#I’m fine financially for the moment

[dandylovesturtles]

Hello, I really enjoy your amazing fics and was wondering if you were still planning to make the second chapter of "say something true."

Either way I hope that your having an amazing day or night.

Thank you!

Yes I do still plan on writing the second chapter, as well as the rest of the room fic. However without getting too deep into it, I got laid off from work and fic writing has taken a backseat while I try to get a new job and work out what’s happening next.

Thanks in advance for your patience!

[astral-catastrophe]

me and the generic extra strong Tylenol and the pure rage in my system

[cimmanonrowl]

Eat Your Young pt.2

Part One | Masterlist

Coming down from the high that Aaron introduced you to feels impossible at this point. Following your very first encounter after his arrival, there isn't a day that he didn't make you feel desired and pleasured. And what better way to have him sated than letting him fuck you senseless out of pure unadulterated jealousy?

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Contents: age gap, oral fixation, oral (f) receiving, masturbation, cum play, overstimulation, squirting, breeding kink, daddy & sir kink, unprotected, rough sex, angry sex, jealous!aaron, size difference, belly bulging, dirty talk, powerplay: boss/employee dynamic, pure filth, pussy-eater, bearded aaron.

You weren’t sure what was waiting ahead when you accepted the job. 

For one, it was a blessing, given your old employers were moving out of state and you couldn’t go with them. They wanted to bring you, of course. They wanted you to come with them but you had to decline as you have plans of your own after you finish your studies. It was a hard decision to make. You were with the family for almost three years, they helped you through University so you don’t drown in student loans and debt, and the kids loved you as much as you loved them. Even without telling you, you could tell their parents felt bad you’re losing your only financial support at the moment.

That was when Jessica was sent to you like an angel in disguise.

She was an acquaintance; a close friend to your employers, so in a way you knew the woman and some bits of her life. You knew that she was taking care of her nephew, although occasionally; a young kid named Jack. You knew that she loved looking after him but her new promotion at work demanded more and more of her time, so she and her brother-in-law had to look for extra help. Apparently, Jack’s father was a very busy man, as you were told.

And that was when you became part of the Hotchners.

For them, you were heaven-sent.

“I’m fine, Jess…” you mumbled over the phone as you read the street sign quietly. You were almost there, almost, heaving a little as you dragged your suitcase behind you. “Of course, I’m nervous… you know how it is. I’m not very good with…”

“Kids?” you heard her breathy laughter at the other line, more teasing than incredulous.

You chuckled in return, shaking your head. “Fathers, actually. It’s different talking to women and knowing how exactly they want things to be done. Fathers aren’t like that. They expect— they just expect you to figure out everything.”

“Aaron isn’t like that,” she assured you, her voice kind. “You’ll see. He knows how he likes things and will tell you so. He’s a good man.”

Your heart hammered against your chest. He knows how he likes things. And he will tell you so. That’s supposed to be an assurance, right? So, why on Earth were you blushing?

Must be because of those damn pictures, a voice in your head whispered. Last night– maybe it was the nerves, or your plain curiosity after hearing many stories about the man that you let yourself get swayed by temptation. You were not one to research about your employers. A brief personal background was always provided by the agency to ensure that employees like you will be in safe hands, and it has always been enough. But last night, for some reason, you felt the need to know him.

In the past week you were negotiating with Jessica, you never met Mr. Hotchner. You thought it was weird and so reckless of him. He’s a federal agent. You expected him to be paranoid, careful at a fault. Why wouldn’t he insist on meeting firsthand the stranger who will take care of his son? The one he’ll let inside his home? It seemed like he didn’t care at all. All you knew was he was out on a case and wouldn’t be home at least for a couple more days. You don’t even know what this man looks like.

You met his son three days ago, though, and you already love the kid. Jack was a little shy at first, soft-spoken, but cheeky as he was polite. You wondered since then if he got that from his father. But you thought it was unlikely when you started digging information from the internet.

“So serious…” you whispered as you plucked the cherry from the stem, chewing slowly as you continued scrolling through the available pictures of him on the web. 

There were YouTube links that also popped out when you typed in his name. You knew he’s some kind of bigshot fed but it still shocked you when you realized Mr. Hotchner had to stand in front of the camera and make public announcements on the news. It was impossible not to notice that face. But the least you could say is he looks good. Then you had to stop yourself there and divert your attention to the flaws you could pinpoint.

He looks strict and scary. In every video you opened, there was a tight frown on his face. It looks like he barely smiles or doesn’t know how to, and that he’s always constipated. What a poor man. You could already imagine your days in their household getting shouted at for being clumsy.

“You’re here! Dad, she’s here! Dad! She’s here!” the familiar voice of a young boy cut through your thoughts. 

You stood still outside the closed gate of your new residence, peering over where a kid was running toward your direction, and an older man distractedly dribbling a basketball in a mini court. He was topless and sweaty. His arms strong, his muscles taut. And even from a distance, you could tell that he was watching you, too.

Then your eyes met and he smiled, warm and so kind.

At that moment you knew that this wouldn’t be bad after all.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. It’s late— later than you realized and Aaron still wasn’t home after a long day in the office. You’ve learned not to worry too much as you’ve grown accustomed to his late nights. He always comes home to you and Jack. But every night, there was a part of you that couldn’t fully relax until you heard the sound of his key in the door.

The clock just struck half past 10 o’clock. Most of the lights were already dimmed and the house was filled with silence. Jack had just gone to bed. These past few days, you realized how things changed. It took you almost an hour to convince him to get off his iPad and stop the game he was playing with his friends, and another hour before he fell asleep reading you his book of choice for this week. Which explains why you’re still up at this hour.

The soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen was the only sound that accompanied you as you moved through the living room, gathering up Jack’s scattered Lego blocks and soldier figurines. It was all over the place. You told him countless times to clean up his mess before eating dinner, but he just shrugged you off and told you he’d clean it up later. Hours passed by and he seemed to forget about his promise as he was already engrossed with the weird game he was playing on his iPad. 

Jack was growing fast. And as much as the thought put an ache in your heart, you knew this was also inevitable.

But the thing is, you have no idea how you should deal with these changes. You didn’t dare scold him, no– considering your growing relationship with his father. You didn’t want him to think that you were crossing the line of acting like his mother, or a replacement for her. So, you thought it was better you wait for Aaron to come home and bring up this issue instead.

Another deep sigh escaped your lips as you bent down to pick up another handful of Lego blocks. You’re ready to go to bed, already clad in your satin nightgown, a pale pink that clings to your curves; feeling soft and smooth against your skin. The thin straps would occasionally slip off your shoulders as you reach for more toys, and the hem would brush against your thighs as you move.

“Didn’t think you’d still be up…”

You froze at the voice, still bent over, before straightening up and turning toward the entryway just as Aaron stepped inside. 

His presence filled the space immediately. He’s still in his work clothes— a dark suit that looks a little rumpled from the long day, his tie loosened and his shirt collar open. His hair was slightly disheveled, and you noticed the tiredness in his eyes that he tried to hide as he closed the door behind.

For a moment, his eyes lingered on you, taking in the way the satin nightgown hugged your body, the fabric clinging to the curve of your hips, the way the hem fluttered around your thighs. There was a brief flicker of something in his gaze, appreciative, and scandalously lustful. You saw the slight tug at the corner of his lips behind his thick beard.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he greeted.

Your heart did that familiar, annoying little skip when he languidly crossed the room and caged you in his arms. He sighed deeply, kissed your forehead then your lips, before resting his cheeks at the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

“Rough day, Mr. Hotchner?” you wanted to tease him, but with his hot breath fanning over your neck, the coarse hair of his beard against your skin, your words came out breathless.

You heard him groan, his voice low and a little rough when he said, “You have no idea, baby. Why are you still up, anyway? Did Jack gave you a hard time?”

“He’s just growing, Aaron. That’s how it is.”

“So he did?” he concluded, “I’ll talk to him, baby. There’s just too much going on at work.”

You hummed and nodded, running your fingers through his hair, understanding and supporting him without needing any details. You’ve never pressed him for specifics about his work and you know that Aaron was carrying enough weight on his shoulders without you adding to it. But even so, there was something in his tone and the exhaustion in his face that made you hug him tighter.

“You’re home now,” you said softly, massaging his scalp, “You should sit down for a bit. I can make you something to eat if you’re hungry.”

Just then, you felt his teeth dug gently on the skin of your neck. “How about I eat you instead?”

“Aaron…” you couldn’t help but giggle, ignoring the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

“Hmm?” 

“Not here.”

He let out a soft grunt. “You smell heavenly, baby. I want to fuck you.”

His voice was raspy, gruff from all the grueling hours he spent in the office. You squirmed and chuckled quietly as you felt his lips trailing wet kisses on your neck, the soft curve of your shoulders, and even your jaw. His thick beard tickling you with every little movement.

You let out a sigh, clamping your thighs as you felt the heat dampening your cotton underwear. “Not here, Aaron. I’ll finish- I’ll clean up this mess first.”

He didn’t seem to hear you. The rough pad of his calloused palm roamed and caressed every inch of your clothed body. His hands moved to the curve of your ass, the swell of your breast, kneading your tits roughly on his hands while rolling your now sensitive nipples in between his thick fingers.

“I missed you so much, angel…” he said in a whisper, “I can’t get enough of your little pussy. You make me so hard, feel that?”

He guided your hand to the obvious bulge in his pants. Although that idea thrilled you, your fingers trembled in embarrassment and anticipation. You glanced up at him with wide, innocent eyes, your breath caught in your throat, while he hissed as you softly cupped and pressed your palm on his restrained cock, moving your hand experimentally in circles.

“Fuck,” he grunted your name, you even saw a muscle twitch on his tight jaw. “Saw you innocently bent over when I stepped into that door. It’s almost like you’re begging someone to ruin your tight cunt, is that right, angel?”

His hand found the dampness in between your legs, already pressing his thumb on your aching clit, yet it was the crudeness of his words that made you whimper. “S-sir…”

“Use your big words, sweet girl.”

“Not s-someone, sir…” you admitted. “Just you. W-want you to use me.”

A satisfied smile played on his lips.

“I know, baby. Want me to fuck you with my big cock, don’t you? Always fucking ready to spread your legs for me, is that right?”

You nodded dumbly, blinking up at him. 

“Are you a whore?”

“N-no...” you said unsurely, “No, daddy. Not a w-whore.”

The dark look in his eyes brought you back to the memories of earlier in the morning. He gave you a small smile. “You’re daddy’s baby, I know, little girl.”

Like he always does, Aaron woke you up earlier with his face buried between your legs. He was lapping your dripping cunt like a madman, licking and sucking with his expert mouth. Two of his thick fingers were pushed deep inside you, making a lewd squelching sound as he nudged the sweet bundle of nerves inside. Your legs were trembling uncontrollably all you could do was moan and tug on Aaron’s hair. When he looked up to see your face, his beard was wet and a string of saliva was hanging from his lips and to your puffy folds.

You already came twice today. One from his mouth, as promised. And one from his big, leaking cock. He had your legs wide open, his hand pressed on the back of your thighs until you were folded almost in half, and rammed his big cock in and out of your weeping cunt with vigor. His eyes were focused on where you were both connected, watching in awe how you willingly swallow his thick cock in your body. He enjoyed watching the bulge appear in your stomach with every deep thrust.

He called you sweet names as he came inside you, flooding your womb with his warm cum. It took him all the self-control (and a message from Morgan) not to bend you again over the sink as he watched you walk to the bathroom, his release slowly dripping down your legs. And he wished you only knew how he wanted to push it back inside and keep his cock buried in your raw cunt for the rest of the day.

- - - - - - - ⋆ ★

The Saturday sun beamed over the soccer field where kids are darting back and forth in a burst of energy. The sidelines were lined with parents and family members, all chatting and watching the game with varying degrees of attention. You were standing among them, your eyes following Jack as he weaved between the other kids, his face bright with determination. Every now and then, his laughter carries across the field, and you couldn’t help but smile as well.

Aaron was beside you, his arms crossed as he watched Jack with that focused intensity he always seemed to have when it comes to his son. You could tell that as much as they were both competitive, he was worried that some accidents may happen. 

“I’m going to check in with Jack for a minute,” Aaron informed you as he let go of your intertwined hand, nodding toward the bench where Jack was sitting during a break. “Be right back.”

You nodded and watched in silence as Aaron strode across the field toward Jack, the sun catching in his dark hair. You took a deep breath, relaxing a little now that you were alone for a moment. It feels good to be outside, to be with Aaron, but you hate the weird glances some mothers were throwing at you. As if you were doing something illegal.

Just as you were about to take a seat on one of the folding chairs, a familiar man approached you from the side, his expression friendly. You recognized him as one of the other parents and father of one of Jack’s friends at school, though you don’t recall his name right away. He was tall, with sandy blond hair and a warm, easygoing smile.

“Hey there,” he said with a chuckle, gesturing toward the field. “Quite a game, huh?”

You smiled back, letting out a small laugh. “Tell me about it. My bones could never. I’m exhausted just watching them.”

The man laughed, then glanced over at the field before turning his attention back to you. “I’m Tom, by the way,” he said, offering his hand. “I’ve seen you around a few times… and my son told me last night he and Jack partnered for the bake sale activity at school.”

You shook his hand. “I think I recall Jack telling me about that bake sale. Is Jake your son?”

“Yes, that’s the one,” Tom replied, nodding fast and chuckling. “I thought you’d think I’m just making up excuses to come up to a pretty woman and start chatting with her—”

“Pretty woman?” you smiled at the compliment, glancing up at him.

“Well, yeah. Anyway…” Tom grinned shyly, clearly pleased. “Yeah, my son was crazy about beating the other boys or something like that. Tell you honestly, I have no idea what to bring. I’m useless in the kitchen, but I don’t want to be that guy who just shows up with store-bought stuff, you know?”

You laughed softly, nodding in understanding. “I do get it. But it’s a good thing they can choose a partner. If you want, I could help you out. I make a pretty mean batch of cookies.”

Tom’s face lit up with genuine gratitude. “Really? That would be amazing. I mean, only if you have time to accommodate— I don’t want to impose.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” you waved off his concern. “I like baking, plus I can invite Jake to come over so I have another little assistant.”

“Or me?” The man teased. “Just kidding. That would be incredible. You just saved me from embarrassment. The old ladies at school… they’re very, you know.”

The sound of your laughter tangled in the air. But as the laughter fades, you felt a subtle shift in the air. You unconsciously wandered your eyes around and realized Aaron was standing just a few feet away, his eyes trained on you and Tom, his expression intense. His strong arms were crossed, and there was a tightness in his jaw that wasn’t there before.

“Hey,” you greeted, offering Aaron a small smile as he stepped closer. “Everything okay with Jack?”

Aaron nodded, though his eyes briefly flickered over to Tom, taking in the easy conversation you’ve been having. “He’s fine,” Aaron replied, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of something sharper, something controlled. “Just needed a little pep talk.”

Tom, the poor man oblivious to the tension, smiled at Aaron and offered his hand. “Hi, I’m Tom. We were just talking about the kids’ upcoming school bake sale.”

Aaron shook his hand, but there was a slight stiffness to the gesture. “Aaron Hotchner. Jack’s father.”

Tom nodded, then focused back on you. “Thanks again for the offer. If it’s alright, I was thinking— maybe I should grab your number? You know, just so we can coordinate for the bake sale and all that. Would make it easier to figure out what to bring.”

He was just being friendly and practical, that’s what you know. But the suggestion lingered in the air awkwardly. You could feel Aaron tense beside you, the shift in his posture subtle but unmistakable. With hesitation, you glanced at Aaron out of the corner of your eye. His expression has hardened, his jaw clenched just enough to be noticeable, and there was a flash of something dangerous in his eyes—something possessive, territorial even. 

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Aaron stepped in, his voice low and edged with barely restrained anger. “If you need anything, you can go through me.”

Tom blinked, clearly caught off guard. He forced out a chuckle, trying to brush off the tension with a good-natured grin. “I didn’t mean anything by it, man. Just thought it’d be easier—”

“You don’t need her number for that.”

You swallowed hard, feeling everyone’s attention on the growing commotion. Aaron’s eyes were still fixed on Tom, his stance rigid, his body language screaming of a barely controlled fury. This wasn’t just about the number.

Tom raised his hands slightly, clearly trying to defuse the situation. “Hey, no problem,” he said, though there was a hint of confusion in his eyes as he glanced between you and Aaron. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

You forced a tight smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Thanks, Tom. Maybe we can let the kids decide and start there.”

Tom nodded again. “Yeah, sure. I’ll catch you both around.” He gave a quick wave before turning and walking back toward the crowd of parents, his pace a bit quicker than before.

As soon as Tom was out of earshot, the silence between you and Aaron felt heavy. You could feel the heat of Aaron’s anger, his jaw still clenched as he silently watched Tom disappear into the distance.

You glanced up at Aaron, raising an eyebrow in confusion. “What was that about?”

“What?” Aaron finally tore his gaze away from Tom, turning to face you. There was a storm in his eyes, it made your breath catch. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he admitted, his voice rougher than before. Then he mumbled, “Or him having your number. Why would he have your fucking number for? Bake sale and all that, that fucking idiot.”

You grimaced at his admission, of how easily he admitted what he felt. You’ve never seen Aaron like this before— so openly protective, so possessive— and it stirred something deep inside you that was too intense to put a name on.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “He was just being friendly, Aaron. It was harmless.”

“Maybe to you,” His voice was still tensed as he retorted. “But I didn’t trust him. And I don’t like the idea of other men thinking they can just… move in like that.”

You bit back a smile, a little amused by his jealousy.

“We were talking about bake sales, not making any plans to run off together,” you nudged his arm with your elbow teasingly.

Aaron took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he stared down at you. “Oh, so you can joke. Do you think this is funny?”

“What? Of course no–”

“Jack will be out on a sleepover,” he leaned closer to your ear just to whisper, “We’ll fucking talk later, hm? Save your explanations ‘cause I’ll fuck you like a whore.”

Your breath staggered as you pressed your lips shut. You knew by then that it was going to be a long, long night.

- - - - - - - ⋆ ★

The door slammed against the wall with a loud bang as you and Aaron stumbled inside, your bodies pressed tightly together. His big, calloused hands were on your waist, pulling you closer to him, his fingers digging into your skin as your mouths crashed together in a rough, desperate kiss.

Everything felt hazy, like you were moving through a dream, but there was nothing gentle about the way you were kissing him, or the way his hands were gripping you. It felt like he couldn’t get close enough. It was frantic, dirty, almost reckless, as if both of you were on the verge of losing control and neither of you cared.

You barely noticed the door swing shut behind you as Aaron pushed you roughly up against the wall, his mouth never leaving yours, his breath hot and uneven as he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. The force of the impact sent a shockwave through your body, but the only thing you could focus on was him— his scent, his warmth, the feeling of his lips on yours, the way his strong body felt pressed up against you.

“Aaron…” you managed to gasp out between kisses, your voice breathless. You could barely think, your mind clouded with desire, but his name slipped from your lips like a plea, a litany. “D-daddy... slow- slow... down...”

His hands were everywhere— on your waist, your hips, sliding down to the curve of your thighs as he gripped you tightly, pressing his bulge against your needy cunt. You gasped into his mouth, the sound swallowed by another fierce kiss as his body pinned you harder against the wall, pressing you there as if you might disappear if he let go.

“I’m s-sorry… D-daddy, please…”

“Please what?” he groaned against your mouth, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then to your neck, the coarse hair on his chin scraping against your skin as he kissed a heated path down your throat. “Now you’re sorry? Bet you fucking liked the attention earlier. Thought you aren’t a whore?”

“No. I’m sorry, daddy. I’m sorry. I’m not—”

His rough hands slid up your sides, gripping the hem of your shirt and yanking it up and over your head with a quick, impatient movement. The cool air hit your skin, but it was immediately replaced by the warmth of his touch as his hands moved over your bare skin, his fingers digging into your flesh like he wanted his mark so deeply ingrained in your skin and your whole being.

“Feels like you’re forgetting who you belong to.”

You shook you head, moaning as you felt his hand travel closer to your heat. “No, no. I belong to you, sir. Only you. I’m so sorry, daddy.”

“Are you?” he barked a taunting laugh. “And why do you belong to me then, little girl? Why does this pussy belong to me?”

“Because… b-because you take care of m-me, daddy.”

“I fucking do, don’t I?” he remarked, tracing soft circles on your clit through the rough fabric of your jeans. “And I’m so fucking good to you. So why are you fucking ungrateful, angel? Batting your eyelashes and giggling with other men like a cheap whore on the streets?”

You felt like crying. Tears welled at the corner of your eyes, your heart hammering painfully against your chest. You messed up and now he’s mad. But you don’t like the words coming out of his mouth. You only want to be daddy’s good girl.

“I’m s-sorry, sir. Won’t happen again, I-I promise.”

“No, baby. I bet you it won’t,” he pulled back for a second, his eyes dark and filled with something primal, his chest rising and falling with the force of his ragged breaths. “I’ll fuck you until your little belly’s round with my cum and you’re pregnant with my child. I’ll knock you up so every man will know whose cock split your tight cunt open. You like that, little girl? You want to be a good whore for daddy?”

You nodded and grabbed the back of his neck, pulled him back down to you, crashing your lips together again as the two of you stumbled further into the room, barely able to focus on anything but each other. Your legs hit the edge of the couch, and before you know it, Aaron was already manspreading in front of you, while you knelt in front of him, your hands laid on your lap.

“Atta girl, look at you,” you keened at the praise, biting on your lower lip as you waited patiently for him to remove his shirt and finish unbuckling his belt.

“Can- can I suck your cock, s-sir?” you said weakly. “Please?”

Aaron hissed as his cock sprang free, slapping the base of his soft stomach. His cock was already hard and leaking, the tip shiny with beads of precum. Your mouth watered at the sight. But still, you waited for his permission, glancing up at him innocently, patiently.

He leaned on the couch and pumped his length slowly, an amused smirk on his lips. “Remove your pants.”

You whimpered and did what he told you. That wasn’t the permission you were waiting for but still you obliged eagerly. Your eyes focused on his hand slowly fisting his hardening cock before glancing up and meeting his eyes. Aaron let out a deep breath as he took in your naked body, your tits, your now swollen lips, and even your thighs that you were subtly rubbing to create some friction.

“Play with your tits, baby,” he said gruffly, “Put on a show for me like a good girl. Go on.”

There was something possessive in his gaze, a wildness that you’d never seen in him before, but it sent a thrill directly through your wet core. You played with your tits, kneaded the soft mound, and pinched your nipples making you whimper pathetically.

Aaron pumped his cock a little faster, his hungry eyes following your movements. “Spread your legs, want to see that pussy of yours.”

It felt humiliating, to scamper on your knees to follow his orders. But still you did. Because the moment you opened your legs for him, Aaron let out a loud growl and gripped his cock tightly on his fist, as if he was trying not to cum just by the sight of your wet cunt. You felt happy with his reaction.

With trembling fingers, you opened your puffy folds to show him how much you desired to be fucked, your clit swollen, your cunt desperately fluttering and clenching on nothing.

“Is that all for me?”

You nodded, your body tingling with pleasure and pride.

“D-daddy…” you sounded meek, all up for the taking. “Want you, p-please. Sir, please? Please?”

You can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his chest rises and falls with each ragged breath as he thumbed the leaking tip of his big and veiny cock. In a swift movement, he grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you harder, deeper, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made you sigh in relief.

“Ride my cock then. Show me how much you want it.”

There was hunger in him that matched your own. The sound of your highpitched whining and Aaron’s deep grunt weaved through the air. You sank down his big cock, your cunt clenching to accommodate his girth. Aaron was so big you don’t think it’s possible to get used to it, the burn of the stretch was there, but it was heady and intoxicating.

“Aaron,” you whispered again, your voice trembling with need as your fingers dug into his shoulders, urging him closer, needing more, needing him. The intensity was overwhelming, but you can’t stop—you don’t want to stop. “D-daddy, help. Help, please.”

“Pathetic,” he growled against your lips. With one sharp thrust, he plunged the rest of his cock into your raw cunt.

“T-thank you, sir…” you mewled at the feeling, grounding your hips in slow circles. “Good- feels g-good…”

His lips trailed back down your neck, your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His beard scratched your skin. Every touch, every kiss, feels like fire, igniting something primal deep inside of you that you hadn’t even realized was there.

“Does it, angel? Who’s making you feel good right now?”

You arched your back, pressing into him. “Y-you, sir. J-just you...”

A harsh slap landed at the side of your thigh. 

“Louder!”

“You, d-daddy! Only y-you. OH MY GOD, AARON!” you screamed, hiding your flushed cheeks at the crook of his neck as Aaron plowed his cock so deep into your frail body. “You’re making me feel g-good. You fuck me so well, daddy! I love your cock, you own me, you ow-”

You heard a low growl reverberate through his heaving chest. He propped his knees at the edge of the couch for better leverage. You felt his cock pulsating deep inside you, his thighs strong beneath your trembling legs. Your vision was blurry with unshed tears and the force of Aaron’s cock ramming inside you. The noise leaving his open lips was dirty, primal, so filthy all you could do was take it.

You let him ruin you.

Let him use you to his heart content.

Like that’s all you’re worth for.

“I’ll fuck my baby inside of you, little girl, ‘s that what you want?” he panted beneath you, his hips staggering a little. “I’ll make you all round and pretty. Everyone will know whose whore you a-are…”

Yes, yes, yes. You couldn’t bring yourself to say. You just whimpered, your voice raw and absolutely fucked out. You just let yourself feel how his cock assaulted your tight, little cunt. There was a familiar coil in your stomach, and then the familiar squelching sound.

“I-I’m s-” you squealed loudly, high-pitched and frantic. “I-I’m coming, ‘m c-coming, daddy, ple-”

Aaron grunted and plunged his cock on a particularly deep thrust, feeling the tip nestle at the sweet bundle of sensitive nerves that made you roll your eyes. You felt Aaron’s cock slide out of your used pussy, a gush of clear release dampening Aaron’s belly and the floor below.

“F-fuck! Look at that…”

“Oh- oh my go-” you bit your lower lip in overstimulation, yet you didn’t do anything to protest when he thrust his thick cock inside again. “Too much… t-too much, sen-sensitive. D-daddy! P-please, no more!”

His cock slid out the second time you squirted. Another gush of release dampened the carpet below. The force was too overwhelming your knees buckled, your legs trembling uncontrollably. You heard Aaron’s pleasured grunt as you clenched even tighter around his cock, your velvety walls hugging his girth like it was molded to be there.

“S-stop, d-daddy! S-stop…”

He scarcely heard you. You could feel every inch of him, the way his body moves against yours, the heat of his skin, the sweat, the strength in his hands as they explore every part of you. He groped you like you were nothing but a fucktoy— one that he will discard the moment he finally got his release.

“See this, little girl?” he grabbed your neck and forced you to look at your belly. You whined at the faint sight of his cock bulging against your skin. “That’s h-how deep I am, you feel that? That’s how well you take me. G-good girl, baby.”

You nodded. “S-so deep, d-daddy. You make me feel s-so good…”

“I’m so close…” you heard him whisper.

You traced the lines of his muscles, feeling the tension beneath his skin as his breath hitched against your neck. With the rest of your energy left, you lifted yourself and met his desperate thrust. The sound was lewd, disgusting– so wet and filthy.

The world outside disappeared—there was no sound, no movement, no thoughts. Just Aaron. Just him and his big, girthy cock, and his desperate thrust. Beyond the heat of his body against yours, the endless ropes of warm cum flooded your fertile womb. You only closed your eyes and let him take you. Take everything he wants from you.

“It’s coming out of your pretty cunt, baby. Look, you’re so full of my cum…” Aaron said in awe a moment later. He got you lying on your back on the couch, your legs wide open, while he knelt in front of you. He prodded your puffy folds with wide, hungry eyes. “Fuck, you’re so messy, angel.”

He licked the cum that dripped out of you. Your cunt felt raw and sore. Too used. So you whimpered as a protest. You’re too sensitive. Too sated. Too much. Too much. Too much–

Aaron smiled smugly when he saw the drunk look on your face.

“Give me one more, angel?”

