The most powerful man in the country letting himself be angled and pulled as you pleased, grunting each time you drag your pussy all over his mouth. Fingers frenzied on your clit - sloppy. Fast. 

But it still wasn’t enough for Gojo - he thinks it’ll probably never be. But that’s fine - the two of you have until the wedding night to perfect it, right?

So he’s looping a big arm around one leg, pulling your snug cunt impossibly closer, reaching over to toy with your pretty clit. And then he’s nose-deep in your sloppy entrance, preparing you for what was to come - fucking you both on his tongue and his fingers. 

Jaw grinding deeper, stretching you out, thrusting in and out in and out in and-

“Fuck fuck fuck- Toru m’so…”

“Close?” he slurs into your cunt, grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Fingers just digging into your hips, sure to leave pretty little marks for him to admire later - and to give a message to those old toads outside. “Cum f’me. Shit- cum f’me, pretty.”

Gojo realizes it before you when you’re finally cumming - because your gummy walls are squeezing around him so tight that it’s almost difficult fuck you through your high the way he wants. 

You’re shaking. Blood roaring in your ears, vision spotty. Crying out a hoarse, “Fuck fuck fuck- oh my god, Toru-” Barely even realizing the way you’re rocking your hips so hard into his hot mouth. 

And Gojo keeps going. 

Even when you’re blinking your vision back, big fat tears pricking your eyes at the sheer overstimulation. Even when white-hot electricity sparks behind your eyes each flick of his tongue. Still toying with your poor clit, tonguefucking you so messily. 

“Toru, s’too- ngh- much- fuck.” You can barely get the words out, jolting. Wondering how the fuck his mouth wasn’t tired, yet - how his fingers weren’t cramping up, tongue still as greedy as ever. “C-can’t-”

“You can. You will.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Running his mouth now, like he was drunk off your pussy. Words as fast and ragged as his tongue. “C’mon, faster. Harder. Fuck-” you flinch as he spits out little profanities into your messy cunt. “Fuckin use me. Use me like the good lil’ wife you are.”

“Oh- shit.” you whine. Clawing at the mats, Gojo’s hair, his shoulders - just anything to cope with the sheer stimulation as he made out with your pussy like a mad man. “Wait- cum- m’gonna…”

You’re cumming and cumming all over again. So hard, even as you grind your hips deeper into Gojo’s mouth. Riding out your orgasm on his pretty face, so painfully good. 

And only then is he finally pulling away. Absolutely wrecked, eyes miles away already, mouth glistening with your slick. Going all the way down his jawline, and onto the tatami mat in a deafening drip! drip! drip!

“Oh.” he runs his tongue along his wet lips. “Who made you cum like this?” 

A smile slowly splits across his face as you manage out a little, “Y-you, Toru…”

“That’s fuckin’ right. Me.” Hypnotized by the heavenly sight of you all fucked-out and twitching with the aftershock. Marveling down at his hand - glossy, and covered with your slick, “N’ m’gonna love you.”

And, well, a good husband always shares, right?

Because Gojo’s shoving his fingers past your kiss-bitten lips, pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way he knew would have your eyes watering, gagging around him so prettily. Eyes widening at the feeling of something so hard and hot between your legs. 

“C’mon, lil’ madam. Lick them clean f’me, will you?”

You’re gasping, “Mmpf- Toru-” Eyes flitting between a smug Gojo and the hand currently untying his robe. So teasing with the way he’s giving you just a flash of those boxers before oh-

Shit. 

You thought that he’d be big - it was expected, in fact. But this was fucking ridiculous. 

All sculpted curves and dips of his body, faint scars painting his milky skin - stories he’d tell you about later, you think. A fucking masterpiece. All the way down, down, down to where his throbbing cock was leaking all over those tufts of white at his toned pelvis.

Rock-hard, and so so angry. Prominent veins running along the side, flushed a shade of pretty pink that glistened with precum in the dim lighting. So intimidatingly long that it already had you worrying for your poor cervix, and thick enough that it had your thighs pressing mindlessly together. 

Something that Gojo obviously didn’t appreciate.

“Now now.” he tuts, pulling back his fingers to spread apart your thighs with ease. So far apart that it burned. “I need these legs open, pretty. I like the view, y’see.”

And he made it quite obvious, too. Spreading your swollen folds so shamefully apart with his thumb - wet with your split. All the blood rushing to his cock at the way you flinch in embarrassment, at the feeling of being so used. Cute. 

“Shhh, relax.” Gojo hums. Spreading the spit and slick lazily along your cunt with his fat head, purposely letting it smear all over your thighs. “M’gonna make this feel so good for you.”

And let it be known that Gojo Satoru was a merciless man - for everyone. 

Except maybe his cute lil’ wife. 

Because, yes, he’s suddenly splitting you apart on his massive cock. Yes, he’s holding your poor hips still, head dropping into the crook of your neck as he sinks in inch by fucking inch. 

But oh God does he have to hold back from fucking your tight cunt exactly the way he wants. The stretch too sinful, your pussy too heavenly. 

Instead he’s kissing away the single tear rolling down your cheek, muttering, “Too big? Aww, f-fuck, pretty. You needa breathe-.” Rich, coming from him considering that Gojo doesn’t know if he was breathing right now. Too caught up in the way he’s rolling your swollen clit between his fingers, gasping into your open mouth, “Trust me. M’gonna make it f-feel hah- good. So fucking good.”

“F-fuck-” Your head is spinning. And you can only give him such delirious little nods as Gojo starts to push in quick, lazy little grinds of his hips just to squeeze inside your gummy walls. Past that first, tight ring of resistance. 

“S’too big-” you squeal, nails raking down his back. “A-are you all the way in- yet?”

“Nope.” he’s popping the p, so unfairly smug. “Not even halfway in.” Drinking in all your cute lil’ sobs as he snakes a hand up to draw an invisible line across your stomach. “But you b-better be prepared, wifey. Because this-” Pressing down, hard. “-is where I’ll be.”

You didn’t know who wanted that to become a reality more - Gojo or you. 

Especially with the way your tight cunt is sucking him up so good, and shit for all Gojo’s reputation, he feels like he could’ve cum right then and there. 

“Shit- so fucking tight. God- you’re gonna make me lose my mind.” words so strained. So dangerous. He kisses down your neck, biting right above your racing pulse. “How do you want it? Like you’re my hah- wife- or my lil’ slut?”

A trick question, you think - as much as you could when you’re this cockdrunk, at least. 

Locking eyes down at the way your cunt was bulging so obscenely around his cock, clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in in in- Unstopping. Relentless. Mewling a little, “L-like I’m your…wife.” 

“Louder.”

“Like I’m your wife.”

Several things happen at once - that faint muttering suddenly increases tenfold, and maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed the few gasps. Gojo, however, does hear. 

It only takes an irritated growl and a split-second flash of metal for a second dagger to be struck deep into the thin wooden panel of the door - unfortunately for whoever just so happened to be on the other side. 

“That’s right. My wife.” And then he’s bottoming out - heavy balls smacking your ass, leaky tip nudging your poor cervix, letting you mark him up all you want as he rocks his hips faster into yours. “And you- ah- you realize they’re beneath you, right?” he’s stroking where he can feel himself bulging inside you. “That my lil’ wife just has to say the word n’ I’ll ngh- take ‘em all out?” 

You can only sob at the pressure, because his words are so soft but he’s fucking you so mean. Sounding like he was losing his sanity with each time your heavenly walls milked him. 

“I’ll kill ‘em- kill ‘em all-” he’s gritting out. “Hell, I’ll take down the r-rest of those clans ah- too if it pleases you.” Fingers getting so erratic on your clit, angling his hips just right to try and find- 

“Hngh- f-fuck, Toru- there-”

That.

So sloppy with the way he’s alternating between hitting that one spot and just abusing your cervix. Bruising - like he wanted to mark you everywhere n’ show it off, too. Biting down your neck, whispering into the skin, “Anything for you, madam.”

Rocking his hips harder, and he couldn’t give less of a fuck about the lewd little pool of slick and split forming on the mat below. Can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted. 

“Feels good?” he’s drinking in your adorable sobs, “S’what you imagined?”

You’re torn between running away and fucking your hips up so bruisingly into his, hells digging into the mat as you push and pull away. “Yes. Feels- ah- ngh-” And for all your mouthiness earlier, you can’t even form coherent sentences right now - something that makes Gojo balls squeeze so painfully.

Something that has him wrapping his arms around your legging, dragging you like some ragdoll back to him. Rocking his hips so bruisingly deeper and deeper as he babbles. 

“Gonna make you c-cum. So hard.” He’s fucking you harder into the mat. Faster. Sloppier. “Gonna ngh- make you my beautiful bride.” Bouncing you on his painfully hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside - to leave marks for everyone in the clan to know. His balls on your ass, your nails down his shoulders, lips on your neck leaving little bites. “Gonna make you mine, pretty. And everyone else s’gonna know.”

And Gojo can tell when you’re close because he’s learned that you have a habit of squeezing him to insanity when you are. 

“Close?” At your delirious nod he’s giving you a blinding grin, “How cute. Why don’t you hah- cum f’me like the good lil’ wife you are, hm?”

Cum for him you do - thighs shaking, body jolting. So hard and violent that you’re covering him in all your sweet sweet juices. 

And he can only watch - awe-struck - as your pretty pussy squirts all over his angry cock glistening, and just drenched with your slick now. Beads of it getting all over his burning abs, trickling down every dip and curve as he uses your quivering pussy harder and harder-

“God, you’re so good f’me. Look how much you came.” Giving a final, harsh thrust. “So perfect f’me.”

So fucking smug as he finally cums as well. Letting out a low, muffled moan into your neck as he fills your poor pussy with rope after rope of seed, painting your walls such a sinful white. All the way until he was sure you were bloated with his cum, until he could feel it dribbling down the side. Looking down to confirm and- ah, sure enough, it was such a heavenly sight - thick globs drenching your clothes below. Spreading in a pool as his hips push deeper and deeper. 

Like it hurt to stop. Like it hurt to even think of tearing his eyes away from you. 

But, alas, this old meeting room could only take so much, and Gojo thinks you’ll enjoy his - your - bedroom much better for round two.

Which is how the elders outside found the door kicked open not too long after. Blinking up in shock at the tall figure of the Gojo clan leader at the frame holding you. Tired and limp in a princess carry, all bundled up your yukata and one of his outer robes. 

And they can only avert their eyes, faces burning at the hazy expression on your face, hair so unsubtly messy, bare legs twitching ever-so-slightly from where they were just peeking out from where the fabric had bunched up. Sinful. Desecrated. And evidently his. 

“Clean that room up.” 

Gojo’s stern command snaps them all out of their reverie. 

But before they could all run to do so, he’s plowing on, unapologetic and low. “Oh, and bow down-” chuckling lightly as they scramble to their knees before him - and your barely-lucid figure. “-to the new madam of the Gojo household.

A/N. On my period I’m gonna cry. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[acid-ixx]

ch.1: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one

read until the end for an author's note.

if there was one thing you hated more than the crime-filled streets of gotham, it would be empty promises.

when was the last time they attended your birthday? or your school ceremonies? or any special event that meant for you to be the center of attention?

plot twist, there was no last time, or a time before that or any day that they were there for you.

not your eldest brother, dick, not your dead brother, jason, of course tim wouldn't be there for you, damian's absence is a given, not even your sisters would come, and most especially not your father, bruce wayne.

you never wrote wayne as your last name. in every test, it would always be your mother's last name. in every document that you had to fill, you would violently scratch in the name of your father, wishing it wasn't required at all so you wouldn't have to hang your head in shame everytime someone looks at you incredulously for having the bruce wayne as your father but never once appearing to be with you.

you can't recall a time you had called him your dad, or even considered him as one.

if you could count the times you have seen him in person, it wouldn't even fill ten fingers. even interviewers and paparazzi have more luck in coming across him than you would, his child.

it sucks, really, how despite having nearly sharing the same age as tim, you never once saw him outside of his room. you thought you would've been the closest to him, but the most you have seen him was when you were watching the news with the "new" robin popping up, or worse; when bruce would be seen guiding tim through the paparazzi and not you. alfred had to drag you away from the tv that day because you were already suffering through a panic attack just seeing those two act so close; ripping your hair out just from watching the news wasn't a good way to cope.

you remember being so jealous of him, of how bruce would always spend time with him and not you. it made you wonder, were you special enough? tim is so brilliant, you could admit. and you were, too, having enough comprehensibility as a child to find out they were vigilantes a year or two after living in the manor— but you weren't good enough like tim. you weren't cut out to be like a detective or a fighter.

it was no wonder why bruce chose them over you.

it came to you in the form of talking to tim that had you discovering that no one ever mentions your name inside the house, proving it to be true when tim had hesitated calling your name and even stuttered through pronouncing it. and then he left after finding you were of no use to help him. alfred had to stifle your sobbing after tim left the room, allowing you to cry on his chest whilst you sat beside him.

