#IT WOULD'VE BEEN SUCH AN EASY FIX

[crossdressingdeath]

#i mean all of this circles back down to 'we want the warden and player to be the hero and so alistair needs a quirky excuse to not be#in charge of you like he reasonably should be' but honestly if they were willing to do it so that they wouldnt have to think of a reason#that the warden SHOULD be in charge as opposed to alistair then they should have explored that as part of his arc and not just dismissed it#as a consequence of needing the game to be structured a particular way (tags via @nebulaad)

Literally all they had to do was add one line and one set of response options to the game. That's it. Just have Alistair say leadership isn't something he wants and ask the Warden if they're okay with taking charge and make all possible responses some variation of "Yes, I'm okay with that". All they had to do was have a single moment where Alistair asks if he can hand off responsibility to the junior Warden present and they say he can. There are other ways they could've gotten around it (for example Alistair could've joined at the same time as the Warden instead of six months earlier and they could've extended the Ostagar section so Duncan gave all the exposition Alistair gives in canon, making the two of them equals with an equal claim to leadership of the group), but if they really wanted to keep the current setup they just had to take two seconds to have Alistair ask instead of just dropping it on them! Sure, it would've required the slight roleplay limitation that the Warden must be someone who'll step up and take charge when it comes to it, but honestly they already have to be someone who'll step up and take charge and at least this way they'd have less reason to be immediately resentful of their fellow Warden!

A thing I wish DAO went into more: the way Alistair is in some ways incredibly selfish. Like, the way he refuses to take charge of the group is treated as kind of endearing in the text, but the game doesn't really get into what a massive burden he just... drops on the junior Warden present with no warning or discussion. Think about it: the Warden is heavily implied to be very young (possibly younger than Alistair, definitely around the same age), most of them have no real experience in leadership, several of them have no experience in the world outside their small corner, all of them have only been Wardens for a few days. And Alistair dumps leadership of the group on them and refuses to take any of that weight. Does your Warden like leadership? Are they any good at it? Is it exhausting and difficult for them? Alistair doesn't care! He doesn't want to lead, and that means you have to lead, and whether or not you want to lead has no bearing on that. It's not a discussion, there's no suggestion of sharing the responsibility of leadership as the Wardens of the group; Alistair metaphorically throws the responsibility at you and runs.

But if you go for low approval with Alistair it's basically all about calling him childish and immature, even though I think a much more compelling low approval dynamic is the Warden despising Alistair for putting so much on them with no hesitation, but being stuck with him (because they know as well as he does that they need all hands on deck Warden-wise) and stuck with that burden of leadership (because a Warden kind of has to be in charge of the group and even if one didn't no one else in the group would be very good as a leader in this situation, and Alistair has made it very clear that he won't take it). Even at high approval it would be very compelling to have this sense of resentment at how Alistair just assumed they'd take on the burden of leadership and refuses to take any of it for himself. But that aspect gets completely ignored in the story, you don't really get the chance to raise the matter aside from asking why you're in charge despite him being the senior Warden present a couple of times.

It also adds something really spicy to the fallout of sparing Loghain, though, because... Alistair forced the Warden to take on leadership. He made them be the one to make these hard choices. It's never been a discussion, it's never been the Warden's choice whether or not they take on responsibility for these tough decisions, Alistair always just expects them to do it. And now they've made a call he doesn't like, and he abandons the group on the eve of battle because of his wounded feelings? I'd argue that's as much a betrayal as sparing Loghain if not more so, and certainly more of a betrayal of Duncan's memory; Duncan understood that a good Warden must be driven by necessity, not emotion or even morality, and I feel like in the Warden's place he likely would've made the same call. They need Wardens around to kill the Archdemon, as many as they can get, and even one more could make the difference between victory and defeat. The Warden and Alistair may not know the details, but with the most senior Warden present saying they should make Loghain a Warden instead of killing him a logical assumption would be he has a very good reason for saying so and maybe they should listen to him! I would've loved it if during the argument with Alistair after sparing Loghain you could really get into that "You forced the responsibility of making these decisions on me when I never wanted or asked for it, you don't get to throw a tantrum now that I've made one you don't like" aspect of it, but you... don't. And that's a shame, because it takes a lot of depth away from his dynamic with the Warden.

[soriastrider]

this has almost certainly been done before, but i think it's funny so i did it anyway

original:

[blackbloodedisabel]

20 and 21 ane and iolanthe

ane and iolanthe are so intriguing. the thematic foils UGH.

it's easier if I answer both at once (what are their best and worst memories together) bc they weren't really friends lol most of their memories together would be selma trying to get them to be friends. which since selma was there would make them some of anemone's best memories and some of iolanthe's worst memories. this would also probably take place in the magic school making them some of their worst memories for both of them. see they could've bonded if they both weren't so cynical and reclusive. and then probably everything would've been fine.

[rustedleopard]

source on Flint?

The dirt.

Okay, joke answer aside, I'll put the source under the cut...

I'm going to assume that you're likely referring to the fun fact tidbit that I posted yesterday about Flint originally intended to be involved in the Jealous Bass boss fight.

The Cutting Room Floor has an archive of stuff that was cut from Mother 3 but still exists as data within the game. If you scroll down to Flint, you'll see that he has unused sprites for dodging the train, which is an event that happens in chapter 4.

And if you put Flint into your party as the second party member in debug mode then go to the train, he will dodge the train with that sprite animation. Compare that to Claus, who when programmed to be the second party member, does dodge the train like intended (and Boney, as the third party member, does not) but does not display the proper animation for this motion, we can see that while the behavior of jumping out of the way is programmed into the second party member, they only have the proper sprite for the scene if they're supposed to be there. This tells us that Flint was supposed to be involved in Chapter 4, at least up until the train, but was cut late into development. The only thing that stops Flint from jumping out of the way is the fact that he isn't there.

We also have a cut animation of what appears to be Flint clinging onto the airship, which is what Lucas and the rest of his party does at the end of chapter 5. Now, can I say with absolute certainty that this is what this animation is intended for? No, because I wasn't on the development team. But considering how closely that sprite of Flint resembles the rest of the party in that scene:

And how close Chapters 4 and 5 are to each other, as well as how the Spaceworld (1999) Earthbound 64 trailer* (apologies for the blurriness, but TCRF does have a clearer image of this scene on their website) does show Flint, along with Lucas, Claus, Duster, and Boney clinging to an airship, it's easy to deduce that's it's highly likely that Flint was intended to be in the party at least up until the party separation at the end of Chapter 5.

Also, so no one could say that that animation of Flint was actually supposed to be for Chapter 7 when Lucas and company were clinging onto the bird cage, here's a screenshot of that. You can see that if Flint was involved here, his animation would've had him hanging on from the wrong direction (apologies for the Lucas mooning).

[Also as a small aside: while not exactly evidence on its own but something worth pointing out, there is a notable difficulty spike in Chapter 4 when there's only Lucas and Boney in the party. The enemies at this point in the game the can wipe your party quite easily if you're not careful, and I always struggled against them even in the standard mode and I'm sure I'm not the only person who experienced this (while the game tells you not to mess with the Cattlesnakes, there's nothing to stop the Horsantulas and Ostrelephants from running right at you and initiating a battle). Having a heavy hitter in your party like Flint would've made the chimeras outside of Club Titiboo as well as the Jealous Bass easier. Again though, I'm not going to use my experiences as evidence because it could just be that I'm not good at the game.]

So, we have a timeframe that says that Flint was supposed to be in the party from around the beginning of Chapter 4 to at least the end of Chapter 5, which is well within the timeframe that the Jealous Bass boss fight occurs. Now, of course, just because there's evidence that Flint was supposed to be in the party for Chapters 4 and 5 doesn't mean that he would've been involved in the Jealous Bass boss fight with a 100% certainty. Flint could've been rendered incapable of participating in the attic dungeon (and, subsequently, that fight) for one reason or another. Maybe he gets locked in the bathroom while showering? Who knows? While it would've been an odd story direction, I wasn't the one making those sorts of decisions, so I can't say with absolute unshakable faith that he was going to be there. And for that, I apologize. I have changed the wording of that post a bit so it's a bit more ambiguous. There's nothing I can do for versions that have been reblogged unfortunately, but at least the base post reflects that. But there's at least enough evidence to prove that this is likely what was intended to happen.

* While I do not consider Earthbound 64 and Mother 3 the same games, it's undeniable that Earthbound 64 did lay the grounds for the direction that Mother 3 went in. If the only piece of evidence I had for Flint clinging to the airship was from that trailer alone, I would not have used it.

[dravidious]

You're cool and neat

Computer science is going well today

[dawnwriterimagines]

Innocents among you

Part Two to TRAITORS AMONG US

SIMON RILEY X FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 X FEM!READER

Summary: Your torture is over, but is it really? There is only the torment in your mind now. The nightmares, the flashbacks, the flowers at your hospital bed and the tormentors awaiting the relief of your forgiveness.

Part 3!!

Part 4

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

You flatlined twice, almost as soon as you were handed off to the medics.

Committing themselves to doing CPR before bringing in the defibrillator for an electric charge to your sudden cardiac arrest. "Clear!" They restarted your heart just outside the hallway of your cell, Simon held back by Price as your heart stopped again within the same minute and panic ensued. Johnny and Kyle hearing the news, rushing up towards the hall, their footsteps probably the echo that you held onto as your heart rate picked back up.

Clearly, you lived.

You didn't have the luxury of going comatose immediately after. As you would've preferred.

You'd awoken hours after the medical team carried you off to the infirmary. Still on edge, still plagued by discomfort and cold, despite the lights of the recovery facility and the nurses that paraded around you.

Morphine wears off in about 6 hours, so you were up wailing in agony within the same time. Clearly no one expected you up so soon, but you hadn't slept in days, at least not more than an hour. Jerking up involuntarily, hands all over you to keep you down and steady, you could hear a familiar doctor's attempt to calm you down. But, the blistering pain that radiated from every pore in your body was ringing so loud, a present noise that blocked everything out.

So, at first, you'd been terrified, attempting to clutch onto the first thing you'd woken up to. But, you couldn't move, at least not voluntarily.

With the damage to your spine for countless hours, days, and what you had discovered to be two fucking weeks of endless torture, you'd undergone three difference corrective surgeries that would 'possibly' fix the nerve and circulatory damage done to you. It had left you nearly completely immobile since your admission into the infirmary. The doctors were quite astonished that you were even alive...

The nurses were patient enough with your panicked state to slowly ease you out of your stupor. But, at times it wasn't easy, especially when you didn't even know where you were at first. Since you couldn't see...

You were blind for about four days. Everything a tinted red for a few more after you'd regained your sight.

Fevers plagued you for the week, skin that was raw and inflamed from the severe cold and constant dousing from the pipes, you couldn't move if you wanted to.

The first thing you'd been graced to see were the multiple arrangements of flowers, lilies, white tulips, hydrangeas, roses...typical assortments of regret and remorse.

"Can someone throw these away?" had been your first words.

The nurse who had been checking over your vitals looks over at the flowers, the were all over the desk, even on the floor lining the windows, once they ran out of space to put them. It was beautiful. But, she knew why. Everyone knew why. You were quite famous here in the infirmary, as you were in special unit. "Of course."

They were out within the day. The room bare once more.

And then you saw them outside your infirmary window. Just a glimpse. Around the time you were still getting your sight back.

Seeing them for the first time since everything made bile build up in your throat, a screaming fear that created a pulsing headache.

Kyle, Johnny, Price and...you didn't see Simon.

Price was...a statue. Not moving an inch. His hand against his mouth, covering up the aching distress anyone could see on his face.

Kyle was pacing, back and forth and back and forth. Making an offhanded comment at one of them every few seconds.

But, Johnny was talking, pointing spitefully at someone out of your view.

He was there too then. Simon.

Turning away from the window, you couldn't look at them anymore.

"Don't let them in," you breathe out to your doctor as she sets down a trayed mug on your sliding table as she sits you up to drink a hot cup of tea, which you had requested. "Any of them. Please." You were still so cold, you couldn't imagine dealing with any type of cold weather for a while after dealing with this.

She's confused a moment, before turning to the doorway, where she recalled seeing the four men waiting outside in the hallway. She's seen them just sitting there for days now, they wouldn't beg or argue to come in, they'd just wait. It's not like you were cleared for visitors yet anyway.

Every morning she clocked in for the job, there they were. Sitting there like abandoned children, awaiting the moment the door would open to be welcomed inside.

It was like they never left.

Of course she knew who they were to you. Word spreads fast on the base. Especially for a Task Force as 'famous' as they were around here.

Squeezing your shoulder, comfortingly. Feeling protective, your doctor spoke, "Of course," she slides the mug forward a bit, taking the teaspoon to stir once and lift it to toward your lips to sip. "Blow," she guided.

You did. And sipped.

And it was warmer than any blanket they'd wrapped you in.

---

Prior to being able to trudge around on your own, with the help of a crutch you'd been given to go to the bathroom by yourself finally, the nurses had sponged you down in bed. Your spinal surgeries led to you being at risk if they made efforts to remove you from your bed for anything more than a medical emergency.

Mostly, because you're terrified of the showerhead....and it's pathetic, but no one judges you for it as you opt for a sponge bath every time instead. Even if you're shaking as the water slides down your skin even now. The last thing you needed on top of all this was to develop aquaphobia.

Today was the first day you could do it on you own, limping your way to the bathroom with your crutch. The smell of bleach is much stronger in here, it stings your nose.

You stared at the metal stool left tucked at the side, walking around it as if it would pounce up and attack you, you try not to look at it. You'd been doing well without panic attacks for a few days now, just hold it together.

Taking a breath, you reach out to the handle for the spout, glancing up at the showerhead, before back down. Swallowing thickly when you begin to turn it before pausing, hearing the water rush up the pipe to spill out. Turning it back up just as quickly, shutting off the pipe, you inhale deeply, trembling now, hand up to the chilled tile to steady yourself.

You'll try again, you had to.

Drip...

Drip...

Unable to help yourself, the sudden rush of paranoia that runs through you is terrible, a hoarse cry leaves you. You shove yourself away from the shower stall, back ramming into the doorframe, catching yourself, and away from the showerhead as the water drips, slowly from the faucet.

Drip...

Drip...

As panic tightened its grip around your chest, your breaths quickly turned to short, sharp gasps. The room spinning, colors blurring into a dizzying whirlwind. You turn swiftly, nearly knocking yourself off your feet as the thudding of your own heart startles you, you can hear it in your ears, in your hands, in your feet.

You press a trembling hand to your chest, clawing over the area, trying to slow the frantic pace of your breathing, but it only seemed to escalate. The small room narrowing to a black hole of fear and suffocation, every gasp began to disorient you, turning lightheaded.

As tears welled in your eyes, you collapse against the side wall, sliding down to the tiled floor. Slamming your palm against your chest, once, twice, as hot tears leave streaks down your bruised face, you beg your lungs to expand and wait for your breathing to regulate.

Beginning to sob uncontrollably as you hit yourself in the chest again and again and again, waiting for the moment you found yourself able to breathe.

Why did this have to happen?

You remember the violent swing of the baton against your face, the sting it leaves afterwards, the immediate spotting of bruises forming. The memory startles you, receding back into yourself, back to that day.

"It wasn't me..." you cried loudly, in the empty room. It echoes against the tiles.

Simon wrapping his hands around your neck, staring you down as he squeezed, maliciously. You couldn't breathe as your lover shook with the strength he uses to hold himself back from taking your life.

"I'm sorry," you hiccupped. "I'm--I'm sorry," you're not sure when you crawled yourself into the corner, the lights of the bathroom flickering off dimly from your lack of movement. As you're drowned in darkness, the water dripping from the spout, the cold tile against your skin, it's too much. You scramble upwards, running out of the bathroom.

The automatic lights flicker back on inside, but you're too in your head to notice.

Stumbling down to your knees as you feel the rip of a ruined stitching tearing along your side. "Ah!" comes your startled cry. Making it to the side of your hospital bed, you fist your hand through your sheets, unable to stand yourself up.

Taking pained breaths against the sterile sheets, you bury your head in them, cursing whatever luck you thought you had in this life.

They were your family...

All you had for so many years...

As your breathing slows to distraught, agonized huffs of air, sniffling to yourself as you catch sight of your face in the metal frame of your hospital bed. The dark purple bruises beneath your eyes as the swelling gradually went down, the still bloodshot left eye of yours, the twelve stitches on the left side of your face. So gruesome you knew it would scar you for life, a permanent reminder on your fucking face.

Anger bubbled up inside you at the sight of it. At the memory that would always follow when you'd look at it.

Anger that you hadn't been able to properly feel until now.

Anger that you feared to have until today.

"Are you alright?" the sound of his voice makes you visible tense.

Simon.

He's here.

You don't turn to face him, if you did, you'd revert back to the person you were cowering into moments ago. "The door was open...I just--" he pauses, swallowing thickly. "Lemme help you up."

Hearing his footsteps suddenly moving closer, you speak fast. "STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" you scream over your shoulder, tucking yourself further away from him. "Do NOT move."

He stops in his tracks. You catch the sight of him in the metal framing of the bed, he's a blur in the metal, but you notice his mask is gone, he's Simon Riley now, not Ghost as he appeared to you in the interrogation cell.

"Don't you dare get any closer," you spat.

"I heard you," he spoke, carefully. Mouth opening and closing, before speaking again. "But, you don't have to be stubborn. If you stay there any longer you could tear your stitches."

"Whose fault is that?"

Simon shifts his stance on his feet, waits a second. "I know. And I can never begin to tell you how sorry I am for what I did. What we all did to you," he says, quietly. "The intel we discovered...or that was forged, it came from a source we've used a dozen times, (Y/n), we thought it was true. It had to be. We've never been misled before."

"So..." your nails bite into your skin, you make an amused sound, biting down on your lip for a moment, till it hurt. " That's what you came here to say, huh? What you waited days to--. Is this you justifying--"

"No, (y/n), that's not--"

"--why you tortured me, strangled me, stripped me, in that fucking cell, Simon?"

"We had to believe it, at the time..."

"Was I not a trusted source?" you argued. "Had I not proven more than a thousand times that you could trust me? I've fought next to you, laid in your bed, given you my love, my trust, I--" you shook with rage at the time and energy wasted on time family, this relationship, if the end goal was always meant to just be this.. "I thought that was at least half the reason you decided to marry me..." at the mention of your relationship, you could see the way Simon nearly lost his balance, hands coming up to run along his face. "You told me you would kill me in that room..."

"I was just talking, I wouldn't have--" his voice cracks as he whispers, trying to convince.

"When you left, I thought you'd come back to kill me any minute, or Price, to spare you. I waited to die for two days, terrified out of my mind. I wondered about heaven, not if I'd make it... but what it'd be like, what I'd be missing out on," you thought back to your time in that cell, a haunted expression Simon couldn't see. "While you all got a good nights rest, woke up for some bacon and eggs, and listened to the warden tell you that your prisoner was framed...for a crime you'd already punished her for..." you stuttered on your breathing, tears flowing silently.

Simon inhales deeply. "I could never expect you to forgive me. I-I had taken my hurt out on you, I thought you did it, I was so sure. I couldn't hear what you were saying, I just could see the evidence, and I--I'm sorry. I'm sorry, love. I'm truly--" he gets to his knees behind you.

"Get up."

"I can never tell you how sorry I am---"

"Simon."

"I never should've done this to you. If I could ever--" his voice rising with distressed breaths, you didn't have to look at him to see his face a mess of sorrow, tears that would mix into the stubble on his face.

"Simon!"

"--make it up to you. If you could ever find it in your to forgive me, (y/n). I'll spend the rest of my life--" he gets closer, reaching out.

Whipping around, stiffening completely as you feel the graze of his fingers across your skin, "DON'T TOUCH ME!" you shove your back against your bedding, your hand swinging and flying across his face. His head snapping to the side as he pauses, freezing up where he kneels, having completely forgotten your request to stay put. "What's the matter with you! Even now? Even now, you can't just listen to this one thing?!"

"I-I'm sorry..." He looks at you, finally seeing your face clearly and up close since it all happened. Finally he can see the bruises along your face, the blood that fills your eye, the dark bruise still around your neck.

Seeing him. He looks rough. Honestly, he looks terrible. His hair shaggy and falling over his eye. Dark circles with bags under them. Pale, and thinner than he should be.

His jaw clenches with guilt and he averts his eyes, you continue. "How could I forgive you for this?" you stare at him, "I could forgive you, if you hadn't let them chain me up like an animal. If you hadn't watched them drown me for hours, beat me black and blue and left me screaming for days. I could forgive you if you had just believed me even for a moment." you feign thoughtfulness. "How about you look at my face. My wrists. My legs! MY FUCKING SPINE, SIMON!"

"Nothing I can say or do, will ever make any of it ok, I know that. And I can't ask for you to ever forgive--"

"What could I possible owe you in this life, that makes you think I'd even think about forgiving any of you for the things you did to me?" you gritted out, angrily.

Simon's head drops, a slow, shuttering sigh leaves him. "I'll never stop trying to make this right. Never."

"...Get out, Simon."

"I'm sorry."

"Simon."

"I'm so sorry..." he reaches out again.

"Ghost."

He's silent this time, fingers tensing, out in mid air.

"I never wanna see you again."

"I love you, (Y/n)," he confessed, eyes feral and wide. Pulling at the ends of your slip.

"I don't want to hear that, Ghost," kicking away from him. "Stop it."

"I couldn't stop even as it happened--"

"Shut up. And get out," shaking as you sneered at his desperate attempts. "It's over, Ghost."

