#Please Beware {Content Warning}

[angelsndragons]

man i haven't seen critical role hot takes this bad since luc brenatto died.

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 22 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: A dark surprise is awaiting you - something that might change your entire life for better or worse, if it doesn't end before it could.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening (knife), mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy issues like nausea and puking, kidney failure, cockwarming, rough sex, penetration, oral sex, blood play, degradation kink, knife play, threats of torture and gore, rape (to a certain degree), the pregnancy is being threatened in a vile, graphic way, not beta-read! if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+! dark content ahead!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Author's note: I'm putting an extra note here, just to say: I think compared to the other chapters it gets kinda dark here, with real noncon vibes, so please be cautious of that before reading. Beware: Word count 12.278

When he came home, it always went the same way.

The door creaked open, then he closed it, set his briefcase aside and washed his hands.

Not a single time had he ever missed one of these steps. Washing his hands was like a sacred ritual. You did it, because you felt your hands vibrating the second you didn’t. Whenever you came in from wherever you were outside – and if only to check the mailbox – you had to immediately wash your hands or else you felt sick. It was a physical ache, your hands were reminding you that they needed to be cleaned.

You didn’t know if it was the same for him. Maybe there were other reasons, maybe he had the same kind of OCD. Whatever it was – he washed his hands. Every time.

And only then would he come and look for you, seek out where you were. Normally you’d either be in the kitchen or the living room. Sometimes you’d be typing mindlessly on the typewriter, lost in the cloud of your own imagination. It was much more fun than you expected and it reminded you not only of your father, but also the man you loved, with every letter. You loved the clicking sound and the hum every time a new phrase came to paper.

Other times, you’d be cooking. Ever since the first trimester nausea passed, you finally were able to eat again. Now you were craving things. Often savory food, but just as often it was some sweet nonsense. You tried to eat as healthy as possible, but often times you’d settle for some kind of cornflakes when he wasn’t home. It was alright though, so you told yourself. You had been through a lot and you deserved to calm down and relax a little.

There were those other days when you’d come up with the freakiest things. This gummy pudding, you had no idea what it was, but it was to be found in Korean convenience stores. He brought it home for you and it was disgusting, but you still finished it. Other times, you felt you were in dire need of spicy food – very unlike yourself. He still brought it home to you. One time was especially odd. You had just finished a giant portion of pasta (now that you could finally eat it again), but you couldn’t get one thing off your mind.

A McFlurry.

It was the one good thing you associated with your mother. Well, not her directly, but with your childhood.

Your mother had never been one to spoil you, but on some very rare occasions, when you were out in the city, which wasn’t quite often, she’d allow you some Fast Food. Like any other kid of course you were all for Nuggets and Fries, but the thing you loved most was the ice cream. The ice cream machine was broken more often than not, so it was quite the highlight when you got to eat it. You remembered one moment especially.

You sat on the worn-out red leather cushion, slurping on your ice cream, when you felt your mother’s intense gaze on you. You immediately straightened up, thinking you had done something wrong and she’d take the ice cream away for it.

“What is it?” You had asked in that quiet, unsure voice of a poor, insecure nine-year-old.

She kept looking at you for a long moment and there was something soft in her eyes, something she never let you see. Later that day, she’d send you to sleep in the wardrobe, because on the way home, you said something to piss her off, but then and there – she looked at you with kind eyes.

“Eat your ice cream, honey.”

To this day, the taste of it reminded you of that moment. That one time honey didn’t sound like a mocking curse, but something a mother would say to her daughter. Because she loved her.

Not, because she’d try to poison her a few years later.

So, many years later, you found yourself on the couch, picking at the last of your pasta, when you felt his gaze on you.

“What is it? Aren’t you feeling well?”

You looked up at him, your eyes soft. You didn’t want to mention your mother to him, but you did. You told him of the brief moment of kindness and the way you still loved that ice cream to that day.

And what did he do?

He got up and put his coat on.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “I’m getting ice cream.”

That made you smile, but softly. “But it’s almost midnight.”

He smirked in return, but his eyes were warm. God, it was so easy to lose yourself in them.

“Eat your pasta. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He kept his promise and only twenty minutes later you found yourself curled into his side, licking the sweetness off the plastic spoon. “You’re such an idiot.” You murmured and shot him a smirk. “I can’t believe you did that.”

He snorted as he played with your hair. “Yeah. That’s the weirdest thing I’ve done so far.”

You laughed in response and shoved a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. He grinned and took the spoon from you with ease. “I’m just saying.”

The next few weeks went on just as smoothly. It was almost like you were stuck in a dream. A part of you was constantly on edge, always expecting something horrible to happen. If it wasn’t your kidney to suddenly give up, it would surely be him. He’d do something – something horrible, something unforgivable, something to hurt either you or your baby…or you both.

But the more time passed, the clearer it became that he wouldn’t.

Every time you stared at him in silence, whenever you observed the way he nibbled on his pen while he filled out some paperwork, every time you watched him drive the car with a quiet hum on his lips, every time he did each of those things – the guilt was nearly suffocating you.

Of course you trusted him. You loved him, you adored him, he was the father of your child.

But he had also hurt you.

More than once. Repeatedly. Some of his ways more painful than others.

He looked so peaceful when he slept beside you or stirred something in a pot in the kitchen, while you watched him. He still brought you your fruit cocktail every morning, still seared your vegetables for you daily. And never did he complain once.

But it was inside of him. You knew it was there, buried under piles of kindness and love.

You saw it in the way his hand twitched, whenever you got into a minor argument. The way his eyes shone darkly and his lips pulled into a frown. The way he clenched his jaw over little things. Sometimes, he was trembling with barely suppressed rage.

One night, he almost lost control.

Almost.

It had started as a minor disagreement, you couldn’t even tell what it was about, but it escalated when it got to the point of you asking him why you still weren’t allowed to leave the house on your own. After all, you were carrying his child.

What would finally make him trust you?

But he nearly exploded. A few minutes into the argument you realized, it wasn’t him being paranoid and angry. It was him being concerned and possessive. His jealousy was easily triggered, even easier than your own and now that you had his child in your belly…

It didn’t make things easier.

“I would never leave you.” You muttered, shaking your head.

He let out an annoyed exhale. “I know that.”

“Then why?!”

“Because I said so.” He gritted out and shot you a dark glare. “And now shut up about it.”

“I won’t.” You had been feeling somewhat too confident that day. That was the thing with him. He made you feel so safe that you actually dared to speak up your mind and feel like you were someone. And when you did, it infuriated him. Not always…but whenever it went against his way of things. “I won’t, because this is ridiculous! I will not-“

“Shut up!” His fist shot out so fast that you hardly even recognized it as a movement. A sharp inhale later, you squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your damp fists, expecting him to break your jaw. But all that really happened was a sharp flinch that went through you, when you heard his fist bump into the wall only a few inches away from your head. You felt the air heat up with his proximity and for a long moment, you didn’t dare to open your eyes. When you eventually did, you immediately looked up at his face, but he wasn’t looking at you. He kept his gaze downcast, his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. He was taking quick breaths, his chest rising and falling in record speed. You didn’t dare open your mouth in case this was just the calm before the storm. But it didn’t seem to be. Instead, he seemed almost pained under the weight of his loss of control.

You tilted your head only enough to see his fist, still shaking against the wall. There was a faint crack in the plaster and you saw the hint of harsh red of his blood mixing with the soft apricot color of the wall.

It would have probably been the clever thing to let go. Lock yourself away until he calmed down. He’d apologize, probably and even if he didn’t – he hadn’t hurt you.

But instead of leaving him, you reached out a hand, still struggling to breathe yourself. Your fingers closed around his wrist and he yanked his hand back, attempting to pull away, but you only tightened your grip.

“Let me take a look!”

His arm was tense as was the rest of him and you were almost afraid to look at his face, but when you did, he was still avoiding your gaze. So, instead you focused back on his hand and the traces of blood, the broken skin, mixing with paint.

You swallowed and looked up at him again. “I’m going to clean this up, okay?”

He still didn’t answer. It was like tending to a wild animal, a bull even. His eyes were wide and unfocused, looking for a spot to fix upon. Just not you.

But when you guided him to sit on the couch, he didn’t resist. When you attempted to get up and get a clean cloth, his hand shot out again, fingers wrapping around your wrist like a vice. You winced, but quickly caught yourself again. You wrapped a gentle hand around his arm and whispered: “I’ll be right back.”

He swallowed and hesitated for another second, before he finally let go. You nearly broke both legs stumbling over a pair of shoes and a bag on your way to the bathroom. You gathered what you thought you needed, a wet cloth, some disinfectant and luckily you even found a clean bandage in the drawer. While you carried everything back to the living room, you caught yourself thinking, how is it even possible that I never needed this until now?

You crouched down beside him, taking a look at his hand. He was still far away with his eyes, but he seemed softer now. Less like a wounded lion and more like a man who drowned in guilt.

“I didn’t mean to-“ He cut himself off and clenched his jaw again.

It was hard for him. You could see that every time he held himself back for your sake. You didn’t know if it was because you were pregnant now or because he was slowly starting to understand that you indeed loved him and that you truly didn’t intend to leave him.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t easy on him. He was still two people at once, fighting internally, battling each other over minor things. Sometimes, he won. Other times, he punched the wall hard enough to crack.

But that was okay, you told yourself. He was trying. You could see that he was, despite his struggle. He would hurt you again, you were sure. You took a slow breath, silently praying to God for him never to lose control too bad. He would hurt you again. But fuck if you’d let him hurt your child.

“I know.” You murmured softly as you gently began to dab at his wounded knuckles. “Nothing happened. It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” He gritted out. “I could have-“ He closed his eyes and took a slow breath.

You waited patiently until he opened his eyes again and until he was finally ready to face you. This wasn’t like him, you suddenly realized. His dark side, his evil twin, it was unlike him to show signs of guilt. But to you he did. For you he did.

His eyes were still dark, but now there was something else as well. Something you had rarely ever seen in him. It was more than guilt, it was different than anger, it was…fear.

“I could have hurt you.”

You paused for a beat, before you could respond. “But you didn’t.”

“You don’t understand.” He lowered his head so he was eye level with you and you were forced to look into his eyes, to see the depth of what lay beyond them.

“I wanted to.”

There was a tight knot in your chest. What were you supposed to say to that? There was not much you could do. You knew what he was. He was trying. But was that enough?

“But you didn’t.” You eventually said again. Your voice was unwavering, more certain than the rest of you.

He frowned and pulled his head back, glancing down at his fist, still clenched in your hand.

“I don’t deserve this.” He murmured.

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, still staring down at your hands. “I don’t deserve you. What have I ever given you aside from pain?”

You felt as though he had punched you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to show the horror you felt inside. “You…”

“It’s true. You are good and kind and forgiving. You care about me in ways…” He clenched his jaw and averted his gaze entirely. “I don’t deserve this.”

Before you had time to think it through, you already reached out and grasped his chin between two fingers. You tilted his head, forcing him to look at you. With a stern expression, it was now you who shook your head.

“You love me.”

His eyes widened a fraction. “What does that have to do with anything?”

You smiled, with more conviction than you thought yourself capable of. “Everything.”

He didn’t comment on it any further and neither did you. You simply took care of his wounds and he let you. It was foreign to him – you could tell by the way he watched you in a mixture of confusion and wonder. A part of him was still tense, as though he expected you to strike. He wasn’t used to being vulnerable, but he was getting better at it.

That was the moment you decided you wouldn’t ask him again.

No matter how confused and desperate you felt, how angry it made you that he knew everything about you and you seemed to know nothing about him.

You didn’t know his name, nor what he did or where he came from – but you knew that he loved you. That he’d kill for you. And that you were his, as much as he was yours.

And so you decided to trust him with everything else as well.

Because he was trying.

Six weeks came and went. Time passed so quickly and life felt so easy, that you tended to forget about the bad things. The times when he ignored you, when he withdrew his love in order to punish you for things you might have done wrong in his eyes, were all but forgotten.

The days were short. You spent every possible moment together. Aside from when he went to work or to…well, to work on the man your mother had sent, you were together. Always.

Sometimes you were almost afraid that your constant presence would end up suffocating him.

Despite the way you got more and more confident in yourself, the dark thoughts lingered. Whenever he was gone for a few minutes too long, whenever you got into an argument, you couldn’t help but think yourself unlovable. One day he would wake up and he would realize the terrible mistake he had made.

But he had ways. Many different ways to ensure your thoughts were only that – thoughts.

Every time you thought you were being too clingy and decided to pull away, put at least a little distance between you – scoot over on the couch, roll over, pull yourself away from him – he caught you. Whether it was being a hand on your thigh, an arm around your shoulders or just his knee pressed a little tighter against yours. He was just as clingy, you realized. Of course you didn’t speak of it. But you saw it in the way he closed his eyes, when your fingers ran through his hair. The way he smirked to himself when he caught you staring at him when he came out of the shower – if he ever allowed you to take a shower alone. He needed your contact just as much as you did his and it only ever made you love him more.

What was it about the couples who needed space? What did that even mean?

Sure, you sometimes asked yourself if it would do your relationship any good if you spent some time apart. But no, God, no. The thought alone made your skin crawl in fear. Falling asleep without him by your side sounded like the most ridiculous and impossible thing. You needed him there, his warmth, his arms around you and his warm breath on your neck.

It wasn’t just you and him cramped up in the space of the apartment all the time. Things became…lighter.

Going outside became a trivial thing to you. It wasn’t only the regular appointments at the doctor’s office. You went out to eat, to take walks and he showed you Seoul. Of course you’d seen a few places there – guided by only your phone, because you were a ghost in your own life. But what he showed you weren’t only tourist spots. No, he showed you things you would have never even thought about on your own. Things only someone who had grown up there could show you.

Even his old house.

It was burnt down to the ground of course, no more than dead grass, some dirt and rusty metal. But the way he stared down at it, the place that had once been so much bigger than him, the place where all his nightmares found their origin…

It made you hold his hand just a little tighter.

He didn’t say a single word and he didn’t need to. His eyes said it all. His pain ran much deeper than you had ever assumed. Maybe even deeper than your own.

But pain is not something to be measured and compared, right?

You squeezed his hand – and he squeezed yours right back.

You never spoke of it. Not a single time. And you held onto your word, your thoughts, you had had just a few weeks ago. You didn’t pressure him and it seemed to pay off, because the tension in him that was always there seemed to ease just the tiniest bit.

You went to the movies – thank God there were days when they played in their original language – and to the theater. He showed you bridges, buildings, food, music, art.

All the things you had missed out on your entire life.

And while he was at it, he showed you love.

You felt it in the way his hand tightened on the small of your back, whenever you got into a group of people. The way he looked at you, that sheepish smile, whenever you caught him staring at you while you were doing something – be it the dishes or stargazing.

He showed you himself. All you needed to know was right there in the way he kissed you.

And he kissed you.

Of course there were moments when a quick peck had to be enough, but the nights? The nights.

There was not enough air to breathe and you didn’t care one bit.

All you needed was him. He made sure of it.

You couldn’t count the times he made you inhale sharply and claw at the sheets.

Every night, so far. Once your nausea and your sickening exhaustion had passed, you became a wild thing. It was hard to tame you, the second you felt his fingers run up your thigh, down your hip, up your back. You were sure you could have recognized his hands blindly in-between a thousand others.

When he rubbed the pads of his fingers over your tongue, down your stomach or when they slipped inside your panties. They were so skilled that it never took him long to have writhing and begging. It was so easy that it almost got boring.

And so, sometimes, he had his ways of making you suffer, just to spice it up.

The night before, he had done just that. Your jaw still hurt thinking back to it – and your panties grew wet just the same.

He had been sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper as he so often did. Sometimes you asked yourself if he really read it or if that was just some kind of front to keep up the illusion of composure. You had just come out of the shower and were on your way to maybe try and write something, when you saw him sitting there, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. The way he leaned back, one arm resting on the couch, the other one holding up the paper.

It didn’t need any words. Just one look.

He leaned back in that infuriatingly hot way, legs spread apart and lowering the paper just enough to look at you.

You had never seen such expressive eyes before. And the command was clear.

You let go of any idea of writing, the moment you approached him instead. You slid onto your knees almost automatically, but not before he shoved a pillow before you, for you to kneel on. You shifted slightly, spreading your legs apart involuntarily, but he shot you a warning look.

“I want to see your hands at all times.” He said lowly, before he glanced back down at the newspaper. “And now keep me warm.”

You nearly choked on your spit, your own arousal making your mind go hazy. But you obeyed. You always obeyed – until you didn’t. But that night, you did.

You freed him from his sweatpants, his hardness already apparent and ready for you to take care of. The need to run your tongue along his length and drive him to the brink of madness was almost suffocating, but the way he tightened his grip on the paper just slightly kept you from doing so. Instead you spat down on it just once and took him in your mouth. And then you stayed in place.

You felt the way he tensed, heard the way his breath hitched, but he didn’t do anything either.

“Good girl.” He murmured and ran his fingers through your hair with his free hand, keeping them there. You tried to swallow around him, but it only made you drool all over him. A small whimper died in the back of your throat as you forced your knees to press into the pillow firmly, not daring to move or touch yourself, when that was all you wanted to do. You were already so wet, just from kneeling like that, just from tasting him.

A soft sigh came over your lips and your tongue involuntarily moved, causing him to inhale through gritted teeth. You expected a scolding, but he just pushed your head down further onto him. You moaned and chocked back a gag.

“My good girl.” He murmured, as he kept playing with your hair. “Be a good girl for daddy, so he can finish reading this, okay?”

You didn’t respond and how would you have accomplished that? You just stayed in place, keeping your head still. Your fingers twitched to reach between your legs and do something against the burning ache there, but you didn’t. It would only cause him to torment you further, to withdraw your release or keep you on edge.

Minutes passed and the only sound was his ragged breathing and your own.

His grip on the newspaper was painfully tight – normally he had a better grip on his composure. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t had sex in two days. Maybe it was because he felt your legs shaking.

The evidence of your own arousal was slowly dripping down your thighs and you let your eyelids flutter shut. You choked back any sounds you wanted to make, your hands gripping the edge of the sofa tightly.

“Fuck this shit. Fine.” He sighed out, before he slammed the paper onto the couch. “Come, darling, make daddy feel good.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You always loved to pleasure him with your mouth, for many different reasons. The sounds he made, his grip on you…almost like his life depended on it. It was exhausting of course, but it was worth it. You almost came, just kneeling there, being at his mercy – and somehow, it was you in control nonetheless. Of course he’d guide your movements every now and then, force a gag over your lips, but other times, when he was in a softer mood, he’d just…

Admire you.

His mouth slightly agape, his brows furrowed, he stared down at you like a man starving and you were the water he desperately needed. His grip on the back of your head was firm, but not painful, just enough to allow him to massage his fingertips into your scalp.

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, just like that, baby. Just like…ah, fuck.”

His eyes fluttered shut and you used the opportunity to bring your hand between your legs, dying for any kind of friction. But he caught the movement and quickly caught your wrist.

“No, baby, no. I’m going to make you feel better than you ever have before, but you’re going to listen to me. Understand?”

You forced yourself to nod, though you almost felt tears of desperation sting your eyes. You hadn’t felt this needy in…

Probably not that long ago. He kept doing this to you. And as much as you hated it, as much did you love it, because in the end…

He always made up for it.

Before you had the chance to thrive on your determination to make him cum, he pulled your head back, causing you to whimper.

“Good girl.” He gritted out, his grip on your face bruising. “Such a good girl.”

He pulled you up onto the couch and pushed you back into the cushions.

“Are we above begging, huh?”

You shook your head in a way that could only be described as hysterical. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum, daddy.” You breathed out, your face flushed red.

He smirked in that devilish way, looming above you and making a face as if considering.

You whimpered again and his smirk widened into a full-blown grin. “Beg a little more, sweet girl.”

You licked your lips and bit down on them as you pressed yourself back into the couch, involuntarily arching into his touch. “Please. Please, I’m begging you, I…I’m so…Please…”

He hummed approvingly. “That’s a good girl, if I’ve ever seen one.”

His head dipped forward and his lips brushed over the side of your neck. He kissed a path from your neck to your earlobe, where he gently bit down on it. “Do you want me that bad, hm?”

Your eyes rolled back in your head and you nodded, sliding your hands over his bare back.

“I want to have a taste first.” He breathed in your ear, causing your body to tremble and your toes to curl. Your throat felt too dry to form a response, but that wasn’t necessary. He leaned down and parted your lips with his tongue, delving in for a kiss that was as messy as it was desperate.

You moaned and arched your hips up against his, feeling his slick hardness against your soaked panties.

He hissed in response and bit down on your lip. “God, you’re killing me.”

In no time, he kissed his way down your body. The way his hands smoothed your clothing out of the way made you shiver. You were a puddle in his hands, unable to move or breathe, all you could do was gasp and whimper.

He ran his fingertip over your slit, which caused you to inhale sharply.

“My God.” He murmured. “I don’t think I’ve ever had you this wet before.”

You whimpered in response, biting down on your tongue to keep any more pathetic sounds back.

He smirked and hooked his fingers under the material, pulling them off of you torturously slow.

“Fuck.” He all but growled, when he came back up. You felt his hot breath against your core and it was enough to make you cry.

“Please-“

“Patience.” He spoke calmly. How could he be so feral and suddenly so composed, all within a minute? Maybe he had more than just two personalities.

He ran his hands up from your ankles to your knees, before he swiftly hooked them around his shoulders.

“I want to hear you, okay?”

You swallowed and nodded. You were sure you had a fever by now.

And then he finally touched you.

The sound you made when his flat tongue ran over your slick folds was hardly even human, but you didn’t hold anything back. You just leaned back – and relaxed.

If one could call it that.

His gentle ministrations quickly turned into something else entirely, because soon he ran the tip of his tongue in circles around your sweet spot, before he attacked it with his pursed lips.

Your hand found his hair almost involuntarily. It had to hurt, the way you tugged at it, but you couldn’t help yourself. You guided his movements, practically using him to pleasure yourself.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God-“

He hummed and the vibrations it sent through your core alone were enough to make you arch your back.

“Oh, fuck!”

It didn’t take you a full minute to end up writhing and crying out, your body nearly floating from the sofa.

But he didn’t stop there.

It was almost painful, the way he kept working his mouth, kept lapping and licking, kissing as he would your mouth.

“Oh, oh, oh God…”

And soon, you felt yourself tip over the edge again, this time even more intensely than the first time.

“Please…can’t take…more…”

Your legs were shaking and so was the rest of you. You felt hot and cold at the same time and you kept feeling as feverish, until he finally decided to be merciful and pull away.

He slowly crawled back until he was hovering over you again, his lips curved into a devilish smirk.

“Oh, that was delicious.”

“I hate you.” You whispered breathlessly.

That made him laugh and he leaned down to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his lips and it made you moan.

“Too bad.” He murmured against your lips. “Because I love you.”

You sighed deeply and bit down on his lower lip. “I love you, too, you demon.”

His smirk widened into something more genuine. “And what does that make you, hm?”

You couldn’t help but smirk in response. “Oh, shut up.”

He gently cupped your cheek in his hand and looked at you for a moment, before he let his hand wander and gently pressed it against your stomach instead. The intensity of his feeling and the softness in his eyes made your breath catch in your throat.

“I love you both.” He whispered.

You swallowed thickly, your eyes wide in surprise and admiration.

“We love you, too.” You whispered back.

He smiled and didn’t say anything more. You bit your lip and gently pressed a hand against his chest. “And what about you?”

He cocked a brow. “What about me?”

You smirked and teasingly ran your thumb along the tip of his hardness. His eyes fluttered shut and he inhaled sharply. “Ah.”

“Mhm.” You tilted your head up to meet his lips in a gentle kiss. “You know what I want?”

He shook his head, pulling his head back to meet your gaze.

Your eyes darkened in a way you had only ever seen in him. It was him. He had that effect on you. He made this of you. This mess. This wicked, wanton, needy mess.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Now his own eyes darkened and he clenched his jaw. “Is that so, hm?”

You licked your lips and nodded. “I want you to fuck me, daddy.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, your words sending a shiver down his spine. When he opened them again, he looked feral again.

He immediately pushed your legs apart and pressed himself against your entrance. You, still wet like crazy and him glistening with precum, you forced yourself to keep your eyes open. You observed the way his brows furrowed and his breath stuttered as he slowly pushed himself inside you.

It didn’t matter how many times he did it. It was always enough to make your eyes roll back.

“Fuck.” He gritted his teeth and wrapped his fingers around your throat, but not squeezing. Only holding you, only showing you who was in control.

“Open that pretty mouth for me.”

You didn’t hesitate. And he didn’t hesitate to spit down in it.

When you closed your mouth and swallowed, you could swear, you felt him throb inside you.

He leaned in so his lips grazed your earlobe and whispered: “You’re taking me so well. Such a good girl. My beautiful, dirty girl.”

Your eyelids fluttered and you forced yourself to look up at him. He began to roll his hips against yours and you pressed yourself up against him, following his rhythm. You never thought it was possible to cum in this position, not as a woman, but he showed you that it was indeed possible.

His thumb found your sweet spot again, still heated and sensitive from his earlier attack, but that didn’t stop him.

“My good girl.”

“Ah, fuck…You’re my…My man.”

His eyes narrowed and his movements stuttered just slightly, before he caught himself and his movements only ever became more frantic. His mouth fell open and he drew in a sharp breath.

“Say that again.”

“My…” You licked your lips, your brows furrowed. “My man.”

He licked his lips as well and stared you down in a way that was deeper than any doting look he had ever given you.

“If I asked you to marry me, would you?”

You froze in your tracks and your eyes widened almost comically. “What?”

He nodded. “Would you?”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat and the way your chest tightened.

Marriage.

It wasn’t entirely ridiculous, right? After all, you were pregnant with his child. But you had never thought that far, never even dared to think of such a thing.

“What a dumb question.” You breathed out.

“Then answer it.” He whispered just as breathlessly.

Yes. Yes. For God’s sake, yes!

But you didn’t say that. Instead, your body reacted before your mind could, your lips curving into a dangerous, teasing smile. “You’ll have to be a man and risk asking me for real.”

He smirked, his eyes filling with a warmth that you didn’t expect. “You’re so goddamn sexy when you’re being a tease for me.”

He then closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “I will burn this fucking world for you. Just say the word.”

You bit your lip and slowly shook your head. Your chest still felt warm under the weight of his words.

“Just love me.”

And that he did. To bliss and back.

The next evening you found yourself lying in bed, thinking about your life. So many bad things and so much pain had led you to that point. If you could go back to change it, would you?

No.

Not if it meant the outcome would be different.

You lay on his mattress, wearing no more than a dark red negligee, a pair of panties and a wistful smile. He was everything you ever wanted, everything you ever wished for in a man.