Happy 600-something, everyone! I know this is long overdue but it's better late than later, right? Anyway, hope everyone's well and healthy (I'm sick right now so don't be like me!) Drink a lot of water and eat well. As always, I appreciate every like, replies, reblogs- everything. Thank you so much for the support. I love you all. See you on the next ones! xx

Tag list: @downbad4reid, @roseydoesypoesy, @pastelpinkflowerlife, @justyourusualash, @hotchsmutrecs, @msfreedom, @birdysaturne, @gghostwriter, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @fore45fore, @actualdeemon, @diksy1112, @jethro-mcgee-tony, @hotchnerbau, @iniyalovesall, @222hwilsss, @balariie, @oliviabbb, @ncis0mrs0gibbs, @jasonswhitetuftofhair, @m4pl, @zaddyhotch, @fandom-garbage, @obsessed-oops, @ujws5, @babybluelrh98, @seraphinlover, @reidsflwr, @cattt777, @fishsticksarenice-blog, @velvetinkbym

[solxamber]

Starstruck || Malleus Draconia

After debuting with a gothic, fantasy-inspired theme, you somehow managed to hit Malleus Draconia’s exact vibe. Now, the fae prince has single-handedly appointed himself your Number One Fan—and he's taking his job very, very seriously.

It’s finally happening. After years of grinding it out in practice rooms, singing until your voice was raw, and dancing until your legs felt like spaghetti, the moment of truth has arrived. The managers want you to decide on your debut concept.

In front of you are two choices: school theme and gothic fantasy. You glance over at the school uniform option and cringe a little inside. At your age? No, thank you.

You’re not about to spend your precious debut years waving around pom-poms and trying to look sixteen. Gothic fantasy, on the other hand? Now that’s got some style. Dark cloaks, intense lighting, elaborate costumes—it’s exactly the drama you’ve been craving.

Your manager stands beside you, flipping through a spreadsheet with an expression that can only be described as financially preoccupied.

“Listen,” he says, in a tone that suggests he’s already decided, “school theme has a mass appeal. It’s relatable. Kids these days love a little campus vibe. And you know, uniform sales have great margins…”

“I’m doing gothic fantasy,” you reply, crossing your arms with a confidence that could stop a truck.

He blinks at you. “Okay, sure, I get the allure. But are you sure? Think of the numbers, the opportunities to connect with the youth. Imagine the adorable school scenes, the casual sports day outfits, the innocent love plots…”

“Imagine the smoke machines and black roses,” you counter, eyes gleaming.

He tries another angle. “Well, just consider the feedback from market research. School themes are—"

“Gothic. Fantasy.”

He sighs deeply, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “These artists and their egos,” but gives in, albeit with a look of absolute resignation. “Fine. Gothic fantasy it is. But you’re taking full responsibility if it flops.”

Release day arrives, and your first single—complete with a dramatic, shadow-filled video and costumes that look like something out of a Victorian vampire drama—hits the internet. The reactions are… intense.

Sure, maybe it’s not an overnight sensation, but it’s more than enough to get people talking. Your fans? They’re not your typical “bought it for the vibes” crowd. They are deeply invested.

You’re talking about people who can recite your lyrics like a spell. You even see fan forums cropping up where people dissect the symbolism of your music videos. There’s a post dedicated to the exact shade of black eyeliner you’re wearing, and someone actually counted how many flickers each candle has in the video.

One day, as you’re scrolling through the comments, a particularly poetic fan post catches your eye: “The ethereal aura this idol has given us with their gothic artistry is like a dark gift from another realm.”

Okay, maybe the fandom is a little… intense. But you can’t help but grin.

It all starts innocently enough.

One day, Lilia’s showing Malleus some music videos he calls "classics" (pretty sure some of them are just 20 minutes of bats screeching over synthesizers, but to each their own).

But, as fate would have it, Malleus stumbles across your latest release. His eyes widen as the screen fills with your dark aesthetic, the intense melodies, the dramatic lighting, the black roses swirling around you like a misty dreamscape. He’s hooked.

The video ends, and he turns to Lilia, awestruck. “Who is this human?” he asks, as if you’re some kind of ancient artifact discovered under a full moon.

“Oh, that’s a new artist. Apparently, they’re pretty talented.” Lilia raises an eyebrow, amused by Malleus’s reaction. “Why? Fancy yourself a fan, young master?”

“A fan?” Malleus looks scandalized. “Lilia, I am enchanted.”

Malleus’s enchantment quickly turns into an obsession. He spends the next few days discovering every song, music video, interview, and even those mildly embarrassing “What’s in My Bag?” videos where you show off your essentials (you had no idea one video about your favorite scented candles could attract such intense devotion).

He watches one interview where the host asks if you’re afraid of fae, and you reply with a casual, “Nah, I’d love to visit them one day.”

This is what seals the deal for Malleus. This human is not only a talented artist but also respectful, brave, and curious about the fae world. He has found his idol.

He decides it’s time to support you. And, because he’s the literal prince of the Briar Valley, he does what any fae royalty would: he orders some of your albums.

One hundred of them, to be exact.

In Malleus’s defense, he has absolutely zero concept of money. To him, it’s normal to go big. So he clicks “order” without even thinking, and in his mind, it’s done. Simple.

A few days later, when the delivery truck pulls up with boxes upon boxes upon boxes, Malleus’s reaction is… complicated.

He stares at the delivery man, then back at the wall of albums now stacked in front of him, and mutters, “I may have made a mistake.”

But Malleus Draconia is no quitter. So he devises a new plan: he’ll distribute these albums across the Briar Valley. Anyone who even mildly expresses an interest gets an album handed to them with an enthusiasm that’s both heartwarming and slightly terrifying.

It doesn’t take long before every fae in the valley knows your name, and soon enough, your music is echoing through the mystical woods. You, a mere human, are now an icon among the fae. The legend of the human idol with the beautiful music, who’s brave enough to express curiosity about fae life, spreads like wildfire.

Meanwhile, you’re in the middle of a heated argument with your manager. Despite your loyal fanbase, your concert venues are… sparsely filled, to put it kindly.

“I don’t know how to make this any clearer,” your manager says, waving his phone around for emphasis. “We need more fans, more sold-out shows, or it’s not going to be viable to keep booking these venues!”

You’re about to respond when his phone dings. Then again. And again. Suddenly, it sounds like he’s strapped a vibrating blender to his hand. Ding, ding, ding, dingdingdingding.

“What the…?” He stares at the screen, his expression shifting from annoyance to shock. “I—it says you’ve sold out every single venue. Wait, wait—there’s a waiting list for tickets that haven’t even been put on sale yet?”

He looks at you, blinking in astonishment. “I never doubted you for a second!” he declares with all the sincerity of a used car salesman. You roll your eyes. “Sure, pal.”

Later that night, you decide to check the fan forum for yourself. And something strikes you as… odd. Suddenly, all these usernames sound like they belong to a fantasy RPG. You scroll through names like “Elder_Oak_Watcher,” “Pixie_Phenomenon,” and “Darkthorn_Dreamweaver” and can’t help but wonder if your fandom has fully committed to your fantasy vibe. You chalk it up to hardcore fans. Nothing suspicious, right?

The agency celebrates by booking more venues, announcing a new merch line, and—wait for it—a raffle event for a day with you. You’re thrilled but mostly relieved that things are finally looking up.

Cut to the Briar Valley, where Malleus gets wind of the fan meeting announcement. His eyes practically sparkle with delight.

“I have a chance to spend time with them?” he murmurs, clutching the announcement poster like it’s a sacred artifact.

“Of course, you do!” Lilia chimes in, grinning. “And if you’re really eager, I could help improve your odds.”

Silver, overhearing, asks. “Are we really doing this?”

“It’s for young master Malleus!” Sebek hisses, practically vibrating with devotion. “If he wishes to meet this human, we will ensure he wins that raffle! Even if I don’t understand why he’d—” He pauses, scowling. “—lower himself to that level for a human.”

Lilia waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, Sebek, let Malleus enjoy his hobby! It’s rare to see him so enchanted. Besides, a bit of human culture never hurt anyone!”

Silver shrugs, giving Malleus a supportive smile. “If this makes you happy, Malleus, we’ll all enter on your behalf.”

Sebek bristles. “Very well, if it is the young master’s wish, I, too, shall enter—though I don’t understand this human obsession.”

Lilia claps him on the shoulder. “Consider it a show of loyalty to the crown.”

Sebek mutters something about “weird human tastes” but agrees nonetheless. And with that, your raffle odds have just quadrupled, courtesy of the most enthusiastic and unhinged fae entourage you never knew you needed.

Malleus beams, and for once, the usual silence in Briar Valley is replaced with something very unexpected: the excited murmurs their prince getting ready for his ultimate fan meeting.

It’s your first “Unboxing Fan Mail!” livestream, and you’re bubbling with excitement as you tear through letters and packages. You’re halfway through reading a pile of cute fan letters when one catches your eye: an envelope with a hand-drawn gargoyle. This thing has personality.

“Whoa…,” you mutter as you carefully open it. Inside, you find a letter, written in such flowery, old-fashioned cursive you almost need a magnifying glass. Clearing your throat, you read a part of it aloud:

"Your craft has brought light and delight to the shadows of our realm. It is rare to encounter such reverence and elegance in a human. Know that your courage and respect have earned you an esteemed place in the hearts of those from lands beyond mortal reach. Enclosed is a token of my admiration—a rose from my homeland, blessed to be as timeless as the admiration I hold for you.

Sincerely,

M.D.”

It takes a second for the words to fully sink in. Your gaze drifts to the box sitting beside you, which you unwrap with careful fingers. Inside lies a single Briar rose—its petals dark and lush, radiating a faint magical shimmer that tells you this is no ordinary gift. The rose feels alive, pulsing softly with ancient magic. You gently lift it, brushing a fingertip along the petal’s edge, feeling the cool, unyielding softness.

And suddenly, you feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Oh… wow,” you manage, voice wavering. You blink back tears but don’t quite succeed, pressing a hand to your mouth in a mix of joy and disbelief. “Thank you so much, M.D. This is… this is beautiful. I don’t even have words.”

Back in the Briar Valley, Malleus is watching the livestream playback with his usual calm demeanor… until he sees you crying. His face falls, and he looks at Lilia, horrified. “Did I… upset them? My letter was meant to honor them, not… bring tears.” He’s practically pale. Well, paler than usual.

“Oh, don’t fret,” Lilia chimes in with a laugh, patting Malleus on the shoulder. “They’re just happy! Look how much they loved it. You brought them pure joy!”

Malleus blinks. “So… I have not offended them?”

“Far from it! In fact,” Lilia says with a knowing smirk, “I think you’re officially their number one fan.”

Malleus’s eyes narrow with sudden, unshakeable determination. “Of course, I am,” he says, as if this is the most obvious truth in the world. “Who else could claim that title?”

You have no idea what you've gotten into.

It’s your first concert. The crowd is buzzing, their voices creating a low hum that vibrates through the walls, yet you’re backstage with a knot in your stomach that feels about the size of a boulder.

You shift from foot to foot, hands clammy as you grip the mic, wondering if this is actually a good idea or if you should just make a break for it now and head for the hills.

A voice echoes through the earpiece: “Three minutes, everyone!”

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as the band gives you encouraging nods. All those years of training, of dreaming, of rehearsing until your feet felt like they’d fall off—this is what it was for.

Your fans are out there, waiting. You can already hear some of them chanting your name. And slowly, your nerves start to melt away, replaced by a surge of adrenaline.

The lights dim. You step onto the stage, heart pounding, and the audience erupts. Thousands of people, waving lights and singing the opening notes of your debut song back to you.

The energy washes over you, filling every corner of your soul, and suddenly there’s no room left for doubt.

The music pours out of you, and the crowd’s response is instant, electric. They're clapping, cheering, and singing along. You almost forget to breathe as you realize—they know every word.

It’s in the middle of your second song, during a moment where the lights are shining right on the front row, that you spot something peculiar.

Wait… Are those… fae?

Not just one, but three of them. And they’re not your typical, “blending in” kind of fans, either. One of them—the tall one with the horns—looks like he’s just stepped out of some mythical kingdom (which, granted, he kind of has). There’s an unmissable aura around him, and his eyes are fixed on you like you’re the most mesmerizing sight he’s ever seen.

The other two fae are close by, each one unique but unmistakably not human. And a very sleepy human is nodding off standing there.

You try to keep performing, but your heart’s pounding for a new reason now. The tall fae—he’s so intense. There’s something captivating, almost otherworldly, in the way he’s watching you, like he’s fully captured by your music. It’s a bit like he belongs here and also… really doesn’t. Yet somehow, he makes it work.

Finally, you reach the interaction part of the concert, the moment where you get to pick a “lucky fan” from the crowd for a backstage pass at your next show. Your mind goes blank for a second as you look over the crowd, but the sight of those fae at the front makes your decision easy. You raise a hand, pointing directly at the tall one, still staring at you with that intense look in his eyes.

You can feel the collective shock from the crowd as you exclaim, “You! Yes, at the front! You’re the lucky winner!”

The tall fae’s eyes widen ever so slightly, a look of pure delight crossing his face as his friends react with either shock or something bordering on exasperation. He steps forward a bit, visibly thrilled, and nods to you as if he’s just received the highest honor imaginable.

Lilia, standing beside Malleus, gives a knowing chuckle. “My, my, our prince has been blessed by fortune,” he teases.

Sebek, looking utterly scandalized, hisses, “The Young Master? At a human’s concert again? With a… backstage pass?” His voice drips with disbelief.

Silver, with a half-smile, murmurs, “Well, he does look happy. That’s what matters, right?”

And Malleus, basking in the moment, seems too happy to notice their reactions. He meets your gaze, nodding as if to say, Yes, it is I, your devoted fan.

And suddenly, you’re beaming, too, because in this moment, you realize—you’re not just performing for humans. You’ve captured the attention of beings beyond the mortal world, and something about that feels… magical.

It’s the day of your next concert, and you’re backstage, mentally preparing yourself. You’d think after the first show, the nerves would be easier to handle, but that flutter of excitement is still there. Just as you’re rehearsing a few last lines, your manager bursts in, a mix of terror and wild enthusiasm lighting up his face.

“You… you’ve got to see this,” he stammers, pulling you toward the edge of the curtain.

“Uh, okay?” You’re confused, but you follow him to peek out onto the crowd.

What you see is not what you expected.

The venue is packed. And not just with your usual audience—no, tonight, the crowd is full of fae. Like, really full of fae. A sprinkle of beastmen, a handful of humans (who look varying levels of petrified), but the overwhelming majority? Fae of every type.

You spot wings, horns, a few floating orbs of light that might just be small fae spirits, and an array of gleaming, wide eyes that are laser-focused on the stage.

In the front row, you catch sight of a familiar face. The tall fae with horns who won your backstage pass last time—he’s here, and still utterly entranced. On impulse, you give a little wave, feeling a bit silly, but somehow unable to resist.

To your surprise, he just stands there, looking stunned, until the black-haired fae next to him nudges him with an elbow. Then, almost shyly, he lifts his hand and waves back.

From Malleus’s perspective, everything is perfect. His people have fallen under your spell just as he has. Watching you emerge to greet the crowd, he’s already enraptured.

You look out into the audience, and then—to his amazement—you look right at him and wave. He freezes, utterly smitten, until Lilia nudges him. After a second, he waves back, his heart doing something he’s quite sure it’s never done before.

The concert begins, and it’s an experience beyond anything you’ve known. The fae audience is surprisingly intense—they’re quiet during the softer moments, like they’re absorbing every note, and then wildly enthusiastic during the high-energy parts.

For a second, you wonder if your music has some kind of magic in it, too. Their reaction fuels your own performance, until the final note echoes out and the crowd erupts in applause.

Then comes the moment of truth: the backstage pass winner’s meet and greet.

You’re resting in the designated room, savoring a post-concert cookie when you hear… raised voices?

“Only the winner is allowed in!” your security guard insists, sounding exasperated.

“And I’m telling you,” someone snaps back, “I won’t allow my master to go in alone to meet a human!”

Curious, you step out to find the same quartet from the front row having a tense standoff with security. The tall one—the same one who keeps catching your eye—looks as serene as ever, while his silver-haired friend seems half-asleep despite the commotion. You raise a hand. “It’s okay! Let them all in.”

The guard reluctantly steps aside, and the four file into the room. There’s an awkward pause as they stare at you, clearly debating who should introduce themselves first. The tall one steps forward, and you offer a small smile.

“So… we finally meet. What’s your name?”

“Malleus,” he says, his voice deep and slightly reverent. “Malleus Draconia.”

You’re about to respond when he holds out a hand—a hesitant, almost formal gesture. Before you can shake it, the green-haired fae scowls, clearly offended. “That’s His Highness to you, Don't causally touch him human!”

You freeze mid-motion. Highness? Fae Royalty?

“Yes,” Malleus says mildly, “though I’d rather you not call me that right now, Sebek. This is a personal occasion.”

“Oh, you’re… royalty.” You take a very controlled breath, willing yourself not to faint.

Malleus nods, completely unfazed, though Lilia snickers under his breath and gives you a little wave. “I apologize if that was not clear before. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You regain your composure. You're a professional. “Right, royalty. Got it. No big deal.” (It’s a huge deal, but you can scream into your pillow later.)

That's when it clicks. M.D, Malleus Draconia, Fae Prince.

In an attempt to break the tension(and to not spiral), you say, “By the way, I loved the little gargoyle you drew on the letter you sent me. It was cute.”

Malleus blinks, visibly taken aback. “You… liked the gargoyle?”

You nod, smiling. “They’re nice to look at.”

For a second, Malleus just stares, and it feels like his entire face is starting to glow. “You appreciate gargoyles?” he says, in a tone that sounds like you’ve just admitted you’re secretly royalty, too.

“Uh, yeah. They’re kinda cool.” You laugh, and Malleus looks like he’s been blessed by every possible deity.

Meanwhile, Sebek mutters something vaguely exasperated, and you catch a snippet: “This human has actually caught the his interest…”

Lilia laughs, giving Malleus a playful nudge. “Well, isn’t that something? I guess you truly are their number one fan, Malleus.”

Malleus nods seriously. “Of course. I am honored to be recognized as such.” His eyes gleam with utter sincerity.

You chat a bit more, exchanging small talk, until you mention offhandedly that your company has been discussing hosting a concert near Briar Valley due to the recent increase in fae fans. Malleus immediately perks up.

“Oh, well, you should simply perform in Briar Valley,” he says, as if offering his personal venue is as easy as lending a pen.

“Wait… seriously?” You look at him, not sure if he’s joking.

“Of course,” Malleus replies earnestly. “I would be delighted to arrange it. As the prince… and your number one fan.” His eyes are so bright and genuine, you can’t help but laugh.

“All right, I’d love that,” you say, heartily amused and impossibly charmed.

As they start to leave, an idea pops into your head. “Hey, Malleus, do you want a picture together?”

He blinks, clearly surprised. “A picture? I… would be honored.”

You take out your phone, getting into position, and then, on a whim, you lean over and kiss him on the cheek right as you snap the photo.

From the doorway, Sebek lets out a scandalized squawk, and your manager looks like he’s about to pass out. But Malleus? He’s wide-eyed, staring at you like you’ve granted him the greatest gift in existence.

With a wink, you murmur, “Consider it a special gift for my biggest fan.”

For a second, Malleus just stands there, wide-eyed, and then, slowly, a delighted, utterly smitten smile spreads across his face.

The concert in Briar Valley turns out to be way more fun than you could’ve ever imagined. You were nervous at first—after all, you’re literally performing in a hidden fae realm with the kind of audience that probably doesn’t even need speakers to hear you.

But once you get started, the vibe is incredible. The fae are enthusiastic, cheering and applauding in that slightly mystical way they have. Their clapping sounds like wind chimes, and every so often, you think you see little trails of magic light in the crowd.

And right in the front row, like always, is Malleus Draconia. He’s the picture of regal elegance, standing out in his official Briar Valley attire, looking like he’s attending some kind of royal ceremony. You’d almost laugh at the contrast—Malleus, dignified and regal, surrounded by a crowd absolutely hyped for a pop concert. And, because you can’t resist, you give him a cheeky wink mid-song.

Malleus doesn’t miss a beat; he looks like he’s been struck by some sort of enchantment himself. His cheeks faintly color, but he doesn’t look away, a faint, dazed smile on his face. He’s living his best fanboy life, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy every second of his reaction.

After the concert ends, Malleus insists on personally escorting you around Briar Valley. You’re beyond thrilled—after all, it’s not every day that a fae prince offers to give you a tour of his homeland. Sebek and Silver, ever loyal, trail behind, with Sebek grumbling under his breath every five seconds about “proper decorum” and “human interactions.”

Meanwhile, Lilia is there for the pure entertainment of it all, throwing you little mischievous grins whenever you glance back at him.

As you’re strolling down a cobblestone path lined with Briar roses, you feel the first drop of rain on your cheek. “Oh no, I didn’t bring an umbrella…”

But the second you say it, there’s a flurry of movement. Malleus, Sebek, Silver, and Lilia all open umbrellas in perfect unison, like some kind of magical boy band choreography. Sebek even has an extra umbrella on standby, which he’s holding out to you with a solemn look.

But before you can notice it, Malleus shoots him a look that could probably summon a thunderstorm, and Sebek reluctantly withdraws, muttering darkly under his breath about “Etiquette.”

Meanwhile, Lilia, never one to miss an opportunity, flings the extra umbrella into a bush with a casual flick of his wrist before you can even notice.

He turns to Silver and Sebek with a bright grin, “Come now, let’s give the two some space! Isn’t it so romantic?” Sebek looks horrified, about to argue, but Lilia’s already dragging him and Silver away, leaving you alone with Malleus.

So now it’s just the two of you, standing in the rain, with Malleus holding his large, intricately decorated umbrella over both of you. The umbrella’s big enough that it shields you from the rain easily, but that doesn’t stop Malleus from stepping a little closer, just to be sure.

There’s an awkward, giddy silence as you continue to walk side by side. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, and your hands brush against each other occasionally. Finally, he clears his throat and says, “Did you enjoy the concert? Briar Valley’s… first, of this sort.”

“Oh, definitely!” you say, grinning. “It was amazing to see so many fae enjoying the music. And you were right up front! You didn’t have to—”

“It was… my pleasure,” Malleus replies, his deep voice a little softer than usual. “I wanted to see everything as closely as possible.” There’s an endearing awkwardness to him that only makes him more captivating.

From the moment you met him, you thought Malleus was just a really dedicated fan—sweet, if a bit intense, but ultimately adorable. Sure, he’s got that tall, dark, and slightly terrifying vibe with the horns and the whole royal aura, but he’s also so polite and gentle that you can’t help but find it cute.

But now, as you walk under the same umbrella, his warmth just inches away, it hits you with sudden clarity. Oh, I am so, so screwed.

Because you might like him a little bit. Scratch that—a lot a bit.

Malleus glances at you, noticing the sudden shift in your expression. “Is something amiss?” His voice is gentle, genuinely concerned.

“Oh! No, I’m fine. Just, uh, a little tired from the show,” you say quickly, brushing it off.

Malleus doesn’t look entirely convinced but accepts your answer with a soft nod. Then, almost shyly, he extends his hand. “Here. It’s quite cold… if you’d like…”

You stare down at his offered hand, feeling your pulse jump. It’s such a small, polite gesture, but it sends your heart racing. You slip your hand into his, feeling his warmth seep into your skin, and a small smile tugs at your lips.

As you walk together under the umbrella, Lilia, peeking from behind a corner with a very exasperated Sebek in tow, smirks to himself. "Ah, young love," he sighs dramatically, as if he were watching a play unfold.

Back under the umbrella, Malleus is telling you about the history of Briar Valley, his voice gentle and filled with pride. You don’t catch half of it because you’re too focused on the way he looks down at you, his eyes soft and completely captivated. Every so often, he leans in a little closer, as if he can’t help himself.

Eventually, you reach the end of the walk, the rain easing off, and Malleus turns to you, looking slightly hesitant. “I hope this evening has been enjoyable for you… I wished for you to see the beauty of Briar Valley, but I… I fear I may have monopolized your time.”

You laugh softly. “Oh, trust me, I think you’re doing a great job of showing me around. Plus,” you add, “it’s not so bad sharing an umbrella with my biggest fan.”

Malleus’s expression lights up, a rare, breathtaking smile breaking across his face. “Yes,” he agrees softly, almost to himself. “Your… biggest fan.”

Before they leave, you impulsively pull out your phone. “Hey, Malleus, would you like to take another picture together? You know, as a memory of Briar Valley?”

Malleus’s eyes widen slightly, but he nods. “I would… like that very much.”

You pose, holding up your phone, and just as you snap the picture, he looks at you with a strange spark in his eyes, he leans over, just barely hesitating, and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek.

Now you’re the one who freezes, absolutely flustered but trying very hard to play it off. You clear your throat, laugh a little too brightly, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as if it’s no big deal. “W-Well, um, I guess we’re even now!” you stammer, hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth creeping up your face.

Malleus gives you a small, satisfied smile, clearly pleased with your reaction, while Sebek is beside himself, practically vibrating at a frequency that could power one of your concerts, as he splutters, “YOUNG MASTER, THIS IS—YOU CAN’T JUST—A HUMAN—”

But Lilia just laughs, giving Sebek a playful whack on the back. “Come now, Sebek, it’s all in good fun!"

Sebek looks torn between yelling and fainting, muttering to himself about propriety and why, oh why, would the young master be so entranced by a human?!

You just barely manage to keep it together until they leave, but the second you’re alone, you collapse onto the nearest couch, burying your face in a pillow with a ridiculous grin plastered across your face. Because Malleus Draconia, fae prince and possibly the most loyal fan you’ve ever met, just kissed you on the cheek.

Somehow, you know this is just the beginning.

The fan forum has always been your little comfort zone. You’ve got your dedicated fans, who post lovingly questionable fan art, some surprisingly deep theories about your lyrics, and even the occasional meme thread.

Today, though, you’ve decided to go on a bit of a lurking spree. You want to see what people really think—especially the critics. And you do find critics, of course, all happily airing out their grievances. But what you didn’t expect is the replies.

Each negative comment has an oddly formal, razor-sharp response that’s practically dripping with eloquent disdain, all signed "M.D." You read on, completely baffled until it dawns on you: this is Malleus.

This prince has taken it upon himself to haunt your comment section, like a very sophisticated, slightly unhinged ghost. You try to keep from snickering too loudly as you scroll through his hilarious, painfully dignified rebuttals.

I-like-snails: “I don’t understand the hype. This idol is all looks, no talent.”

M.D.: “Your failure to comprehend excellence in its truest form is unfortunate. To imply that this individual relies solely on appearance demonstrates an astonishing lack of insight. Consider expanding your understanding of ‘talent.’ Signed, M.D.”

real-idol-fan: “I’ve seen cooler concepts than this ‘gothic fantasy’ nonsense. So pretentious.”

M.D.: “Ah, but what is more pretentious, dear critic? To appreciate grandeur or to boast of one’s ‘cool’ concepts with all the subtlety of a loud footstep in the night? Gothic fantasy, as you call it, possesses a depth your mind has yet to comprehend. Signed, M.D.”

aura-aura: “This idol’s lyrics don’t even make sense. They’re just trying to sound deep.”

M.D.: “An intellect as shallow as a millpond would indeed struggle to navigate profound lyrical waters. I urge you to revisit the lyrics in question after reading a book or two on metaphor. Signed, M.D.”

You have to clutch your sides as you scroll through the thread. The idea of Malleus, a literal prince, defending you with words like “millpond intellect” and signing every single comment with his initials—it’s ridiculous.

Ridiculous and, at the same time, ridiculously touching. You’d never asked him to do this, never even thought he’d care about what random people thought of you, but here he is, waging a dignified, solo war in the fan forum trenches.

After several minutes, you take a deep breath and manage to calm down, even though you know you’re never going to look at your fan forum the same way again.

It's interview time and things are going smoothly. You’re answering questions about your latest song, about the creative process behind the music videos. All very normal stuff—until the interviewer grins, pulls out a picture, and holds it up for you to see.

You squint and realize, with dawning horror, that it’s the photo. The one of you and Malleus standing close under the same umbrella, him looking at you like you hung the stars and you, very clearly, smiling back at him. Whoever took it managed to capture a moment that looks... well, almost romantic.

"So," the interviewer says, leaning in with a gleam in their eye, "is this someone special?"

You’re ready to laugh it off, to dismiss it casually with a polite “no,” but... you freeze. Looking at that photo, at the way Malleus is watching you, something catches in your throat. “No, of course not” dies on your lips.

Your mind rewinds to all the times he’s shown up, how he’s silently supported you, those comments on the forum—and suddenly, you can’t deny it, not even to yourself.

“No comment,” you manage to say, but it sounds weak, even to you.

The interviewer’s brow arches, and they chuckle knowingly. Meanwhile, you’re scrambling internally. Oh no. Oh no, you’re in trouble. You’re in deep trouble.