"And I took it on you. It hurt so much, I couldn't think," Simon's face twisted with agony and remorse. "I'm sorry!"

He was making you lose your goddamn mind, you broke. "GET THE FUCK OUT!" screaming at one another as overwhelming tears escaped your eyes.

---

It's quiet in your hospital room, it's empty now, the door closed this time.

The door knob turns and opens again a moment later. "Oh no, Ms. (L/n)!" luckily it was your assigned nurse, who takes your arm and fixes it around her shoulder before helping haul yourself up to your feet. "What're you doing on the floor? There's a call button for a reason," she scolds as you sit on the edge of your bed.

You're quiet.

Alarmingly so for your nurse, who notices the pulled stitching that creates a line of blood down your side. "If this is about what happened to you..." the nurse started, speaking carefully, pulling a lining of gauze from the side to press to your skin. You don't even wince at the pressure, even when she begins to clean and replace the broken stitch. "Don't let it break you. Not even further than this experience already has..." she says, while through the last stitch and prepping a bandage.

"I've been broken long before this," you whispered, looking towards the afternoon sun shining through your window. "This. This didn't break me, no," you admitted, before glancing up with glossy eyes, rage hidden beneath a profound look of sadness. "It destroyed me."

Her hand pauses at your side, your words startling, turning to see the tear that slips down your cheek. Knowing now how deep your scars were from this, before gently sliding the last of the bandage across your skin. "Do not think you are irreparable. That time can't heal your wounds."

"But, there's always reminders," touching the stitches on your cheek, "some things can't be forgiven."

"I never said to forgive..." the nurse interjected. "If you could, after all this, you're stronger than any woman that could be named."

You snicker at that, humming soundly. "That's an interesting thought. I guess I'm one of the weaker ones then."

"And yet, still the strongest I've ever met," she finishes. Pats your cheek, "click the button next time. Save us both the heart attack."

"Noted," you assured.

As she's prepping to leave for her rounds, you open your mouth, once, twice, before clearing it. "Is it possible, someone could help me out--the water..."

"Of course," the nurse says, quickly. "Don't worry, I understand. I'll get everything set for you."

As she walks away, you breathing out your appreciation, you take a long inhale, swallowing down the heaviness in your chest.

part 3 OUT NOW!!

Tag List:

@m3ntally-unstable @dreamsarenicer @ttsbaby01 @theweirdgeninistuff @shelbycillian @azxulaa @kthehoeforfictionalmen @amusling @v1x3n @nobodycanknoww @thesinsoflust @asexualbuthorny @poisonedsultana @blackhawkfanatic @character---obsessed @yunggoblin @teenagellamaangel @hanniebanggi @nym-phos @gastonlover9000 @lyssa-211 @doodle-cat16 @haven-1307 @kneelforloki @delphiakira @just-going-through-the-motions

[bbokicidal]

"Are you serious...?" - Angst! [Hyung Line SKZ]

Notes : These are all obviously fictional situations, the red flags are just based off of habits we know they have (like Chan's need to be needed, Changbin being blunt/honest.) This post isn't me saying I think they have these red flags, it's just a fun angsty prompt I wrote down. If you don't like it, scroll and don't read.

If people like this - a maknae line will be written! If not, prolly not lol.

Warnings : Angst with no comfort, red flag behavior - some of these aren't even that bad or could be misunderstandings but still.

Maknae Line | "Good Luck, Babe." Part Two!! Here!

BangChan - Brushing off/Having the wrong priorities

One time, it was him forgetting a dinner date - the next, he was staying at the studio late when he was supposed to be meeting your parents for the first time. You let it slide because ultimately you understood that his job took up a lot of his time, and honestly? It wasn't easy to forget about but he had a tendency to take care of you and make up with it by quick gestures before he left the apartment or when he came home; Soft back hugs, quick cuddles before he fell asleep, or kisses in passing. Lately, however, he's been slacking. He'd begun to shrug you off any time you'd touched his arm or hand, nudging you away while he typed on his laptop. He'd tip his head away from yours while laying in bed together or he'd sit further away on the dressing room sofa.

The tipping point was when he was getting ready to go on stage and was standing in wait for the others to be ready. There was still five minutes and Chris looked a bit jittery, so you figured a quick hug or kiss would help ease his nerves. However as soon as you approach and reach to touch his arms, he steps back and keeps his eyes trained on his phone. You reach again, hesitant, and his brow furrows as he maneuvers to the side to get away. "Don't touch me."

Your lips pop apart in surprise. "...Are you serious?"

He looks over, eyes briefly wandering your face before he reaches to fix his in-ear and walks away to the door, disappearing around the corner and leaving you standing there alone. Even the soft touch of Felix's hand on your back as he passed by was warmer than anything you'd felt from Chris in the last two months.

Lee Know - Keeping secrets / Prioritizing Privacy within himself

Minho had a very, very bad habit of not telling you things. In this instance; That he was leaving for tour in two days.

A world. fucking. tour. The only reason you didn't know about it was because you hadn't been out of your home in the last few weeks unless it was for a quick coffee at the cafe or to grab lunch with a friend. Work was heavy during this time of year and as someone who worked remotely, you often spent grueling hours in your office on your computer - hunched, tired, head pounding and back sore.

So you would think that when you entered your bedroom one evening after just finishing up sorting files in your office, you'd be happy to see your boyfriend already there. And you were for a moment, until you realized he was packing three rather large suitcases full of his clothes and necessities. He looks to you, then away, wordless.

"Are.. you.. moving out, or something?" You breathe in a laugh, eyes wandering over Minho as he folds a t-shirt and tucks it into his suitcase with the others.

"No. I have to bring all of my luggage to the company building tomorrow so they can have it at the airport when we leave for Australia."

"Australia?" Your brows quirk. "When -- Why --"

"Tour." He stops his movements to stare over at you, a hint of irritation evident on his face. "We're going on tour for six months."

"Six--" You breathe out, eyes widening. "Six months. And you didn't think to tell me?"

Minho moves to drop a pair of pants in his suitcase. "I would've told you if you could handle the news, maybe. Every time I mention leaving all you do is whine and pout about how long I'll be gone."

"I get upset, yes, what girlfriend wouldn't be upset that her boyfriend is leaving for a week or two? But six months, Minho, I --"

"Don't start." He all but huffs out the words, shutting you up immediately. Minho turns away to continue folding items of clothing on the shared bed and as you watch him do so, you stand and have to wonder if you want to be there when he returns home from the tour.

Changbin - Not knowing the difference between being rude and being blunt

He didn't seem to understand when to stop. Changbin had a tendency to be honest, sometimes to a fault, though you never seemed to complain about it because most of the time it wasn't a big deal. He called Jeongin out for saying the wrong word when singing, or blatantly threw people under the bus when a joke was taken too far.

And he was like that with you, too. He would be honest with you when you asked his opinion of something - was the shirt unflattering? Were you being too loud? Was your makeup bad today?

He'd lay it on you point blank. Yes, the shirt fit a little weird. Yes, you were being a bit loud in his ear. And yes, your eyeliner was going in two different directions. Criticism that was asked for. But when it wasn't asked for? Oh.

"What is your problem?" He bites as he follows you down the hallway to your bedroom. "We have ten minutes, just wear the damn dress and put your shoes on. We have to go."

Your huffs mix with stifled sobs as you rip open your dresser drawer and dig for other options, hands shaking and eyes teary. "You just told me the dress looks ugly, Changbin. I'm not wearing it out if you don't like it--!"

"What does it matter if i don't like it? It's your body, wear what you want!"

"You're my boyfriend!" You retaliate, frustrated. "I want to look nice for you and -- for the group, and I want you to like what I wear, obviously!"

Changbin lets his eyes roll before he turns out of the bedroom doorway and down the hall. You pause to watch him go, listening as he bites about how he doesn't have time for this and needs to leave for the group dinner. You stand in front of your dresser in shock as the door to your apartment slams shut, leaving you in silence and all on your own.

Hyunjin - Being too cocky / Making you feel inferior

It hadn't happened before now, and you weren't sure why it happened at all. But it did.

You'd approached to gently hold onto your boyfriend's arm as he talked to an older idol - someone he looked up to and had just done a collaboration video with. You'd only come up to tell him that the food was delivered and he could have dinner before his stage, but the look he gave you when he finally turned his head was .... wild.

No words were needed. The way his eyes directed to the side you stood at before falling as if looking you over and then immediately looking away; The way the smirk on his lips only widened and his tongue pushed at his canines as he redirected his gaze elsewhere. The soft scoff that left his lips. The way his arm slipped away from your hold in clear nuance that he didn't want you touching him.

It made you feel like less. Like he was pretending he didn't know you - Like he wanted you to bug off and disappear from his line of sight.

Hyunjin had a tendency to put on a confident, bold persona when he was on stage and at first you thought maybe that was why he was acting this way. It was lingering in his body from the dance video he'd just filmed with the other idol and eventually, it would wear off.

But as he turned from you and lifted a hand to fix his hair, he talks to the other as if you're not even there at all. And you have to wonder if it's a persona for the video, or a side of him you had just experienced for the first time. Now you could only hope it wouldn't happen again.

[nnight-dances]

CASUAL

PAIRING: karina x fem!reader

GENRE: fluff, angst, smut (explicit, but not too much?)

TROPES: fwb to lovers except you're roommates and best friends, unrequited love but not really.

LISTEN TO: casual by chappell roan

NOTE: i may be having a bit of a military wife moment rn but i'm still a sapphic at heart yearning for something more... my first gay fic i've posted on this account yay! cannot reveal if ive been in a similar situation but you could say this is based on real life! whose life, i will not say. hope u enjoy and stay safe everyone <3

knee-deep in the [twin bed] and you're eating me out

you want to say you're in control when it happens, but you'd be a big fat liar if you did. truth be told, karina had you wrapped around her finger since she moved in. (in more ways than one, if you catch my drift.) 

you met her late freshman year in college when you shared a gender studies course with her – which alone would've been enough of a clue to which ways she swings, if not for the black leather jacket and unnecessary amount of rings she wore to class. she'd sat next to you the first week in and approached you after class. "this class is a bore," she said as a matter-of-factly, "wanna get coffee with me?" 

you'd agreed because you were mesmerized (even though secretly, that was the favorite course you took that year) and followed her into a cafe, letting her sweet talk you into all kinds of things from there. she had a big friend group which welcomed you generously when they found out you were friends with karina and eventually, that became your everyday life. 

you worked on papers sincerely while karina watched you with an unreadable glint (maybe it was unreadable, maybe you didn't want to read too much into it), swirling her untouched coffee. eventually one day, she asked you, "wanna be roommates next year?" 

that was karina. easy-going and confident. she didn't hesitate to ask you to do things with her, even if they were often bending the boundaries of what friends could do. exhibit a: she'd asked you to make out with her at a party just so she could shake off a creep. in general, she was touchier than the normal person, finding a way to cup your stomach under your shirt when you weren't looking. you get the idea. 

that's how when she moves into the same room as you sophomore year, you lost all sense of self and reality. you have to thank your mom who convinced you to arrive on campus a day earlier than most, so you could settle in without the bothersome crowd. 

you're in the middle of fixing a poster of your favorite band, the strokes, in the wall when she lets herself in with a, "you're already here, jagiya!" you almost lose your footing on your chair in order to face her, heart already a fluttering mess thanks to her shameless flirting. 

"karina!" you call out, thrilled to see your friends, complications aside. you step down carefully before throwing yourself in her waiting arms. "you're here earlier than i thought."

she pulls away with a devilish grin, "missed you too much so i came early." she looks around the room, "i see you've already made this place home."

you smile, unsettled by the way she's still holding you in her arms, your bodies attached at the hip as she takes in her home for the next year. she smells like she always does: like grapefruit and spicy cedar. you feel relaxed in her embrace, taking in her appearance. she's wearing a cropped tank with a large flannel that slips off her shoulder thanks to the heavy tote she carries.

with a sigh, you take the tote off her. "your hair grew longer," you comment as you place the bag on her desk. karina does a little spin for you, giving a full view of the wavy locks that came all the way to her navel. it only made her that much more charming (you couldn't resist wanting to know what it would feel like to run your fingers through them). 

you watch as karina lugs all her stuff into the room, refusing your help with a strict look. "can't have you spraining something already, jagiya," she quips and that's all it takes for you to sit back obediently. she takes off her flannel, letting you take in her arms. was it just you or did her biceps get bigger? (it wasn't just you. karina spent her summer the gym rat way.)

"you barely have any stuff…" you murmur mindlessly when she's nearly done in half an hour. for reference, it took you three whole hours for two days to set your stuff in place.

"you just have a lot of stuff," karina laughs, closing her closet with a satisfied clap. "thoughts on ordering in for din'?"

you raise a brow, "shouldn't we at least go see if everyone's back?"

she shrugs, "we can just go after we eat." she approaches your bed, resting her forearms next to you. "come on, i don't feel like eating that prison food just yet."

despite karina's exaggeration (your dining hall makes perfectly edible food), you let karina order for you. who are you kidding? the thought of sharing a meal with your newly established roommate in your new room on your first day together… it was sweet, you had to admit. so you give in and tell karina exactly what toppings you want on your bowl. 

but where you had expected to bond in all kinds of cozy ways with karina, the night quickly an unexpected turn. you're not sure how it happens but you end up caged under karina's body on your bed. her hot breath is hitting your face, "you got even prettier over the summer, huh?"

her words make it harder to think. to think about how this your best friend slash roommate slash the person you would do anything for. fuck, it's too late and you're too helpless when it comes to her. karina's already sliding her hand down your stomach, eliciting a mewl of her name from your throat. 

she looks pleased, chesire grin lighting up her face when she reaches your panties. "mhm, karina–" you claw at her shoulder when a cold finger meets your slick folds. she kisses your cheek and then your mouth, so strong that you can't do anything but hold her closer to your chest till she's ripping a scream from you. 

"karina, what are we doing?" you cry out, still coming down from your orgasm. what the fuck, this not a situation to be with your roommate.

"what?" she whispers, lips attached to your neck without a care in the world, "i'm just doing what i've been wanting to all summer."

"okay, that's enough," you push her off until you're both sat. you're breathless so it doesn't help the gravity of the glare you hold karina captive under. she sits back on her palms, eyes hooded. 

"we're friends," you start and sensing the protest rising in her, you hold up a hand, "and roommates. you know what they say about that, don't you?"

"don't shit where you eat," she deadpans, "but i don't care. i'm not shitting anywhere. i like you, you like me. that's why we're friends. if we want to fuck around a little, what's the big deal?"

you contain a scoff at how unbothered she is. at the same time, her words stab you in the heart, the subtle friendzoning nature of them not going unnoticed (that's why we're friends? what if you wanted to be more?)

"listen, jagiya," karina shifts dangerously closer, a thumb wiping away the sweat on your lip. "it's chill. we don't have to if you don't want to. but i'll tell you right now; i want to do things with you."

"things?" you breathe even though you know you shouldn't fall into her trap.

"yeah," she caresses your cheek, licking her lips, "want to kiss you. make you come. that sort of thing."

you fall against her weakly, feeling the soft strands of her hair envelope you like a dream. with your eyes closed, all you can feel is warmth of her body and none of the cold of her words (kiss, fuck, chill. no love.) 

"only if you let me eat you out, too," you finally murmur against her skin. feel her shake with laughter.

"thought you'd never ask."

you wake up in karina's arms. she'd dozed off in your bed as if hers wasn't two hops away. the thoughts makes you flushed (despite everything) and you turn around to face her. she's still asleep, peaceful as ever. you trace the mole below her lips, envious of how little she was attached to you.

not to drown yourself in self-pity, you had always been too attached to karina for your own good. a week into being friends with her, you would jump at a text from her, dropping everything to meet at her the cafe she had wanted to try or to help her get ready for a party. 

but it wasn't without reason. she was sweet to you, genuinely. karina sensed your moods smoothly, knowing when your silence was more than comfortable and when your drunk crying meant you were actually upset over something. she listened to you, no matter how little you claimed the problem to be, her reliable shoulder always yours when you were in trouble.

so you couldn't blame the butterflies in your stomach at waking up with her. right?

"we never made it to meeting our friends," karina mumbles through a yawn later. you're both in the middle of getting ready for the day, thankfully still a grace day before classes start. 

"you clearly had other plans," you purse your lips in the mirror, working on fixing a bump in your hair. stupid karina and her arm under your head all night. 

she comes up behind you with a playful smile, taking the brush from your hands to rake it through your hair herself. "you say that like you didn't have fun," she says. she brings your hair into a bun, taking a hairtie off her wrist to secure it in place. patting your head with eyes on you in the mirror, "there. you look cute."

you heave a deep sigh at the motions that stir up at her actions, sliding away to pretend to busy yourself with your bag. "we should go meet them today," you say, "or they might declare us dead."

"definitely," karina laughs.

meeting your friends helps you a little. maybe it's because you're seeing them after so long or maybe it's just the fact that you have normal friend feelings for them. but it's nice, you can lose yourself in a nonsense conversation with seungkwan about your recently acquired obsessions with various mobile games.

he's in the middle of offering to show you his brand-new coffee machine when karina shouts, "guys! gather up! minjeongie is driving us to get ice-cream! on her!"

you spot the short blonde attacks on karina at the presumably false declaration. your rommate dodges well, bent in a fit of laughter at minjeong's tantrum. "okay, i lied! everyone buy your own ice-cream."

as it turns out, minjeong's car is definitely not big enough to fit all 8 of your friends. "looks like we're fighting it out the fairest way," seowon declares, readying her fist for rock paper scissors. 

"since only five of us can go," karina starts, somehow finding her way next to your side. you shiver when her hands clasps yours. "minjeong, y/n, and i are definitely going."

you watch in shock as everyone wreaks havoc at her words. "now why would we allow that–"

"see, it's technically just two seats taken," she explains calmly, "y/n's sitting on my lap anyway." you gape at her audacity as she holds up your intertwined hands, like a wedding announcement.

you try to weasel out of her grip, mumbling, "that's fine. i don't really want to go–"

"what? of course you do," karina's hand tightens and you curse her strength, "you love ice-cream, jagiya. come on. let's go."

your friends seem dubious of the interaction but with a few statements along the lines of they're in their honeymoon phase as roomies, they return to the rock-paper-scissors battle at hand, now the stakes reduced to four seats now. 

"calling shotgun by the way!" karina calls as she pulls you after. you don't know what to say honestly, overwhelmed by her hand in yours. you had expected her to pretend things were the same as always but clearly not: you had never gone as far to sit in her lap with your friends around (alone was a different story. but you swear you'd only ended up in her lap because she'd wanted to hug you through your breakup with your ex.) 

"karina, you're crazy," you tell her, finally shaking your hand free. you cross your arms and karina simply takes a chug of water from the brita in geum's minifridge. 

"why? because i volunteered my lap so we'd get to go?"

before you can really give her a piece of your mind, minjeong interrupts. "looks like they figured out the winners. we're leaving in the next five minutes or the offer's off the table."

– 

two weeks and your mom invites me to [lunch]

"y/n, it's so nice to see you again," karina's mom is saying, sliding a menu toward you. thanksgiving week was around which meant parents were abundant on campus these days. it also meant your own mom couldn't make it because she was swamped with work, no thanks to her job as an on-field reporter. 

"of course, you've lost so much weight since we last met, eommeoni," you smile.

this is fine for the most part of it. you genuinely enjoy karina's mom's company. she's kind and sincere, always bringing a gift for you along with karina and treating you like her own. but this time around it's different because it's the first time you've been sleeping with her daughter.

in fact, just that morning, karina had kept you in bed longer than usual, complaining because you had gone to bed earlier than usual. it had been part of your plan to keep your conscience clean for when you met her mother, to make sure you didn't lose her respect. but being the nefarious idiot she was, karina had crawled up your torso, eyes going sweet at you, "please, just once?"

so now you had a dirtier conscience than usual, having been panting in karina's lap just hours before this lunch. 

but even if you tried to maintain composure in front of her mom, karina made it impossible. she slid close to your shoulder, hand splayed across your bare thigh (curse you and your decision to wear your sundress out today). it's honestly harmless and even excusable as a friendly gesture, but ever so occassionally, her hand climbs up, reaching closer and closer to a position that was far from appropriate.

"so tell me, do you two have any classes together this semester?" karina's mom asks you between mouthfuls of rice. you take the chance to peel karina's hand off but it ends up at your knee like a magnet. 

"not really," karina answers easily as if unaware of the power struggle going under the table. probably because she was winning by a mile. 

"i told karina she should take an elective with me but she refused," you complain, deciding if this was the way you could hit back then so be it.

"i think you forgot to mention it was an economics elective," she corrects you, hand basically clawing at your inner thight by now. you shift uneasily and karina's mom laughs.

"you know jimin," she shakes her head, "she doesn't take the serious courses. only painting all day long."

"eomma," karina groans, "how many times do i have to tell you? it's not just painting. i'm an arts major. that's like the second hardest major at this school."

"really? what's the hardest major?" (the only right question for a mother to ask.)

the rest of the lunch goes by quickly, fortunately for you. you're the first out the door, eager to put some distance between you and karina. you pretend to fan yourself out of the hot mess she's made of you.

"i have to say," karina's mom says as she gets ready to leave, "you two seem to have gotten closer since you started rooming together."

"really?" karina wonders as if clueless to the arm around your shoulder, where it had been the whole walk back to campus from the restaurant. (insufferable, you whisper to her. cute, she accuses you.)

"thanks for sticking next to her, y/n. who knows where my little girl would be without you?"

you brush of karina's mom's words of flattery, not voicing the thoughts that arise. where would i be without your daughter? 