The things he made you feel, both emotionally and physically…You never even thought that possible.

You always thought you were unlovable.

You always thought no one would ever love you.

But there you were. His.

Only his.

You took a slow breath and closed your eyes, remembering the night before. Involuntarily, you felt your hand wander down your body, to the gentle curve of your belly. It was so tiny, barely even noticeable, but you did notice. You saw it, when you wore a tight dress and you felt it, whenever you thought about it. A baby.

Your baby.

His.

This wasn’t exactly what you had expected to come out of your life. This wasn’t what you anticipated either. To be honest, you had never even thought you would make it that far. You had never been able to picture yourself that way. Married, pregnant…All these things sounded foreign to you. And yet, there you were.

Lying on the bed of the man you loved, his child inside your belly.

When you heard the door click open, your smile only grew.

No matter how much time you spent with him, you always missed him like crazy.

You considered getting up and approaching him at the door just to show him how much you had missed him. But then again, you were already settled under the blanket, warm and cozy…and the way you knew him, he’d be there within two minutes anyway.

But something felt off.

You heard the door creak open and you heard his steps. Slow and measured, hesitant even. Maybe he assumed you were asleep and so he tried to be careful about it.

But you couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was amiss.

And that was when you realized it.

He hadn’t washed his hands.

You wanted to believe that you were being paranoid, but a little voice inside your head told you that something wasn’t the way it should be.

There would be only one reason for him not to wash his hands after he came in: any kind of emergency. But if there was an emergency, if he was worried for you, wouldn’t he be running? Wouldn’t his steps be quick and relentless?

But there he was, sneaking in like a ballerina.

You sat up stiffly, careful not to make any sounds. Whatever the feeling you had was, it got worse with every minute.

Fuck.

As much as you didn’t want to think too much into it – you had to. Better safe than sorry, right?

The last time your brain went into rotting mode, you ended up being kidnapped. No matter if you wanted to call it that or not – it was a fact.

Before you knew it, you had already opened the closet, careful not to make any sounds. You crouched down and pressed your back against the back of the wardrobe, slowly pulling the door shut.

If it was him simply being careful and having forgotten, for whatever reason, to wash his hands, he’d probably panic if he came in and didn’t immediately find you. But you’d deal with that by the time it came to it. You stared through the tiny crack between the doors, holding your breath as you listened in.

The steps came closer, but they were too careful. Too slow.

And the realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

It wasn’t him.

You choked back the horror you felt and only ever leaned back against the wall. Your body felt hot and cold, your palms sweaty. Your breath was stuttering and stilling in your lungs.

Fuck.

Who on earth could that be? The police? He had killed that janitor, after all.

No, it wasn’t the police. It was only one person, you could tell. That was far worse.

You wanted to close your eyes and attempt to calm yourself, but there was no way. Your eyes stayed wide open, your breath caught in your throat. You tried not to breathe at all, to not make a single sound.

And then the door opened.

You pressed a hand against your mouth as your eyes followed the light that suddenly flooded the room before you. You saw the shoes before you saw anything else. It was still too dark and your view wasn’t exactly clear.

You held your breath.

“I know that you’re here.”

The familiarity of the voice nearly made you gasp or scream out in horror. The accent. You heard the fucking accent, because you spoke in the same way. His accent matched yours.

“You can’t hide forever, girl. Come out and maybe I’ll let you live.”

You pressed your hand tighter against your face, sucking in a sharp breath while you were at it.

Oh God. God. No. No, no, no, no, no.

But you didn’t even have the time to say a prayer in your head.

The wardrobe door was yanked open and you were immediately sure.

Your life was over.

Your lips parted in a silent scream, but all you were met with was something that was…hardly even human.

The sight of the man who had once stopped you and questioned you, who had once appeared in front of the door and who ended up on the floor in blood and shackles…

Well, that man was gone.

All that was there now was skin and bones, pale skin and probably broken bones. He bared his teeth in a crooked grin and you saw how he was missing a few of them. His bloodshot eyes were filled with darkness and terror, his lip bruised and bloody, his collarbones nearly jumping at you from the way he was so skinny.

You stumbled back against the wall, but he didn’t give you time to react.

His bony fingers wrapped around your arms and he yanked you to your feet. A part of you was almost confused at how he even managed to get anything done. Judging by the way he looked, he was barely even alive. Just a skull with hollow eyes and blood smeared all over him.

“Is he home, hm?”

You hadn’t even noticed the knife. You only ever realized his grip on it, after he pressed it against your jugular.

You gasped out loud and held your breath, your eyes wide and terrified. You wanted to speak. Wanted to scream. Wanted to fight, to run.

But then you felt it.

Slowly, at first. And then full-force.

You froze.

Your body, your mind. Yourself.

You froze. The same you always did whenever someone touched you.

The feeling was nearly foreign to you by now, because it hadn’t happened in so long. A part of you had almost assumed it wouldn’t ever happen again, because maybe, maybe he had managed to heal you. Maybe you were normal now. Maybe a touch couldn’t cause this reaction in you any longer.

Oh, how entirely mistaken you were.

“Look at that.” He smiled that unhealthy smile, a hoarse laugh rumbling in his chest. “Look at that. Aren’t you a convenient little slut?”

It wasn’t even necessary to restrain you. When he pushed you against the bed, you let him. You fell against the mattress, your limbs stiff and still. The only thing reminding you that you were still alive was your pulse. You were sure you heard it pumping in your ears, somewhere near your brain. But it felt as though you were seconds away from having a stroke.

“Please.” Your voice was hardly even audible, your lips barely moving. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, he paused, his expression almost contemplative. But then he pursed his lips and stretched out his arms, the notion almost lazy. “Good.” He purred. “Then it will hurt him all the more.”

He straddled you in a swift movement, ramming the knife into the mattress only a few inches from your head. You gasped and squeezed your eyes shut.

This was it.

Everything that had led you to this moment – Would you still take it? If this was how your life ended?

All the pain. All the misery. Only for your mother to get her last wish.

He leaned down and his breath hit your face, smelling of iron and blood. “You know…” He stretched out a finger and ran the tip of it down your cheek, then your neck. You whimpered and only ever squeezed your eyes shut tighter. That made him smirk. You heard his amusement clearly. “I was actually supposed to find you and bring you back. Rescue you, if you will.” He scoffed and shook his head, before he dug his fingers into your cheeks and forced a sharp gasp over your lips. “Isn’t that so fucking ironic? Rescue you. While you were here, getting fucked by this little piece of shit. Did you enjoy it? Huh? Did you enjoy spreading your legs for this bastard?”

You wanted to keep your eyes closed, to somehow escape this nightmare. But he didn’t let you. His hand cracked against your cheek with enough force to make you cry out aloud.

He had never hit you so hard.

Not even his goddamn punches had hurt that much.

You sobbed and tried to swallow back the saliva that threatened to make you choke. A hot feeling flared up in your chest – humiliation, anger, but mostly fear.

He would hurt you. He would genuinely hurt you.

“Please, I didn’t want any of this!”

“Shut the fuck up.” He slapped you again, this time even harder. Hard enough to make you go dizzy. “Will you keep that fucking, slutty mouth of yours shut or do I need to use other methods to make sure you obey?”

A soft rustling sound and then you felt it. The cold metal of the blade, pressed against the side of your neck. Your eyes shot open and you choked back a sob, trying to gasp for air, but there was none.

Were you already dead?

You shook your head, almost imperceptibly.

He nodded. “Good. But just to make sure…”

He tilted back the blade, running the tip of it over your neck. Your eyelids fluttered and all you saw was white, white, white light.

This was how dying felt.

Not being forced by your mother to sleep in a wardrobe, not having to drink water from a bowl on the floor, not event thinking you’d get raped at the metro station.

This was it.

The hardness in his eyes. The coldness. The numbness. The death.

There was nothing left of him. And soon, there wouldn’t be anything left of you either.

“P-p-please.”

But he only smirked. He only smirked and guided the tip of the blade lower and lower, until you felt it pressed against your abdomen.

You stiffened painfully much, digging your nails into your palms.

Your baby.

Your man.

Was he dead?

Oh God, had he killed him?

There was no safety in sight. No help. Nothing.

You were going to die tonight.

Never had you ever been particularly fond of life. And now that you finally were, now you were going to die.

But that didn’t hurt half as much, as did the blade against your stomach. The threat.

“I could cut that thing out of you and feed it to him.”

He wasn’t dead.

And still, his words made you shudder.

You had never even realized when you had started to cry. You simply suddenly realized your face was wet, your lashes sticky and your vision blurred.

“I’ll do whatever you want. But please-“ You sobbed out, but you stopped, when he pressed the blade harder against you.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut.” He spat.

You forced yourself to keep your eyes open and nodded frantically.

“Good.” He murmured. “Maybe you’re not entirely useless. What do we have here?”

He used the tip of the blade to cut the strap of your negligee, causing you to gasp.

“Look at that. How pretty. Like a pretty little slut.” His eyes darkened and his lip quivered in barely suppressed rage.

He leaned down and you felt his tongue run a path from your cheek to your ear. It made you shudder and tense, squeezing your eyes shut, but you forced yourself to stay still and not say a single thing. You just sobbed.

“You know what I’m going to do with you?” He smirked and ran a disgusting path with his tongue inside the shell of your ear. “I’m going to fuck your pretty little pussy. I’m going to fuck it again and again and again, until there’s nothing left of you. And only then will I cut you open.”

You were shaking and sobbing so hard that you felt nausea rise within you. Not only his words, but the intensity of your sobs was enough to make you want to puke.

“Or maybe…” He pressed the blade against your cheek and you held your breath. “Maybe I could cut your eyelids off first, hm? So I can be sure that you keep your eyes on me at all times. What do you think?”

The cold metal of the knife dragged over your face, until you felt it pressed right underneath your eye.

“Please.” Your words were slurred and choked out between sobs and gasps for air. “Please, I’m begging you. Please, I’m pregnant. He f-f…He forced me. He forced me. Please, he forced me, he dragged me here by force, He…he…made me…”

“Shh.” It was almost soothing, the way he shushed you. But the way the blade pressed into your cheek was anything but. The pain came slow, but it stung more than his slap ever could have.

“That’s why you’ve been waiting here, wearing this, hm? Because he forced you?”

You felt blood trickling down your cheek. It didn’t hurt half as much as his words did, though.

“Ah…”

“Mhm, mhm. Do you still want to defy me?"

You shook your head, trying to breathe in hysterically. But there was simply not enough air.

The cut went from your eye down to the corner of your mouth.

There went your vision from a pretty wedding dress, a sweet, young mother picking up her child from daycare. No, you were the Joker. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You wouldn’t make it to that part of your life.

If only he hadn’t stopped cutting you. Because the second he did, you felt the next blow, dark and low. His fingers traced a path down your chest, over your stomach and before you could protest, he pressed his thumb against your center. You squeezed your eyes shut and your lip quivered, a silent plea on your lips.

Not this, not him. Not someone who wasn’t your man. But he couldn’t have cared less, right?

The blade followed the path his fingers had drawn and soon enough you heard the material of your panties being cut open.

Your chest heaved rapidly, your nails biting bloody marks into your palms.

Maybe it would be over sooner than later.

Maybe he would violate you and then leave you to it. Maybe, he’d let you live at least.

Still, you couldn’t choke back the sob that threatened to drown you, when you felt the knife wander down further. The cold metal pressed against your core, sideways, and you forced yourself to stay still. You were sure, one wrong movement and you’d end up maimed for life.

For the little life you had left.

He kept the knife pressed against the bundle of nerves underneath him, while you felt two of his disgusting fingers press against your entrance.

“There, there. I thought that’s what little sluts like you want.”

He pressed forward and you cried out in horror and pain.

“Please, stop!”

You didn’t mean to speak, you knew what always happened whenever you opened your mouth, but your body reacted before the rest of you could.

He stopped for a moment, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re such a dumb fucking whore.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry for what he did to you! I didn’t ask him to, I didn’t want him to!” The words spilled from your mouth like wildfire. “What I said is true, he did force me here! But I fell in love with him and then you talked to me that day, and then you followed us home and I just- He just- He saw your gun and then he- And then he-“

“Shut up!” His free hand shot out and squeezed your face so tightly, it made you gasp. “Shut the hell up, will you? I’m not doing this, because you fell in love with him. Fuck! Do you think I care about his shit?!” He gritted his teeth and leaned down enough to be right in your face. “You wanna know what your motherfucking boyfriend did? Hm? You wanna know?” His lip quivered again and his eyes were hard enough to cut you open.

“He had my brother killed.”

That made you freeze. More than you already were.

His words sent a sharp pang through your chest and you opened and closed your mouth several times.

“What?”

“Ah, so he didn’t tell you. How fortunate.” He scoffed and exhaled through gritted teeth. “He kept asking me where your bitch of a mother is. And I told him, that I don’t know. Which I don’t. I haven’t seen her in months, right? And he kept asking me. Fuck. I told him that I don’t know. I told him! And what did he do? What did he do the next fucking day?!” The hand he used to hold your face was shaking and so was the rest of him. The crazed look in his eyes intensified to a degree where you were genuinely frightened – genuinely believed you would be dead soon.

“The next day, he showed me a picture on my own phone.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “My twin brother.” He briefly closed his eyes, before they shot open again.

“Someone had…Someone had shot him. Right in the face.” He swallowed and bit the inside of his cheek, scrunching up his nose. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he did it himself. But no, he was here, busy fucking you. Getting you pregnant. Fuck!”

He slammed the blade back into the mattress, pressing his fingers back against you, forcing your legs apart.

“I’ll fuck you ‘til you die.” He spat out.

“I didn’t know!” You sobbed out. “Please! I had no idea! Had I known-“

It was a soft sound, a gentle thud, somewhere in the apartment. And what started as a soft breath, quickly turned into running steps.

An emergency. An emergency indeed.

He had heard it, too. And the second he turned his head to look at the open door, you finally broke free from your haze.

He wanted to kill you. Your baby.

Your elbow shot out, hitting the side of his face hard enough for an ugly cracking sound to be heard. He gasped loudly and pulled back, just enough so that you could somehow scramble back from underneath him. He doubled over and pressed a hand against his temple.

The door flew open and there he was.

Oh God.

The fraction of a second. A single second.

His eyes were wide in horror, in disbelief, in surprise.

And then that was all gone. And all that was left was pure, unbridled, murderous fury.

He stormed forward and yanked the intruder off of you, leaving you finally able to breathe again.

You somehow stumbled over, getting on your knees, unable to tear your eyes off the scene.

He slammed him into the wall and began to throw punches left and right, but not in the way one might see in a movie. Not even in an underground fight. Maybe he didn’t even want to kill him. No, he wanted to cause as much damage as possible and watch him suffer.

He was shaking. Shaking in fury, shaking in rage. His fingers itching to murder. And his eyes were black.

“I found your little sister, Elliot.” He spat through gritted teeth.

The man, whose name seemed to be Elliot, slumped down against the wall, but his head perked up, his eyes immediately shooting open in alarm, despite the way his face was slowly swelling beyond recognition.

“What?” He coughed up blood. “No. I don’t have-“

“She lives in France. Clever move, Elliot, really. Thought I wouldn’t find your little French whore of a sister.”

He spun around and dragged the knife from the mattress, making you flinch. He crouched down beside him and tightened his grip on the knife.

“I wish you would live long enough to see what I have planned for her. You see, I’m a loyal man, so I won’t fuck her myself. But fuck, I’ll gather enough men to break that dumb little cocktail waitress. They’ll split her in two.”

Elliot’s eyes widened impossibly, shaking his head frantically. “No…no…no, please, she’s only twenty-six…Fuck, no, please, please, please, I’m sorry, I…”

Suddenly – his gaze met yours.

You flinched and stumbled back against the wall, inhaling sharply.

“Please, you can’t let him do that! Please!”

All you could do was stare at him.

But then his voice cut through the silence. “Get out.”

Your eyes snapped back to him, to the way his eyes were blazing with murderous intent.

“I- I-“

“Get out!”

He didn’t need to say it a third time.

You stumbled to your legs, shaking and nearly falling over, but you caught yourself in the last moment. Your legs somehow carried you outside and you ran and ran, until you reached the bathroom. You collapsed on the floor, gripping the edge of the toilet tightly. You retched and retched, aiming for the toilet and ending up puking all over yourself.

You were still shaking.

Still sobbing.

And with every pained gasp you heard from the bedroom, with every grunt, every plea for help – a little part of you died.

You had no idea how much time had passed. An hour? More? Less?

You lay curled up between the toilet and the wall, your stomach grumbling in unease. You had never felt so disgusting before, covered in blood, sweat, your own puke and the lingering touch of a dead man.

When you heard his footsteps approach, you couldn’t even lift your head.

He knelt down beside you, the movement frantic and concerned. His warm hands cupped your face, forcing you to look up at him despite your terror, despite your pain.

“No.” You heard him whisper, his fingers brushing softly over the cut on your cheek.

It sounded watery, like he was speaking through a tunnel. Everything was distant.

Was this how death felt?

He gathered you in his arms and your head lolled forward, resting against his chest. He held you like that for a long while, but you barely felt it. You were shaking like a leaf, but the sobs had died.

You had died.

“He- Wanted-“

“Did he hurt you?” He was trying to stay calm, trying for your sake. There was not much he could do to retaliate to a dead man, anyway.

“Is he dead?” You choked out.

“Don’t think about that now. Did he hurt you?”

You begrudgingly shook your head. “Not…enough to…”

You had no idea what you were even trying to say.

“I’ll take you to the hospital.” He said lowly as he attempted to get up. You caught his wrist before he could.

“He didn’t.” You choked out. “I’m not- He didn’t-“

Your gaze followed down his to your exposed body. His eyes were wide and fearful.

“Did he…”

“No! He didn’t…I mean he did try to…He…You came in.” You whispered weakly. “You came in, before he could.”

His eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment, before he pressed you against him, cradling your head against his chest. His heart was racing in his chest and his hand pressed your head into his embrace almost painfully tight.

“This is all my fault.” He whispered hoarsely. “I lost the chip and by the time I realized it, I…This is all my fault.”

Of all the things he had done wrong, you wouldn’t let him take the blame for that.

“No.” You whispered, slowly coming out of your haze. Everything was still blurry, but the shaking began to lessen ever so slightly. “It’s not your fault. It’s his.”

“If I didn’t-“

“We’re not discussing this.” You whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t want to overwhelm you any further, you could tell. And you were grateful for that.

“I’m going to take you to the hospital regardless. The stress-“

“Okay.” You whispered. “But please, I…Just let me…Give me…”

He pulled back enough to look at you, his expression pained. “I’ll take care of you. I promise, I will. And I will never leave you alone again. No one will ever touch you again.” He gritted out.

You didn’t protest when he sat you in the tub. He knelt beside it, gently washing everything off you. You just sat there, your chin resting on your knees. The warmth of the water felt good on your skin, it helped against the cruel cold in your bones. But it did little to comfort you. Nothing could ever erase the pain, the fear you felt as you lay there, entirely helpless and frozen.

You barely felt his hands as he gently cleaned you up. You closed your eyes when the warm water ran down your hair and face, but you didn’t flinch.

After a while you felt his hand gently cup your cheek. He made you look at him and you didn’t hesitate to.

“Can you ever forgive me?” He whispered barely audible.

You had never seen him like this. So…desperate.

You were sure, you would never forget the look in his eyes when he reached for the knife. The moment he saw what was going on.

You had been terrified then. And also incredibly relieved.

But you couldn’t help but ask yourself, since that was inside of him…would you always be safe? Would your child always be safe?

But then your expression softened. He looked genuinely terrified. Terrified of the possibility that he had lost your love, your trust. You.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” You whispered hoarsely. “I love you.”

He swallowed and averted his gaze, gently tightening his grip on you.

A few minutes later, you were still damp but covered in a big, fluffy bathrobe. He led you to the other bedroom and lay you down gently, pulling the covers up to your chin.

“I’ll get the doctor here instead.” He murmured. “I don’t want you to go anywhere right now.”

You didn’t protest. He sat by your side, squeezing your hand and staring down at it.

His guilt was eating him alive. And that was eating you.

You gently took his hand and pressed the softest kiss against his knuckles.

“I was just afraid. I’ll be okay.” You whispered.

But he didn’t look convinced. The pain in his eyes was so apparent, so real. You had never before seen him like that.

After a while, you slowly looked up at him. “Did you really have his brother killed?”

He stiffened slightly, but he didn’t avoid your gaze. “Yes.” He said quietly.

You were silent for a while. “Why?”

“He said things about you.” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Threatened you. I should have killed him back then already.”

Your guts churned and you averted your gaze.

“Your mother is in Korea.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Maybe you were indeed dead. And maybe it was better that way.

“What?” You breathed out.

You felt him nod. “She’s here. She’s in Seoul.”

He bit his lip and you kept your gaze glued to the ceiling.

“I know where she is.”

You closed your eyes and tried to sort out your thoughts. A list of pros and cons. And then you thought back to the baby in your belly. The tiny human, dependent on you. Tiny fingers and toes. Small teeth. A smile, covered in chocolate and ice cream.

Someone to love.

Someone to love unconditionally.

And then you thought back to how you how almost lost it. How your kidneys were giving up. How you had lost one, due to poisoning. You almost lost your baby because of her.

When you looked up at him, your eyes didn’t look like your own.

“I trust you.” Was all that you said.

He didn’t comment on it and he didn’t need to. His eyes said it all. He was a clever man.

He didn’t need words to understand you.

You averted your gaze again, staring up at the ceiling and gently running your thumb over the back of his hand. He loved it when you played with his hands.

He loved it when you leaned on him.

He loved it when you loved him.

He-

“Choi Seo-jin.”

You stopped in your tracks and kept your gaze focused on the ceiling. There was no confusion. You knew it. You knew what he was saying. You knew what it meant.

When you slowly tilted your head to meet his gaze, he was already looking at you. His eyes soft. Softer than ever before.

“My name. It’s Choi Seo-jin.”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. There was not much you could say.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke in a voice so soft and silky that it left you feeling breathless.

His name. His name.

“Sorry?” You breathed out.

He nodded. “For not telling you earlier. For not trusting you, when I should have. For…for all the things I have done to you. Everything.”

You stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Most of it, you had already forgiven him. Probably everything. Most likely everything.

Sure, you had told to the dead man that he kidnapped, that he forced you to be here and carry his child. But what else should you have said? You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want your baby to die. And so you lied.

It wasn’t really a lie, was it? Not a few months ago. But now you knew this was exactly where you belonged.

There was no more curtain, no uncertainty left. No guilt, no unease, no fear.

When you feared him, then you feared him as his partner. Not his victim.

“You don’t have to say that.” You said gently, but he cut you off with a sharp nod.

“Yes, I do.” He exhaled slowly and looked down at your combined hands. “I told you of my father, right? But I didn’t tell you everything.”

You held your breath and simply…let him be.

He smiled, but there was no mirth wheresoever. His eyes were cold, but not directed at you.

At the memory.

“I still hear my mother screaming, you know? Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’m sure I can hear her. When I wake up then and see you lying beside me…It’s the only thing to bring me back.”

He bit his lip and shook his head, still not looking at you.

“He told me that no one would ever be able to love me. That no one could ever love a weak little bastard like me. Called my mother a whore. Said she slept around. He wouldn’t even be sure whose or what I was. Bastard was his go-to name for me.” He sighed and shook his head, gently playing with your fingers. “He said no one could ever love me. And everyone who ever said they did would lie.”

That was when he finally looked up to meet your gaze.

“And I believed him.” He whispered. “I was sure that no one could ever love me. No one would ever trust me. No one would ever look at me and see their lover, their husband. Their protector. They’d see me for what I was. A bastard.” He shook his head again, his voice dropping low. “I thought if I tested you enough, if I hurt you enough, you’d run. I was sure. You were a tough girl. Tough as nails. I did the most vile things to you, but you? You never tried to run. I tried to kill you and what did you do? You told me you loved me.” He clenched his jaw as he spoke. “And I was…I was so fucking confused. Why would you love me? You had to be lying. But no matter what I did, you didn’t run.” His voice turned contemplative, his gentle grip on your hand never wavering.

“He came to my room, you know.” He swallowed against something in his throat and you were sure the sound of your heart breaking was audible.

“Every so often. He…” He closed his eyes. He couldn’t say it. And he didn’t need to. Instead, you gently squeezed his hand, just a little bit tighter than usual.

Your eyes filled with tears, but you bit them back. You wanted so bad to be strong for him, especially now. He slowly opened his eyes and met your gaze, a tiny, weak smile on his lips.

“I couldn’t control it.” He whispered and slowly shook his head. “No matter what I did. I was never in control. Everything just happened. And I could only let it happen.” He clenched his jaw tighter, his grip on your hand was shaking now. “And I told myself I would never, never feel that way again. Never. And I didn’t.”

He sighed deeply. “But I think I got a little ahead of myself. And now…And you…” His gaze raked over your face, over your damp cheeks and he smiled again.

“I gave you control. I know it wasn’t much. It’s not…easy. But I’m trying. I’m really trying.”

He reached out a hand, his palm against your cheek warm and gentle. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch.

“You never took advantage of it.” He murmured. “I saw it in your face, in your eyes. That one time you slapped me or whenever I let you be in control…It’s almost like it’s hurting you physically.”

His smile widened, just the tiniest bit. “I know it now. I know that my father was nothing but a liar. And you love me.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you nodded. It was all you could do.

“Good.” He whispered. “Because…”

He took a slow breath and brought your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against it.

“Because I intend to marry you and make this whole thing work. I’m going to be your husband and you will be my wife. And this…” He gently pressed his free hand against your stomach. “This is our baby. And no one will ever touch our baby. We’re going to love it. And I will kill anyone who ever tries to touch either of you again.”

His voice was so firm and convincing that you were sure. He meant every word.

You couldn’t even protest. You didn’t want to.

You would be his wife.

And your baby was going to get all the love the both of you had been missing.

And then?

And then he told you everything. Everything from who he was and where he came from. Every quirk, every ick, every pain, every wish, every fear. Everything. Until you were sure.

You were meant to be there.

You were meant to be his.

And had it been him who wrote the text, who uploaded it, who decided to share his thoughts with the world. Had it been him, not you.

You would have done the same.

After an eternity of just talking and letting go of everything that dragged down his soul into the strange abyss that was his misery, he finally looked at you.

“Did I miss anything?” He murmured, before he leaned down to press a kiss against your temple.

You swallowed and nodded. “You didn’t tell me where you work.”

He sighed deeply and leaned back. “You’ll love me regardless?”

You didn’t need to think about it. You simply nodded.

You would.

He nodded as well and leaned down, just enough so you felt his breath against your skin, like the gentle kiss of a sweet spring day after a long, bitter winter. His fingers gently played with your hair, the movement absentminded.