The raffle winner is announced, and your mouth drops open when you hear the name. “Malleus Draconia!” Your eyes scan the crowd and—yep, there he is, beaming in a way that could light up an entire stadium, looking like he’s won the lottery.

Well, technically, he has, but there’s something about his expression that suggests this is the best moment of his life. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you feel the universe smirking, because it knows exactly what it’s doing by sending you this unattainable, royally handsome fae prince.

You’d had some time to think since that interview. The photo, the “no comment,” the dawning horror in your gut as you realized that yes, you’re down bad. Horrifically so. In the week since the interview, you’d come to accept it. The only issue? He's so out of your league, it’s practically laughable.

Meanwhile, Malleus is practically vibrating with excitement. As soon as his name was drawn, half of his kingdom exploded in celebratory fanfare. (To be fair, most of the Briar Valley population had entered the raffle in his name. “Statistical advantage,” Lilia had called it.)

By the time he gets home, he’s already lining up outfits, preparing what he calls “appropriate tokens of affection.”

“Perhaps... a small gargoyle?” he muses, clutching a miniature stone sculpture that weighs about as much as a small human child.

Silver clears his throat. “Maybe... consider something less... heavy?”

Undeterred, Malleus sighs but places the gargoyle back, moving on to his backup plan: a solid gold gargoyle instead.

Lilia, in the background, chimes in with, “Just give them a rock and say it’s a Briar Valley special!” Malleus ignores him.

The day arrives, and you’re waiting at a cafe for Malleus. The producers are buzzing around, setting up lights and cameras for some wholesome footage to share with your fans. You’re running through the usual script in your mind, but then Malleus walks in, looking... well, looking like Malleus. Tall, regal, glowing with excitement, and completely out of place in the modern cafe.

You’re trying to keep your cool, reminding yourself that he’s just a fan here to meet his favorite idol, but when he brushes his hand against yours as he takes his seat, you’re thrown into chaos. Wide-eyed, flustered chaos. In fact, you’re so visibly affected that one of the producers has to muffle a squeal.

You glance at Malleus, and for a second, it’s like the two of you are in your own little world, oblivious to the cameras. You’re laughing, he’s smiling in that polite but endlessly fascinated way, and it feels like the meet-cute scene in every cheesy K-drama ever made.

After the cafe, the producers decide to set up at a bowling alley. It’s cute, casual, and definitely low-stakes—or so you think. You explain the game rules to Malleus, who nods in solemn understanding. Then, you hand him a bowling ball and stand back, figuring he’ll get the hang of it soon enough.

Except... Malleus does not get the hang of it.

He lifts the ball with such enthusiasm and raw power that when he bowls, it lands with a thunderous bang. The ball rockets down the lane like it’s been launched out of a medieval trebuchet, shattering the pins with explosive force and completely obliterating the machinery behind them.

The bowling alley is plunged into silence. Even the producers are speechless.

You, however, are not. You burst out laughing so hard, tears actually stream down your cheeks, and you double over, clutching your stomach. Malleus, meanwhile, looks at the wreckage he’s caused with a sheepish expression and asks, “Did I... do it wrong?”

You’re still laughing too hard to answer. His expression is priceless—equal parts apologetic and baffled. For all the confusion on his face, he’s smiling too, in that warm, captivated way, like every sound of your laughter is worth all the destroyed bowling alleys in the world.

One of the crew members has to remind you both to stop standing in the wreckage.

After the... eventful bowling alley scene, you suggest something calmer, like feeding ducks at the park. You arrive with a bag of crumbs, ready for a relaxed, picturesque afternoon.

Malleus seems thrilled at the prospect of feeding these “quaint little birds.” He declares “I will bestow upon them many crumbs.”

But, as it turns out, ducks seem to be as unnaturally drawn to Malleus as your fanbase is to you.

The ducks start waddling toward you, sure, but when Malleus bends down to offer a handful of crumbs, they completely mob him. You watch in bewildered amusement as the ducks clamber onto him, flapping and honking, climbing his shoulders, even perching on his head like he’s the world’s fanciest scarecrow.

“I... seem to be... a duck magnet,” he murmurs, looking helplessly at you, as if apologizing for attracting every duck within a ten-mile radius. He’s totally overwhelmed, but also somehow completely fine with it. If you find this amusing, then it’s a noble cause in his mind.

They hop onto his lap, perch on his shoulders, and one brave little duck even nestles itself on his head, honking proudly as it looks down at him.

You’re giggling again, snapping photos with your phone as he stands there, a bemused fae prince turned accidental duck king. Malleus, standing there covered in feathery chaos, looks up at you, his expression softening at the sight of your laughter. You think you see the smile on his lips, and you’re certain this day can’t get any better.

Dinner with Malleus feels like the culmination of every daydream you’ve ever had and every moment you tried to ignore the thrill he gives you. The restaurant is all soft lighting and quiet music, and you’re seated across from him, barely able to touch your food because you’re too busy trying not to stare. Or at least, not to make it obvious you’re staring.

But it’s impossible not to. Malleus, in the soft glow of the candles, looks ethereal in a way that’s borderline unfair. He’s taken off his usual high-collared cloak, and he’s looking at you with an openness that feels both heart-wrenching and unbelievably warm. His eyes hold that steady, unwavering gaze that has you feeling more exposed than any stage spotlight.

You’re talking about something light—music, maybe, or the utterly ridiculous game of bowling earlier. But the words are just filler, a flimsy attempt to distract yourself from the absolute burning feeling in your chest, a feeling you’re starting to realize is a little too big to be brushed aside.

It’s love.

It’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating. You’re looking at him, and it’s all you can do to not reach across the table, grab his hand, and say something incredibly unhinged like, “Hi, you don’t know it yet, but we’re soulmates.”

He leans in, head tilted as he listens to you with that pure, undivided attention. And then, his lips quirk into a faint smile, and you’re done for. Absolutely, completely done for.

Dinner wraps up, and he offers you his arm as you both leave the restaurant and step into the cool night. You take it, fingers curling around his elbow, and feel the warmth of him through the fabric.

The street is quiet, and the moon is hanging low, casting an almost dreamlike glow over everything. And you—well, you’re looking at him like he’s the moon itself, like he’s the only thing worth looking at in the whole universe.

You’re walking slowly, so slowly it feels like the moment is stretching forever, but somehow that’s not enough. You can’t stand it; you can’t stand just holding his arm and pretending this feeling isn’t eating you alive. So, finally, you stop, turn to him, and without even a thought to what this might mean for your career or the scandal it could stir, you say, “Malleus?”

He looks down at you, eyes soft, waiting.

And you just… go for it. You lean up, heart pounding so hard it’s a miracle he can’t hear it, and kiss him.

The world stands still. For a second, you wonder if you’ve overstepped, if maybe he’s going to pull away or question you or—

But then he’s kissing you back. Immediately. Thoroughly. His hand rises to cup your cheek, and he leans in with a gentleness that completely undoes you. You feel the warmth of him, the tenderness in his touch, and it’s enough to make your knees weak.

When you finally pull away, breathless, you look up to find him watching you with an expression that’s somewhere between wonder and the same sort of ache you’re feeling.

And right now, the only thing that makes sense is to kiss him again.

So you do.

This time, it’s softer, slower, like you’re both savoring it, letting the world fall away until it’s just you and him in the middle of the quiet, moonlit street.

When you finally pull back again, there’s a lingering silence. You don’t know what to say. How do you explain to someone that you’re completely undone by them? That you’re staring at him and barely restraining yourself from saying things like, “Let’s make matching T-shirts,” and “You’re my favorite human being, even if you’re technically not human.”

He’s still gazing at you, lips curved in that barely-there smile, looking utterly unphased yet somehow entirely aware of the fact that you’re melting. He’s looking at you like you’re something delicate, something precious, and it’s honestly making you want to pull him down and kiss him senseless all over again.

But instead, you just laugh, quiet and breathless. He raises a brow, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Are you laughing at me?” he asks, in a tone that’s half curious, half amused.

“No,” you say, “I’m just… realizing something.”

“And what’s that?”

You look at him, eyes shining, and feel that burning again, that truth too big to ignore. “I’m completely in love with you.”

He doesn’t look shocked; instead, he just leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. And in that moment, you feel it again—the absolute certainty that you’re screwed. Because here’s a man who looks at you like you’re his whole world, and now that you’ve had a taste of this—of him—there’s no going back.

Masterlist

[withwritersblock]

That's So True

~That's So True by Gracie Abrams~

Author's Note: requested! this was fun to write. do I know what i wrote exactly, no I don't lol. Also another late post lol italics are flashback as always Summary: Luke ends his fwb with Y/N Warnings: implied smut Word Count: 8,980 Luke Hughes x fm!reader

She sat on the couch beside Mark, her childhood best friend. They went to UMich together on full athletic scholarships. He went for hockey and she went for volleyball. It wasn’t often that her friends and his friends got together. 

Many people assumed they were dating since they were always together but they were practically raised as siblings. There was a few years where they actually lived together because of her parents financial problems. So they would always brush off the dating rumors. 

Especially since they used to argue constantly exactly like siblings. Right now, they weren’t arguing but silently having a conversation. 

She kept watching Luke and the new girl make eyes towards one another from across the room. She was sure that the new girl was trying to get with Luke with the eyes that she was sending over to him. But Luke was probably trying to figure out what her intentions were. 

Luke was laying on the beanbag, scrolling through his phone as he mostly kept to himself. The new girl, she didn’t even know her name, was sitting beside Kaleigh. Y/N assumed the two were friends but the lack of conversation between them felt odd. 

Mark delicately tapped his hand against her arm forcing her gaze towards him. He gestured if she wanted a drink. Nodding, she stood up and they walked towards the kitchen together. Mark shifted his gaze towards Luke, rolling his eyes as he followed Y/N.

They stepped into the kitchen alone. She walked towards the fridge to take out another drink. 

“Are you alright?” he asked as he leaned against the counter.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled as she popped open the Truly can.

“Right, because we haven’t been sending daggers towards Luke since you stepped into the house,” he said half jokingly.

“I have not,” she mumbled before taking a long sip. Mark raised his eyebrows as he met her gaze. She clenched her jaw as she held the can below her. “Okay, maybe a little bit,”

“I know he’s my teammate and roommate but you’re you so if you say we hate him, then we hate him,” he explained as he walked towards her. She nodded as she stared towards the floor. Pressing her lips together, she nodded again. 

Lifting her gaze up, she began to blink rapidly to prevent the tears falling onto her cheek. “We hate him,” she let out barely above a whisper. Without hesitation he wrapped his arms around her, submerging her into a tight embrace.

“Then fuck him,” he whispered.

She sat on the couch beside Mark in his new house that he shared with five of his teammates. She’s known them for as long as Mark has. Because of how close she was with Mark she found herself always around.

Tonight was obviously no different. The house was getting crowded as more people were piling in for the party they were having. Mark was talking to a blond girl sitting in front of them. Her gaze kept switching towards Luke.

For the last few weeks they have been texting more and more. Mark knew that she had a crush on him, but he swore he wouldn’t say anything. So either he felt the same way, or she was obvious with her feelings.

He was typing on his phone, a smirk toying to his lips. After a few more moments she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Glancing towards Luke, she met his gaze and she watched his cheeks pink. She pulled her phone out to see a text from him. “Meet me at my room in five,”

Lifting her gaze, she met his eye, he smirked as he slowly stood up from the beanbag. He smirked as he walked past her and Mark. A shaking breath left her lips as she brought her knees towards her chest. 

Mark glanced towards Luke as he walked past him before he looked towards Y/N. He fought the grin forming to his lips before he looked back towards the blond girl in front of him.

Y/N brought her Truly towards her lips and chugged the rest of her drink before delicately placing it onto the floor. “I’m gonna get another drink,” she said. 

“Uh huh,” Mark let out while laughing. She smirked as she rolled her eyes playfully. 

She wasn’t entirely lying, she walked towards the kitchen to get another drink before she slipped into Luke’s room.

She took another Truly from the fridge before she urgently walked towards Luke’s room. Her heart was beating out of her chest as she tried to add some liquid courage to her body. 

Delicately, she raised her hand up and knocked onto his door. It didn’t take long for him to open the door and allow her to step inside. He shut it, twisting the lock in the process.

She stood in front of the door, awkwardly holding her drink as she scanned his room. His bed was made and his room was nearly spotless, it was slightly shocking. He took a small step back towards his bed as he took a deep breath.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” he asked as he pointed to his bed awkwardly. She smirked as she nodded. “Ethan invited like every person on campus, so the house is gonna get really crowded,” he explained as he sat down on the bed, looking up towards her.

Stepping towards him, she brought her drink towards her mouth; taking a long sip. After a few seconds, Y/N placed her drink on his nightstand before she sat beside him on the bed. Bumping her thigh against his, forcing his gaze towards her. He nodded as he scanned her features.

“What do you wanna watch?” he asked softly. Her gaze drifted towards his lips for a moment before she took a deep breath.

“Any recommendations?” she asked softly. His lips curled upward slightly as he nodded. 

He stood up from the bed, taking a hold of the TV remote on the nightstand as he walked towards the light switch. He turned the light off as he turned on Netflix. She slowly leaned against the headboard, pulling her knees up to her chest. Luke walked around the bed and laid beside her, adjusting the pillow beneath his head. 

She looked down towards him as he met her gaze. A toothy grin formed to his lips as he looked towards the screen. 

Luke put on a movie that both of them have seen hundreds of times. The movie had only been on for a few minutes when Luke turned onto his side to meet her gaze. 

“Hi,” he mumbled. Looking down towards him, she smiled softly.

“Hi,” she replied as she looked into his blue eyes. He waved his finger asking her to lay down. “What?” she asked, a soft chuckle leaving her lips.

“Come ‘ere so I can kiss you,” he let out barely above a whisper. Her eyes widened slightly as another grin formed to her lips. 

“Oh really?” she asked softly as she slowly laying completely down on her side. Luke nodded as he took a hold of her thigh, pulling her closer to him. Their lips were only a mere inch apart. He hummed before he rubbed his thumb against her bare thigh. Her breathing started to quicken as she looked deeply into his blue eyes.

“Then what are you waiting for?” she asked barely above a whisper. He smirked before he leaned towards her, devouring her lips. A moan left her lips, as her fingers ran through his hair. Slowly, he raised his hand up from her thigh, trailing his hand up her body.

Slowly, she climbed onto his lap with their lips still connected. His hands glided up and down her thighs. She took a hold of his shirt and started unbuttoning it. He began to sit up, pulling the shirt away from his frame. He laid back down, her lips started trailing down his neck. 

She began to bite and suck the skin, swirling her tongue to sooth the skin. He swallowed hard as his hands started hiking the dress up her frame, wanting it off of her body. 

Her lips trailed back up, meeting his lips urgently. Grinding against his lap, his breathing caught in his throat. “Fuck,” he mumbled against her lips. She smirked as she slowly pulled away from him. 

Luke began to lean towards her, desperate for her lips again. Smirking, she climbed off of his lap. He reached towards her but she slipped off of the bed. “Hey,” he let out, breathing heavily. 

Standing beside the bed, she took a hold of the dress and started pushing it off of her frame. He smirked as he watched her slowly reveal her body. He dragged his tongue along his bottom lip as she stood in front of him.

Mark waited until she pulled away from the embrace, not wanting to rush her. He hated seeing her sad, but he was always going to be the one to hold her and make her feel better. It took another minute before she slowly slipped away from his body. She kept her gaze on his chest as she fought the tears forming to her eyes. 

After a long few seconds she lifted her gaze and met his eye, “I’m gonna go home,” she mumbled. His eyes widened as he stepped towards her, taking a hold of her arm.

“Because of him?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. She shrugged as Kaleigh walked into the kitchen. Stopping short, she crossed her arms over her chest shyly. “Hey, what’s up Kale?” Mark shifted his gaze towards her. Y/N wiped her hands across her cheeks. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she mumbled.

“You didn’t-” both Mark and Y/N said at the same time. She shifted her gaze from Mark at first and then towards Y/N. 

“I’m gonna head home,” she muttered as she delicately placed her drink onto the counter.

“Y/N,” Mark let out softly.

“I’m going home,” she said more sternly as she started walking out of the kitchen and out of the house. 

She stepped into the living room to see the new girl sitting in Luke’s lap as the group was laughing loudly. Luke lifted his gaze and met her eye. His smile faltered slightly as their eyes were connected. She stood still, watching her run her hand across his jaw to force his gaze towards her. Luke looked back towards the new girl, smiling widely again. 

He quickly looked back towards Y/N, nearly rubbing it into her face. Swallowing hard, she continued to look into his blue eyes. Her eyes squinted slightly as she watched him, run his hand up and down the side of her thigh. 

A huff fell from her lips as she continued to walk out of the house. She stepped onto the porch, a dry angry laugh left her throat as she turned her gaze towards the sky. Her eyes continued to tear up. 

Her house she shared with a few of her sorority sisters was only a few streets over. It was normal for her to walk from the house to Mark’s house. It was quiet as it was quite late at night. She started down the street like she always did. Usually, Mark or Luke would walk her back to her house.

“Hey, hey, hey-” Mark shouted as he followed her out of the house. She spun around to meet his gaze. She took a deep breath as he walked towards her; somewhat breathless.

Luke was on top of her, both of his hands on either side of her as he was kissing her urgently. Her hands were gliding along his cheeks and into his hair. He slowly pulled his lips away from hers as he started trailing wet kisses along her neck down towards her exposed collarbone.

“Fuck,” she whispered as she tilted her head back. He smiled as he tugged at the fabric of her tanktop. 

Her hands glided along his upper back, pulling his hoodie up his back. He sat back, smiling down towards her before he pulled his hoodie from his frame. He tossed it towards the floor before he climbed on top of her again, devouring her lips. 

After a few seconds, there was a loud knock against his unlocked door. Luke pulled away from her, laying beside her. He pulled the blanket beside them and tossed it over their frame as the door was pushed open.

“She’s my friend Hughesy, every time she comes over she ends up in here. Not fair. Let’s go Y/N,” Mark stood at the door, motioning her to leave the room. She glanced towards Luke, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Luke let out while chuckling. 

“Very fucking serious right now,” he let out with a dry chuckle, “My friend who I haven’t seen in weeks because she’s been fucking you every day. I deserve to see my best friend,” Mark explained very dramatically. Luke covered his face with his hands while laughing.

“Mark, seriously?” she said while laughing.

“You promised me when you two started hooking up that I would still see you. So come on,” he pointed towards the door again. Y/N shifted her gaze towards Luke. He rolled his eyes while fighting off a grin.  She slowly slipped off of the bed, adjusting the tanktop on her body. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she teased as she walked out of the room. 

“Such a cock block,” Luke let out. 

Mark barked out a laugh. “You and your dick will survive one night,” Mark teased as he shut the door. She stood behind him, crossing her arms over her chest. “You and your-” Mark started before she shoved him. “Fine-alright, come on,” Mark said with a wide grin.

They walked down the hall towards his room and he pushed the door open. Y/N jumped onto his bed to take a hold of the Switch controller. Mark jumped and laid beside her taking a hold of the other one.

“So what’s the actual deal with you two?” Mark asked as he loaded up Mario Party. She fought the grin forming to her lips, her body heated up. She pressed her lips together, feeling Luke’s lips still on hers.

“We’re just-I don’t know,” she mumbled as she waited for the game to load. 

“So there’s nothing else going on?”

“Nope,”

“Just sex?”

“Just sex,” she repeated as she began to pick her character to play. He hummed as he took in a sharp breath.

“What are you doing?” he asked her as he ran his fingers through his hair. She took in a shaky breath as she tilted her head back. Another laugh fell from her lips as a tear fell onto her cheek. 

An image of Luke with the girl in his lap flashed in her mind as she clenched her jaw. Her entire body was shivering as she looked into Mark’s eyes. He was desperate to try and comfort her but there was nothing. 

She’s been heart broken before. Y/N had a few break ups back in high school, Mark was always there to take care of her. He’s even punched a few of her ex-boyfriends for the way that they treated her. She’s always come first.

“I can’t sit in there and watch that,” she forced out. Her lips quivered as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her arms were cold as the wind was starting to hit her skin.

Mark’s mouth fell open as he tried to find something to say to comfort her. She shook her head as she pressed her lips together. Mark stepped towards her again, watching her step back further. “I can’t be here!” she let out again, a sob falling from her lips. “He’s rubbing it in my face! He’s sitting there acting like we weren’t-” she trailed off as she wiped her hands across her cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry-” Mark said softly. 

“We spent-” she trailed off again while shaking her head once more. “I’m so stupid,”

“What?” Mark let out barely above a whisper.

He walked into her sorority house, smiling towards the girl that let him inside. He always forgot her name since he wasn’t at her house that often. She jogged down the stairs smiling towards him. He smiled widely as he held out his arms for her. Without hesitation she practically leaped into his arms. He chuckled while he held her tightly to his chest.

“Come on,” she whispered as she slowly slipped away from him. Luke didn’t hesitate as he followed her towards the steps. She jogged ahead, hoping he followed after her.

Turning the corner, she stepped into her room; spinning around to face him. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Twisting the lock, he stepped towards her; a teasing grin on his lips.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she let out as she looked deeply into his blue eyes. He smirked as he took a hold of her waist, spinning her to pin her against the door. 

“Now, we can’t be interrupted by your bestie,” he whispered dryly. She chuckled as she rested her hands onto his chest.  He raised his hand up, taking a hold of her cheek. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered before he pulled her towards him, kissing her urgently. Slowly, she tugged at his shirt; wanting it off of his body.

He pulled away from her, smiling as he tilting his head to the side. A smirk toyed to his lips as he stepped away from her. “Hey, where are you going?” she asked a small pout on her lips. He pursed his lips forward as he fought a grin forming to his lips. 

She tried to take a step towards him but he reached towards her instead. He took a hold of her waist tossing her over his shoulder. A loud giggle fell from her lips as she stablized herself against his back. Cautiously, he tossed her down onto the bed. 

He instantly climbed on top of her. A giggle fell from her lips as she grinned widely. Delicately, he pressed his lips against hers for a moment before he collapsed beside her, staring towards the ceiling. Rolling onto her side, she faced him. 

He lifted his arm up, allowing her to rest her head onto his chest. Luke ran his fingers through her hair before pressing his lips against the top of her head. Her heart fluttered against her chest as she shut her eyes for a moment. 

“You know,” she started, swallowing hard, “The girls are hosting this event thing where we’re supposed to bring a plus one,” she explained. He hummed. “We’re supposed to let Lydia know who we’re bringing with us,” 

“Aren’t those things reserved for boyfriends?” he asked as he glided his hand up and down her back. 

Scrunching her features together for a moment before she took a deep breath, “I’ve taken Mark to one before. I just thought that maybe since it’s supposed to be a date thing that- you could come along,” she let out barely above a whisper. He pressed his lips against the top of her head again.

“Maybe the next one,” he let out before he took a hold of her chin. He forced her gaze to meet his eye. Subconciously, her lips fell into a pout. He glided his thumb across her bottom lip, “Baby,” he let out softly almost as if it was an apology.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. He leaned towards her, pressing his lips against hers softly. She glided her hands through his curls as he continued to kiss her deeply.

She sniffled as she shook her head, “I need to go home,” she mumbled again as she started walking down the sidewalk. Mark didn’t argue it this time as began to follow her. Slowly, she spun around to meet Mark’s gaze. “Mark.”

“It’s late, let me walk you back,” Mark offered as he started walking beside her. She didn’t argue it as she continued to walk. 

They stayed quiet for a moment as the wind was picking up. She brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face as she kept her gaze on her feet. Making sure to avoid every crack, a childhood habit that she continues to this day. 

“You’re not stupid,” Mark said as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Y/N didn’t stop walking, she kept her gaze onto the concrete below her. Her steps skipping over each crack between the concrete slabs. “You fell for him. That doesn’t make you stupid,” He further explained.

She didn’t reply but he knew that she took what he said to heart.

“You don’t need a guy like him anyway,” he mumbled. She hummed as they turned the corner towards her house. “I’ll hate him as long as you need me to hate him,” he expressed. She chuckled as she rolled her eyes playfully. 

“You can’t hate him, he’s one of your best friends,” she countered.

“Yeah but he hurt my best friend, so we hate him,” he let out, a teasing grin on his face. “But I still gotta play and live with him so I can’t always hate him,” 

After a few seconds, they finally stepped up the porch to her house. They stood outside the door, and her gaze was still staring towards the ground beneath her. Finally lifting her gaze, she looked into his eyes and nodded slightly.

Leaning towards her, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her towards his chest. She wrapped her arms around the center of his back as a shaky breath left her lips. 

For the longest time, she hated hugs. Something about the contact was always so intimate and awkward. It was rare if she ever hugged family let alone Mark. But as her first year at college progressed, needing a hug was all that she ever really needed. 

Anyone’s embraced made her feel better, but right now she wished it was Luke instead of Mark hugging her the way he was.

“Thanks,” she mumbled before she slipped away from him. Keeping her head low, she pushed the door open and stepped into the house. Shutting the door behind her, she continued walking towards the stairs. 

“Hey, who just dropped you off?” Lydia asked as she emerged from the kitchen with her boyfriend, Darren. His arms were around Lydia’s waist as she guided him into the entryway. 

Y/N took in a sharp breath, “Mark,” she let out before she started to walk up the steps again. Lydia slowly pulled away from Darren as she tried to decide if she should follow her up the steps. 

“Normally you don’t come home until the morning if your at their house,” she explained, slightly confused. Y/N paused for a second as she met Lydia’s gaze. 

“Luke and I aren’t-” she waved her hand slightly, “-Anymore. It was awkward so Mark brought me home. I mean is that okay?” she asked, feeling herself get teary eyed in the process.

“Oh yeah, definitely. Just strange. I’m sorry about Luke. You guys seemed great together.” she explained as she shifted her attention towards Darren.