– 

i know what you tell [our] friends

imagining a life without karina becomes terribly real when it becomes clear to you that karina truly has no intentions of treating as anything more than a friend who she sleeps with and not just as roommates. 

it's a cold slap of reality that you finally feel one day when you're eating with minjeong and seungkwan. karina's next to you, like she so often is, hand on your elbow for no good reason.

"so everyone's been wondering…" minjeong starts to say and seungkwan shoots her a glare, realizing where this was going.

"...are you two a thing?" she points to the point of contact between you and karina.

"what?" you squeak, pulling away at the call-out. but your mind goes blank, all the excuses you had practiced in your head deserting you. you had expected someone to catch on sooner or later, but somehow right now all you can think of is how you already miss karina's touch. i'm in love with her, it occurs to you to say. (wait, you love her? you wonder distantly as if the answer hadn't been crystal clear the minute she crossed lines with you.)

karina shrugs, "we're fucking. but it's casual. no attachment or anything." she adds with an arm around you, "just girls being girls, right?"

you muster out a laugh to agree with her, ignoring the concerned look seungkwan pins you with. minjeong seems convinced though, "no way! you're sleeping together? i guess it must be convenient… you live together."

"yeah, you could say that," this time it's you responding, swallowing the tremble in your throat. you'd rather die than let karina get a whiff of your true feelings. you stand up.

 "it's easy." it's the hardest. "not a big deal." you thought about it every waking second. "i have class now though. see you guys later." 

you did not have class. you ran to the nearest bathroom stall to lock yourself in and let out the sobs that had been threatening your system for the past three weeks. you make sure nobody can hear you and then wipe your tears with the spare tissues you carry in your bag. 

you leave, hoping nobody notices your red eyes. 

that night, you go to your room later than usual, counting on karina to be asleep. you should know better though because she's up, in nothing but her night shorts, sitting on your bed. 

it almost frustrates you for a moment, the sight of her curled up so comfortably on your bed like you were lovers. but you weren't. you weren't even close. but she perks up like maybe you are, calling out your name sweetly, "you're so late today. is everything okay?"

"yeah," you say, not making eye-contact for too long as you rest your bag on your desk. you contemplate leaving the room just so you didn't have to feel this hot volcano erupt in your chest. but instead, you undress, aware of karina's unwavering gaze. you make sure to slip off your pants and put on a baggy shirt. no shorts, like karina liked.

"we're a fully dressed person put together," she liked to joke when she'd bring your bodies close. you laughed along but all you wanted was to actually be one person with her. maybe that would justify why you were so attracted to her. 

"come on,," she coos when you jump into bed. "i know something's wrong. your eyes are red. your shoulders heavy."

"can't lie for one second with you, can i?" you sigh into her skin when she hugs you. 

"sorry, jagiya. maybe if i was a man, you could get away with it."

maybe that would make it easier. if one of you was a man. at least then someone would bat an eye at the concept of a no strings attached situationship between best friends. you were practically begging for someone to object to its apparently platonic nature. (you were begging yourself.)

"i didn't even shower," you complain when she explores your bare stomach with her fingers.

"it's fine. we'll just take one in the morning."

she holds you to the promise, waking you up half an hour earlier than usual just so she could drag you into the shower. two girls showering together, a sight nobody would see because it was dead quiet until an hour from now. 

– 

i try to be the chill girl 

you knew it was too good to be true, your friends-with-benefit situation with karina. but now that your feelings are actually catching up to you, you can barely hold in the tears that overwhelm you when you look at her.

then, when you finally decide to suck it up and show up to dinner with your friends, it all goes south. thanks to some dumb group project karina's doing, a guy named taeyong was at your table. you knew him by name from college gossip. he was fit to be the protagonist of a rom-com, nice guy with the looks to go with it and he was friendly, fitting right in with the group of friends. 

bitterly, you reflect on how long it had taken you, in comparison, to warm up to everyone. a month, maybe? plus, he looked perfect next to karina, their unusually good looks matching each other's quality.

you're not the only thinking that because geum pipes up, "you two look good together! when's the wedding?"

seowon hits his arm though most of the people on the table join in laughter. (you don't.) "come on, you can't force it, geum," she says, "they're clearly still getting to know each other."

"so it'll be official in say, a week from now?" minjeong teases, earning herself a blush from taeyong. karina is unruffled but she does smile a little at the teasing comments, side-eyeing the boy next to her.

right. they did look good together. 

much to your discomfort, karina and taeyong only seem to become closer, with the latter frequenting your table at every meal. he assimilated easily with the group, already circulating inside jokes that you were conveniently not a part of.

speaking of which you were circulating a word tornado yourself: casual, no attachement, chill, convenient, easy… not a big deal. as taeyong became a regular with your friends, you became increasingly absent, coming up with excuses to take your meals at much earlier or later hours.

you're officially spiraling, doing your best to avoid karina. but avoiding karina meant avoiding your friends. it was a harsh truth but you came to realize you were only friends with them because of her and if you decided to break things off with her, you'd also end up a loner.

it was a cold, miserable place to be in, your mind. you left your room early and came back late to karina asleep. she'd tried to stay up for your sake a few times but you'd made your arrivals later and later, until she gave up and went to sleep. 

you know you can only avoid her for so long before she caught you and grilled you but for now, you just had to come up with a way to keep yourself occupied. that afternoon, you get a text from her, asking to talk to you after dinner. you leave her on read for hours before texting back a quick "sure," afraid to go too far. you may be mad at karina for treating you in ways that left you confused, but you didn't actualy want to hurt her. 

but come the time when finally face her and you realize it may be too late. 

"so… why exactly have you been avoiding me?" more than anything, karina's voice is weary. she appears worried when you first take a seat across from her but when you don't look like you're in actual physical pain, her expression morphs into one of frustration.

"i'm not," you sigh, "i'm just busy."

"busy during every single meal? busy enough to leave before i wake up?"

"i'm taking more classes than usual," you say and though it's the truth, it's far from being the reason why you were acting this way. karina seems to know this. 

"i'm taking an art class that has me staying back in the studio till 11," she tells you. only then, you notice the black charcoal marking her cheek. "but i still come home."

"sorry," you mumble, averting your gaze. "i'm not– you didn't do anything. i'm just… thinking through some things. i'll come back to the room earlier today."

"great, so now we're not close enough for you to share your thoughts with me?" this time karina actually sounds hurt. it was the indication of your friendship finally falling apart that has her sitting forward, eyes blinking in panic. "y/n, what the fuck?"

what the fuck, indeed. you try your best to reassure karina but it seems like she's done talking to you after that point so you see yourself out. a small part of you manages to wonder whose jacket was laid across the chair next to her. taeyong?

you find the answer the hard way when you come back to your room at a reasonable hour for the first time in a week. only to run into taeyong himself.

he seems like he's in a hurry when you step in, rushing to put his jacket on (yes, the jacket that you saw next to karina earlier today) and avoiding your gaze. you don't even pretend to seem pleased encounter him there.

you fix your glare on karina, kneeling on her bed. she lets out a sigh when she sees you. "you're finally back."

you watch as taeyong leaves without a goodbye and you scoff, "i feel like i interrupted something. maybe i shouldn't have come back." you feel the blood rush to your head, all your convictions to lay out your unreciprocated feelings out to karina because she deserved an explanation.

right now, you just feel empty. and mad. so as soon as you rest your bag, you get to changing. but not into your night clothes.

"are you going somewhere?"

"...maybe."

"and what happened to our talk earlier?"

with a huff of disbelief, you throw your sweaty shirt on your bedroom floor. "well, i decided it meant nothing when i saw that guy leaving our room."

"taeyong?" karina looks baffled and you want to shake some sense into her so bad.

"yeah, i don't know, karina, the thought of you already replacing me with some dude–" you cut yourself off when your voice breaks. "it's not a great feeling. so i'm just gonna leave."

"wait, what?" karina jumps out of her bed. "is this what you've been mad about all week?"

you pause your angry movements about your space when she comes close to you, touching your arm, first contact in days. you breathe unevenly, "karina, i just need some time–"

"are you crying, jagiya?"

you want to say it's stupid nickname that gets to your nerves finally breaking your walls down. but really, it's the warmth in her tone, the sound of her breath hitting your ear so close. you'd missed karina. that's why you end up sobbing, arms finding her neck to support you. 

"karina, i'm–" she rubs your back calmly through your sobs. "i'm sorry."

"what's wrong, baby? why are you crying? please, talk to me."

"i think… i'm in love with you."

your confession is quiet, just like your love for karina has always been. actually no, that's what you want to think but no, your love is loud: you look for her in every room you enter, hands already welcoming hers when she runs over to you. you're the first to laugh at her jokes, no matter how nonsensical or how many times she's told them to you. you may be a flustered mess when things got intimate, but you always made sure karina felt good, too – going far beyond your comfort zone to please her.

karina pulls away with a soft gasp. "that's not what i expected you to say."

"i know," you sniffle. "but it's been killing me. i know you wanted to keep things casual. and i know you and taeyong are–"

"okay, just so we're clear for once and for all– there is nothing between me and taeyong."

you freeze in shock, having been rock-solid in your assumption of their relationship. "what?"

"come on, i barely know the guy. but apparently, everyone's teasing got to his head," karina sighs, "he came here to confess to me earlier today. and i rejected him."

now his urgency to leave the room makes even more sense, you realize slowly. but you realize another thing: karina had looked cold when you'd entered, ending things with him clearly. yet, here you were, standing with her arms around your waist as if you hadn't declared your love for her.

"...and?" you prod her, biting your lip hopefully.

"and?" karina echoes you, eyes locking in yours to understand your hint. "oh, you wanna know how i feel?"

you nod coyly, a stray tear falling down your cheek as if on cue. 

"well, let's start with a recap of this week. you ignored me so i felt like shit for most of it. and then you ignored me some more and i had to go to sleep lonely and sad. then, you stopped showing for meals so i didn't even want to eat anymore. what happened next? oh right, this evening. i had to practically beg you to talk to me–"

"okay, i get the idea!" you stop her with a groan, "i'm sorry, but i clearly had good reason to act the way i did."

"did you?" karina is suddenly holding your face, smiling turning bittersweet. "you idiot."

"huh?"

"i wanted to keep things casual because i wasn't sure how you felt about me. i wanted you to keep your options open till someone who you actually liked came along–"

"but–"

"this was long before i knew you were into me like that. you're really hard to read, you know? but yeah, i kept things casual because i'm selfish. i wanted to sleep with the girl i love without losing her friendship. i was obviously an–"

"idiot!" you hit karina's arm repeatedly at her revelation, tears filling up your vision yet again. "you love me?! why would you do that to me, then? are you–"

karina catches your fists in her with a heave, "i know, i know. i'm sorry, jagiya. but–" she brings your first to her chest, exposed by the deep neck of the tank she wore to sleep. "i'm serious about you, okay? i didn't want to gamble someone i cherished over some fucking around."

your body feels weak now that the truth is out in the open. you lean into karina. "you're so mean," you say into her neck, "i thought… you were chill."

she laughs at your complaint, "sorry. i'm dumb. dumb in love?"

you let karina coax you into her bed that night, kissing your body free of the tension you'd carried all that week like she was nursing you back to health. you can't help the tears that escape at her sweet touch, not new for her by any means – but different for you nevertheless, now that you knew how she felt. later that night, when you're falling asleep in her arms, in her twin bed this time, you feel her snuggle closer. warm nose against your cold cheek, she kisses you goodnight. (and a soft love you that you can barely distinguish from a dream.)

[plutoswritingplanet]

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: guys... you can't tell me y'all weren't expecting this. Title from the song "Vicarious" by Tool. Really wanted this to be a one shot, but as usual, I have shit to say. Will be Cross-Posted on AO3 as soon as they open the site back up.

Warnings: Nothing Explicit YET, some sexist remarks and creepy behavior from the man of the hour, Questionable Corporate Ethics, Set Before The Events Of The Show, Reader is written to be Plus Size.

Summary: Sidekick projects have been scraped completely after numerous accidents, but as a viral video of your hero work makes rounds through the public, you're forced to take part in a six moths program, that will forever change your life, as well as Homelander's

PT.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

It all started with a video. An insignificant, minute-long nothing posted to TikTok by an account, that up until then, made short edits specifically of A-Train and some B-list no-name hero. Quickly, it gained traction, making rounds throughout the app, bleeding over to other services, all the way to national television. First, an independent local station, soon picked up by a Vaught-affiliated one. Normally, that's where it would've stayed. Stillwell would extend an offer of a chance at an interview, alongside one of the Seven. But for some unknown reason, that small piece of nothing climbed all the way up to the floor eighty-two of Vaught Tower.

Well, to be quite honest, Stillwell knew exactly why she was in this situation. After a very messy graduation speech at a small college, Homelander lost almost twenty points with a young adult demographic. It would've been an easy fix, if not for the delicate nature of the breached subject, and Madelyn knew, this sudden interest in a nobody from nowhere, who, coincidentally, fit the demographic perfectly, was anything but a happy accident. It was a test, both for Homelander, and for her.

Which is why, Madelyn Stillwell and Homelander, the Homelander, the most American supe to ever exist, are cooped up in your living room, glancing about the modest decor, as you pour iced tea into three glasses with tacky fruit print all over them.

You've refused every single invitation, every single Vaught representative that knocked on your door. Your inbox was flooded with emails, your phone number was blowing up two, three times a day. And yet, your answer remained the same. You were not interested in a collaboration, thank you for the opportunity, please leave me alone.

That wouldn't fly, not with Madelyn, who, pushed by the constant nagging from the upper levels of the Tower, decided a more direct approach was the right one. So, she dragged herself into this… Well, to be quite honest, bum-fuck-nowhere, and brought her star pupil with her. No one would refuse working with Homelander himself, after all. At least that's what they both thought.

-I appreciate the effort - there's a practiced, borderline bored intonation in your voice, and Homelander's hands flex on his thighs - But I've already talked with, um, Jerry? From HR? The answer is still no.

Your house is small, but cozy, with sunshine pouring through the windows, reflecting onto the beaded curtain hanging in the doorway to your kitchen. An artist's home, through and through. Homelander hates it, hates the ordinariness of it all. He was so much above all this, sitting on your worn down couch physically hurt him. And the smell. The smell was the worst part. Reheated lasagna, mixing with a lingering aftertaste of cigarette smoke, and an undercurrent of weed, that almost made him retch. If it weren't for that damned video, you would be nothing more, than another brainless ant under his boot.

-Well, we - Madelyn offers her best, brilliant smile, gesturing to herself and Homelander - are very passionate about discovering new talent.

Your mouth twitches into a knowing smile, and for just a second Homelander feels flames of intrigue rising in his chest. Not for long, though, because you recline back into an armchair, taking a sip of the iced tea, and his eyes flash to the way your throat moves as you swallow. You could be hot, he concludes. Young, and with a truly spectacular rack. But there was something off about you, like you were constantly on the verge of dying from boredom, some invisible weight always on your shoulders. No amount of fake smiles and high-end makeup could cover that up.

He'd fuck you. If you'd beg him.

-We want to offer you a new, revised contract - Stillwell extends her hand with a rather thick binder of papers, and you hesitate for a moment, before reaching over. - Hopefully, it will make you reconsider.

You don't even show them the decency of looking through it, placing it on the table instead, and Homelander feels an itch form itself in the corners of his eyes. Stillwell looks taken aback as well, her brilliant smile faltering for just a second. You on the other hand, take another sip of your drink, before placing it right in the middle of the contract, the moisture from the ice creating a wet circle in the paper.

Your heartbeat is even, it doesn't pick up even a smidgen, when you look between Stillwell and America's Greatest Hero, who is slowly but surely growing annoyed by your persistent indifference.

-Thank you, but I already said no - you repeat, and this time, Homelander shifts on the couch.

-And why not? - he asks, tension entering his voice in a way, that makes Madelyn squirm - Countless supes, with much more impressing powers than you, I might add, would kill to be in your place.

"To work with me" goes unsaid, but he can see in your eyes, you read it from thin air of superiority engulfing him. Annoyingly perceptive. You nod your head slowly, before turning away from them, looking out of the window of your living room. There's a small patch of grass, and a second house, so similar to yours, but at the same time, completely different. Your chin sticks out in its direction, and Homelander follows with his eyes.

There are paper butterflies stuck to the windows, cut out clumsily, most likely by children's hands.

-My neighbour, Missus Johnson - you explain - She lives there, with her three kids. Her husband died in a fire caused by your friend, Lamp Lighter.

Madelyn stills, Homelander raises an eyebrow.

-I can afford this house, only because my mother signed an NDA, after The Deep sank my father's fishing boat. - again, your heart stays completely unaffected - Accidentally, of course.

-I was not aware… - Madelyn starts, and it's hard to decipher whether she's talking to you, or Homelander.

Someone at the research department is going to have a very unpleasant evening.

-That's alright - you interrupt her with a raised hand and a small smile - This whole neighborhood is filled with similar cases. And I'm very, very attached to this place.

Why, Homelander couldn't tell. For all he knew, this was some shit hole, right in the suburbs outside New York. Not even the half decent ones. A forgotten by everyone, dying piece of land, that housed insignificant humans, who would never amount to anything, you included. He lived in a lavish apartment, inside a miracle of modern architecture. Who wouldn't want the same?

-And - there's something new entering your tone of voice - If I'm going to betray everything I stand for, I need to give something back to those people. Does your contract reflect that?

Madelyn bites the inside of her cheek, her scrutinizing gaze making your skin itch. Still, she sighs after a moment, excusing herself with that same, practiced expression she uses on every shareholder. Homelander follows her out, nodding his goodbye to you, but before he can leave this dump, Madelyn stops him with a hand pressed against his chest. She gives him one look, makes him aware that his job isn't over, and he can feel the muscles of his face twitch.

So, obediently, he lingers in your doorway, taking a few calming breaths, before facing you once more.

You've changed positions, your armchair abandoned in favor of sitting by the window, one leg bent in a way, that shows quite a nice view of your calf, your long skirt pooling around you. Homelander's eyes trail up with mild interest, and he indulges in his X-ray vision. He's just being curious, nothing more.

Your underwear is, well, for the lack of a better word, plain. The bra seems to be slightly ill fitted, digging into the sides of your breasts, making them almost spill from under your pits, and Homelander swallows thickly at the sight. There are little, pink hearts on your panties. The colors are dull and washed out from frequent use, and the once frilly lace is starting to fray at the edges.

Apparently Vaught's compensation was not sufficient for you to buy some decent undergarments.

-Do you want something to eat? Drink? - you ask from your place by the window, and Homelander is snatched back to reality - Do you even need food?

The bluntness of the question startles him, makes him feel defensive, but Madelyn wanted results, so he puts on a mask of his trained smile, and crosses the room. Back straight like an arrow, he looks wildly out of place between all the linens and cushions. He doesn't look at you, trapping your smaller form in the confinement of the window, as he watches over the neighboring house.

-I'm not hungry - he shoots down your offer with a wave of his hand - I've already eaten.

A lie, but he'd never stoop low enough to take any leftovers, especially from you. Still, the offer seems nice. He does like being pampered, even if it's with lackluster things. Your eyes linger on his boyish smile, another practiced thing, and Homelander shifts focus to your heartbeat once again.

-Alright then - your voice sounds indifferent as ever - Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to make some dinner for myself.

He offers a small nod, and watches you from his position by the window, as you slip past him. It does require quite a lot of manoeuvering, but you manage to stand without touching him. He has to admit, watching you balance, as you try to avoid him, was amusing. Still, your heart beats calmly, and, not wanting to be left on his own, Homelander follows you to your kitchen. The beads of the courtain drum delicately over the bronze eagles on his shoulders.

The fridge is buzzing something awful. He can see just how run down the inside mechanism is, the hinges squeaking unbearably, as you reach for a box of reheatable spaghetti. There's cheep beer inside, a moldy lemon, a carton of milk pretty close to expiring, and a half-used bottle of spicy ketchup. Homelander doesn't even recognize these brands, they're not sponsored by Vaught, that's for sure.

Cheap, tasteless, basically offering no nutritional value.

-Would you step back for a second? - he asks, already wrenching himself between you and that pathetic excuse of a meal.

Again, your body sways to avoid touching him, and for some unknown reason, he finds it very amusing.

Then, you watch with a raised eyebrow, as he turns towards your spaghetti, a red sheen overtaking his eyes. An unbearably hot beam shoots out, making the insides of the plastic packaging sizzle. Finally, that gets him a reaction, as you gasp and reel back, colliding with the barely functional fridge. Your heart does a flip inside your chest, and Homelander soaks up your shock like a man starved.

Only when the red fizzles out of his gaze do you dare to move, approaching him slowly, your eyes bearing into him in a way that is frankly uncomfortable.

He turns to you with another one of his charming smiles, trying to handle this sudden scrutiny in as flippant a way as possible.

-I had no idea you can control the intensity of your lazer - you admit, voice slightly breathless.

-Pretty neat, huh? - perhaps he's fishing for more attention, but he doesn't care, because your eyes light up for just a moment in sheer wonder.

-Super cool, actually.

Yeah. Yeah, that's fucking right, he is super cool. And your heart is beating so much faster, and finally you're looking at him as if he's more than just some guy, some living advertisement you're determined to ignore.

And then your eyes shift, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, as you zero in on his shoulder. Something akin to a wave of amusement flickers across your expression, and to his general surprise, Homelander wants to know what's the cause of this shift. Your lips pull back into a smile, teeth peaking at him in all their glory. He can almost imagine them running down his skin, before he pushes the thought back all together, as the lower portion of his suit becomes slightly too tight for comfort.