(name) wayne was so, so lonely.

you would've accepted their absence long ago, but you were a stupid child who needed care and reassurance because your mother left you for good at the age of five. you were too naive into thinking you would receive the same love from your family just like the other kids in elementary would. you were a child who expected too highly of your father, thinking that he would pick you up from school with that picture perfect photographed smile of his and kiss your forehead and tell you that you did a great job at school today.

it was your teachers who would be the one having to walk you up the stage whenever you achieved an award. alfred would be too busy sometimes to attend your school ceremonies because he had to assist bruce with missions. of course, you understood his priorities. after all, he tried his hardest to make you feel less lonely inside the mansion, it wasn't enough but he was there at least.

it was long ago that you stopped praying for your family to attend at least one of your birthdays.

it's ironic, really, for a child to prep and plan for their own celebration just to hope that a single member of their family to even walk by the kitchen and join them in on their already lonesome celebration.

too bad everybody only goes to the kitchen when alfred cooks for them. who would want to taste sadness in a sloppily made birthday cake, right? nobody, not even you would have the appetite to eat your cake with the knowledge that it was you who had to put all the effort to bake it because you didn't want alfred to feel obligated to. knowing nobody would celebrate birthdays with you, save for alfred, it was expected that you started to prefer cupcakes.

because then you wouldn't be scolded for making such a mess.

you never cooked family meals after the incident where nobody came and to not waste food, you had to bring in large containers to bring to school so you could celebrate your birthday there.

it was there that you find more solace in your small group of friends compared to the desolate rooms of the mansion. your family celebrates holidays together as a whole, but you never once attended after that one time where everybody had forgotten to get you a gift for christmas, save for alfred who gave you a bracelet (one that you cherished deeply). you only smiled weakly and hopelessly, sneaking into your room before the family dinner.

it was alfred again who bought you leftovers and sat on your bed for an hour to encourage you that there's still more christmas's to go.

you never believed what he said. not anymore.

there was a period of time where you hated them more than anything, blamed them for everything and became more rebellious, purposely failing tests, fighting your classmates and disrespecting teachers in hopes that for once your father would bat an eye on you. that only resulted in you being taken out of the school and being transferred into another, for a behavioral reform is what alfred stated to you when you annoyed him for answers.

damian started to bully you a bit more harder after that incident, calling you immature and childish, a weakling, an attention seeker. how someone at your age should've known better. you were convinced that he was relishing in the heartbroken glare you gave him, ignoring the way his eyes widened momentarily at your reaction before sneering and walking away.

alfred gently scolded you, but you were too choked up and instead you almost tripped running inside your bedroom, locking yourself in for what seems like hours.

you don't want to remember the immense breakdown you had that evening too, screaming on your blankets and destroying your things and hurting yourself because... because you had lost your old friends for nothing! your caring teachers, your academic progress, everything! every single thing for an ounce of attention! because he didn't have enough energy to come with you to the guidance counselor and he only had you transfer out so you wouldn't ruin the wayne's reputation!

you hate him, you hate bruce fucking wayne so much and you hate clinging onto their empty promises and sorry's to make it up for you. you hate how their promises were never even said directly to you, you hate how alfred was your only source of hope for a medium of communication.

you hate them all.

and worst of all, you hate yourself for drowning in hope. for wishing you were physically stronger so you could at least bond with them through training. for dreaming about a day where they could surprise you and told you they were just testing you and that you actually had worth inside this manor. for praying nightly that they'll smile at you like the heroes you see in tv rather than that of pity.

you wished there was a universe where gotham was safer, more protected with no criminals littering the streets. maybe then they would have more time to notice you crying every night, writing self destructive entries in your diary, sketching what would've been a happy family. they wouldn't have to wear their silly costumes to fight crime and instead would save you from your own demons.

if...

if you were brutally tortured and killed by the joker, or forced to choke on the fear toxin by the scarecrow— hell, even beaten to near death by some random goons; would they have given you a sliver of their love? would they finally look at you and save you from yourself?

because despite your resentment, you would never lie and say you didn't feel blessed that you were thrown to a family of talented individuals.

your drawings of a complete and happy family holding hands together and a diary filled with rants and fantasies of spending time with them proved just that.

you were blessed with them yet cursed at the same time to never reach the same level to be even considered part of their lives.

you were hopeless. you never amounted to anything. you were just, you.

thirteen years have passed by then, and in those years you were proud to say your development as a person, albeit slow, transformed you from a child that succumbed to neglect to an independent person who managed to maintain a comfortable circle of friends, a scholarship for a college far away from gotham, and an apartment of your own (you were a bit in debt due to having to pay for your own because no way in hell would you ask for your father for financial support).

allowance was scarce, your food supplies weren't infinite compared to back when you were living at the wayne manor, and you weren't greeted to michelin star restaurant meals cooked by alfred— but you were content, and that was enough.

though content translated to nightly breakdowns whilst finishing projects or writing essays, the point still stands! at least you had celebrated your eighteenth birthday with drunk smiles and your friends spoiling you to death when you had opened up about your first lonely years of life. everything was going well for you, truly.

you were so, so happy for the nice turn of events. and you wouldn't have made it so far if you hadn't slapped yourself out of the delusion that they actually cared for you.

look at you now! independent and with a life of your own! you'd give yourself a pat in the back.

you hadn't blocked them at all, but their contacts were empty (save for a few desperate messages that date back years ago) and you were fine with that. it's not like tim or bruce or barbara considered you important enough to be stalked. hah, as if!

alfred communicates with you time to time, reminding you to eat a complete meal rather than those one dollar priced noodles that tasted like pure salt. he told you he misses you a lot, you and your annoying, daily rants about life and school. he misses your awkward smile and when you would help him cook whenever the others aren't around. he misses it when you imitate his posh accent when you taste test his food and give commentary about it.

you miss him, too. growing up, you realized just how much effort alfred would exert just to spend a lot of his time on you.

now, he told you that you are still welcome to the manor whenever, and how he cleans your room weekly in case you'll visit him.

whenever you audio call with him, you'd tear up just a bit at the realization that alfred was more of a father figure than your own biological father. because he at least attended your graduation to make up for the other times he was unable to join you.

what's even better was that he gifted you something you had always wanted for your birthday. despite it being delivered to your door rather than him giving it to you face to face (since you had refused to give him your location and him respecting that decision at least), the heartfelt letter he left you was more than enough to let you cling onto pieces of your past. after all, it was him who greeted you by the door when you were first introduced into the family, bruce being too busy with paperwork that day when you were a measly five year old.

you had started to teasingly call him 'alfie' and a few more nickname after that, which results with a chuckle over the phone every time you had come up with a cheesy name for him whenever you get a wee bit irritated at his own way of making fun of you.

if only this was your life years ago, then maybe you wouldn't have been jealous of all your other friends and pushed them away that day, maybe you would learn that sometimes, family comes in the form of the people outside of your house rather than inside.

that reminds you, maybe you should reconnect with your old friends back in elementary and apologized for your sudden explosive behavior.

you were laying on your bed, phone in hand and opened your inst*gram app to stalk through the names you could remember. well... that was what you should've done, if not for the fact that a notification popped up the very moment you pressed on the search bar and you had accidentally opened a chat with your oldest brother, dick.

you would've ignored the desperate messages you have sent him from the past which all varied from inviting him to eat dinner with you or to at least join you to play in an arcade or anything to convince him to talk to you, all of which were unseen, if not for the fact that it was him who sent you a sudden "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" message, alongside a few more replies that spammed through your phone...

oh!

... that was enough to make you sit up and want to hurl.

dick grayson was a man of many talents. the mature eldest child, the ideal good leader despite his anger issues from time to time, and the same guy who set the standards high for the future robins. he is bruce's greatest achievement.

it was safe to say that if not for the support of many, then he would've suffered so many falls and would've never been strong enough to stand up despite the pain and continue his fights. nightwing was what many superheroes strive to be, an image of light in a grove of darkness such as gotham.

so why was it that he felt like he has failed so deeply right now?

inside your room, dick stands with furrowed brows. it felt too clean to look used. your furniture was polished and look untouched, the lights were too bright and the windows were bolted shut. there were no signs of life other than the notebooks and sketchbooks that were neatly tucked on the middle of the bed and the trinkets that scatter through your desk.

dick stalks through the room, careful to not make a noise as he walks over to the closet, opening it and finding nothing.

he bites his lips at the implication that this was probably the second time he visited your room and how it was also the longest time he remained here. compared to his other siblings, you were the one he noticed the least and... now he feels bad for dismissing you.

didn't he promise to take you out for dinner months ago?

damn it, he was way too focused on his mission that night and ended up ditching and forgetting you! oh god, dick facepalmed and clenched his teeth, seething in some air because no fucking way did he actually remember to feed damian's dog, titus, the same day but forgot to take you out for an important event...

it occurred to him that that was the same day you scored a perfect on "the hardest test of my life!" you had bragged to him awkwardly when he wasn't listening nor looking and you, wanting to celebrate what was a small achievement for dick, chose him to spend time with you!

dick had to carefully breath through his mouth then gulp down the shame he feels right now. he- he has no time to focus on the past but rather the present. he has to find out why the hell is your room so lifeless, yeah... then he'll make it up to you today, definitely.

huh?

is it just him, but why does the room seem so small? it looked like it was meant to be for a kid. clearly, there wasn't enough space for a growing individual like you... did bruce not provide you with a bigger bedroom? ah, dick would definitely tell bruce to relocate you to a bigger room, the current one is too small for even a dog in a manor to sleep in.

dick doesn't want to admit it at all, but... he hasn't seen you for the past few months, or not all, really. sure, he had only recently visited the manor since he's bludhaven's vigilante now, but even through his time in gotham he had never seen you other than the times you pulled his sleeves from back when you were a child.

back when you were a child.

how old are you now? you were so small back then, innocent too. he can recall your curious eyes, your chubby cheeks and the way you stutter through your words as you try to talk to him.

you were significantly younger than jason, and was adopted a week before tim was introduced to the family. he remembers you peeking through alfred's back, gleaming with curiousity and whispering to the butler if it was really the dick grayson. he smiled fondly at your dumbfounded expression, the way your mouth shaped into an "ohh," when he was the one who answered that, yes, it was him. then you whispered again if you can take have an autograph from him, to which he chuckled and told alfred that he'll help accompany you to your room.

when your five year old body tried to waddle closer to his body for an ounce of warmth when he had been guiding you up the stairs, that was also the first time he called you baby bird, with the way you coddled him so closely. his hands find itself patting your head, ruffling your hair and grinning as you both make your path through the halls.

he comes to immediately regret leaving you alone after he had introduced you to your room, remembering his duties as a vigilante than that of a brother.

but despite his early memories of you, he wants to see his baby sibling all grown up now.

had it really been years?

when was the last time you ever had a full-on conversation with him?

was there even a time that he had approached you by himself?

he had always called you baby bird after the first time you meet because of the age gap you two shared. the rare times he acknowledges you, you gave him that look filled with such adoration, like you were proud of him for being your older brother. why did he not notice you?

oh, his baby bird...

dick gulped, trying to ease his shivering by sitting on your neatly folded blankets and taking a worn diary in his hand, one at the bottom stack of books. well, if it was a personal diary then maybe you would've hidden it better, right? he figures since it was all placed on the center of the bed like a piece of treasure that... it would be alright to take just a glimpse.

to confirm if you still see him as your favorite brother.

dick's heartbeat spiked, hoping your entries would be filled with, he doesn't know, anything that didn't implicate some sort of hatred for the family, for him. hoping that despite his lack of attention towards you, that there would still be a spark of love for him. if what he thinks was actually true then... he doesn't know what to do with himself.

he flips through the first page, noting how it was bulkier than the others. the paper was filled with glittery decorations, sequence beads and cheap stickers sparkling at every angle the light hits. it was meant to be a design for the 'front cover' of the notebook, colors blended in a cacophony of rainbows and butterflies and flowers beyond the messy calligraphy that merely states "(name)'s diary!"

dick stifles a grin just from skimming through at the amount of mistakes and erasures, clearly written by the the younger version of you; naive to the world and its cruelty. he commends your creativity, his eyes softening at the few doodles that were written on the corners of the pages.

you're just too adorable for your own good, so much so that the thumping in dick's heart beats louder and louder, ears wringing uncomfortable inside your unventilated bedroom. but he just couldn't rip his eyes away from the diary, daydreaming about how proud you must've been when designing your own diary. he could picture your wide eyes, shy and harmless, and your feet kicking back and forth whilst you decorate your stuff.

everything was what he expected it to be on the first few pages of the diary. all your little rants about your daily life, your eargerness to meet your entire family from your father's side, and the hurt you experienced from your mother's sudden abandonment.

he would've skipped through another diary, one that lacked design and color, save for the name plastered on the front, if not for the grim undertones at every end of your entries despite the child-like manner it was written in.

it all started with "i wish to see my father soon and my big brother dick again!", "alfred told me my father can't come to the parent-teacher conference, he says he's in a veryyy important meeting :( but alfred would come!", "dick told me he can't help me with my science project but he promise he'll help me with something else later!" which halfway through the diary, your style fluctuates and lesser effort was exhausted on the writing.

one entry in particular, written on the last page of your diary, shattered a sliver of hope within dick, his breathing momentarily ceased from reading through your sentences; uncharacteristic of you, too mature for someone at the age of ten to write.