His eyes softened even more and he looked at you with nothing less than pure trust.

“Tell me, darling…Have you ever played the Squid Game before?”

_________________________________________

Tag list 1 :@mitsuki-dreamfree@kpopsmutty69@heroine-chique@vkeyy@mizuwki@blu-brrys@z0mbi345@yourpointbreak@ayieayee@freddyzeppsworld@lola11111111@indifitel6661@salesmanlover08@laurenbenoit70@lalalaa2210@lila-marshal@auspicious-lilana@0-aubrie0@lovelyaegyo@theredvelvetbitch@violentbluess@muriels-lover@dorayakissu@eviebuggg@muchwita@ririgy@strxlemon@obsessedwthdilfs@kiwilov3@misty-q @koigguki

Author's note 2: Sorry for traumatizing you, guys. I hope whatever I wrote made any sense...My brain is a mess, it's 2.30am and I'm going to sleep now. I loveeeee you! 🤍

[gigabyte-flare]

The Death of Peace of Mind

[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]

Summary: Traumatized by your time in Skyhaven, you seek the comfort and safety of the man you trust with your heart, little do you know, however, that nowhere is truly safe anymore; not even the N109 Zone.

Word Count: 3.3k

Pairing: Caleb x fem!reader (afab)/Sylus x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

WARNING, THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THE FOLLOWING: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, Spoilers for Homecoming Wings, yandere tropes, non-con kissing, implied non-con s3x, pseudo-incest, depictions of PTSD, vomiting, mention of loss of virginity, pet names, unprotected but consensual p in v, denied orgasm, depiction of a panic attack, aftercare, implied murder, stalking

A/N: I have been totally, utterly consumed by Caleb brain rot. Sylus is still my man, but oh my god Caleb does things to me. Inspired by this scene in Caleb's main story, I was so utterly unnerved and fascinated by this whole interaction and I was immediately inspired. Beware that this is very dark. Reader's discretion is advised.

Title inspired by The Death of Peace of Mind performed by Bad Omens

Line Break Divider by cafekitsune

"What if I told you I was always like this?"

Your breath hitches as you press yourself against the back of the sofa, moving away from Caleb's outstretched hand. Caleb's face immediately darkens, his form towering over you as he cages you on the sofa with his arms.

"You're always hurling yourself into danger, whether you realize it or not," Caleb continues, his violet gaze boring into yours, "those that are after your power, you know, the ones that wanna hurt you? They should all just…"

He leans in close, his face inches away from yours, "disappear."

You can feel your heart racing in your chest as you desperately try to move yourself away from him, however, his 'cage' keeps you firmly in place, his resolve unwavering.

"The only place you are truly safe is by my side."

There is a subtle smile on Caleb's lips that unnerve you to your core and you exhale a heavy sigh in an attempt to calm your racing heart. You swallow hard, gathering up your resolve to retort his words, "I am a Deepspace Hunter, Caleb. I face danger head-on, not cower behind a façade of "safety." I don't need--"

"You don't need me? You don't need me?!" he says as he shakes his head; you hear his hands dig into the fabric of the sofa, "is that what you truly think?"

You bring your hand up to shove him away, however he grasps your wrist, squeezing it in a vice-like grip as he pins it to the couch; he leans in closer, his expression taking on a half crazed look, "Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you."

He pauses before continuing. "Wanna return to Linkon? Just say the word. We'll go back to our past, rebuild our old house and move in together. If that isn't enough for you, I'll build you a whole mansion; you know, the kind with one of those large hedge mazes. I'll plant all your favorite flowers and decorate it with all your favorite things," he gently cups your right cheek before continuing, "it will be the most beautiful, stunning garden you will ever lay eyes on."

Your words fail you, all you can do is stare up at him, completely stunned into silence. A gentle smile forms on his lips before he continues once more, "where I take you, no one will ever find you again. I'll protect you forever."

You blink a few times, shaking your head as you curl up your right fist, placing it on his chest, "Caleb… you can't just--" you stop yourself, considering your next words very carefully, lest you invoke his fury, "I can't let you do that… you are very important to me, but--"

"But what?"

You take his hesitation as an opportunity to escape from his grasp. You try to stand up and push him off, but he grabs both your wrists, pinning them back onto the back of the sofa, his form looming over you once more, "ever since I first met you, I've stifled my true feelings for you every… single… fucking… day. It was suffocating."

A sudden flash of lightning, followed by a roar of thunder, causes you to jump. Your breath trembles as Caleb leans in closer to your face.

"I am done playing these games."

Without any kind of warning, Caleb's lips crash into yours in a searing, passion filled kiss. He practically devours you like a starving animal, a low moan escaping him as he pushes himself into you. You open your mouth to scream, however this just invites Caleb's tongue to delve into your mouth to perform a sick dance with yours as his hands move to slide under your shirt--

You wake up screaming, clutching your pillow tight to your chest as your eyes snap open. You take in gulps of air as your eyes dart around your bedroom, taking in your surroundings.

You're at home in your apartment in Linkon. It was just a nightmare.

You close your eyes, taking deep breaths as you calm yourself; your racing heart taking a few minutes to finally settle into a steady rhythm. You feel a couple of tears roll down the sides of your face. You slowly sit up in bed, however a sudden wave of nausea comes over you and you quickly climb out of bed and race to the bathroom with your hand covering your mouth. You barely are able to turn the bathroom light on and kneel in front of the toilet when you begin heaving into the toilet bowl, only managing to vomit up bile.

You start to sob as you continue to cough into the toilet bowl, your throat stinging as you swallow back more bile. When your stomach finally settles down, you sit back with your legs tucked beneath you. You wipe a tear from your eye when you hear it, a subtle noise coming from inside your apartment. Immediately, you're on high alert. You stand back up, stepping into the doorway leading into your living room, you peer around your darkened apartment, the open layout allowing you to see that its empty; there's no one here but you.

So what was that noise you heard?

Not giving yourself another opportunity to hear it again, you race back into your bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind you. You dart over to your nightstand, grasping your phone like it's your last lifeline and call the one person you are now realizing you can truly trust, especially at this hour: Onychinus's fearless leader, Sylus.

You press the call icon as you sit on the end of your bed. The phone barely rings before he answers.

"Kitten… what are you doing up so late? It's three in the morning; did you miss--"

"Can you come pick me up?" you ask, cutting him off.

You hear Sylus suck in a breath before he continues, the alarm evident in his voice, "what's the matter, Sweetie?"

It's then you hear another noise from inside your apartment beyond your bedroom door, "can you just come? You have the key to my apartment I gave you, right?"

"I do. What's this about? Are you ok?"

"Sylus, please…" you plead, tears once again threatening to fall down your cheeks.

"I'll be there in 10 minutes."

You hang up the call, clutching your phone to your chest, your heart once again racing in your chest as your mind wanders back to one of your last encounters with Caleb. He was someone you grew up with, trusted, and loved. You called it a miracle when he came back into your life after you thought him dead for over a year, but something happened to him. Something changed him, or so you thought. You'd never thought in a million years that Caleb would force himself on you. You shake your head as you choke back a sob, willing yourself not to think about what happened after he kissed you that night.

The only reason you're back in Linkon now is because Caleb and his fleet were sent on an expedition into the Deepspace Tunnel, granting you your only means of escape from him. While it's been a few days since you got home from Skyhaven, each time you close your eyes, you see Caleb's face, those words burned into your brain.

As you wait for Sylus, you think back on your childhood, your eyes widening in horror as you slowly come to the realization that Caleb was right. From that time he locked you in the attic to prevent you from confronting those bullies to his insistent hovering over you, he was completely and utterly obsessed with you. So why didn't you see the warning signs sooner?

"What if I told you I was always like this?"

When you look at someone through a rose colored lens, all the red flags just look like flags…

The sound of keys jingling followed by the front door of your apartment opening snaps you back into reality; you practically spring off the bed and whip open your bedroom door. You don't even give Sylus a chance to say anything as you slip on some shoes and approach him, wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your face into his broad chest as you inhale the scent of his cologne. The relief you feel is indescribable as you break your embrace and take his hand, practically dragging him out of your apartment before shutting and locking the front door.

It takes everything in you to not run to Sylus's sports car waiting outside. Sylus guides you to the passenger's seat, opening the door for you to climb inside as he walks over to the driver's side, getting in and starting the car before driving off into the night.

"Do you want to explain what this is about, Kitten?" he asks as he looks over at you, his face full of concern.

"I'll tell you once we're at the base. Just drive," you say, your voice flat as you lean your head against the passenger's side window, watching the city lights go by as Sylus drives.

Sylus reaches over, gently rubbing your thigh before placing his hand back on the car's stick shift. Seeking his touch, you place your hand on top of his as he shifts gears, your fingers intertwining with each other. Before you know it, he drives into N109 Zone territory, the red moon casting an eerie glow as he continues his drive to his base. Once he arrives, he parks the car and motions to you to stay seated. He climbs out of the car, coming over the passenger's side to open the door. He scoops you up out of the car, carrying you bridal style into the base.

Once inside, Luke and Kieran stand to attention, clearing their throats before Luke speaks, "Boss, you're back! That must be some kind of record-- Oh! Miss Hunter!"

"Ensure the base is secure, I do not want to be disturbed," Sylus orders as he carries you deeper into the base.

"Yessir!" you hear the twins reply before listening to their steps scurry away.

Sylus carries you into his bedroom, laying you down onto the bed gently before walking around to climb onto the bed next to you. He brings his hand up to your face, gently caressing your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"Now, Kitten, do you mind telling me what's the matter?"

You take a deep breath, but despite trying to compose yourself, you break down and begin to spill everything to Sylus. You tell him about how you infiltrated the Farspace Fleet to investigate an explosion that was eerily similar to the one you had experienced that took the lives of your adoptive grandmother and your adoptive brother; only to find out that his life wasn't claimed in that explosion after all.

You tell him about the relief you felt finding out that your beloved Caleb was alive and well, but were shocked to find out he's now the ruthless Colonel of the Farspace Fleet. You tell Sylus about your growing suspicions of Caleb, about how he had drugged you to prevent you from rescuing a child that was involved in the explosion you were investigating. You told him about Caleb's increasingly unhinged behavior that eventually led up to… what had happened to you before Caleb's departure to the Deepspace Tunnel expedition. It was the first time since it happened that you let yourself recall the full details of that night.

Sylus's expression grimaces, his lips twitching into a snarl as he clenches his fists in his lap. "Was that your first time?" he asks, his voice low.

You bite your bottom lip, desperately fighting back more tears as you nod, "yes… it was."

Sylus closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before looking back over at you. Funny enough, you once feared those crimson eyes, but as you got to know Sylus, you came to love them and, in a way, fall in love with the person attached to them, although you didn't want to admit it given the fact you were a Hunter and he was the leader of the largest crime syndicate on the planet. After the incident with the Aether Core at the auction, you came to discover that Sylus was not the heartless monster that everyone painted him to be. He was always kind to you, showering you in gifts and affection; not even mentioning he always empowered you to be your best self, no matter what. He also was always honest with you.

Caleb was not.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you shift yourself closer to Sylus, gently caressing the side of his face in your hand. Sylus gives you a gentle smile before once again caressing your face with the backs of his fingers.

"If you'll have me, Sweetie, I want to take away your pain. Let me replace that horror with my love."

Smiling at him as a tear rolls down your cheek, you give him a subtle nod. Gently grasping the back of your head, Sylus pulls your face to his, his lips pressing against yours gingerly, as if testing the waters. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer and you feel yourself practically melt in his embrace. His kiss was nothing like Caleb's had been; it was gentle and loving, but also confident. Your hands caress his chest, feeling his toned muscle beneath his shirt. It's not long before your fingers are undoing the buttons on his shirt.

Within minutes, yours and his clothing have been discarded on the floor on each side of Sylus's bed. Having climbed under the sheets, Sylus positions himself above you, his mouth devouring yours, your tongues dancing in each other's mouths as his large hands grope your breasts. You moan Sylus's name between kisses, the slick of your arousal gathering between your legs. Sylus breaks the kiss, staring down at you as he slowly parts your legs, his eyes glazed in lust as he stares down at you.

"Do you want this, Kitten?" he asks softly.

Your chest heaving, you stare up into Sylus's crimson gaze, a smile teasing the corners of your mouth before you whisper, "yes, I do."

Sylus smiles as he reaches down between your bodies, grasping his throbbing hard cock and positioning it at your entrance, but as he moves his hips to sheath himself inside you, you place your hand onto his chest, stopping him.

"I'm safe here, right?" you ask, the worry clear in your eyes.

"Of course you are," Sylus whispers before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, "no one enters the N109 Zone without me knowing about it, I assure you."

"Ok," you reply, gently nodding as you remove your hand from his chest.

"You haven't changed your mind, have you? It's ok if you have, Sweetie."

You quickly shake your head as you drape your arms around his strong shoulders, "no, I haven't. I need you, Sylus…"

Sylus leans back down to kiss you once more and as he does so, he pushes himself into you, the feeling of your soft walls caressing his length pulling a soft moan from him. Once he's sheathed himself fully inside you, he pauses his movement to allow your body to adjust to his length and girth. Your breaths become ragged as your legs hook around his waist; the brief discomfort quickly replaced by pleasure as the head of his cock presses gently against your cervix.

"You can move, Sylus, I'm ok."

Smiling at your reassurance of your comfort, he begins to move his hips into you. His thrusts are gentle at first, but as your soft whimpers evolve into loud moans, he quickens his pace, burying his face into the crook of your neck, sucking and biting marks into your skin, marking you as his.

"Oh my God, Sylus…" you moan, tilting your head back against the pillow behind your head, allowing better access to your neck for Sylus, who happily accepts your unspoken invitation.

Completely lost in pleasure, you feel Sylus move himself away from your neck after a few minutes to cage your body with his. He angles his hips in such a way that the head of his cock hits your g-spot repeatedly, causing you to see stars behind your eyelids.

"Fuck…" you breathe out, "I'm gonna cum…"

You slowly open your eyes to look up as Sylus before he hurtles you over the edge, however, it's not Sylus's face staring down at you.

It's Caleb's.

"Doesn't this feel good, pip-squeak?"

You suck in a breath as your eyes widen in horror. You bring your hands up to push him off as you start screaming. You kick at him and thrash your body as you are thrown into a full blown panic. Tears stream down your face as you shut your eyes tight, refusing to look into his purple eyes. You feel hands grasp your arms.

"Hey, hey, hey! Shhh, shhh, shhh…" you hear Sylus's voice say as he abruptly pulls himself out of you, cradling your face in his hands, "I'm right here, Kitten. You're safe, it's ok…"

Upon hearing Sylus's comforting voice, you slowly open your eyes and see Sylus's concerned expression staring down at you as he gently grasps your shoulders, caressing them slowly in an effort to calm you down.

"Oh my god, Sylus… I'm so sorry…" you say, your lips trembling as you start to cry, "I'm so fucking sorry…"

"There is nothing to apologize for, Kitten," he replies as he brushes your disheveled hair away from your face, "what can I do to help you?"

"Just hold me… please…"

"Of course."

Rolling off you, Sylus wraps his arms around you, holding you tight as you snuggle into his embrace, the warmth of his body lulling you to sleep as you wrap your arms around his torso. He rubs your back, placing a kiss onto the top of your head before closing his eyes, quickly falling asleep as well.

The bodies of two masked men lay crumpled on the floor in front of the intruder, their blood seeping out onto the marble. Their positions are unnatural, as if they were crushed by some unimaginable force. Clutched in the intruder's right hand is a mechanical crow, it's neck crushed by his grasp. He let's go of the bird, its metallic body hitting the floor with a loud clank. He adjusts the hat on his head, signifying his high rank in the Farspace Fleet as he begins to walk down the hallway, his leather boots picking up the blood from the bodies and trailing it down the hall.

It only takes him a few minutes to find what he's looking for: the master bedroom. His gloved hand grabs the handle, slowly turning it as to not announce his presence as he gently pushes the door open. It softly creaks as it opens, opening up into a large bedroom. The intruder's purple gaze shifts across the room, observing the lit fireplace and a four poster bed over to the left. His brow furrows when he sees the bed's occupants: his beloved and the leader of Onychinus himself. The sight of their nude bodies embracing each other causes his blood to boil.

The muscles in his neck tensing, he slowly walks over to the bed. When he approaches, he stands at the end of the bed, staring down at the bed's occupants, watching their chests and shoulders rise and fall in unison as they slumber, completely unaware of the intruder's presence. He simply stares at them for minutes on end, allowing himself to ruminate and let his anger consume him. He narrows his eyes at the silver haired man as he slowly pulls out one of his large pistols from its holster. He twirls the gun in his hand, using one hand to check the chamber to ensure it's loaded before twirling it again, aiming the gun at the silver haired man's head.

And pulling the trigger.

[outoftheseine]

- SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY FIC RECS 2 -

my big, broody husband | note: this is COD so there are some trigger warnings like: blood, guns, injuries, military stuff, death so please beware of them. there also also 18+ content so minors DNI. don't forget to read the authors' warnings | more will be added!

part one | main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

yes, lieutenant • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @sinkovia (very very angsty, violence, smut)

forcedhusband!simon x reader

↳ by @suimon (sooo much fluff, comfort, slow burn, mutual pining, lots of bantering)

unexpected | part two • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @dammn-dean (pregnant!reader, angst, comfort, fluff)

the roommate • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world (angst, fluff, smut, kidnapping, simon here made my heart so fuzzy)

please love me | part two • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @rowarn (angst, smut, comfort, tw’s like depression, sa and suicide)

actions have consequences | part two • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!civilian!spouse!reader

↳ by @mrweh (heavy angst, mean!simon)

office romance • supervisor!simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @hecateslore

you had his baby and he didn’t know | part two • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @sgrplumditz

ghost distribution system | part two | part three • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @katz-chow

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

his heart, his light, his world • dad!simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @thexsilentxwordsmith (so so fluffy)

no judgement • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @blingblong55 (so so so fluffy, dad!simon)

consequences • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @sinkovia (very angsty, tw: miscarriage)

a place to be weak • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @cherryredstars (fluff, little angsty)

superficial wounds, deep devotion • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @tacticaldiary (fluff)

tormented by a ghost • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @shotmrmiller (mean!simon, little explicit)

lights • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @babygirl-riley (dad!simon fluff, angst, childhood trauma)

sunshine • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @sgtcosmo (fluff)

whispers and words • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @dammn-dean (angst, slightly suggestive, happy ending)

secret haven • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @lightwing-s (fluff, secret relationship)

gentle love • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @floatingfireflies (fluff)

his girls • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @casiia (dad!simon, domestic!simon, fluff, slight angst)

migraines • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @mockerycrow (fluff, physical hurt/comfort)

family ties • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @lundenloves (angst, dad!simon but not a cute dad ahaha)

longing • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @yawnderu (fluff)

hold it together while the world is on fire • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @unreliablesnake (major character death, grief, angst, tw: drug abuse)

is it too soon? • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @unreliablesnake (fluff, simon is whipped, grief)

in another life • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @suimon (very angsty, hurt but no comfort)

over his shoulder • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @imperihoe-writes (tooth rotting fluff)

sweet dreams, my love • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @qtboni (so fluffy)

the sacrifice • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @bravo4iscool (medic!reader, fluff, angst but happy ending)

wrong words • simon ‘ghost’ riley x 141!reader

↳ by @milf-murdock (hurt/comfort)

being chosen… by a baby • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!single mom!reader

↳ by @southernbluebellereader (fluff)

big guy • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @kivino (fluff, jealous!simon)

gentle giant • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @asph6lt (fluff, soft!simon)

girl dad • dad!simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @thexsilentxwordsmith (very fluffy)

home invasion • neighbour!simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @oceantornadoo (hurt/comfort, violence, fluff)

everything’s gonna be okay • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @pearlofthesirens (hurt/comfort)

meet the family • simon ‘ghost’ riley x civilian!reader

↳ by @sim0nril3y (angst, comfort, family issues)

oh muse, tell me of the things done by golden aphrodite • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @sprout-fics (smut, greek mythology au)

late night embrace • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @mondaysoct (fluff, slightly explicit)

[netherfeildren]

Busy, Dying. Part 1;

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.

Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.

-OR-

an a/b/o soulmates AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Mating Bites, Knotting, Heat Sex, Breeding Kink, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Basically puppy training for unsocialized Alphas, And by God that man will be house trained by the time she’s done with him!, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, Author returns not with a whimper but with a KNOT, I wrote this in a very unserious state of mind beware 

A/N: Gray November, I've been down since July - but we're so back, baby. I’ve missed this so bad. I’ve missed you all, I won’t drone on and on. I hope you enjoy, and please talk to me in the comments. Update me on what I’ve missed, let me know how you’ve been and what’s happening in your life.

A great heartfelt thank you to all of my wonderful friends who so supportively cheered me on while I struggled to write this. Sincerely the best people I know. 

Love you all madly.

Word Count: 6.5K

Read on AO3

Part 1;

The old linoleum tiles are the most peculiar shade of puce, and Joel has realized there is someone sitting at the back of the room who smells… strange. 

More brown than purple—an ugly color. There’s something about it that fascinates him.

The woman that is currently speaking tells of her husband; it’s the only tale she has to tell. She’s been doing it for weeks, and they all know it well by now. Older, omega, the woman, and at the latter and less comely stage of life. Most of them here can say the same. They usually give their names, those that get up to share—although it’s never a requirement when you attend, it is highly encouraged—the sharing, he means—but he never pays much mind to them—the names, that is. That’s not what he’s here for after all—to make friends. Although, he does see how that’d be the initial assumption. 

Joel Miller is here for something more specific.

Six weeks he’s been showing up to these things now, and he’s yet to take a turn. He tells himself he’s working up to it. 

What that specific thing is…he hasn’t quite figured out. He’s listening for it, though, and intently, even if he does skip over the names. It’s the details of what they’re telling that matter to him. The hows and intricate whys of what it is that brought them here today.  

Her youth had been spent on a drunk, the woman is saying—her husband—and he’d been cruel to her in those days when there was still currency to spend in the form of her vitality. Joel nods at the puce—yes, he thinks, that’s usually the way of it. But later, there’s more to the story she reminds her audience, he drank himself into a fit, and had never been right since. The cruelty had been taken away from the marriage after that, and she’d been put in charge. 

“But I wonder,” she says, “If sometimes I don’t miss it, the way he’d been,” —if the reason she was here now, with all of the rest of them that were just like her in their own unique ways, was that she’d been left lonely after her cruel husband had been exchanged for a sick one. 

Joel nods again and wonders what sort of face the woman wears as she confesses but doesn’t bother to check. No matter, he knows they’re alike. If not in designation, then in heart. 

It’s easy, that thing, he does it too, to wish for the bad. To want to hold on to it, the thing that hurts. Addictive, even, in some cases. Missing it is easy. 

It’s why he’s here. 

And it’s what they promise you. In their flyers and pamphlets, when they stand on the corners of streets talking people up wearing that look in their eye and that slouch in their step, when they smell it on you—or in the lack there of—a mate or a purpose.

Welcome to our meeting. We’re here to find the cure for loneliness. 

That’s what they promise you by coming here. 

It’d been that word: loneliness, actually, that had caught him. L-O-N-E-liness. There was something attractive about it to him. Not a label but a state. 

You see, it was like this: Joel had seen a therapist once, several years ago, against his will and at the behest of another, who’d said all the wrong things in all the wrong ways. 

“You sound depressed, Joel,” the therapist had told him. 

He’d worn horn rimmed glasses and had a shiny bald head he could see the reflection of the overhead lights in. And worse—the non-scent of a beta which told him they’d never understand each other in the ways Joel longed to be understood. He’d—not hated him, necessarily—but felt an immense apathy for the man; more so than the regular apathy he felt for most things in his life. 

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“Very, very sad,” was the official diagnosis.

Joel hadn’t liked the sound of the word. The label. He did not like that a word so succinct could be ascribed to him and all that had happened in his life. There was no word for it. It just was. 

But there was something different about a state of aloneness, which if attributed to himself, he could accept. He had been left alone, in ways. It was a tangible thing he could look around a room inside of himself and recognize. 

They’re meetings, is what this place is—encounter groups this coalition offers where lonely demi humans can come to congregate, discuss their aloneness, what had led them to such a state; their lack of attachments, connections, mates—alpha, omega. Held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church on Newbury street—halfway mark between his shop and house—though they never talk about religion, which he likes because he doesn’t believe in religion. 

God’s still under review. 

He wonders if the Catholics wouldn’t have them. 

Sitting forward in his seat, the metal folding chair that always leaves his back aching something fierce, he presses his elbows into his knees to distract with alternative pressure. Focusing on his fingers woven together between his spread legs, he tries to pay attention to the man who’s stood up to speak now. Older than himself, late sixties, no children, no family, no nothin’; he’d run them all off. 

But Joel is distracted. 

The smell is stronger now. Stranger too. Something full bodied, but metallic like rust, astringent bleach, built in a way that forces saliva to pool heavy between his suddenly aching gums. A mask that sits atop something of a much different chemical architecture—that’s the strange part. 

Or—no. The back of his neck itches, and Joel lifts a palm to cup his nape, quell the sting, feel the tender mark. No. The strange part is not the illusion of the smell. What it is, actually, is that he’s fairly certain what he’s smelling is someone else's blockers. Something which he’s positive he’s never consciously noticed on another person in the thirty plus years since he’d presented as an alpha. 

He has, suddenly, the quite intense urge to peek over his shoulder, certain that he’ll be caught smelling things he has no business smelling. That there will be someone just there, breathing down the nape of his neck with accusation on their tongue—boo!

Silly. But he’d known today would not be a good day. 

It’d started off wrong. The milk had gone sour overnight, the check engine light had come on in his truck, all his socks were suddenly mismatched with not a single pair to be found, and his usual route to work had been waylaid by some freak accident. A maple tree split in half, one side into a house, the other into the road. Not a sign of lightning in the sky all night long. 

Perhaps he might be compelled to believe in God after all. 

Joel does not like it when things are out of order or out of the ordinary. His life was organized in a way that never caused him strife or excess. And it was not that he was stuck in his ways, only that he enjoyed his routine and disliked when things were not as they should be. And this—whatever it is he’s smelling, whoever—is not as it should be. 

The older gentleman, an Alpha too, is still speaking. He had a daughter—has—who no longer speaks to him. Won’t even take his money. He’d had a long career in government that’d filled him with greed and paranoia and a radical view of life that refused to align with the way young people saw the world now. Perhaps he’d tried to change at certain times, but he was old and set in his ways. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to change as badly as he should have when he still had the chance to. Happily stuck in the past. His wife had died, and his daughter had gone away from him. Too tired of his mediocrity as a father to give him another chance. 