-Well, thank you for saving the spaghetti - your eyes hold a spark of amusement - My hero.

Okay, alright, he's hard. There's no point denying it. However annoying and insignificant you were moments before, your quip goes straight to his loins, burning enough, for him to consider just how mad Stillwell would be, if he'd have a taste of this newly discovered talent.

If he stands any closer to you, he might find out, because this special little moment you two have shared, is crudely interrupted by Madelyn clearing her throat. Homelander nearly jumps back, you however barely turn your head, reaching for your spaghetti and arming yourself with a fork.

-I've spoken to my supervisor - Stillwell announces, clearly peeved by the way you start chewing on the noodles - A new version of the contract will be emailed to you as soon as possible. Hopefully it will be satisfactory.

-Thank you, Miss Stillwell - you answer with an inclination of your head.

With that, Madelyn nods her goodbye at you, refusing to shake your hand, which does amuse you, you're not going to lie. Homelander however, goes all out, capturing your fork-weilding arm, his fingers sneaking around your wrist like a bracelet. Or a shackle. Then, you watch with a confused arch to your eyebrows, as he brings you closer, until his lips press onto the protruding knuckles. Now that, admittedly, gets your heart going. You were not an easily embarrassed person, not by a long shot, but you could feel blood rushing towards your face all the same.

He has to hold his breath, as he kisses your hand in that charming, gentleman way he's seen in old movies. The smell of pasteurized tomato sauce blows in his direction, like a direct assault on his senses. Still, he needed something that would make you swoon. If everything failed, he knew how to be intimidating, but for now, perhaps he wanted to try something different. Something that would yield much more pleasant results, for the both of you. Mostly for him, let's be honest.

Madelyn asks him to stay back, spy on you throughout the night, and he begrudgingly agrees, if only to mask the fact, that he would do so of his own volition, had she not brought it up. And as such, he floats into the rapidly cooling air, disappearing into the darkening sky, where you wouldn't be able to see him even if you tried. He could see you however, and hear you, and he was about to make the most of the situation.

He spends the whole evening just watching you exist within your space. Normally, it would piss him off beyond belief. You weren't doing anything scandalous, anything that could warrant his attention. And yet, as he floats on, in time lowering himself just slightly, to get a better view, he just can't seem to look away. The spaghetti is gone in approximately fifteen minutes, as you inhale the supermarket food, walking around the living room, the kitchen, getting a few bites on the porch even. You seem so utterly unfazed by the events of the past hour, like you haven't just had America's Greatest Superhero try to convince you to work with him. It's honestly insulting, this lack of reaction.

Then, finally, he can hear a distinct ping of a new email come from your laptop, and you sit down on the couch with a small huff. Your eyes move, your lips twitch, and then he hears your heart stop in your chest. As if working on autopilot, your hand travels up, covers your mouth in shock, and you lean back against the worn-down sofa, eyes glued to the screen illuminating your face in a blue-ish light.

-...fuck… - you whisper, and despite himself Homelander floats even closer to your window.

Finally, he has the chance to peak over the curtain. To sneak into the backstage of the award winning production of your defenses, and see what goes on in those bored eyes of yours, when they're not guarded. And what he sees makes his suit feel much too tight, his body too warm. Quite an unusual thing to get so worked up about, but he's the goddamned Homelander, he can get hard whenever he fucking wants. And so, as saliva gathers on his tongue, he presses himself against the tiles on your roof, all the warmth of the day soaking into his skin through the thick material of his suit.

With a shaky hand you reach over towards your phone, putting in a number and pressing the call button, before standing straight from the couch, almost knocking the laptop over.

-Hey, what's up? - someone says on the other end of the line, and Homelander tries to focus more on the words flowing from the receiver.

-Oh, you gotta sit down for that one - you warn with an anxious chuckle, taking the familiar place by the window.

With your free hand you reach up to open the window all the way. Then, Homelander sees your fingers slip between the pillows and pull out a rather beaten up pack of cigarettes.

Naughty, naughty, he thinks, watching you produce a lighter from that same hiding place.

-Alright, I'm sat like never before.

The voice sounds vaguely female, although the shitty quality of your phone makes it hard to decipher. Your lips pull back into a toothy grin, and you blow out the smoke through the window. It curls upwards and dissipates into the air, right above the roof, where Homelander swallows thickly around a coughing fit.

-You will not believe who visited me today…

-The ICE - the voice deadpans, and you snort around another huff of smoke.

-Pretty fucking close, let me tell you - he doesn't appreciate the joke, not at all - Fucking Homelander.

The line goes completely quiet for a moment, and with every second your grin seems to be growing.

-Deadass?

-Yup - your lips purse, and Homelander zeroes in on the expression - Flew in all Star's Spangled Glory with some Vaught big fish. They tried to convince me to join the Seven.

-And obviously you said yes, because what the fuck else do you do in that situation?

Your grin slowly fades away, and you lean your forehead on the window frame.

-You didn't?

-I didn't.

Again, it's quiet.

Homelander shifts a bit in his position, adjusting against the warmed up tiles of the roof, his X-ray vision bearing into you. Out of curiosity, he looks deeper, eyes floating over your insides. You're relatively healthy. Some vitamin deficiencies, but nothing too serious. And despite that nasty habit lodged between your fingers, your lungs are clear, at least for now. There's a softness to your body, your muscles barely visible, as if you're just another gray human. Oh, and there's a bit of an eyesight problem forming, not enough to warrant glasses, but that shouldn't take long, considering your lifestyle.

-The contract they gave me was really good, you know - you muse to the phone, your leg dangling from the windowsill - Six months of working under Homelander, a Sidekick kinda situation.

-I thought they scraped the Sidekick program - the person on the other side wonders - Too many casualties or something.

-Yeah, well I guess they want to bring it back.

-Why did you say no then? I'm sure they pay is gigantic.

Again, you smile. This one much more reserved, bordering on sad. There's that strange kind of exhaustion settling into your bones again, same one Homelander noticed when he first saw you. Your shoulders slump forward, and you curl into yourself between the cushions.

-It was, it was… - you mutter - But I needed something more, for the neighborhood, ya know?

Your caller hums softly in understanding, and Homelander feels like something is passing him by. Some unspoken fact, that you and your friend find obvious.

-And - you hesitate, eyes flickering towards the laptop, your heart beat picking up ever so slightly - They sent me a revised contract. And it's fucking good. Really fucking good. It could help this entire place get back on its feet.

-But you still don't want to - the voice says for you, without judgement.

-No - you sigh - I really, really don't.

-Say no then - your friend supplies, and once again Homelander feels a flame of annoyance start to burn within him - No one else knows about the contract, there will be no expectations.

Slowly, you nod your head, clearly relieved by the way your friend reacted to the news. Homelander however, caught you right where he needed you. That's your lever. Not seduction, not intimidation, just plain, stupidly human guilt.

-Thank you - you whisper into your phone, finally smiling again - Oh, wanna know one more thing?

-Obviously.

-Homelander's wearing a padded suit.

Something's stuck in his throat, as he reels back from his position. Before he can stop himself, his eyes begin to glow red, because how the fuck did you know?

-Okay, that's bullshit.

-Unless his shoulder dislocated in the middle of talking, then no, it's definitely not bullshit.

Your friend gives out a choked laugh, one which you mirror with your own. If Homelander wasn't so utterly flabbergasted by your (correct) observation, he would've stopped to appreciate the sound. As it stands, however, he pushes himself off your roof, a couple of broken pieces falling off of the tiles. And then he's up in the air, cutting through the winds, headed straight for the Tower, leaving you in the comfort of your insignificant, smelly home.

The contract is leaked before the sun is up.

You're awoken to thousands of news articles flooding your timeline, all listing the truly wonderful and selfless points in the fated email. With a white face, you read them all, the speculations, the theories, the angry comments about you being chosen without an actual casting, while all those up and coming supes are busting their asses in auditions.

Soon enough, you're visited by every neighbour possible, congratulating, thanking you. A barbecue is set in the street, as a way of celebration, and you want to throw your phone, and subsequently yourself into the nearest river.

Madelyn Stillwell sends you an email, scheduling a meeting at the Vaught Tower. No need for pleasantries at this point, you stare at the bare bones invitation. "We eagerly await the start of our partnership" looks back at you, mocking your resolve. And thus, the end of your life as you know it begins.

"Project Delinquent"

The words are printed in an ugly, corporate font, and they stare back at you, outlining the mold you're supposed to fit in, in such a perfect way, it actually, almost makes you retch. True, during high school you were quite the little rebel, but people grown and learn, and seeing your character be watered down to that simple word, does send a wave of nausea through your insides. Even if this is hell of your own making, even if you're ready to swallow it all down with a smile, there's a pang of humiliation stinging your heart.

The armchair in Stillwell's office is uncomfortably narrow. It barely has enough room to accommodate your hips, and you wonder if this design is intentional. There is a growing ache in your calves, as you sit so close to the edge, you can't fully relax into your position, balancing on your feet instead. The armrests dig into your sides, and the way the sun is shining through the gigantic windows of the office, is shaping this charade of a meeting into an overstimulating nightmare. Still, you endure. For all the wonderful benefits enclosed in your contract, the charity work Vaught is going to supply.

Or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself, stuck between the marketing department representatives and a literal Devil of a woman.

Madelyn Stillwell doesn't know what to make out of you. Your files were filled with all sorts of questionable activity, especially around the college area. It's honestly a miracle you've managed to get your degree, and attend all those silly little demonstrations at the same time. Your criminal record has been wiped clean, weeks before you even agreed to sign the contract, just in case any leaks would find their way into the media. Leaks that were not orchestrated by Madelyn, of course.

High school rebellion was almost too easily marketable, Madelyn decided to focus on that part of your life as much as possible, her vision slowly coming to fruition. All she needed, really, was cooperation. And while you seemed to be mostly receptive to her ideas, she needed to make sure Homelander was on his best behavior. Which, well… Could go sideways in the worst way imaginable, but Stillwell tried to have some faith in her best superhero.

The idea of releasing details of your contract to the public, was a stroke of genius, she did not expect from Homelander, and she made sure he was thoroughly rewarded. With him, it was always better to choose the hands-on approach, unfortunately. With you, however, ideals were the key. Whatever feeling of solidarity you harbored towards your neighborhood, provided a leverage relatively easy to control. Still, as Stillwell looked you over, crammed into her office in your, frankly, lousy attire, she couldn't help but be just a tad worried about your compliance.

-…And then - the marketer continues with a dramatic gasp - Homelander comes in. America's Greatest Hero, offers you a mentorship. And you…

You look up at the representative with a rather sour expression. They have to work on that too. Media training was crucial. You won't be able to sell anything, if you keep grimacing like that all the damned day.

-… Are starstruck - your mouth twitches - You strike up a deal, selfless. A rebel with a heart of gold. Finally, you can make some real change happen, so you push aside your anti-corporate values, to discover, that Vaught is so much more, than you could possibly imagine.

It's hard not to laugh, and you swallow thickly, biting your lip, as a middle-aged woman you don't recognize gets up from the couch, and makes her way to the wall opposite of your torture chair. There, tucked in a corner and hidden under a black cloth, stands a mannequin, roughly your size. With a flourish you find utterly out of place, the woman tugs at the cape, and as it falls to the floor, so does your stomach. You can't hold it in any longer. A rough snort of laughter rips out of your nose, and you cover your mouth instantly.

-That better be a laugh of delight - Ashley, a ginger menace, mutters under her breath, and Stillwell turns to you with a tight expression on her face.

-Something the matter?

-I mean - you take a deep, grounding breath, tying your amusement in the back of your throat - I knew it's going to be skimpy, but this is…

You look around the room, seeing various stages of corporate outrage, and then you lock eyes with Homelander. Stillwell insisted on his participation in the meeting, as the both of you are supposed to work closely together, and throughout the whole ordeal, he looked borderline ready to die of boredom. Now, however, his eyebrows lift in a curious manner, as he takes in the, to be completely honest, horrendous costume, and your full figure. Something dangerously close to disgust twists your features, as he shamelessly drags his eyes all over your body.

Who would've thought America's Sweetheart was a fucking creep?

Rolling your eyes, you get up from the cursed armchair, your knees cracking loudly. Crossing the room, you take a closer look at the clothing, or rather, lack there of. Torn fishnets, plaid tennis skirt, and a corset top, made out of some leather-like material. Truly, a fetishists wet dream. Your fingers sample the fabric of the skirt. Surprisingly stiff, it seems to beg for a wardrobe malfunction. With a frown pulling down your lips, you lift the material up, and as expected, find no safety shorts underneath.

Homelander watches you intently, as you inspect the costume. Just the thought of your soft body in this skimpy, corporate bastardization of a rock star, makes heat rise in the lower part of his stomach. With every disapproving pull of your, and don't quote him on that, perfect lips, he's more and more convinced this whole charade is just an early birthday present. He'll have to thank Stillwell. Or better not, because as soon as he throws her a sidelong glance, he discovers, she's already looking at him. With a rather tense expression at that.

He feigns innocence, almost raises his hands in mock defeat, but decides against it at the last second. You're still watching him, torn between inspecting the costume, and shooting disgruntled looks in his direction.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, your hand sneaks to the front of the corset, fingers closing over the full cup, where your breast will soon reside. You give the mock leather two squeezes, and a high-pitched laugh wheezes out of your lips. Homelander's head nearly snaps with how fast he turns to look at Stillwell, confusion clear on his face.

She's looking at you cautiously. He knows that expression all too well, he's seen it multiple times during their partnership. She's calculating, with bated breath, just how much of a problem you'll inevitably become. How to turn it around in the company's favor, how to steer you in the right direction, should the need arise.

But then, you clap your hands, still giggling quietly, and turn to the designer, who's been watching your reaction with a growing distaste.

-That's one hell of a push-up bra - you comment with a raised eyebrow - My tits will fly straight out of this, if I even think about moving my arms.

Now, that's something Homelander would love to see, and you note his leering face with an uncomfortable shift in your posture.

-Your physique has to be god-like. There's no shame in a little padding - the designer answers simply, and your eyes glimmer with amusement.

-Oh, I bet - your eyes float for just a second in Homelander's direction, and he wonders if lasering you down right now would be too harsh of a reaction.

The image had to be kept up, however, and he deflects your blatant provocation with a bright smile. Or rather, it would've been a bright smile, if his cheek didn't twitch in a way, that portrayed exactly how forced his pleasantries are.

-There will be a press conference, seven PM sharp, where you'll be introduced to the public - Ashley informs you, her eyes glued to her tablet - Homelander will give a welcoming speech, explain that you're a temporary member of The Seven. Then, you'll need to say a couple of words. We'll send you the talking points ASAP.

-Right… - you mutter, not particularly thrilled by the idea of public speaking.

Stillwell looks over her shoulder towards Homelander, giving him an expectant, raised eyebrow. Slowly, he moves from his spot by the window, hand extended in a greeting, teeth flashing in a smile. Your eyes involuntarily shift towards his rather sharp canines, and for the first time, since you've signed the contract, you truly feel uneasy. His eyes are almost unnaturally blue, a perfect, American shade, that glimmers just a tad too dangerously. There's no need for super senses, he can feel your nerves in the very air you breathe.

-Welcome to The Seven - his voice is smoother than you've ever heard before - Fireball.

Wait a god-damned minute.

Confusion covers all previous feelings, and to Homelander's growing annoyance, you leave him with his hand extended, in favor of turning towards Stillwell.

-That's not my name - you point out, and Madelyn nods her head in a practiced expression of understanding.

-Due to some copyright intricacies, we can't let you use Smirnoff - she explains.

You suck in a deep breath through your teeth, looking back towards the costume. A moment's hesitation, you close your eyes as you breathe out, and once again Homelander feels as if he's able to peak under a carnival mask you carefully placed upon yourself. He lifts it just enough, sees the way muscles on your neck twitch. Your jaw sets in a way, that is slowly becoming intoxicating, and then you turn back to him.

-I'm honored - your voice is hollow, locked far away in the column of your throat, and you don't have enough strength to even attempt a smile.

That's alright, he has enough charm for the both of you, his imposing stature pushing towards you, as his arm sneaks around your shoulders.

Fuck, you're warm. He can feel the heat of your skin seeping into his costume. There's a vaguely familiar smell clinging to your form, mixing with the scent of cigarette smoke. Jasmine flowers, he concludes, and absent-mindedly remembers a rather large bush growing in your backyard. He wonders, if you'd let him fuck you, if he showed up with a bouquet at your door. Women seemed to like those, and although you didn't strike him as the most romantic person, he's positive he could charm his way into your pants.

-I'll show you to your room, sweetheart - perhaps he's laying it on a bit heavy with the nickname.

He can hear Stillwell's heart jump, and he immediately knows, he's going to have to sit through a stern talk later today. You, on the other hand, wrench your head to the side, disgruntled with this new form of familiarity. Your entire body goes tense, and you try to wriggle yourself further away from him. On instinct, his fingers dig into your shoulder, a mockery of a friendly expression, and with just a small fragment of his true strength, he pushes you forward, out of Stillwell's office.

He can do whatever he wants, and Madelyn is getting awfully pushy with guarding you from him. You're just a temporary toy to satisfy the higher-ups. A six months worth of an experiment, that he's forced to be a part of. After your contract is up, Vaught won't care whether you live or die, and you bet your rather ample ass, he's going to exploit that to the fullest. Not only is it borderline insulting, to deny him life's simple pleasures, it's pathetic.

-Nervous about the press? - he asks in a light tone, his jaw clicking softly, when your slide out of his grasp as soon as the doors close.

The casualness of this question throws you in a bit of a loop, but with a couple of rapid blinks, you're back to normal, letting him lead you towards the elevator.

-Public speaking isn't my best asset - you mumble.

Homelander presses the call button of the elevator, then leans against the wall, watching you with a strange twinkle in his eye.

-Sounds like someone's not a people person - he notes, wiggling his finger at you in a manner that is confusingly playful.

-I am a people person - you defend yourself, albeit a bit awkwardly - Just… Not when there's a lot of people.

He laughs at that, a practiced, almost theatrical bark that's as fake as his hairdo. All you have the strength to do, is flash him half of a smile. Thankfully the elevator pings before any more small-talk is required, and you slip into the confined space, standing in the corner. His eyes roam freely all over your body, a shameless act that makes your guts twist, makes the already small space of the elevator even more stuffy. And then, he enters after you, pressing a button to the right floor, and taking a spot much too close to you, than what's necessary.

You suppose it's one of the things you'll have to get used to. This constant invasion of your personal space. Perhaps, if it were someone else, someone that wasn't as empty as you, those actions would've been more intimidating than annoying. Alas, as you watch his chest rise and fall in steady rythm, out of the corner of your eye, his actions remind you of a petulant, spoiled child, rather than America's Greatest Hero. "I can't play with this toy? And what if I do this?" For just a second you entertain the idea of gentle parenting Homelander, and the thought makes the corner of your mouth twitch.

-Something the matter? - he asks, tension sneaking into his friendly tone.

-Just happy to be here, sir - you answer, and he knows it's a blatant lie, another one of your snarky provocations.

Doesn't matter for now, there will be a time to teach you some manners.

The elevator arrives at the right floor, and you bolt out of your place as soon as the doors slip open. Homelander follows closely behind, before closing the distance in a couple of long steps. Then, he's in front of you, and you nearly collide with his form, as he suddenly comes to a stop, in front of a pair of large doors. "Fireball" is etched into a small plack, and you throw the offending piece of metal a withering glance.

-That's your stop, sweetheart - he comments, and once again, you grimace at the nickname - Take a look inside, I'm sure it will blow your socks right off.

Why is he talking to you like you're a fucking child all of a sudden, you'll never understand. The door clicks softly, as you open it, revealing your living space for the next six months. The sight chokes a laugh out of you, because truly, the ammount of "punk" memorabilia is staggering.

-Does cocaine addiction come with the package, or…?

He doesn't even react to your joke, and you don't blame him. For all his creepiness and fake interest, he doesn't strike you as the funniest person on earth. There are guitars hanging over a rather large bed, there's a pristine stop sign next to them, which you suppose is meant to look rebellious. The usage of leopard print is tacky at best, and you truly start to wonder if they even consulted someone out of the corporation to design the space. Most likely no, wouldn't want to waste resources on such a small project.

-Fireball - Homelander's voice is barely above a whisper, but it makes your heart jump all the same.

He's standing so closely behind you, you can feel the warmth of his breath at the back of your neck, but for some unnknown reason, you can't force yourself to move. Instead, you feel him take a deep breath trough his nose, his chest brushing against your back. Your eyes stay glued to a drum set, pushed against a gigantic window. Light reflects off of the cymbals, in your mind you're already playing it, far away from this nightmare of a superhero.

-I'll see you at the press conference - Homelander's hand clasps itself over your shoulder, squeezing a couple of times, as if testing the softness of your body - Don't even think about being late, young lady.

You don't know when he dissapears, as you stand there, frozen. One foot over the threshold of your room, breathing shallow and borderline panicked. It could've been seconds, could've been hours, until your head finally snaps to the side. He's not there anymore, you're alone in the corridor, and as you slam the door closed behind you, something you've only suspected before becomes abundantly clear.

There is something deeply wrong with Homelander.

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 21 || The After Hours

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, fluff, a tinge of angst, and sexual tension.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 5.1k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——"I DON'T UNDERSTAND," YOU murmured to the albino man whose arms you're comfortably carried in.

What the hell does he mean by when you call he comes running? You didn't call him... right? Wait, fuck, you don't even remember. Was it really Geto's voice you heard over the phone?