“Good night guys,” she mumbled as she jogged up the remaining steps towards her room.

~~~

His head was rested in between her legs as they were watching a TV show together. She was also doing homework, which is why he wasn’t laying with her and more or less laying on her. 

His hands were gliding up and down the inside and outside of her thighs. There was no consistent pattern in his movements, it was whatever he was deciding to do in that second. His motions were also intended to distract her, pull her attention towards him. 

“Hey,” he mumbled as he pressed his lips against her inner thigh. A hum fell from her lips as she continued to type on her computer. “Are you almost done?” he whined out before he pressed his lips against her skin again, this time longer. Tilting his head back, hoping to meet her gaze instead was met with her back of her laptop. 

“Luke, you know this is due tonight,” she expressed as she continued to type. 

“Tonight, as in we can do stuff now and you’ll still have time to get this done,” he muttered.

His fingertips were gliding up and down the inside of her thigh, watching her skin erupt in goosebumps. His lips curled upward before he pressed his lips against her skin again.

“Not happening until I am finished with this,” she expressed, a laugh falling from her lips. Luke’s lips fell into a pout.

“How much do you have left?” he questioned as he sat up slightly, looking down towards her. His hand was still gliding up and down her thigh teasingly. Looking past her laptop, meeting his gaze, she rolled her eyes playfully before she rested it beside her. 

“You are so impatient,” she let out teasingly. He smirked before he parted her legs once more. Squinting her eyes slightly as she watched him momentarily. Slowly, gliding his hand lower and lower to take a hold of her loose shorts. Luke twisted the fabric between his fingers. He began to tug them from her frame slowly. 

“Luke-” she sat up squirming away from him, giggles falling from her lips. He smirked while rolling his eyes playfully. 

“Fine,” he drew out the word for a few seconds, “I’ll behave while you finish you’re assignment,” he stood up and walked toward the head of the bed. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers for a moment. 

He pulled away as he delicately took a hold of her chin, “So beautiful,” he whispered before he pecked her lips. “I’ll go get us some food,” he mumbled against her lips before he kissed her again. 

“That’d be great,” she whispered.

“I’ll be back, my love,” he whispered before he started heading out of the room.

It had been a few days since she last saw Mark or Luke. The idea of avoiding their house was already circulating her mind but the fact that they had an away game, made it easier for her to do that.

She hasn’t been bed ridden from a break up since her first boyfriend broke up with her when she was fourteen. But can she even constitute what she had with Luke a break up? They were never officially together. It was six months of spending nearly every day together. It wasn’t just sex. It was the moments before and after they did it that mattered.

She had fallen for him without fulling realizing that she did. One minute, he was just her friends with benefits and the next, she was in love with him. She confessed her feelings for him a month after she realized that she had them. Which led to the end of whatever they were doing. 

Luke didn’t want a relationship. He didn’t want to start up anything with anyone if he was heading to New Jersey. It was always on his mind that one day he would have to drop everything to join the NHL. He didn’t want a single thing holding him back. Which meant no girlfriend. 

Despite Y/N practically being his girlfriend anyway. If he didn’t want a girlfriend, why did he spent all of his free time with her? Cuddling with her? Kissing her? Holding her when she was sad? Why did he do all of that, if it was never that serious.

Deep down, she knew that he never meant to hurt her. He was only doing what felt right and she could handle that, sure, but seeing him afterwards hurts too much right now.

There was a knock on her door and a groan fell from her lips, which the person at the door took as a come in.

“You are going out tonight,” Lydia said simply as she walked towards the bed. She took a hold of the comforter and tossed it off of Y/N’s frame. Another groan fell from her lips as she covered her head with a pillow. Lydia reached over and took the pillow from her grasp. “You need to go to the bar and let hot men buy you drinks and you need to dance,” Lydia said as she smacked her hands against the bed. 

“No,” she said as her voice cracked. She covered her face with her hands.

“You are getting up from this bed, showering and making yourself look hot as fuck and you are going to get drunk,” Lydia begged as she took a hold of Y/N’s arm, physically pulling her from the bed.

“This is peer pressure, you know,” Y/N mumbled as she crossed her arms over her chest. Looking into Lydia’s gaze. A smile flashed to Lydia’s lips.

“It’s only peer pressure if it works,” she said jokingly. Y/N rolled her eyes as she started walking towards her bathroom. Lydia clapped excitedly as she walked out of Y/N’s room.

Stepping into the bathroom, her gaze landed on her reflection in the mirror. It was shocking to see how she looked. She definitely needed a little reset. Maybe it would be good for her. She stepped towards the shower, turning it on.

The next three hours, she spent listening to loud music and taking forever to make sure her hair and makeup looked perfect. 

She stared at her closet, pulling out different dresses. For a while nothing was right, each dress was too tight or too flowy. Each dress it the ground and stayed there until she found a tight black dress with mesh long sleeves. 

She stepped into the bathroom, looking into her reflection; she felt hot and definitely looked that way.

“Y/N, it’s almost eleven, are you ready yet?!” Lydia yelled from the lower level of the house. 

“One second!” she shouted back as she took a hold of her favorite perfume bottle. Instantly, spraying her entire frame with the mist. Delicately, she placed it onto the counter before she leaned down and took a hold of the stilettos beside her. Slipping them on quickly before she heads out of the room towards the stairs.

Walking down the steps, she smiled towards Lydia and Darren as she walked down the steps, “Hot damn girl,” Lydia said as she fanned herself. Y/N grinned as she kept her gaze on the steps, making sure she didn’t trip down the stairs.

Her friends and Mark’s friends were getting together to throw an athletes only rager at Mark’s house. Usually, athletes remained under the radar but one time a year they throw a huge party just for themselves. Making sure, no cameras were around in the process. Everyone’s phones were turned off or kept at home. 

She had on a tight black dress with mesh sleeves that she always felt hot in. She stepped into the house with her teammate and friend, Dina. 

Luke was sitting on the couch beside Ethan. They were engaged in a conversation but Luke stopped talking the second he laid eyes on Y/N. He sat up straighter as he bit his bottom lip while fighting off a grin.

Ethan wasn’t hiding the fact that he was checking her out as well. He dragged his hand across his chin as he stood up and walked away.

“I’m grabbing a drink,” Dina said before she slipped into the party, smiling towards a group of linemen from the football team. 

Y/N smiled towards Luke as she continued walking towards him. He pursed his lips forward as he scanned her frame. It was safe to say that she was the sexiest girl in the room. She stood in front of him for a second before she sat down beside him. He smiled towards her for a moment.

Without hesitation, he took a hold of neck and pulled her towards him; devouring her lips. After a few seconds she pulled away from him, he slipped his hand from the base of her neck towards her cheek. “You are so-” he mumbled against her lips before he kissed her urgently again. 

Slowly, she pulled away from him. “Wait,” she muttered before she leaned fulling back. She dragged her thumb across his lips, trying to clean the lipstick left on his mouth. “So impatient,” she mumbled before standing up from the couch. He leaned back on the couch trailing her steps with his eyes. 

He ran his hand across his lips as he shook his head as a chuckle fell from his lips. 

She continued to walk into the kitchen in dire need of a drink. The house was already pretty crowded with most of the hockey, football, and volleyball team were there. She walked towards the counter and immediately started pouring out a vodka shot.

“Some show,” Mark teased as he walked up beside her. She chuckled as she instantly took the shot. A groan fell from her lips as she shook her head. “He’s obsessed with you,” 

“I don’t blame him,” she mumbled with a smirk on her lips. Mark barked out a laugh as he started pouring himself a mixed drink with vodka and lemonade. She poured out another shot; meeting Mark’s gaze. After a few seconds she took the shot, this time it went down smoother. 

“Can you at least keep his tongue out of your throat in my living room,” he said half jokingly. She laughed while turning to meet Mark’s gaze.

“I’ll think about it,” she teased as she continued out of the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Y/N mumbled before she stepped off of the last step. “Let’s go before I change my mind,” she explained as she chuckled.

“Darren go, go, go,” Lydia said while laughing. Darren tossed his head back while laughing. He took a hold of his keys as he began the charge out of the house. “Everyone’s meeting us at that bar a few streets over,” she explained as she happily swayed her hips back and forth towards Darren’s car. He was already at the car unlocking it. He climbed into the driver seat and turned on the car. 

“As long as I can drink, I’m okay with anywhere,” Y/N said as she climbed into the backseat of the car. Lydia reached for Darren’s phone to start searching for a playlist to listen to on the short ride to the bar.

The ride to the bar was fast as they truly only listened to one song the ride there. Darren put the car into park and immediately turned the car off and jumped out. Lydia was not too far behind but Y/N stayed inside the car. Her eyes were watching the line form outside the bar. It was crowded, like it always was on a Friday night in their college town. 

It was easy getting ready; putting the makeup on and doing her hair was easy and fun. But now that she actually has to step foot into the bar; her legs felt like jello and her mind was hazy. Lydia stood outside the car door and pulled it open for her. 

“Come on, sexy thing,” Lydia said as she reached over and unbuckled the seatbelt. Swallowing hard, Y/N reluctantly stepped out of the car. “It will be fun,” Lydia whispered. Y/N nodded as she glanced towards the entrance. “After a few shots maybe,”

“Yeah, maybe,” she mumbled as she followed after the pair towards the entrance to get in line for the bar. It was cold but her body ran hot from the debilitating anxiety all over her body. 

The line moved fast and majority of the people in line had IDs. There were a few people that needed X’s on their hands. After they stepped inside, the music was loud and vibrated her chest. Lydia leaned into her, whispering something but she couldn’t hear anything. 

Her eyes landed on all too familiar sight. Luke was sitting against the bartop with the girl from the other night. She was standing in between his legs laughing as she ran her fingers through his hair. Y/N was near the entrance, people cussing at her to move but she refused. She kept staring towards the pair. 

The girl shifting her gaze towards Y/N. Their eyes met and her smile faltered before she took a hold of Luke’s chin and kissed him urgently. Clenching her jaw, she forced her gaze towards the floor. Lydia took a hold of her arm trying to drag her deeper into the bar. 

“Don’t look at him,” she shouted towards her as they walked to the opposite end of the bar to get away from him and the girl. God, she wished she knew her name. 

Leaning against the bartop, Lydia shouted towards the bartender. He shifted his gaze towards Y/N and she took a deep breath. “Espresso Martini please,” she yelled towards him. He nodded as he started making the drinks. Shifted her gaze down the bar to see the girl sitting alone and Luke no where to be found.

It didn’t take long for her to get her drink. The bartender handed her the drink and she brought it towards her lips instantly. It was the best drink she’s had in ages. Especially since for the last few months all she’s been drinking is seltzers. 

Lydia sipped her rum and coke and began to walk towards the center of the bar that had a dance floor. Y/N stayed put as she chugged her espresso martini. She placed the empty glass onto the bartop; already feeling hot from the alcohol in her system. 

The bartender smirked. “Another?” he yelled. Y/N leaned against the counter top and nodded with a smirk on her lips. “This ones on the house, pretty girl,” he continued. Y/N smiled widely as she winked towards the bartender. It didn’t take long for him to place another drink in front of her.

“Thank you,” she hollered towards him as she walked towards the dance floor. It could’ve been the lack of food in her body or the placebo effect but she was feeling tipsy already. It definitely was the placebo effect and she was grateful for it. 

The bar was playing early 200s rap music and she was swaying and singing along without a care in the world. Lydia, Darren, and her were dancing for an hour. A new drink in her hand every fifteen minutes. Lydia and Darren were dancing with each other, swaying and singing in each other’s faces. While she was dancing alone, dancing away from any guy that tried to dance with her.

It was probably her fourth or fifth espresso martini within an hour and she knew she was going to regret it later. But right now, dancing and drinking away her heartbreak was everything she needed. It didn’t help that she kept getting glimpses of Luke dancing with the girl. 

Y/N couldn’t tell if Luke saw her but she knew that the girl did. Every time that she saw the pair, the girl kissed Luke urgently. Almost as if to brag that they were together. For the first time in a few days, she didn’t care. She didn’t care that he was with someone else. Didn’t care that she was single, alone, and heart broken. It was like she was normal and happy.

But she knew that was the espresso martinis and she would feel awful in the morning but she was happy. 

Tapping her hand against Lydia’s shoulder, she took her attention. “I’m gonna get some air,” she shouted. Lydia nodded before she began to dance with Darren again. Y/N slipped through the crowd towards the patio. She shoved the door open and stepped outside. Taking in a deep breath, she walked towards the fence blocking the patio in. 

Leaning against it, she began to watch all of the people walking towards the entrance, trying to figure out what their stories might be. 

“Y/N?” a voice rang out. A voice she’s gotten used to hearing for months. 

She sat on the couch with Mark beside her as they were both playing Mario Kart. Luke wandered out of his room, a wide grin on his face as his eyes lit up once he saw her. “Markie, keeping my girl all to yourself?” he asked teasingly. He walked towards the couch, taking a hold of Y/N’s chin and delicately leaning down and kissing her softly. 

“Hughesy, she’s my best friend,” Mark said while laughing. “Not like she’s your girlfriend,” Mark expressed as he leaned forward while starting a new game. Her smile faltered for a second before she pushed it back onto her lips. Luke fought a grin forming to his lips before he squeezed his way onto the couch. 

Dramatically, he wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulder; pulling her to his side. He pressed his lips against the top of her head as he started gliding his fingertips across her exposed shoulder and into her hair. His gaze was admiring her side profile. 

“When’s that happening by the way?” Mark asked, teasingly.

“Mark don’t,” she scolded. Luke didn’t even blink as he switched his gaze towards his phone. “Luke, do you want to join? Mark’s got another controller in his room,” she questioned.

“Yeah, why not,” he mumbled as he stood up from the couch and wandered towards Mark’s room. 

“Will you stop?” she paused the game as she shifted her gaze towards him. Mark dropped the controller into his lap. “I told you we’re just hooking up,” she whispered.

“I’ve had my fair share of friends with benefits and I’ve never done anything that you two do,” Mark said as he leaned towards her. “I’ve never done this,” he trailed off as he pressed his lips against the top of her head, “Only done that with a girlfriend.” he said with a smirk before he leaned back. 

Pressing her lips together, she tilted her head back against the couch. “Don’t talk about it with him around,” she muttered. Mark nodded as Luke walked back out into the living room. He squeezed himself back into the couch as he reached his hand over and took a hold of her thigh as she restarted her match with Mark. 

Luke delicately dragged his fingertips along her thigh as he waited for his turn to join the game. His gaze was admiring her side profile again. He leaned towards her as he delicately pressed his lips against her cheek. 

Shutting her eyes, slowly she spun around to see Luke standing behind her. His cheeks were red and sweaty. His hair was a little messy but he looked good. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, stepping towards her.

Lowering her gaze towards the floor, she took a deep breath, “I’m fine,” she mumbled or slurred she couldn’t tell. 

“Let me take you home,” he let out, stepping towards her.

“I just got here,” she said while crossing her arms over her chest.

“You’re drunk,” 

“I’m fine, Luke,” she let out while shaking her head. 

“You can barely stand up,” he said as he took a hold of her arm. Yanking it away from him, she looked into his eyes.

“Don’t touch me," she forced out.

“Please let me get you some water at least,” 

“You don’t get to look at me, you don’t get to care about me,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. He took another step towards her, “You don’t get to pretend to love me anymore,”

“Do you seriously think I was pretending?” he asked while furrowing his eyebrows. He clenched his jaw as he tilted his head to the side. Trying to see if she truly meant what she said. 

“I was in love with you, don’t you get that?” he let out while shaking his head. Scrunching her features together, she tried to sober up to fully process what he was saying. He took a hold of her cheeks. Her eyes softened as he glided his thumbs across the apples of her cheeks. Her hands rested onto his chest. 

“The moment I realized I was in love with you I had to step away because it won’t be fair to you when I leave,” he expressed, he looked over her features as he looked deeply into her eyes. “I tried keeping my distance from you, keep as casual as I could but you are literally impossible to not fall in love with,” 

“If you’re in love with me then why is her tongue down your throat every other minute,” she choked out. Shaking his head, he shifted his gaze towards the sky. 

“I don’t know,” he let out.

“You don’t know?” she let out while laughing. “Goodbye Luke,” she mumbled as she started walked away from him. 

“Y/N, please,” he delicately took a hold of her arm. 

“I’m drunk, I’m not doing this,” she forced out as she pulled her arm away from him and continued walking back inside of the bar. He stood in the patio watching her walk away from him. 

~~~

“Hey,” he whispered as he stood in the doorway. Y/N lifted her gaze from her phone, a smile formed to her lips as he slowly stepped inside. He twisted the lock as he walked towards the bed, tossing his jacket to the floor. 

“How was your practice?” she asked. A huff of air fell from his lips as he walked towards the bed. He sat on his bed, his shoulders slumping. Slowly, he fell onto his back. She rolled onto her side, he lifted his gaze to meet her eye. “Not good?” she questioned, a soft chuckle falling from her lips.

Her fingertips glided through his hair. Shutting his eyes, a smile of content formed onto his lips. “Coach made us skate lines. Fucking exhausted,” he mumbled. A soft giggle fell from her lips. 

“I’m sure, baby,” she whispered as she continued running her fingers through his hair. “What can I do?” she asked softly. A smirk formed to his lips before he puckered them. She smiled before she leaned down and kissed him softly. After a few seconds, he slowly sat up and looked down towards her. His blue eyes softened as he continued to admire her features. “What?” she let out quietly. 

He shook his head as he leaned down and delicately pressed his lips against hers. After a few seconds, he pulled away. “Wanna watch a movie an-and actually watch it?” he asked, a sleepy grin formed to his lips. She smiled softly as she nodded. He laid on his back, holding out his arms for her to lay with him. Without hesitation, she rested her head onto his chest. 

His hands glided up and down her back soothingly. Her fingertips glided along the fabric of his t-shirt. “Got any ideas?” she asked, lifting her head up to look down towards him. 

“Anything’s fine by me, baby,” he let out as he scanned her features. She nodded as she delicately rested her head back down onto his chest. He reached for the remote on the nightstand before he handed it over to her. “Harry Potter’s always an option,” he said before clearing his throat. Rolling her eyes playfully before she turned on the TV. 

“Which one?” she asked softly.

“Wait really?” 

“Which one before I change my mind,” she teased.

“Prisoner of Azkaban, obviously,” he muttered.

“Such a nerd,” she said as she began to turn on the movie. He hummed before he pressed his lips to the top of her head. Slowly he started running his fingers through her hair, twisting the end of it between his fingers.

Around an hour into the movie she was asleep, but Luke was still wide awake. Tilting his head to the side, he looked down and admired her sleeping features. His heart pounded hard against his chest. 

She was so beautiful and so perfect. She was everything he’s ever wanted in a girlfriend. But she was in Michigan and in a year from now he could be in Jersey. He clenched his jaw as he shifted his gaze towards the ceiling. His hand continued to glide along her back, he slipped his hand beneath her shirt, to feel her skin against his fingertips.

All he’s ever wanted and now he needs to let her go.

When she woke up, the first thing on her mind was her conversation with Luke last night. She was hungover, but not as violently as she thought she was going to be. On the other hand, Lydia and Darren were so drunk, they were passed out in her bathroom. She drank liquid IV before she fell asleep, knowing that it would help her in the morning.

Her memory was hazy but his words ran through her mind on repeat. He told her that he was in love. Which was nearly impossible to wrap her mind around the idea that he was. She was in love with him, she was sure of it. But there was no way he felt that way towards her. 

Instead of wallowing in bed, she decided to climb out of bed to cleanse the night away. Her shower lasted nearly an hour. Her music was loud and all she wanted to do was stay in the shower letting the water wash away all of her problems instead of facing it head on.

After the water started to run cold, she was forced to leave the safety of the shower. After washing every inch of her body and smelling like vanilla; she was satisfied as she covered her body with a t-shirt and a lose pair of shorts.

She walked towards the bed to see her phone vibrating on her bed. She sighed as she flipped it over to see Luke was calling her. No longer showing the contact photo she had of him. Sighing she brought her phone close to her ear as she answered. 

“Wanna go for a drive?” Luke asked, skipping straight to the point. Her mouth fell open as she tried to find something to say. “Y/N?” he let out.

“Uh, sure? Why?”

“Come outside,” he mumbled before hanging up. Slowly, she pulled the phone away from her ear as she stared towards it for a second. Sighing, she began to walk out of her room. Lydia yelled at her about being quieter, but she ignored her as she continued down the stairs towards the front door.

She pulled the door open and stepped outside to see Luke’s car in front of the house. Walking towards the car, she opened the passenger door and sat in the seat without looking towards him.

“Hey,” he let out quietly. She didn’t say anything, instead she put on her seatbelt as she kept her gaze in her lap. He put the car in drive as he started to pull out of the neighborhood they shared. “Can we talk about last night?” 

Ignoring him, she reached over and turned up the soft country music on his radio. Reaching a light, Luke shifted his gaze towards her. Their eyes connected for a moment before she shifted her gaze down towards her lap.

“Y/N, do you remember last night?” he asked quietly. 

“I remember,” she mumbled, “I just don’t want to talk about it,” 

“Y/N,”

“You told me you were in love with me but your tongue was done another girl’s throat minutes prior; and I was supposed to believe you?” she forced out. His mouth opened before it clamped shut, “Since you want to talk about it, let’s talk about that, Luke.”

“Everything I told you last night was true,” he explained. She huffed as she switched her gaze out the window. “Do you really think I was pretending?” he asked. She took in a deep breath as she tilted her head back fighting tears.

“We spent nearly every day together for six months and out of no where you end it over text; what else am I supposed to think?” 

“I ended it because I was scared,”

“Scared of what Luke?” she let out harshly.

“Hurting you,”

“Well, you did that anyway,” she mumbled. 

“Y/N,” 

“Seriously, Luke, how can you say that you love me and just makeout with another girl right in front of me?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” he let out while shaking his head. “I really thought I could keep enough distance from you to keep it casual. And then it stopped being casual and I was falling for you,” 

“What are you doing right now?” she asked while rolling her eyes. 

“I’m trying to fix this,” he let out as he pulled into a parking lot near one of their favorite restaurants they used to go to together.

“There is nothing to fix, Luke! You ended things with me and then two days later starting making out with a girl right in front of me. The only reason I got in this car was to tell you that you can’t tell me you love me after the way you treated me for months. We can be friends because of Mark but that’s it. Now turn around and take me home,” she explained as tears fell onto her cheek. 

He swallowed hard as he met her gaze. He chewed his bottom lip for a moment before he took a deep breath. “I really was trying to do the opposite of hurting you,” he mumbled. She nodded. 

“I know,”

[johnbrand]

Recycling

I watched as the next employee entered the chamber. He appeared a bit confused, probably having expected a conference room rather than the dark space with mirrored walls. By the look of it, he had no idea that any one of the panes were one-sided, hesitantly fidgeting with his tie as he announced his presence with a timid “Hello?”

I leaned into the microphone, “Good afternoon.” The nervous boy’s eyes dashed around the room, trying to identify the person speaking to him. His physical characteristics and mannerisms resembled a mouse, small and skittish.

“Am I supposed to be here?” he eventually replied, choosing the speaker above my viewpoint as his receptor.

“Yes, this is the meeting to discuss your annual review.” I replied. “You're in the right place, Mr. Donson. Would you like for me to refer to you by your given name?”

The boy shuffled anxiously, “Drayton is fine.”

Habitually, I continued. “I’m sure you're wondering why your annual review this year is different from those in the past. Don’t worry Drayton, you are still one of our top performers, and your review reflects your incredible performance.”

Feeling a delicate surge of confidence, Drayton let a smile sneak up onto his lips. Being clean shaven and still holding some baby fat, it frankly was quite endearing. Cute even.

“As you are already aware, our company has been having some financial issues recently. And as a high-ranking official in our accounting department, I am sure that you are more than knowledgeable on the details of this subject.”

Drayton’s youthful glee faltered for a moment.

“Unfortunately, we do not have the funds available to keep you on board and give you a raise,” I started. “The company would like to offer you a deal: in exchange for accepting a substandard review and a 19% decrease in pay, we will offer you external benefits.”

Shock emerged from Drayton’s face, “What benefits would be worth a fifth of my paycheck?”

“Unfortunately I am liable to disclose that information,” I robotically replied. “You can either accept or tender a resignation.” 

Drayton took a moment to decide, just like all the other employees typically did. But eventually, they all convinced themselves that losing employment at the company was the worse of the two options.

“I’ll accept.”

“Stand by.” I followed procedure, locking the exits and airways into the chamber. Once that was done, I began flipping the switches. Steam mechanisms, followed by audio machines, followed by visual projectors. I did not even pay attention to the squabbling accountant, panicking as his chamber was bombarded with smoke, abrasive phonics, and commands that flashed against the walls and reflected into every corner of the room. 

Thanks to the padding in my control room, I absorbed none of it. I simply ignored Drayton’s screams and opened my laptop, getting back to my own duties as the process did its work. With all the vapors, I typically could not witness any of the changes that happened anyway–which also meant I could never attest to possible allegations if our company did ever come under some sort of legal fire in the future. But sometimes I did spot little things, flashes of commands that were being ingrained into the employee. MASCULINE, TRADITIONAL, ATTENTIVE. The small letters would pulse by an instant, although they were meaningless to me within my enclosed accommodations.

Eventually, my timer went off, and I closed out of the procedure. I exited the program and flipped the switches back over, shutting off all stimulatory mechanisms. It took a moment for the smoke to clear, presenting me with a new version of the employee. More muscular, more masculine, and more virile.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Donovan?”

"It’s Donson, boss." The man stood tall, stoic. His voice now held much more depth and presence.

"It’s Donovan, Drake Donovan,” I affirmed. “That's what's in our system."

I watched the man process this, the command’s installation literally visible behind his now less-intelligent eyes. 

“I see you were able to find part of your new uniform already.” I was referring to the briefs and sweatshorts that were covering the lower half of Drake’s much larger body. The remnants of the former business casual outfit were scattered across his large feet. “The closet behind you will contain the rest of your attire. Company fitness uniforms and approved footwear that will better fit your size and new position.”

“New position?” Drake inquired, his question curious rather than interrogative.

“The company has decided to reassign you as a security liaison, seeing as that will be a better fit for your paygrade.” I typed away at my reviewal report, adding in details of Drake’s benefits package. Increase in height, dramatic increase in musculature, increase in hair, increase in virility…

To save money, the company liked to recycle its employees. We would bring in fresh graduates to run our corporate operations, and then once they hit their pay ceiling, recycled them into more manual, less intellectually-driven roles. Naturally, no one ever filed any complaints about this procedure as no one realized it existed. And even if they did, they would no longer have the brains capable to file such a complaint.

“Sounds good, boss,” Drake replied, even though I had already known what his answer was going to be. With his dominating size and brutish stature, Drake had been remodeled into the standard male form that we needed for our team. And with this mind simplified to only focusing on traditional objectives (upholding masculinity, working out, fulfilling his role), Drake was now bound to solely focus on the company’s objectives. Thanks to the recycling process, our company would keep the profits high and the employee turnover low. And now, Drake would remain entertained without the extra money by merely following orders and enjoying the simpler things in life, like flexing his muscles.

[moonstruckme]

i was wondering if we could have some roomate!james where him and reader have a disagreement over something and reader feels like james don’t want her there anymore but he comforts her??

Thanks for requesting!

cw: reader feels financially insecure

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“James.” You run your fingers worriedly over the small tears in the doorframe. Look to your roommate in the kitchen. “This is getting out of hand.” 

“What is?” 

“Juniper’s been scratching on the doorframe again.” 

James tsks. “Junie-girl,” he coos, little reprimand to be found in his tone as he looks down at the orange cat currently winding through his ankles, “what are you trying to do to us, huh?” 

You’re not quite so amused. Since James had agreed to look after his friend Lily’s cat while she’s traveling, Juniper has knocked down and broken two of your glasses, scratched up a corner of the couch, and pissed on the carpet in James’ room. You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with the smell of that last one yourself, but you doubt your landlord will be pleased if James can’t get it out by the end of your lease. 

“She’s got to stop,” you say, oddly unsure if you’re trying to reason with James or the cat. “It’s getting really noticeable.” 

“I’m not sure what else to do.” James shrugs. His pan sizzles as he turns over the chicken he’s cooking. “I’ve already moved her favorite scratching post over by the door and sprayed it with the catnip Lily gave me.” 

You cross your arms and sit down on the couch, chewing the inside of your lip. “I’m worried about the security deposit,” you admit. 

“Oh, don’t be.” James waves a hand vaguely in your direction. “My last apartment was way worse than this when I moved out, and they didn’t charge me for anything.” 

His unconcern nettles you. Of course, why would James be upset about a security deposit? He likes to pretend at independence, but you know his parents will always give him funds if he’s in a bind. He doesn’t worry about money the way you do. 

 “Yes, but that was a different landlord, wasn’t it.” There’s a bit of bite to your tone, and you try to soften it. “Maybe someone else could take her for the rest of Lily's trip?” 

James turns, eyebrows lifting as though he’s surprised you’d even ask. “She couldn’t get anyone else to take her in the first place. Mary’s visiting her family, Marl’s allergic, and Sirius would have a cow.” You’re not very inclined to find the last one a spectacular excuse, but you keep your mouth shut. “I agreed to take her,” he says, somewhat firmly, “and I don’t want to go back on that.” 

Heat prickles over your skin. “I just—listen, I can paint over the small things,” you say. “I’m going to try to cover up as many damages as I can, but when your friends come over and break the handle off the microwave” —true story— “or you let their cats tear up the apartment, I don’t know what to do.” 

“I told you I’m going to fix the microwave,” he says without turning around. 

“When, James? That was months ago, and—” 

“And if my friends coming over is a problem for you, it’s not like you didn’t have plenty of opportunities to mention it when we first moved in.” Now James is growing agitated too, his posture stiffening over the stove. “I don’t get where this is coming from. I told you before we moved in that I’d want to have friends here often. When I asked if Junie could stay here, you said it was fine!” 

“I didn’t know it’d be like this!” You feel ridiculous, nearly shouting at him in your mostly lovely apartment. James really isn’t a bad roommate overall; you know you could do far worse. But the small things have begun to add up, and you really cannot afford not to lose your deposit. “I like your friends, and I like Junie, but this is—it’s too much.” 

“You shouldn’t have lived with me if you couldn’t deal with it.” 

James flicks off the stove, turning around to speak to you directly, and you see the moment he sees the glossy sheen in your eyes. His expression pinches. 

“Sweetheart—” 

“No. Do not feel bad for me right now,” you hiss, blinking furiously. “Just because I’m not good at arguing doesn’t mean I’m not still mad.” 

Your anger is rapidly fading, though, as his words reverberate around in your head. You shouldn’t have lived with me. Does he really think that? There are certainly things upon which you don’t see eye-to-eye, but you love living with James. You love spending time with him, sharing things with him, just being around him. The idea that he doesn’t feel the same about you starts spiderweb cracks going through your heart. 

“I’m not good at arguing either,” he says with a hefty sigh. The tension seems to go out of his shoulders with it, and he starts toward you with heavy steps, plopping down on the couch. “Can we just talk, please?” 

You sniffle, working hard to suppress your tears. “Do you think it’d be better if we didn’t live together?” you ask. 