The man sounds like he feels sorry for himself. Like he thinks himself the victim, and this one, Joel does look up at. He looks old and worn down, heavy beer pouch and thinning hair and sagging jowls. A sad and lonely man. Joel wonders if that’s what he looks like to the other people in this room, as well. 

“No man knows how bad he is until he has tried very hard to be good.” 

Joel blinks, looks at him more closely, tries very hard to find similarities between themselves. But no—not quite right, not the thing he’s looking for. Their plight is different. This man is not alone, he’s got his weakness to keep him company. 

The one thing Joel had fought like hell to keep out of his repertoire of issues. He’d run from even the possibility of it as soon as she was dead, left Texas straight for the Northeast and from thereafter, everything he’d done, he’d done with a staunchness of character. If at the end of it, that staunchness was made up of apathy or numbness or dissociative fury, well, then at least he wasn’t still that man who’d been too weak to save his daughter. 

That counted very much in Joel’s book. 

An overabundance of cold numbness, little anger, everything a static haze—an abstinent winter. That was his whole life. But then, look at him now, he was here, wasn’t he? He’d taken that brochure handed to him on that last warm Tuesday afternoon weeks ago as he’d headed back to the shop from lunch. 

Hello, sir. Could I interest you in a cure for loneliness? The young omega had said. 

It’d started like anything—an experiment or a desperate ploy. The monotony had been steady going the past few years, getting older, colder. He’d grown hard and solitary around his wound, loneliness spread like a fungus, and he’d longed for any sort of change. 

“A cure…how?” The terrible shrink had come to mind.

“Oh, nothing to fret over.” The young man had a nice smile, Joel remembers. Kind and straight toothed. Honest in the way that a stranger knocking on your door to sell you a Bible seems honest. “We call it an encounter group. People come, share, tell the tales of their designation and their lives. In the end, the result is different for different people. Some move on to a second step if they need… more. Others find what they’re looking for just through the connection of sharing. But no matter the result, you’ll see, you’ll be cured. Promise.” He’d winked, smile deepening, giving him an appreciative once over at the end of his spiel. Joel had blinked back, surprised, confused, but curiosity peaked enough he’d obsessed over it for three short days before he’d found himself stepping into the molted incense smell of the belly of a church so dimly lit he was sure not even God peaked in this sad space any longer.

“It’s that easy?” Joel had asked, childlike in his throat-strangled hope.

“That easy.”

It seemed the smile had been honest enough to sell him the Bible. 

The scent insists upon itself as the older gentleman finishes up, and Joel’s nose tickles with whatever it is it’s whispering at him. He wants to get up and walk out, run away, but suddenly his gut is tight and hot, and he isn’t sure he can actually stand up without disgracing himself in front of all these people. A wash of agonized heat moves through him, confused at what’s suddenly happening to his body. 

“We’ve got a newcomer today, sharing for the first time,” Maria, the woman who leads the group, says at the front of the room. “Everyone give her a warm welcome, it’s her first day and already she’s brave enough to jump on up here.”

There’s the shuffling of bodies in their seats, a cleared throat, the man sitting behind Joel breathes so loudly he thinks there’s gotta be some sort of medical condition going on there, the puce turns more hideous by the second, and his own heart is beating so hard in his ears the rush of blood is dizzying. He feels each thump of the thing against his breast bone in some sick imitation of a fist begging to be let out. 

The new voice begins as nothing but a murmur. 

An introduction—he misses the name. His breathing goes shallow, he’d tip over in his seat if he didn’t have both boots planted firmly against the puce. The voice gains strength and with it, Joel wishes he’d been paying attention from the start. He didn’t get to hear her name. 

It’s a girl.

She’d run away from home in the spring of her sixteenth year to join the opera, she tells them. Had come upon the city in roaring spring and thought the rest of her life would be exactly like that, pure novelty in bloom, nothing like what she’d left behind. And was deeply disappointed when the reality was nothing such. 

And Joel hears it, that disappointment in her voice at what she’d not been able to find after searching for it so religiously. This is what makes him look up at her. This, unlike all the others, he thinks he can relate to—just by the sound of her voice. The search for a thing lost which can never again be found. The fruitlessness of it all. 

At that first vulnerable, terrified glance, she’s already staring at him, eyes catching like hooks. 

He blinks once, twice—color—is sure he can hear the movement of his eyelashes passing through the air, the stick of his lids meeting—color—bright. This is it.

That wash of heat turns into a blaze, every single bead of sweat blooming on his brow is a tell evaporating into the ether. This is what he’d sensed from the start of the evening. Maybe even from the moment he’d seen that split maple. 

“My mother always said I needed to be stronger, bolder, not so sensitive.” She looks away from him now. “I grew up in an angry house where you had to fight tooth and nail not to be overrun. Because of this, I left it at a very young age, and it was the greatest fight I could muster, abandoning that house of anger. I found myself something to bring me what I thought would be joy, a job and a city, and for a time, it was enough. But starting your lonely life so young…it’s hard.” After a pause of breath, “It’s been hard.”

“And it’s made me never want to have to—exert myself,” she says, searching for the right words, smiling when she finds them, and Joel has the urgency to smile back. “Now, I never want to have to be strong. I never want to have to try. I want to only be the way that I am. I don’t care. I don’t want to have to fight. I never want to be in an angry house again. I want someone who’ll see this in me and understand and never make me work for it, that they would give it to me willingly, easily, without me even having to ask. Do you understand?” She looks about the room, and he hopes her eyes will land on him again, and even though they don’t, he feels she’s speaking directly to him. He nods, the hook of her temptation cast beneath his chin. “This is a fantasy. And it makes for a lonely existence. This idea of how I need it to be for it to be right—love.” She looks down at her hands folded atop the podium where they go to stand at the front of the group and share, and Joel wills her gaze to find him amidst the crowd again. “It’s so difficult. And this might seem very bad to you, weak willed, but it’s not. It’s only very honest. Which can never be a bad way to be.” 

Finally, she looks back at him, and it’s that loneliness of two people amidst a crowd, facing one another, knowing themselves mirrored against the other and yet still disembodied. There’s something indecent about the way she looks at him in front of all these people, the way he, in turn, looks back. A little bit like finding your own face on a stranger's body in a crowded room. Color rises to his face, and she gives him that same elusive smile from before. 

He’s the one to look away first this time. 

As the crowd disperses for coffee and pastries after the last of the speakers, he searches for her. He needs to ask her name, feels as if he’s some blighted creature without it, swears he’ll never forgo attention during a meeting again if he can fish it out of her.

He finds her at the dessert table, Maria at her side and a hand at her shoulder. Something of a thank you is being imparted between the two women. The girl is saying she’s grateful for the welcome, grateful that they’d found each other. 

Joel has things to be grateful to Maria for, also. It’d been pure chance, really, that Joel had met her. That she happened to know Tommy. She’d met his brother on a summer trek to Wyoming where they’d become friends and had kept in touch afterwards. The woman has a thing about her that ingratiates people by sheer force of will. Perhaps it’s that she’s an alpha, too. Perhaps it’s just the charisma and wide smile. The fact she’s got a countenance about her that takes no shit from anyone, that makes demands of a person whether they’ve got any give or not. Whatever the case, she’d pulled the truth of his estranged brother from Joel’s mouth like teeth, made the connection to the man she’d met as a fly fishing guide in the Tetons. She was kind enough to keep Joel updated on his brother on the rare occasion he mustered up the courage to actually ask. 

She always made him ask. 

Watching the two women stand together and share that easy thanks that Joel so urgently owes, and yet which he cannot voice, he feels, suddenly, so angry. So awkward. So humiliatingly inexperienced. So unable to grapple with the pain of human contact, the fascination of it, the humiliating necessity. 

That decade old anchor weighing him in place and the guilt of even thinking of it as such. 

I feel decrepitly alone and odd, he thinks. And how strange, no? He’d been a normal man. He has a normal job. He lives in a normal house. Unexceptional in every sense of the word. Everything in his life had been ordinary up until that one great tragedy. And then, as if none of the before had ever existed, it was as if everything afterwards was one great landslide of wrongness. The filth of it slinging mud all over his life so that nothing had ever been right after her. 

So that now he cannot even approach this girl whose name he needs to know, and Maria, to whom he owes the last surviving connection to his brother to. 

As Maria turns to go, she gives him an encouraging nod, sending him into an agony of shyness, aware of his hovering. 

The girl remains at the dessert table, perusing the pastries. He can see her fingertips dancing over the golden, sugared confections, before she settles on a plain, glazed donut. He watches the bend of her elbow, bringing it to her mouth and thirty seconds later, the empty hand reaching for a napkin. He can’t help the huff of laughter it draws from him. 

Watching the unknown creature with her back turned, he peers down the length of himself. Wood stain marred t-shirt, old work jeans and scuffed boots, he’d come straight from the shop. Looking back at her, she seems perfectly packaged and neat. The two of them, different as chalk and cheese. He tells himself he shouldn’t do it, turn around and go, leave her alone, as he steps up beside her at the table. 

Immediately, there’s the heat of her skin, the smell of her shampoo, and he realizes, and it’s silly because it should’ve been obvious from the get go, she’s an omega. The epiphany, not that she is one, but that he’d been too stupid and oblivious to notice, leaves him feeling vulnerable and angry. 

Any sort of hello that’d been coming alive on his tongue immediately dies. And he’s about to make a run for it once again when she speaks up beside him, “Would you like a donut?” Her small fingers skip over the pastries, choosing once again. “I haven’t had one yet,” she lies, “I can’t decide which looks best.” 

The dancing hand pauses over a golden brown puff pastry, seemingly coming to a decision, when she turns to look up at him. The scent of her isn’t just shampoo, not just the blockers he’d shockingly picked up on before—sharp, burning his nose—it’s her skin now, too. The dry sweat from hustling under her coat to make it to her first meeting on time salted along her limbs. Hot, sweet almonds. The shocking vermillion of the morning’s split maple comes to mind. He can smell her.

“Puff pastry?” She presses, quizzical crook to her brow at his silence and glower. “I think you really need something sweet. It’ll make you feel better.”

He wants to agree, to say he also thinks he needs something sweet. But all he can manage is a short grunt because she smells…indescribable. Honeyed musk, something heady, like she herself had just got done baking, straight out of the oven and full of sugar into his waiting mouth. 

That earlier anger, it kicks up a notch. Why isn’t he fucking saying anything? 

She shrugs, as she lifts the puff pastry to her mouth he finally manages sound. 

“You stink.”

He doesn’t know when he became such a liar.

He does know when he became such an asshole. 

A pause: mouth open, straight, white teeth ready to bite into the fluffy sweet bread. He can see her small, pink tongue, and it makes him go a little crazier.

He might be losing his mind. 

She’s got elegant eyebrows that shoot straight up her smooth forehead. The look of her skin is glorious.

 “Excuse me?”

Now, there seem to be too many words spilling out of his mouth. “You need better meds or somethin’. Need to sort your shit out. Can’t go gallivanting around smellin’ like that.”

Oh god, shut up. 

“Excuse me!” She takes a huge bite of the pastry. “I do not gallivant,” she shoots back, mouth full of sugar and Joel goes hot everywhere. “What is wrong with you?” she demands, pursing that prim little mouth as she chews, eyeing him maliciously. 

He hasn’t the damndest clue. 

She is not wary of him in the slightest, which in turn tells him he needs to be wary of her.

Another large bite, inexplicably she extends her free hand towards him—potentially going into shock and entirely out of his depth when he takes it, the vulnerability of tendon and muscle soft beneath his strength—offering him a firm shake. She gives Joel her name. 

In that moment, she has a look about her that tells him she’ll bite back if he isn’t careful, even if she hurts herself in the process. 

And now he knows you. 

-

“We might as well acquaint ourselves if you’re going to insult me. Don’t you think?” 

Peering up at him, he’s tall, well over six feet, and broad shouldered. Older, distinguished, but in a rough way, hewn oak, gray.

 “Are you typically this rude? Or is this a special occasion?”

Incredibly handsome. 

“I’m being serious.”

“I do not stink. No one has ever said that to me, and my blockers are quality. It must be a you problem.” The puff pastry really is very good. And this man really is very handsome. Coming here today was a good idea. 

One of the girls from the theater had suggested it, handing you a pamphlet with Looking for the Cure for Loneliness? emblazoned across the top, and even though she’d done it kindly, any other person would’ve taken the implication as an insult. Hey girl! No offense, but we all in the company think you’re super weird and have you heard about this support group for losers? Kind of like Omegas Anonymous!

Those hadn’t been her exact words, and you hadn’t taken offense. After the initial humiliation, you’d warmed to the idea. You’d heard of groups like these before. Congregations of demi humans where one could come to find community or connection. Be it socialization or support for people struggling with their designations and all that they implied, they served their purpose. And anyways, you weren’t in a position to be nitpicky. 

It’s true, you’re alone. 

So alone, in fact, that even the people around you could tell. Strangers, coworkers, your roommate and her girlfriend. Like some noxious cloud of loneliness following you around virtue signaling the desperate need for love and companionship and understanding you’re so in need of. 

You increasingly saw yourself as a dancer on her toes, trembling delicately all over, vying desperately to survive to the end of the song. A monster with too many heads. A Cerberus of the most gruesome sort. 

Two or three would’ve been acceptable—heads—but you'd long surpassed that and moved on to something unrecognizable and unpleasant. Desperately in need of a solution. 

“Maybe you’re the one that stinks. Maybe it’s your upper lip.” 

“My—” The rude alpha, obvious, that one, lets out a choked sound, a deeper wash of color immediately flooding his cheeks. You dip your head sideways, appraising him as you polish off your second pastry. He has pretty bone structure, masculine but beautiful, and after he’s done choking and spluttering, he can’t help but laugh a little bit. You see it. 

Beneath a mouth that looks forbidding, perhaps even a little cruel, you can sense that he is not an unkind man. The laugh tells you so.

Yet you’re not so green that you can’t recognize the gnawing hunger of loneliness in others. That mimicking gleam. There’s always a reason people find themselves in places like these, after all. His face, edged with the weariness of age, makes this obvious. He has good reason for subjecting himself to this. 

Reaching for the lovely eclair you’d been deciding between earlier, you take a large bite of it. Almond cream and a thick layer of icing on top, humming happily as you chew while he stares at you like the three headed dog. 

You hold the dessert out towards him, offering. Palm up, he shakes his head no, slightly disgusted look on his face. 

“So. You come here often?”

He blinks. “Really?” Patronizing look on his face now. 

“Why not? I am actually interested to know if this is worth my time.”

He rolls his eyes. Oh, he’s fun. “Yes, I come here often. Every Friday, for the past two months, just about.”

“And you like it?”

“Is this the sort of place one likes?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You never know what you might find.” You think he watches your mouth as you finish chewing, swallowing hard. “Anyways, I think the world is kind of over out there. Don’t you? Might as well make the best of it in here.” 

Thumb pressed against the edge of the table, he looks down, suddenly going shy again. A shy alpha, who’d of thought. 

“What did you used to do?” He asks, motioning at the crowded room full of chatting alphas and omegas. You wonder how many of them will go home together for a fuck after this. 

“When?” 

“Before this place.”

“Before this place? Nothing.” You smile at him, certain he isn’t picking up on your teasing. 

“Nothing?”

“Nope. I’ve always been here.”

“But— Don’t you…I thought...” He’s cute, shaking his head, frustrated frown slashed across his face. “You sing, right?” He pivots. 

“Sing? Me? Whatever made you think such a thing?” The sly look on your face goes completely over his head and slides to the rest of the sweets. If he wasn’t watching, you’d have another. 

“You said. You said you’re in the opera,” he gruffs back, looking visibly aggravated now. 

Such fun. 

“I’m a supernumerary,” you concede as you turn, making your way to an old relic of a pew along the far wall, tragically abandoning the desserts. 

He follows as you go, sitting a respectful distance beside you. 

“I don’t know what that is.”

“We’re the actors that fill the stage at the opera.”

“No singing?”

You shake your head. “I’m a wench, I’m a courtesan,” You bat your lashes, flirting with him, fingertips pressed coquettishly beneath your chin, “Part of a harem. I’m every woman you’ve never known. It depends on the opera.”

“I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I started as a stagehand when I first got to Boston. Worked my way up.”

“How’s it work? Lines or somethin’?”

“No lines. No anything. I’m a background actor—an extra, basically. If anything, I’m given some simple choreography direction, laugh, sigh, show fear, horror, heart break. Whatever. I’m playing pretend without actually having to do anything.”

“No working for it.”

Your smile melts to blandness. So he’d been listening, then. 

“Did you want to sing?”

“No. I wanted to be a supernumerary.”

“Strange. I’ve never heard of that,” he repeats.

“You did say, yes.” Now, your smile turns auspicious. Everyone’s here for something. “What do you do?” Perhaps this is it for him. 

Your gaze flits over the crowd, at the far exit, there’s a large alpha helping an omega into his coat. 

“Got a shop, furniture, woodworking and such.”

“You make things?” He nods. “Ah, a man of creation.” 

Sitting back to take him in, he’s got the beginning insinuations of silver speckling the dark hair at his temples, a well groomed beard, and large, intimidating hands. 

His small huff of laughter is bashful, tinged with something disappointed. “No, nothin’ that grand.” And he’s got an accent heavy at the ends of his words, not Bostonian. Southern.

“But you know, I wanted to say…”

“Yes?” You press when he loses his courage, leaning towards him, inhaling deeply. 

“Well, that I know what you meant earlier. Sometimes I can be the angry house.”

You blink once. Sit back. “I see.” 

“It’s hard work. I have to try every day at it.” 

Being the house, or not? 

“How do you stop yourself?” You cast a line, fishing for his character.

“Don’t know. Keep myself cold, I think.”

“That’s no way to be.”

“No. It’s not.” He sounds amused. You want to bite him.

“Ah, well. Perhaps that’s what’s brought you here then,” you say, twisting the toe of your sneaker against a scuff on the old linoleum, leaning forward on your palms wrapped around the edge of the pew. 

“Maybe,” he says, but a sort of pained, exasperated sound follows it. Your hanging head turns to peer at the handsome face. He stares back. 

There’s something animal afoot. Perhaps in terms of designation, sure, of course, like the rest of the alphas and omegas here. Your designations weigh heavily in the air. But also intrinsic to your two personalities. You feel you know him. That the two of you might have the same sorts of problems, desires. And as you stare at him, you think you may be equally measuring each other’s character, finding that similarity in one another. Hook the line, hook the line, reeling each other in—

His eyes move quickly between yours, over your face, and you can tell that prolonged eye contact isn’t his norm.

He has the most surprising set of bright hazel eyes like river stones. 

Suddenly, you feel desperate to pull out a flicker of sexuality in the man, hear it in his voice. Watch that serious stoicism crack. Have him say clearly what it is he’s come here looking for. At the exit, the alpha and omega are gone now. —Certain that, with him, the experience could be entirely different, exhilarating. Perhaps a challenge. He seems to be more quiet and more patient than any other man you’ve ever come across, but also more stern, maybe…angry?—taking in that wide mouth held so firmly. Far more remote too, by the far away look in his gaze. You want to see how he could be moved and what the sight of it would look like. 

“Maybe not,” he finally continues. “I’m looking for something, I think.” 

Yes, tell me. “Something like what?”

“Someone like me.”

“An alpha?”

That was something, you knew, some people were interested in. The experience of being with someone of their own designation—that power struggle.

“No,” he looks away, cringing. Strange, the word out loud seems a shock to him. “Did you listen to the woman at the start—missing the bad thing? I struggle…with that. Holding on, not letting go even when I know I should.”

You’re at an age now which sometimes makes it hard to realize or accept that what you’re living is your life. That it’s been time to grow up. That you have to remember to move forward when it’s your turn in line. 

Which is to say, that you understand him—the difficulties of knowing when to hold on and when to let go.

“Sometimes you hurt yourself because you don’t have anything else to do. Sometimes, because the alternative is much worse.”

“Holding on ‘cause there’s nothing else to do?”

“Sure. Or you’re used to it.” 

You’ll be gentle with him, you decide. He’s in need of gentle handling despite the stern face; not a puzzle so arbitrarily solved. And those eyes are still so bright, he doesn’t seem like he needs any more hardship.

“Don’t know why I’m tellin’ you this,” he says, accent heavy. 

“Well you did come here for a reason. Didn’t you?” 

Discreetly, you slide closer to him, but he doesn’t notice. Apparently lost in the realization that perhaps this was what he’d come here for, to talk to someone, to have someone listen and relate. You’re almost positive he’s never gotten up to share with the group before in all his time coming to the meetings; doesn’t look like the type.

“I came here because I’m going to take better care of myself,” you tell him. “I’m going to try harder.”

“Harder at what? Thought you didn’t want to try?” He blinks as if attempting to come out of a dream.

You shrug. “Everything—I don’t know. I don’t want to end up like my parents; drunk, angry, alone. I’m scared of it. I’ve avoided at least two of them.” 

“I’m afraid of getting older.” The dream moves in his eyes. “That I’ll forget,” he says, but you don’t ask what.

All of a sudden, he seems very real. The swells of grief and loneliness moving through him so similarly, so close to the surface. It frightens you.

Springing up, you turn to face him and he follows to stand too. You can hear the crack of his knees unfolding, and when he lifts his left palm to stifle a gruff cough, the band of gold around his finger is paralyzing. 

All of a sudden, he’d seemed like what you’d been looking for here too. There’s laughter coming from the church rafters. 

“You’re a widower?” He wants to forget, he’d said he wants to let go. 

Hadn’t he?

But instead, “What? No.” You stare pointedly at the ring, and he looks down at it also. “No,” he repeats. 

“So’re you looking for a fuck, or what?” You try and hold back the bite it comes with, but you can’t. “A distraction?”

“No. No. That’s not what I’m looking for.” 

You don’t understand, impaired by your youth, maybe you’re not supposed to understand. “Maybe it’s what you need,” you tell him, turning towards the exit before you can watch him cringe.

He follows at your heels, grabbing his coat from the hook by the doors before he’s stepping out after you into the fall blister. It’s cold and wet and glorious out. 

“Don’t you have a coat?” He demands.

“Nope.” You start walking towards Arlington Street and the park. 

“Did you walk here? It’s freezing out.”

“I did,” you turn back towards him, still moving, and he starts to follow. 

“From where?”

“Downtown.”

“Where?” He scowls at your uncooperation, the married man. Alpha. 

The truth is, he’d kind of stunk to you too. Maybe in a good way. Like no one ever had before. As glorious and shocking as the cold. Like if snow had a scent. 

Disappointment churns in your gut alongside the excitement of watching him follow you.

“I don’t think you know it.”

Your backward walk is interrupted as a hurrying stranger bumps into you, sending you staggering. Watch it, the Boston snark spits. The alpha turns to scowl, heavy boot forward like he’s half a mind to follow after the person you’ve just inadvertently assaulted. 

And it occurs to you, “You didn’t tell me your name.” How silly of you. You’d been so distracted you’d forgotten to ask, and what if you never see him again after this? What if you can’t muster the courage to come back again next week? What if he can’t?

“It’s Joel.” 

You think it sounds right. 

“I might—know it,” he insists—you smile at the dog with a bone. The disappointment pulses. “Is it far?” You shrug, looking over your shoulder. You’re going to lose yourself in the garden for a few hours, forget about him. “Why don’t you drive?”

“I like to walk,” you tell him, turning back. 

He looks at you like he doesn’t like the things you say much less the way you say them. Perhaps he can see the disappointment and is disturbed by the sight of it, but the possibility seems too altruistic. 

“You should try it sometime, Joel. You might like it too.”

His huge body seems to be shivering in the cold. 

“I think…” The look on his face has turned suspicious now. He takes a step towards you. “You’re very strange. And you’re very young. I don’t think we should be friends.”

Your heart gives a demanding thump.

 “We’re not going to be friends.” 

When you’d first spotted him in the crowd, the strangest feeling had come over you. A tug behind your belly button, a scalding heat at the back of your neck, at your wrists. Perhaps it’s merely imagination, the look of disappointment you think you see on his face right before you turn away from him to continue on walking. 

“And I’m not that young anymore.”

You’d known today was going to be a good day. Extra cinnamon in your latte, a late start to your morning, warm in bed, no rain in the sky despite the cloud cover. And your director, late for rehearsals after some freak accident had befallen the roof of his house.

“That’s what all young people say.”

Part 2;

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[f1amour]

i’ll be watching you (every step you take) — carlos sainz

pairing | carlos sainz x leclerc!reader

word count | 3.1k words

content warnings | forbidden romance, age gap (reader is 24, carlos is 30), lots of crying (on both ends), charles is not the best brother to reader, brief mentions of anxiety & depression, ANGST

authors note | this in no way is to put any negative light towards charles, it is merely fiction and no way depicts the friendship he has with carlos or his personality in general. so sad seeing carlos leave and writing this just made me even more sad so…beware if you can’t handle angst rn </3

navigation. | requests — open | main masterlist.

─────────────────────────

THE FINAL RACE of the 2024 season was going to begin in just a few hours but all Carlos could think about was you. Only a few hours left to be around you and then you’d no longer be in his sight like you usually were every race week. He wasn’t thinking much of his last race with Ferrari, yes he was sad about it but it was you who was invading his thoughts.

You’d no longer be there to offer some words of wisdom when he had a bad week. You’d no longer be there with a cup of coffee and baked goodies to debrief with each other. Carlos would tell you all about the race and what was going on from his end and you’d tell him any gossip you heard around the paddock. The secret handshakes you had no longer would be there as he’d be in the Williams motorhome and you’d be in the Ferrari motorhome way up front; supporting your brother.

“Charlie, please just hear me out. I could make this work with him and it won’t interfere with—.”

“No! Absolutely not we agreed you’d never date any of my friends especially those on the grid. I don’t want you with him. Why are you telling me all this now?!” Your older brother Charles paces back and forth in your hotel room.

“I-I…I love him. Why can’t you be happy that I found someone who treats me right and will love me too? Don’t you want me to be happy?” Charles knew you loved Carlos he could see it since day one. You had stayed away from the limelight as he entered Formula one and went to study abroad in England until you quit school in 2020. You no longer wanted to be a doctor but decided to open your own cafe.

Your dream to be a doctor was to somehow level up on your siblings who were successful. But you didn’t want to spend your life in a career you didn’t love. Baking was your passion despite your brother thinking it was a silly hobby. Your Maman was happy with whatever you wanted and your twin Arthur supported you. So did Lorenzo, but it was Charles who never showed interest in your dreams despite being his biggest fan growing up. Once he got into Formula One the bond you had with him drifted away.