"XX/XX/XXXX.

dear diary, it's my tenth birthday today. i celebrated with my friends at school. they told me i always look down whenever it's my birthday. they think that bruce would throw a fancy celebration for me. i tried to hide my laughter from them. it's a really funny joke. i haven't seen him for months. i told dick that he was invited but i don't think he remembers it's my birthday today. alfred told me to come out of my room, he said he cooked my favorite dinner, that he's sorry he got my present late, but i don't want get out of my room. i heard dick is gonna watch a movie with tim later. i don't feel so good, my chest hurts, but i don't want to get out right now.

i'll eat the cupcake tomorrow."

it had been nearly two hours since dick had sat on your bed, eyes dilating whilst reading through your first diary. the cold season had already pricked his skin, but his entire body felt so unnaturally warm, a warmth that scorches him, searing deep into flesh. a lump had form in his throat, accompanying the hellish throbbing of his heart.

"fuck..." he brought his fingers to his head, carefully massaging his forehead but it relieves nothing. he wants to see you right now— he needs to talk to you. god, he has to apologize, he needs to see what you look like right now, needs to know if you're alright.

you're clearly not.

he has to oppress the urge to punch the walls, reminding himself that it's your room he's in and if he damages your already delicate property, then he's proving himself worse than he already is.

he rushes to grab another diary, the one at the top of the pile, skipping to the end of the page.

nothing. all the entries were months ago, all written in vague detail like you were starting to hide secrets. his teeth grinds against each other, frustration seeping through his veins.

he needs to— shit, he needs to find you right now. he needs to find his baby bird and make up for the all bullshit him and his family had done. if you were gone for months, even years; he doesn't even want to think about it.

but how?!

there were no signs of you. anything written your diary, your drawings, the trinkets on your bedside table— they signal no clues whatsoever, all dating back to months, even years. it's not possible at all, for nobody to notice your disappearance. dick would've noticed sooner. he should've noticed sooner. oh, he doesn't even want to think about the dangers that await you outside the mansion. with how naive you were about the outside world, you wouldn't last at all.

his baby bird wouldn't survive gotham's streets, especially not when winter was nearing.

think, grayson, think...

his phone!

he immediately reaches into his pockets to grab his phone, clammy fingers swifly encoding his password and opening his contacts.

your number was the quickest to find, it was the only one without an icon of you and an endearing nickname. he makes a mental note to change that soon and replaced your default name to your nickname.

then, without hesitation, he typed, "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" sending the message without rereading, foot tapping impatiently against the floor as he scrolls through all your previous messages.

messages that he should've replied to with the same level of enthusiasm as you. skimming through the past, unseen texts as your motivation began to dwindle the further he refused to reply back. he promises he'll never make you feel invisible again.

seconds feel like hours for him, as he blows raspberries to pass the time, too concentrated an ounce of a reply to even notice the entirely new presence inside the room.

it's alright to call you, yes? after all, dick just wanted to check in with his baby bird and see if you're doing swell and dandy and... safe without him...!

his thumbs pressed on the call button before he could think through his actions, his other hand runs through his hair, sweat running down his forehead as if he had ran a marathon.

he waited, and waited, and waited until the call beeped and provided its automated response. he calls you again but the line immediately cuts off, he tries to spam you with more messages but they weren't delivered.

you blocked him.

fuck, he messed up big time. he needs to get to the batcave. he needs to find your fucking location before it's too late. dick needs to see you again before he loses it.

but before he could carefully place your sketchbooks back to its rightful place, he sees a silhouette at the corner of his eyes; short figure, arms crossed, and a sneer on his eyes already tells him who it was.

damian wayne.

he forgot to train with damian today.

but it doesn't matter, damian has to see it for himself— what made dick so disheveled, so delirious. damian has to finally see just how much of a wonderful sibling you are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: this was 4,600+ words and it drained the energy out of me. it was supposed to be posted tomorrow but i was too motivated !! i'm also quite proud of this chapter. it was a pain characterizing dick grayson and the reader. i really hope this is as good as the prequel because it's 3am right now and writing dick's part was a pain in the ass ^^' as always, please do comment or send asks if you like it for quicker updates!!!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @alishii, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @deadinside-09, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa (shoutout to her specifically because i got motivated from their comment!)

[diazsdimples]

Hiiii James 💕💕💕💕

buddie + Why are you even here?

-❤️🪐

Hi Saturn!! I hope this is what you were looking for!

"Why are you even here?"

Eddie flinches at the ice in Buck's tone. It's not like he's never heard Buck angry before - there's been plenty of times where Buck's anger has been displayed, but always directed towards others. Never at him.

Eddie licks his lips and wills his mouth to work. It's hot out here, hotter than the hallway in Buck's apartment usually is. Eddie dimly wonders if he's coming down with a fever.

"Can- can I come in?" he asks tentatively. He clutches at his fingers, twisting them together in a way that's uncomfortable enough that it gives him something else to focus on besides the way his heart is thundering in his chest.

Buck stares at him, eyes dark and unreadable, his body language radiating an energy that makes Eddie's stomach twist into knots. He's got one foot braced in the door, leaning against the door jamb. Eddie feels trapped in the doorway, like a rabbit caught in a snare, waiting for the final blow to kill it.

He thinks Buck is going to say no, and honestly, Eddie wouldn't blame him. He's the last person Buck probably wants to see.

Except then, Buck steps aside, allowing Eddie to shuffle his way into the apartment. He shuts the door behind Eddie and the click of the lock engaging is louder than a gunshot in the otherwise silent apartment.

"I-"

Eddie stops, unsure of how to go about saying everything that he wants to. He's got no clue where to start, or if Buck even wants him to talk. Eddie just knows he needs to apologize, and explain, and beg for forgiveness if that's what it takes to get Buck back in his life.

Buck leans against the kitchen island and raises his eyebrows. He's waiting, waiting to see if Eddie will grovel, get down on his knees and plead Buck to forgive him. And he would, too. He's not beyond doing anything if it means he gets his Buck back.

But he hurt him. Eddie hurt Buck with his words, and he doesn't know how Buck could ever forgive him for it. He wanted to take them back the moment they'd left his mouth, hanging in the air like a poisonous gas. He'd watched Buck's face crumple, the light leave his body, and Eddie felt like he was going to throw up because it was him that did that to Buck.

"I was hoping we could talk," he finally manages. Buck drops his head and lets out a dry, derisive chuckle, and Eddie feels like all the air has been sucked from his lungs.

"What more is there to say?" Buck demands. "You were pretty clear earlier."

"I wasn't - I didn't - please, if you'd just let me explain-"

"Why? There's nothing to explain, Eddie, why should I listen to-"

"Because I love you!"

It's bursting from him before he can stop it, exploding from his chest with all the force of a tsunami, the words crashing through the space between them, and Buck recoils as though he's been physically hit.

"You - what?"

Eddie runs a hand through his hair, clutching at the strands and pulling. The gentle sting is enough to centre him, to give him a moment to focus and breathe, and figure out what the fuck he's going to say next.

"I love you, Buck," he repeats. "A-and I know what I said earlier. I panicked. I've never - I haven't ever, you know, been with a man or even considered that as a possibility before you, and I've spent years trying to convince myself that you didn't want me. That I wasn't good enough for you, or that I was too broken for you."

Buck lets out a wounded noise in the back of his throat at that, and Eddie can see tears threatening to spill over. His own throat is tight, making his voice high and constricted, but he presses on. He needs Buck to hear this. Tentatively, he takes a step forward, slowly closing the gap between them.

"A-and then you asked me out, and I was so scared, Buck! Because what if we tried this and you realised that I wasn't right for you, or my relationship trauma was too much for you, or something happened and we broke up. Because I can't lose you, Buck. You and Chris - you're everything to me. I can't live a life without you by my side, as my best friend or as my partner. So you asked me out and I - I panicked. I said no because I didn't want to fuck this up with you and then lose you. And I thought - I thought that maybe I could live with you angry at me but still my friend more than I could live knowing what it would be like to have you, but to never experience it again."

It's silent now. Buck stares at him with wide, glistening eyes, and Eddie feels like his skin is crawling with nerves. He's laid himself bare here, in front of Buck, bared his soul and his love and every deep, intimate part of him he'd hoped to hide, and now all he can do is hope that it was enough. That he wasn't too late.

Buck lets out a shuddering breath, and his shoulders slump. He looks exhausted, and Eddie wants nothing more than to reach out and hold him. But he can't. Not until Buck says something, and Eddie can find out if this is fixable or if he's already lost the most important person in his life.

"Eds," Buck sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're the biggest self-sacrificing idiot on the planet, you know that?"

"Yeah," Eddie laughs wetly, "so I've been told."

Buck takes a step towards him, and then another, until there's barely a foot between them. He can feel Buck's breath ghosting over his face, and there's something in his eyes that Eddie can't quite pick out. But he doesn't look angry. He looks... sad? Hopeful, maybe.

"You're more than enough for me," Buck whispers, reaching out to cup Eddie's face. Eddie sighs shakily as Buck's thumb strokes over his cheekbone, and he leans into the touch, his throat tightening as he fights back tears of his own.

"You always have been. And you would never lose me. I-I'm not going anywhere, Eddie. Because I love you too. I have done for years. You and Chris, you're my family. My life. So I would never let anything happen that would jeopardise that. Sure, we might have fights. It might be messy, b-but that's what relationships are, right? So we - we'd work it out together. "

Buck crooks a finger under Eddie's chin and tilts his head up, forcing eye contact. His thumb brushes over Eddie's lower lip, and Eddie lets out a shuddery breath.

"If - if you really don't want to, if you think we'd be better off as friends that's fine, I just -"

"No!" Eddie cuts in. It takes him by surprise but he's damned if he's going to fuck this up again. "No, I don't want that. I'm sorry I said I did, I'm sorry that I hurt you. I want you, Buck. Fuck, I need you."

Buck's hand slips from Eddie's chin and curves around the back of his neck, pulling him close until their foreheads rest against each other.

"Jesus Christ, Eddie, you can't just say things like that." His other hand comes up to cup Eddie's jaw, stroking over the days worth of stubble he's grown. "Can I - can I kiss you? Please?"

Eddie nods frantically, unable to get any words out past the lump in his throat, and then Buck is kissing him, his lips sliding against Eddie's and oh.

Oh.

The world tilts on its axis, spinning rapidly around him as everything he's ever known or believed crumbles, only to be rebuilt anew. It's just Buck's lips against his own, nothing more, and yet it feels like the whole universe is crashing into place. Like his entire life, everything he's gone through, the struggles, the pain, the loss, has led him to this exact moment.

The hand at the back of his neck slips up and tangles in his hair, holding him firmly in place, and Eddie lets out a quiet whimper, the sound swallowed up by Buck's mouth against his.

And then Buck pulls away, and Eddie's eyes snap open, a whine catching in his throat, until he sees the look on Buck's face. It's full of love and adoration and awe, and it takes Eddie's breath away.

"We're okay?" he breathes, and Buck nods, his bottom lip trembling. "I-I'm so sorry I hurt you, Buck. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course, Eddie. I will always forgive you, no matter what," Buck assures him.

"Can I kiss you again?"

"Please."

Eddie was such an idiot if he ever thought he could live without this. His best friend, his Buck, by his side forever. Because this is where they belong. They were made to be together, and this solidifies it. He will never let Buck go again. Not as long as they both live.

[yandere--stuck]

Imagine confessing to Joker that, sometimes, you do feel a bit crazy. He'd been wheedling it out of you for hours now, continuously and obviously guiding you to the idea that there had to be something special about you to catch his eye. Something about you that stuck out like a sore thumb, and not just to him. Something innate about you that drew him toward you.

“There has to be something, my dear,” Joker had said. “I don't exactly attract the most normal company.”