James' eyes widen behind his glasses. His brows hook up in the middle. “No. Why would you say that?” 

You shake your head, not quite looking at him. “I honestly do like your friends. I don’t mind them coming over or helping you do favors for them, and I get that—that sometimes things happen.” You take a shallow breath. Ignore the way James’ hand twitches in his lap. “But you’re right that I didn’t consider all of this when we moved in together. I’m okay with trying to get past it, but if you want me to move out—” 

“Oh my god, no.” James leans forward, trying to catch your gaze. You don’t let him, because just then a small droplet of water squishes out of the corner of your eye and begins a slow trudge down your cheek. “Sweetheart, I don’t want that. I like living with you.” 

Juniper hops up onto the couch, plodding onto your lap and rubbing her side against your stomach affectionately. A wet laugh bubbles out of you, more tears cresting your cheeks as you scratch awkwardly between her ears. 

James makes a sound so soft you think you’ll dream about it. “Can I hug you?” 

You lean toward him in answer. He meets you halfway, needling his arms under yours and folding you into him. You press your face, hot with embarrassment and upset, into the crook of his neck and shoulder, and James’ hand rubs your back in big, sweeping circles, before it stops moving at all, pressing flush to your spine, easing you closer. Junie hops off your lap. Evidently, she considers your comfort taken care of.

“I don’t want you to pity me,” you mumble. When you blink, your lashes leave wetness like the strokes of a paintbrush on his skin. “If you want me to move out, it’s okay.” 

“I don't,” he promises, squeezing you until it almost hurts. “I was being rash. I was only being defensive because you were angry. About very reasonable stuff, if I’m honest. I can pay for your half of the security deposit if we lose it.” 

You shake your head, shifting your body to hug him harder. James meets you a hundred percent. “You don’t need to do that.” 

“I do, it’s fine. It’s my mess. Just don’t talk any more about moving out, okay?” 

You mumble your agreement into his neck. It tickles, and James squeaks, but he doesn’t let you go.

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 5 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, from naoya not satoru)

ꨄ words: 8.3k

ꨄ a/n. here we go guys 🫣 idk what to even say, so i'll see ya'll at the bottom. enjoy♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

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ch 5 // a leap of faith

You stare out the window of Satoru’s limousine, the city lights blurring into streaks of color as the world rushes by—but your thoughts are too loud to let you fully take it in.

You’d think the upcoming interview at the gala would be your primary concern, considering that’s where you’re currently headed, but instead, your mind is trapped in a loop—the memory of Satoru’s phone call.

Do you really know him at all?

The bone chilling temper you overheard has left you questioning everything, only heightening your doubts in him.

There was something in his voice that you can’t shake—a bite that fills you with fear, a kind of fear that whispers in the back of your mind, warning that one day his icy detachment could be directed at you the moment you fail him.

Satoru sits across from you in the luxurious backseat, but despite the close proximity, it feels as though a vast distance separates you now—a chasm of unspoken thoughts and lingering doubts.

And you—so consumed by the questions swirling in your mind—fail to notice that Satoru is watching you—his gaze steady, searching, as if he’s trying to read something in your expression.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” he observes, “Is everything okay?”

You stiffen, pulse quickening.

Fuck.

Can he see right through you? Does he know about the doubts gnawing at you, the secrets you’ve been keeping?

His eyes search your face for something you’re not ready to reveal, and your defenses go up instinctively.

“I’m fine,” you blurt out, but the moment the words leave your lips, you inwardly cringe, the tonality of your voice holding an unintentional harshness.

Well, shit… it wasn’t meant to come out like that. But it did.

He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Uh…you sure?”

“Yes,” you counter abruptly, too abruptly, and your gaze darts away from his as if meeting his eyes might unravel the carefully constructed facade you’re desperately clinging to.

You feel the anxiety begin to bubble, threatening to spill over, and as your eyes fix on the window, you watch the world blur by, anything to avoid the weight of his scrutiny.

But Satoru’s sapphire eyes remain steady, unwavering. He rakes a hand through his tousled white hair and lets out a soft sigh, laced with a quiet frustration.

“You know… we’ve been living together for a while now,” his tone gentle, yet probing, “I think I can pick up when something’s up. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think. I mean, you tried to put the TV remote in the fridge this morning.”

A flush of embarrassment colors your cheeks.

Okay…rude, why does he have to call you out like that? Yeah sure, you have been out of it today—but how can you not be? The pressure you’re feeling is unbearable.

You let out a small, forced laugh, trying to brush it off, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in your tone.

“Uhh, it’s called ‘mom brain,’ Satoru.”

He furrows his brow, his expression softening even as a playful grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Mom brain? What the heck is that?”

Your eyes meet his for a brief moment, and in that split second, you catch a glimpse of the genuine concern lurking behind his playful facade. Your heart drops at the sight, a pang of guilt twisting in your chest.

Dammit, why does he have to look at you like that?

Why does he have to make this so much harder?

The frustration bubbles up inside you, not just at the situation, but at him—at the whole confusing mess that’s become your life. You don’t know what to believe anymore, and that uncertainty gnaws at you, leaving you feeling raw and exposed.

You break eye contact, looking away from him yet again, and an exasperated sigh escapes your lips.

“It’s what happens when you’re a mom and you’ve got a million things on your mind at once. Sometimes, your brain just… short circuits. It’s like, where did I put the keys? Oh, they’re in the fridge next to the remote. No big deal.”

Satoru chuckles, the sound low and warm. For a moment, it feels like the tension might ease.

“Sounds like a pretty convenient excuse to me,” he remarks playfully, but as his voice softens, the teasing edge gives way to genuine concern.

His gaze turns serious as his eyes search yours, intent and piercing, as if he’s trying to see past the walls you’ve put up.

“Mom brain or not… I know you, y/n. And I know when something’s really bothering you.”

Double fuck.

There’s a moment of panic, a fear that he might see right through you. The truth you’ve been burying deep inside threatens to surface, and the pressure of keeping it hidden feels suffocating.

You can’t let him see it. You can’t let him know.

“I’m…I’m just nervous about the interview,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate attempt to deflect, to steer him away from the dark, treacherous waters he’s unknowingly wading into.

But the excuse feels flimsy, like a poorly constructed lie that could crumble under the slightest scrutiny—and so you reach deep within yourself, trying to find a way to make it more believable.

“Not everyone can be like you Satoru, all carefree with no worries in the world. Must be nice.”

The moment the words escape, you feel them slicing through the air, sharp and jagged, and you know you’ve made a mistake. Regret twists in your gut like a knife, its cold blade cutting deep as you realize the bitterness laced in your voice, bitterness that surprises even you.

Triple fuck.

What the hell are you doing? Why are you attacking him like this?

The resentment, the fear, the overwhelming sense of inadequacy—all of it comes crashing to the surface, bubbling over before you can shove it back down where it belongs.

Great. Now you’re lashing out, emotions spiraling out of control, your composure slipping through your fingers like sand.

You can practically see the words hanging in the air between you, ugly and heavy, and the guilt that follows is instant, a crushing weight on your chest.

God, get it together.

For a moment, Satoru says nothing, his expression unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s angry, hurt, or simply trying to process your outburst.

You bite your lip, a nervous habit you’ve never been able to shake, and you force yourself to look away. Satoru does the same, both of your eyes falling yet again on the familiar blurred scenery outside the window, searching for answers that aren’t there.

The silence stretches, thick with tension, until finally, Satoru shifts across from you. He turns his head just enough that you catch the movement out of the corner of your eye, and you force yourself to glance back at him.

The corners of his mouth twitch upward, but there’s no humor in the gesture, just a faint, almost imperceptible sadness.

“You think I don’t worry?” he murmurs, voice so quiet you almost don’t catch it.

The rawness in his tone cuts through you like a blade, slicing through the walls you’ve built around your heart.

You turn to face him fully, really looking at him, and for the first time, you notice the subtle signs of weariness etched into his features—the shadows beneath his eyes, darker and more pronounced than you remember, the way the light in his eyes seems… dimmed, like a flame that’s burning too low.

Has he always looked this… tired? Or is it only now that you’re seeing it?

“Well…you’re always so confident and composed. It’s hard to even imagine you worrying,” you admit softly, and the defensiveness that had been there moments ago slips away like water through your fingers. “You’re able to handle all this with such ease. It’s like… nothing ever phases you.”

Satoru lets out a soft, almost bitter chuckle, the sound tinged with disbelief, as if your words are some kind of cruel joke.

“Yeah, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” he shakes his head slightly, “It’s not that I don’t worry. It’s that I can’t show it. People expect me to be… well, this,” he gestures vaguely to himself, “Confident, capable, always in control.”

You blink. The realization hitting you like a wave, washing over you and leaving you unsettled.

All this time, you’ve seen him as an invincible force, someone who could handle anything with a smile, who never let the pressures of his life touch him. You’ve relied on that image, drawn strength from it, without ever questioning the reality behind it.

But that’s not the case, is it?

Beneath the polished exterior, behind the confident facade, he’s been playing a role, just like you. He’s been hiding his fears and insecurities, presenting a version of himself that the world expects to see, while the real him remains concealed.

Your heart aches at the thought, a pang of guilt threading through the tenderness you feel for him. He’s been carrying this burden, this expectation of perfection, and you’ve been too wrapped up in your own struggles to see it.

You were right—you truly don’t know the real him. But… you want to. Desperately.

You take a deep breath, eyes searching his face for the truth behind his words.

“But… why?” you ask gently, “Why is it so important to you to keep up this image? Why can’t you just… be yourself?”

There’s a moment of silence, a heartbeat where you think he might not answer, where the vulnerability in his eyes seems to retreat behind the familiar walls he’s built. But then, he speaks, and the words that spill from his lips are raw, tinged with a quiet resignation that cuts through you.

“Because ‘myself’ isn’t good enough,” he admits quietly. “Not in this world. Not with the expectations people have of me.”

The sheer weight of his words, pierces through you, and your heart aches with an almost unbearable tenderness. There is a deep vulnerability in his admission, and the need to reach out, to comfort him, burns within you.

But would he even accept it? Could you close this growing chasm between you, this distance that feels both vast and fragile?

“But Satoru, who says you have to meet these expectations?” you whisper, voice trembling with emotion.

He lets out a bitter laugh, the sound devoid of any real humor, and the gesture is almost painful to witness, as if he’s mocking himself more than anything else. When his eyes finally meet yours, there’s an emptiness in them that chills you to the core, as though he’s become a shell of the person he once was.

“I’m a Gojo, y/n. There’s a certain… standard that comes with that name. It’s not just an image, it’s a legacy.”

He pauses, his gaze drifting away from yours and settling on the passing scenery outside the window yet again. There’s something almost haunting in the way he stares out, as if he’s lost in a world you can’t reach.

“People look at me and they see the name before they see the person. And if I don’t live up to that legacy… if I don’t maintain it…”

“—but doesn’t that mean you’re living for them, and not for yourself?” you interject softly, the question hanging in the air between you like a lifeline.

Satoru’s eyes flicker to yours quickly, a flash of something unidentifiable crossing his features, but then he looks away again, his gaze returning to the window. This time, there’s a distant sadness in his eyes, a melancholy that seems to settle over him like a heavy shroud.

“You shouldn’t have to sacrifice who you are just to fit into a mold that someone else created. That’s not living, Satoru. That’s just… existing.”

The silence that follows is thick and palpable, stretching out between you as if the very air around you has become denser. You watch him closely, searching his face for any sign that your words have reached him, that they’ve touched something deep within.

But as the moments pass, a new question begins to form in the back of your mind, creeping in slowly with an undeniable urgency.

Is Satoru truly happy with this life he’s been forced to live?

Or has he become so accustomed to the role he’s been given, the expectations he’s been made to carry, that he’s forgotten what it means to live for himself?

The smile he often wears—the one that dazzles everyone around him—feels different now as you think about it. It seems less like a genuine expression of joy and more like a carefully crafted mask, designed to hide the cracks beneath.

But then there’s the smile you’ve seen when he’s with you and Haru, one that’s softer, more genuine, like a fleeting glimpse of the man he could be if he weren’t weighed down by the immense burden of his family’s legacy.

If Satoru were truly as calculating, as cold and self-serving as you once thought, then why does he seem so… trapped?

Why does it feel like he’s just as much a prisoner of his circumstances as you’ve felt in your own life?

The thought sends a pang of guilt through you, a realization that maybe, just maybe, you’ve been too quick to judge, too quick to believe the worst without truly understanding the complexities of the man sitting in front of you.

You know that feeling all too well—the suffocating pressure to be someone you’re not, to live up to the expectations others have placed on you.

It’s a burden you wouldn’t wish on anyone, least of all someone who, despite everything, has shown you kindness and care.

“You know…there was a time in my life when I was just… existing, too,” you murmur, the words fragile yet heavy as they slip from your lips.

His eyes flicker to yours briefly, a small spark of interest igniting in the blue depths, but he doesn’t turn to face you. His posture remains angled toward the window, his gaze distant and unfocused, as if the world outside holds the answers he’s searching for.

“When I was with Naoya,” you continue, the name tasting bitter on your tongue, “it felt like every day was a performance. I had to be what he wanted, do what he expected, or face the consequences. It was like I was living in a cage, unable to be myself because ‘myself’ wasn’t what he wanted.”

You steal another glance at him, wondering if he understands, if he sees the parallels between your experiences. The memories flood back with each word you utter, their weight pressing down on your chest.

“I was just going through the motions, trying to survive,” you admit, voice trembling slightly. “It was… exhausting. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t, always afraid of what might happen if I let the mask slip.”

Satoru remains silent, his profile bathed in the soft glow of the city lights as they pass by outside the window—but, in the dim light of the limousine, you catch sight of his expression—thoughtful, pensive, as if your words have found their way into a place in his mind where he rarely allows anything to dwell.

“It sounds… suffocating,” he finally says, his voice quiet, almost reverent. His gaze remains on the world outside the window, though you know his words are meant for you. “Living like that, always having to be someone else. I can imagine… how hard that must have been for you.”

“It was,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart drops as you experience a sudden realization—a realization that…with Satoru you are falling into that same pattern.

Forcing yourself to put on this façade of being the perfect wife of a Gojo—trapped in a life that doesn’t feel like yours, performing a role that someone else wrote for you.

How is it that your entire life, you have been a victim of control—first by Naoya, the man you once loved, and now by Satoru, the man you are beginning to care for?

All you have ever wanted is what’s best for you daughter.

“But… I did what I needed to do, for Haru’s sake.”

Haru’s sake.

The words echo in your mind, a reminder of the choices you’ve made, the sacrifices you endured to protect her. And as you sit across from Satoru in this limousine, another question lingers at the edge of your thoughts—a question that fills you with uncertainty.

…what is the right choice to make for Haru’s sake?

Would staying with Satoru mean condemning yourself to another life of pretenses and expectations? A life where you continue to lose pieces of yourself, where you’re forced to hide behind yet another mask?

You steal a glance at Satoru, searching his face for answers you’re not sure you’ll find. His expression, though calm, doesn’t give much away, and it only deepens your turmoil.

Could he break free of these shackles with you?

Could he let go of the image he’s been forced to uphold, and be the person he truly is, without fear of judgment or rejection? Without being dictated by the weight of legacy and obligation?

The questions whirl in your mind.

Do you risk telling him everything, laying your soul bare in the hope that he will abandon this life for you? That he will choose you and Haru over the cold, unyielding expectations that have bound him for so long?

Or do you betray the man you’ve come to admire so deeply, the man who, despite his outward strength, is already so fragile, so vulnerable, hidden behind a mask of confidence?

As the silence stretches between you, you realize that the answer to one question in particular might be more important than anything else.

Because if Satoru can’t break free—if he can’t be himself, even with you—then what kind of future could you possibly have together? What kind of life could you offer Haru if you’re both trapped in a web of lies and half-truths, forced to play roles that don’t fit?

Your heart clenches painfully at the thought, and for the first time, you begin to doubt whether you can keep playing this role, whether you can keep pretending that everything is okay when deep down, you know it’s not.

But…you want to believe in him. So, so badly.

You want to believe that Satoru is different, that he’s capable of more than just playing the part assigned to him. You want to believe that, together, you can carve out a life that’s real, that’s yours, free from the weight of expectation and the shadow of legacy.

The desire to believe in him, to trust him, is almost overwhelming, and it takes every ounce of your strength not to reach out to him, to demand answers, to plead for him to show you that he’s more than just the image he projects to the world.

“So how did you break free?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he’s afraid of the answer.

Your breath hitches as his words hang in the air, and for a moment, the weight of his question feels like it might crush you.

You let out a trembling exhale, your emotions teetering on the edge of control, threatening to consume you whole.

“Just… a leap of faith,” you manage.

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve survived. And in that moment, you hope—no, you pray—that it’s enough.

Enough to show him that there’s a way out, that there’s more to life than the roles you’ve been forced to play. Enough to convince him that he can take that same leap, that he can be more than just the legacy he’s been bound to.

Because if he can’t… then you’re not sure you’ll survive another fall.

ꨄ︎

The rest of the car ride passes in an unusual, heavy silence, but as the limousine nears the dazzling venue that will soon thrust you both into the public eye, you steel yourself for what’s to come.

The quiet, introspective moments you shared with Satoru within the backseat of this vehicle start to morph into something else—an unspoken agreement that whatever doubts, fears, or conflicts surfaced during this ride must now be hidden, locked away beneath yet another carefully constructed facade.

After all—in this world you are both living in, there can be no room for hesitation, no cracks in the image you both must maintain.

Satoru straightens in his seat, his expression sharpening into the confident mask you’ve seen him wear so many times before—like an actor preparing for a role.

It’s as if every trace of the man who moments ago, shared his deepest insecurities with you is now tucked away, replaced by the flawless persona the world expects to see.

And the way he does it so effortlessly—well, it only intensifies the ache in your heart.

But you have no choice to follow suit—the night is just beginning, and so, just as he did, you force your own worries into the back of your mind as you too prepare to play your part.

The limousine comes to a smooth halt at the gala’s entrance, and your eyes widen in awe.

It’s not as if the last charity gala you attended wasn’t elegant, certainly it was, but this—this is on an entirely different scale, a spectacle of grandeur that borders on the surreal.

The venue—a massive hotel nestled in the heart of the city—stands like a beacon of luxury. Its grand entrance a marvel, adorned with sparkling lights that bathe the surrounding area in a warm, golden glow.

The red carpet stretches out like a river of crimson, flowing beside the gleaming wheels of limousines that pull up one after another.

Their doors open to reveal the crème de la crème of society—elegantly dressed attendees stepping out, their outfits glittering under the lights and the air filled with the lively murmur of conversation and bright flashes of cameras.

You recognize several faces in the crowd—renowned actors whose performances have moved you to tears, musicians whose songs have been the soundtrack to your life, influencers who have set trends you've tried to keep up with.

These are the people who’ve always seemed larger than life—whose lives have played out on magazine covers and in the flicker of movie screens. And now, here they are, mere feet away from you, mingling in the same space, breathing the same air.

God, this is terrifying.

You’ve stepped into the domain where every glance, every whisper holds weight—every word you utter, every expression that crosses your face, will be scrutinized, dissected, and judged.

The world is watching you.

Bright lights from cameras flare up, nearly blinding you as your foot touches the red carpet.

The media presence is quite overwhelming, and instinctively, you reach for Satoru’s hand, seeking some sort of anchor in the chaos—without even considering how, just moments ago, you could barely bring yourself to meet his eyes.

As soon as your fingers brush against his, you hesitate, unsure if it’s the right move.

You steal a quick glance at Satoru, trying to gauge his mood, to see if he’s feeling the same dissonance. But before you can pull away, he responds immediately, his hand closing around yours with a gentle squeeze, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His expression remains carefully composed, and he offers you a small, comforting smile—one that feels reassuring in its familiarity.

But… isn’t that just how it is between you two?

Pretending like nothing happened, like there isn’t a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface.

His smile is a mask, you know that, but despite it all, it’s still a small comfort—a quiet reminder that, despite everything, you’re not alone in this.

At least, you’re in it together.

As Satoru leads you down the red carpet, carrying that familiar unshakeable confidence—the second skin he effortlessly slips into—you can’t help but feel a subtle tension in the air of attendees, an undercurrent you can’t quite shake.

Why is it that the media’s gaze feels sharper…more pointed, as though they’re all waiting with bated breath for the slightest crack in the façade, for a single moment of vulnerability to pounce on?

And you can’t help but feel like that crack might come from you.

You catch sight of the interview station ahead—a stage set for judgment with its sleek, modern setup. The charity event’s logo glows prominently against a backdrop, creating a space to remind everyone of the event’s significance, yet for you it feels more like a gauntlet.

Oh, God…

Suddenly everything feels unbearably heavy, magnified under the relentless scrutiny of so many watchful eyes: Naoya’s threat, loosing Haru, Satoru’s intentions and your conflicted feelings for him.

Guests are ushered forward one by one with rehearsed smiles and practiced answers ready for the waiting reporters, and microphones glisten under the harsh lights, capturing every word, every inflection, while cameras click and whir, immortalizing each moment.

Throughout the chatter, you overhear a famous actress gushing about the importance of supporting children in need, her voice carrying a practiced sincerity. Next to her, a well-known musician is cracking a joke, easing into the limelight as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They make it look so easy.

But for you, every step closer to the cluster of reporters feels like a step closer to the edge of a cliff. The knot in your stomach tightens, coiling like a snake ready to strike. The distance between you and the flashing cameras, the probing questions, the scrutinizing eyes—it’s closing in too fast, and there’s no escape.

This is it. This night will test your resolve and your ability to maintain this façade, perhaps more than any before it, and the cost of failure is far too high.

Satoru glances at you, his expression a mask of calm and composure, but there’s something more in the way his thumb traces soothing circles against your skin.

A silent reassurance—one not for the cameras. A promise that, despite everything that happened in the limo, despite the unresolved tension still hanging between you, he’s here.

He’s with you.

You look up at him, and for a moment, the noise and chaos around you fade into the background. In his eyes, you see a softness that’s only privy to you—a vulnerability that he keeps hidden from the world.

It’s a look that makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest, a look that almost makes you believe that maybe everything will be okay.

“You ready?” he murmurs.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm within, nodding slightly as you force a smile onto your face. The muscles in your cheeks feel tight, strained, but you hope—desperately—that it’s convincing enough.

“Yeah,” the word sticks in your throat. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

As the reporters spot you, you can practically feel their collective gaze zeroing in. The intensity of it is suffocating, and as you step into the designated interview area, the cameras flare to life, their bright lights nearly blinding you.

A female reporter steps forward, her smile bright and impeccably professional. She’s poised, microphone at the ready, her demeanor polished to perfection, as if she’s trained her whole life for this moment.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, you both look absolutely stunning tonight,” she begins, voice smooth and tailored for the camera.

“Thank you,” Satoru responds effortlessly, slipping into his role with grace. “We’re both so honored to be able to attend.”

“You’re one of the most talked-about couples this evening,” the reporter continues, her eyes gleaming with interest as she watches you both closely. “Tell us, how does it feel to be here supporting such a noble cause?”

Your heart races, pounding so hard in your chest that you wonder if she can hear it over the noise of the crowd. But you can’t let it show—this is the moment where the facade must hold, where you must be the perfect wife, the perfect partner, the perfect everything.

And so, you force yourself to smile again—stepping into the role you’ve rehearsed in your mind a thousand times.

“We’re here to support a cause that’s very close to our hearts,” your voice is steady, though beneath the surface, you feel a faint tremor threatening to break through. “The work this charity does for children in need is truly incredible… and we’re honored to be a part of it.”

Satoru steps in smoothly, his voice rich with a warmth that seems to effortlessly draw everyone’s attention.

“Absolutely,” he adds. “As parents ourselves, we understand the importance of giving every child a chance at a brighter future. We’re here to do whatever we can to help make that happen.”

There’s a sincerity in his tone that makes it easy to forget the mask he wears, eliciting nods and approving smiles from the reporters.

For a moment, even you are almost convinced, but you know the script, know the words.

You catch a subtle glance he throws your way—a silent check-in, his eyes asking the unspoken question: Are you okay? And you manage a small, almost imperceptible nod in return, meeting his gaze briefly before turning back to the reporter.

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she responds. “And how have you both been? The public is so curious about Haru.”

Here it is—the anxiety settles as you transition from the safe ground of charity work to the more precarious territory of your personal life.

You can feel the eyes of the crowd on you, the cameras zooming in, capturing every flicker of emotion, every nuance of your body language—as though the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for you to falter.

Satoru’s hand releases yours only to wrap around your waist, pulling you close, and the warmth he provides brings you a fleeting moment of comfort.

“We’ve been great,” his smile unwavering. “Life has been busy, but we’re grateful for every moment we get to spend together with our little one. Haru keeps us on our toes, that’s for sure.”

There’s a practiced charm in Satoru’s voice, the kind that can turn any situation into a favorable one. You muster a smile, trying to match his composure, nodding in agreement.

“Yes, she does,” you add, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “It’s a whirlwind, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The reporter’s smile widens, clearly pleased with the smooth delivery, but there’s a lingering tension in the air, a sense that she’s searching for more, for a crack in the veneer.

“There’s been a lot of speculation about Haru,” her voice soft yet probing. “Many are wondering Satoru… is she your biological daughter?”

The question hangs in the air like a loaded gun, the implication sharp and clear.

The crowd seems to lean in, the cameras zooming closer, waiting for your reaction, for any sign of hesitation or discomfort.

But Satoru anticipated this moment—it was one of the questions he had prepared for, a part of the script meticulously crafted to navigate the murky waters of public scrutiny.

The media has been relentless, swirling with unanswered questions about Haru, speculating about who she is and what she’s like.

It’s no secret that you’ve both been fiercely protective of her, keeping her out of the spotlight, away from the prying eyes that would dissect her every move.

For that, you’ve always been deeply grateful to Satoru.

And so, he handles the question with the same effortless grace that he’s maintained throughout the evening.

He chuckles softly—a sound that feels almost disarming warm in its sincerity, as if the question is nothing more than a casual curiosity, easily addressed and dismissed.

“Haru is my daughter in every way that matters,” his tone firm yet kind. “She’s our pride and joy, and we love her more than anything in this world.”

His answer is flawless, designed to reinforce the image of a perfect family. Yet, as the conviction in his words leave his lips, you feel a surge of bittersweetness.

Haru deserves what he is saying…she deserves that reality.

But alas, it’s nothing more than a rehearsed line delivered in front of an audience that’s eager to believe in the fairy tale.

The reporter shifts slightly, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as she continues.

“I see. It’s clear that family is important to both of you. What’s the secret to balancing your high-profile lives with raising a young child?”

You force yourself to smile, the answer ready on your lips.

“We just focus on what’s important,” you begin, the words flowing smoothly despite the tightness in your chest. “We make sure to carve out time for each other and for Haru. It’s all about prioritizing what really matters.”

“It’s not always easy,” Satoru nods in agreement, “but we cherish our time away from the spotlight, and we’re very protective of Haru’s privacy. At the end of the day, we’re just like any other parent—we want what’s best for Haru, and we do our best to make that happen.”

Another perfectly crafted answer, one that’s sure to satisfy the reporter and the audience watching from behind their screens. You can almost see the checkmark being made in her mind—a box ticked off; a line drawn under the discussion of family life.

The reporter, sensing she’s reached the natural conclusion of the topic, shifts her stance slightly.

“Thank you for sharing. It’s clear that Haru is very lucky to have you both.”

Her gaze sharpens, the glint of professional interest cutting through the pleasantries.

“And what about your own relationship? How do you manage to keep the spark alive amidst all the chaos?”

Here it comes. The question you were dreading, the one you hoped she’d skip over.

It’s one thing to talk about Haru, to present a united front when it comes to your daughter...

But your relationship?

That’s a minefield, one littered with unspoken truths and half-hearted lies. And it sucks. It really sucks that Satoru has to deal with this kind of intrusion daily—a life where privacy is a luxury you can barely afford.

“Communication is key,” you begin, the words flowing out of you like second nature. Lies. “We make sure to talk about everything—our hopes, our fears, our plans.” Lies. “And we make an effort to have regular date nights, just to reconnect and remind ourselves of why we fell in love in the first place.” Lies.

As the words leave your lips, you can almost hear the hollow echo of them in your mind, a mantra you’ve repeated so many times it’s lost all meaning. You know it, and Satoru knows it, too.

But he plays his part flawlessly—lifting your hand to his lips, brushing a tender kiss on the back of it. It’s a small gesture, one that seems innocent enough, but you feel the weight of it—the expectation, the need to present a united front, to sell the illusion.