Gojo slowly walks with you in his grasp toward his car, "You called me... Well, I know you probably meant to call Suguru but uh, you called me, sweetheart." He explains.

A pouty expression takes over your features as you grumble out a response to him, "Why didn't you... s-say anything, asshole."

He shrugs, "Cause' Suguru's asleep and I didn't want his half-woken brain to come out here and get you, who's completely wasted. So, it's a good thing you accidentally called me anyway. Plus, I missed-," He stops as he looks at your face.

Your eyes closed and you'd fallen asleep again. Gojo opens his mouth to finish what he is saying but instead sighs and focuses his gaze on where he's walking.

Carefully, the male works his passenger car door open and places you inside. Gojo is overly cautious while he seats you comfortably. Your head had leaned into a visibly unbearable position and he had to be light with his touches to fix you properly.

The pads of his fingers are soft against your face and he's gentle with the way he handles your head. When he's done making sure you don't look uncomfortable and finishes buckling you in, his eyes pause on your pretty resting features.

Even though the beauty Gojo sees in your face, he can't help but notice the dried tear streaks running down your cheeks. He wonders when you cried and why. Was it because of him? Again? The thought alone makes his heart ache.

Gojo shuts his eyes and leans his forehead to yours, resting against you lightly, "I'm sorry..." He whispers to you, despite the fact that you're asleep.

After another second, Gojo removes himself from your space and shuts his car door softly. He then makes it into the driver's seat and he's quick to start his car and drive off.

The ride is slow and Gojo tries to make it as smooth as possible so that he doesn't wake you up. There were a few times when you moved and let out a little groan, each time prompting a concerned gaze from the man in the diver's seat.

Each minute that passes, Gojo spends it thinking about what you told him over the phone. He hates to see you struggling like this, wishing he could go back and maybe do something different but knowing the outcome would've been bad either way.

By the time he gets to your apartment, it's even later into the night and Gojo spends the entire time with you being as careful as possible. He knows you didn't want to see him but he needed to make sure you got home safely.

So, the man carried you all the way to your apartment door and even let himself inside. You found this out a while ago when you went through your messages but apparently, Shoko gave Gojo a spare key to the apartment.

You thought it was weird of your roommate to do so without talking to you about it but she eventually explained to you that she's asked Gojo to go to your apartment more times than she can count and it was frustrating giving him her keys every time.

That, and she secretly felt like him having access to the apartment would help the two of you get together. Of course, Shoko is still ignorant of what's going on between you and Gojo but neither of you has plans on changing that.

After all, her giving him spare keys is beneficial to you in a situation like this.

Gojo moves into your apartment with you in his arms, his footsteps quiet. When he entered, everything was dark and he noticed Shoko's room door was closed. He figured she was asleep since the space beneath her room door showed no signs of lighting and plus, it was pretty late.

You shift around in Gojo's arms while he carries you into your room. The male carefully placed you down on your bed and he wanted to make sure you were comfortable in your sleep but was nervous to do so.

Gojo drags his gaze up and down the obvious discomfort the dress you're wearing brings you and he so desperately wants to change you. With a sigh, he glances around your room, searching for a t-shirt he can toss over you but spotting none.

The man knows you probably won't like it but, he stands up and strips his upper half, removing the white sweater he was wearing and moving to put it onto your body, leaving him in a simple t-shirt he had underneath.

The sweater went over your dress after which, Gojo felt around your back, careful not to touch you directly, and unzipped your dress. He didn't want to lay eyes on your body while you were asleep so, the male worked your dress off you and down your legs with his sweater blocking his eyesight from seeing anything.

On you, his sweater went down to the beginning of your thighs, looking like a dress in itself on your smaller frame. Gojo had long since worked your heels off, having neatly placed them somewhere in your room and now he was trying to tuck you into your bed.

After that, he left your room for only a moment to grab medicine for the painful hangover he knows you're going to have when you wake up. Returning to you swiftly, he puts all the necessary items on your nightstand and sighs.

Soft snores left you, prompting his eyes to fall on your face for the millionth time that night. Gojo tilts his head as he looks at your face, taking in all of your features. He missed having the mere luxury of just looking at you.

You're so beautiful in his eyes that just staring at you makes him loathe himself for the terrible shit he's putting you through.

When the long moment of appreciation comes to an end, Gojo caresses the side of your face with the back of his hand as if to say bye, before leaning up and turning away.

What he doesn't expect is for a delicate set of fingers to wrap around his wrist and stop him from going anywhere. Before he can even turn around to look at you, you whisper out a sleepy and still drunken, "S-Stay."

All it takes is that one word of yours for the male to stop every movement. Hell, he thinks he stops breathing for a second. Turning his face around to look at you, he spots your eyes just barely open and your hand holding him.

Gojo swallows, "Sweets, as much as I want to... you don't really-"

"Satoru," You whisper.

The way you say his name so suddenly after not referring to him as such for what felt like an eternity makes his heart throb violently in his chest. Gojo's whole facial expression weakens, his body and mind completely incapacitated under the sound of your voice and the feeling of your touch.

Your eyes flick up to him and he can tell that you're clearly drunk.

"Y-Yes?" Gojo whispers back.

"Stay." You command.

He feels so utterly helpless under your gaze. What is he supposed to say when you look at him so longingly? Holding onto his wrist in a way that makes him feel like if he leaves, he'll only leave you sadder.

He glances off to the side, "You're just gonna be upset when you sober up. I can't-"

"Toru please." You murmur, suddenly frowning, "I... d-don't wanna be alone."

Gojo's eyes shut and he grits his teeth, "Fucking hell... O-Okay, fuck, fine w-whatever you want." He stammers out, physically unable to deny your requests. "Just... don't curse me out when you're sober, please."

You let his wrist go and smiled cheekily, "No promisessss."

Gojo walks around to the other side of your bed and slowly lays down beside you. Even drunk, you could tell he was nervous doing so-- he already knew what was going to happen when your drunken state faded away. At first, the man lays down as far as possible, making you flip your body around to face him.

He clears his throat, "Is this okay?"

The guy was on the other side of your bed, clearly trying to keep his distance. You giggle, "No, stupid... Come hold me," You whisper.

"H-Hold you?" Gojo chokes out.

You sigh heavily, "At least until-," You yawn, "...I fall back asleep. T-Then you can leave, if you want."

With a slight nod, Gojo just barely slides closer to you. One of his large arms goes over your side and you immediately reciprocate, making his heart skip a beat at the way your small hand is felt on his back. The two of you were basically hugging each other and the state of his heart worsens as you snuggle in closer to him.

"C'mon, this is unfair..." Gojo sighs heavily.

You continue hugging him anyway, comforting your head into his chest. "I know," You whisper in response.

The two of you then get quiet for a while. Your breathing gets softer and softer against his chest and every brush of air against his skin makes it harder for him to calm his rapidly beating heart. It's been so long since you'd been close to him like this that he doesn't know how to handle it.

Gojo feels almost dizzy by your warm body against his. It's not turning him on or anything but his heart feels so odd in his chest.

Suddenly, your head shifts and you look up a him, "Gojo..." You whisper.

And he misses the way you say his first name already, "Hm?"

"You're so cruel to me." You babble out. Not only was your intoxication beginning to take over your mind, but fatigue was weighing in on you as well.

He sighs shakily, "Am I?"

"Very..." You start pouting, "He made me really happy, y'know..."

Gojo blinks in confusion.

"Choso," You clarify. Gloss begins to lay over your eyes and you quickly grow saddened, "...He won't even talk to me now."

"Did you... tell him about the list or something?"

"No, idiot." You fire back. "He wanted to date me but... I o-obviously couldn't say yes because of you."

Guilt thrums throughout Gojo's body, "I'm sorry." He apologizes sincerely.

You sigh heavily, "Y'know... if you were really sorry, you'd delete that video of me and let me go..."

"I can't." Gojo replies, squeezing his eyes shut, "I really can't."

"Why?" You question, scoffing slightly, "After all this time, can you at least tell me why it has to be me?"

He silences himself in thought. There are so many ways he could go about answering such a question but the possibilities of how you may react are endless. Plus, you're drunk and if he's going to admit or explain anything to you, it'll be while you're sober.

"Because..." Gojo's voice gets so quiet that you almost don't catch what he says, "...I don't have any other choice."

What does he mean by that? You have no idea. It's just another one of Gojo's stupid explanations that make no sense whatsoever, leading you to only be annoyed with him for the nth time since you've known him. You're negative emotions for this male run deeper than anything else.

Even so, there's this underlying emotion you feel when he talks to you or looks at you. And you absolutely despise the way it affects you because the man simply plagues your heart, vexing you with his toxic and fucked up realities of how he wants things to go.

You find yourself lulled into it all nonetheless. Whether it be by choice or not, something about Gojo just draws you to him in so many ways.

You hate the way he looks at you as if your very existence is what he still breathes for. The way he talks to you like each second without your presence is steadily crushing his will to live. How he holds you so gently yet firmly as if he dreads the instant he has to let you go.

And more than anything, you hate the combination of all that being tied to his stupidly handsome face that makes you nervous at every second, even though you try to hide it. Then there are the memories of the very few good times you spent with him.

Somewhere deep, deep, deep down inside-- you'd give anything to go back to that morning you woke up in his arms.

Gojo Satoru may be no Kamo Choso but even so, both men hold some deep and special, whether it be good or bad, place in your heart.

You shake your head in disbelief, "...I hate you."

Gojo swallows down your words, "That uh... That makes four."

"What?" You scoff confusedly.

"That's the fourth time you've said those words to me-- the fourth time you've claimed to hate me." Gojo points out, his voice so clearly sorrowful, "I wish you didn't..."

Your brows bush together, "...Wish I didn't say it or...?"

"No, I wish you didn't have to hate me." He says, shutting his eyes again and sucking in a deep breath, "B-But... it's uh, It's okay. I can live with you hating me."

You roll your eyes and open your mouth to say something but he cuts you off unintentionally by continuing.

"It's odd though," Gojo whispers, his fingers toying with the back of the sweater you're wearing. "Why would you want to be in my arms if you hate me so much?"

You groan, "Cause'...." The reasoning takes a second to come out, almost as if you didn't want to admit such a thing out loud, "I don't... I don't wanna be alone." You murmur, your voice wavering a little before your grasp on him grows tighter.

Gojo's heart is pounding so ridiculously hard against his chest when he feels you cling to him so desperately. It took control of every muscle and vein in his body not to squeeze you back just as hard to let you know that he'd never leave unless you told him to.

A soft, heart-wrenching little chuckle leaves his lips, "Me neither, sweetheart."

For a second time, silence wraps around the two of you. The only noise in the air now was the sound of you both breathing faintly. You don't know why but, even though you hate him, you couldn't deny the deep sense of comfort and understanding you felt within his arms.

Your heart was heavy in your chest, feelings for Choso having a dangerous steel grip on you. If you were to complete this list; you needed to put your feelings for that man aside. Only temporarily though. By all means, no matter what it took, you'd be running back to Choso the very second you were freed to do so.

Unconsciousness creeps up on you and unexpectedly wraps your mind up in a warm little blanket, swaying you into relaxation and tugging you into a state of slumber. Meanwhile, Gojo lay awake, unable to fall asleep with the ounces of guilt, regret, and disappointment in himself that cascaded over him.

Though it took a while, he waited until it seemed like you were asleep and then tried to ease his way out. Sadly, through your sleep, you only clung onto his body more-- silently begging him not to go anywhere.

With a sigh, he ends up staying.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

A few hours later, you wake up because of a pounding headache. It was still dark and your eyes just barely opened to gather your surroundings. Finally, you were sober.

Your mind was all groggy and you couldn't remember much after Gojo came and picked you up. It was in fragments and pieces that you recalled talking to him in your sleep and begging him to stay with you.

Yet, when you woke up and opened your eyes, you were met with the dim sight of your bedroom door closed and no feeling of warmth or body heat around you. It annoyed you that Gojo left even though you told him to stay.

Being alone was the one thing you wanted to avoid.

Even hours after your intoxication had worn off, the worst part about it was that as you propped your side up using your elbow and reached for the meds on your nightstand, a wave of arousal abruptly coursed through you. Perhaps it was because of your interactions with Naoya's piss-poor skills at pleasing you-- having left you unsatisfied all this time.

While you swallowed down a pill to kill your headache, you planned on possibly going to lock your door and just rub it out. You hate waking up horny like this and the headache doesn't help either. If only Naoya had known how to use his dick properly, you would've been fine right now.

With a sigh, you move to sit up and suddenly spot a large build lying on the other side of your bed. You almost let out a yelp in surprise until you realized that it was Gojo and that the man never left you.

Your head tips to the side while you eye his resting frame. His back is to you and you figure the male moved away from you so that you wouldn't curse him out first thing in the morning. You groan slightly at the recollection of you telling him to stay.

The sound of your light groan is enough to stir the man awake. He begins to turn around and your heart jumps for some reason when you meet eyes with him.

Gojo rubs his eyelids slightly, trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. "Well... aren't you a sight for sore eyes..." He hums, his deep morning voice only worsening that arousal of yours.

You swallow, "Don't start."

"Mmmmgh.." He hums tiredly, the sound vibrating against his throat and weirdly making your state worse. He then sighs and shuts his eyes, "Don't start what, sweetheart?"

Gojo's voice is way too damn sexy for you to have a proper conversation and, of course, the damn pet name never helps.

You ignore his question, "You need to leave."

"Make me," Gojo says playfully. You frown and his eyes suddenly open, "Come over here 'nd force me out." He murmurs, voice still low but clearly playful.

You roll your eyes at the male, "I'm not joking."

He smirks seductively, the sight unintentionally attractive to you, "Don't roll your eyes at me."

"Why not?" You scoff sassily.

"Haven't done anythin' to make 'em roll, that's why," Gojo replies, the suggestiveness of his words feeding your hormones.

You push the blanket down and away from your legs, revealing your warm skin to the comforting air of your room. "You plan on doing something to make em' roll?" You reply.

Gojo's body stills in reaction to your words. His eyes close again and you watch him bite his bottom lip, "Want me to?"

You shouldn't. At all. You absolutely should not be needy for Gojo of all people.

You decide not to answer him and simply let out a yawn. He chuckles, the sound foolishly sexy. God, everything about this man is turning you on right now and you absolutely hate it.

"I can't stand you," You end up saying.

"Come sit on me then." Gojo fires back.

A throb is felt in between your legs and you grit your teeth. You didn't like the way he challenged you, almost as if you wouldn't really do so. It was one hundred percent because of your hormones that move, shifting to hold yourself up on your knees and shuffling over to the man.

Gojo's eyes shoot open and he chokes as you actually toss one leg over his and straddle him. His hands scramble a bit to lift himself up but you put your palm to his chest and push him right back down aggressively.

"Don't move now, you're the one who told me to come sit on you." You utter in a sultry tone.

He swallows as he stares up at you, never expecting you to be so bold. "Fuuck... it's too early for this y'know... Fuckin' sun isn't even up yet," He groans, his voice deeper than ever.

You lean forward, causing your crotch to rub over his, "Too early for what?"

"For you to be gettin' on top of me like this," Gojo sighs almost panicked, "I know I told you to but-," You wiggle into him a bit to comfort yourself, "F-Fuck, I didn't think you'd actually..."

Your torso tips forward and you press your fingertips into his chest, "Actually get on top of you?" You finish Gojo's statement questionably.

He nods, "Yeah."

The ache in between your legs is slowly becoming unbearable so, you roll your hips forward, your clothed cunt dragging against Gojo's cock and making his brows furrow and his jaw drop slightly.

"H-Hah, woah, w-wait, what're you doing?" Gojo questions. Those large hands of his go to your thighs and he squeezes your skin slightly.

You tilt your head innocently, "Trying to finish what that asshole Naoya left of me last nigh..." Your voice tails a bit as your roll your hips back and feel Gojo gently hump himself up into you, "Hah, n-night..." You manage out breathly.

Gojo smirks but his breathing is now heavy. He remembers you telling him that you had bad sex with Naoya but you never told him what exactly you meant by that. "What he left of-," He swallows hard, "You?"

Your head nods, "Mhm. Fucker didn't even make me cum," You explain, pouting frustratedly as you recall.

The male below you blinks, "What?"

"He didn't make me cum," You repeat while slowly grinding over the steady rise of Gojo's cock. There's almost nothing more stimulating than feeling as a male grows hard beneath you.

It's so warm and hard how his dick springs to life within the confines of his boxers. All because of a little bit of dry humping.

"You want me to make up for him?" Gojo's quick to offer.

You smile lustfully and drag your hips in a slow circle over his erection, "No... I can uh, shit... can get of jus' fine like this..." You tell him.

A wet spot forms on the male's boxers as precum seeps out the tip of his cock at the thought of watching you get yourself off by dry humping.

Gojo slips his hands up and under the sweater you're wearing, his grasp going to your hips and guiding you through your movements. "You sure?" He breathes out, "You and I both know I can satisfy you just fine."

You chuckle and then catch him off guard by grabbing his hands and prying them away from your body. Gojo's eyes widen when you pin his hands up above his head, your gaze meeting his while you continue grinding on him.

"I know you can but..." You tilt your head tauntingly, "You haven't earned that kinda thing back."

"W-What?" He stammers, his face flushing as your fingers squeeze around his wrists.

The way you're looking at him alone is enough to drive him over the edge but he manages to control himself. Your voice lowers, "You haven't earned the right to fuck me Gojo." Your words make him blink in disbelief, "Not after all the shit you put me through."

"But..."

"There is no but." You say, leaning down to him and tipping your head down to his neck. Carefully, you press your lips into him, "Right now, the only thing you've earned is the pleasure of being used by me."

Your words go straight to his cock and Gojo gulps. Is he hearing you correctly right now? Did you just say you were going to use his body for your pleasure? Is he even okay with that?? Of course he is. Gojo physically couldn't say no to such a thing.

Your lips push into the skin right under his jaw and Gojo groans lowly. Your cunt flutters around nothing at the sound and you grin. Lifting yourself, you move to hover your face over his, peering down into his eyes.

"S'that okay?" You whisper, "Can I do that?"

"I-I..." Gojo is at a complete loss for words right now.

You inch closer to him and your lips graze his own, "Can I use you, Gojo?"

He swore he almost came at the imagination of you doing so.

Everything you said was exactly what you wanted too. You really didn't believe that Gojo deserved to have sex with you without some form of punishment due to all the things he's putting you through. Hell, the only reason you're about to do anything with him is because of how horny you woke up.

Or at least, that's what you're going to blame it on anyway.

"Of course you can, sweets." Gojo utters, his eyes low, "I'm all yours, every part of me, it's all yours." He breathes out.

You smile at his words, "Yeah?"

"M-Mhm... You wanna selfishly use me to make yourself feel good," He shrugs, "By all means." Gojo encourages you, "Please do actually. I told you I'd make things up to you right?"

You almost forgot about that but, he's right. He did promise such a thing so, you nod in response.

"Consider this a part of it," The male explains, "I'm nothing more than a tool for you."

You smile at his words, butterflies fluttering through your stomach in reaction. You wondered if he was only speaking like this in terms of sex or if he meant in general but, based on the needy look in his eyes and the redness of his cheeks, he meant it in every aspect.

Slowly, your eyes shut and you press your lips into his for the first time in what feels like forever. The immediate whine that leaves Gojo is so utterly pathetic and desperate, the fact that you're still pinning his hands down acts as torture for the male.

Given that his favorite thing to do is touch you, to be deprived of that during sex is about to be one of the most difficult things he's ever experienced. But, for you; Gojo would do anything to fix everything he's broken between the two of you.

Your lips part over his and he's eager to accept your tongue sliding into his mouth, his hands simply twitching to feel your body as the two of you make out. It's slow and sloppy, wet tongues slipping over one another while soft and quiet moist sounds of your kissing fill the air.

It ends up being you that folds to the urge to touch and feel him, sliding your hands down from his writs, along his muscular arms, to his shoulders, and then to his neck and face-- growing more aggressive with your kissing and feelings his smooth skin beneath your fingers.

Gojo kept his arms up in place as you lifted from his mouth, quickly whispering his desires to you, "Can I touch you?" He hushes out before you kiss him again.

Feeling ignored, Gojo is struggling to control himself. Nothing is stopping him from moving his hands to your waist and flipping the two of you over, quickly grinding into that warm cunt of yours and pleasing you like he knows you deserve. Yet, he remains still anyway.

You tug on his lower lip for a moment before releasing it, "You wanna touch me?"

"Please," He begs, "A-At least while you're kissing me..."

"Alright," You agree, "But when I tell you to take your hands off me, you better."

Gojo nods understandingly and obediently, quickly flying his hands down to your waist and gripping onto you as your lips connect again. The kiss only grows sloppier, your lips sliding over his and his tongue working its way up into your mouth, leading you to hum against him.

Deep down inside, you can't lie... you did miss making out with Gojo. Nobody kisses you like he does. This man kisses you as if it's his dying act.

His hands go down to your hips and he pushes himself up a bit while pulling you down onto his crotch again. Through your messy kissing, Gojo starts moving with you to sit himself up with you in his lap, your lips hardly ever disconnecting from one another.

Now that you're both sat up, it makes kissing each other and dry humping at the same time a whole lot more comfortable and easy.

Through the softness of your lips, Gojo's able to whisper a thing out to you every now and then, "F-Fuck... I missed you s'much..." He mumbles into you.

His arms wrap around your waist while yours go around his neck, both of you hungrily making out with each other.

When you pull away for a second to breathe, you respond. "Did you?" You murmur.

Gojo nods eagerly, "You know I did."

You smile slightly as you kiss him again. Both of you just barely conversate in between pecks, "...Prove it," You utter.