You tried noncommittal answers at first. Really, the only person who'd know why he'd fallen for you (so he claimed) would be him. And hadn't he claimed to know everything about you already? God only knew how he'd gotten your information, but it didn't surprise you considering the man holding you captive. Even still, The Joker kept pestering you for your thoughts. Your mind was just so fascinating to him. 

So, you relented, even if just to appease him. You watched his grin widen, and the smile reached his eyes as they crinkled in delight. The clown hanging onto every word. 

Sometimes, you did feel crazy. Like the world didn't really make sense. Everyone else had a set of instructions on how to navigate the world that you never got. How did everybody else know how to start a conversation without a shock of anxiety washing over them? How did others have the ability to get up out of bed when you couldn't find the strength to? How did anybody find consistent meaning and purpose in their lives.

Even when you tried to pretend to be like them, it fell apart so quickly. It was so hard to keep on top of things. So hard to stay organized and stable and motivated. And you were so aware of the act you were putting on. So was everybody else, you were sure of it. You were sure they could tell, as if they thought of you as something not quite human and just something pretending to be. Something to tolerate until it crawled back to where it came from, another failed attempt to infiltrate their ranks.

You didn't even know what made you stand out to The Joker of all people - especially for anything outside of a murder attempt. You purposefully tried not to stand out. It made it harder to detect how different you were so long as you kept your emotions and thoughts close to your chest. No chance for embarrassment if no one ever got close enough to embarrass you again. 

Joker raised a hand to stop you, resting his hand on your shoulder. The green of his eyes held surprising softness before flashing with mischief.

“How about we give those fools something to really be scared of?” The Clown flashed a grin, raising a small contraption in his hands.

“What the Hell is that?” You blurted out.

The metal thing was the same size and shape of a small ball, painted an acidic green and electric purple. Wiring covered the thing, either wrapped around the outside or sprouting up like weeds from within. A small LED display screen was centered in the middle, left blank.

“A bomb,” Joker grinned. “I figured it'd be thematically appropriate.”

“Get that thing away from me!”

“Oh, come now, it's not even armed.”

As if to prove his point, Joker tossed the bomb aside, letting it roll across the floor. He paused for a ment, raising a hand to his chin in thought. Then, he seemed to light up, snapping his fingers. 

“Oh, of course, you'd want to deal with ‘em up close and personal!” Then, with a flourish, Joker pulled a gun from seemingly out of nowhere. He threw his head back as a chorus of laughter erupted from within. 

“Stop!” You spluttered, backing away. “I don't want to hurt anyone!”

Joker stayed put and simply blinked, brows furrowing. He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because- because you can't just hurt people! It's wrong.”

“No, it's what they told you is wrong,” The Clown's hands balled into fists. “They force you to play by their rules, then punish you for losing at a game you're not designed to win. They wear you down to the bone and know you won't fight back, so they get to walk all over you."

“That's not true.”

“Don't lie to yourself, Darling. I'm saying this all to help you. I want to help you finally fight back. Everything you've gone through has all been leading to this moment.”

“I can't,” You held your ground. “I won't.”

The Clown stared you down. His eyes held an emotion you couldn't quote register. He wasn't frowning exactly, but he certainly wasn't smiling.

You nearly jumped when Joker suddenly crossed the room. The sound of his footsteps mirrored the thundering of your own heartbeat. It muffled all thoughts as electric panic ripped through your veins and left you petrified in place. Not like you could escape, anyway.

You tried to calm your breathing, but hot, panting breaths kept escaping you, chest rising and falling erratically. You could hardly keep yourself composed enough to look him in the eye. And when you did, somehow it was worse than expected. The expression on his face and look in his eyes wasn't one of murderous intent. Not one of rage. Hell, he didn't even look disappointed.

No. His expression was one of pity.

He swept you into an embrace. One arm curled around your back, hand still holding his pistol. You could feel the cold of the metal pressing against the small of your back. Another hand came up to push your head closer to his chest. 

Joker lamented. “Oh, my poor little maniac. It's so sad to see what they've done to you. If only I had saved you sooner.”

You didn't respond, hoping the excuse of being smothered into his jacket would be enough for him to not demand a reply. You felt the slow rise of Joker's chest pressing against you, then sank back as he exhaled a sigh. A gloved hand petted at your head soothingly.

“You're just like Bats, you know,” he said. “These barriers you put up for yourselves are so small, but you give them so much power. And I just don't understand why.”

You paused, giving yourself time to think before mumbling into the fabric of his jacket, “Because it's the right thing to do.”

When you glanced up at him, the look of condescension on the Clown's face was nearly enough to forgo any ideas of self-preservation or pacifism. Nearly. The last thing you'd want to do is prove him right.

“They're never going to see you as normal, you know that, right?” He pressed. “You'll never really be one of them. Like a square peg trying to squeeze itself into a round hole. I don't see why you're so caught up in silly things like morality when it clearly hasn't helped you yet. It certainly doesn't seem like a concern for any of them.”

You didn't want to talk about this anymore. You didn't want to think anymore. You just wanted to find some cold comfort in the embrace of another. 

A pair of lips pressed against the crown of your head. You flinched in his hold, burying yourself further into his grasp. Maybe you could just disappear. 

“It's so sad to see you sabotage your own potential like this,” The Joker continued, voice taking on a lighter tone. “But it's okay. I'm here to take care of you. And I'll keep taking care of you until you can become who you were always meant to be. Because I love you, I really do.”

Yeah, right.

Still, you wished he made it harder to believe otherwise.

[chaos-in-deepspace]

L&DS Rafayel: Pouty Portraits | Drabble

So @la-spooky ended up inspiring me to make this little drabble of the fish on accident. You know, when inspiration hits, you go with it. Now personally I can't draw at all, my artistic talents ends at being able to string words into pretty stories, but I hope you artists out there enjoy this. Even if you don't consider yourself an artist and just doodle, this is for you.

Pairing: Rafayel x Reader Warning: N/A Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Rafayel

Art was something of a guilty pleasure. You wouldn’t say you were an expert at it, especially not when compared to your boyfriend, Rafayel, but you certainly weren’t bad at it by any means. It was just something you couldn’t do often; you had your career to think about, which would always come first. It was something you had to sacrifice in order to stay focused on your mission, even if it was painful.

Still, as you relaxed in the studio, bored out of your mind, you couldn’t help but want to go back to those days where you’d laze about your room with a sketchpad and some music to keep you company. You looked over at your boyfriend who was promptly passed out on the couch after having pulled another all nighter. He had invited you over for a date, but by the time you arrived exhaustion had already taken him.

You hadn’t the heart to wake him up, so you did your best to entertain yourself until he woke up. Originally you had taken to playing on your phone, a few mobile apps and social media was enough to catch your attention for a while. The longer you sat around though, the more tempted you had gotten.

Rafayel had his studio littered with sketchbooks in every corner so he’d never have to worry about looking for one when inspiration hit. You were certain he wouldn’t notice a few pages going missing after you ripped them out.

With that in mind, you grabbed hold of one of the sketchbooks that had been teasing you, and some pencils to sketch with. You flipped open the pages, your heart blooming with affection at the gorgeous sketches that were in the book. You finally found a blank page and sighed. It almost felt like you were committing a crime, drawing in a sketchbook like this. His artwork was flawless, and you…well you could draw at least.

You sighed and grabbed your phone, popping in some headphones and listening to music. You took one more glance at your sleeping boyfriend before deciding to just draw him. So you did, mainly just several headshots to help you get into the groove of making art.

You didn’t even know how much time had passed as you moved to the third page, ready to draw your sleeping boyfriend since he was right there. Your eyes went upwards to where he was…or had been. You blinked in confusion, noticing Rafayel was noticeably not on the couch anymore.

Your head swiveled for a moment before suddenly you were staring directly into those sunset eyes. Your own widened in surprise and your brain buffered before you let out a shrill scream. You clutched the book close to your chest as you backed up. You could hear Rafayel's jovial laughing through your headphones, which you promptly ripped out to scold him.

“Raf, what the fuck, when did you wake up?” You said, glaring at him. Amusement swam in those beautiful eyes of his as he reached over and took the sketchbook out of your hands.

“Were you drawing me?” He said, looking at the pages of headshot sketches you had done. You felt a small blush creeping up your cheeks as you tried to be stern with him.

“Answering my question with a totally off topic question isn’t what I wanted, you know.” You huffed, going to take the book back, but he pulled it closer to him.

“These are really good, you captured my essence perfectly…why didn’t you ever tell me you could draw?” Rafayel said, never looking up from the sketches. You groaned and looked away, feeling bashful as a true, recognized artist looked at your crude warm up pieces.

“It’s just an old pastime of mine, nothing more.” You said, “Sorry I used your stuff, I should’ve asked.” You admitted.

“What’s mine is yours.” He said offhandedly, “Still, can I keep these? I really like them.” He said and you looked confused for a moment before nodding.

“If you really want to, I guess you can. They’re in your sketchbook after all.” You shrugged, “Why would you want them anyway? You could do a way better self portrait.”

“I don’t want a self portrait made by me…although I have to ask why did you draw this expression on me?” He said, pointing at all of your sketches having a similar theme.

“Your pouting face was…inspiring.” You settled on; Rafayel didn’t look amused by this, in turn showing you that adorable pout. He looked away for a moment before getting an idea. A smile gracing his pretty face.

“Well how about you do a proper drawing of me.” He started, leaning close with a sly grin, “You can draw me from reference. I’ll sit however you want, just make sure to get my good angle…wait never mind, that would be all my angles.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you fought your inner emotional turmoil, “Okay, but it won’t look good, you know?” You pointed out. Rafayel's eyes furrowed in a confused expression, his hand cupping your chin to make you look at him.

“Anything you make is breathtaking.” He said, “I wouldn’t ask anyone to draw me. I’m very selective. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Cocky bastard.” You said, but didn’t bother to slap his hand away, “But fine…I’ll sketch you but on one condition.”

Rafayel smirked, “And what would that be?”

“Later you…need to give me a drawing lesson or two.” You said and his eyes widened in surprise before taking a soft turn.

“Sure, but why are you suddenly so interested in drawing when you said it was just a pastime…unless you deceived me earlier.” He said, trying to lighten the mood. He could see the unsure expression on your face as you stared off to the side.

“Because drawing like this again reminded me how much I enjoyed it.” Even though you knew you needed to focus on being a good hunter and a steller bodyguard…perhaps you can give yourself some enjoyment in your life again. Art was freeing and you had dearly missed it.

Rafayel's hand was still on your chin as he forced your eyes back on him. He pressed his forehead against your own and stared into your eyes, “Anytime you want to relax and draw, just let me know.” He said, clearly realizing just how stressed you had been.

You smiled, relaxing into his touch, “Fine…shall we get started? Things are getting a bit too depressing in here.” You joked. Rafayel's grin seemed to spread once more.

“Sure…so did you want to do a nude sketch ooooor?”

“Oh my god Raf, just lay on the damn couch…clothes on.”

Hope y'all enjoyed this one! It was fun to write, and honestly I think formatting this took longer than the actual writing lol.

[ezxlyn-vanasal]

Bodyguard!Ghost x MafiaPrincess!Reader

Summary: Ghost is the newly hired bodyguard for y/n and he's the type to never take no for an answer. It's his way or the high way. However, y/n is a little spoiled and you are determined to go to your best friend's birthday party even if it means flirting with your new bodyguard.

Warning: a bit of a spoiled brat and whiny y/n but nothing too much.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"It's a no for you, y/n. You are not allowed to party tonight," Ghost said as his body leaned on the doorframe, towering over you.

He had his hunky arms crossed as his deep ocean eyes stared at yours. He's the recently-hired bodyguard recruited by your father. Unfortunately, he is quite annoying and overly controlling.

"Now, go back to your room or else..." his tone was stern and commanding, making it clear that you would face consequences if you disobeyed him.

"But it's boring in my room!" y/n whined a little. "And what's the use of a bodyguard like you when you can't protect me without locking me up like some kind of prisoner!" You were already ready in your red bodycon dress and overcoat, your five inch heels did nothing against the bodyguard's tall height.

He couldn't help but chuckle at your little outburst. You looked incredibly cute when you were upset, especially with your pouting face and your tiny frame compared to his large muscular build. But that didn't change his firm stance.

"I am protecting you by not letting you go out and do God knows what." He responded eith his gruff voice

He pushed himself off the doorframe and stepped closer to you, his eyes narrowing. "You're not going anywhere tonight."

"I doubt I'm the worst hire you had. I rarely go out and it's not like I'm a daredevil. Come on....whatever your name is. I'll be a good girl." Y/n tried to convince him with your infamous puppy eyes. "It's just that it's my best friend's birthday party and I always go every year, you can even ask my father about that."

Damn her and her cute puppy eyes.