As the warmth of his lips lingers on your skin, your heart clenches with yearning.

“That’s right,” Satoru adds, his voice carrying that practiced sincerity that makes everything he says sound like the absolute truth. “We support each other, and I’m so lucky that y/n is my biggest cheerleader. We’re a team, and that makes all the difference.”

The reporter nods thoughtfully, her smile curling up in a way that suggests she’s found the narrative she’s been looking for.

“You know,” she begins, her tone shifting into something more conspiratorial, as if she’s about to reveal a tantalizing secret, “speaking of… you two have quickly become the talk of the town—everyone’s eager to know more about your story. Satoru, you were once considered the world’s most eligible bachelor, but now… here you are. How did this all begin?”

There it is—the question that forces you both to delve into the past, to recount a story that’s been polished and perfected, but one that still feels strangely disconnected from the reality you’re living.

You shift slightly in Satoru’s hold, the rehearsed answer poised on your tongue, designed to fit the narrative you both agreed upon—but before you can even open your mouth to speak, Satoru takes the lead.

“Well," he starts, calm and measured, "Y/n was looking for a new job, and I needed someone with her expertise. It was professional at first, but we just… clicked. Like it was meant to be.”

The familiar words from the script slip effortlessly from his lips, just like you practiced, and the interviewer’s eyes light up, clearly pleased with the response—at least on the surface. But there’s a glint in her eyes, a spark of curiosity that suggests she’s not quite done yet.

The microphone inches closer, capturing every word, every inflection, as if she’s trying to draw out something deeper, something more than the polished story you’re offering.

“That’s wonderful,” her voice takes a more intimate tone as she leans in. “But Satoru, what was it about y/n that made you realize she was the one? I mean, surely there was something that stood out, something that made you think, ‘This is the woman I want to spend my life with.’”

“I’ve always admired how she puts Haru first," he begins reciting the script, voice steady and composed. "Her dedication to being a mother, to making sure Haru has everything she needs, it’s something I truly respect…”

But then, there’s a pause—a brief, almost imperceptible silence that stretches time, making your heart skip a beat.

Did he just hesitate?

His gaze flickers to yours, and for a moment, the practiced facade slips. There’s a softness in his eyes that makes your breath catch—but before you can process it, he continues.

“Actually, you know… when I first met y/n, there was something about her that I couldn’t ignore. She was different from anyone I’ve ever met—strong, intelligent, and fiercely independent."

Wait… did he just change the script?

An unexpected flutter stirs in your stomach, and your pulse quickens as the weight of his words sinks in. This wasn’t part of the agreed-upon answer… so why is he veering off course?

Your eyes narrow slightly as you search his face, trying to decode the sudden change.

"It’s strange,” he continues, his voice softer now, more introspective, “because at first, I thought it was just her strength that drew me in."

A small, almost nostalgic smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and there’s a warmth in his expression that makes something inside you twist.

"But as I got to know her, I realized it was more than that. Y/n has this incredible ability to make everyone around her feel seen and valued… she’s honest, sometimes brutally so, but she’s also kind in a way that’s rare."

The interviewer’s expression changes, the curiosity in her eyes deepening as she senses a sincerity in his words.

Is he… speaking from the heart?

It feels like a quiet confession, one meant only for you, despite the audience that surrounds you both.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you find yourself holding it, afraid to let go of this moment, afraid to shatter the delicate truth he seems to be laying bare. His words wrap around you like a cocoon, drawing you in, making you feel both vulnerable and cherished in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

This isn’t the Satoru you’ve come to expect—the one who carefully controls every word, every expression, ensuring that nothing slips through the cracks. It’s as if he’s just lifted a curtain, showing you a glimpse of something real, something you didn’t think you’d ever see.

But why now? Why here, in front of all these people?

Is…he willing to take that leap of faith?

In that instant, the hope blooming inside you feels almost tangible, like a fragile flower unfurling its petals for the first time. It’s delicate, yes, but unmistakable, and it fills you with a warmth that you’ve longed for—something you thought you’d never find again. It’s enough to make you believe that maybe, just maybe, everything can change.

For so long, you’ve hidden behind masks, playing roles that never truly belonged to you. But now, if Satoru is willing to step beyond the boundaries you both created…

The world around you—the blinding lights, the flashing cameras, the buzz of the crowd—seems to fade into the background, blurring into insignificance.

All that remains is the two of you, as if you’ve stepped into a world of your own making, where nothing else matters.

Satoru shifts slightly, and when his eyes find yours, there’s a depth and intensity in them that you’ve never seen before.

It’s as if he’s seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you—not the roles you’ve played, not the masks you’ve worn, but you, the person beneath it all. In that moment, it feels like you’re the only person who matters.

“For the first time in my life, I feel like I have someone I can truly trust. Someone who doesn’t just see me as ‘Gojo Satoru,’ but as a regular person, with all my flaws and imperfections.”

Trust.

A knot forms in your chest, constricting each beat of your heart as Satoru’s confession echoes in your mind.

The burden of that single word feels unbearable as the guilt you’ve been suppressing resurfaces, suddenly making it hard to focus on anything else.

Here Satoru is, baring his soul to you in a way you never expected, revealing the depth of his feelings, his vulnerabilities, and all the while, you’ve been holding onto a secret—a lie that could shatter everything.

No… it’s not just a lie—it’s a betrayal, and the full weight of it settles on your shoulders, heavy and suffocating.

Fuck, you’re losing your composure.

You’re acutely aware of the cameras, their lenses trained on you, capturing every fleeting emotion that flickers across your face.

The pressure is immeasurable and you swallow hard, desperately trying to hold his gaze, to anchor yourself in the sincerity you see there, but your smile feels brittle, like it might crack at any moment.

Satoru leans in closer and instinctively, you want to pull away—terrified that the closer he gets, the more he’ll see, the more he’ll understand the depths of your turmoil. But you’re trapped, rooted in place, every movement scrutinized, recorded, and you know you can’t falter.

His breath is warm against your skin as he places a gentle kiss on your temple, a touch so gentle that it nearly undoes you. This wasn’t part of the script, unlike the calculated kiss on your hand earlier, and the tenderness behind it, is almost too much to bear.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, and his words—intended for the camera—feel like they’re meant for you alone.

“I guess you could say that y/n has this way of making me feel… grounded. Like I can be myself, and that’s enough.”

His words cut through you like a knife. What are you doing? You can’t keep lying to him, not after this.

As the crowd around you buzzes with life and the cameras continue to flash, capturing this moment of intimacy, all you can think about is the price you might pay for this secret you’ve kept.

Once he realizes you’ve been hiding this from him, will he ever be able to look at you the same way again? Will he still see you as someone he can trust?

This new fear surges forward, and you feel your composure slipping, the mask you wear cracking.

Fuck. Is it obvious?

Can they all see the turmoil roiling inside you, the fear that everything is about to come crashing down?

Is your panic written across your face, as clear as day for the world to see?

“That’s such a beautiful sentiment,” the reporter’s approving voice cuts through the haze, snapping you back to the present with a jolt.

But before you can fully regain your bearings, her gaze shifts, locking onto you with an intensity that makes your heart pound against your ribcage.

Her eyes seem to bore into you, searching for something beneath the surface, and suddenly, you’re terrified that she might find it.

“And how does it feel to hear him say that, y/n? To know that you have such a profound effect on someone like Satoru?”

The question hangs in the air, and for a moment, you’re frozen, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a physical force.

What are you even supposed to say?

You practiced for this, rehearsed the lines until they were second nature, but nothing could have prepared you for the raw honesty in Satoru’s words.

How does it feel?

God, the truth is, you don’t know how to feel—happy, surprised, comforted, terrified…there are too many emotions surging through you at this moment, too many to untangle and make sense of.

But…you have to say something, the world is watching.

Blood rushes in your ears, drowning out the noise of the crowd, and you force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels, searching for the right words, the ones that will satisfy the reporter.

“It’s… I’m so lucky,” you manage to say, stammering slightly. “Knowing that I have that kind of impact on him… it’s an honor. I just hope I can continue to be that person for him.”

Is it enough?

The words feel hollow, a weak echo of the truth, but they’re all you can manage. You just hope they’ll hold the world at bay, at least for now.

The reporter nods, her professional smile unwavering, but you can’t shake the feeling she’s watching you closely, searching for any cracks in your veneer.

Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer, as if weighing the sincerity of your words, but then she steps back with a practiced ease, seemingly satisfied.

“Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with us, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As she moves away, you experience a fleeting sense of relief once the crowd’s attention shifts, the cameras swiveling to capture the next moment.

Satoru’s hand finds yours, guiding you away from the spotlight as the next couple in line takes your place under the glaring lights.

The silence between you is thick, and around you, the crowd blurs into a haze of indistinct faces and flashing lights.

You try to decipher Satoru’s mood, searching his face for any clue, but his expression remains an unreadable mask as you both maneuver through the throng of people, each step carrying you further from the intensity of the interview and deeper into the swirling uncertainty of the night.

Then, as you cross the threshold into the grand ballroom, the change in atmosphere is immediate with the soaring ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and the soft hum of polite conversations—yet, despite the grandeur surrounding you, your focus is entirely on the man beside you—the one who just moments ago bared a piece of his soul to you in front of everyone.

Almost instantly, Satoru is swarmed by people—important figures and familiar faces, all eager to exchange pleasantries with the man of the hour.

You watch as he slips effortlessly into casual conversation, his charm and charisma on full display—a scene you’ve witnessed countless times before.

But that’s because, to the outside world, nothing has changed—he’s the same confident, untouchable figure he’s always been. It’s as if the heartfelt words he spoke moments ago, laying his heart bare before you, were never uttered. As if they were just another part of the performance.

But you know better.

You saw the look in his eyes, felt the sincerity in his voice. And now, as he engages in yet another conversation, flashing that same easy smile, you can’t help but wonder…

What is he really thinking?

His gaze lingers on you as he effortlessly navigates each conversation, and there’s something in his eyes—an almost imperceptible signal, like he’s reaching out to you, a silent communication that only the two of you can understand.

You’ve made up your mind.

You want more with Satoru—something real, something unburdened by the lies and pretenses that have cast shadows over your relationship.

You can no longer allow this secret to fester, growing like a dark cloud that threatens to eclipse whatever light might still exist between you.

To truly move forward, you have to release the fear that’s been holding you back—you have to come clean, to trust him, just as he has placed his trust in you.

But you know the timing isn’t right—not here, not now, surrounded by the glittering facade of this world you’ve both learned to navigate so well.

When you finally lay bare the truth you’ve been hiding, hopefully Satoru will understand.

All you can do is wait, hope, and wonder what the night will bring.

hello lovelies, thank you so much for reading and supporting my fic 😭 i cannot tell you how much it brightens my day to read your comments! to be completely honest, i really wasn't expecting much with this fic, it has really transformed into something that i had no intention of doing, but the thing is, i'm really enjoying writing it, so SO much, and i'm glad ya'll are enjoying reading it 🥲🫶🏻 this is only 2/3rds of the original chapter 4 i wrote...lol. i still have to edit the last 1/3 (apparently i cannot stop yapping) so it just seemed right to split it up and let this section breathe a little bit too, it felt like a natural stopping point before we delve into y/n getting that closure with satoru. y/n finally got the push she needed to make up her mind 🥲 i know it took her a bit, but being in an emotionally abusive relationship has left her with a lot of trust issues, and seeing satoru open up to her made her realize that despite their differences, they are going through similar struggles. poor baby satoru 😭 he needs a hug. like my heart literally breaks for him. this chapter felt really vulnerable to write...maybe that's why i was so hesitant on posting it. like it just hurts my soul lol. anyways, i wanna let you know that with this month coming to an end, my schedule is going to be getting pretty busy as i will be starting classes. it's my first time returning to school after 10 years...and i'll be doing it while still being a mom and working. i'm literally gonna be feeling like y/n, juggling a lot (the mom brain is a REAL THING YA'LL) so if my updates take longer that is why. much love to you all, and again thanks so much 🤗 -aly 💕 → onto the next chapter ꨄ

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[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Aaah, look at that, some more headcanons no one asked for but that I will be subjecting everyone to anyway.

Was in the process of trying not to hack up a lung when I started this, so logical train of thought went to how our One Piece boys handle being sick.

May do a sister-post of how they handle it when you’re sick, too. But. Like. Not right now.

Anyway here we gooooo

Sick Day

Zoro, Sanji, Shanks, Sir Crocodile, Mihawk, Buggy x Reader

SFW! Very fluff! Much cringe!

Wordcount: Like 1.6k-ish

Warnings also include very fluff and much cringe, but not much else. All character x reader relationships are implied to be already established and consensual.

If you enjoy my content, feel free to drop a donation in my ko-fi. My financial situation is quite unstable right now and anything is helpful.

Zoro

“Look, I’m fine, alright? Just...lay off.”

Insisting he is absolutely not sick right from the start, only reason he looks so flushed is because he’s been training harder than usual.

And also because you’re irritating him stop saying he’s sick, dammit—

You’re not going to be able to get him to rest until he literally collapses, hopefully not directly onto the business end of one of his katana.

For someone who enjoys napping so much, he’s still adamant that he does not need to lay down.

Once you finally manage to get him shoved into his preferred hammock he’s going to turn into a clingy baby.

Convincing him to take any medicine would take an act of god. Most he’ll let you do is drape a damp cloth over his forehead.

Which does feel nice, and does calm down most of his protest.

After that he’s going to drag you in with him and use you as a human teddy bear, where you will likely be forced to remain while he sleeps it off.

Sanji

“Well, of course I don’t want to contaminate the food, love, but I don’t want anyone burning my kitchen to the ground either—”

He’s usually awake before anyone else to make breakfast, so you’re concerned from the moment you wake up and find the kitchen empty.

Even more concerned when you find him still in bed, face flushed, grimacing and shivering in his sleep.

Barely wakes up and manages a weak smile when you sit at the edge of the mattress, a contented little sigh when you lay your palm across his forehead.

Admits he might be a little under the weather.

Briefly lapses into panic when he realizes what time it is, immediately trying to get up and go handle breakfast—

All you have to do is give him a firm poke in the chest and he just falls right back into bed, pouting a bit when you point out he could contaminate the food and get the entire crew sick.

Gazing up at you like you’re some sort of celestial being when you assure him you’ll take care of it, and that you’ll make sure no one burns down the kitchen in his absence.

He’s already asleep again when you return with a bowl of miso with rice, but when you set them to the side and sit at the edge of the bed to feel his forehead, he immediately shifts over, drapes an arm across your lap and lays his head there, with a contented sigh and smile.

You’re trapped now. Good luck escaping.

Shanks

“Oh, I’ll be fine, beautiful, you don’t need to make such a fuss over it.”

He plays it off so well that it takes you a while to notice anything is amiss.

There are a couple hints. He’s just not quite as chipper and animated as he usually is, lazing around and looking a bit sour about something, a bit distracted.

Tries to brush it off as a hangover when you ask.

Heavy sigh and defeated pouting when you press your lips to his forehead and inform him he’s burning up.

Lamenting that he doesn’t want to be sick, it will surely sort itself out if he just ignores it.

Maybe a little booze to burn it out of his system—

Pouting only intensifies when you confiscate every bottle you can find in the captain’s cabin, and step out to hand it off to Beckman and explain the situation like he wasn’t already aware, you swear these two have some kind of psychic link

Immediate puppy dog eyes when you return, you’re literally so mean to him how could you, you wound him.

He will only consider forgiving this clear act of mutiny if you agree to get in bed and be his pillow until he’s on his feet again.

Preferably with fewer clothes than you’re wearing at the present.

You’re already rolling your eyes and dressing down as he continues his overly dramatic lamentations.

He’s really too drained and tired to do anything apart from roll over and use your chest as a pillow, draping his arm across your shoulder and combing his fingers against your hair.

Nuzzling down and letting out a contented sigh, commenting with a little smirk that maybe he should fall ill more often.

Sir Crocodile

“I’m not clearing my entire schedule over a runny nose, darling, just leave me be.”

In the foulest of moods about being sick.

Yes, he’s aware his face looks like a tomato, thank you for pointing that out, brat.

No, he is not going to rest, he doesn’t have time to be sick, and if you so much as think of suggesting he put out his cigar—

You’re not going to have any luck in convincing him otherwise, nor any choice but to leave his stubborn ass alone in his office and stealthily check on him every so often.

You can only let out a weary sigh when you find him slumped over his desk hours later, half-conscious and drenched in sweat because he won’t take off that damned fur-lined coat.

You practically have to drag him to the bathroom to get him into a lukewarm bath to help bring down his fever, and he’s still complaining through the whole process about how he doesn’t have time for this nonsense.

Your offer to help finish his paperwork while he recuperates is met with an immediate growl of protest.

Like hell you are. No, if he has to suffer through this pointless ice-bath then you’re getting in with him. He will not be accepting any arguments on the matter.

It’s definitely best to just undress and not protest, as he’s going to pick you up and hold you back against his chest while he gets in whether you’re still clothed or not.

Letting out a low, somewhat weak, still incredibly smug chuckle when you shiver and shift closer to him in the water, wrapping an arm tight around your waist to prevent you from escaping any time soon.

Finally letting out a sigh and laying his head back against the tile wall behind him, admitting to himself (but definitely not to you) that you might be right, and it might not be the worst idea to clear his schedule for at least a day.

Mihawk

“That wasn’t a cough, I was simply clearing my throat. Don't be a pest.”

Only initial signs you’ll have that he’s ill are that he’s somehow napping even more than usual, and he’s more snippy than usual.

It’s not long before his pale complexion makes it clear that he’s feverish, the slightest signs of flushed skin and dark circles under his eyes immediately noticeable.

Rolls his eyes when you mention it and brushes it off, perhaps he just had a bit too much wine last night.

Glares at you any time he sneezes or coughs, like he’s just daring you to say something about it.

It’s allergies. Or it’s this-damned-old-castle-is-too-drafty. Or it’s nothing, stop looking at him like that, he doesn’t get sick, you’re the one who’s being ridiculous about this.

Your best bet at getting him to rest is going to be convincing him that you want to take a nap.

Yes, with him.

Yes, now, unless he has some important plans other than flipping through the newspaper and being impossibly stubborn for the rest of the day.

Your commentary earns you another roll of his eyes, but...well, maybe he is just a bit tired. And he might have a bit of a headache—the latter of which he will be attributing entirely to your badgering.

Still insisting you’re being ridiculous when you shove him into bed and proceed to wipe a damp cloth across his brow, glaring daggers at you when you chide him for acting like an overgrown toddler.

Assures you there will be repercussions for your insolence…at least there will be once he—resigned sigh, rolling eyes—isn’t feeling so under the weather.

That’s as close to an admission as you’re going to get.

Buggy

“I fear these may be our final days together, my dearest! Please remember me fondly--”

Can you not see that he is literally dying??

He is not long for this world, please retrieve a pen and a pad of paper posthaste to take down his last will and testament, everything is fading, he can see the light approaching—

You make use of his lamenting monologue as an opportunity to shove a thermometer in his mouth, more than used to his theatrics, patting him on the head as he stares up at you like you’ve committed some unspeakable crime by interrupting him.

He doesn’t get sick often, he has a fairly strong constitution, but oh boy when he does…

No objections at all to being waited on hand and foot. You don’t really have any issue with it either, he’d do the same for you.

And likely will have to within the next few days—as clingy as he gets, you’re definitely going to end up catching whatever he has.

Oh! but he would give an arm and a leg to be in good health again and so help you if he removes any limbs for a stupid joke you’re going to beat him with them.

Pouting and sniffling at your obviously idle threat, even as you pet his hair and he lays dramatically across your lap.

He’s already on his deathbed how dare you.

At least his sense of humor is still intact. Or he’s delirious with fever. Perhaps both.

[bittersw33t-lotus]

Little Life

Ghosting Series pt. 3

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! Reader

Cw: pregnancy stuff, reader is female, cursing (let me know I I missed anything)

A/N: sorry if this is very short the chapters may be pretty short just so my motivation to keep writing can stay.

Part 2 here

“Alright hon, if you can lay on the bed and lift you shirt over you belly please.” Dr. Raven says, the woman pointing to the dull looking patient bed with thin paper lining fitted over the top.

You follow her words and sit down on the bed, the cushion was surprisingly comfortable to sit on. You bring your shirt up over your stomach stopping at your rib cage and lay back waiting for Raven to prepare for the scanning. You watch as she brings out a plastic bottle you assumed was the gel, as she opened the plastic cap as she looks at you. “Okay, I’m going to put this on your abdomen. Be prepared, this will be cold.” She says as she squeezes the bottle over your stomach, the bright translucent blue gel slithers out the opening and trails down towards your stomach.

The moment it makes contact with your skin, your stomach retracted back at the cold viscous material. You shudder a breath and laugh a bit. “You weren’t lying.” You joked as Raven smiled and chucked at your response.

“Always takes them by surprise.” She says before she finishes squeezing the bottle, pulling it away and closing the cap back on. Placing it down on the table beside her she grabs the transducer clicking a few buttons and the screen turns on. She places the nub against your abdomen and spread the gel around your stomach and looks at the screen seeing the scan coming through as she adjusts it to hover where your uterus is.

You watch the screen feeling a bit anxious as you watch trying to figure out exactly what you were seeing, after a couple seconds you soon immediately spot a little white blob. A baby.

“There it is. Your baby.” She tells you as you stare at the screen in awe. That’s really inside you. Your baby slowly growing by the second, yours and Simon’s baby.

“So tiny.” You say as Dr. Raven nods to your words.

“You’re only eight weeks currently, it looks like you and the baby are doing just fine so far, baby is healthy and growing, overall you’re both doing great. I’ll provide you with some prenatal vitamins for you to take. I did notice in your readings, your blood pressure is a bit high than we’d like it to be so I need you to make sure you’re not overworking yourself, do more things to keep you calm and not focus and do things that cause you such distress if that’s possible. Other than that, you’re all set and good to go. Do you have any questions for me?” Dr. Raven says as she takes a few pictures of the scan to print out for you.

You breathe out in relief, the baby is all good. You figured the high blood pressure was definitely caused by the whole situation with Simon so you don’t know how you can make yourself forget about it, on top of that you’ve also been worried about finding a place to live and trying to figure out your financial situation now with Simon out of the picture. You take a deep breath and nod at Dr. Ravens advice. “I’ll be sure not to.” You tell her with a small smile as she hands you a paper towel to wipe off the gel, which you take.

“Would you be comfortable with telling me about the cause for your mental or physical wellbeing may be? Anything that maybe I could help you with if possible.” She asks you; you can spot the concern in her eyes when she brings it up.

You shake your head and ignore the feeling you felt as she brings it up but regardless you smile and shake your head. “Just trying to deal with not having the father in the picture. He decided he didn't want to be around." You tell her as she nods, understanding your words.

"I'm sorry to hear that." She tells you as you simply shrug your shoulders pulling you shirt back down.

"it's fine, think we'll be better off without him anyways.” You tell her. It's true, to an extent, at least that’s what keep telling yourself. You know you can do this all on your own. It won't be easy, but you hope you can manage. But deep down, you know you'll never be okay not having him by your side. He’ll miss out on so much, like watching your baby grow, learning and growing along with the baby as that baby also learns from you. You both won’t grow old together like you both wanted, with a bunch of animals, but with the baby included, maybe one or two more if things had worked out in the end.

You finish up the remaining paper work you had to sign and received your vitamins. Dr. Raven hands the ultrasound pictures to you in a white envelope and you make your way back to the lobby where Jared waited, still sitting and reading the pamphlets. He looks up as he notices you approaching and smiles as he stands up. “How’d it go?” He asks you.

You hold up the envelope with a smile. “It was great, got to see the baby, doctor said that they’re healthy and everything looks good thankfully. Just have to focus on not stressing myself out so much.” You tell him as you both make your way out of the building and into the parking lot.

“That’s great to hear. I’m sure Stacy already told you but she has a surprise in stock for you but she’s wondering if you have anything nice to wear.” He asks you as you approach the car.

Opening the car door you think for a minute before you nodded. “Yeah, I should.” You tell him. You’re sure you can find something. You took everything with you when you left Simon’s place, all your things are still in boxes save for the necessities that you need, but you’re sure you can find something.

On the drive back you spent the entire car ride back home staring and looking at the ultrasound picture, the little blob that you still couldn’t grasp was your baby, just still needed some more months to grow before you can meet them and that made you anxious. You don’t think you could wait that long.

“What’re you hoping for?” Jared asks you, steering the wheel as he switches to the next lane, glancing at the photos in your hand.

You think about it for a moment, it hasn’t crossed your mind surprisingly. Either one would be great, there was a moment where you dreamt of having a baby girl with Simon. You can’t lie, the sight of Simon being a girl dad made you all giddy and warm. Then thinking about a little boy, one that looked like a copy and paste of Simon would be so cute. You smile as the possibilities ran through your head, of course you’re just being delusional, you wouldn’t be able to see that happen ever. Just a thought in the back of your mind.

“Honestly either would be great. I don’t mind what I have, as long as the baby is healthy that’s enough for me.” You say tucking the photos into your purse, holding it close to you.

Jared smiled and nodded. “Sounds great, you’ll make a great mother. I’m sure of it.” He says to you as you smile, the reassurance from Jared was something you didn’t know you needed but greatly appreciated.

“Thanks.” You say to him, before you know it you’ve finally made it back home.

Once you arrived home you got out the car and walked into the house. Right away Stacy approached you with a smile.

“How’d it go?” She asks you as she gets up from the soft couch and walking over towards you and Jared.

You pull out the envelope and pull out the multiple pictures and hand them out for her. Upon seeing them she awe’s as she examined the little bean like fetus. “Little baby.” She coos before looking at you. “How far along are you?” She asks you.

“Eight weeks. I’ll be able to see the baby’s gender by fourteen weeks.” You tell her as she hands back the photos to you. Placing them in you bag you can see Stacy smile as she walks towards the island counter of in the kitchen. “Oh, what was that surprise you had in store?” You ask her.

She props herself up on the counter with her elbows and looks at the time. “We decided to treat you to dinner tonight. We have a reservation set for six tonight. You feeling up for it?” She asks you.

You take a moment to think and nod your head a bit excited to hear you’ll be eating at a restaurant feeling your hormones go crazed at the thought of food. “Yeah, I’ll get ready now.” You tell her with a wide smile. You haven’t eaten out at a restaurant in a long time. Last time you went was with Simon for the last anniversary together.

Making your way to your ‘room’ you take out a box with your fancier clothes. Opening the box you pull out multiple tops, bottoms, and dresses. Finally choosing one you like you slip the dress on and admire yourself in the mirror. You bump is bulging out a bit, you take the time to admire it.

You took the time to shower, do your make up and get dressed right on time. Stacy looked at your outfit as you did a 360 showing off your outfit. “You’re not even half way into pregnancy and already look like a milf.” Stacy jokes, you laugh as you grab your purse.

“Don’t tell me lies Stace.” You tell her as she shrugs her shoulder.

“I only tell the truth.” She says as you both walk out the door and towards the already running car where Jared sat in waiting for you two.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

A click from the lock sounds from the front door as it swings open. Simon’s bulking frame walks through the door as he scans the house. It’s dark and eerily silent.

When Simon came back, he felt like shit. His heart dreaded coming home to see your answer. He hoped you stayed, at least long enough till he came back, he planned to move out the house and leave it for you if you decided to keep the baby. It would give him a peace of mind to know where you were and know that you and the kid were safe, and you could use the extra room and space for the baby. But, even if you got rid of it, he doesn’t know if your relationship could ever be the same.

However your answer was first made clear when your car not in the drive way. His heart dropped but he took a deep breath, ‘Maybe she’s at the store.’ He thought. He hadn’t texted you either to let him know he was coming home today, he couldn’t bring himself too.

You’re not here. It’s something Simon suspected but he still feels dread overcome him as he steps into the house and notices the little things around the house that belonged to you were gone. Your shoes were gone, your car keys, the blanket you left on the couch is gone. He walks into your shared bedroom, which is now his bedroom, opening the door and he’s stunned with how much of an eye sore it is. His room is so plain now, like how it looked before you moved in with him.

He remembers how much you wanted to decorate the place, especially the bedroom, you hated how lifeless the whole house looked. It didn’t take much to convince him to let you decorate saying , “Go crazy.” And you did. Literally. You decorated adding a touch of you but keeping it to an extent to not overwhelm Simon. You hung up a few decorations and posters in the bed room of bands you and Simon both loved. A few shelves displaying your books and trinkets. Your touch added to his home making it more like home for him. Like you were his home. He liked, loved it if he dare say, he worried you would over do the place but it look perfect. Like you.