You didn’t attend his first race in Formula One and ever since then you only visited for Christmas in which Charles mostly ignored you. You never understood why he was so mean to you when he’d vowed to protect you when you lost your Father a few years ago. You were daddy’s girl and losing him caused you to close yourself off to ever let someone into your heart that wasn’t family.

After quitting school you took up an internship with Charles in managing his social media. He used this to his advantage to try and convince you opening your own cafe would be a mistake and you could do greater things. He begged for a year and you ended listening to him and taking up a full time position for the Ferrari social media team.

You wanted your brother to be happy, but when would it be your turn?

As you were involved setting up videos with the two teammates you began growing a close friendship with Carlos. A close friend to your brother and teammate but they definitely had their fair share of moments on the track that left you picking up the pieces. Carlos never showed the frustration or anger towards you. Instead he would invite you out to golf (better yet teach you since you were terrible golfer) or even invite you to Spain during the breaks so you could spend time together and with his family.

“Be happy with someone else. You can find anyone why my teammate?”

“He won’t be your teammate next—.”

“No! Don’t use that to somehow justify you two could work out. It won’t work out…not if you want to lose me.” His words hit you and snaps you out of any thoughts of Carlos you had going on.

“Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire par là? (what do you mean by that?)” You question, your chest feeling heavy at what his response may be. Lose him? You can’t live without your brother in your life despite the distance you’ve had in the last few years. But getting a job in Ferrari has helped build that bond again.

With an unready expression from Charles he stares into your eyes almost trying to intimidate you, “Qu'est-ce qui compte le plus pour vous ? Amour ou famille? (What matters to you more? Love or Family?)” The question destroys any poker face you had and your lips tremble trying to keep calm.

“Ce n'est pas juste, Charles. La famille, c'est l'amour ! J'aime ma famille. (That's not fair, Charles. Family is love! I love my family.)” You try defending yourself from the question, or more so the threat he was making.

“D'accord, tu as raison, alors... Carlos ou moi? (Okay you are right so...Carlos or me?” The question was mean, Charles knew that becuase he knew what you would decide. You were a ride or die for your family even if they didn’t always do the same for you. You could never imagine choosing someone else other than your family but Carlos…you really love Carlos.

“Please, Charlie that’s not fair. Don’t do this to me please, please, please…Je l'aime. Il me rend heureux. Il est tout ce que j'ai toujours voulu. (I love him. He makes me happy. He's all I ever wanted.)” You were close to begging on your knees, hands pleading with your brother but he stands there with a stoic face despite his heart breaking to pieces he’s causing this pain to you.

“We can make you happy. Family can be enough. You choose us and we’ll make more of an effort…quit the social media job and open your cafe. I’ll help you open it up anything to make you happy. Carlos won’t be a stable person to be in a relationship with look at our schedules we have all year? Don’t you want something stable?” His words spit out so easily, like he’s had it rehearsed. He felt so conflicted saying all this because he respected Carlos, he loved him as a close friend. But he couldn’t risk losing his sister to anyone.

He had to protect her and being in a relationship with someone as busy as Carlos wouldn’t work. His relationships barely worked out so he knew firsthand. He was going to protect you like he had promised you when your Father had passed. He promised his father he’d step up and watch over you.

You sit on your bed staring down at the comforter in silence as Charles gives you a kiss on the head, “I’ll see you at the race tomorrow and you can tell me then what you decided. I love you, cherie.” He walks out of your room without another word.

See you tomorrow morning, hermosa. Everything will be okay. Te amo.

You read Carlos’ text and send a quick heart reaction before shutting your phone off and laying in your bed to deal with the decision you had to make. It was made already. The thing was how were you going to say it out loud? How do you tell someone you don’t choose them?

─────────────────────────

Morning comes around you’ve barely slept at all throughout the night tossing and turning. Carlos is walking into your room with coffee and croissants ready to go over the day with each other. A routine you’ve had for two years now ever since this…relationship formed. You give your best smile as you let him talk about his final day with Ferrari whle you listen he could see something is off. As he nears the end of the conversation he sees you fiddle with your thumbs a force of habit you did when you were anxious.

As he finishes you both sit in comfortable silence and as the time goes by you bite your lip suppressing a sob aching to cry out. Carlos breaks the silence with a deflated sigh, “It’s Charles, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” You whisper before letting out a choked sob and he quickly pulls you onto his lap holding you as tight as possible. You tangle your arms around his neck letting yourself cry in his arms for what may be the last time. This would be the last time you feel him this close to you. This may be the last time you ever talk to each other.

As your breathing calms down your face lays on his chest listening to his heartbeat…each beat registering in your mind. His heart that he says beats for you now breaks with each beat, he knew it wouldn’t be him if you had to choose.

Carlos didn’t blame you, he knew you were a family girl. He knew you had a heart that bled for your family even if they didn’t appreciate you. You would do anything for your family especially Charles even if it meant costing your own happiness in the process. You were close to your twin Arthur but he’d been so busy with his own stuff and Lorenzo was older so you didn’t get to bond as much since he lived further away.

It was Charles who you held a close bond with, you looked up to him. He reminded you so much of your Father after he passed you were lost in your grief. Charles pulled you out of a dark hole you didn’t want to get out of but he made you fight. Your father made Charles promise to protect his younger siblings but especially you. You were tough and could protect yourself but you were also a sensitive girl who was losing her father. Her father who she was attached to the hip to until his final breath. You would give up your own happiness for your family and Carlos would do the same.

Carlos wipes your tears off your face kissing your cheek softly, “I love you,” His voice breaking as you nod your head and get off his lap after those words.

You had to create some distance or else this would hurt more than it already does, “It’ll pass.” You smile sadly at him, his big brown eyes welling up with tears as you remove the necklace he had given you as a birthday present the first year he joined ferrari. You had barely spoken to each other but he remembered your birthday fell during a race weekend and wanted to make you feel appreciated.

A necklace with a sun charm that had his initial on the back something you added after you started dating two years ago. He shakes his head and hands it back to you, “No, no please at least keep that. I want to keep mine so you keep that one.” His voice pleads and you nod your head putting it in your purse.

“I…I don’t know what to say, Carlos. I’m so sorry—.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay I know why and I don’t blame you. We love each other I know that but we also love our families and I…I probably would have done the same.” He gives a tight lipped smile, he was wrong. He would never do that because family would never give an ultimatum of choosing who you love or them. They would do it if they knew you were a bad person but you weren’t and neither was he. So why would Charles not let his sister be happy?

You grab your purse and walk towards the door, “I love you too. Always.” And without another word you walk out of his hotel room, and from his life.

─────────────────────────

Celebrations begin all around you as Lando crosses the checkered flag and wins the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix but also winning the constructors championship. You try your best cheering for the Mclaren driver you’ve grown close to but seeing Carlos cross the checkered flag along your brother right behind him was enough to have you walking off to the nearest restroom to wipe your tears away.

You walk back out once they’re out on the podium and as you look up you lock eyes with Carlos who had already been watching your every move. His pained expression watching you clutch your necklace as the british national anthem surrounds the track.

You feel a hand intertwine with yours and to your surprise it’s Reyes, Carlos’ mom. Her gentle smile was more than enough to tell you she knew what went on earlier with her on and despite breaking his heart she was there consoling you silently in the crowd. “He’s going to be a world champion one day. And i won’t be there to see it.” You whisper softly enough for her to hear.

“He’s not winning anything without having you there with him. He loves you too much to not have you there to celebrate his biggest victories. He’ll wait for you. Go do what you have to do, querida. I know you’ll see each other again.” She encourages you, you look up one more time to Carlos who was spraying Lando and Charles. His eyes meet yours one more time and with a simple nod he gives you a quick nod back.

You’d be there for each other; from afar. Every step you take you’d be watching each other.

You watch him give a speech to the entire ferrari team including your brother who was watching you like a hawk. Your eyes remained on Carlos wherever he moved as he hugged everyone and tears started filling almost everyone’s eyes. Except your brothers.

Carlos reaches you after giving everyone hugs and to the rest it may seem like a simple interaction but if only they knew as Carlos arms wrap around your waist and your arms snake around his neck you held onto each other like you never wanted to let go. Silence fills the room as a few members walk out to pack up and only Carlos’ team and family wait for him.

Charles walking up to break the hug, “Sœur. Nous devons y aller maintenant (Sister. We have to go now)” He refuses to make eye contact with either of you, guilt filling his chest. Before you could look back up at Carlos your brother has already dragged you out of there.

Every step you took you felt further and further away from him. You have to live with that.

─────────────────────────

“Yes, I’ll be there in about 20 minutes. Sounds good.” Carlos hangs up the call, walking the streets of London he enjoyed the cool air hitting against him. He’s going into his second year with Williams and he could see the improvement the team has made and think he’s got a good shot at the wdc this season which starts in just a few weeks.

A year without you had been the slowest year he has lived. He was so used to never keeping track of the time or days when he was with you. Now without you he was mostly filled with silence on days he wasn’t with the team or family.

His friendship with Charles grew stronger after he left the team despite knowing he was the reason you weren’t together. Charles thought he got closer to keep tabs on you but it was quite the opposite. Since that night you hadn’t heard from each other at all, the only thing keeping you connected was the necklaces you kept.

His star chain hanging on his neck was worn at all times and questions were asked if there was a significance to it which he would reply with it was a cool chain. The meaning would always be between the two of you, it’s the one thing you could both keep as yours.

Charles lived with the guilt every single day despite him being a better brother to you and supporting what you wanted (except your relationship with Carlos). He still had his days but he’s been one of your biggest supporters when you had opened your cafe. You still felt betrayed he made you choose but in the end he was your brother, you could never be mad at him. He was your best friend.

“Have a great day!” You smile at your regular customer who has picked up their order just now. Your cafe had been gaining popularity after a few months of being open and you couldn’t be anymore grateful. It was noon and that is when you get the most busy so as you help ring up customers you don’t feel the eyes on you staring from across the street.

Carlos stands across the street from where your cafe is, seeing you through the display window a smile adorned on your face he couldn’t help but cross the street. His heart beat picking up as he got closer to you and standing at the window he looks up at the name.

Café Étoilé

“You’re my sunshine. You brighten my whole day just looking at you.” Carlos sighs contently as you lay your head on his chest. You giggle at the nickname and smile up at him, “Well you’re a star so that makes you my star. My starry eyed man,”

“Starry eyed?”

“Yeah. Your brown eyes are my favorite feature of yours, they’re starry eyed.” You tell him, staring the obvious.

“I love it.”

You named the cafe after him, in a way that Charles couldn’t say no because he didn’t know the nicknames you shared together. This was yours. No one else’s.

His smile meets his eyes watching you do what you loved, it was enough for him to realize that despite not communicating in over a year you’d always have a special place in each other’s hearts. For now you’d watch each other from afar and celebrate your accomplishments in that way.

You finish ringing the last customer up apart of the rush and you feel the need to look out your window feeling a pair of eyes on you but as you look up you find nobody except stranger walking along the street. Instinctively your hand grips your necklace and trace over the engraving of Carlos’ name.

Your love for each other did indeed not pass.

[verycursedstuff]

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>contents: mostly gn!reader, some moments are written with f!reader in mind though so beware! | yuuji- sex toys (dildos), fingering (f!receiving), cervix fucking (brief mention), established relationship, yuuji has a big dick; gojo- fingering (f!receiving), pussy worship, anal play, explicit p in v, pussy referred to as ‘she’, implied squirting; toji- anal (f!receiving), size kink, dirty (filthy) talk, mating press, squirting; nanami- established relationship, domestic nanami, sensual/romantic/gentle p in v, missionary, titty sucking, reader is referred to as “wife” and wears a nightgown

♡︎ with (aged up) virgin!boyfriend!yuuji

being in a relationship with yuuji was wonderful. he made you laugh, comforted you when you needed it, and, even though he’s a virgin, he still knows how to make you cum. don’t get me wrong, yuuji would die to give you his virginity, but he’s just so nervous. always worrying about if he’ll do a good job at making you feel good, and especially about if he’ll even last long enough—he thinks he’ll blow his load the second he’s inside of those hot, slippery walls of yours. so, he came up with something that would satisfy you both until he could work through those nerves. he’ll start by kissing you, so sweet but so full of need, as he undresses you, lying you down on his bed with your ass up. he grips your cheeks and spreads them apart, watching with wonder and lust soaked eyes as the sticky strings of your arousal shine in the light. he can’t help but to tease your lower lips with his long middle finger, reveling in your little gasping whines when he brushes against your clit.

“you ready, baby?” he asks, not bothering to wait for a proper answer before he picks up the real star of the show that’s sitting beside him. he can’t wait, he’s just too excited! it’s his favorite toy to use on you—a dildo he’d found that was similar enough to the length and shape of his own girthy cock. and how perfect was it that it was a delicate pink, the same color as his mussed locks? he gives you no words of warning before he’s slicking the cool silicone up with your plentiful juices, a shudder running through you at the toy sliding through your folds.

it’s funny, actually, how gently he eases the toy into you at first. he’s so slow, letting you adjust to the thick shaft now splitting your sopping little pussy apart. it’s got you whimpering, squirming at the intrusion that makes you feel so full, so good. but when he thinks you’re well adjusted, gentle is the last word you’d use to describe him. his grip on the base of the toy is tight, forcefully pulling the fake cock out and punching it back into you. he’s gotten good at this over the past few weeks, too, knows how to angle it juuust right to hit that little pleasure button inside of you. he fucks the toy in and out of you so fast it makes your head spin and your eyes tear up, fingers digging into the sheets for a grip on something or else you think you might float away. he leaves the dildo inside of you to slap the base, growing impossibly harder as you cry that it’s “soo f-fucking deeep, yuuji, please!” he only shows you mercy by pressing his palm to the base and grinding the toy inside you—so deep that you think it touches your cervix—and when you whine about how close you are to cumming again, he goes right back to that fast fucking until that pretty little pussy is creaming all over it.

♡ with bestfriend!gojo

letting your best friend play with your pussy was normal, right?

well, it was normal for you and gojo at least. like now, and how he had you on your hands and knees on the couch in his apartment. he couldn’t help the way he worshipped your delicious cunt—he was powerless to it, to you. you’d gotten so wet from his scandalous tongue in your mouth, but he needed to feel just how soaked you were for himself. he’s got his thumb between your folds, massaging up and down your slit. he’ll focus on your hole, smearing the growing wetness around before slipping the digit back down, then back up again.

and if his fingers drift upwards, away from your clit and syrup-sticky pussy lips, to your pretty little asshole that just wouldn’t stop winking at him, would you be upset with him? could you, even? he doesn’t think so, not with the way you moan so fucking sexy and wanton when he smooths some of your slick across the delicate hole. he adds a little pressure, just enough of a tease to make you think he’ll slip it inside, but he doesn’t. instead he just massages the puckering hole with the tip of his finger. it’s tempting, but he won’t fuck you there today- he’s got his mind set on that pussy that grips and squeezes him so much he thinks she’s determined to suck the cum right out of him. he’ll take his fingers back down to your pussy, wetter now from his little anal adventure, and plunge his index and middle fingers in knuckle deep. he’s un-rushed in his exploration of your cunt, shallowly thrusting his long digits in and out of you. he reaches so far inside of you, flicking his fingertips against your g-spot over and over and over again. he’s hard enough from everything about you already—how needy you kissed him back earlier and how your pussy is so wet he can fucking hear it, but when you start wiggling your ass and fucking yourself on his hand? god, he thinks he’s going to cum buckets right then and there.

“y’want me ta fuck you, angel? yeah? want me deep in this pretty little pussy? oh, fuck..if you could see how she’s twitching for me.. i think she wants me in there, baby,” he sighs lustfully, enraptured as he watches your pussyhole weep and clench around nothing. but it’s okay, he’s gonna give her just what she needs.

spoiler alert: he fucks three very messy orgasms out of you that evening, and now he needs a new couch.

♡ with scumbagbf!toji

you would say that you don’t even know why you let a guy like toji fushiguro stake a claim over half of your bed—but that would be a lie. you know exactly why. and the answer is his fat fucking dick.

toji is a jackass. he’s rude, selfish, and eats all of your leftovers that you were looking forward to after work. and every time he does something to piss you off, you give him that “sensitive little silent treatment bullshit,” as he calls it. and he can deal with it at first, makes snide remarks about how he loves the peace and quiet, but after a few hours, he starts getting antsy. he watches with thighs spread wide and a beer in his hand as you maneuver around him in his seat on the couch, doing that angry, silent cleaning thing that you always do when you’re mad at him. the sports game playing on the tv is no longer of interest to him, much more entertained by the way your ass hangs out of those itty bitty shorts you always wear to clean. you’re bent over, putting away something or the other in a drawer when you suddenly feel the man you’re trying to ignore press up behind you. he’s got those meaty hands on your hips, grinding himself against your ass and goddamn it, why is he so fucking hard?

“y’gonna let me make it up to you, pussycat? or y’gonna stay pouting all day?”

and that’s how you ended up like this, half on the couch and half off, asshole spread and gaping around the overwhelming girth of toji’s cock. he’s supposed to be making it up to you, and yet, you’re doing all the work- knees and thighs burning as you fuck yourself back on the thickness splitting you open. you couldn’t help but to give in to his proposition. who wouldn’t when his cock sat so heavy and full in his boxer briefs, pressed up between your cheeks as he whispered insincere apologies coupled with kisses on your ear. he’ll meet your hips with his own thrusts when he feels like it, your eyes squeezing shut when he gets so deep inside it feels like he’s in your fucking stomach.

“thaaat’s it, pussycat, fuck yourself on my cock, jus’ like that. tell me you like my big dick in your ass,” he grunted, hand coming down to leave a smack on your jiggling flesh.

“mmh, i lo-ove your big fucking dick in my ass, baby,” you hiccup, looking back at the hulking man over your shoulder with your lip between your teeth. toji groans, pulling his cock out of your spasming hole. he grips your ass cheeks and spreads them apart, letting out a low “fuck” when he sees just how gaped your asshole is, watching as the ring of muscle struggles to return to its original shape and size. he maneuvers you into a new position, on your back on the couch with your knees shoved up to your chest. he barely gives you any time to get used to this new positioning before he’s flush with your hips, bulbous head of his hefty cock prodding at your stretched out hole.

“get ready, pussycat. you’re gonna squirt alllll over me before i’m done with this slutty little fuckhole of yer’s.”

and with his cock deep in your ass, his thumb merciless on your clit, you do exactly that. smug bastard.

♡ with husband!nanami

your husband spoiled you. he got you a big house, with a big yard full of flowers, a big kitchen that he uses to feed you, and a big bed that he makes love to you in. it was no different this morning, a sunday, just barely past 8am. he awakens first, curling his arm tighter around you as he pushes his face into your neck that’s bared so pretty for him. he doesn’t want to wake you—he’s enamored with you, with how peaceful and calm you look—but he’s losing the battle, cock stiff in his silk pajama pants and growing harder as he takes in your scent. you smell so good, and your skin is so soft, and your face is so fucking pretty, can you really blame him for getting worked up?

nanami loves you, his precious little wife, so he’s gentle with his need for you. he kisses the column of your throat and the line of your jaw so gently, nose nuzzling into your cheek as he slowly begins his grind into you. it isn’t long before you’re stirring in his arms, adoring smile on your face and a giggle leaving your lips at your husband’s early morning randiness. but god, he’s just so convincing, enticing you more and more as the press of his lips forms a path down to your chest, slipping the strap of your night down off of your shoulder to take a nipple into his mouth.

one thing about your dear husband that you’ve known for years, is that he loves to see your face while he’s inside of you. and that tradition is unchanging on this morning, now that he’s got you naked and writhing underneath him. he’s carving his way into you, shallowly thrusting but he’s just so long that he hits deep no matter how hard or softly he fucks you. hazel eyes peek at you through his thick lashes, still lavishing his tongue across the hardened peak of your tit. it’s always so good when it’s slow like this, when nanami gets to take his time making you fall apart.

“you feel s-so wonderful, darling..so wet for me, my perfect wife,” he moans against your breast. you’ve got one hand curled up into his hair and the other massaging your clit, unable to respond to his loving words with anything other than a hoarse moan of his name. his lips leave your nipple in favor of snatching your own up, driving his cock in and out of you with a bit more depth, more force. he can’t help but to start fucking you in earnest once he gets a taste of your lips, loves to swallow up those moans and cries as your manicured nails find their new residence on his muscular back and shoulders.

“hnng- god- kento! yes, baby, please, right there..right there,” you cry out to him, the sensation of his cock digging right into that fleshy little spot inside of you and his pelvis rubbing right up on your clit bringing you closer and closer to the edge. fuck, he’s so in love with you, so in love with the way your pussy grips him like he’s about to leave forever, but that would never happen. he’ll always be with you, could never love another like you, not when you smile at him so sweetly and run baths for him when he’s had a long, rough day. not when you let him fill you like this, not when you let him stuff you full of load after load of his cum, not when you tell him how much you love him when you cum together for the umpteenth time that morning alone.

>author’s_note: THANK YOU FOR 50 (KAJILLION) FOLLOWERS!!! Here’s to another 50, and so on 🥂

>>keep your eyes peeled for an upcoming announcement (psst- it’s the road to 100 followers series announcement 👀)

>thank you for reading ♡︎

>masterlist.exe

>send a request here!

© loko4koko 2023

[moechies]

kinktober 2024 ❤︎ moechies edition .ᐟ

ྀི strictly 18+ ⋆ ♡ ⋆ minors do not interact (ever anyways!)

ྀི inc dark content !! beware

ྀི all f ! reader , sub , no specified traits

hi friends !!!! here is a little delayed kinktober for all my lovies <3 please be sure to properly read warnings before proceeding to works, as there will be no tags on the original post itself! works may be delayed 2-3 days , but i will ensure to do my best to get everything out on time >:3 enjoy friends, happy tober!!! ♡

⁀➷ entry #1 :

cockwarming ˗ˋˏ ❤︎ ˎˊ˗ toji fushiguro

toji’s incessant bunny who yearns madly to sit on toji’s frothy cock.

cw bunny! hybrid , cock warming , size kink , dacryphilia -- "bunny, bun , good girl , doll ; mister , sir"

⁀➷ entry #2 :

size ˗ˋˏ ❤︎ ˎˊ˗ shidou ryuusei

your boyfriend envelops you but you do his cock.

cw slight dubcon (more roleplay) , size kink , dirty talk , praise , mind break , overstim , teasing , manhandling , little fluff!! , dacryphilia

⁀➷ entry #3 :

throat - training ˗ˋˏ ❤︎ ˎˊ˗ nanamin kento

you ask your gentleman of a boyfriend to teach you something.

cw throat training , throat warming , oral (m! rec) , light choking , gagging praise , light ddlg (at end only) , wet + messy , very soft ♡

⁀➷ entry #4 :

brat taming ˗ˋˏ ❤︎ ˎˊ˗ hanma shuji

hanma has ought to tame his naughty little secretary!

cw brat taming , praise / degradation , humiliation , hair pulling , oral (m! rec) , titplay , dacryphilia — tbd

⁀➷ entry #5 [ includes dc ! ] :

inc♡st ˗ˋˏ ❤︎ ˎˊ˗ itadori yuuji

yuuji-nii thinks you’re pretty.

cw inc♡st , dubcon , tit play , ass job — tbd

⁀➷ entry #6 :

cuck ˗ˋˏ ❤︎ ˎˊ˗ ran + rindou haitani

rindou likes you — ran’s pretty girlfriend.

cw cuck holding , anal , throat warming , tit play — tbd

⁀➷ entry #7 [ includes dc ! ] :

bully ˗ˋˏ ❤︎ ˎˊ˗ atsumu + osamu miya

atsumu can’t help but bully his cute sis , and osamu can’t do a single thing about it.

cw inc♡st , oral (m rec) , bullying , dacryphilia , humiliation , mocking — tbd

⁀➷ entry #8 [ includes dc ! ] :

cnc ˗ˋˏ ❤︎ ˎˊ˗ nagi seishiro

shutting up your stupid , loud , step brother !

cw stepc♡st , cnc , f! top , dacryphilia — tbd

⁀➷ entry #9 :

dacryphilia ˗ˋˏ ❤︎ ˎˊ˗ suna rintaro

suna can't help but get hard and leak when you're crying to him :(

cw dubcon, dacryphilia, mocking —tbd

⁀➷ entry #10 :

double pen ˗ˋˏ ❤︎ ˎˊ˗ sukuna ryomen

concubines are meant to fulfill their master's wishes — and get filled.

cw double pen, double creampie , dacryphilia , manhandling , mocking , praise — tbd

⁀➷ entry #11 (halloween special !) :

frat ˗ˋˏ ❤︎ ˎˊ˗ gojo satoru + geto suguru

gojo and geto's frat darling loves being the best girl she can be to please her favorites.

cw double pen, dubcon, knife play, praise/deg, mocking, humiliation, mentions of 'owned,' — tbd

[mononijikayu]

start a war — gojo satoru and nanami kento.

Satoru exhaled, tilting his head, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips, but his voice was quieter than usual. "Be better, huh?" He let the words hang in the air before nodding, something unreadable in his eyes. "Alright, then. Guess I better not disappoint, huh?" There was a flicker of something in your expression. Perhaps it was relief, or maybe something gentler than that. But he didn’t care to know. Instead, he lets himself drown in the small, knowing smile you gave him. "No, I don’t think you will. After all, your eyes tell."

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

WARNING/S: nsfw! (not safe for work), possibly triggering themes - please beware!, afab! reader, use of she/her pronouns, unrequited romance (for now), fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, hurt, love, fluff, humor, light-hearted, falling in love, long-term relationship, marriage, healing, age gap (reader is 12 years older than satoru), physical abuse, mental abuse, parental abuse, domestic violence, retaliation, violence, abuse, emotional abuse, emotional distress, injury, blood, bodily fluids, fighting, mental health issues, loss, hatred, resentment, trauma, depression, desperation, domestic life, confessions, distress, cheating, cutting off family members, escaping, profanity, toxic relationship, drama, depression, bitterness, children, mention of various forms of abuse, mention of violence, mention of blood, mention of bodily fluids, mention of trauma, depiction of various forms of abuse, depiction of violence, depiction of various forms of abuse, actor! nanami, actor! gojo, housewife! reader;

WORD COUNT: 20k words

NOTE: it was hard to write this part of the series because satoru's life was really hard. i hope i was able to portray it well enough, and with good care to the sensitivity of the content. in some ways, the only wonderful thing in his life is his mother and reader. please beware. if you cannot read it yet, you can opt out from this part. your well-being is more important to me. i hope that if you can read this, please know that i love you. and if you are going through what these characters are going through, i just want you to know i'm here for you and i support you. i love you all so much, please keep safe!!! see you in the next one!!!