Ghost grumbled as he glanced away from you, his tough exterior faltering for a moment. He was trained to withstand psychological warfare, but even he was a sucker for puppy eyes.

His voice still retained some of its authoritativeness, though.

"Don't try to charm me, little one," he warned. "And it's 'Ghost'. Just Ghost."

Y/n mirked internally and pouted up at him. "That's a cool alias. Ghost." Unexpectedly, you leaned forward and left a gentle touch on his shoulder with your hands. "I'm not trying to charm you, I'm just stating facts. All we're going to do is have a party at her home and drink. Once I'm wasted, I'll just be a cute sleepy thing in your arms."

Ghost’s eyes widened momentarily at your touch, his body instinctively tensing up. He was caught off guard by the unexpected display of physical contact, but he masked his surprise quickly.

"Ah, the drunk sleeping-beauty routine," he said gruffly, attempting to keep his composure. "You have a habit of getting drunk, don’t you? Maybe that’s why I have to keep a close eye on you."

"Only on occasions. But I never drink till I forget, so don't worry." You waves your hands nonchalantly.

Ghost chuckled a bit at your words, his eyes glinting with amusement. He knew he should be annoyed by your carefree attitude, but there was something about your boldness and confidence that intrigued him.

"Oh yeah? You say that now, but let’s see how drunk and needy you get later." he said with a smirk.

You huffed and crossed your arms. Who said I'll be needy? You looked back up into his eyes, considering that's all you could see. A grin formed on your lips at the implication. "So is that a yes?"

Ghost raised an eyebrow at your question, his smirk growing wider at your stubbornness. He couldn't help but admire your determination in convincing him to let you go. But he wasn't going to admit that so easily.

"I didn't say that, I'm just saying it's a possibility."

He leaned against the wall again, his arms crossed as he looked down at you. His intense gaze held yours for a long moment, considering your proposal.

You looked at the watch around your wrist and gasped, "Uggghhh, I'll literally do anything at this point. I'm getting late!"

Anything, huh?

Ghost's mind briefly paused at your last sentence. Did you really mean anything? His mind immediately started contemplating the different ways he could take advantage of your careless promise.

He chuckled darkly and stepped closer to you, his towering form practically caging you against the wall. His expression shifted into a smirk, his eyes holding a dangerous glint.

"Anything, you say? Careful with your words now, little one." He smirked, but you knew better.

"Anything that doesn't have my father kill you, sure." You snarked back. You knew your father's strict ways and you'll be more than happy to use that to her advantage.

Ghost chuckled darkly once more, his smirk growing wider at your response. He could see the cleverness in your smirk and the way you were using your father's protective nature to your advantage.

He moved closer until his body was pressed up against yours, trapping you against the wall with his muscular form. He lowered his head slightly, his deep voice a mere whisper in your ear.

"You're a sneaky little one, aren't you? Using your daddy's protection to get your way." His breath was warm and intoxicating against your skin.

You gulped as you felt the cool wall on her back and Ghost's warm chest on her front. "W-What do you think you're doing? Back off. If this is what you mean, then get your head out the gutter. I'd rather die than use my body." You tried pushing him away.

Ghost chuckled at your attempts to push him away, his large hands firmly grasping your wrists and pinning them against the wall next to your head.

"Calm down, princess," he murmured, his voice a low growl against your ear. "I have no intention of forcing myself on you. I'm not that kind of man."

He held you there for a moment, his eyes watching you intently before he let go and took a step back. He smirked again, his gaze sharp and intense.

"I was just testing your limits, sweetie."

You grimaced at him and just took out your phone. "The feeling is mutual, but I am definitely not liking what I found out about you." With that, you dialed your father's number and waited till he picked up. After a few words, your father gave her permission to leave noting that Ghost can just follow her. You made sure that the whole conversation was on speaker.

Ghost watched as you called your father and put him on speakerphone. He raised an eyebrow at your unexpected move, intrigued by how you were playing this game. His expression remained neutral as he listened in on your conversation with him.

Once it was clear that you had gotten your father's permission to leave, Ghost's gaze shifted to you once more. He let out a soft scoff under his breath.

"Sneaky little minx," he murmured quietly.

You hung up the phone after thanking your father and gazed at him smugly. "I could have just done that at first, but I wanted to see what you'd do. Guess we both had the same thought in mind."

Ghost chuckled softly at your words, a hint of amusement in his deep voice. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall behind him, eyeing you with a wry smirk.

"You're more clever than I thought. Trying to see how far I'd go, huh?"

He took a few steps closer, his large frame towering over yours once more. His eyes were fixed on you, his expression a mix of curiosity and intrigue.

"And what thoughts were you having in that pretty little head of yours, sweetie?"

"To see what it would take for you to break and be a good little dog." You replied.

A good little dog, huh?

Ghost's smirk widened at your words, his gaze turning dark and intense. His eyes never left yours as he took another step closer, closing the distance between you even further.

"Breaking me, eh? You think you have what it takes to do that?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. His hand moved to gently take hold of your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

"Careful, little one. You might bite off more than you can chew."

You opted not to answer and just got your bag and walked out of her room. You just gave him a look. "Let's go. I'm already late. You're driving and I sent the coordinates to your phone."

Ghost let out a soft scoff as you walked past him, the smirk still on his face. He watched you grab your bag and stride out of your room confidently.

He followed after you, his footsteps silent despite his large frame. He got his phone and checked the coordinates you sent, nodding in acknowledgment.

"You're going to be the death of me, I swear," he muttered to himself as he led the way to the garage.

"Didn't know ghosts die." You said back, clearly hearing him.

Ghost rolled his eyes at your smartass comment, but couldn't help but chuckle softly. He couldn't deny that you had a sharp tongue, and he actually found it strangely endearing.

"Oh, shut it," he retorted back with a smirk. "Even ghosts can expire from annoyance, y'know? And you're testing that limit right now, sweetheart."

You acted nonchalantly, although getting a bit irked by this new bodyguard. While checking your french-tipped nails, you responded "Hmmm, duly noted. Do you want me to call father and just have you replaced? I heard you never had an unsatisfied or dead client. Should I change that?"

That little minx...

Ghost's smirk vanished at your words, his eyes narrowing slightly. He knew you were just playing your little game, testing his limits to see how far you could push him. And unfortunately for him, you had a way of getting under his skin.

"Watch it," he warned in a low growl. "You're walking on thin ice, princess. Threatening me won't end well for you."

"And threatening me ends well for you?"

Ghost's expression softened momentarily as he realized the truth behind your words. He let out a soft scoff and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Fair enough," he conceded. "You've got a point there, I suppose. But don't think for a second that I won't take action if you cross the line, sweetie."

"I'll be good if you are." You winked at him before stepping into the back seat.

Ghost rolled his eyes again at your wink, his heart fluttering just a bit at the charming gesture. He tried to hide it behind his gruff exterior, but damn you had him feeling all sorts of things.

He got into the driver's seat and started the car, his eyes darting to glance at you in the rearview mirror.

"Don't tempt me, princess," he muttered under his breath. This job was going to kill him. With irritation or something else, he wasn't sure yet.

[elly99]

Higher Dimensions

Minji x Reader. Established relationship. Heartbreak.

A/N: Another short story based on a movie or two. Curious if you can tell which ones. Coming out of retirement for this one but likely going to be inactive again for a long time. Life stuff. I just wanted to get this story off my chest. Sorry that it's Minji again but usually it's her voice I hear in my head when these stories come to me.

Wonder if anyone will still read this. If you do, hi! I missed you. And if you're new, I hope you enjoy! <3

If you could see your whole life from start to finish, would you change anything?

“Hey, baby?”

You're both on the couch. She's in your lap, her head gently pressed against your chest. You know she hears your breathing. And probably the way your heart beats a little too fast when she calls you.

“Mmm?”

She has her phone in her hand, gripping it on one side and allowing the other to rest against you. Your arms are around her. And as you mindlessly watch the TV over her shoulder, they make a subconscious effort to pull her closer, even though there's no space left between. No distance left to close.

“Are higher dimensions real?”

You smile slightly. It was the kind of thing she asked towards the end of the night. When the room grew dark and your minds wandered into their own worlds. When tiredness caught up to you and sleep began to draw its veil over your eyes.

“Why are you asking?”

Only your screens lit up the room, keeping you connected in the darkness. It allowed you to barely make out her smile in return.

“Have you been watching weird videos again?”

She laughs. But it's soft. Barely noticeable above even the sound of the quiet television. But you recognize it. The vibration as it moves from her chest into yours. And you swear you fall for her all over again.

“I just thought you'd be the right person to ask.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I don't know,” she pauses. You see a smirk creeping onto her face. “You just seem out of this world.”

Immediately, she buries her face in your chest, hiding the smile that would have definitely stopped your heart if it hadn't already.

“Minj…”

You resort to laughing as well. Pull her even closer.

“So,” she says into your chest before turning her sleepy eyes back up to you. “Are they real?”

Her words were nothing but a whisper now. So you answer just as quietly.

“I mean, they exist in math. And, who knows, they could exist in the real world but we're just not able to perceive them.”

“Is there a way someone could?”

“Theoretically, with a change of perspective, yes. Like, imagine we're beings that live on the edge of a circle. And we can only move along that edge. Kind of like walking along a straight line around the earth.”

You watch her eyes flutter as she loosely follows your fingers trace a circle in the air. Maybe she's trying to imagine it. Maybe she's falling asleep. But you continue anyway, explaining it more to yourself now than to her.

“From that one-dimensional perspective, we basically live on just a line and we have no reason to believe it's anything else but a straight line. But for someone who can see higher dimensions, they can see the curvature. And that there's a whole other dimension above the circle, too. But how we could make that change in perspective, I don't know.”

“Yeah…” she trails off. “But that's cool, though!”

You've heard that before.

“You didn't get any of that did you?”

“I do get it! I swear.”

You content yourself with her answer. After all, who cares if she didn't really understand? Who cares about higher dimensions and different perspectives? This is the only perspective you need. Looking at her when she's here in your embrace. Her touch as warm as the sun. If only you could bottle up this feeling – the way she makes you feel so alive, so loved, like nothing else matters in this world – so you could keep it forever.

But she speaks again.

“And only they can see that you just go in a loop.”

Not even you had considered that. You nod and continue her thought.

“Yeah, you're right! They'd be able to see your whole path at once, while you can only experience it from beginning to end.”

Silence envelopes the room. She lets her phone lock. The TV dims and asks if you're still there. It's too dark now to see her clearly. There was no indication of the passage of time. It felt like an eternity before she eventually makes a sound – a sniffle.

Then she asks, “If you could see your whole life from start to finish, would you change anything?”

“I-I don't know. Maybe if something really bad happened, but I don't think so. Would you?”

You feel her shift up to kiss you. Her cheek brushes against yours and as it does you feel the unmistakable touch of moisture. It lingers. Even as she rests her head back on your shoulder. It lingers.

“If I could see my whole life, even if I knew all the good and bad things that would happen, I would always choose you.”

As you both drifted off to sleep, your last thought was that of a promise. That you would do the same.

But that was then.

And this is now.

Your whole life moving in a straight line, on a collision course with this singular, inevitable moment.

It's the same apartment, the same couch, but the lights are blinding now. Every emotion, every expression, every tear and quivering lip was as clear as day. Every word like a knife that you felt so viscerally.

She's crying. Apologizing. Pleading.

You're angry. Confused. Desperate.

“You're telling me you knew this would happen? You never really planned on staying with me, did you?”

“Baby, no! I-”

“Don't call me that.”

You see her heart break in her eyes as you cut her off. But you feel nothing. You can't feel. Not after your own heart was just shattered to pieces.

“So that's it? You're leaving?”

“I don't want to. But I can't… I can't stay.”

Your eyes fall to the floor.

“You always knew didn't you? That we'd have to break up once you debuted?”

Her silence was her response.

“Did I really mean anything to you, then?”

She answers with another question.

“You remember that night you asked me if I would change anything if I could see my whole life? Well, my answer's still the same. I would always choose you no matter how painfully it has to end. Because you made me happier than anyone else.”

She desperately clutches at your hands, hoping that the physical pressure of doing so would force you to understand.

“Then why do you have to… Why did you have to…”

But there's no use asking more questions. You already know all the answers. There's no going back now. This is the only way forward. Your life is a straight line. And so is hers. And they only intersect for a brief, bittersweet moment.

Perhaps it is simply human nature to be bound by this rudimentary linear logic. Who are you to think you can escape it? So you resign yourself to letting her go. Because you love her. You remember your promise. And you accept all the joy that she was, and all the pain that she will be. And you imagine a different world. A circle where there are no beginnings and ends, where time is frozen still. Where you could be with her. Always.