But now as he looked around the house, he sees the walls are bare and plain. He feels plain now, empty. Sad. He looks through your closet and drawers only to find them completely bare and empty.

He walks into the living room notices your shoes are gonna as well from the rack, and the little table beside the front door, he noticed the white folded paper on the little ceramic plate that held their keys, walking over he pick up the paper seeing his name written on it in your hand writing, unfolding it reveals page with your writing inked into the material.

‘I know we made a promise but this is something that takes two to do, accidents happen and I know you never wanted children and you knew it was still on the table for me, I’m thankful that you gave me a choice, even if it wasn’t easy. I don’t want to drag you into something you never wanted but it still hurts that I have to chose between you and this baby. I figured it was best for the both of us if I left, you can keep your home and I can keep my baby. I hope you stay safe out there Simon and please take care of yourself. I still and always will love you and I’m sorry.’ Simon checked the back of the paper for anything else but it was empty. You didn’t say where or what you were going to do and it scared Simon. Were you safe, do you have a place to stay, do you have people to help?

He knew you weren’t really in any contact with your family, your only friends were Johnny, Gaz, and Price. His ‘friends’ were yours. For the most part Simon knew you didn’t have anyone to help you or look after you and the baby. “Fuck!”

Taglist <3

@wise-owl @sandyseagullsip @mileyraes @nicolebarnes @nikkyevansdochen22 @mattmurdock-wife24 @demonking-69 @mooievis @lunamoonbby @cherrycosmos392 @eevee-of-eternity @makimamybelovedwife @venavanup @amberpanda99 @simplyymee98 @callmeluno @stormy-stardust @ssc7514 @badbitchthings @moldypeaching @asteria33 @going-through-shit @blarba-girl @leonsgirlie @andoraamore @nobodycanknoww @thegreyjoyed @natashamea18 @kylies-love-letter @blackhawkfanatic @leehoonii-i @xenop0p @sh1ga-to3s

[amateurvoltaire]

For the past six years or so, this graph has been making its rounds on social media, always reappearing at conveniently timed moments…

The insinuation is loud and clear: parallels abound between 18th-century France and 21st-century USA. Cue the alarm bells—revolution is imminent! The 10% should panic, and ordinary folk should stock up on non-perishables and, of course, toilet paper, because it wouldn’t be a proper crisis without that particular frenzy. You know the drill.

Well, unfortunately, I have zero interest in commenting on the political implications or the parallels this graph is trying to make with today’s world. I have precisely zero interest in discussing modern-day politics here. And I also have zero interest in addressing the bottom graph.

This is not going to be one of those "the [insert random group of people] à la lanterne” (1) kind of posts.  If you’re here for that, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.

What I am interested in is something much less click-worthy but far more useful: how historical data gets used and abused and why the illusion of historical parallels can be so seductive—and so misleading. It’s not glamorous, I’ll admit, but digging into this stuff teaches us a lot more than mindless rage.

So, let’s get into it. Step by step, we’ll examine the top graph, unpick its assumptions, and see whether its alarmist undertones hold any historical weight.

Step 1: Actually Look at the Picture and Use Your Brain

When I saw this graph, my first thought was, “That’s odd.” Not because it’s hard to believe the top 10% in 18th-century France controlled 60% of the wealth—that could very well be true. But because, in 15 years of studying the French Revolution, I’ve never encountered reliable data on wealth distribution from that period.

Why? Because to the best of my knowledge, no one was systematically tracking income or wealth across the population in the 18th century. There were no comprehensive records, no centralised statistics, and certainly no detailed breakdowns of who owned what across different classes. Graphs like this imply data, and data means either someone tracked it or someone made assumptions to reconstruct it. That’s not inherently bad,  but it did get my spider senses tingling.

Then there’s the timeframe: 1760–1790. Thirty years is a long time— especially when discussing a period that included wars, failed financial policies, growing debt, and shifting social dynamics. Wealth distribution wouldn’t have stayed static during that time. Nobles who were at the top in 1760 could be destitute by 1790, while merchants starting out in 1760 could be climbing into the upper tiers by the end of the period. Economic mobility wasn’t common, but over three decades, it wasn’t unheard of either.

All of this raises questions about how this graph was created. Where’s the data coming from? How was it measured? And can we really trust it to represent such a complex period?

Step 2: Check the Fine Print

Since the graph seemed questionable, the obvious next step was to ask: Where does this thing come from? Luckily, the source is clearly cited at the bottom: “The Income Inequality of France in Historical Perspective” by Christian Morrisson and Wayne Snyder, published in the European Review of Economic History, Vol. 4, No. 1 (2000).

Great! A proper academic source. But, before diving into the article, there’s a crucial detail tucked into the fine print:

“Data for the bottom 40% in France is extrapolated given a single data point.”

What does that mean?

Extrapolation is a statistical method used to estimate unknown values by extending patterns or trends from a small sample of data. In this case, the graph’s creator used one single piece of data—one solitary data point—about the wealth of the bottom 40% of the French population. They then scaled or applied that one value to represent the entire group across the 30-year period (1760–1790).

Put simply, this means someone found one record—maybe a tax ledger, an income statement, or some financial data—pertaining to one specific year, region, or subset of the bottom 40%, and decided it was representative of the entire demographic for three decades.

Let’s be honest: you don’t need a degree in statistics to know that’s problematic. Using a single data point to make sweeping generalisations about a large, diverse population (let alone across an era of wars, famines, and economic shifts) is a massive leap. In fact, it’s about as reliable as guessing how the internet feels about a topic from a single tweet.

This immediately tells me that whatever numbers they claim for the bottom 40% of the population are, at best, speculative. At worst? Utterly meaningless.

It also raises another question: What kind of serious journal would let something like this slide? So, time to pull up the actual article and see what’s going on.

Step 3: Check the Sources

As I mentioned earlier, the source for this graph is conveniently listed at the bottom of the image. Three clicks later, I had downloaded the actual article: “The Income Inequality of France in Historical Perspective” by Morrisson and Snyder.

The first thing I noticed while skimming through the article? The graph itself is nowhere to be found in the publication.

This is important. It means the person who created the graph didn’t just lift it straight from the article—they derived it from the data in the publication. Now, that’s not necessarily a problem; secondary analysis of published data is common. But here’s the kicker: there’s no explanation in the screenshot of the graph about which dataset or calculations were used to make it. We’re left to guess.

So, to figure this out, I guess I’ll have to dive into the article itself, trying to identify where they might have pulled the numbers from. Translation: I signed myself up to read 20+ pages of economic history. Thrilling stuff.

But hey, someone has to do it. The things I endure to fight disinformation...

Step 4: Actually Assess the Sources Critically

It doesn’t take long, once you start reading the article, to realise that regardless of what the graph is based on, it’s bound to be somewhat unreliable. Right from the first paragraph, the authors of the paper point out the core issue with calculating income for 18th-century French households: THERE IS NO DATA.

The article is refreshingly honest about this. It states multiple times that there were no reliable income distribution estimates in France before World War II. To fill this gap, Morrisson and Snyder used a variety of proxy sources like the Capitation Tax Records (2), historical socio-professional tables, and Isnard’s income distribution estimates (3).

After reading the whole paper, I can say their methodology is intriguing and very reasonable. They’ve pieced together what they could by using available evidence, and their process is quite well thought-out. I won’t rehash their entire argument here, but if you’re curious, I’d genuinely recommend giving it a read.

Most importantly, the authors are painfully aware of the limitations of their approach. They make it very clear that their estimates are a form of educated guesswork—evidence-based, yes, but still guesswork.   At no point do they overstate their findings or present their conclusions as definitive

As such,  instead of concluding with a single, definitive version of the income distribution, they offer multiple possible scenarios.

It’s not as flashy as a bold, tidy graph, is it? But it’s far more honest—and far more reflective of the complexities involved in reconstructing historical economic data.

Step 5: Run the numbers

Now that we’ve established the authors of the paper don’t actually propose a definitive income distribution, the question remains: where did the creators of the graph get their data? More specifically, which of the proposed distributions did they use?

Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to locate the original article or post containing the graph. Admittedly, I haven’t tried very hard, but the first few pages of Google results just link back to Twitter, Reddit, Facebook, and Tumblr posts. In short, all I have to go on is this screenshot.

I’ll give the graph creators the benefit of the doubt and assume that, in the full article, they explain where they sourced their data. I really hope they do—because they absolutely should.

That being said, based on the information in Morrisson and Snyder’s paper, I’d make an educated guess that the data came from Table 6 or Table 10, as these are the sections where the authors attempt to provide income distribution estimates.

Now, which dataset does the graph use? Spoiler: None of them.

How can we tell? Since I don’t have access to the raw data or the article where this graph might have been originally posted, I resorted to a rather unscientific method: I used a graphical design program to divide each bar of the chart into 2.5% increments and measure the approximate percentage for each income group.

Here’s what I found:

Now, take a moment to spot the issue. Do you see it?

The problem is glaring: NONE of the datasets from the paper fit the graph. Granted, my measurements are just estimates, so there might be some rounding errors. But the discrepancies are impossible to ignore, particularly for the bottom 40% and the top 10%.

In Morrisson and Snyder’s paper, the lowest estimate for the bottom 40% (1st and 2nd quintiles) is 10%. Even if we use the most conservative proxy, the Capitation Tax estimate, it’s 9%. But the graph claims the bottom 40% held only 6%.

For the top 10% (10th decile), the highest estimate in the paper is 53%. Yet the graph inflates this to 60%.

Step 6: For fun, I made my own bar charts

Because I enjoy this sort of thing (yes, this is what I consider fun—I’m a very fun person), I decided to use the data from the paper to create my own bar charts. Here’s what came out:

What do you notice?

While the results don’t exactly scream “healthy economy,” they look much less dramatic than the graph we started with. The creators of the graph have clearly exaggerated the disparities, making inequality seem worse.

Step 7: Understand the context before drawing conclusions

Numbers, by themselves, mean nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I could tell you right now that 47% of people admit to arguing with inanimate objects when they don’t work, with printers being the most common offender, and you’d probably believe it. Why? Because it sounds plausible—printers are frustrating, I’ve used a percentage, and I’ve phrased it in a way that sounds “academic.”

You likely wouldn’t even pause to consider that I’m claiming 3.8 billion people argue with inanimate objects. And let’s be real: 3.8 billion is such an incomprehensibly large number that our brains tend to gloss over it.

If, instead, I said, “Half of your friends probably argue with their printers,” you might stop and think, “Wait, that seems a bit unlikely.” (For the record, I completely made that up—I have no clue how many people yell at their stoves or complain to their toasters.)

The point? Numbers mean nothing unless we put them into context.

The original paper does this well by contextualising its estimates, primarily through the calculation of the Gini coefficient (4).

The authors estimate France’s Gini coefficient in the late 18th century to be 0.59, indicating significant income inequality. However, they compare this figure to other regions and periods to provide a clearer picture:

Amsterdam (1742): Much higher inequality, with a Gini of 0.69.

Britain (1759): Lower inequality, with a Gini of 0.52, which rose to 0.59 by 1801.

Prussia (mid-19th century): Far less inequality, with a Gini of 0.34–0.36.

This comparison shows that income inequality wasn’t unique to France. Other regions experienced similar or even higher levels of inequality without spontaneously erupting into revolution.

Accounting for Variations

The authors also recalculated the Gini coefficient to account for potential variations. They assumed that the income of the top quintile (the wealthiest 20%) could vary by ±10%. Here’s what they found:

If the top quintile earned 10% more, the Gini coefficient rose to 0.66, placing France significantly above other European countries of the time.

If the top quintile earned 10% less, the Gini dropped to 0.55, bringing France closer to Britain’s level.

Ultimately, the authors admit there’s uncertainty about the exact level of inequality in France. Their best guess is that it was comparable to other countries or somewhat worse.

Step 8: Drawing Some Conclusions

Saying that most people in the 18th century were poor and miserable—perhaps the French more so than others—isn’t exactly a compelling statement if your goal is to gather clicks or make a dramatic political point.

It’s incredibly tempting to look at the past and find exactly what we want to see in it. History often acts as a mirror, reflecting our own expectations unless we challenge ourselves to think critically. Whether you call it wishful thinking or confirmation bias, it’s easy to project the future onto the past.

Looking at the initial graph, I understand why someone might fall into this trap. Simple, tidy narratives are appealing to everyone. But if you’ve studied history, you’ll know that such narratives are a myth. Human nature may not have changed in thousands of years, but the contexts we inhabit are so vastly different that direct parallels are meaningless.

So, is revolution imminent? Well, that’s up to you—not some random graph on the internet.

Notes

(1) A la lanterne was a  revolutionary cry during the French Revolution, symbolising mob justice where individuals were sometimes hanged from lampposts as a form of public execution

(2) The capitation tax was a fixed head tax implemented in France during the Ancien Régime. It was levied on individuals, with the amount owed determined by their social and professional status. Unlike a proportional income tax, it was based on pre-assigned categories rather than actual earnings, meaning nobles, clergy, and commoners paid different rates regardless of their actual wealth or income.

(3) Jean-Baptiste Isnard was an 18th-century economist. These estimates attempted to describe the theoretical distribution of income among different social classes in pre-revolutionary France. Isnard’s work aimed to categorise income across groups like nobles, clergy, and commoners, providing a broad picture of economic disparity during the period.

(4) The Gini coefficient (or Gini index) is a widely used statistical measure of inequality within a population, specifically in terms of income or wealth distribution. It ranges from 0 to 1, where 0 indicates perfect equality (everyone has the same income or wealth), and 1 represents maximum inequality (one person or household holds all the wealth).

[bellestarot]

About Your Next/Current Relationship❣️

🎄 Take your time to choose

︵‿︵‿︵ʚĭɞ‿︵‿︵‿

Pile I

I’m getting the message that if you’re already in a relationship, you might be going through a period of sadness. You used to feel happy in this relationship, enjoying your time with this person. Things were different from how they feel now. Are you waiting? Perhaps for a response or an apology from this person? This waiting is affecting you deeply—hoping for a text or a conversation. I see you becoming more withdrawn during this time.

If you’re single, I can tell you that your next relationship will arrive unexpectedly, at a moment in your life when you’re not emotionally at your best. This person will appear, and both of you will need to be patient as you navigate this connection. You’ll have to balance things in your life to build a healthy relationship with them.

This period will require you to work on your emotions, allowing you to open your heart and regain the fun, outgoing nature that defines you. If you’re already in a relationship, I see the need for an honest conversation. Communication is essential for resolving issues. If this doesn’t happen, I foresee the possibility of a breakup.

This person appears to come from a wealthy family with a solid financial foundation, a nice home, and a stable career. However, they are also hardworking and independent, not solely reliant on their family. They are patient, love traveling, and enjoy giving meaningful gifts to those they care about. Quality time is important to them, and they will likely invite you to travel together and meet their family.

Although they have a big heart and enjoy helping others, they can get easily frustrated. They struggle to control their emotions, becoming stressed or crying easily. Despite this, they are very creative, with talents they’ve nurtured since childhood—for example, playing piano or excelling in a math competition.

This person will care deeply for you and express their affection through the time they spend with you. Their friends will also appreciate you, and they will proudly introduce you to the important people in their life.

Pile II

Your future partner is someone who has been keeping an eye on you for a while. This person is already interested in you and knows you, but they won’t tell you directly that they like you. They have feelings for you secretly.

I don’t see you actively seeking a relationship at the moment. You seem okay with it if someone comes into your life, but if not, that’s fine too. In fact, when this person finally shows interest, you may still feel this way. I see you being a bit more withdrawn right now when it comes to relationships and meeting someone new. But this person has a lot of love to give. They are bright, fun, and enjoy talking and making people laugh. It would be a great time for you both to get to know each other, and for them to express how they feel.

However, I see you being very critical of yourself, judging your actions a lot, and not resting. You work hard and do a lot but don’t give yourself time to relax.

If you’re already in a relationship, I see that you keep some things to yourself. You don’t tell your partner about certain feelings or past events, and they are waiting for a chance to improve things between you two. They want to offer a better relationship and quality time together, letting things flow naturally. This person might be more family-oriented and may want to have kids, while you don’t currently think about that, which can create a conflict. You may feel judged, but your partner doesn’t see you as someone who should be responsible for everything either.

This person has a way of making everyone feel at home and like best friends after just one conversation. They will easily grab your attention and reach your heart because they are warm, fun, and energetic. But they can be forgetful or avoid confrontation at times. They love spending time with others and have been judged in the past for treating friends like partners. This approach has led to misunderstandings in past relationships, but it’s because they care deeply for everyone. They have experienced heartbreak and betrayal but have moved on. They work on their mental health to stay strong. I see this person telling their friends that they like you, and everyone already knows. However, if someone tells them that you found out, they wouldn’t know what to do.

Pile III

If you are single, your next relationship will come after you move on from what happened to you. Once you get over that, someone new will appear. This person will be adventurous, fun, and everyone will be 100% in love with you. I see this person showing up at your house late at night, inviting you for a walk. I also see this person sending you gifts and flowers wherever you are. They will be completely in love with you.

This person loves giving gifts and enjoys parties and fun. You might need to be open-minded and not restrict them because they will introduce you to their lifestyle this way.

But you’re a bit different from them. They love parties, while you might be more of a homebody, someone who prefers staying in. You particularly like tarot, but it’s about adapting or respecting each other’s space and living life true to yourself and each other. This person has great potential to be a responsible man and a family man in the future, which is very interesting.

If you’re already in a relationship, the issue is the parties and the social scene. This person going out to see friends and party without you has become a big obstacle in your relationship. Even though you love them, they seem to love the adventurous lifestyle and travel even more. This has caused tension between you two, even though it’s not new to you. It bothers you greatly, and you’ve argued about it before.

This person is not bad; they are actually inspired by their mother. Their mother, who has always been a hardworking woman, has greatly influenced who they are. Because of her, this person has worked since an early age and understands money and the market.

When this person is in a serious relationship, they become very intense, as if it’s the last relationship of their life. They become very focused and can be possessive or suffocating. At the same time, they may show unhealthy behaviors. If you do something that affects their ego, they might start playing mind games, talking to others to get a reaction, or behaving in other troubling ways. Even if you’re in a relationship, they might still engage with other people. Pay attention to these signs if you notice them in someone you know, so you can decide if that person is right for you.

[theemporium]

SAW THE OCTOBER PROMPTS AND KNEW I HAD TO SUBMIT ONE IN

could i do 💰 with my fav boyfriend max verstappen who has just slowly creating a list of everything reader has looked at a little too long or talked about for a couple of minutes. It ranges from tiffany jewelry to chanel dresses to la perla lingerie to gucci perfume to louboutin red bottoms, he knows everything that the reader wants and just one day surprises reader with everything

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“What…the…fuck.”

Max stood in the middle of your living room—your once empty living room that was now flooded with boxes and bags everywhere you looked—with his hands on his hips and a proud look on his face. And he looked completely unashamed with the scene around him.

“Surprise!” He said it so simply like he had just placed a home cooked meal in front of you, or maybe ran a few errands for you that he knew were a hassle. He was acting like the designer brand labels littering the living room of your apartment were normal, like an everyday occurrence. Though, maybe for Max Verstappen, they were.

“You…what….huh?” You looked at him, confused and baffled and desperate for answers. “What is all this?”

“It’s for you,” he said as he picked up a random bag nearby and handed it towards you, the Chanel logo making you feel a little nauseous. “Though I think people usually call them gifts.”

“This is too much,” you breathed out, your head spinning at the idea of just how much he could have possibly spent on you. At the mere idea of how much money was technically sitting in your far-too-small living room. “This is way too much, Max. I can’t.”

His brows furrowed together. “Why not?”

Your eyes widened. “Is that really a question you’re asking?” 

“But it’s all stuff you want,” he pointed out to you. 

“You can’t possibly—” Except the boy cut you off as he reached into the Chanel bag he was still holding, taking out a shoe box. And before you could even say anything, he was opening it to show you a pair of black platform heels you remembered vaguely showing him a few weeks back. “Max.”

“You said you wanted them.” 

“I said I liked the look of them.”

“Same thing.”

It seemed like every possible object or item you had spent longer than three seconds staring at were currently sitting in your living room at that moment, and Max didn’t see an issue with it. And you knew you shouldn’t be mad at him. Even before everything changed between you and Max, you had made the deal to be the person he splurged on. You agreed to it. You accepted the terms.

But you thought things would change once your relationship changed, when it went from financially beneficial to an actual romance. You thought he knew he didn’t need to do any of this anymore.

“Max,” you started as you tried to step over a pile of boxes, your foot getting caught in the handle of a bag. But before you could stumble, he was reaching out to grab your arms. “Babe, you don’t have to do this.”

“You are making it seem like someone is making me do it against my will,” Max mused, a hint of amusement on his face as his arms wound around your waist.

“I’m your girlfriend, you don’t have to spend money on me like this,” you said to him, your hands interlocking behind his head. 

“It’s exactly why I should,” Max scoffed. “You’re my girl. Mine to take care of and spoil and keep happy.” 

“Max—”

“Stop saying my name like that, you sound like a school teacher scolding me,” he groaned as he rested his head against your shoulder. Though, something in his chest tightened when he heard you laugh. 

“It’s just a lot,” you admitted in a whisper. 

“It’s everything you deserve and everything I want to give you,” Max retorted before he slowly lifted his head, his nose brushing against yours. “I’ll calm down but don’t make me give any of it back.”

You sighed, smiling. “Fine.”

“Good, because I don’t know where the receipts are and I’m pretty sure half of it wouldn’t even fit in my car.” 

His grin widened as your laugh bounced off the walls of your far-too-small living room.

.

[xoheewon]

His Majesty- PSH

synopsis: you’re the prince’s new attendant, attending not only to him but also to his son. what’s in store for you in the circle of the “cold” and “heartless” prince?

genre: fluff, angst(?), smut (one smut scene lmao), royalty au, dilf!sunghoon, prince!sunghoon

pairing: sunghoon x f!reader

wc: 5k

warnings: smut, pussy eating, unprotected sex, breeding, dick sucking, cursing, fingering, violence(?), gossip

note: ignore the formatting, i’m too lazy to change it, also excuse any typos/grammar inaccuracies 😁 i hope y’all enjoy this! this is my second time writing smut so hopefully again, not ass lol.

Becoming the prince's new personal attendant was a huge honor and opportunity you could not pass up. Your family was struggling immensely and taking this job would help stabilize you financially.

You’ve heard rumors about the prince, that he’s cold and heartless. You didn’t care, as long as your family was taken care of. You’re not fragile, you’ve been through enough to handle him.

You currently find yourself in the presence of the head attendant. The one who attends to the king and queen.

“You will attend to any and all needs of the prince, regardless of its difficulty or convenience. This also means attending to the prince’s son. He’s a year old and requires attention at all times.”

Wait, the prince has a son?

“I can see the look on your face. Yes, the prince has a son. It was unexpected and sudden but he loves his son very much, and you must treat him with the utmost care.

You nod, taking in her words with complete seriousness.

“The prince also has his concubines, you do not need to attend to them, but do be mindful of your interaction with them.”

Of course he has concubines, a typical man.

“How many are there?” You ask.

“3, Seyoon, Ana, and Jiseul. Don’t get in their way and you’ll be fine. And don’t tell anyone I told you this, but the prince definitely favors Jiseul.”

She leans in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper,

“I know she hopes for a more…romantic relationship with him and for that reason she’s very possessive. Definitely don’t get in her way, the other two are nicer, but I would still avoid them.”

You take everything in and nod. Okay, you can do this.

The attendant continues, “You will address the prince as ‘your majesty’ and that only. Same goes for the king and queen shall you ever encounter them. You will address his concubines as ‘ms’.

The only one you can address informally here is the prince’s son, his name is Taesun,” she takes a breather, “you will begin attending to the prince immediately, go to him and do what he tells you. If your services are not needed at the moment you shall attend to his son.”

With that, she takes off, giving you an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

You already memorized where everything is in the castle after your tour, your own room is in a section of the castle reserved for staff.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way to the prince’s room.

Before you can knock, you hear a loud moan from behind the door.

“Fuck, Sunghoon!”

Oh. He must be busy.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, how uncouth.

Figuring he doesn’t need you at the moment, you instead venture off to find Taesun.

The attendant, who said to call her Yeeun, told you the baby was with his grandparents.

This may give you the opportunity to introduce yourself to the king and queen. Even if the prince is cold and heartless, maybe they’re not.

You make your way to their chambers, hearing a loud coo, telling you Taesun is with them.

You knock, albeit hesitantly, waiting to be invited inside.

“Come in!”

You open the door, immediately bowing and introducing yourself, “Your majesties, I am the prince’s new personal attendant. It's an honor to be in your presence.”

“And what’s your name, dear?” The queen asks, holding Taesun. You can’t help but coo internally, he’s the cutest baby you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N, your majesty. I went to the prince’s room to see if my services were needed but he seemed…preoccupied, so I came to find Taesun instead.”

Both the king and queen roll their eyes at your words, “That boy, he’s too obsessed with sex. Maybe you’ll be a breath of fresh air for him,” the king says.

“I’ll do my best. Does Taesun need to be attended to?”

“Yes actually,” the queen starts, “it’s time for his feeding. You can take him.”

You walk forward, carefully taking Taesun into your arms.

“You’re very pretty dear,” the queen says, making you blush.

“Coming from you, your majesty, I’m honored.”

You bid them farewell, taking Taesun to the kitchen where his milk and bottles are.

It’s somewhat hard to do one handed, but you manage to make a bottle for him.

You weren’t told where to feed him, so you take him back to your room.

Inside your room, it’s somewhat dark and dingy but it’s enough.

You notice a crib in the corner of the room, you figure you’ll have Taesun enough to have a place for him to sleep in your room.

As you feed him, his big eyes look into yours and he smiles. You smile back, brushing your thumb along his soft cheek.

He takes about 20 minutes to finish the bottle, and after he’s done, you gently begin to burp him, with a cloth over your shoulder in case.

Within another half an hour, after he’s been burped, he begins to yawn, and you gather he’s ready for a nap.

You gently lay him in the crib, making sure there’s nothing restricting him or in his way.

He falls asleep quickly and you do your best to not make any noise.

There’s a small dresser with books in it, so you pick one up to pass the time.

It’s only an hour later when there’s a faint knock on your door.

You check to make sure Taesun hasn’t woken, before answering the door.

The prince stands there with a woman you can only assume is one of his concubines.

You bow immediately, “Your majesty, Ms.”

“You're my new attendant?”

His voice is rough and monotone.

You look up, meeting his eyes, they're dark with no light in them.

Nodding, you stand up straight, “Yes, your majesty.”

He moves past you as does the woman, and you don’t miss the dirty look she gives you.

You shouldn’t assume, but you have a feeling this must be Jiseul.

The prince makes his way to the crib where his son rests, running a hand over his forehead.

“Has he eaten?”

“Yes, your majesty, he ate and was burped. I put him down an hour ago.”

“It’s about time for him to wake up,” the prince says, and just as he finishes his sentence, Taesun begins to cry.

Sunghoon immediately picks him up, shushing him, “It’s okay, daddy’s here.”

You see his eyes change in that moment, from dark and lifeless to full of love.

Taesun continues to cry, no matter how much his father coos and shushes him.

“Here let me,” the woman says, taking Taesun from his father, “Hi sweetie, it’s auntie Jiseul!”

Ah, so you were right.

But no matter how much Jiseul rocks him, he refuses to stop crying.

It’s starting to hurt your ears with how loud his cries are, you walk forward, “May I?”

Jiseul gives you another look, but you ignore it as you take Taesun into your arms.

Once he sees you, his cries immediately cease, and instead he begins to smile and laugh.

You murmur sweet words to him, tickling his belly as he laughs loudly.

You look up and the prince and Jiseul are looking at you astounded.

“No ones ever been able to get him to stop crying so quickly,” the prince says.

You give him back to Sunghoon, who smiles down at his son.

“Is there anything you need from me, your majesty?” You ponder.

“No, not at the moment. We’ll go.”

With that, he and Jiseul leave with Taesun.

You huff, Taesun wasn’t any hard work but something about the other two made you suddenly feel exhausted.

The next day, after washing up and making yourself presentable, you make your way to the prince’s room.

You knock and enter after hearing him invite you in.

“Good morning, your majesty, may I be of any assistance?”

“Yes, we’re having breakfast with the Sim’s, please attend to me. Afterwards, I’ll have you take Taesun.”

You immediately begin gathering an outfit for the prince.

He’s in a robe, you assume fresh out of the shower.