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the good life ― masterlist.

taglist: @not-aya, @nanamin-chan, @qualitygiantshoepsychic, @funicidals, @zanzie, @poopooindamouf, @darlingken, @lillycore, @prosypepper, @sukioyakio, @harrie-fic-center, @yoonseokerist, @midnight-138;

TWENTY YEAR OLD GOJO SATORU THINKS HE’S USED TO IT. This was just his normal life, the accursed life he’s forced to live. He hated it, to be sure. And he thinks it's the worst outcome for any human being to live and breathe such suffering. Yet here he was, in the thick of it. He felt ever so abandoned by what god there exists on the other side.  

The beatings weren’t the worst of it when it came to his father, he thinks to himself. Gojo Satoru could take the blows, he’s known he could since he first felt the blow. He had learned how to brace for them, how to keep his face blank, how to shove the pain somewhere deep enough that it barely registered anymore.

But his poor, defenseless mother—she was the one who suffered the most. And she was too fragile to endure it, too weak to even shout or whimper or even to fight back at all. The illness had already made her frail, had stolen the color from her cheeks and the strength from her limbs. Yet destiny made her suffer more.

Satoru hated it.

He hated the way she still flinched whenever his father, drunk and staggering, raised a hand as if to strike. Hated the way her lips parted on instinct, whispering those same, rehearsed apologies—I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—for things that were never her fault.

Hated how she still, somehow, found the strength to step between them, shielding Satoru when he was the one who bore the brunt of the man's wrath, even when she could barely stand herself.

"Stay back," she would murmur, her voice trembling but her arms unwavering as she held them out in front of him. "Please, Satoru. Don't say anything."

But it was never that simple. It never was.

Because what Satoru hated most—more than the stench of liquor that clung to his father, more than the bruises he had long stopped counting—was the way his hands trembled. Not from fear. No, never from fear. It was rage. Hot, blinding, and useless.

His small fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to strike back, wanted to scream, wanted to do something other than stand there, helpless. But he knew what would happen if he did. It would only get worse for her.

"Don't look at him like that, my son." she pleaded one night after their father had finally collapsed in a drunken heap. Satoru hadn't said a word, but she could see the fury simmering beneath his pale, glacial eyes. "You know what happens when you—"

"When I what?" he snapped, yanking himself away from her touch. "When I make him mad? When I make things worse? As if that bastard needs something to fuel the fire. As if he needs a reason!" His voice cracked, his breath coming out sharp and uneven.

"Satoru, please—"

"Stop telling me to let it go!" His vision blurred, his whole body shaking. He wanted to punch the walls, to scream until his throat was raw. "You let him do this! You always let him—"

Her slap wasn’t hard. It didn’t hurt. But it stunned him into silence.

For a long moment, she just stared at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears, hands trembling just as much as his were.

Then, in a voice so soft it was barely a whisper, she said, "What else am I supposed to do?"

Satoru had no answer.

And that was what he hated most.

Almost as much as he hated having to hide the bruises from Yaga Masamichi when he was still in high school.

That was when it was most prominent.

Satoru had always been strong—physically, mentally, in every way that mattered. But sometimes, no matter how much strength he had, the anger got the better of him. That’s why the bruises happened. That’s why, some days, he’d roll his shoulders and feel the ache buried deep beneath the skin, why he’d clench his fists just to remind himself that he could still fight, even if he didn’t. Even if he couldn’t.

But Yaga wasn’t stupid.

Satoru knew the man saw it—the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he moved, the occasional wince he couldn’t quite suppress when sparring. Maybe it was the way he sometimes showed up to class with a faint shadow of a bruise peeking out from under his collar, or the times he kept his sunglasses on longer than necessary, even indoors.

And yet, Yaga never pushed.

Never asked.

Not directly, anyway.

"What happened to your wrist?" Yaga had asked once, his tone casual but his sharp eyes betraying his concern.

Satoru barely spared him a glance, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Training accident, teach." he said easily. A half-lie, but a lie all the same. “Just held the baseball wrong. You know how it is.”

Yaga didn’t respond right away. Instead, he studied him, gaze heavy in a way that made Satoru’s skin itch. But still, he didn’t push. "Be more careful next time, Satoru." was all he said before walking away.

And that was how it always was. Because Yaga Masamichi knew. He wasn’t born yesterday. knew that Satoru wouldn’t tell him the truth, even if it was obvious. Knew that if he did push, Satoru would just deflect, turn it into a joke, act like it didn’t matter.

Even now, years later, long after graduation, Yaga still checks up on him, whether it be a phone call or a text. Although, sometimes he tries to go himself. But that doesn’t always happen. Still, he tries to do what he can.

"You and your mother are eating enough, right? If not, I’ll send over some food there."

"Don’t overwork yourself. I know you’re taking care of your mother, but take a rest."

"You know you can call if you need anything, right?"

Satoru would just grin, waving him off. "I’m not a kid anymore, Yaga. I’ve got it handled."

But some nights, when the past was a little too close, when the phantom ache of old wounds lingered longer than it should, he wasn’t sure if that was a lie. He wasn’t sure he was actually alright. He wasn’t actually sure that he didn’t need anyone.

Geto Suguru also always noticed. And he expected nothing less of him. He was his best friend after all. He knew him better than most people, even his mother, even Yaga. Even now, years later, when they hung out like nothing had changed, Suguru’s sharp purple eyes never missed a thing.

Satoru had always been good at hiding things, even when he was a kid. All of his pain. All of his anger. All of the bruises that littered his skin like evidence of a war he couldn’t fight back in. But Geto Suguru always noticed.

Satoru would catch him staring sometimes when they were kids, when they were still teenagers. He could feel the burning gaze at his wrists, at the faint marks barely visible beneath the cuff of his uniform. His expression would darken, his jaw tightening as he exhaled through his nose.

"Let’s take him down, Satoru. You and me, we’ll get it done. You’ll be freed from the bastard." he’d say, voice low, simmering with conviction. "Let’s beat him together. Just tell me when and where. I’ll help you."

And good gods, Gojo Satoru wanted to.

He wanted so badly he could taste the urge on his tongue, could feel the violent, reckless need clawing up his throat. He wanted to see his father afraid for once. He wanted to watch him flinch like his mother does. He wants him to bleed like he does. He wants him to feel powerless, to feel like a wounded animal, to feel so weak that he begs for mercy.

But he couldn’t. Not without consequences. Not without leaving his mother in that house alone, with no one to protect her. Not without making things even worse. So he gritted his teeth, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and told Suguru those words he hated — No, not yet.

Geto Suguru never liked that answer. He never did.

"Not yet?" He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes—dark purple, burning with frustration completely bored into Satoru like he was the idiot in this situation. "And when, exactly, is ‘yet’? When he puts your mom in the hospital? When he finally does something you can’t fix?"

Satoru hated it when he talked like that. Hated how blunt Suguru was, how easily he put words to the thoughts that already haunted Satoru’s mind. Like he was saying something Satoru hadn’t already thought of a thousand times over. His hands clenched into fists in his pockets. His headache from the pressure of his own barely contained rage. 

"I said drop it, Suguru." he bit out, voice sharp, final. “Please.”

And for all that Suguru was stubborn, he did.

At least out loud.

But his silence was never truly silent.

It lingered in the way his jaw clenched, the way his fists curled tight at his sides, the way he always positioned himself just a little closer to Satoru than before, like if he couldn’t do anything yet, he’d at least be ready for when he could.

But his silence spoke louder than his words ever could. The way his jaw clenched, the way his hands curled into fists, the way he didn’t meet Satoru’s eyes—it said everything. He wanted to fight for Satoru in a way Satoru couldn’t fight for himself. But Satoru wouldn’t let him.

Couldn’t let him. Because Suguru had parents who loved him, a future ahead of him that didn’t have to be ruined by a single act of revenge. Gojo Satoru wasn’t about to take that from him. So he swallowed his pride and his rage and let things continue as they always had. Until the night they didn’t.

Until the night his father came home drunker than usual. Angrier than usual. Until the slurred curses turned into the sound of something shattering. Until he heard his mother’s voice. It was a tone too soft, ever still and trembling, barely a whisper beneath the fury. 

"Please… please don’t—"

Satoru was on his feet before he even realized it. The room spun around him as he moved, his vision tunneling, his pulse hammering so loud it drowned out everything else. His nails bit deep into his palms, his whole body rigid, every muscle locked in place as if his own rage was the only thing keeping him upright.

Not yet, he had told Suguru. Not yet, not yet, not yet.

But maybe ‘yet’ had just arrived. Maybe this was it, maybe this time, he can’t help it. Because he couldn’t let it go this time. Because he didn’t want another time. The floor felt too far away as he took his first step. The air in his lungs burned as he took his second. 

His father’s voice—deep and volatile—spat something cruel, something his mother didn’t deserve, something he didn’t fully hear over the roaring in his head. Then another crash. A gasp. A whimper. And that was it. The last thread of restraint snapped. Satoru moved.

He was down the hall before he could think. The door was already half-open, the dim light from the kitchen spilling into the hallway, casting long, warped shadows across the floor. The smell of alcohol was thick in the air. It was pungent, suffocating, clinging to everything.

And there he was. His father stood over his mother, his chest heaving, his broad shoulders rising and falling with every breath. She was curled against the cabinets, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders trembling. A broken plate lay in jagged shards near her knees. Her hands were thin, delicate. And they were shaking. Satoru immediately saw red.

"You bastard." His own voice barely sounded like his. It was low, seething, vibrating with something ugly and raw.

His father turned sluggishly, narrowing bloodshot eyes. "What did you just—"

Satoru didn’t let him finish. His fist connected before he could think. A sickening crack echoed in the air, and his father stumbled back, knocking into the dining table with a grunt of pain. But Satoru didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think.

He hit him again. And again. As hard as he could. He let himself push until his knuckles split, but he didn’t feel it one bit. The only thing he felt was the satisfaction of watching his father fall, of watching him struggle to push himself up, dazed, stunned.

"That feel good?" Satoru’s voice was almost a snarl. He barely recognized himself. "You like that? Huh?"

His father groaned, trying to sit up. "You—"

Satoru grabbed him by the collar and slammed him back down onto the floor. "Say it again." 

His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling so fast he thought he might explode. His hands were still trembling—just like his mother’s had been. "Say something else."

His father didn’t.

For the first time, he actually looked afraid.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t sure how long he would have stayed there, fists clenched, heart pounding, eyes burning with something violent and unforgiving. If not for his mother’s voice.

"Satoru… stop." Her hand wrapped around his wrist—small, fragile, barely a touch. But it cut through him sharper than anything else.

He turned, and she was looking at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears. She shook her head once. Not like this. Not yet. Satoru’s hands dropped. His father coughed, groaning as he pushed himself onto his elbows.Satoru forced himself to step back. To unclench his fists. To breathe.

His mother was already moving, kneeling down, pressing a cloth against his father’s bleeding lip with trembling fingers. And Satoru hated that. Hated how, even after everything, she still cared. He turned on his heel and walked out, fists still shaking.

Maybe 'yet' hadn’t arrived after all.

But it was close.

He was so close to the end of it all.

IT WAS A NICE DAY TO BE OUTSIDE. Perhaps that’s why Yaga Masamichi asked to meet today. The quaint little café was tucked away on a quiet street just outside Metropolitan Tokyo, the kind of place that had probably been there for decades. 

Faded wooden tables, the hum of an old espresso machine, the occasional clink of ceramic cups meeting saucers. It smelled of roasted beans and nostalgia, of things unchanged even as the world outside moved forward.

You arrived a few minutes early, slipping into a seat by the window, where the late afternoon sun slanted through the glass in golden streaks. The café was quiet, the kind of place where the scent of roasted coffee beans lingered in the air, where soft chatter mixed with the gentle clinking of porcelain cups against saucers.

You ordered a matcha latte and a croissant. The hunger from the long drive gnawed at your stomach, and the heat of the sun had left your throat parched. You figured Yaga wouldn’t mind. He was never one for small courtesies anyway. If anything, he’d probably just grunt in acknowledgment before ordering his own drink, something plain and bitter, like he always used to.

It had been years since you last saw Yaga Masamichi. The two of you had grown up in the same small town, running barefoot through the narrow streets as children, getting into scrapes, building forts out of old cardboard boxes. You lived just a few houses apart, the kind of proximity that turned familiarity into something close to kinship.

But life had a way of pulling people apart. He left for university in Kyoto. You stayed behind, tethered to the countryside, where the same roads led to the same places, where the seasons changed but everything else stayed the same. Well, that was until you had married Kento. 

Yet even then, you knew he was in Tokyo for a while before he moved back to the countryside to go and teach. Even then, you and him never talked again after that. There were no hard feelings, no dramatic goodbyes about all that. It was just a gradual drifting, like leaves floating down different streams. That was how it went sometimes.

Still, when he called out of the blue, his voice was exactly the same. Gruff. Familiar. Straight to the point. You thought to yourself that he hasn’t changed one bit. Perhaps that touched you quite a fair bit. At least one thing, someone from home didn’t change one bit.

"Can I meet you?" he had asked, no preamble, no idle pleasantries. "I have something to ask of you."

“What about?” You asked him in return.

“Just come meet me. I’ll ask you then.” He says, almost too bluntly. “It’s a matter that is too serious to express over the phone.”

There was something in his tone, something weighty, something that made you pause. Yaga Masamichi had never been the type to reach out unless he had a reason. He could have all these years. But he had now. Which means it must be that grave. 

So you agreed. And that’s why here you were. The matcha latte was warm in your hands, the foam swirling lazily on the surface. You took a sip, savoring the earthy sweetness, your gaze drifting out the window. A moment later, you hear the bell above the café door chimed.

You heard those heavy footsteps you could not recognize.  You didn’t need to turn to know it was him. Sometimes, there are just going to be people, no matter how many years pass, who still carry the same presence. 

You could feel the presence of a man who had seen too much, carried too much. He was broader than you remembered, the weight of responsibility settling into the set of his shoulders, the firm line of his mouth. But the moment he sat down, the tension in his posture told you this wasn’t just a casual reunion. Nor did he waste time with pleasantries.

“There’s a kid, [name].” Yaga said, folding his hands over the table. “His name is Satoru. I used to be his teacher in high school.”

“What does this have to do with me?” You gave him a confused look.

“It has everything to do with you.” He retorts, almost too gruffly. “I know it is.”

“I’m going to need more details about this, Yaga.” You sighed at him, leaning slightly into a slouch. “I didn’t drive all the way out here for nothing.”

“You didn’t drive here for nothing, I assure you.”

You gave him a sharp look. “Then start talking.”

“He’s got talent—unreal talent. The kind that only comes around once in a generation. If he had the chance, he could be something great.” He exhaled slowly. “But he doesn’t have that chance.”

You frowned. “Why?”

Yaga’s jaw tightened. “His home life is… bad. His father refuses to support him, and he’s abusive, to both mother and son. And Satoru won’t leave because of his mother. It’s been a year and a half since he finished high school, and he still hasn’t gone to college. He’s stuck, [name]. And I don’t know what to do.”

You leaned back, processing the information. A gifted kid, burdened by circumstances beyond his control. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard a story like this, but something about the way Yaga spoke. It was low, deliberate, with the weight of frustration and something close to guilt , it made this different.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked.

Yaga met your gaze, his expression unreadable. “Because I think you’re the only one who can help him.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“I don’t know your husband Kento.” Yaga admitted. “I only knew you.”

His voice was quieter now, the weight of old memories pressing into the space between you. He exhaled through his nose, fingers tapping lightly against the ceramic cup in front of him, a steady, rhythmic sound. Like he was trying to piece together the right words.

“And if there’s anyone who can get through to that kid, who can guide him toward something better… it’s you.” His dark eyes met yours, unwavering. “You value education. I knew that since we were kids. And I know that because of what happened, you would want someone like this kid to succeed.”

What happened, huh. The words sat between you like a ghost, unspoken but present, heavy in the air. All the sudden those memories came crashing through to you, almost instantaneously did all those words, all those feelings, all those moments came to you in crashing waves that swallow you whole.

You purse your lips, leaning back slightly, fingers tightening around your own cup. “How would you know that?”

Yaga hesitated, just for a moment. Then, in a rare moment of quiet sincerity, he leaned in slightly. “Because I know you.”

“We haven’t met in nearly fifteen years, Yaga.”

“That doens’t mean you haven’t changed, about this especially. I know you don’t want this kid to be twenty forever and not have anything.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried. “I know you want someone else to have more.”

You felt it in your chest, in the space between your ribs, in the parts of you that had tried to move on from the past but never quite managed to. You took a deep breath, your hands unsteady as your eyes rose to meet his.

“I know you would want this kid to have something more than what you had, [name].” Yaga said to you, pleadingly. “So help me. Even just this once.”

And just like that, you understood why he had come to you. This wasn’t just about his student. It was about you. About the road you had walked alone, about the chances you never had, about the years spent trying to carve something out of nothing. Yaga knew that weight. He had seen it all those years ago, and now he was asking you to take that pain and turn it into something good.

He was asking you to give this kid a future. And the worst part of it,  you weren’t sure you could say no. You sighed once again, dragging a hand down your face. The café felt smaller all of a sudden, the air heavier. You glanced down at your untouched coffee, watching the steam curl and fade into nothing.

“You’re asking a lot of me, Yaga.” you murmured.

“I know.” He didn’t try to sugarcoat it. He never did. “But I have no one else to turn to. I know you are the only one who can make it happen.”

A part of you wanted to refuse. To walk away before this tangled you into something you weren’t prepared for. But Yaga knew you too well. He knew exactly where to press, which words to say to keep you in your seat.

You tapped a finger against the table, thinking. “Tell me more about him.”

A flicker of something crossed Yaga’s face, and you could only guess it to be some sense of relief or even perhaps gratitude. But it disappeared just as quickly, when he started to think about the student he cared so deeply about.

“As I said, his name is Satoru.” he started, leaning forward. “He’s already twenty years old. Supposed to go to college years ago, but his father gambled away his money to drink and other shit vices. And his mother’s a housewife. So, there’s no luck there. Doesn’t help that he tries to work, but it doesn’t help much when he’s too overprotective of his mother.” Your frown became prominent. “That’s horrible.”

“The kid’s too proud to ask for help.” Yaga sighed with exasperation. “He’s smart as hell, but he’s got no direction. I’ve done what I can, but he needs more than just a teacher looking out for him. He needs someone who understands.”

“Understands what?” you asked.

Yaga’s gaze was steady. “What it’s like to be left behind.”

The words landed like a stone in your chest. You clenched your jaw, looking away. The past had long since scarred over, but there were some wounds that never fully healed. You knew exactly what he was implying, and you hated that he was right.

Still, you forced out, “And you think I can do something for him?”

“I know you can.” Yaga’s voice was firm. “I know that if you meet him, you’ll see what I see. A kid who’s got everything he needs to make it but no one who’s willing to fight for him. I know maybe you could be that someone.”

You let out a slow breath. You weren’t sure if you wanted to get involved. But you also knew this—if you walked away now, you’d never stop thinking about it. “Where is he?” you asked, finally.

Yaga allowed himself the smallest smile. “In the countryside town I’m teaching in. I can try and convince him to meet you, if you want to. But it would take some time for me to convince him. I promise, though. I can make it happen.”

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “I can’t meet him yet.” you say, voice quieter than before. “He might reject me and all of it outright. It’s best to rein him in slowly. So we don’t overwhelm him.”

Yaga doesn’t react. He just watches you, the way he always has—patient, steady, waiting for you to say more. But when you don’t, he nods once, accepting it for what it is. You exhale, reaching into your coat pocket and pulling out a pen. 

The napkin in front of you is thin, the paper rough under your fingertips as you begin to write. The ink bleeds slightly into the fibers, but you don’t stop. Numbers, details, instructions. It has everything Yaga needs to make sure that the young man has some options. When you’re done, you push it toward him.

“Arrange a meeting when the time is right, when you’ve reined him in.” you murmur. “But in the meantime, he’ll get this.” You nod toward the napkin. “This is for him.”

Yaga picks it up, scanning the details. He doesn’t speak, but his brows furrow slightly. You know the exact moment he realizes what he’s holding. “This is a lot of money,” he finally says, looking up at you.

You shrug. “It’s from the money I saved over the years by myself, before my marriage. Much of that is my investment. But I don’t need it…..you know my husband cares for me more than I can imagine. You can use this. I’ll talk to my accountant.”

“That’s not the point, [name].” Yaga says, voice edged with something unreadable. He sets the napkin down but doesn’t let go of it. His fingers press into the paper, thoughtful. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to.” Your voice is calm, but firm. “Besides, you were the one convincing me to help him, weren’t you? I doubt he’ll leave without his mother. This would be enough money to bring her with him. And for them to be comfortable for a while, until he could find some work to help with his day to day with his mother.”

Because it was never about Yaga’s student. Not really.

You weren’t thinking about some youngling in his twenty year of life, or how he was with too much potential and nowhere to go. You were thinking about yourself at that moment. You were thinking about your own young self, the echoes of grievous youth. You who were still waiting, still stuck, still waiting for something, anything, to change and happen. 

You lean back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest. Yaga is now watching you as you took your time, still collecting yourself. The café feels quieter now, like the weight of the past has settled into the walls, pressing against your ribs.

“I’m not saying he has to take it, Yaga.” you say after a moment, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your cup. “I’m just someone who helps. I can’t force it on him. That’s up to you. To him.”

Yaga says nothing, but you can feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and scrutinizing. “....I know.”

“Give it however you see fit.” You lean back slightly, crossing your arms. “Tell him it’s a scholarship. Tell him it’s a loan. Hell, don’t even tell him where it came from if you think it’ll make him stubborn.” A small, knowing smirk flickers at the corner of your lips. “But if he’s as smart as you say he is, he won’t waste the opportunity.”

A pause. The café hums around you. There were still those muted conversations, the hiss of steaming milk, the faint clatter of dishes from behind the counter. Yaga doesn’t answer you right away. But that was understandable. And you did not care.

Instead, he stares down at the napkin. The one with the scribbled details, the promise of a future written in ink. His fingers curl around it, calloused and rough, before his eyes lift to meet yours. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something unspoken. Maybe he’s searching for a reason to say no. Or maybe he’s just trying to understand why you’re doing this. 

Finally, he exhales, slow and deliberate. His large hands moved carefully as he folds the napkin—not rushed, not careless. A deliberate gesture. When he tucks it into his pocket, it’s with the same quiet reverence as someone securing something fragile.

“…Thank you.”

The words are gruff, edged with hesitation, but sincere. You offer a small nod, a silent acknowledgment that you both understand. Neither of you says anything else. Some things don’t need to be spoken out loud.

“Now, are you hungry or not?”

“Why are you suddenly asking now?” Yaga snickered, leaning against the bench.

“Just order before I change my mind about paying.” You rolled your eyes, drinking your matcha drink.

“Alright, alright.”

HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY. Gojo Satoru sat across from Yaga, legs sprawled out, arms folded, the usual cocky glint in his eye replaced with something harder to place, something wary. His foot tapped against the leg of the chair, a steady rhythm, like he was keeping time with an unseen clock.

“So let me get this straight.” His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it, sharp and suspicious. “Some random person I’ve never met, who doesn’t even know me but someone who knows you, just up and decides to pay my way? Like, what, I won the lottery and no one told me?”

Yaga didn’t react. He just exhaled through his nose, already expecting this reaction. “Yes.”

Satoru snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. Thanks, Yaga. I needed the laugh.” 

He slumped back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto the edge of the desk, acting like this conversation was nothing more than an annoyance. “Alright, joke’s over. What’s the real reason you called me in?”

Yaga said nothing. Instead, he reached for the folder at the side of his desk, sliding it across the surface with a practiced patience that only made Satoru more irritated. He didn’t move to take it, just eyed it like it might bite him.

“I managed everything already, just like your benefactor asked me.” Yaga said, voice firm but calm. “Tuition, housing, living expenses—it’s all handled. All you have to do is decide what you want to do next.”

Satoru could not help but just stare blankly at the folder like it was a trick, like if he touched it, the illusion would break and the rug would be pulled out from under him. “This isn’t a joke, Satoru. I promise you.”

Something in Yaga Masamichi’s voice made him stop. The usual sarcasm sitting on Satoru’s tongue dissolved. Slowly, he sat up, planting his feet on the floor before dragging the folder toward him. His fingers drummed against the cover for a moment before flipping it open.

Inside, neatly arranged, were the details like Yaga said. All the bank transfers, the college exam forms, rent agreements, even a breakdown of potential career paths. It was all there, structured and waiting, like a road laid out ahead of him.

His throat felt dry. No one had ever done something like this for him before. Gojo Satoru wasn’t stupid. He knew how the world worked. Nobody gave something for free, not without expecting something in return. His grip on the folder tightened.

“Who?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Yaga didn’t hesitate. “Someone who understands.”

Gojo Satoru could feel his jaw suddenly tense. That wasn’t an answer. But the way Yaga said it, the way he looked at him, Satoru knew he wasn’t going to get anything else. So he just lets it go for now. He frowns.

He clicked his tongue, snapping the folder shut. “And this benefactor, they don’t want anything back?”

“No.”

Satoru scoffed. “Bullshit.”

Yaga’s expression didn’t change. “Believe what you want.”

Satoru leaned back in his chair, spinning the folder between his fingers before tossing it onto the desk. Silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. It wasn’t just about the money. It was about the fact that someone out there had seen him, had looked at his life, his struggles, and decided he was worth helping. That thought made his chest feel tight, like a weight pressing down on him.

He’d spent years clawing his way through life, telling himself he didn’t need anyone, that he could handle it on his own. And yet here it was—help, handed to him on a silver platter. No strings. No conditions. It pissed him off. Because it meant he had no excuse.

Satoru clicked his tongue again, running a hand through his hair. “So all I gotta do is choose, huh?”

Yaga nodded. “Yeah. Pick your university well.”

For a long time, Satoru just sat there, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers. He could feel Yaga watching him, waiting, but the older man said nothing. He had learned, over the years, that pushing Satoru never worked. Eventually, Satoru leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He tapped his fingers against the folder, once, twice, before exhaling sharply.

“You know what this feels like?” he asked, voice lighter than the tension in the room. “It feels like one of those scam emails. ‘Congratulations! A long-lost prince has left you a fortune! Click here to claim it!’” He gave Yaga a dry look. “Should I be worried about malware?”

Yaga didn’t smile. “No one’s scamming you, Satoru.”

Satoru hummed, glancing back at the folder like it might suddenly disappear. “That’s what a scammer would say.”

But the joke fell flat, and he knew it. Because the truth was, he didn’t want to look at this too closely. Didn’t want to pick it apart and realize it was real. Because if it was real, then he had no excuse not to take it. His fingers curled around the edges of the folder.

Yaga, always patient, spoke again, his voice steady. “You don’t have to decide today. I just wanted to tell you.”