[raayllum]

Hey Raayllum. I was just curious to know as to why you believe Rayla hurt herself, considering she's been wronged and abandoned by everyone in her life. Do you think that Rayla doesn't let Callum love her? It really bothers me that nobody ever defends her besides Callum.

Like I understand, Amaya was defending her nephew, but I think she was being completely judgemental towards Rayla. I'm just saying. It was unfair.

To start I'm gonna talk about Rayla, but I wanna clarify before the read more that I don't think Amaya was being unfair at all or overly judgemental; that said, we'll work our way there.

I think Rayla struggles to do exactly what she says so in the show: she struggles to share her burdens. She struggles to let herself be vulnerable / be 'weak'. Which given "your heart wasn't hard enough to do whatever it takes" + growing up in a 'one strike and you're out' community system could not have helped the issues she already had as a young child to begin with: "I wasn't fast enough, I wasn't strong enough" (Bloodmoon Huntress).

Most of the time even when she's telling people what's wrong, it's still under the lens of "this is the price I'm paying and even though it hurts I'm totally fine with it, actually, you don't need to help me." She's not asking for solutions, she's updating them on the choices/prices she's already decided to pay.

Whether because of her own perceived mistakes, or because of other people's choices, or because there's something Much More Important than her own personal wellbeing to ever possibly prioritize, of course.

She wants / wanted to "be strong alone" (and sometimes had to be) and she has a very hard time forgiving herself / giving herself the same compassion she shows other people.

That said, we shouldn't say she's making no progress. 5x04 is the first time in the entire show she 1) seeks someone out to talk about her own problems and 2) talks about her own problems because she wants to, not just because she feels guilty, or because she's having a breakdown. That's huge, and shows she's beginning to learn to accept the grace given to her - there's just a long way to go.

She's bad at being nice to herself, too. Why should her pain, or what she puts herself through, matter? She can shoulder it alone. It's fine. Until it isn't. And, luckily, until she doesn't have to.

But again, thankfully, she's starting to improve.

With that in mind, as said, I don't think Amaya was being unfair at all. She barely knows Rayla, she's a lot closer to Callum, and she saw his heartbreak up close. Then she sees Callum and Rayla show up together, out of nowhere, when Amaya didn't even know Rayla had come back into his life. Of course she has her guard up (nor does Amaya ever say she was right to hurt Rayla back at the Banther Lodge because Rayla ended up hurting her nephew; her issues with Rayla are now completely removed from her being an elf, and she's also being hyperbolic).

Rayla did hurt Callum; she did abandon him, and she did break his heart. She had 'good reasons' for doing so, or at least good intentions. She was scared of losing him. She wanted to protect him from what she saw as her burdens. She "couldn't bear to put him in danger" just over her (because, for a lot of the reasons stated above, she doesn't think she's worth that; regardless). But she was still wrong to leave. That said, Rayla was wrong to leave not only because it hurt Callum, but also because it hurt herself, and Amaya is the first person we've seen directly acknowledge it (although Callum does so in the background that will likely be taken to the forefront in S6).

Amaya, who's had a 4 season long arc about developing more empathy and seeing herself in others ("We gain nothing if we throw away the chance to learn and grow"), is also able to recognize what's going on, because she's been through it herself. And she identifies it all for what it is: a hyper independent trauma response because of grief and fear.

R: You think I meant to hurt Callum? That's the last thing I wanted! A: You abandoned him. You broke his heart. R: I was trying to protect him! I left without him because I couldn't bear to put him in danger. I knew I had to be strong alone. A: [Sighs] You know who you sound like? R: Who?! A: Me.

R: Oh... Thanks, I think? A: When I was growing up, my big sister Sarai was the smartest, strongest, bravest person I knew. When she died, I felt lost and weak without her. I hated feeling that way, so I learned to be strong alone. Stoic, strong, and lonely. R: That... does sound like me sometimes. A: But the last two years have changed everything. Meeting Janai, falling in love. I am stronger now than I have ever been, because we are stronger together. And I realized that was the real truth of me and Sarai, too. Love and trust grow a kind of strength that is much bigger than we each possess. To have that kind of strength, it is not enough to love someone. You have to trust them to share the burdens you carry.

Amaya and Rayla once had a spat in the Banther Lodge because Rayla asserted that she was alone (which I think Rayla truly believed, anyone, running off with two boys she barely knows) and Amaya called her a liar. Now, Amaya reminds her that the choice to be strong alone is a choice, and she can make new ones; she can let trust coexist with the endurance of her love to make something that's stronger together, and Rayla takes her up on it.

Like Amaya says in 4x06, "All I ask is that your justice is compassionate." Amaya calls Rayla out, and then she offers actual help so that the pattern doesn't persist, so that she's less likely to hurt Callum in that way again. You can't fix people's emotional problems or relationships for them; you can only keep giving them chances, if you want to.

Thankfully, Callum and Rayla both want to - so they do.

[sunny-mercya]

Collapsed

Trafalgar Law x Male Reader

Fandom -> One Piece

Requested by -> @bunbunboysworld

Masterlist | Related OS |

It had been two weeks—which equals into 14 days and those were approximately, plus minus, 336 hours—since you had fallen into a coma.

A coma which could've been prevented if your captain wasn't so recklessly careless with your health and—in a sense of way, profusely—ignored your medical needs—at least that's how Laws oh so humble opinion of view about this was.

When you had collapsed, for once and final—in the mere hours of the ultimate last battle, after you stood up once more to fight, against Kaido—Law picked you up and teleported back to the Polar Tang, into the Medical room, hooking you up on the machines and tubes—doing is best to get you stable.

Your heartline had deflated more than once during the first attempts of getting you stable enough—out of the death threatening double zero blood sugar zone—and Law, by any means of being a damned good Doctor, had doubted himself all these hours whenever your heart dropped out of living.

For someone, mused Law to himself in his lonesome thoughts—which he couldn't share with you at the moment, to get your input and opinions about whatever plagues his mind—like Monkey D. Luffy, who declares literally war against everyone and anything, even against humanity itself if needed to be, when whoever dares to hurt his dear friends—he really does like to care little and less about the wellbeing of his own crew mates.

Slumping down onto a chair next to you, Law breathed out a heavily sigh of defeat—his hand moving towards your ashen face, fingers gently tracing over the feverish skin.

»[Name]-ya, would you even agree to leave the Strawhats and come with me instead?« a whispering question, Law knew would never be answered and which he also would never dare to repeat to you again.

But Law wished, longing in a sort of way even, that you would just stay with him instead of Luffy—but knowing your faithfulness of loyalty you have pledged and declared loudly—especially against the whole Marines and Admiral Akinau—during the battle of Marine-Ford to the Strawhat and what history you have with him, Law knew you would never waver and Law himself didn't want to force you to choose between two sides.

~~~

The first thing Law hears, when going to the Strawhats—wanting to ask either Robin or Chopper, if they could bring some of your clothes to him—was how Luffy declared you as almost dead and Law stopped in his tracks—Bepo, Sachi and Penguin crashing into his back and looking slightly confused and concerned at him.

Mentally Law counted till ten and he also tries to recall, when he ever said something along those lines. He certainly didn't.

Law did say, that your health condition is still considered critical and that it takes a while for you to recover—but he definitely never said that you're dying or being dead.

»[Name]-ya isn't dying. Not anytime soon and not when I'm still a Doctor.« comment Law, making his way to Robin, greeting her with a curt nod.

»But Traffy! You said [Nickname] is close to death,«

Law wonders why he still bothers with such a Captain as Rival.

»Yes. When [Name]-ya's blood sugar reaches Zero and if no one's there to keep him stable or gives him the insulin, than he's close to deaths door. I did explained before, didn't I?« Law sighed out, clenched his jaw and trying his best not explode any seconds from the up building anger.

How many times did he told them? More than often. From Punk Hazard all the way to Wano, Law had explained—even in simple folk terms—what sort of medical issue you having, what it caused and how to prevent it mostly—but here they are, once again, having to go such discussion repeatedly again.

»If you had listen, to what I have said at Punk Hazard and Dressrosa, then you wouldn't need to ask again.« Law might have said it a bit harshly, but to the above—he doesn't care at the moment.

Laws tired, honestly exhausted, having slept at all these past weeks—he hadn't a good schedule of sleep to begin with, always being a bit insomniac—hadn't a good cup of coffee either, because he only ever drinks it when your brewing him one—it just taste much better in his opinion—and besides him having to do his duties as a Captain and Doctor—he's in a constant mood of worry over you.

So, please, excuse Law when he's about to be done with whatever nonsense shit Monkey D. Luffy is babbling on about.

»You know Strawhat-ya, if you keep this up, I might just snatch [Nickname]-ya away from you. After all I'm his husband, so he belongs to me and I honestly to god don't give a fucking shit, if this means war between us.«

For once, Law doesn't stop himself to speak unfiltered when tired—feeling rather relieved even to have said such declaration now.

»Ehhhh?! Whatcha mean? Watcha mean with this Traffy?!«

Law ignores Luffy's whining questions and his bouncing around—thanking Robin, ignoring her teasing smile and made his way back to the Polar-Tang.

~~~

When you woken up from your coma, you had been barely awake and neither responsive—you still weren't, even after days, falling back into the clutches of sleep more than often.

Once you were more coherent enough to respond to Laws medical questions and doings, he had deemed you not critical of condition anymore, but still not recovered.

»It's....hot...« you mumble out, moving—albeit still weakly—under the blankets, wanting some coolness onto your skin.

»I'll bring you another frozen washcloth soon.« said Law, turning another page of his book—a book about medical history—sitting next to you on the bed, his bed to be exact—had moved you there, after Law was certain you didn't need the machines to keep your heart and lungs from collapsing.

You suffering through a high fever and an sensitive stomach—couldn't keep any sorts of food in, without vomiting it out right after—was an outcome Law had predicted to come—after all, blood sugar comas were tricky.

Law's glad it's only a high fever you had gotten and not something like internal bleeding or decaying limps—like said before, blood sugar coma are tricky life threatening risky.

»Can I have.....uhm....that one warm drink too? Please?«

»Hot Chocolate?«

»Yes! No, wait, the other warm drink, what I had last night,«

»Tea?«

»Yeah, yeah tea, please.«

»Sure, whatever you wish for, love.«

Marking the page and putting his book away on the nightstand, Law lays himself down—getting more comfortable—to you, arm draping over your blanket covered stomach, while his other hand supports his head.

Such flushed, Law mused to himself with an upcoming impish boy smile—blood flowing red your face is—expression and the slight sweat, suits you really well and if you weren't currently bed ridden and on recovery—Law would have nibbled on your exposed skin already, teasing and edging you till you're close of passing out.

Although Law couldn't enjoy some passionate sex with you, he could cuddle with you as much as he wants now and this sounds by far like a much better deal anyways—after all, you and him are more separated than together, so Law takes every opportunity he gets to have you.

Perhaps, Law doesn't have to declare War against the Strawhat—not as long as you're sick anyways and once recovered and healthy, maybe than Law could persuade you to go with him from now on.

Law had lost his focus on his train of thoughts and all his future plans, when you booped his nose. Raising an eyebrow in amusement, Law glances down at you.

»Law, please, I'm hot and I also wanna have some tea and cuddles.« you pouted a bit, scrunching up your face from the uncomfortable warmth.

»As you wish.« Law leaned down, giving you a kiss on the forehead and moving from the bed.

Law's indeed glad—despite the circumstances of how—to be a Doctor and you're his patient, but he's absolutely overjoyed to have you has his Husband now and forever.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Mei is both proud and very unhappy with the grounding. True, she didn't know her little buddy was actually Sun Wukong's son until about ten minutes ago, but her parents got to meet her little brother figure, and they think he's adorable! Wukogn makes sure to warn them of potential baby layers, tho, new powers and all. Luckily, that's not something new to the Ao Long household considering how Mei holds a certain Ring.

That conversation has to be one of the msot awkward Wukong has ever had up to that point tho, calling up Ao Lie's great granddaughter to tell her that her daughter, whom she hadn't even realized knew him, had gotten his son, who nobody even knows he has, into a bit of trouble and now DBK is free and all the parents to the kids involved in freeing him are coming together for a tea party to figure out, essentially, what's next.

Wukong, astral projecting: Hello, yes, Mrs. Long? Lovely to speak face to face, I knew your grandfather you know, but that's not why I'm calling. Um, so it's about your daughter.

Yi Li: What!?

Wukong, getting nervous: Uh... yeah, see, she and my kid have gotten pretty close. Mr. Tang is his tutor, you see, and they tend to have their lessons at the Noodle Shop she works at. Well, I let Mei take my little Xiaotian out with her for some of her delivery runs aaaand... next thing I know, the Demon Bull King is free.