You get undergarments for him as well as a shirt and slacks.

When you turn back around, the prince has dropped his robe.

You squeak, turning back around immediately.

“What? Never seen a man naked before?”

He’s teasing you, you can tell by the tone in his voice. What happened to the cold and heartlessness?

Suddenly, you feel his presence behind you.

His hand runs up your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“Shouldn’t you turn around and face me?” He teases, lightly pushing your shoulder so you’re turned.

You avoid looking in his eyes or looking down.

His hand finds your chin, pushing your head up so your eyes meet.

“You’re a pretty thing, you know that?”

You can’t think of a response without making a fool out of yourself, so you just hand him his underwear and pants.

He chuckles, taking the garments from you and stepping back to put them on.

Once his bottom half is covered, you assist him in putting on his shirt and buttoning it.

Taesun is in his crib, watching intently.

“Take Taesun to the garden, he likes looking at the flowers,” Sunghoon says, adjusting his collar.

You nod, taking Taesun out of his crib as he babbles.

You open the door to find Jiseul about to knock.

Bowing, you walk past her, making your way to the garden.

Taesun immediately starts grabbing at the flowers, giggling and smiling.

You point out the types of flowers to him. Dahlia, carnation, rose, tulip, iris.

You know he doesn’t understand, but you enjoy talking to him anyway.

After soaking in the sun and admiring the flowers, a servant comes outside, garnering your attention.

“Your presence is requested in the dining room, Y/N,” she says, not giving you a chance to ask what for.

You waste no time and make your way to the dining room, Taesun in your arms.

The dining room is full, with the king and queen along with who you assume are the Sim’s.

“There they are,” the queen says, gesturing to you and Taesun.

You bow your head slightly, not wanting to rock Taesun too much, “Good morning.”

“This is Chaeyoon and Hyungjae Sim and their son, Jake,” the king introduces them, bowing their heads to you.

“Y/N is lovely and already has Sunghoon’s favor which is unseen,” the queen says, looking at you adoringly.

“Dada,” Taesun mumbles, and you begin to hand him over to Sunghoon.

Sunghoon stops you, instead pulling you down into his lap.

You blush, whispering “Your majesty, this isn’t appropriate.”

“Whatever I want to do, is appropriate.”

That shuts you up and you quietly bounce Taesun in your lap while everyone else stares at you.

Sunghoon continues the conversation like nothing is off and you keep quiet, not speaking unless you’re spoken to.

“It’s time for Taesun’s feeding,” you whisper to Sunghoon as the baby starts to whine.

“Let’s go then,” he replies.

You stand up as does the prince.

“Excuse us,” he says to the table, “Y/N and I must attend to Taesun.”

Sunghoon doesn’t waste another second, nor wait for an answer before guiding you out of the dining room with a hand on your lower back.

Neither of you say a word, making your way to the kitchen to fetch a bottle.

Sunghoon watches you feed Taesun, feeling something he can’t describe.

“I’m intrigued by you,” he says.

You look up, eyes wide.

“What do you mean, your majesty?”

“There’s something about you,” he responds, “I can’t put my finger on what it is though.”

You nod, “Well, I hope whatever it is, it’s good.”

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything else.

Once you’ve finished feeding and burping Taesun, you hand him over to his father.

“I’ll take care of him from here, you go rest,” the prince tells you.

You bow, “Yes, your majesty.”

You leave him in the kitchen, making your way back to your room.

Before you can make it there, a hand grabs you from behind, making you spin around.

Jiseul stands there, looking furious.

“Can I help you, Ms?”

“Yes, you can, by staying the hell away from Sunghoon!”

You sigh, “That’s kind of hard, considering I’m his attendant, Ms.”

“I saw you in the dining room, all cozy on his lap. Don’t act like you don’t want him. You’re nothing but a whore tasked to help him, no more, no less.”

You gulp, trying not to get frustrated, “I do not want his majesty, and yes I am nothing more than an attendant. I will continue to do my job with less interaction.”

“Good,” she says, “and don’t let me see you all over him again.”

With that, she turns and walks away.

You finally get inside your room, trudging to your bed.

You’re ready for this day to be over.

As you lay down, you close your eyes and surely enough, you fall asleep quickly.

When you open your eyes, it’s night time.

You don’t know how long you slept for, but clearly, you needed it.

A loud babble catches your attention, and you see Taesun in the crib of your room.

“What are you doing here?” You say sweetly, making your way to him.

Picking him up, you rock him in your arms as he giggles.

“Your dad must be busy, huh?”

Taesun just gurgles in response.

“I hope he keeps our relationship professional, I don’t need anybody targeting me.” You sigh, taking him back to bed with you.

As you hold him in your arms, your eyes begin to droop again.

You don’t even hear the knock on your door.

It opens and Sunghoon stands there, looking around until his eyes find you, half asleep with Taesun in your arms, he chuckles.

He closes the door, making his way over to you.

You suddenly perk up, “Your majesty! I didn’t hear you come in!”

“You look comfortable,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed by your feet.

“I’m so sorry. I woke up and Taesun was watching me so I figured we could just rest for a couple more minutes. He’ll probably be up now, I’m sorry.”

Sunghoon shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it.”

Before you know it, you and Sunghoon are engaging in rapid conversation.

He asks about your life in the kingdom, why you wanted this job, and other minuscule things.

You ask about him, trying not to be too intrusive.

But Sunghoon opens up well, telling you everything you want to know.

He’s actually not cold and heartless, in fact he’s the opposite. He’s sweet, kind and loving.

Especially towards his son, who you learned was conceived by a former concubine who baby trapped him.

She thought she’d be given the honor of marrying the prince, but instead she was kicked to the curb and had custody taken away from her.

It’s terrible that the prince's trust was betrayed like that.

You wonder if any of his other concubines wish for a higher position than just concubines? Probably Jiseul, at the very least. She’s the only one you’ve encountered, the other two seem very…in the wind.

“What’s going through that pretty head of yours?” Sunghoon asks, pinching your leg.

“Nothing,” you say, “just…surprised. You’re nothing like what people think of you. Like what I thought of you.”

He waves his hand, “It’s common, you have nothing to worry about.”

Taesun suddenly begins to squirm in your arms, having woken up from his own nap.

He looks at you, smiling and babbling.

“Hey, look who’s here. It’s daddy!” You hold him up, facing Sunghoon who smiles gleefully.

“There’s my big guy,” he says, taking Taesun.

He kisses his son on the cheek, while Taesun has his eyes focused on you.

“You like Y/N, yeah?” Sunghoon coos.

Taesun is suddenly reaching his arms out, making grabby hands towards you, “Mama.”

Both you and Sunghoon freeze, looking up at each other in somewhat horror.

“Mama!” Taesun repeats, still reaching for you.

“I- oh my god. I’m so sorry! I don’t know why he’s saying that,” you say, fully in shock.

“I don’t know what to say,” Sunghoon responds, “he’s never said mama before. Don’t say sorry! I just don’t know where this is suddenly coming from.”

You curl up, putting space between you and the prince.

Sunghoon stares at Taesun in his hands, before looking up at you.

“If you don’t mind, can he continue to call you that? It’s totally okay if not, but he’s never had a mother figure.”

You’re flabbergasted. The prince is asking you to act as a mother to his son?

“I… okay. That’s fine, your majesty.”

“Sunghoon, call me Sunghoon.”

You take a second, feeling it at the tip of your tongue, “Sunghoon.”

You make eye contact with the prince and he smiles at you, a genuine smile.

Smiling back, the moment is interrupted by Taesun, “Mama! Mama!”

“Okay,” Sunghoon laughs, “go to mama.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, you, mama?

Taesun crawls on the bed, back into your arms.

“Mama’s here.”

In 2 days, you managed to capture the attention of the prince and his son.

You just hope this doesn’t put a target on your back.

It’s been about 2 weeks since you started your job and you’ve been loving it.

You and Sunghoon actually feel like friends, as crazy as that sounds.

Taesun is obsessed with calling you mama.

It comes out of his mouth almost every minute.

You’re starting to love him, as if he was your own.

Making your way through the hallways, you hear a whisper of your name.

You pause in your step, hiding behind a corner to hear the conversation.

“I heard she was so desperate, she begged the prince to make her one of his concubines.”

What?

“Rumor says he only allowed it because Taesun likes her.”

What bullshit are they spouting?

You frown, why would people think this of you?

“Eavesdropping? That’s not very nice,” a voice says behind you.

You turn, facing Jiseul as she smirks at you.

“Did you start those rumors?” You ask, anger making its way onto your face.

“Maybe I did, it only makes sense, doesn’t it?”

You hate that smug tone in her voice.

Before you can stop yourself, your hand is coming up and making contact with her cheek.

The sound resonates in the quiet hallway.

“You bitch! Did you just slap me?” She nearly screams.

You hear footsteps shuffling towards you as the two servants who were talking about you make their way to you.

“Y/N! What are you doing?” One of them says, grabbing your shoulders.

You yank yourself out of her hold, “Don’t touch me!”

Turning to face Jiseul, you step closer until there’s little space between you.

“Don’t fuck with me, you’ll regret it.”

She gapes at you, as do the servants watching you walk off back to your room.

Once inside, you just scream.

“Fuck!” You scream, you just did something really bad.

You start to pace.

That was a mistake, you shouldn’t have done that.

But god, that bitch just pisses you off.

She clearly can’t stand the fact that you’ve gotten closer to Sunghoon but to stoop low enough to start rumors? What is she,12?

Your door suddenly opens, Sunghoon enters the room and he doesn’t look happy.

“Did you really slap Jiseul? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Of course she ran to Sunghoon.

Is he going to believe you?

“She started rumors about me and was mocking me about them, I just snapped!” You defend yourself diligently, refusing to back down.

“What rumors?” Sunghoon asks, closing the door behind him.

“That I,” you sigh, tears prick your eyes and you look up to not let them fall, “that I begged you for sex. To be one of your concubines.”

Sunghoon’s face poses one of confusion.

“Jiseul did that? Are you sure?”

“She doesn’t like the fact that we’re kinda friends! She told me 2 weeks ago to stay away from you. You may not believe me but honestly I don’t care, but I know the truth!”

You wipe the tears now falling from your eyes, not wanting him to see you vulnerable.

He stands there, taking in everything you said, “I’ll handle it. Just don’t go slapping people, okay?”

You nod, sniffling as he leaves the room.

Making your way to your bed, you lay there as you cry.

He said he would handle it, but why does it feel like you just got scolded?

You don’t know how long you lay there crying, but after what seems like forever, a knock is heard at your door.

Getting up, you wipe your eyes and face, trying to make yourself look presentable.

When you open the door, the queen is standing there with Taesun in hand.

“Hello dear, he was asking for his mama.”

You take Taesun eagerly, at least one person here didn’t think the worst of you.

“Is something wrong, sweetheart?” The queen asks, stroking your shoulder.

Shaking your head, you speak, “No, your majesty. I’m fine, especially now that he’s here,” gesturing to Taesun.

“My husband and I were hoping you’d join us for dinner,” she says.

“You want me to join you?” You ask in shock.

Oh no, are they going to fire you for what you did?

“Yes, we want to get to know you more, so please, do join us.”

You give her the okay and she leaves Taesun with you.

Putting Taesun in his crib, you begin to wash up and change for dinner.

As you're changing your dress, your door opens, Sunghoon enters.

“Sunghoon!” You squeal, your arms coming up to cover your bare chest.

You turn away from him, making him see your back.

Hearing the door close, Sunghoon makes his way to you, his hand running up your back, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, “I should’ve knocked.”

His chest meets your back as you stand with little to no space between you.

“Sunghoon,” you whisper, licking your dry lips as his hands cup your shoulders.

He pulls your dress up, covering your breasts as you let your arms fall.

Once you’re fully situated, he zips your dress, his cold hands ghosting across your warm skin.

“Let’s go to dinner,” he says.

You pick Taesun up, holding him with one arm while Sunghoon takes the hand of your other.

Making your way to dinner, you ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

Why does this feel so domestic? Like, you’re a family?

Is that what you secretly want?

Maybe Jiseul is right, maybe you do want the prince.

Dinner goes smoothly, the king and queen ask you plenty of questions about your life, but never do they sound condescending or rude.

After dinner is finished, Sunghoon asks his parents to take Taesun.

“Y/N and I have some business to attend to,” he tells them.

They look at him suspiciously, but don’t question him.

But that doesn’t mean you’re not confused, what business is he talking about?”

Sunghoon leads you through the castle until you’re faced with his own bedroom door.

His bedroom, somewhere you’ve never been.

As he opens the door, the smell of mint and pine make their presence known.

Both of you take your shoes off.

“What are we doing, Sunghoon?”

He closes the door behind you and you can hear the lock turn.

There’s an ottoman in front of his bed that Sunghoon sits on, his legs spread.

And oh, does his lap look inviting.

“Come.” He pats his lap.

You’re hesitant but don’t want to disobey him, so you quietly walk forward, steps slow.

You sit on his lap and his hands immediately find your waist.

“I took care of Jiseul,” he whispers into your ear.

You gulp, his voice is husky and you try not to let it get to you.

“What did you do?”

“Told her if she ever threatens you again, she’ll pay the price.”

“But why?” You ask, “I’m nothing more than your attendant, at best your friend. She’s been with you for how long?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, “I care about you in a way I’ve never cared for another person, other than Taesun that is.”

You can’t help but squirm in his lap.

The way he talks is mesmerizing. You can’t help the wetness that pools between your thighs.

You know it’s wrong, you shouldn’t be thinking of him in this way, but damn if he’s not attractive.

His hand trails up your back, pulling down your dress zipper.

Your breath catches in your throat as his hands pull your arms out of the dress, dragging it down until it’s bunched at your waist.

His head hooks on your shoulder, hands coming up to cup your breasts.

You gasp, “Sunghoon, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why,” he hums, “what’s so wrong about this?”

His fingers tweak your nipples and a moan rips out of your throat.

“Sensitive hmm?” He teases, squeezing your breasts in his large hands.

You lean back, your back meeting his chest.

“Sunghoon,” you whimper, squirming in his lap again.

You can feel his dick hardening in his pants.

At least you’re not the only one feeling something.

“Stand up,” he says, and you listen.

He pulls your dress the rest of the way down, leaving you in your panties, before taking you back into his lap.

“What do you want from me, baby?” He asks, rubbing his hands up and down your arms, leaving goosebumps.

“Want you,” you whine.

“Want me where? Show me.”

You take his left hand, bringing it down to your soaked panties.

Sunghoon breathes heavily, “All for me?”

You nod, squealing as his fingers make their way inside your underwear, rubbing up and down your folds.

He pulls them out, bringing the fingers to his mouth, moaning around them at the taste of you.

“So good, baby.”

He brings them back to your folds, this time, rubbing soft, lazy circles on your clit.

“So fucking wet for me, god I could drown in this pussy.”

He inserts a finger inside your hole, the tightness making him hiss in need.

Soon he has two fingers inside, pumping them in and out, curling them in just the right ways.

Sunghoon takes his fingers out, making you whine in protest.

“Patience,” he says.

He gathers your legs in one hand while the other wraps around your back, lifting you up as he stands.

“I need my mouth on you immediately.”

He places you on the bed, climbing on it and in between your legs.

His gaze is hungry as he begins to pull your panties down your legs.

Throwing them somewhere, he wastes no time.

His tongue swipes up and down your folds, his lips coming up to suck on your clit.

“Fuck, Sunghoon!” You’re nearly screaming as he moves between sucking your clit and fucking your hole with his tongue.

Your hands grab his hair, messing up the previously near locks.

You feel your orgasm approaching quickly, letting Sunghoon know with a whine and a tug on his hair.

He doesn’t stop thrusting his tongue inside you until you’re cumming on it.

Lapping up all your cum, he leaves one last kiss on your clit before coming up.

His mouth is covered in your release and you feel almost proud, like you’re claiming him.

Snapped out of your daze, you see Sunghoon pulling his pants and underwear down, letting his cock spring free.

It’s thick and long, veiny and bulging with the tip raging red.

You salivate, wanting nothing more than to have him in your mouth.

“You want my cock in your pretty little mouth?” He says, noticing your eyes on it.

You hum, opening your mouth and lolling your tongue out.

Sunghoon curses, head thrown back as he makes his way up the bed.

His knees rest on either side of your body while he taps the tip of his cock on your tongue before sliding it into your awaiting mouth.

He groans at the heat and wetness, sliding in and out, fucking your mouth.

Your tongue swirls around his head, dipping it into his slit.

“Fuck, such a warm, pretty mouth. All mine, yeah?”

You nod as best as you can with his cock down your throat, gagging slightly as it reaches the back.

Sunghoon picks up the pace, using your mouth until he’s cumming inside it.

You swallow all his cum eagerly, showing him as he chuckles, “Good girl.”

Sunghoon maneuvers back down the bed until he’s faced with your cunt again. Your hole is clenching, begging for his cock.

He guides his cock to your hole, slowly slipping inside as you moan.

Starting slow so as not to hurt you, he thrusts taking in the tightness around his cock.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, love this pussy.”

The only thing you can manage is to moan, repeatedly.

“Fuck Sunghoon, so good. Love your cock, so much,” you say, a permanent whine in your voice.

“Yeah? You love my cock?”

You nod incessantly.

He picks up the pace, thrusting faster and harder as his tip kisses your cervix.

You scream, the pleasure almost painful.

“Gonna cum in this cunt, breed you. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Sunghoon, yes! Love it.”

Tears roll down your cheeks as he fucks you.

Soon, you’re cumming again, creaming around Sunghoon’s cock.

He follows, cumming inside, painting your walls white.

Once he’s done, he pulls out, his cum immediately leaking out of you.

He takes two fingers and stuffs it back in, making you whimper.

“I meant it when I said I’d breed you.”

He lays next to you, as you breathe heavily, coming down from your own high.

“You know, after this, I know I can’t let you go, ever,” Sunghoon says.

“I don’t mind that, but what does that make us? I don’t wanna be one of your concubines, Sunghoon.”

“You won’t be, you’ll be mine. And I’ll be yours.”

“You’d give up your concubines, just like that?”

“For you? Anything.”

He looks into your eyes, leaning forward and leaving a passionate kiss on your lips. You kiss back with equal passion, pulling him closer.

Sleep overtakes you soon enough, with Sunghoon’s arm wrapped around your waist.

Seyoon, Ana and Jiseul move out the next day.

You don’t miss the glare Jiseul sends you, but you ignore it.

Sunghoon is yours and you’re his.

Whatever that means for the future, you’re not sure, but for now this is good enough.

As you change Taesun’s diaper, Sunghoon comes up from behind you, leaving a kiss on your neck.

“How’s my beautiful girl?”

“Good, great, amazing, everything,” you laugh.

“That’s all I could ask for.”

Washing your hands, you put Taesun on the floor.

Sunghoon pulls you towards him, dropping a kiss on your lips.

Something moving out of the corner of your eye catches your attention.

“Oh my god! Sunghoon, Taesun is walking!”

Sunghoon whips around and sure enough, his son is on his feet, walking towards the bed.

“Holy shit!”

Taesun makes it to the bed, holding onto the railing as he giggles up at you both.

“Taesun, you’re amazing!” Sunghoon picks the boy up, swinging him in his arms.

You take him into your arms, kissing all over his face.

“Mama’s so proud of you!”

Sunghoon looks at you both, the most important people to him, and smiles.

This is his family.

[fallstaticexit]

Ahhh it's been 65 years, and I feel kinda crazy that I've had this sitting in my drafts for like 2 months. Assuming most readers of Missing Moments are also The Art of Being Seen readers- there's some hefty lore here that will come into play later.

prev/ next

Olive: Time to move on, right Kia?

[phone pings]

Nancy: Hello darling. Do you have a moment to talk?

Olive: Who’s this?

Olive: I don’t recall saying yes.

Nancy: [sighs] It feels so good to hear your voice again.

Olive: I only answered to tell you to block me.

Nancy: I would never.

Olive: Even though I asked?

Nancy: Well. I am incredibly selfish.

Olive: Why did you call me?

Nancy: I would like to see you, Olivia. Please.

Olive: I’m not for sale, sorry.

Nancy: I know. I wouldn’t want to meet on those terms again. If I could do it all over, I would have asked you to have dinner with me when I met you. I would have courted you properly, Olivia.

Olive: [scoffs] You would have gone to a strip club and asked a stripper to have dinner with you? Seriously? When would we have ever met under any other circumstance? It’s been made very clear to me how different we are. The only way this would have happened was if it were a fairy tale.

Nancy: What matters is, I have met you. I’ve experienced you and I can’t go back. My husband- my ex husband- he signed the petition for our divorce. I came out to him- officially. It’s over.

Olive: [stunned] That’s- that’s great. I am so happy for you-

Nancy: I’m leaving all of it. I’m starting over. All I want is you, if you’ll have me.

Olive: [sighs]

Nancy: Let’s just have one dinner and after we’ve talk, then you can decide. There’s so much I want to say, but I want to look you in the eyes as I say it.

Olive: One dinner?

Nancy: One dinner.

Nancy: May I see you tonight? I’ll send my driver and I’ll cook for you at my place. Anything you like.

Olive: Tonight is fine.. sure.

Nancy: [sighs happily] It’ll be hard not to kiss you the moment I see you-

Olive: Not too much, lover girl. It’s one dinner and I’m still very annoyed with you about all this, ok?

Nancy: Yes, my love. I’ll see you tonight.

Olive: And don’t look at me like that. It’s just dinner and a conversation, ok? I am not going to sleep with her ok?

Malcolm: Well. Now I see why my mother was so willing to ruin an entire empire over you. Those mugshots did you no justice.

Olive: What is this? Where’s Nancy?

Malcolm: I noticed our driver was heading this way, I figured I’d tag along. Sight see. Get in. Let’s chat.

Malcolm: I wonder if this feels like dejavu to my mother. She makes yet another thoughtless mistake and someone comes along to make it all go away. She has a nasty habit of that, you know.

Olive: Listen. I’m not feeling whatever family drama you all have going on. I don’t want to talk to you. I want to talk to Nancy.

Malcolm: I was raised by a narcissistic liar and a spineless coward. If I let this company fall apart, then wouldn’t it all had been for nothing?

Olive: [scoffs] So you want pity? I’m suppose to pity you? Give me a break.

Malcolm: Not pity, no. If anything, I pity you.

Olive: Is that right?

Malcolm: When it comes to success, you pale in comparison to your half siblings. You’ve financially crippled your parents in legal fees since your arrest and all you have to show for it is by shaking ass in a low end strip club in the Spice District. That’s right, I know alot about you Olivia Briar.

Malcolm: I know about that quaint little family of yours down in the country. I know about your niece’s struggling restaurant and her undocumented partner. Funny, he’s able to acquire loans under a fake name but there’s no records of a Noa Briar anywhere. I wonder what else your family is hiding.

Olive: [shaken] What is this about? Are you threatening me? What the fuck do you want?

Malcolm: I’m here to help you, not hurt you. One of the greatest lessons I’ve ever learned was the power of the dollar. I can make a lot of your problems go away with one deposit if you do just one thing.

Olive: [softly] ....What?

Malcolm: We’re going to turn around and park in front of your building. You’re going to go upstairs, pack up your things and then, you’re going to go back home to sweet old Henford. You’ll pay your parents back with the money you’ll receive from this arrangement and you’ll help your niece and nephew. All your problems - poof- gone.

Malcolm: All you have to do is walk away, and stay away. You see, my mother has a nasty debt to this family she still needs to pay. Don’t make it your burden.

[beneathashadytree]

FELINE AFFECTION - XAVIER SHEN X READER

Warnings : Xavier absolutely gives off “I’m terrified of my spouse” vibes here because he has 0 financial responsibility, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : tooth-rotting domestic fluff <3

Word count : 1.0K words

Additional notes : My head is simply full of thoughts of that new pose of Xavier in the Glint photobooth, where he’s cuddling a cat… and the brainrot birthed this. I’m so in love with him.

Tip jar!

Masterlist

“Xavier.”

For a few beats there was no reply, and then a very hesitant, “Yes?” came from the couch they were staring at so intently—and for good reason, really. His innocent expression did not erase the truth of what they were seeing.

“What’s that in your arms?” they very patiently asked, as though the calmer they said it, the more inclined he would be to answer honestly. A futile attempt at coaxing, when Xavier knew better than to ignore the signs of an oncoming scolding.

“Nothing,” he quickly replied, sky blue eyes darting away before they could meet theirs. A very telling sign, if anything; Xavier was weak to them and would always give in with a single piercing glance shooting straight for his heart.

They arched their brow as they set their keys down on the coffee table, before crossing their arms against their chest. “So you’re saying I’m seeing things?”

A trick question. He swallowed thickly, carefully contemplating his answer and then quietly saying, “I didn’t say that.”

“A contradictory claim.” Their expression was cool, but the challenge in their eyes was anything but. “Answer this then, are you holding a kitten right now?”

He stayed silent for a few moments. “Well… no.” Not very convincing—especially not when there really was a pudgy tabby cat swaddled into his soft sweater and lazily swatting at the hem’s loose threads, and his own fingers were busy gently trailing across its head.

A strangled noise left them at the sight and his continued denial. Pinching their nose in exasperation, they shut their eyes for a second. “Care to explain, then?”

“Technically, she’s a little over two years old, so she’s a cat, not a kitten,” he mumbled, half to himself, hoping that they would just drop it. It seemed he wasn’t in the mood to be very upfront today. But he certainly looked like he was in the mood to tickle the pink paws of his new feline friend and boop her twitching little nose.

“Err… lovely,” they strained to keep their voice level and absolutely calm, definitely not freaking out over this… fascinating surprise. “And what’s she doing in our apartment?”

“It’s hers now too.” A bold statement to make, from a man who looked like—were he a cat too, that is—his own whiskers were standing on end. “If anything happens to her I’ll jump.”

“Knowing your luck, you’d survive the fall anyways.” A tired sigh, and then their shoulders were drooping, their fight dissolving all at once. They collapsed onto the couch beside him, and thankfully the cat seemed to be twice as lazy as her new owner was, because she made no indication of having gotten startled, save for a slow blink of her eyes (that was admittedly rather adorable). “Fine, have it your way.”

That sweet smile of his graced his soft features, and for a moment their heart thundered in their chest, reminding them that no matter how much they would try to deny it, they really were weak to anything he wanted—as long as he gave them that smile, of course. “She’s very content like this,” they pointed out as the cat in question yawned, leaning into his finger deftly stroking her forehead.

“I know we’re often on missions, and I didn’t want to risk negligence. So I searched for the lowest maintenance kitty to adopt,” he softly said, voice trailing off at the end and an endearingly tender look in his eyes as he continued to pet her. Glancing up at his beloved, he flushed a little at the amusement on their face. “Sorry. She’s just very fluffy.”

At that they chuckled a little, reveling in the way he let himself get carried away. “It’s fine. I was honestly just worried about precisely that. Pets are a huge responsibility, but she’d be perfectly compatible with us.” They looked down and watched as she stretched her fluffy limbs, before curling back up into Xavier’s chest, a content look on her adorable face and her tail swishing a little in her light sleep. The resemblance finally became clear. “She’s… an awful lot like you.”

“Really?” he mused, a thoughtful expression on his face as he furrowed his eyebrows a little. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Kind of hard to ignore once you see it,” they snorted a little, though they lowered their voice after they saw how the slumbering cat twitched in her sleep at the sound. “You got all the stuff she needs, though?”

“I may or may not have used up this month’s salary at the pet store.” Xavier sheepishly gave them a half-smile, though he didn’t look apologetic in the least at the prospect of having wasted a ludicrous amount of money on things that the soon-to-be-spoilt kitty may never even use.

Seriously, had he always wanted a cat this bad?

Well. There was no use in admonishing him when he seemed so enamored by the ball of fluff in his arms. In fact… maybe a small part of them fell a bit more in love with him seeing him so content with the (admittedly rash) decision he’d made, and perfectly happy with staying cuddled up forever on the couch.

“Did you name her?” they asked, curiosity lacing their words as they peered at her tiny face nuzzled against his chest. “It’s only fair you get the chance to when you brought her in.”

Really, it wasn’t such a bad idea after all, now that they thought about it. Cats are rather independent, and they knew without a shadow of a doubt that they’d definitely shower her with unconditional love and all the care that she needs. Kind of hard not to, when she was this sweet-looking and lazy all the time.

Xavier nodded, a small flush on his freckled cheeks. A look akin to pride on his face, he smiled up at his lover, slowly cradling the happily dozing cat, and said—

“Her name’s Meatloaf.”

…

“Absolutely not.”

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