The sound of his lips smacking over yours is heard, "O-Okay... I will, however-, mh... however you want." He speaks between your constant pecks and gentle sucks over his lower lip, "T-Told you... I'm all yours."

You finally pry away from his mouth completely, a string of saliva left between your lips and his. "Alright then... can I..." You bite your lower lip for a moment, trying to debate if you really want to go through with the idea in your head.

Gojo looks absolutely dazed right now from all your kissing-- having almost blown his load in his pants from making out with you. His cheeks are completely red, his lips parted with heavy pants leaving him, and his eyes low as they look at you.

"Yes," Gojo blurts out, "Whatever it is, you can do it to me." He agrees.

The man appears as though he was fucked out and all you've done is swap spit with him.

You stare at him innocently before giving him one last peck and then moving to his ear, "Can I tie you up?"

GOJO SATORU ✔︎

GETO SUGURU ✔︎

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎

NANAMI KENTO ☐

??? SUKUNA ☐

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[vanya-evergreen]

Batfam x reader platonic concept

But make it over throwing royal’s with reader as a royal and Batfam as revolutionaries AU (with some fantasy elements that aren't expanded on)

CW: Neglect, Violence, blood. War like topics (revolution)

Something to note: in the real world timeframe I would put this in the late 1910s to early 1920s. The cars are faster than the actual cards of that timeframe because of fanfic logic!

Ps, I would love to write more of this (i already have another 1000 i am keeping to myself)

The soft patterns of rain on the roof was the loudest sound in your room. You lay on a bed, arms locked to your sides, staring up to the ceiling of the tall room. It was opulent to say the least, but that was the last thing you would think of. You were stuck in a cycle of memories that felt like a lifetime ago, yet it was only a few months ago that all of what you knew was gone. Not that you missed much of it.

There was once that if you had even whispered a complaint, it would've been fixed by a servant before you could dwell on it. Now it would just fall on deaf ears. You had alway been pacified with gifts, trips, or even new lessons to learn. It was one of the many benefits you got from being of royal descent, when that had mattered. You were happy with what you had but you still craved more. You wanted the unconditional Familial love that every other child seemed to get.

Slowly, you began to watch the families at garden parties, grand balls, and even going through daily life. You can’t help but staring as the parent lovingly held their children, or how they would even just watch them from afar. If you would turn to your parents, they always had their backs to you. You screamed and fought for their attention. You cried quietly every time they forced another toy or trip onto you. Sadly, it turned out to be much worse for you, everyone thought you were spoiled and ignorant because of your public fits. You never had an understanding of how parents were meant to love a child, until you met him.

The Dark knight.

You had met him briefly once before, given he was an army commander. It was a formality really, but you did remember his suit. It looked oddly like a bat with his cape. Still the Dark Knight was skilled with the sword, even with the advancing technology. You always heard whispers of his real name but they were never loud enough to make it your ears.

You were given sword lessons as another class to keep you busy. ‘I always did want to try the sword’ was just a pathetic attempt at ignoring your ugly truth. You were only 10 when you figured that your parents were pushing you off on all these tutors in hope that they would keep you busy enough to stay away from them. You still remember feeling the love you had for your parents slipping through your fingers like sand. You had stopped throwing fits too, you began to try to hold your emotions closer to your heart. All of this is probably what made it so easy for you to get attached to the Dark knight.

Your first lesson was rough. You had been rudely awakened at an unfamiliar time and when you made it out to the training grounds you could only see slivers of light on the horizon. You were forced to clean your tools and even some of his. You complained but he only remained quiet watching you with a heavy eye. You kept your mouth shut after that, finishing without much more complaint.

When you finished, he made you run laps. You wanted to whine about it, but you remembered knowing it wouldn't do anything, so you ran. Lap after lap, you always felt his eyes on you no matter where you went. He remained silent unless it was to tell you to keep going. It wasn't until the sun had fully risen that he had made you stop, letting you get water. You couldn't help but be wreathing with anger as you sat drinking your water.

“Sword lesson my-” you began to whisper under your heavy breaths, until a warm gloved hand was placed atop of your head. You shot your head up to where the head came from. It was the Dark knight, without his helmet.

“Good job kid.” He looked at you in your eyes, you couldn't help but let your emotions slip for a moment. His eyes were so kind, but his face was worn. It was the face of a man who had led a hard life, but still had compassion for others. You gripped your water, you wanted him to say it again

You continued the lesson for another 2 hours but it felt too short for you. Even if he said you weren't ready for a sword, You couldn't wait for the next lesson.

That is how it started and would go for the next 6 years. Twice a week you would meet with him to learn, but every day you spent hours practicing to impress him at your next lesson. He and you had bonded, or so you thought. You learned his true name, Bruce Wayne. he let you call him by his name, you tried to offer him the same courtesy but he refused, it hurt you but you understood.

This was your way of life, this was the happiest you ever were. You thought you had the love you craved the most. You thought that.

It was your 16th birthday. You were meant to focus on the party that was held every year for you but there you were happily running over to the training grounds to see Bruce. Ever since you met him, he always had some form of present for you on your birthday. It was the only present you looked forward to every year.

You stopped at the entrance when you saw Bruce with two other people. Diana Prince and Clark Kent, they were commanders just like Bruce. You always saw them together when they were in the same room, but why were they meeting here today? They looked like it was a serious matter so you hid behind the stables.You crouched down and slowly crawled to the end of the stable closest to them to listen in. You thought maybe you could scare them, you couldn't help but smile at the thought of the previous time you tried to scare Bruce and failed.

“A week from today we will take the capital.” Bruce said matter of factly. You breathe hitched, you heard murmurs through the walls about a revolution, but you didn't think it was real. Much less Bruce was a part of it. “And arrest the royal family and their descents.” That isn’t when you broke, no you didn’t care if they did that.

“And we can finally return to our families.” Clark added. This is when you broke, the mental image you had created in your delusion, the image of Bruce seeing you as one of his kids, shattered into a million pieces right in front of you. You quietly got up, you acted faster than your mind could think.

You jumped out from behind the stables, “Boo!” you shouted, while you wore your best smile. They all flinched at your sudden appearance. Finally you got them. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.” You beamed while scratching the back of your head. They all looked at you in horror as you walked closer.

“How much did you hear, your highness?” Diana began reaching for her lasso on her hip, while trying to keep a pleasant expression.

“Nothing beyond something about going back to your families” You laughed. “ I assume you heard about the holiday I asked the king and Queen to give the troops after my birthday.” You could see as they relaxed, believing your words.

“Is there a reason you came here, your highness?” Clark stepped closer to give you a kind smile placing a hand on your shoulder, he always was kind to you even when you threw fits.

“I always stop by on my birthday.” You take a quiet glance at Bruce, with guilt flickering in his eyes. Y our heart sunk further into your chest. “I was saying hello to my teacher, before going on with my busy day.” You moved your eyes off of Bruce, and on to Clark. You tried to ignore his heavy gaze, your hands were shaking.

“Of course…” Clark and Diana look at Bruce. He gestured for them to leave. “Well Happy birthday, your highness.” Clark bowed before leaving, as did Diana. You watched them leave until they were out of sight. You clasped your hand together, the shaking stopping but your rate grew.

“Your highness,” Bruce’s soft voice boomed in your head . Bruce’s eyes weighed heavily on you, You were barely able to maintained eye contact. “I got you a gift.” He pulled out a small rectangle box wrapped in expansive sliver fabric with an extravagant white lace ribbon tied around it.

It was like every other year before, a small gift that meant the world to you. You, normally, would eagerly take it from him with the biggest grin, and opened it in front of him, thanking him no matter the gift. That year though, you hesitated, you didn’t give a wide grin, nor did you open it immediately.

“Thank you, Bruce.” You stared at the gift, playing with the white ribbon in your hand. “I really appreciate the gifts you have gotten me.” You sighed faintly. Bruce was stunted by this. “I hope you enjoy your time off with your family.” You let out a shaking breathe.

“What about your-” Bruce reached out to touch your shoulder, it was natural for the two of you.

“Don’t worry about lessons next week,” You grabbed his hand before he touched your shoulder “It’s fine if we miss a week. We alway have the after one, right?” you looked at him with a knowing look. He face dropped, he understood that you had heard more than you would say. “I hope to see you later Bruce.” You let go of his hand as you walked away from him leaving him behind in his silence.

You didn’t open that gift that day, even when you were in your room. You spent the rest of the day distracted. There were plenty of things you could’ve done about your impending arrest, but you also knew that would lead to Bruce's death. You didn’t want that, even if he only saw you as a royal, you still viewed him as someone would view their father. So you remained quiet.

The party came and went. It was the same as it always was, many gifts that were worth an average person's salary for ten years, and even proposal letters from noble families that wouldn’t matter in a week’s time. After that night you started to count down the days. Your memories of that week are blurry now, all of the days bleed into each other, until that day of the plan came.

You didn’t leave your room that day, even when you heard the screams of your family members. You waited, seated in a chair by the fire you had the servant light before going to bed. The box Bruce gave you is still unopened on your desk. You didn’t want to open it and pretend like everything was still the same.

You got up as you heard the soldiers get closer, opening every door along the way, until they reached your door. You opened the door before they could barge in. You came face to face with the helmet of The Dark knight. The blood of those who fought back dripped on the floor off of his suit. You step aside to let them in.

The Dark knight was the only one to step in, “Continue moving without me.” You tensed up as he ordered his subordinates to not follow him in. “Your highness-”

“There is no longer a need to address me like that.” You hummed, closing the door behind him. “After all, my heritage won’t matter by sunrise tomorrow.” You stood by the edge of your bed, looking out of the window.

The Dark knight was across the room from you, staying in front of the fireplace. You wouldn't meet his eyes, as he stared at you through his helmet. He looked around the room, he noticed the box on your desk still wrapped neatly. “You didn’t open it.” He picked up the box from the desk, and looked back at you.

“I thought it was inappropriate to open it, considering what was bound to happen.” You Pointed your head back down to the ground,

“You didn’t try to stop us.” He kept the box with him, and stepped closer to you.

“I couldn’t bring myself to,” You confessed, “I knew what it would lead to if I did.” Even then you couldn't bear the thought of him dying because of you.

“Do you understand why we are doing this?” He stopped two feet away from you, and took off his helmet. You wanted to see the face was making but you knew if you saw his face you couldn’t help but break all over again in front of him.

“Not fully,” You weakly replied “but I know that if you and the other commander are in on it then it is for the betterment of the world.” you clenched your hands. You tried to be mad at him but it was hindered by how you saw him. To you, you knew him as a man of justice, who wouldn’t needlessly create waves unless he saw necessary. You put your hands behind your back, intertwining them together.

The Dark Knight couldn’t understand you, but you knew what his thought was “I didn’t run because you taught me to stand with the side I chose, and by blood I am forced to choose this side.” You looked up from the floor finally. His face seemed almost desperate for a better answer, you could only return a sympathy nod with closed eyes.

The room remained silent for a moment, before you offered your wrist forward to make it easier to cuff them, he didn't. Instead he stepped behind you, guiding you out in front of the palace with a firm hand on your shoulder. You kept your eye forward ignoring the blood splattered across the floor and walls. The walk through the halls were eerie and quiet, they still haunt you to this day.

At the front of the palace each member in the royal house kneeled with their hands bound behind their backs, in rows separated from the servants. The Dark knight didn't seem to be guiding you to the royals until someone grabbed you by the arm and pulled you away from him, you saw him for a short moment longer. Maybe if you weren't so tired you could've seen him reaching out for you as he was swarmed by his cohorts.

The soldier was much harsher compared to The Dark knight. They forced you down by your parents, who were bloody and bruised, they must've fought. Their heads hung low, they didn't even try to lift them up to look at you. You watched as Clark walked to stand center in front of palace residences.

“To the royal family, you are found guilty of tyranny and causing anguish to the lands of…” Clark went on about the endless sins your family and you by extension committed. “Now we will go down the line to give you your sentencing.”

You closed your eyes, listened to cries for mercy by the ones you assumed were to be put in prison for life and the quiet sobs of the ones who got less. Clark stopped when he passed you, You were the only one sitting up with free arms. He whispered something to the person following him, before moving on. two soldiers picked you by your arms from ground and brought you back into the palace.

You might've been more confused if you didn't pass out the moment they shoved you back into your room.

The weeks following after that there was a surgeon of royalist nobels trying to take back the monarchy, but they were swiftly dealt with each time they would arise according to the maids that would pass your room.. You spent those weeks confined to your room, at the former palace, you tried to ask why you weren't in the prison, but none of the guards standing outside of your room wouldn't reply.

It was 2 months later that you finally left your room to be brought in front of the new leaders of your country. Diana, Clark and Him. It was a small meeting with only you and the three of them.

“Tell us _, why do you think that you are here?” Diana spoke in a loud yet caring tone.

“I am here to finally receive my sentence.” You mumbled.

“No,” Clark interjected what would've evolved into a rant. “We are curious to know why you did nothing to stop the revelation.”

“I couldn't live with the consequences if I had stopped you.” You replied flatly.

“and those consequences would be, what?”

“The continued suffering of the country” they gestured for you to go on “and the loss of your lives.”

“And are you aware that means you betrayed the royal family?”Clark retorted. Bruce leaned forward.

“Yes.” You wanted it to be over already.

“Then you will not receive a sentence, but you will live under surveillance.” Clark stood up from his seat and offered you a hand. You took the hand, you could live under surveillance.

“Here at the… well whatever this was turned into.” You questioned, Clark shook his head no. “Then where?”

“With me.” Bruce finally spoke up. Your body ran cool, as a sinking feeling bloomed in your stomach. You would've been fine anywhere else but with him. You had no choice.

“Fine.” You looked away from him.

That day, your clothes, swords, and other trinkets were packed and off to Gotham where the now infamous Wayne manor resides. While you rode in front with Bruce in his Car. The ride was quiet, along with unpacking the car. You broke the silence to say thank you for help, before taking your belongings inside of the foyer. Serval people were waiting, but not for you.

“Who are you?” A boy, younger than you, glared as you stood there awkwardly holding you things. You were going to respond but Bruce came in behind you. “Father, who is this this person?” So these people were his kids.

“Damian, that is not how you greet someone.” oh. You heard of Damian when you and Bruce would take breaks from your sword lessons. He always liked talking about his family, there was even a point where you though maybe they could see you as family too, but not now. “I am _ _” You lowered your head already knowing what comes next.x .

“A member of that trantical family? Bruce, why are they here?” A boy, probably only a few years older than you, almost screeched.

“I will explain it later, Tim” Bruce took your things from you and tried to push past them, only to be blocked by a girl around the same age as time. “Cassandra please move.

“No, we need to know now.” Damian demanded, as him and Tim cornered Bruce with Cassandra.

“Alfred,” Alfred, who was standing off the side came forward and took your things back from Bruce. “Take them to their new room.”

“Of course Master Bruce.” Alfred turned to you “Please, follow me this way.” He smiled politely. Your arms tense as the You followed behind quietly, walking up the stairs to 3rd floor, back into the furthest corner of the house, the perfect reflection of the distance between you and Your new household.

[mafiaanomaly]

"Can't wait any longer"

Tw: Smut, PUBLIC smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (Don't be silly, wrap your willy), quickie, swearing.

Summary: You and your husband Miguel can't seem to wait until after dinner to get each other alone.

"Ya'know, you've always looked so sexy in red."

You smile softly, fixing your earrings in the mirror one last time before turning toward where he was seated on the bed.

His gaze is already on you, filled with so much desire and love that your panties almost drop. You forgot how good he looks in a suit. Hair slicked back and the first two buttons of his black dress shirt undone. Not to mention his ass looked wonderful in those black slacks. Under any other circumstance, you would've had him laid in the bed immediately. But you hold it together.

Miguel watches you walk to him, hypnotized by the sway of your hips and the confidence of your walk in those damn heels.

God, he wanted those red bottoms in the air. Sitting pretty on each side of his head as he fucked you.

You can see the way his thoughts are headed by the way the red in his eyes seem to darken.

"No. Miggy, you promised." You playfully grabbed his cheeks and gave them a soft pinch. "You said we wouldn't miss this reservation. You swore. I got the shit on camera. We are not missing this dinner."

Miguel cursed under his breath. He doesn't regret the promise.

After all, you two had been trying to find the perfect day to have a date. But with Miguel so busy keeping the multi-verse intact and being the leader of the spider sociaty, and you were busy with running missions and leading other groups, there were hardly any days where the both of you could make time for each other.

Except for today. And you were not missing this opportunity.

"I know, sweetheart... Fuck, who bought you that dress? I might just kiss them."

"Well, I'm done using the bathroom if you need a minute with the mirror." You giggled as Miguel rolled his eyes, standing from the bed and offering you an arm.

"I'm guessing that means you're ready, mi amor?"

You smile softly at him and rise on your tiptoes to plant a small kiss on his lips.

"Only if you are handsome."

You should have taken Miguel's offer.

The whole dinner, you're forced to stare ahead of you at this chiseled, muscular, sex god.

You don't have to worry about Miguel, who remains on his best behavior. You have to worry about yourself.

You try, you really try, to listen to Miguel as he cracks joke after joke about his countless experiences. But you can't ignore the sticky wetness in your panties and the continuous throbs of your clit.

Miguel seems unaware of your distress, laughing out at his own jokes and wiping away invisible tears.

The heat gets so unbearable to the point to where you're one push away from ending this date early. And that push finally happens when Miguel looks up at you and flashes the overconfident smirk you fell in love with all those years ago.

You need this man right now.

Carefully slipping off one of your red bottoms, you raise a foot, hesitantly running it up Miguel's leg.

He cuts himself off with a slight flinch before looking at you, his eyes widened in surprise.

You bite your lip and peek at him through your lashes, hiking your leg up high enough to rub along his inner thigh.

His face becomes bright red and he clears his throat, straightening up and looking around in embarrassment.

"Mi amor? What are you doing...?"

You don't answer him immediately, letting your leg graze his semi-bulge that protrudes from his slacks. He lets out a soft grunt, trying to cover it up by swiping a hand down his face.

You lick your lips, red lipstick staining your tongue.

"I kinda have to use the restroom, Miggy..."

The grip you have on this sink honestly could have broken the thing.

You stare into the mirror in front of you, watching your husband's face as he fucks you from behind.

He'd lifted the back of your dress to rest right above your ass and slipped his cock out of his slacks for easy access before bending you over the restroom sink of the restaurant.

You both have a hard time keeping quiet. You muffle your moans and whimpers by biting your arms, nails uselessly scratching at the porcelain material of the sink as you hold onto it for dear life.

Miguel however, doesn't care much for quietness as he groans low without restraint, pounding into you with so much fervor that a loud slapping sound resounds around the small room. Your and his skin contacting with each hard and deep thrust, leaving red marks on your ass.

He stares at you through the mirror, cooing at how adorable you look.

"Oh, look at you Mi Corazon. You love it so much you're drooling all over that pretty dress. Making such a mess, pussy so drenched it's getting my pants wet. Oh no- Don't cry, sweetheart. You're doing so good for me. You can take it for a little longer, can't you?"

God, he makes you such a fucking mess.

Your body's on fire, drool and tears are drenching your dress, your pussy feels so worn and stretched it may never recover, and you're covered in sweat.

Yet you can't be bothered to care because your husband, Miguel O'hara, is rocking your fucking world right now.

You feel yourself getting close and are reduced to nothing but a desperate, babbling mess. You beg him, demand him, tell him you'll do anything if he'll just give you that sweet release you've been waiting for.

And when his hands grip your hips tighter and his thrusts become sloppy, you know he's about to give you exactly what you want.

And so he does. He cums with you and inside of you, throwing his head back. His voice cracks as a loud moan is released from deep within him. His entire body shudders and he takes a moment to catch his breath.

And you do too, spent and slumped on the clean restroom sink, drool and tears drying all over your face and dress.

You're pretty sure he just slutted you out.

There's silence as he pulls out of you, his release dripping from your poor hole.

The two of you make brief eye contact before bursting into quieted laughter.

"What the hell happened to having a 'proper date', hun?" Miguel asks, cleaning you up and fixing your dress for you. "I mean, not that I'm complaining-"

Before he can finish his sentence, the sound of banging startled you both.

"Hey! Whoever is in there needs to come out right now! You're both officially banned from this establishment!"

You and Miguel both look at each other.

"Well, shiet."

[pers1st]

could you just try to listen?

pt 2 of kiss me, try to fix it

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

notes: writing this was a pain tbh but you guys wanted it so I hope this suffices

Ditching Alexia was easy, as you spent the last week of your break with Keira and Lucy. If the two minded you interrupting their couple time, neither of them mentioned it, and to be quite honest, you didn't care much. You had known the couple for a long time, and given the way Lucy had witnessed the absolute mess you had been that morning - you figured she was happy to keep you in her sight, for as long as she needed to.

You had told Keira as well, though reluctantly. Admitting that Alexia had cheated on you had felt like knives stabbing your mouth with every word that dropped from your chapped lips, which you had been chewing on relentlessly since the revelation.

On a positive note, though, you were presented with two very personal security guards, making sure that neither Alexia nor Mapi, who had been chasing after you like a stray dog, were awarded any interaction with you, other than passing a ball. The pain was still rooted deeply - every time you looked at your ex girlfriend, it pierced through your body, reaching every nerve, numbing your face. You put on a stone hard expression whenever you were met with her sight, although it was harder than you could put into words. Alexia didn't deserve your sadness. She didn't deserve to see the damage she'd done to you - you didn't deserve for her to know how badly she'd hurt you, though you figured it was easily visible by the fact that you didn't talk anymore. Barely any words to Lucy and Keira, complete silence to the rest of the team. Anyone else would've figured the loss to the Spanish national team had hurt your pride so badly, you refused to speak their language anymore. In truth, you were simply too tired.