Ye Li, already suspecting: Oh no... dont tell me, it was her!?

Wukong: From what I understand of the events, she was pretty involved and stuff... so do you mind coming over for some tea with me and the Demon Bull Family so we can kinda... figure out our next steps? They've called a bit of a truce for now after meeting my kid.

Ye Li: Of course! Just give us a few minutes to clear our schedule and we'll be right over... oh and please tell my daughter she's grounded.

Wukong: Alright then! See you there! *turns to unseen person as he begins to fade out* Hey Mei your mom says-

prev post. @soniclozdplove;

+an earlier ask;

Ao Yi and Long Cháo have long accepted that their baby girl is a lot more... firey than a normal water dragon pup. But they never believed in locking her up or forcing her to suppress her boundless energy.

So when Mei came to them wanting to get a part-time job as a delivery job so she could have "real life" experience, they were fully supportive.

They think it's really cute how she's bonded with her boss and some of the regulars. Mei especially mentions a little demon monkey named MK who's obsessed with the Monkey King, and is about to become a big brother. The Ao-Long's only met MK and "Mr Qi" once when they decided to visit Mei at her work. The little boy was so excited about going to school and becoming a big brother - even though "she's taking a long time." Mr Qi just laughed and explained that he was a little overdue. The dragon couple thought the two were an adorable parent and child, but Ao Yi swears she recognises Mr Qi from somewhere...

Wukong, astral projecting in: "Heeeeyyyy Mrs Long." Ao Yi: "Sun Wukong? Why, I haven't seen you since I was a pup. What brings you here today?" Wukong, stalling a bit: "Well it's about Mei- she's not in trouble don't worry! Well maybe a little in trouble... she was doing a delivery when she and her little stowaway came across my Staff and DBK's resting site. Iron Fan and Red Son included." Ao Yi, going pale: "She didn't." Wukong: "She didn't - but Red Son did. And then MK managed steal it off of him. Mei grabbed him and bolted before any fighting could happen but they got chased." Ao Yi, frustrated and worried: "Oh sweet- Cháo! Our daughter somehow helped release an ancient demon king!" Long Cháo, running in: "Is she ok!?" Wukong: "Oh yeah she's fine. Nobody got hurt. DBK was a lot more forgiving once he properly met MK-" Long Cháo, piecing together the lore: "Wait isn't that the same MK who gets tutored by Mr Tang? Isn't Mr Qi... pregnant?" Ao Yi, raises brow at Wukong: "Yes. Yes he is." Wukong, laughing nervously: "HAHA! Yeah! Surprise! I uh... have a kid and one on the way. Long story." Ao Yi: "Great-Grandfather did say you had an Egg with you throughout the Journey. I had assumed he was rambling, but this explains so much..." Wukong: "Yeah, I've been keeping it a secret for a long time. Ao Lie was always so protective of me... Anyway, my dao isn't so great right now so I need to wrap this call up. You guys wanna meet up or something to talk about this in-person? I just want my Xiaotian to know some folks connected to the "old gang" now that his powers are developing. Plus DBK needs a lot of history filled in for him." (*the dragon couple share a look and smile*) Ao Yi: "I see no issue in having a few lunch meetings. It's not every day I get to talk about Great-Grandfather's journey." Long Cháo: "Xiaojiao is grounded though, right?" Ao Yi: "Without a doubt."

The familys (+occassionally Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy) start meeting up for brunch afterwards. Ao Yi and PIF are glamourous girl besties the second they meet, and their husbands bond over their difficulties in courting them. Wukong is glad to have people to hang out with outside of FFM, and to rebuild the relationship with his brother and sister-in-law.

Mei house sits the day the parents are all out for dinner. Red Son is still trying to take over the city in a misguided effort to make his parents proud, so attempted sword-theft still occurs and Mei's own dragon abilities start erupting. MK yells with joy at his bestie being a fellow "Superhero!". Red Son gets grounded.

[a-boca-do-inferno]

alone (caesar x human!reader)

summary: Rocket captures you and takes you to Caesar.

warnings: none

words: 1.0k

gif credit

You gasp softly when you see his eyes. They look so… human.

You had heard stories, sure; who hadn’t at this point? But being face to face with the real thing—scratch that, the real person, because the creature in front of you sure as hell wasn’t just some animal—was another matter entirely. As you were nudged towards him, your hands in makeshift shackles that the bulky chimp put you on, you were pushed onto your knees. 

You lift your head slowly, with a frown of your own. He could be the king around here, alright, but you didn’t feel like you’d done nearly enough to deserve that treatment. Your gaze meets every ape’s surrounding you attentively. You speak, quite loudly so everyone can hear, “I’m not looking for trouble.” 

Caesar’s eyes measure you up and down carefully, his expression hard, yet somehow neutral despite your position as his prisoner. His friends seem much more wary of you in comparison to their leader, who only appears mildly observant, perhaps intrigued. He signs finally, his gravelly voice following his gestures suit, “who… are you?”

Ain’t that the million dollar question? Did people even still have names in the apocalypse, and if so, what for? You take a deep breath before answering, your tone firm, “(y/n), not that it matters much.”

He remains unmoving when met with your defiant words, signing again, “are you… alone?”

You consider his inquiry for a split second, contemplating the pink sky. “I am, which is why I’m not looking for trouble”, you reiterate, glaring at the muscular chimp in reflex. “I’m not stupid. I was hunting nearby and your buddy here got trigger… or rather, spear-happy.” You scoff, shaking your head.

The apes all start whispering and signing to each other like you just told the best gossip they ever heard, and at the solemn hand signal from Caesar, everybody goes silent again. He grunts, pointing somewhere behind you, “you’ll stay… the night, but… leave in the morning.”

You don’t have time to protest when Muscly yanks you back to your feet and drags you into an empty den. It’s a secluded spot, away from the hustle of the colony. You figure you’ll have to sleep with your hands tied, given Caesar’s urgency in getting you out of his turf by morrow, until your “guard” cuts off the vine-made shackles around your wrists with a swift movement of his blade, without warning. You let out a shriek and jump in fear, to which he makes a sound resembling a laugh. 

You stare at him with a scowl, muttering under your breath as he walks away, “asshole.” 

As the night falls, you make yourself as comfortable as you can on the ground, using your old backpack as a pillow. Fortunately the apes weren’t so fearful to leave you without your things, albeit you were sure Muscly had gone through your stuff to try and find your weapon—the cross-bow you managed to scavenge a few weeks back in the city, which obviously wasn’t in your bag when you retrieved it. It’s fine, though. You had made ends meet without as much as a sharp stone to defend yourself before; you’d just do it again. You close your eyes, feeling your body giving into sleep at last. 

A raspy voice echoes through the den, startling you yet again:

“Awake?”

“Jesus.” You grumble, sitting up in a heartbeat. Caesar is standing on his hind legs, not quite inside the cave, almost as if he wants permission to enter. You furrow your brows and scratch your eyes. “What is your problem?” You ask rhetorically, leaning against the wall, still annoyed.

“What is yours?” Comes the witty answer, and you can clearly hear the same sound Muscly made before, resemblant of a laugh, as Caesar steps into the den casually. 

You can’t help but take in his imponent figure, watching as his feet move closer to you and he takes a seat by your side. “What do you want?” You narrow your eyes, your voice a suspicious whisper.

Caesar smirks, his green orbs always piercing as he signs softly, “talk.”

You snort, still eyeing the ape warily. “You didn’t seem like much of a talker earlier.”

“Rocket was… worried.” He explains huskily, his tone much gentler than hours prior. “Had to… know you first.”

“You asked me two questions and you think you know me?” You raise your brows, somewhat amused by his pretentiousness. 

A grunt escapes him as he smiles, “Didn’t need… the questions.” Caesar keeps staring at you with a more serious expression, and for a moment it really does feel like he knows you, even though it’s completely impossible. He signs, “you are… alone.”

You don’t respond right away, your gaze falling to your worn out boots. He’s right. “I am.” You nod, pursing your lips in deep thought before you continue, looking back at him. “And so are you.”

There’s another pause until Caesar produces a low sound, a quiet agreement to your statement. His big hands move swiftly as he murmurs, “it wasn’t… my choice, but… it was yours.”

You tilt your head, processing this assumption. “Did that drug they gave you make you omniscient or something?” 

He notes, with a deep chuckle, “you… escape the conversation.” 

“And you think too highly of yourself. I blame the apes.” You shoot back with a half grin, despite being unamused at his assertiveness. “I’m a survivor. Not everyone makes it.” You finish gruffly, glancing away. After another moment of silence, Caesar finds your eyes once more and you want to gasp just like the first time, but you only gulp quietly, his undivided attention unsettling your very core. He seems to notice your uneasiness and holds out his hand in an inviting gesture. You furrow your brows in confusion. “What?”

“Stay”, he mumbles, reaching for your palm when he anticipates you won’t do it yourself. His calloused skin grips yours firmly. “You don’t need… to be alone.”

You try to move away from his hold, but to no avail. “I…”

“Together… we’re stronger. Apes and humans.” He adds tenderly, squeezing your hand for emphasis. “Stay.”

You almost want to roll your eyes at his insistence, yet something inside you is strangely warm because of his reassuring touch. You give his palm a squeeze back, even if brief, and a small smile appears on his face. You return with a grin of your own.

And just like that, you were not alone anymore.   

[sturnrry]

Try Again - C.S

summary: Chris goes to Y/n's apartment without her knowledge to try and win her back

cw: angst, cursing, slight fluff

word count: 1.9k

masterlist | read part 1 here

-----------------------------------------------

It's been six months since Y/n broke up with Chris. She's hung out with both Matt and Nick here and there and it always seems like nothing has changed. A lot has happened over the past six months. She stayed with her best friend for the first month while she tried to recover from everything, and find the perfect apartment for herself.

At the end of the first month, she signed the lease.

Her new apartment is perfect. It has open living room with easy access to the kitchen. She loved that her apartment had many windows letting the natural sunlight come in. Her bedroom was something she loved. Back at the triplets house, she couldn't decorate her bedroom the way she wanted to. Considering the fact she had to take in Chris' interests into consideration.

Over this period of time, she missed Chris although she tried to deny her thoughts, she couldn't. When she was unpacking her car (she had left mostly everything in there until she found an apartment) she had found that a hoodie of Chris' she might've accidentally grabbed.

The moment she saw her now apartment she knew it was the one. The bathroom was absolutely beautiful which she found weird. When Matt and Nick came over to her apartment for the first time, they were shocked. The apartment was so her. They both helped her settle some things in. They went shopping for home appliances like decor, pots and pans, furniture, anything you could think of, they were there.

Chris knew that his brothers were hanging out with his ex girlfriend. He felt jealous, angry, upset. For the first few months he rarely spoke to his brothers. They tried to make an effort to hang out with him as much as possible, but he rarely let it happen. When they filmed their videos he would lock his feelings away and be as normal as possible.

The public still hadn't known that they were broken up, considering the fact that they never really posted about their relationship to avoid any hate or unnecessary rumors to spread around. They still followed each other, so the fans didn't think anything was wrong.

Y/n still continued to post on her socials, while Chris would post once every few weeks. He made an effort to get his license when he visited back home. He bought a car and tried to flip his life back the right way. He tried to talk to his brothers more. He tried to post more. He tried to contact Y/n but failed to do so because he always deleted his written out message, always closed out the phone app that was opened to her contact. Always backed out from asking Matt her new address.

Chris knew she had gotten a new apartment from her apartment tour video on youtube. He always caught himself up on anything she did. There was many speculations when that video came out but she quickly shut down the rumors by saying she just wanted her own place to continue to grow as her own person.

However, it wasn't until one day that Chris grew the courage to ask Matt the one question he always wanted to. "Hey, Matt?" He says, opening the fridge to get a pepsi. "Yea?" Matt says from washing his hands in the kitchen sink. "Can you give me Y/n's address, please." He says shyly. "And why exactly would I do that?" He says, drying his hands on his pants.

"I want to see her, and explain myself. I think I'm ready." Chris says, tapping his fingers against the table. A nervous habit he has. "What makes you think she's ready? Do you think she even wants to talk to you?" Matt knows Y/n has been wanting to reach out to Chris. He just wants to see that Chris is willing to do it himself.

A couple of weeks ago when Y/n mentioned to Matt that she was willing to talk to Chris, she gave him permission to give Chris her address if he ever asked. Also wanting to see if he would make the effort to. "I would hope she wants to. It's been quite some time. Has she.. told you something?"

"She's told me something, yes." Matt nods. Chris' heart flutters, knowing that she's probably ready to see him again, and possibly give him another chance. If she didn't want to give him another chance he would be bummed out but he'd understand.