Satoru let out a breath that almost sounded like relief. Almost. “I feel a but coming in here.”

But then Yaga added, “But you do have to decide, eventually. Don’t let this go to waste.”

And just like that, the relief was gone. Satoru tilted his head, expression unreadable. “And if I say no?”

Yaga shrugged. “Then you say no.”

Satoru narrowed his eyes. “You’re really just gonna let me walk away from all this?”

“If that’s what you choose, then yes.” Yaga said simply. “That’s what your benefactor said.”

That was the part that unsettled Satoru the most. His whole life, every choice had been made for him, by his father, by circumstance, by a world that didn’t care whether he sank or swam. And now, suddenly, he had control. He didn’t know what to do with it.

Satoru dragged a hand through his hair, sighing dramatically. “Man, I hate this.”

“Hate what?”

“This.” He waved vaguely at the folder, at Yaga, at the whole damn situation. “This whole ‘I get a say in my future’ thing. It’s stressful.”

Yaga’s lips twitched slightly. “You’ll get used to it.”

Satoru clicked his tongue, then stood abruptly, snatching the folder off the desk. He tucked it under his arm like it weighed nothing, like it wasn’t the single biggest decision of his life. He looked at his old teacher with complex eyes.

“I’ll think about it, Yaga.” he said, already turning toward the door. “I promise.”

Yaga nodded, as if he knew that was the best he was going to get. “Alright.”

But just as Satoru reached for the handle, he paused. “…This person.” he said, without turning around. “The one who did all this.”

Yaga waited. “Yes?”

Satoru’s grip on the folder tightened. “Are they gonna want to meet me?”

Yaga considered his answer carefully. “They’re leaving that up to you.”

Satoru let out a small scoff, shaking his head. “Figures.”

And with that, he walked out into the cold winds of the evening, the weight of the neatly pressed folder pressing against his side like a decision he wasn’t ready to make. Not yet. But maybe soon.

HE TOLD HIS MOTHER ALMOST IMMEDIATELY. In some ways, Satoru knew he couldn’t keep this from her. Something this big, how can you keep it to yourself? Someone else needed to know. And he knew his mother was that person.

The folder sat in the dim glow of the kitchen light, thick with opportunity. With a future. With escape. But his mother hadn’t touched it. Instead, she sat across from him, hands curled around a chipped ceramic mug, knuckles pressed white from how tightly she held it. She hadn’t taken a sip in minutes. The tea had gone cold.

“Satoru, my son….” she murmured, shaking her head, her voice brittle. “You don’t know these people.”

He had expected this. She had always been careful, wary of kindness, of luck. Of hope. “I know Yaga, though.” Satoru said, his voice controlled, steady. “And I know this is real.”

His mother exhaled, slow and tired. “For you, it is.” she whispered. “But to me, I’m still not sure.”

The words sank in like a blade between his ribs. Satoru sat still for a long moment, his heartbeat in his ears. For a while, he had told himself that if he ever got the chance to leave, he’d take it without hesitation. No second thoughts. No regrets.

But that was before he had something to lose. Before the idea of walking out of this house meant leaving her behind. Guilt curled in his stomach, sick and twisting. He had spent his entire life watching his mother weather the storm of his father’s anger. Taking the worst of it. Absorbing it so Satoru didn’t have to. He couldn’t pay her back for that. He couldn’t undo it.

But he could do this.

“Come with me, mom.” he said.

His mother’s head snapped up, startled. “What?”

Satoru met her eyes, clear and unwavering. “Come with me, to Tokyo or Kyoto. Wherever I end up going to school.” he repeated. “We don’t have to stay here.”

She blinked, like she hadn’t even considered it. “Satoru—”

“I mean it, mom.” he said, leaning forward. “You don’t have to stay with him.”

Her fingers trembled. “And go where?” she whispered.

Satoru swallowed. “Anywhere but here. There’s enough money for the both of us.”

She let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “It’s not that easy.”

His jaw clenched. “Maybe not, mom.” he admitted. “But staying here? That’s not easy either.” His voice dropped, lower now, pressing. “That’s never been easy.”

His mother flinched, looking away.

Satoru stared at her, his chest tight.

For years, he had tried to convince himself that his mother was fine. That his father’s anger had only ever been directed at him. That she could handle it. But he knew better. He had seen the bruises she covered with long sleeves in the summer. Heard the way her voice shrank in his father’s presence.

He had never asked why she stayed.

Because deep down, he already knew.

“You don’t understand, Satoru.” she whispered. “We can’t just—”

Satoru’s breath hitched. “Then make me understand.”

She exhaled shakily, pressing the heels of her palms against her forehead. “I don’t know how to leave.”

He reached across the table, his movements slow, deliberate, as if any sudden motion might scare her away. His fingers found hers, cold and trembling, and he covered her hand with his own. A silent reassurance. A plea.

"We’ll figure it out, Mom." His voice was softer than usual, a stark contrast to the steel in his grip. He needed her to believe him. Needed her to trust that there was a way out. "Just come with me."

She didn’t respond right away. Her fingers twitched beneath his, hesitant, unsure. He could feel the slight tremor in them, the way she curled them ever so slightly, as if she wanted to hold on but couldn’t quite bring herself to. Satoru swallowed hard. He knew what she was thinking. Knew that years of fear, of habit, of hope that things might still change were keeping her frozen in place. 

But she didn’t pull away. And that was something. For now, that was enough.  He squeezed her hand, just once. Gentle. Certain. A quiet promise. The quiet admission struck something deep inside him. Because he understood. For so long, he had felt like that, too.

His father had built a cage around them. One with invisible walls, lined with rules, punishments, expectations. They had learned to navigate it, to survive inside it. But now, for the first time, there was a door. And Satoru wasn’t walking through it alone.

He reached across the table, covering her hand with his own. “We’ll figure it out, mom.” he promised. “Just come with me.”

Her fingers curled slightly under his, hesitant, unsure.

But she didn’t pull away.

And for now, that was enough.

The night they left weeks later, the house felt heavier than usual. Like it knew it was being abandoned. Like it was trying to hold them back. Like it doesn’t want to be left empty with that crude, brutish and miserable man. But Satoru does not care. He does not want to be here anymore. 

Satoru stood in the dim hallway, bag slung over his shoulder, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. His mother was in front of him, clutching the strap of her own bag with white-knuckled hands. She hadn’t moved in minutes.

“We should go, mom.” he murmured.

His mother didn’t respond. She was staring at the walls, the floor, the furniture—like she was trying to memorize them. Like she was trying to convince herself she could step away from it all. Satoru swallowed hard. He understood.

Because for years, this house had been their whole world. Their cage, their battlefield, their suffocation. Every argument, every bruise, every silent dinner had seeped into the walls. This place had shaped them, broken them, kept them trapped. And now, they were about to leave it behind.

Satoru reached out, his hand hovering just above her shoulder. “Mom.”

She flinched, eyes darting at him. For a second, just a second, she looked terrified, she looked just as much exhausted. Not of him. Of the unknown. Of a life that is now going to be separated from the brutal one she had been forced to live.

“I don’t—” Her voice cracked, her throat working around the words. “Satoru, what if this is worse?”

Satoru inhaled sharply. That fear she felt, he knew had felt it too. The doubt. The what-ifs. The voice in the back of his head that told him maybe it was better to stay where things were familiar, even if familiar meant unbearable.

“Then we’ll deal with it, mom.” he said firmly.

His mother let out a shaky breath. “You don’t understand—”

“I do.” Satoru interrupted, stepping closer. His fingers curled into fists at his sides. “I know what it’s like to be afraid of leaving. To think that maybe… maybe this is all we get. Maybe we just take it. Live with it.”

Her chin trembled. “I just….”

“But we don’t have to.” he whispered. “We don’t have to live like this.”

His mother looked away, blinking rapidly. “This is my home, my son.” she murmured. “This is all I knew.”

Satoru’s chest ached. “No, mom. It’s not your home.” he said quietly. “This is just a house where bad things happened. It was never your home.”

Her breath hitched. “.....It’s not my home?”

“No, mom. It’s not.” Satoru pressed on, voice soft but unwavering. “Home isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to hurt. We can find something better. We can make something better. We’ll build a home together.”

His mother squeezed her eyes shut, one hand gripping the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her upright.  Tears were forming at the edges of her eyes, her body was shaking. He was losing her. Panic rose in his throat.

“Mom, please.” he begged, voice cracking now. “I can’t leave you here.”

She exhaled sharply, her entire body trembling. Then, slowly, she turned back to face him. And for the first time in years, there was something in her eyes other than resignation. Something fragile. Something afraid. Something hopeful.

Satoru reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “Come with me, mom.” he whispered. “I’m begging you.”

His mother’s grip was weak at first, hesitant.

Then, finally, her fingers tightened around his.

And she nodded back at him.

Satoru exhaled, something breaking inside him. Relief, gratitude, something bigger than all of that. He squeezed her hand once before letting go. She followed him to the door. She hesitated for only a second before stepping outside. And for the first time in years, she didn’t look back.

HE HAD A DIFFERENT PERCEPTION ABOUT THIS CITY. But it would seem that Tokyo city was quieter than Satoru expected. He thought the city would be overwhelming, suffocating with its neon lights and endless streams of people, but standing in the doorway of their new apartment, it was the silence that struck him first.

No shouting. No breaking glass. No heavy footsteps signaling trouble. Just the low hum of traffic outside and the soft creak of the floorboards as his mother hesitantly stepped inside. It didn’t feel real to him.

“Welcome home, you two.” Yaga said from behind them, setting a thick folder onto the kitchen counter. “I take it you’re getting along well with this apartment?”

“Yeah.” Satoru turned to him, still adjusting to the idea that this was happening. “I guess.”

He wasn’t dreaming, right? 

His father wasn’t about to yank him back with an iron grip, right?

 His mother lingered near the window, fingers ghosting over the curtains like she didn’t know if she was allowed to touch them. Like any second, someone would come and tell her this wasn’t hers to have. Yaga didn’t push her. He just motioned for Satoru to sit at the small, round dining table. Satoru hesitated before finally doing as he was told.

“Alright, let’s go over everything. Now that you got into Tokyo University.” Yaga exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. He flipped open the folder, tapping a few neatly stacked documents. “There’s quite a bit.”

“Looks like there’s quite a bit.” Satoru says, looking at the binder.

“Your tuition has been taken care of in full. All you have to do is choose your major and register for classes. Everything else, the apartment, utilities, and monthly expenses, and your mother’s health check ups….it’s also been covered. It surprisingly fits for one year from the money we got, so it’s going to be fine.”

Satoru’s hands clenched on his lap. “It still sounds like a scam, even when it's done already. It just still feels unreal.” he muttered.

Yaga snorted. “Yeah, well. I’d be suspicious too, if I wasn’t the one who pushed for this to happen.” He leaned back in his chair, studying him. “But don’t worry. Like I said, your benefactor doesn’t want anything from you, Satoru.”

Satoru frowned. “That also still doesn’t make sense.”

Yaga’s expression softened. “It does, knowing your benefactor, it truly fits.” he said. “Though your benefactor reminded me to tell you to study well, and take care of your mother.”

Satoru blinked, caught off guard. “That’s it?”

Yaga nodded. “And that you go to college, everyday. No classes missed.”

Satoru let out a sharp breath, disbelieving. “That’s really it?”

Yaga’s gaze was steady. “That’s really it.”

Satoru looked down at the folder, at the proof of everything Yaga was saying. His mind raced, trying to find the catch, the fine print, the part where this all fell apart. But there wasn’t one. There wasn’t anything that has been faulty throughout.

Someone—some ridiculous stranger—had decided to give him and his mother a way out. A fresh start. And all they asked in return was for Satoru to live. To be something more than what his father had tried to reduce him to. The realization settled into his bones, heavy and overwhelming.

His mother let out a shaky breath from the window. “I don’t know how to thank them.” she whispered. “This is just….”

Yaga gave a small, knowing smile. “Then don’t, Mrs. Gojo. Really.” he said simply. “Just live well. That’s enough of a thanks to the benefactor.”

Satoru swallowed past the lump in his throat. For the first time in a long time, he believed it. And for the first time in his life, he thought—maybe, just maybe—he had a future. One that was finally his own. 

The apartment felt too clean. Satoru wasn’t used to that. Everything in his life had been messy. Broken things that never got fixed, stains on the walls that told a story of fights and silent suffering. But here, the walls were smooth, the floors unscuffed, and the air smelled like citrus, like someone had actually cared enough to prepare this place for them.

His mother still stood by the window, staring out at the Tokyo skyline, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked so small against the view. Like she wasn’t sure if she belonged there.Satoru ran a hand through his hair and turned back to Yaga, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach.

“So what now?” he asked, his voice flat. “I just… start over?”

Yaga leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “That’s the plan.”

Satoru scoffed. “Yeah, because it’s just that easy.”

Yaga exhaled through his nose. “No, it’s not.” He met Satoru’s gaze, steady and unwavering. “But you’re not alone in this. You’ve got support now. You’ve got options.”

Satoru hated that word. Options. It had never applied to him before. It had always been one way, his father’s way, and if he fought against it, he got beat down, literally and figuratively. But now, he was standing in a place that wasn’t his father’s house. He had a bed that wasn’t covered in cigarette burns. A kitchen where nothing had been thrown in anger.

It was real. It was his. Satoru stared at the papers in front of him, his chest tight, his breath uneven. This wasn’t a dream, wasn’t some fleeting hope destined to slip through his fingers. It was happening. After everything, after years of feeling trapped, after nights of clenched fists and swallowed words—he was finally here.

This was the start. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white, tension coiled in his shoulders like he was bracing for a blow. For something to go wrong. For someone to suddenly take it all away. Because that’s how it had always been.

He had learned young that good things never lasted. That the rug was always waiting to be yanked from beneath him. That every step forward came with a price. But this time, there was nothing in his way. No one to stop him. No one told him he couldn’t.

He forced himself to exhale, to relax his fingers, to release the quiet fear clawing at his chest. Across the table, Yaga sighed, watching him with that same gruff patience he always had. He gestured toward the stack of documents, the official letterhead, the crisp edges that made it all feel so real.

"Your next step is to register for school and pick your classes," Yaga said, voice steady, even. Then, with a pointed look, he added, "Take your time picking what you want to do—just don’t waste this chance."

The words settled heavily in the air between them. Satoru swallowed, nodding once, fingers tightening over the papers like an anchor. No. He wouldn’t waste it. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t do anything like that. 

Satoru ran his fingers over the papers, the weight of them heavier than it should have been. His throat felt tight, but he forced out a scoff, masking the unease gnawing at him.

"Tch. You think I’d waste it?" He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head just slightly, forcing a smirk. "Come on, Yaga. Give me some credit."

Yaga didn't blink so much as blink. He simply crossed his arms over his chest, unimpressed. "Credit is earned, not given." His tone was flat, matter-of-fact. "You might be smart, but that doesn’t mean you’ll do the work."

Satoru clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. "You sound like an old man."

"And you sound like a kid who doesn’t know what he’s getting into."

Satoru narrowed his bright blue eyes at him. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. 

Yaga exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Look. Just don’t screw this up. That’s all I’m saying."

Satoru glanced down at the papers again, his fingers tightening around the edges. "I won’t."

This time, he meant it.

EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS WAS UNREAL. Satoru never thought he would make it this far. The Tokyo University campus stretched around him, grand and sprawling, filled with students who looked like they had always belonged here. It felt strange to walk among them, knowing that just a year ago, this had been nothing but an impossible dream.

But it was real now.

He had passed.

He was here.

Satoru kept his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his fingers curling into the fabric as he walked alongside Yaga. It had been Yaga’s idea to come with him, but Satoru had wanted it too, though he wouldn’t admit it. He’d never been the type to need someone by his side, but maybe, just this once, he didn’t want to do this alone.

They walked in silence for a while all around the campus, the low hum of student chatter filling the air, the occasional bike rolling past on the paved paths. Then, the question that had been burning in his mind finally slipped out.

“Hey, Yaga.”

“Hm?”

They walked side by side, the hum of the campus life surrounding them. The air was warm, thick with the scent of pavement after rain, and the late afternoon sun stretched golden fingers across the rooftops.

Satoru shoved his hands into his pockets, his posture loose, but his mind wasn’t. Something had been gnawing at him ever since Yaga handed him those papers, ever since the weight of opportunity settled on his shoulders.

His voice was quieter than usual. "My benefactor—I gotta ask." He barely glanced over, keeping his tone casual, as if the answer didn’t matter. "Who is it?"

Yaga didn’t respond right away. Instead, he slowed to a stop, his gaze drifting toward an old stone wall covered in ivy. The thick vines sprawled across the surface, swallowing cracks and imperfections, twisting like they had been there forever. Satoru frowned, stopping a step ahead of him.

"Oi, what are you—"

Yaga let out a slow breath, like he was considering something. And then, finally, he smiles. "She’s your benefactor."

Satoru’s breath stilled.

He turned, following Yaga’s gaze.

And then he saw you.

You stood just past the wall, near the entrance of the university, bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. The light caught in your hair, casting a soft halo around you. You weren’t looking at him—not yet—but the moment Satoru’s eyes found you, something inside him went still. 

At twenty years old, for the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru thought he had seen an angel. 

But it wasn’t just that you were beautiful.

It was something else. The way you carried yourself—poised, yet approachable. The quiet kindness in your features. The steadiness in your stance, like you had already decided you would stand by him, no matter what.

And you had. Without even knowing him. A stranger had given him everything. The weight of it settled in his chest, unfamiliar and heavy. For the first time in his life, Satoru Gojo had no idea what to say. His fingers twitched. His breath came in slow and careful, like he was afraid that if he moved too suddenly, this moment would shatter.

You turned then, your eyes finally meeting his own, and something deep in his chest twisted. How was he supposed to look at you, someone who had saved him, someone who had believed in him when no one else had—and pretend this was normal?

For the first time in years, Gojo Satoru was completely, utterly speechless. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do with the emotions overwhelming him. Gratitude. Disbelief. Hope. It had been a long time since he had let himself hope for anything.

And yet, standing here, staring at you—he thought, maybe, just maybe, he could start. Silence settled between them like a held breath, thick with things unspoken. Satoru stood frozen, his mind caught in a whirlwind, unable to process the weight of Yaga’s words. 

She’s your benefactor.

You. The woman standing just a few steps away, the one who had made all of this possible, who had given him a chance at something better at freedom without ever meeting him. For the first time in a long time, Satoru didn’t know what to say.

Yaga let out a slow breath, watching him carefully before speaking again, this time with something unusual in his voice. A heaviness. A lament. “When we were kids, you know she was amazing.” Yaga said, his tone quieter than usual. “She was the smartest person I knew.”

Satoru blinked, caught off guard by the way Yaga’s voice softened, like he was speaking of something precious, something lost. “She studied here, years ago,” Yaga continued. “One of the brightest. The kind of student that professors remembered. The kind of person you just knew was going to change the world.”

Satoru’s eyes flickered to you, searching your face for something, for what, he didn’t know. But you didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, as if you had long made peace with the past Yaga was unraveling. “But she never got to graduate.”

Satoru frowned, his grip tightening in his pockets. “Why?”

Yaga hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. “She became a mother.”

The words landed like stones in Satoru’s chest. “What?”

“She became a wife.”

Satoru’s stomach twisted. There was something unspoken in Yaga’s words, something heavier than what was being said. A life that had been rerouted, rewritten. A future that had been sacrificed for something or someone else.

“She had dreams, y’know?” Yaga said, his gaze distant, like he was looking at something only he could see. “Dreams bigger than this place could even hold. But life had other plans.”

Satoru swallowed hard, a strange, unfamiliar ache settling in his throat. Yaga exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “And yet, even after all these years….” he said, looking at you now. “She's still the same.”

His voice grew firm, looking at you. “Still looking out for others before yourself. Still giving when you’ve already given too much. But how much is that a life, [name]?”

Satoru clenched his jaw, something tightening in his chest. “I….”

“She wants you to live, Satoru.” Yaga’s voice cut through the air like a quiet, unwavering truth.

“To become someone she couldn’t be.”

Satoru’s breath hitched. “Me?”

Yaga nodded at him. “Yes, you. She wants you to be free. In a way she couldn’t. So make everything count.”

That word. Free. It echoed in his mind, sharp and relentless, like it had been waiting for him to hear it all his life. He had never been free. Not from the weight of his family’s name. Not from the bruises hidden beneath his sleeves. Not from the suffocating feeling of being trapped in a life that had been dictated for him before he was even born.

Even now, even standing in this place, even holding proof that he had made it here, a part of him had still been waiting for it all to be taken away. Because nothing had ever truly been his. But then—there was you.

The woman who had given him a future, even when you had never met him.

The woman who had believed in him, even when no one else had.

The woman who had looked at his life—the one he had been struggling to survive in and decided he deserved something better. 

Satoru swallowed hard, his throat tight, his fingers twitching at his sides. He looked at you again, really looked at you this time. And in your eyes, he saw something he hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

Hope. Not just for him, but for what he could be. You had given him a choice. A chance. A way out. A way forward. A freedom he had never known. And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t afraid to take it.

HE HAD TO BE HONEST, IT STARTED WITH CURIOSITY. A passing thought, a simple question. Who was she? The woman who had saved him, a stranger who had given him everything without asking for anything in return. Yaga had said you were the smartest person he’d ever known. That you were meant for something great.

And Gojo Satoru, who had spent his life feeling like he was meant for nothing, couldn’t shake the thought. So he started searching. At first, it was just your name. A quick lookup on university records, old archives, things easily accessible. But what he found pulled him in deeper, past the point of idle interest, past the point of stopping.

Because you weren’t just smart.

You were a prodigy.

A force of nature they couldn’t handle.

Your name was everywhere, overwhelmingly so. There were the old scientific papers, articles praising your research, university newsletters featuring your achievements. There were awards, national recognitions, competitions where you had left everyone else in the dust.

Satoru scrolled through it all, page after page, eyes scanning through words that felt foreign to him. Chemical reactions, molecular structures, theories he didn’t even pretend to understand. But you had understood them. And not just understood them—you had mastered them.

He clicked on a video link without thinking.

And then—there you were.

Gojo Satoru sat back, stunned.

The screen flickered, grainy from age, but the image was clear enough. You were sitting in a brightly lit lecture hall, across from an interviewer, your hair tucked neatly behind your ear. You looked younger here, maybe barely twenty, but your eyes were sharp, your expression alive.

And when you spoke, Satoru stilled.

“This is what I love about science, you know?” you said, your voice confident, steady. “It’s everywhere. It explains the world. It connects everything—every living thing, every reaction, every change. It’s a miracle, it is life!”

You smiled, leaning forward slightly. “Isn’t that amazing?”

Something in Satoru’s chest twisted. He had never cared about chemistry. Had never cared about formulas or reactions or any of the things you were talking about. But watching you now, the way you lit up, the way you spoke like the world was something worth understanding, for the first time, he got it.

There were more videos. Clips of you working in the lab, hands steady, movements sure. Interviews where you spoke about research projects, your words quick, excited, spilling over each other in your enthusiasm. Moments where you laughed, bright and uninhibited, so full of life it made his breath catch.

You were dazzling. Not just beautiful, though you were, effortlessly so but brilliant in a way that made it impossible to look away. You were more than that. You were a diamond in the rough, among all these people. Among all mortals surrounding you, you looked like a passionate, genuine and wondrous goddess blessing all with your presence.

But then, the more he dug, the more he couldn’t find anything anymore. Everything, all of it had stopped. The records, the videos, the awards, all of it ended at a certain point. No graduation announcement. No further research. Just bitter cold silence.

Satoru sat there, staring at the screen, his fingers curled into his palms. Because he knew why. You have become a mother. And then horridly, a wife. And your future, the one that should have been limitless had been cut off, rerouted, swallowed by a life that wasn’t yours alone anymore.

Satoru exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the strange weight in his chest. Who were you now? Did you still dream of the things you once wanted? Did you still love chemistry the way you had back then? Did you regret any of it? Or did you look at him—the boy you had chosen to help, the one you had given this second chance—and see something of yourself in him?

Satoru didn’t know. But for the first time in his life, he wanted to. And that realization hit him with startling clarity. This wasn’t just gratitude. It wasn’t just admiration. It was something deeper. Something consuming.

And Satoru, who had never cared much about anyone outside of himself, felt an unfamiliar pull toward the woman who had changed his life before he even knew her name. He didn’t think he could ignore it.

It didn’t stop after that first night. If anything, it only got worse. Satoru found himself thinking about you more often than he wanted to admit. At first, it was just curiosity. He told himself that. Curiosity was all well and dandy.

But curiosity didn’t explain why he kept going back, why he kept watching the same videos over and over, memorizing the way you spoke, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you loved.

Curiosity didn’t explain why he started reading about chemistry, things that had never interested him before. Just to understand the things you had once been passionate about. Just to know what your world looked like.

Curiosity didn’t explain why he noticed the way your voice softened when you spoke, the way you carried yourself with quiet grace, like someone who had spent too long in the shadows of what could have been.

It didn’t explain the way his stomach twisted when he thought about everything you had lost. The way it ached. The way he wanted to—Stop, Satoru, this is madness!

He cut the thought off before it could form, running a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. This was ridiculous. You weren’t some mystery to be solved. You weren’t a puzzle for him to piece together.

You were just a woman. A person. But the more he learned about you, the harder it became to see you as just that. Because you weren’t just anyone. You were someone who had been larger than life, someone meant for something extraordinary. And yet, when the world had taken that from you, you hadn’t broken. You hadn’t let it turn you bitter.

You had chosen to help him. And Satoru who had spent his life feeling like no one had ever truly seen him suddenly realized that he had never really seen anyone either. Well, until now. Until you. Until you haunted the narrative of his existence.

He didn’t know when it shifted, when the fascination became something else. Something deeper. Something sharper. But he knew it the moment he caught himself watching an old video of you late at night, long past the point of exhaustion, long past the point of excuses.

The screen flickered, your younger self smiling, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you explained something about chemical bonding. Satoru wasn’t even listening. He was watching your hands.

The delicate way you gestured, the way your fingers curled slightly when you were deep in thought. And he wondered, suddenly, what it would feel like to have those fingers traced against his skin.

His breath hitched. The thought came unbidden, slamming into him with the force of something undeniable. And that was when he knew he was in trouble. Because this wasn’t just admiration anymore. It wasn’t just curiosity. It was something more to him. It was something surely more consuming than any other drug in this world.

And Gojo Satoru, for the first time in his life, wasn’t sure if he wanted to stop it.

GOJO SATORU WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE. He wasn’t even supposed to be in this part of the university today, but his feet had carried him here, as if drawn by some invisible force. And then he saw you.

You stood near the entrance of the new science wing, speaking with one of the department heads. You weren’t smiling, but there was something almost wistful in your expression, something he hadn’t seen before.