Nights were spent tossing and turning and fighting the urge to absolutely wreck your apartment, because everything there reminded you of her -

The framed pictures, the hoodies in your closet, the shoes by your door. All of it was Alexia. All of you had been Alexia.

She didn't stay away from you though, as much as you wanted her to. With every time the two of you were left alone in a room, either Lucy came running back, realizing she had forgotten you as though you were a little child, or you ran away from her. You didn't think she deserved to explain. Didn't think she deserved for you to listen.

It was much harder to ignore Mapi, though. You had expected her to stick to Alexia's side through this breakup, partially due to the fact that the two of you had never been super close, but what happened seemed to be quite the opposite.

She was everywhere. Waiting on you in the locker room, sneaking up on you during gym, trying to pick you for partnering exercises, approaching you during at lunch. And she always asked the same question - Can we talk?

Most of the time, it was Lucy who told her no. Except for the fact that, since you had seen who seemed to be the assistants of your breakup have a very aggravated conversation yesterday. Ever since, Lucy had let you loose a little bit. And that was how you had found yourself here - in the locker room, fresh out of the shower, dressed in sweats with a towel around your head and Mapi sitting in your cubby, inspecting your locker shamelessly.

"Ale gave you that, no?", she asked, holding up a bracelet she had picked out of your belongings, one that you had stored at the very back of your locker.

"Give it", you huffed, stretching your hand out for the piece of jewelry and watching as Mapi handed it to you, just for you to throw it to the very back of your locker once more.

"Chica, we need to have a talk", she sighed as you pulled her away from your cubby, sitting down to take off your slippers.

"I don't think we do", you smiled bitterly as you pulled your socks on rather aggressively.

"You think, but you don't know!"

You furrowed your brows as you allowed yourself to look at your ex's best friend for just a second, the frown on her face, along with determination making you gulp ever so slightly.

"I don't want to talk to you", you huffed.

"Okay, then listen, at least."

Knowing that there was no way to get Mapi out of the locker room without forcing her (physically), and knowing that you would inevitably loose that battle, you stayed silent, wishing for nothing more than Ingrid to come get her girlfriend out of your way. But you weren't that lucky.

"Ale was drunk."

You had to laugh at that. You had seen how drunk your girlfriend was, but there was no way Mapi seriously believed that it would be a good enough excuse for you to forgive her, did she?

"I know that", you chuckled bitterly, turning towards your locker for your pair of sneakers.

"No, Y/N. She was drunk. Like, so drunk she couldn't even stand on her own. Jenni was helping her to not collapse. When Jenni kissed her, Ale-", Mapi stopped herself.

"She didn't even realize until it was too late. She pushed Jenni off, but someone had taken a video of it and posted it. Alexia didn't even- she couldn't-"

You stopped in your tracks. This didn't compare to the scenario you had made up in your mind in the slightest.

In your imagination, it had been Alexia to initiate the kiss. It had been Alexia who had grown tired of you, who had been happy to celebrate her win with her teammate, and her ex-girlfriend. In your mind, it had been Alexia who had had enough of you, and decided to ditch you for someone she knew was a better girlfriend than you.

What Mapi was saying- it was doing your head in.

"Jenni took advantage of her, Y/N. Alexia was so upset that she cried, but- chica, she doesn't even remember it. That's how drunk she was. Jenni knows it was shitty and apologized, but- Ale has no idea how to make this up to you. She blames herself, when - and trust me on this - this was in no way her fault."

Looking up from where your gaze had fixated on your sneakers, you found Mapi's face. She was genuine- you could tell. Mapi was a lot of things, but she wasn't a liar, you figured. What she told you made sense- Alexia really hadn't remembered. You noticed it now when you thought back to that morning, the morning that had shattered your world.

"Okay."

There was nothing else you could say. Before Mapi could react, you had left the locker room already, only then noticing how Lucy waited on the other side of the door.

"Okay? Seriously?", she asked, raising her eyebrows as you pushed yourself past her, ignoring her reaction entirely. The fact that Mapi knew this was enough publicity for you, and you'd be damned if Lucy got in on the whole conspiracy as well.

At home, you had time to think about it, well and truly. You allowed yourself, for the first time, to look at the picture that had broken the Internet, it seemed. Your heart still stung as you saw the fabric of your shirt on Alexia's body, her lips on that of another woman. But now, you noticed things you hadn't before -

The first one was Jenni's arm around her waist, and if you believed Mapi's story, it was to hold her upright. Alexia's head was almost laying on her own shoulder, which at first you had interpreted to be pure passion, but now, it seemed as though the energy had been soaked out of her body entirely.

You didn't believe Mapi was a liar. You had never believed that. You had known she told the truth from the very first word she'd spoken, but now that you had looked at the picture again, for the first time in months, it only confirmed what you already knew-

You were in the wrong here. Alexia hadn't broken your heart in a malicious attempt to ruin your life. The woman you loved hadn't simply discarded you for her ex.

Yet you had yelled at your girlfriend like a mad woman and left her without giving her the chance to explain herself.

Guilt was creeping up on you within seconds as you remembered her hazy eyes, the tears dwelling in them, the way she had kissed you and promised that whatever it was, the two of you could fix it.

Silently, you wondered whether that offer still stood.

Before you could even come to a conclusion, you were up on your feet again, keys in your hand as you headed towards the front door. You were going to talk to Alexia, you were going to talk to the woman you loved so dearly and win her back.

Only you didn't have to go anywhere, because the second you opened your door, there she stood- phone pressed in her hands, eyes fixated on the screen, one of your hoodies on her body.

When the wood creaked, she finally looked up at you.

"Oh, I was just- texting Mapi, to-"

She stopped herself.

"I was just coming to see you."

"So Maria spoke to you?"

You nodded. Her shoulders sunk a little as she gazed at you, her eyes wide.

"You want to come in?"

You didn't have to ask twice, as Alexia gently pushed herself past you, discarding her shoes by your door and strolling through the hallway as if it was her own home. In a way, it was. Or at least, it had been. Maybe it still was, you didn't know. But the way she drew herself into the corner of your couch, pulling her legs up to her chest as she nuzzled herself into the soft pillows made a warmth spread through your stomach, following her shortly after.

"I'm sorry", you started, but Alexia was quick to interrupt you.

"No. You don't have to be. You didn't know-"

"Yes, but I should've-"

"Amor, let me speak."

You huffed at that but nodded, leaning yourself against the cushion as you sat across from her, taking in her features just like you had that night. One night, you had began counting her freckles. Despite the fact that you didn't allow yourself to do so now, desperate not to get lost in her mesmerizing beauty but to actually listen, you still hoped that one day, you'd get the chance to count them all. To kiss each and every one of them.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten drunk, and what happened was bad. But, amor, I love you so so much. I would never cheat on you, I would never even dream of kissing another woman. You are the only person I ever want to kiss again."

"You want to kiss me again?"

You shuddered slightly. Was Alexia still giving you a chance, after you ignored her for weeks on end, and had risked your relationship for just a simple misunderstanding.

"Sí, you muppet. I want to kiss you for the rest of my life, if-"

She halted for a second, taking your hands into hers. The warmth of her skin immediately slowed your beating heart, which was pounding within your chest as your breath hitched slightly.

"If you let me?", she asked, her voice so soft that you almost melted on the spot.

You nodded at that, only now realizing your vision was blurry with tears.

"Hey, don't-"

Cry. She had wanted to say. But you didn't let her speak this time, instead closing the gap between you as your hands found the back of her neck, pressing your lips against hers.

You would let Alexia kiss you for the rest of your life. And you would never, ever not hear her out again.

[capricornlevi]

no surprises - toji x reader

wc 1.6k - hitman!toji x mobwife!reader, fem!reader, strangers to lovers -dark elements (but not really related to sex -- toji breaks into reader's house to assassinate mob husband), cheating (technically -- reader's husband is a piece of shit lol)

nsfw, mdni

Toji hates it when his hits have wives or girlfriends.

As cruel a bastard as he may be, the thought of unnecessary collateral makes him uneasy to say the least. It's messy, too, unnecessary and uncomfortable. When one of his targets has a wife there's a sure guarantee she'll be by his side more often than not. It increases the risk for all parties, whether they know of their involvement or not.

He wonders why these men never have the decency to get a divorce before involving themselves in shit like this.

And so, as he carefully picks the lock to your kitchen window, he hopes that tonight's job is clean. That you'll stay out of his way.

Kill the guy, clean up, and ideally, get out without even waking you.

So imagine his surprise when he makes his way inside as planned, turns down the hallway to get to the bedroom he's so carefully mapped this past week, only to find you standing pyjama-clad in the hallway with arms crossed, looking at him with an expression one could only describe as inconvenienced.

"He's not here," you mumble, the words laced with sleep but still pointed.

Toji prides himself on being quick on his feet, but in this rare instance, he's lost for words. He doesn't even draw his weapon.

"Uh ... hm ... what?" he finally decides, though the words leave him without much active decision-making on his part, spilling out into the cold night air.

"He's not here," you repeat, enunciating each word slowly. "Did you not hear me? Though that would explain why you made such a fucking racket breaking in."

"What the fuck-"

"And you're replacing that lock, by the way," you spit, eyes heated with frustration as you give him a once over. "I heard you give up and break it."

Toji's head could explode right here and now. How has this ... this cannot be happening ... he's carried out hits numbering in the three digits, and not one target has ever seen him coming, much less the wife of some low-ranking gangster who stole the wrong amount of money from the wrong people.

Still, you don't shy away from him, keeping your gaze fixed on his increasingly confused face.

"What do ya mean he isn't here?" Toji huffs then, finally realising the futility of this situation. Standing there stupidly isn't going to improve his image, he needs to cut to the chase. "Is he out?"

You huff a laugh. "You could say that."

He arches a scarred brow. "He's dead?"

"May as well be," you answer plainly, devoid of any sympathy or grief. "Kicked him out on Sunday. Tried to steal my engagement ring and then went after my parents, mumbling some shit about collecting their life insurance policy even though the idiot isn't even named on it. So I made a call and the name of his hotel is with your bosses now."

"Then why didn't they--"

You roll your eyes, exasperated. "How should I know? They probably sent some other guys to the hotel and kept you here in case that worm came wriggling back."

Toji's not sure why, but he believes you -- probably because of the unafraid, unemotional manner in which you're delivering this information. As though you're a teacher scolding him for a failed assignment.

He releases his grip on the weapon tucked at his hip -- he doesn't even remember at which point he went to grab it -- silently swearing at a wasted evening.

Sure, he'll still get the flat rate for a call-out like this one, but if he has proof of death he gets triple pay. He could really use that this month; he likes having his lights stay on for longer than forty-eight hours at a time, and figured tonight would've been an easy job, particularly with how stupidly your husband has been acting these last few months.

"Uh ... okay. Sorry for inconveniencin' ya," he mumbles, figuring it best to leave now without wasting either of your time any further.

He could stay here and argue more, but he's not in the mood. He needs to get back. Plus, he's already disrupted your night enough -- as curtly as you've addressed him these past few minutes, he can't say he doesn't see where your frustration is coming from.

In this short interaction, he's developed a sort of begrudging respect for this woman who views an assassination attempt in the same way most would view a parking ticket.

"Wait!" you call out just as he turns around. He hesitates -- though you don't seem like the type to call the police given your knowledge of your husband's business.

Maybe you're not finished giving him shit for this embarrassment of a botched assignment?

"Yeah?" he answers dutifully, brushing his hair from his eyes with a tired swipe of his hand, turning back to face you.

"Want to have a drink with me?" you ask straight-forwardly, arms still crossed and expression unmoving. "He left his 20-year whiskey behind, and I haven't had new company since he weaselled his way into my life."

"I-"

"If you've nothing better to do, anyway."

This woman ...

He has never had as difficult a time reading someone in his entire lie.

"Well?" you press, a hint of impatience growing in that beautiful voice. "What do you want to do?"

Surprise once against takes precedence over any other emotion in Toji's body.

Tonight couldn't get any weirder. He's sure of it.

Except it definitely can, as he discovers just thirty minutes later, with you sitting atop him as he's spread out on your bed, riding him so hard the bed rattles against the wall.

This is a little fucked up. You both know it. He came here to kill your husband, but it's so hard for him to care about minor details like that when he sees how your tits bounce with every thrust upwards, how your face looks when it's torn in pleasure.

Your husband is a bigger idiot than he thought.

You haven't been touched like this in a long time, haven't had someone's hands on you like you deserve, and that thought enrages him for some reason.

His focus for tonight has shifted entirely. He's no longer out to kill, to hurt, his one responsibility is to make you cry out on his cock, on his tongue, on his fingers, until both of your voices are worn out and hoarse.

You're so pretty like this, so responsive to every twirl of his thumb and jerk of his hips.

Though -- and he hates to admit it -- you're exerting some control over him as well. His well-worn self-discipline is being tested like never before. On your couch just a few minutes ago, with his mouth spread against you and your leg tossed over his shoulder, you had managed to then manoeuvre yourself until your fist was wrapped around his cock, your pretty fingers stroking him until his breaths sounded choked and desperate, until a flush spread up his chest to his neck and jawline.

He had to still your wrist to keep from coming all over his own chest. That would lose him any shred of credibility he had left.

He's obsessed with the way you kiss him, too, so hungry and desperate with no sign of that earlier unshakability you possessed. He's sure you still have yourself in some semblance of control -- though he barely knows you, he knows you wouldn't relent that quickly -- but you release yourself a little, sinking into it with a quiet moan that sends ripples up his spine.

And now, with your hips sitting flush against his own, it's hard to imagine caring about a single other thing than the sight of his cock disappearing inside you.

You take him so well, every inch of him, knowing exactly what to say to drive him insane. In turn, he learns what he can from your reactions, each microexpression showing him how you like to be touched.

You toss your head back, that beautiful throat gulping down gasps of air in between cries of Toji's name, shoulders tight with the tension of keeping yourself seated on him.

He gives you more when you ask for it, pumping up into you and relishing the answering groans and mewls of pleasure.

(Honestly, he'd give you anything you wanted from him. He'd give you the shirt off his back if you requested it with those pretty doe eyes and your lips curled into that sly little smile.)

A familiar heat curls in his stomach but in a way he's entirely unfamiliar with; usually, it builds slowly and reliably, bit by bit, but this time it rises erratically and without any sign of when he's approaching the edge.

This is dangerous. You're dangerous for him, you have him in the palm of your hand and hold the ability to crush him into tiny pieces if you so wish. It scares him while also sending pulses of pleasure straight to his cock, coupled with the feeling of your throbbing clit as he circles it with his thumb --

Thankfully, you fall apart at the same time, spasms of pleasure overtaking every single thought in either of your heads.

As you settle into the afterglow, Toji is in no rush to move you or shift himself. He runs a roughened hand over your thigh, the skin smooth as silk, marvelling at how you shiver under the touch.

He just looks up at you, that hint of confusion from earlier still present but accompanied by something else.

Strange, he thinks to himself. Not a wasted evening after all.

[yeahspider]

goodnight n go ❄️

a/n- finally finished this draft from 11 months ago. (yeah I suck ik) but then I didn't really finish it bc the ending is a tad abrupt. but that's just kinda how I am. this is a cute lil angst/comfort fic featuring felix (my beloved) very sfw and gn reader. enjoy and feel free to stop by my inbox with requests!! happy reading beloveds <3

Long distance was never easy. You both knew this when you started dating. But Felix was convinced you could make it work.

You met him accidentally. Spending a semester in Korea was turning out to be a more lonely experience than you ever could’ve imagined. You often found yourself counting down the days until you could leave. But then you met Felix, and all of a sudden, you wanted to stop the clock.

But unfortunately, freezing time wasn’t a skill you possessed. So as you packed your final items in your bag you thought about the first time you met him.

It was a warm day. Sun was shining occasionally through the clouds as you leaned your head against the cafe window. Today was going terribly. You were late to your classes because you overslept and then your professor was kind enough to let you know that you were one bad grade away from falling the semester. Not even your favorite green tea latte could brighten your day. Until he asked to sit with you. And all of a sudden you didn’t need the sun . he shined brighter than it ever could. Smile sparkling in the light of the cafe. He was gorgeous, so of course you said yes.

Laptop open you tried to concentrate on your lecture notes but the way he smelt was distracting. Consuming your inner monologue, oranges, and vanilla swirl together in a strikingly pleasant way.

His fingers waved in front of your face snatching your attention. Apparently, he had been talking to you for the past five minutes while you were absorbed in your thoughts about him. Laughing when you gave him a confused look. You had no idea what he had just said. It didn't seem to bother him too much. Restating himself with a smile on his face. His teeth were perfectly white and straight. Did he not own a single flaw?

But that was five months ago. In those months you fell in love with everything that was Lee Felix. You had never known a love so warm and positive. With his help you fixed your grades, even making the dean's list. He took you around Seoul showing you sites you never would've visited on your own. Meeting his friends who welcomed you with open arms. You felt so accepted. You weren't alone anymore.

Zipping up your last suitcase you had five minutes to say goodbye to your apartment that held so many memories for you. The kitchen where you shred your first kiss. That same day you burnt a batch of cookies together. More your fault than anything, but Felix didn't make you feel bad for it. Even taking a bite out of one to make the smile return to your face. The door you crossed so many times with him in tow. Body on body as you fumbled your way to the couch. Laughing when he tripped on the rug.

It was all over, for the foreseeable future at least. Your visa expiring forced you to leave behind the only love you've ever known. Felix wasn't even able to see you off at the airport. He had a strict schedule he couldn't stray from, not that you would let him. He had already done so much for you. You wouldn't risk his job just so you could have a few more moments of comfort. You weren't that selfish.

Stepping on the plane and finding your seat you wondered what would happen if you had never met. Would you be spared from the pain squeezing your heart with every breath? No. You don't regret him. You couldn't, not after all the kindness he showed you. Not after all the love

Closing your eyes, you lay your head back on the seat. The window blinds were closed so the sunlight wouldn't touch you. It reminded you too much of your own sun. Seats all around you filled up, but the two next to you remained empty, just reminding you of how lonely you were becoming again.

Suddenly you felt a dip in the seat beside you. Causing you to jolt up, ready to make room for the newcomer. When you looked you saw the familiar blonde that warmed your days.

"is that seat taken?" Felix asked with the biggest grin on his face. You quickly pulled him down into the seat and hugged him as tight as you could. Not believing it was really him. gently wiping tears from your cheek you didn't even realize were falling. He hushed your cries as he pulled you close.

"I convinced the company to let me work from home. So I can follow you anywhere. You didn't think I was seriously going to let you leave without me were you?"

[certainempatheticturkeymuffin]

Saw a post about Mushang and it's similarities to Liushen, then thought about how interesting it would be to have those in the same fic — then I went down a rabbit hole that included Mobing and Gongzhi (for some reason?)

so... here's this plotbunny, it's really fucking long though, sorry!

(oops, it posted before I finished, sorry about that, it's fixed now!)

-

Shang Qinghua knew, theoretically, that his death would be at the hands of Mobei-jun. He knew that when he saved him, he knew that all these years of serving him, but... it's finally sunk in. That Mobei-jun is going to kill him. That the bruises and frostbite and broken bones are all leading up to his death. He wraps another cut and thinks, somewhat deliriously... that maybe he should've killed Mobei-jun on that mission.

Shen Qingqiu knew his fate — the fate of the Scum Villain. He knew that any goodwill he'd built up was destroyed the moment he pushed Luo Binghe into the Abyss. Knows that all those years of treating him well, only to betray him, may have actually made the situation worse. He thinks back on that day, suddenly realizing that he probably could've made it look like an accident — he could've had Binghe "accidentally" pushed into the Abyss during the chaos, could've faked a Without-A-Cure flare up to excuse his lack of rescue. Maybe, if he'd done that, Binghe would've had mercy.

Their weekly meetings become stilted, their tea goes cold, their snacks uneaten. They don't argue about Airplane's terrible writing, they don't even reminisce over AC or the internet. The air is filled with unease, polluting each of their peaks... until they both snap. They confide in each other, cursing the System, cursing their choices, and try to plan — to dig themselves out of these holes they've dug. The clock is ticking for Binghe's return. Shang Qinghua's wounds are getting worse — he doesn't know if his death will be expedited or delayed at this rate.

And so, they argue and plan and eventually come to a few conclusions...

Shang Qinghua needs the protection of the sect. Needs to confess and beg for Yue Qingyuan's protection as he abandons Mobei-jun. Needs the protection of someone Mobei-jun had no chance of defeating.

Shen Qingqiu, likewise, needs protection — but it's written that Luo Binghe cannot lose, not to anyone in the sect... no one, except for Liu Qingge, who didn't live long enough to fight him, who didn't have a single canonical fight for the world to measure him against. The War God. The one person that wasn't bound by the narrative.

They decide to deal with Shang Qinghua first — Binghe isn't scheduled to leave the Abyss for years, after all. Mobei-jun, however, is a current threat. Every meeting leaves Shang Qinghua with more and more injuries, injuries that the original goods never had to deal with. They don't know if this Mobei-jun is going to follow PIDW's timeline. They don't know how long it'll take before he beats Shang Qinghua to a bloody pulp. After some arguing, it's agreed to come clean to Mu Qingfang first — to test the waters. He's been treating all of Shang Qinghua's wounds since they were disciples, and he'd be good back up if Yue Qingyuan didn't immediately cave to Shen Qingqiu's demands. Of course, Shang Qinghua wouldn't tell the complete truth — no one needed to know that Shang Qinghua spared Mobei-jun because he was hot — but he wouldn't alter the story too much. Better to keep to small lies, easy to keep consistent.