"Is she ready?" Matt nods his to Chris' question. Matt grabs Chris' phone off the counter and unlocks it with his own face and inputs Y/n's address into the maps app. "Here, go talk to her." He hands the phone back to Chris. "Thanks. I'll be back." He snatches the keys from the table and runs to the garage. Chris looks down at his phone and realizes it's only a 10 minute drive.

Ten minutes. She's been ten minutes away from him this whole time.

Pulling up to her apartment complex. His hands start to sweat. He texts Matt and asks which buzzer is hers and which apartment floor and number is hers. He replies fairly quickly. Back at home, Matt runs to Nick's room. "It's time." He says out of breath. "He went?" Nick asks as he stops blowing his nose. "Yes." Nick had cancelled his plans with Y/n because he woke up with a cold. "Let's only hope."

The boys had hated seeing how their brother had been lately and how their friend had lost some of herself.

Chris presses her buzzer and it takes about two minutes for her to buzz open the door. Going to her floor and her door he takes a minute to himself before he knocks. "Hey, Nick. I thought you-" Her words were cut off once she saw who it really was. "Chris? What are you doing here?" She's taken aback. "I- I want to talk." He stumbles over his words. "If that's okay with you? I can leave if you want me to." He rambles.

"No, we can talk. Come in." She opens the door fully and he takes in her appearance as he walk in. She's wearing one of his favorite outfits she always wore when they went out just the two of them. "I like it. Your apartment, it's very you." He breaks the awkward silence. "Thanks, do you want anything to drink?"

"Do you have pepsi?" He asks, although he had one just before coming here. "I think so." Y/n turns on her heels and walks towards her fridge. She can't help but try to suppress her smile by biting down on her bottom lip. A habit of hers. She rummages through the fridge and finds her second to last pepsi. Over the years, she also grew an addiction to pepsi thanks to Chris.

"Here you go." She closes the fridge to turn to him when she finds him admiring the view from the high rise. "Oh, thanks." He turns back. "So," "So," They both say at the same time. "How have you been?" Chris asks as he opens the can. "I've been good, yeah. I just arrived from visiting my dad back home in Chicago."

Before starting high school, she was born and raised in the city of Chicago. But, when she bagan middle school her parents weren't the same anymore. So, when their divorce was finalized her mom packed herself, Y/n and her two little siblings and moved to Massachusetts. And that's where she met the triplets on her first day of Freshman year.

When Y/n turned eighteen, she traveled many time to Chicago to visit her dad for up to a month. Her siblings were a bit jealous so they begged their mom if they were able to tag along with Y/n. "Really? How was that?" Chris asks. "It was fun, I brought Maise and Freddy along. They were here two weeks before our trip and stayed here after we came back. They left a couple of hours ago." She hops on the counter spot next to Chris while he stays standing.

"How have you been?" She asks, playing with her fingers in her lap. "I've been good, too. I got my license when I went back home, finally. Bought a car, and that's pretty much it." Y/n gasps. "Really? That's cool. You're finally able to drive yourself around without the guys tagging along." Chris nods. "It's so much better, should've gotten it sooner." They both laugh. He eventually hops on the counter next to her. With her permission.

There's a beat of silence, their thighs are touching. Y/n bites the bullet and leans her head against his shoulder. Something she almost always did. Chris automatically melts into her touch and leans his head against hers. They stay like that for a while. Their hands eventually end up in one another's hold.

Chris is the first to break the silence. "M' sorry." Y/n can't help but tear up. "No, I'm sorry. If I hadn't broken up with you we wouldn't have been in this situation." Chris furrows his eyebrows and lifts his head off of her head and she lifts her head off of his shoulder. He stares at her teary eyes as he begins to speak. "You had no other choice, baby. I was fucking- gosh, I was horrible the last weeks of our relationship."

Chris hops off the counter and stands between her legs, bringing both of her hands up to his chest. "Chris," She begins. "No, listen to me, please." He cuts her off. "I messed up. I know I did." His voice begins to quiver and he begins to tear up, making more tears spill out of her eyes. "I was horrible at communicating how I was feeling. How everything I was going through put too much on my plate."

"And you know I didn't mean any I said to you that day, right? I didn't mean a single word. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me. You didn't waste none of my time. None of it." He wipes the tears that are falling from her eyes to her cheeks while he is in the same situation. "I also hope you know I didn't mean anything I said to you too." She says and he nods.

"Y/n, baby, I would do anything that will give me the privilege to be able to call you mine again. Anything." He takes her hands back in his hold. "Really?" She says. "Yes, baby." Chris smiles and kisses her hands. "Do you promise to always tell me how you're feeling?" He nods. "Yes, all the time."

"Can I be your boyfriend again?" He says shyly. "Please." She nods. He wastes no time in smashing his lips against hers. "I love you." He mumbles against her lips. "I never stopped loving you."

A couple of hours have passed by, the sun set many hours ago and it was now nearing two in the morning. Chris was staying the night. As the movie played in front of them. Both Chris and Y/n get a message. Y/n picks her phone off of the coffee table and so does Chris.

It's from Nick, which he wrote in the group chat all four of you have together.

nick

it's 2 am chris isn't home yet i'm guessing everything went well?

matt

can someone respond so i can sleep soundly pls?

chris

if you're asking if we're back together, yes we are

nick

thank fuck

matt

goodnight everyone💤

y/n

haha i'll see you guys tomorrow!!

nick

bring me more tissue

"I'm guessing they were waiting for this?" Chris asks. "Guess so." Y/n turns her phone off and hugs Chris as if he'll disappear. "I love you." He says, kissing her head. "I love you." She replies.

[caffeinerabbit]

(Note: I originally started to write this as a quick and dirty backstory for Latte, which explained why she was chosen as Benji's mentor, and why she behaves the way she does. Once I started writing, however, it was like some floodgate opened and now I have a full blown setting and story arc in my head. I'd love to turn it into a comic, but I don't think I have the patience for that, so I'm giving serious thought about turning it into a multi-chapter illustrated fanfic, with the occasional comic for fun.

In any case, here's the first piece of lore, possibly with more to come. The story continues under the cut, with potential spoilers for down the line - and please forgive the melodrama!)

Latte's Story

Latte is a veteran exploration team member, and in her prime she was considered one of the Guild’s elites. Even though she’s semi-retired now (for reasons) she’s still highly regarded as one of the best, and from time to time the Guild will seek her help when they have a difficult task in front of them.

She’s also a thoroughly unpleasant person. Sarcastic, aloof, and generally unfriendly to most people, she spends much of her time alone, either drinking her days away or just kind of blankly existing.

(And yes, this PMD setting has booze. You can’t tell me that a civilization whose diet consists of 90% berries and fruit hasn’t stumbled upon fermentation.)

When Benji the human-turned-buneary just happens to show up one day and the Guild becomes aware of him, past experience tells them that something bad is about to go down. They know that Benji and his partner Finn need to be brought up to snuff ASAP, and to that end they enlist Latte to act as the duo’s mentor, which she reluctantly accepts after much pleading.

From the moment their eyes meet, Latte and Benji can’t stand one another. Although she’s typically hard to get along with in general, for some reason she takes an immediate and intense dislike of Benji in particular, constantly snarking at him, mocking him when he messes up, and directing a weirdly immense amount of ire his way. For his part, Benji is utterly perplexed as to what exactly he did to piss off this giant rabbit woman, returning her vitriol in kind. Her being the final evolution of his new form doesn’t help matters either, since he’s mildly embarrassed by his current situation, and she’s a reminder of what he has to look forward to if he winds up stuck in the Pokémon world permanently.

Ostensibly, as a lopunny, Latte has a firmer understanding of Benji’s potential capabilities than most, and can train him better than anyone else could. That’s the excuse given, anyway, but it’s only a small part of the whole truth on why the Guild chose her.

Which is that Latte once had her own human partner, and that together they saved the world.

When Latte was still a young buneary, she stumbled upon a hapless human in pokémon form, much in the same way as Finn did with Benji. Although shy, withdrawn, and slow to make friends at the time, she easily formed a fast friendship with the outsider, and he was able to draw her out of her shell. After joining their local Guild and going on multiple adventures together, their bond grew ever closer, with Latte effectively viewing her partner as the center of her world.

Eventually, the big apocalyptic threat that always seems to accompany humans made itself known, and after much grit and determination, Latte and her partner were able to defeat it. Despite the hardship they’d faced up to that point, the relief, pride, and closeness to her partner she felt in that moment left her the happiest she’d ever been in her life, triggering her evolution into a lopunny right there on the spot – an evolution that probably never would have happened if she’d never met her friend and remained that sad, lonely girl back in her home village.

The joy, however, was short lived. With his task fulfilled and his original life waiting for him back home, the higher powers determined to return Latte’s partner to the human world. Not long after the pinnacle of her existence, she watched as her closest and only true friend, the person that gave her life meaning, purpose, and who she was secretly deeply in love with, evaporated into a wispy yellow flow of sparks and energy.

And unlike in the games, he never came back.

Latte’s world was devastated. As the initial shock wore off, in its place took anguish, and a desperate pleading with the higher powers to please, please bring her friend back to her. Pleading that went silently, but firmly, unanswered.

In time, the anguish itself faded into numbness, and Latte again found herself feeling utterly, completely alone. She wasn’t even able to celebrate and take solace in the victory that she and her partner had earned, since the Guild swore her to secrecy lest the populace at large learn just how close it had come to complete annihilation – and in turn learn that this has all happened before, and will likely happen again. Outside of the Guild masters, her vanishingly small circle of friends, and a handful of other people privy to the information, nobody knew that they all owed their lives to Latte and her partner.

Trying to fill the void in her soul and distract herself from depression, Latte doubled down on her Guild work, becoming one of the top Explorers and Rescuers in the world’s Guild system. She eventually realized that she couldn’t remain in her home village and ever hope to become whole again, because everything there reminded her of him. Packing up what little she had, she moved far away to another village whose Guild master was sympathetic to her plight, attempting to build herself a new life.

It didn’t take. Between Guild missions and the bottle, Latte’s life went more or less on auto pilot. She took on fewer and fewer jobs, and eventually only took work when the Guild sought her out specifically. Regardless of his advisors’ grumbling, calling her a freeloader and dead weight, the Guild master made no effort to force Latte to do anything. He knew of the sacrifice she had made, and letting her live her life in what little peace she could muster was the least he could do.

Out of Latte’s numbness, a sense of resentment also took root, growing over time. She and her partner were still effectively children when they went on their adventures, and like most children, the transformed human had an upbeat and unblemished view of the world. He would regale her with stories about his world, about things like airplanes, movies, video games, amusement parks, all the different kinds of food you could ever hope to eat and all the different places you could ever hope to visit - they’d even been to their moon! She held the Earth in awe, and wished that someday, somehow, she could go there as well.

But when the time came, he didn’t take her with him. He got to go home to paradise. She was stuck here.

Alone.

In spite of herself, she found herself growing angry at her long-lost friend. A part of her knew that it wasn’t his fault, that he had no more say in the matter than she did, but nevertheless he had abandoned her. The hurt continued to grow, the resentment hardening ever stronger. How dare he. How dare he.

For several years, this was the internal stalemate in which Latte found herself. Going through the motions of life, doing what was needed of her when asked, drowning her sorrows when left to her own devices. The numbness dulled the resentment most of the time, and she had resigned herself to just playing out the clock on life.

That is, until he arrived.

From the first moment she laid eyes on him, Latte knew exactly what Benji was. His mannerisms, the way he moved, the way he talked, the way he held himself. Everyone else might have mistaken him for this clumsy, confused little first stage, but to her it was as glaringly obvious as though she were staring into the sun. And in tow he held another innocent, unsuspecting soul, one that undoubtedly worshiped the ground he walked on. One whose heart would inevitably be shattered into a million pieces and scattered into the wind, never to be made whole again.

All of the anger and resentment that she had fought so hard to bury came flooding back like a tidal wave. All of the broken dreams, all of the unfulfilled promises, of once bright future that now laid forever beyond her grasp. How dare this insipid little bastard come here and cause this to all play out once again. How dare he.

She knew what his being here meant, and knew what was at stake should he fail. With a generous amount of loathing she agreed to mentor the duo and train them for their appointed task, and to do so to the best of her ability. But she would be damned if she allowed history to repeat itself. All she wanted was to get this whole business over and done with, to send this little shit packing back to where he came from.

The sooner, the better.

[nemurenaivoron]

examples of orange cats exhibiting the signature zero braincell orange cat behavior:

"ah yes, the entire camp is very noisy and on high alarm because of a MASSIVE FUCKING RAMPAGING DRAGON yea Imma just stay there right next to him and dissociate"

[lisbonsteresa]

AND THE TOUCH OF A HAND LIT THE FUSE

[bloominstorm]

Like… is Takemichi gonna die..