If it goes poorly... they'll just run. They'll abandon the friends and family they've found here, and they'll use whatever plot devices they can find to disguise themselves. The only reason it's not Plan A is because Mobei-jun knows Shang Qinghua's qi signature, and the only artifacts they know that can change qi signatures are... annoying to acquire and dangerous to use.

-

Mu Qingfang isn't surprised when Shang-shixiong shows up with various injuries, absolutely covered in demonic qi. It's routine at this point to sit him down, perform a check up, and ask questions he knows won't be answered. So he does. He heals the cuts and bruises, sets and heals the bones, and does his best to calm the eternally-stressed qi lest his shixiong have a deviation. He asks how this happened, expecting the usual evasive answer (hating that his shixiong is being abused while he does nothing but fix the aftermath), and...

and Shang Qinghua answers.

His shixiong, after years– decades of asking, stutters out an explanation. That he's been a spy for Mobei-jun since that mission where he was the only survivor. That he did it because he was scared, that by the time he was powerful enough to do anything about it, Mobei-jun was a king, and it would probably start a war if he killed him. He says Mobei-jun's been hurting him more often, that he's terrified he's going to die, and Mu Qingfang carefully soothes his shixiong's qi as tears start to fall and he stutters out his plan to team up with Shen-shixiong to tell Zhangmen-shixiong, to beg for forgiveness — for protection, even if it means sitting in a prison cell. He just doesn't want to die.

And in the face of his sobbing shixiong, constantly over-worked and terrified, Mu Qingfang promises to help. Because what else can he do? Turn his back on the shixiong he's been watching slowly fall apart over the decades? The shixiong he's watched go from introverted to downright anxious — the shixiong he's had to pick up and put back together with increasing frequency. Even if he hadn't come clean, Mu Qingfang would've had to have done something soon, with the way the injuries were increasing in severity. He's just glad Shang-shixiong told him first, so they could approach the sect leader together. It wouldn't have been good for his shixiong's stress levels if he'd demanded the sect leader interrogate him to figure out what was going on.

So, the two meet up with Shen Qingqiu and demand a meeting with Yue Qingyuan, who, as always, immediately makes time for Shen-shixiong. Shang Qinghua stutters through his story again, Mu Qingfang regulating his qi, and Shen Qingqiu bringing out a particular icy glare whenever Yue Qingyuan looks like he's going to interrupt. Zhangmen-shixiong's face is carefully blank by the time Shang Qinghua finishes speaking, at which point, Mu Qingfang decides to speak up.

He tells Zhangmen-shixiong of the countless injuries over the decades, of his certainty of their demonic origin, even during that first meeting. He tells the sect leader that if Shang Qinghua is going to be punished for protecting himself, for preventing a war, then he'll need to punish Mu Qingfang too. As a head disciple, he should've reported any suspicious injuries to his shizun, as a Peak Lord, he should've immediately informed Zhangmen-shixiong of Shang Qinghua's continuous injuries and of their suspiciously demonic origin. He says that he has even less of an excuse than Shang Qinghua, who was genuinely afraid for his life and the well-being of his sect. Mu Qingfang simply didn't want to make the situation worse for him, ignoring all rules and expectations that would've had the situation cleared up sooner.

Shen Qingqiu, clearly approving of Mu Qingfang's ardent defense, decides to continue, stating that the sect hasn't experienced an increase in failed missions or other sabotage. He explains that, clearly, Shang Qinghua had been doing his best to protect the sect, even under such strenuous circumstances. He sees no reason to be harsh towards someone who'd been a child when it started, and who was so thoroughly terrified that he only approached Shen Qingqiu, as a friend, because he could see he'd end up dead sooner or later due to the beatings.

Yue Qingyuan lets them all say their piece, and sighs. He sees Shang Qinghua's terror, and he understands both Mu Qingfang and Shen Qingqiu's arguments. He says that this was a breach of trust, that ordinarily this would call for execution, but... Shang Qinghua has not caused harm to the sect, and had he continued, the only harm would've been to himself. As long as Mu Qingfang and Shen Qingqiu are willing to bear the consequences, Yue Qingyuan will allow this to be swept under the rug, never spoken of again.

Mu Qingfang and Shen Qingqiu are quick to agree, and Shang Qinghua's punishment is to update the sect's defense arrays... left unsaid was the expectation that Mobei-jun never be able to enter the sect again. And so, the matter is dealt with, and Shang-shixiong looks like he's had the weight of the world lifted off him once the arrays are complete.

So long as he doesn't leave the sect without a qi-cloaking artifact (courtesy of the Artifact Peak), he'll be safe. Mu Qingfang feels... thrilled, to know his shixiong won't have to suffer anymore.

-

Liu Qingge notices Shen Qingqiu's nerves as he cleanses his meridians. It's an unexpected change of pace, given the dour mood the man's been in for... months, at this point. The session finishes in silence, but there's an air of anticipation that has Liu Qingge... loitering, just a bit.

Eventually, Shen Qingqiu lets out a sigh, pours him tea, and starts to talk — quietly, as if ashamed of his words. He shares that, during the chaos at the end of the Immortal Alliance Concerence, his prized disciple broke a seal. It had been placed on him at birth, presumably by one of his parents, and revealed him to be a heavenly demon. He explains that he panicked at the sight of the seal, understanding what it meant, but his disciple looked just as shocked as him. He understood that his disciple was a demon, that he clearly didn't know that fact, and given the presence of multiple sects and the ongoing catastrophe... his disciple would die, if anyone else stumbled upon him.

Liu Qingge listens, as Shen Qingqiu shares that he pushed his own disciple into the Endless Abyss. His grief makes more sense now, Liu Qingge thinks. It's not just the grief of a teacher losing their favorite student, it's also the guilt of pushing that student into danger, even if it's to protect them. Even he would've hesitated to cut down the disciple, if he'd formed such a bond and the child clearly had no idea what was going on.

They continue sitting in silence, and Liu Qingge is almost ready to leave, before Shen Qingqiu speaks up again. He explains that Luo Binghe was a heavenly demon, and the last one — presumably his father — required the collaboration of multiple sects to seal away. There's a chance that Luo Binghe will survive the Abyss, and escape it.

There's a muted fear in Shen Qingqiu's eyes, as he states there's a chance Luo Binghe will hunt him down. That, given a demon's propensity for overreactions, he may take the entire sect with him. It wasn't like he explained his reasoning, when he pushed the child into the Abyss. All he'd know is that his caring shizun saw he was a demon and immediately pushed him into hell.

And Liu Qingge can understand that fear. Heavenly Demons were strong, too strong for even him to be confident in facing them alone. Even if this one was a child, if it managed to escape the Abyss... it would be too strong for Shen Qingqiu to survive. There's an obvious solution then: train until Shen Qingqiu is strong enough to at least run away.

He says that they'll go on hunts together, so Shen Qingqiu can fight those beasts he knows so much about, to get in practice as they look for any artifact that might help him. He says they'll spar, and he'll even let him face the Bai Zhan disciples for variety. Shen Qingqiu is... reluctant, but quickly realizes that it's probably his best option. With the condition that they return to the sect at least once a month to check on his disciples, he agrees to Liu Qingge's proposal.

They'll both train, and Liu Qingge won't let him out of sight for even a moment — not with a heavenly demon after his head.

-

The months afterwards are... peaceful.

An Ding grows used to the sight of Mu Qingfang, who arrives just before dawn every morning to share breakfast with Shang Qinghua before they must start work. They do each other's hair and gossip, sharing whatever happened the day before as they get ready. Without the constant fear, and with Mu Qingfang's help taming his curls (as the only other one in the sect with curly hair), the sect slowly comes to realize that Shang Qinghua is a total knockout, actually, it was just hidden behind frizzy hair, eyebags, and his constant terrified hunching.

There are still bad days, of course, where Mu Qingfang has to insist he delegate his work to his head disciple, or where Shang Qinghua ends up on Qian Cao in the middle of the night having a panic attack, but... they're growing rarer as time passes. Qian Cao learns to turn their heads when Shang Qinghua arrives with an early shipment or unexpected, expensive goods. They learn to mind their business when they see him comfort their Shizun after a particularly challenging day.

It doesn't really surprise anyone when they start courting. The only surprise is that Shang Qinghua is the one that started it, but even that is less shocking now than it would've been the year before. An Ding is happy that their shifu finally looks safe and healthy (he actually stops working at a reasonable hour now, even if it is still after sunset), and Qian Cao is glad their shizun has someone of his own to vent to (given the stress of his job and the various struggles that come with it).

As for Qing Jing, they're absolutely thrilled that their shizun isn't moping anymore. The loss of Binghe hit them hard too, but seeing Shen Qingqiu make the effort to go on hunts made it easier for them to move on too. They miss him, when he's gone, but he always returns with treats from various villages, and a week's worth of stories and lessons to impart. He's even compiled his own bestiary! Ning Yingying has taken to giving Liu Qingge sweets as a thank you for helping her shizun, and Ming Fan grows more comfortable in his old role as head disciple, with how his shizun actually sees him and compliments him, rather than missing Binghe. The Bamboo House is still... a very hard place to be. Without Shizun, it's empty, and even with his recovery, the vacant room seems to bring back his grief.

Seeing this, Qing Jing is both relieved and absolutely pissed when Liu Qingge offers up his spare room instead. Shen Qingqiu accepts, and it's become common for him to join the Bai Zhan disciples in their morning exercises before returning to teach on Qing Jing. They are, understandably, absolutely pumped to have another Peak Lord around to fight (on top of their own being around more often! Shifu teaches them more! And is he getting better at it? What miracles!)

They settle into a routine, and, though it takes an unexpectedly long time, they announce their courting to Yue Qingyuan, who looks both heartbroken and extremely happy for them. Qing Jing gives Liu Qingge a surprisingly scary shovel talk (though he's mostly amused, he respects their dedication), but are overall very happy that their shizun is happy. Bai Zhan is just cheering that another Peak Lord has basically taken up permanent residence, since Shen Qingqiu stays in Liu Qingge's house rather than the bamboo house. They enjoy the unique challenge he gives, and some of the braver ones tell their shifu that he better treat him right or they'll try to take him for themselves (he went particularly hard on them after that, but they had zero regrets — Shen-shibo is a catch after all!)

Meanwhile, Mobei-jun is... frustrated and heartbroken. He can no longer enter Cang Qiong Sect, and he can no longer find Shang Qinghua's qi signature. He doesn't know why — was Shang Qinghua caught? Is he dead? Why else would he just... randomly leave? He's stuck with Mobei-jun for decades, why would he leave now? What was the catalyst? Was he truly so uncomfortable with Mobei-jun's courting? Why wouldn't he just say so!?

The questions leave him angry and frustrated, with no way to get answers. It's only after he enters Luo Binghe's service (an embarrassing loss — would he have done better with Qinghua's advice?) that he finally gets... something of an answer. A potential explanation.

Luo Binghe has no friends in the demon realm, trusts absolutely no one, but he's still a kind person. When he sees that Mobei-jun is frustrated, all it takes is that curly haired boy (a face so similar to Qinghua's) asking for all the questions to come spilling out. Whether it takes hours or minutes, Mobei-jun doesn't know, all he remembers is the lesson from that conversation:

Humans court differently. Constant physical bombardment is known as abuse.

And Mobei-jun is sick.

He hurt Qinghua. He drove away the one man that stuck with him through everything, just because he couldn't be bothered to double check that his courting would be understood. According to Luo Binghe... it was a miracle Shang Qinghua hadn't left sooner. And the worst part? Mobei-jun can't right this wrong. He can't explain himself. Because Cang Qiong has new wards, and Shang Qinghua has figured out how to make himself thoroughly disappear, even though Mobei-jun does receive word when the Peak Lord is spotted during a trade deal. He can't get Qinghua back. There's nothing he can do.

So he stays by Luo Binghe's side. His curly hair, his similar face... these days, Mobei-jun curses himself for not digging into Shang Qinghua's history. For this boy is an orphan, a street rat, and now it would be near impossible to find out his true relation to Shang Qinghua, given that no one knew which humans Tianlang-jun had bed. It doesn't truly matter, whether he is a cousin, brother, or nephew, Mobei-jun will right his wrongs through Shang Qinghua's kin, unable to reach the man himself.

-

When Luo Binghe leaves the Demon Realm, he goes to Huan Hua, and things progress pretty much as they did in canon, with Shen Qingqiu running, absolutely fucking terrified, being force fed blood, and agreeing to be held in the Water Prison to avoid blowback on the sect. Only difference is that Liu Qingge tried to kill LBH, which almost caused an incident with Huan Hua, because no one believed he was a demon. In the water prison, Luo Binghe sees... a ring. He knows his shizun never wore that before, so he asks about it. Not wanting to put Liu Qingge in even more danger, Shen Qingqiu stays silent.

Gongyi Xiao helps Shen Qingqiu escape, and things continue to progress. When Liu Qingge squares up to fight Luo Binghe, he notices him wearing a ring, threaded onto a necklace, and so similar to Shen Qingqiu's. It doesn't take him long to process the fact that his beloved shizun is... already taken.

By Liu fucking Qingge.

He's thoroughly pissed off, he goes to attack, but pauses when he sees his shizun grip Liu-shishu tightly, shaking like a leaf. He looks like he's preparing to take his husband and run. The thought is... off-putting. Because Liu Qingge is the War God of Bai Zhan Peak. Why doesn't Shizun have faith in the man he married?

So he asks.

And Shen Qingqiu doesn't answer.

Liu Qingge still hasn't relaxed, ready to attack at any moment, and Luo Binghe is running out of patience.

"If Shizun finds this demon despicable enough to throw into the Abyss, he should let his husband kill it."

"That's not why he did it."

Liu Qingge's words throw him off balance. He expected the man to be shocked, hearing that his loving husband had done such a thing (maybe cause a rift in their relationship), he expected, maybe, to be attacked for being so disrespectful.

Liu Qingge then explains, because Shen Qingqiu is terrified into silence.

And Luo Binghe is crushed. Shizun threw him into the Abyss... to save him? Shizun was scared for his safety?

And suddenly Luo Binghe feels sick, when he remembers what he's done. How he hurt Shizun, who was too scared to answer. Who just wanted to protect him, only to realize later that he wasn't thinking straight — that his words were twisted in his effort to get Luo Binghe into the safest place possible in that moment: the Endless Abyss. The shizun that believed in his capabilities enough to be afraid that he'd come seeking revenge.

The fight drains out of him, Liu Qingge doesn't relax, but Shen Qingqiu behind him looks just the slightest bit more curious than terrified. Luo Binghe pulls out a note, written from Mobei-jun to Shang Qinghua, and drops it onto the roof. "This disciple apologizes to Shizun. Please ensure this message gets to Shang-shishu." He uses Xin Mo to teleport to a different roof, staying just long enough to see Liu Qingge hand the note to Shen Qingqiu, who collapsed bonelessly into his side.

He goes to the Northern Desert, rather than the Southern Kingdom. He arrives in the sitting area of Mobei-jun's quarters, and plops himself into a seat. He thinks, and thinks, and he's feeling absolutely awful by the time Mobei-jun arrives. He takes one look at Luo Binghe's disheveled state, and takes the seat next to him.

They talk.

Mobei-jun is a surprisingly comforting presence. He'd always listened and offered advice, but Luo Binghe didn't think he'd have the patience for talking him through... whatever the hell this is. Heartbreak? He isn't sure.

It helps though, and Luo Binghe feels much lighter. Mobei-jun had already promised to never darken Cang Qiong's doorstep, to never go anywhere near Shang Qinghua again, after what he'd done... Luo Binghe would just have to do the same. Even if all he wanted was to go back to Qing Jing, to his room in the Bamboo House... but Shizun is married now, there's no way he'd allow Luo Binghe to stay there permanently.

So he just... stays in the Demon Realm. He's an emperor now, surely Shizun wouldn't want him neglecting that duty? And even if he would've liked Shizun's advice... Mobei-jun would have to do. He had experience, and he's been nothing but helpful. Decision made, Luo Binghe embraces his status as the Demon Emperor, and gives it his full attention.

Without him, Shen Qingqiu's trial falls apart, even as the Palace Master accuses Liu Qingge of killing Luo Binghe. There's not enough concrete evidence for Shen Qingqiu's crimes, and the character defenses from the sect and his husband all speak louder than Qiu Haitang's slander. Even if Liu Qingge was in extremely hot water with Huan Hua, they couldn't prove he'd done anything either.

Shen Qingqiu delivers Mobei-jun's note to Mu Qingfang, asking him to be there when Shang Qinghua read it, because who knew what was in it. He agrees, and they read it as soon as possible, to get it over with.

It's an apology, with an explanation of their different cultures and a promise to never bother him again. It's a promise to right his wrongs through Luo Binghe, who he assumes to be related to Shang Qinghua through the boy's mother. It's short and blunt, and Shang Qinghua is... conflicted. He loves Mu Qingfang, and honestly, couldn't even dream of a life without him, but... Mobei-jun was his dream man. Thinking like that... perhaps it was for the best that they didn't end up together. The reality could never live up to the expectation.

More importantly, is him remembering his half-sister in this life: Xi-jie. Who had suddenly cut contact with him completely, and who he'd never managed to track down afterwards, not having known her full name. Shang Qinghua is crushed, to realize the protagonist was that close to being given a better life. Had Su Xiyan managed to contact him at any point, he would've taken her son in in a heartbeat. Mu Qingfang consoles him, and they decide, jointly, that it was for the best if he didn't pursue that relationship. Not with Mobei-jun promising to stick by the boy, and not with the way he'd treated Shen Qingqiu.

And everyone just... moves on with their lives.

Mu Qingfang and Shang Qinghua are happy together; they have three kids that get absolutely spoiled by their disciples, and they take care of each other, ensuring neither overworks too severely. Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu, without the threat of Binghe's return hanging over them, relax more. They enjoy peaceful days with the Qing Jing disciples, they have fun jointly beating up the Bai Zhan disciples and teaching them new moves, and their hunts aren't nearly as battle-focused as they were before, giving Shen Qingqiu a chance to study the beasts rather than immediately going to fight them.

Luo Binghe and Mobei-jun are rarely apart and treat each other as equals in all things. They value the other's advice when implementing policies, and they will each jump to the other's defense, whether it be physically or through words. It surprises absolutely no one when their affair is found out — at first a convenient way to control Xin Mo, eventually morphing into a proper relationship. They're the rulers of the demon realm, they need not abide by the rules, but... Luo Binghe enjoys planning the wedding, and Mobei-jun can't deny him that, even if it meant dealing with the paperwork of technically merging the two kingdoms but also not. Their broken hearts have long been mended by each other, and it's no surprise when they have six children, close-knit and loving, like the family they wished they'd had sooner.

-

Tianlang-jun rotted away, despite Zhuzhi-lang's best efforts. His last act was to give Zhuzhi-lang enough energy to sustain his human form indefinitely. He is purposeless, and alone, and he sits beside his uncle's corpse for far longer than he should have. There's nothing left for him, not with his uncle gone.

So he exits the cave, and he sits under a tree, out in the open. He is very clearly a demon within Huan Hua territory, so it wouldn't take long for a cultivator to stumble upon him and put him out of his misery. Sure enough, in the middle of his patrol, Gongyi Xiao sees a snake demon just... sitting there. He doesn't look hostile, nor does he look like he's going to move.

He also just... looks kinda pathetic.

So, Gongyi Xiao makes a decision. He can't, in good conscience, leave it there. If he does, and it attacks someone, that's his fault. He also can't just kill it if it's not even doing anything. So he decides to... initiate conversation.

It takes a while for Zhuzhi-lang to bother properly responding, but once he does, they get along quite well. He shares stories about his and his uncle's journies through the human realm, reminiscing as he starts to process his grief. Gongyi Xiao decides, maybe this demon isn't that bad actually, and before they know it, it's sun down and Gongyi Xiao is very late.

They meet daily, with Gongyi Xiao taking on more patrols than usual to make sure his demon is doing alright. Eventually, though, pieces of Zhuzhi-lang's story start to... click. They conflict with things he's been told by his shizun. Maybe Zhuzhi-lang is misremembering in his grief, but... he's concerned enough to start investigating on his own.

He finds a lot of dirt on the Old Palace Master, most of it completely unrelated to Su Xiyan, which is what he was actually trying to investigate. Eventually, he grows so disgusted with the sheer amount of crimes the old man has committed that he decides to just... start a coup. He's well-liked, so it's easy enough to get people on his side — it's even easier when he starts spreading rumors and has all of the man's misdeeds printed into a fairly popular book (more than a few publishing houses were burned down because of it, oops). He didn't... intend to replace the old man, but that's what happened and, hey, now he can bring his demon home and no one can fight him over it, yes sect leaders, he's perfectly sane, thank you.

Zhuzhi-lang learns that he's just as attracted to competence and beauty as Tianlang-jun, he just prefers his with a side of kindness rather than tsundere. He also finds it incredibly funny that everyone just... pointedly ignores his presence. A demon he may be, but their sect leader wanted him there, so there he would stay. The whole scenario brings to mind the forbidden romances his uncle loved to read about. As he settles in, watching Gongyi Xiao overhaul Huan Hua Palace and all its greedy rules, he thinks his uncle would want to see how this story ends.

-

AND THAT'S IT! My wrists hurt and i accidentally posted before it was done, lmao, but yeah. Feel free to write this, I feel like I'd start it and never finish lol