For a moment, he just… watched. It had been one thing to see you in old interviews, to read about you, to trace the remnants of the brilliant woman you had been in the past. But here, now—he could see you in real time.

And you were even more mesmerizing than he had imagined.

Satoru had spent years perfecting the art of reading people. It was second nature to him, the way he could pick up on subtle tells, unspoken thoughts lingering in the way someone shifted, the way their eyes darted or their fingers curled.

And what he saw in you made his stomach twist. You looked like someone who had built a life out of moving forward, like someone who had made peace with the things they had lost. But deep down, buried beneath the layers of composure, he saw it.

The quiet grief. The remnants of a dream abandoned, tucked carefully behind the way you stood so still, the way your fingers brushed over the edge of a desk as if testing its reality. They were all there under the surface.

Something about it unsettled him. Because he knew that feeling. That hollow ache, that quiet longing for something just out of reach. And for the first time in his life, Satoru wanted to know what it would take to bring that spark back into your eyes. What it would take to make you look at him. So he stepped forward.

“You seem important here.” he said, voice light, teasing.

The words made you turn toward him, your gaze settling on him in a way that made his pulse stutter. For a moment, you simply studied him, bright blue eyes, white hair, a sharp grin that hid far more than it revealed.

He saw the way you hesitated when you looked at him for the first time, quietly searching his face as if trying to place him in a category of familiarity, but he knew you wouldn’t. Not yet. Not like this.

“Not at all.” you finally replied, shaking your head. “Just someone who used to study here.”

“Ah, I see.” he hummed. “So, an old-timer.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Not that old.”

But Satoru had already noticed the way you shifted, the way your fingers curled slightly against your palm. You didn’t talk about the past much, did you? You didn’t let yourself linger in what had been. And yet, you were here. Still standing in the middle of a building you had helped fund. Still tracing the echoes of who you had once been.

“What’d you study?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Chemistry.”

“And did you love it?”

Your eyes flickered to him again, as if the question had caught you off guard. Satoru held your gaze, waiting. He wanted to hear you say it out loud. He wanted to know if it still burned somewhere inside you.

“I did, I suppose. I fought hard to get there.” you admitted, voice softer now. “It was my passion, once.”

Once.

Satoru didn’t like that word.

Didn’t like the way it tasted in his mouth.

Because passion wasn’t something that simply faded. It was something that lived inside you, something that clawed its way back to the surface, no matter how deeply you tried to bury it. And maybe that was why he was standing here now. Because, somehow, you had become his passion.

“Still passionate about it?” he pressed, tilting his head.

You hesitated. And then, after a moment, you exhaled. “Some passions never really fade.”

Something in him tightened, he couldn’t point out which. Gojo Satoru hadn’t been expecting you to say that. He hadn’t been expecting the way those words would settle inside him, threading into something deeper.

“Passion’s a funny thing.” Satoru murmured, his voice carrying a lazy sort of amusement, but there was something deeper beneath it. Something steady, something careful. “Sometimes, even if you try to leave it behind, it finds its way back to you.”

Your beautiful bright eyes flickered toward him, searching his face, as if trying to figure out why he had said that. Satoru held your gaze, refusing to look away. You purse your lips into a flat line, lowering your gaze.

For a moment, the world around him faded—the distant hum of students talking, the soft footsteps echoing down the hall, the chatter of professors discussing research grants and department budgets. None of it mattered.

Because right now, it was just you. And for the briefest second, he thought maybe you felt it too. That quiet pull. That strange, undeniable gravity between two people who, by all logic, should have never crossed paths—should have never been drawn toward each other.

And yet, maybe they always had been. Your fingers flexed slightly at your sides, a barely-there movement, but Satoru noticed. He noticed everything about you. The way your lips parted just slightly, as if you wanted to say something but weren’t sure if you should.

The way your eyes darkened with thought, with something unspoken, something he was suddenly desperate to know. It made his chest feel tight. You inhaled slowly, as if steadying yourself. And then, after a pause, you exhaled, offering him the smallest nod.

“Maybe you’re right, I suppose.” you murmured.

Satoru’s pulse jumped. Maybe he was. Maybe passion wasn’t something you could just let go of. Maybe, no matter how much you tried to bury it, itt would always find its way back. And as he stood there, watching you, he wondered if the same could be said about people.

If some people, no matter how different their worlds were, would always be pulled toward each other in the end. If you and him would be one of them. You let your serene face relax and echo towards him, a warm smile on your lips.

“You should keep doing well.” you told him, your voice soft but firm. “You should be better. Be what I couldn’t be.”

Satoru expected those words. He had heard them before. Albeit, it was all phrased differently, maybe, but the meaning was always the same. Be strong. Be smart. Be the best. But coming from you, they felt different.

They didn’t feel like there was a demand. They felt like a hope. And when he looked at you, he saw something in your eyes that made his breath catch. It was emotion, all too raw and unguarded, flickering behind the composed mask you always seemed to wear.

It was something he didn’t quite understand yet, but it made his chest feel tight, made his hands curl into fists at his sides. Because for a fleeting moment, he thought that maybe you wanted this for him. Not because of obligation. Not because of charity. But because you saw something in him. Something worth saving.

Satoru swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He wanted to ask why you were all about it. You would surely have all the answers. Why did you care? Why did it sound like you were speaking from experience? But he didn’t.

Instead, he just held your gaze, letting the moment stretch between you. Letting it settle in his bones. And for the first time in a long time, he thought that maybe he did want to be better. For you. He would do it for you.

Satoru exhaled, tilting his head, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips, but his voice was quieter than usual. "Be better, huh?" He let the words hang in the air before nodding, something unreadable in his eyes. "Alright, then. Guess I better not disappoint, huh?"

There was a flicker of something in your expression. Perhaps it was relief, or maybe something gentler than that. But he didn’t care to know. Instead, he lets himself drown in the small, knowing smile you gave him. "No, I don’t think you will. After all, your eyes tell."

And Satoru didn’t know why, but those words settled deep in his chest, warm and steady. Like for the first time, someone believed in him. Really believed in him. And damn it all, he wasn’t about to let that go to waste.

Not when it was you.

HE WAS SMART, HE KNEW THAT MUCH. But Gojo Satoru never thought he would take this high level of academics seriously. School had always been something he coasted through, excelling without much effort, relying on his natural intelligence to get by. But after meeting you, something shifted.

He wanted to understand you. And what better way to do that than to follow the same path you once walked? So, when it was time to declare his major, he chose to do something in science like you once did.

He told himself it was logical to do so. After all, chemistry was the foundation of so many things, from medicine to engineering, and it held the promise of a stable future. But deep down, he knew the real reason.

He wanted to be closer to you. He wanted to see the world through your eyes, to grasp the passion that once burned inside you, the same passion that had led you to this university years before him.

He sat in the same lecture halls where your name was still spoken with admiration by professors who remembered you. He read the research papers that bore your name, tracing his fingers over the printed words, imagining you writing them.

And with every experiment, every late-night study session, every moment he spent poring over chemical equations, he felt like he was reaching for something greater than himself, it was like he was reaching for you. 

He excelled. Of course he did. 

When Satoru Gojo set his mind to something, there was no other outcome. His professors saw potential. His classmates envied his effortless brilliance. He passed every exam, aced every project, and by the time graduation came, he had done exactly what he had set out to do.

He had become someone worthy of your world.

But then, life had taken an unexpected turn.

It started as a simple favor for a friend. A photographer had been searching for someone striking, someone who could hold the camera’s gaze and make people stop and stare. Satoru just happened to fit the description.

He agreed to a photoshoot, thinking nothing of it. But then, the offers started coming in. Even his mother was surprised at the amount of calls their apartment would get in all hours of the day. It just didn’t feel real at all.

So many entertainment and modelling agencies started to reach out. Many other brands wanted his face. Directors saw something in him, something beyond just his looks. They saw presence. They saw charisma. A raw, untapped potential waiting to be shaped into magnificent talent.

One commercial turned into another. One guest appearance led to an audition. And before he even realized it, his life had changed. He was no longer just a graduate with a science degree. He was now a highly paid, well beloved actor and model.

The world had taken notice of him, and for the first time, he wasn’t just a shadow chasing after your past. He was someone people looked at. Someone people admired. And maybe this path would bring him even closer to you.

Because science had allowed him to understand the person you were before. But being in this world, it would give him a chance to be part of your world now. To stand in places you might see him.To become someone you might watch on a screen, unknowingly letting him into your life.

He wondered if you ever turned on the TV and saw his face. If you ever lingered for a moment, thinking he looked familiar. If, by some twist of fate, you’d be drawn to him the way he was to you. Maybe, you’ll see him and find him handsome too. 

Satoru had always been a genius. He knew that since he was young. And now, he had a new goal. One day, you’d see him. One day, you’d notice him. And this time, he wouldn’t be just another face in the crowd. He would be someone you couldn’t ignore.

IN SOME WAYS, HE KNEW HE WAS WHAT EVERYONE WANTS TO BE. That’s why Gojo Satoru had always thought the world revolved around him. Not in an arrogant, boastful way—no. To him, it was a simple fact. People noticed him. They always had. Whether it was his height, his striking looks, or the sheer force of his presence, he had been born to be seen.

And yet, for the past few years, there was only one person he had truly wanted to be seen by.

You.

Everything in his life, his choices, his career, his calculated steps forward, all of that had been made with you in mind. So it was ironic—cruel, even—that the first person to truly look at him and understand him in years wasn’t you.

It was Suguru Geto.

This is how it happened.

Gojo Satoru had only been in the entertainment industry for a short time. He had deviated from his modelling career to step into the realm of films and TV. So, when he found himself on the set of Jujutsu Kaisen, a high-budget, highly-anticipated TV project that had the entire industry buzzing.It was just something else entirely.

He had taken the role on a whim, after finishing a film he had just done, where he played the second lead. When this script came to him, it was an offer he couldn’t refuse,his agency said it would cement him as more than just a pretty face, that this was his ticket to becoming a household name in acting.

But the moment he stepped on set, he felt it. That eerie pull. 

That flicker of déjà vu. And then he heard the voice. Smooth. Familiar.

“Didn’t think I’d see your face here.” Satoru turned—and there he was. Geto Suguru.

It had been years. Years since they had last spoken, years since they had laughed together, plotted together, ruled their high school together. And now, here he was, standing in front of Satoru, dressed in costume, script in hand, just like him.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Satoru muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

Suguru smirked, tilting his head just slightly, the way he always did when he was amused. “What? You think you’re the only one who could make it big?”

Satoru rolled his bright blue eyes, but for the first time in a long time, he felt something unfamiliar clawing at his chest. Warmth. He had missed him. Even if he’d never admit it out loud. The past had never really let go of him, after all. And apparently, it never let go of Suguru either.

Satoru scoffed, shaking his head as he looked Suguru up and down. “Tch. Didn’t peg you for the acting type.”

Suguru’s smirk only grew, effortlessly slipping back into the same ease they once had, like no time had passed at all. “And I didn’t peg you for someone who follows directions, but here you are, holding a script.”

Satoru clicked his tongue, flicking the script in his hand. “Who says I’m following them?”

Suguru huffed out a quiet laugh, shoving his own script under his arm. “Some things never change.”

The words settled between them, heavier than they should have.

Because some things had changed.

Too much time had passed. Too many things had gone unsaid.

And yet, standing here now after years apart and now together face-to-face, Gojo Satoru felt the past pressing against his ribs, demanding to be acknowledged. But neither of them said it. Not yet. They knew better than to open those can of worms right now at work.

Instead, Suguru cocked a brow, shifting his weight onto one foot. “So? Are you in this for real, or are you just here to piss off whoever’s in charge?”

Satoru grinned, all sharp edges and mischief. “Can’t it be both?”

Suguru let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Of course.”

The tension of the past still hummed between them, but before Satoru could throw out another quip, a murmur rippled through the room. New voices. New energy. Satoru’s ears picked up on it before he fully registered what was happening as those whispers, low and curious, voices murmuring came just a little too eagerly.

"That guy’s here."

"You mean the veteran actor, high above on the cast list? Yeah, I heard he finally showed up."

"Took him long enough."

“I thought he wasn’t going to accept! Isn’t he too big of an actor?”

“Well, I heard his kids liked the manga. So he said yes.”

Gojo Satoru exchanged a glance with Suguru, the amusement in his friend’s lilac eyes shifting into curiosity. He didn’t know who this guy is, well at least because he hadn’t worked with him just yet. But then someone called out his name, and the second it reached Gojo Satoru’s ears, everything inside him stilled.

"Nanami Kento, yeah, that’s him!" someone else muttered. "You know, the one from 7/3 entertainment? The biggest in the country! The guy’s supposed to be a genius. No wasted effort, precise, focused—completely different from the usual loudmouths we get here."

Satoru clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “Oi, I can hear you, y’know.”

The group of staff whispering nearby stiffened, but one had the guts to glance at him and smirk. “Yeah, we know.”

“Maybe you should shut up before I report your behaviour as unprofessional.” Gojo says to them, quieting them down.

Suguru chuckled under his breath. “Sounds like you’ve already got competition.”

Satoru huffed, flipping his script open lazily. “Please. No one outshines me.”

Though it wasn’t obvious, Satoru could feel the blood rushing in his ears. That name he had only ever seen in passing, in small interviews, in articles that always started with the same words. He hated it. He hated him.

“He’s the husband of that famously well renowned scientific philanthropist!” One of the other staff, who was just walking in, was squealing. “I don’t know her name, but I know him! Guys, isn’t he handsome?”

He frowned at those words. He didn’t want to hear the rest of it. The world around him suddenly evaporated. All Satoru could feel in him was genuine grievance, his blood boiling. All he could see was the man standing a few feet away from him. His blue eyes narrowed.

Gojo Satoru barely registered the rest of the conversation people were making all around him. The voices around him became little more than background noise, a dull hum against the rush of blood in his ears. Nanami Kento.

The name alone had already irritated him, but that—husband—that word sent something hot and unpleasant curling in his chest. His fingers clenched tightly around the edges of his script, creasing the paper.

"I don’t know her name, but I know him!"

That sentence alone nearly made him scoff aloud. Of course they don’t know her name. Because that’s how people were. They saw what was convenient. They chose the parts of the story they wanted to acknowledge.

And apparently, the part where you had built your own legacy, where you had worked and sacrificed and given away more than you ever got in return, that didn’t matter as much as the man standing in front of him now.

A man Satoru already despised without even knowing him. 

Suguru, ever perceptive, must have noticed the shift in his expression because he leaned in slightly, voice low. "You good?"

Satoru didn’t answer.

His bright burning gaze was locked on Nanami, standing a few feet away, exuding that air of quiet composure that only made Satoru’s irritation flare hotter. Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. How could it ever be fair?

You who had given so much to the world, you who had shaped his entire future, you who had stood by him when no one else had were now being reduced to a nameless mention in passing, a footnote in someone else’s story. A footnote in your husband’s story.

And Satoru hated it.

Hated everything about him.

Before he realized it, he was already moving.

Satoru held the handshake for a second longer than necessary, testing, searching. Just waiting for some kind of crack in Nanami Kento’s composure. But there was nothing. Just that same, steady gaze. Unbothered. Detached.

Like he wasn’t even worth reacting to. Satoru could feel his teeth grinding behind his ever-present smile. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like him. But he had played this game before, so he kept up the act, slipping effortlessly into the role of the easygoing junior.

“Man, it’s kinda crazy, huh?” He let out a breathy chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “I always figured we’d cross paths someday, but I didn’t think it’d be here.”

Nanami regarded him for a moment, expression unreadable. “You know of me?”

Oh, he was going to play it like that, huh?

Satoru clicked his tongue, withdrawing his hand as he stepped back. “What, you think I don’t read? You’re pretty famous, y’know. Brilliant actor. Great reputation.” He paused for a beat before adding, “Husband of a certain famous scientific philanthropist…..I think her name is [name] [last name], wasn’t it?”

Nanami looked at him, bewildered for a while. But he gathered himself and smiled. “My wife no longer uses her maiden name. But I’m glad you know of Mrs. Nanami’s endeavours.”

That irritated him a lot. “Oh, of course, who wouldn’t, Nanami–senpai! I attended Tokyo University like her. Same department too.”

“Is that so? That sounds good. I’m sure she will be happy to hear about it.”

“Of course, it would make her feel glad that your kouhai knows her efforts for the world.” He smiles at him, tighter than ever before.

For the first time, he saw something flicker in Nanami’s expression. It was brief, barely perceptible. But it was there. And Satoru felt something sharp twist in his chest. Because that meant Nanami knew.

He knew exactly who Satoru was talking about. He knew exactly what he had just implied. And still, he didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look uncomfortable. Instead, he simply adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and replied evenly. “I appreciate the compliment.”

Satoru’s fingers twitched. “Of course, Nanami–senpai. Send my regards to her.”

Nanami gave him the same smile he wore on his lips. “Of course, Gojo–san. I’m sorry if I must cut our conversation for a little while. I have to go meet the other staff.”

“Oh, by all means, Nanami–senpai.”

Suguru, watching from the sidelines, let out a low whistle. “Damn, he’s good.”

Satoru shot him a glare before plastering on another saccharine smile. “Well, let’s get along, yeah? Nanami–senpai.”

Nanami gave a polite nod. “Of course, Gojo–san. Let’s work well together.”

And just like that, the conversation was over. Gojo Satoru turned away first, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stalked toward Suguru, his fake smile dropping the moment Nanami was out of sight.

“I hate him.” he muttered under his breath.

Suguru smirked. “Yeah. I could tell.”

Satoru’s jaw ached from how hard he had been clenching it. The entire interaction had felt like a match, a careful spar between two people who knew exactly how to play the game—who knew exactly what wasn’t being said.

And Nanami Kento had won.

Effortlessly.

Satoru could still hear the measured tone of his voice, the practiced ease with which he had responded. There had been no cracks in his composure, no hesitation in his words. Even when Satoru had practically thrown her name between them like a live grenade, he had remained completely unshaken.

That pissed him off more than anything.

His fingers flexed at his sides before curling into fists again, his nails pressing into his palms.

Suguru, walking beside him, snorted under his breath. “Relax, Satoru. You’re about two seconds away from blowing a blood vessel.”

Satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the tension. “He’s so fake.” he muttered, voice dripping with distaste. “Did you see that? The guy didn’t even blink.”

Suguru hummed in agreement, tilting his head slightly as he glanced back toward where Nanami had disappeared. “Yeah. That’s years of practice, man.” He smirked. “Gotta admit, though—he handled you better than most people do.”

Satoru scoffed. “Yeah? Let’s see how long he can keep it up.”

Suguru chuckled but didn’t comment. He knew Satoru too well.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

THIRTY SIX YEAR OLD ACTOR GOJO SATORU KNEW ALL ABOUT THE SECRETS. But so did everyone else. Everyone kept talking about it left and right. It was in hushed whispers at the bars, murmured conversations over coffee, and knowing glances exchanged in crowded rooms. The scandal had spread like wildfire, unstoppable and all-consuming.

But despite the way they all feigned shock, despite the polite gasps and the disapproving shakes of their heads, not a single one of them was truly surprised. Because they all knew. Behind those shocked faces they put on their faces, they all knew.

They had always known, in some way or another. Some had turned a blind eye, while others had carefully looked the other way, pretending not to see the cracks forming long before they splintered wide open. But they weren’t eager to say that shit out loud. Not because they cared about Nanami Kento, not because they thought it was a tragedy. No, because it would mean looking in the mirror and seeing their own sins reflected back at them.

They had their own affairs, their own secrets buried beneath perfectly polished lives. None of them were innocent. Behind all the kindness they showed in public, behind the poised smiles and well-mannered words, there was something ugly lurking beneath the surface. Self-preservation disguised as moral superiority. They condemned him in private but would never dare speak too loudly, lest their own skeletons rattle too close to the surface.

But Gojo Satoru, he didn’t give a damn about any of that.

Gojo Satoru had never been one for morality in the way others saw it. Right and wrong had always been concepts that bent to his will, things he decided for himself. If it came down to it, he would choose his people over everything else. And you, you were his person now.

He didn’t care whether the scandal ruined Nanami Kento. Whether the man’s reputation was torn apart, his name dragged through the mud until it was nothing but a whispered warning among society’s elite. He didn’t care if Nanami lost everything, if people looked at him with disdain, if his legacy turned into nothing more than a cautionary tale of betrayal and selfishness.

Nanami Kento could have burned for all Satoru cared.

What mattered to him, in the end, was you.

What mattered was whether the wreckage left behind would consume you whole, whether the weight of it would press down on you until you couldn’t breathe. Whether it would leave you broken in ways no one else could see.

And now, years later, it was all out.

The whispers had turned into full-blown conversations, the judgment had spread like wildfire, and you were caught in the center of it all—left to pick up the pieces of a life you no longer recognized.

Satoru saw it in the way you carried yourself. The exhaustion in your eyes, the way your shoulders curled inward, as if you were trying to make yourself smaller, as if you wanted to disappear altogether. He saw the way your fingers trembled slightly when you thought no one was looking, the way your breath hitched when the silence stretched too long.

You were hurting. 

That was unacceptable.

If it were up to him, he would have razed the world to the ground to keep you from feeling this way. He would have turned every judgmental whisper into a scream, made every onlooker regret ever daring to look at you with anything but reverence. He would have made sure that the world never dared to hurt you again.

He would start a war for you if it came down to it.

He would ruin everything if it meant that, in the end, you could smile again. That you could be happy again. Because the world had taken too much from you already. And if it refused to give back what it stole—then he would take it back himself.

And that’s what he has been doing for a while now.

The horrible scandal of Nanami Kento’s long-time affairs had finally come to light just a few months ago. But with the powder keg of the media lighting the way, the news spread like wildfire, and with it came the whispers, the stares, the quiet judgment that hung in the air like smoke.

You found yourself in a secluded park in Tokyo, far away from the murmurs of the city. The sky was grey, the air crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. You sat alone on a weathered wooden bench, arms wrapped around yourself as if to hold everything in place. But the weight of it all pressed too heavily against your chest, and before you realized it, silent tears had begun to slip down your face.

The crunch of approaching footsteps barely registered until a familiar presence settled beside you. A quiet moment passed before a handkerchief, white and neatly folded, appeared in your periphery. You hesitated before looking up, eyes red-rimmed and weary.

“Why are you here?” your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

Gojo Satoru smiled, an expression that wasn’t quite teasing but not entirely gentle either. “I took a walk.”

A scoff left your lips weak and watery. You took the handkerchief from him and dabbed softly at your damp cheeks, the fabric soft against your skin. The sight of you crying and hurting broke him inside. 

“I’m sorry. This is just….” you murmured. “I was just—taking a walk, and then—” You gestured vaguely, at the empty space around you, at the quiet solitude you had craved until it swallowed you whole. “And now I’m crying.”

Satoru shook his head. “It’s fine. Take all the time you need.”

The wind rustled through the trees, sending a shower of golden leaves to the ground. You stared at them as they scattered across the pavement, as fleeting as everything else. Satoru didn’t say anything else, didn’t press or pry. He simply sat there beside you, watching the world turn as you slowly pieced yourself back together.

He watched you closely, the way your shoulders curled inward, the way your fingers clenched around the handkerchief as if trying to hold yourself together. He saw the exhaustion in your eyes, the weight pressing down on you, and it made something unfamiliar twist in his chest.

Satoru Gojo was not the kind of man who fixated on things like guilt or grief. But when he looked at you, he found himself caring in a way that unsettled him. He didn’t care about Nanami Kento’s downfall. He cared about making sure you didn’t fall with him. 

You inhaled shakily, the crisp autumn air filling your lungs. It felt sharp, grounding, but not enough to ease the weight pressing against your ribs. You tried to calm yourself down but you could feel everything overwhelm you over and over again.

“I should be angry all the time. I know I feel it deep inside me.” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I should be screaming, breaking things—something. But I’m just… tired.”

Satoru hummed in acknowledgment, tilting his head slightly. “Anger takes energy.” he said. “And you’ve spent too much of that just keeping yourself together.”

You let out a breathy laugh, humorless but not entirely empty. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The silence stretched between you again, but it wasn’t suffocating. It was steady, unhurried, like the wind threading through the trees. Gojo Satoru never rushed you. That was the thing about him. He was the strongest, the fastest, the sharpest from what you heard from everyone. 

And yet somehow, as he sat beside you, all you knew was that he knew how to slow down when it mattered. He knew how to feel the grief of someone who doesn’t know what to do at their own pace, while he sits there with them.

Your fingers smoothed over the handkerchief in your lap, tracing the embroidered edges. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?” you muttered, voice barely above the wind. “To grieve something that wasn’t even real.”

Satoru shifted, resting his forearms against his knees. He glanced at you, his usual smugness absent, replaced by something quieter. “It was real to you, [name]-san. I mean, twenty five years is a lot.” he said simply. “That’s enough. So don’t think its foolish for you to grieve.”

You swallowed, pressing your lips together to stop them from trembling. That was the cruel part, wasn’t it? It had been real to you. The version of Nanami Kento you had trusted, had believed in — he wasn’t there anymore. Because you knew he hadn’t been truly real.

And yet, he had been real in your mind all this time, in your memories for nearly twenty–five years of your life. And now, that version of him was gone, leaving behind nothing but the cold reality of what he had truly been.

You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before exhaling through your nose. “How do you do it?”

Satoru raised a brow. “Do what?”

“Not let things get to you.” you said. “You act like nothing ever really touches you.”

For the first time since he sat beside you, Satoru looked away. His gaze flickered to the sky, to the golden leaves dancing in the breeze. “I don't,” he admitted. “I just don’t let people see it when it does.”

You turned to him fully now, surprised by his honesty. The world only ever saw Gojo Satoru as untouchable, a man who laughed in the face of pain, who carried his burdens with infuriating ease. But here, in this quiet little corner of Tokyo, you caught a glimpse of something else.

“Then why are you here?” you asked, your voice softer now.

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and something in his expression shifted. “Because you let me see it.” he said simply. “And I figured I could do the same.”

The wind picked up again, a chill brushing against your skin. This time, Gojo Satoru moved . He was reaching out, hesitating for only a moment before pulling the scarf from around his neck and draping it over your shoulders. He hesitates for a moment before wrapping it on you.

“Take all the time you need.” he repeated. “But don’t do it alone.”

You looked down at the scarf, the warmth of it settling around you. Slowly, you pulled it tighter.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel quite so cold.

“I wanna take a walk.” You whispered to him.

“Then, I’ll join you.” He says to you, with a soft smile on his lips. “Come on.”

You eventually stood up from your position.

The two of you walked in silence, the rhythm of your steps uneven at first, but slowly syncing into something steady. The late afternoon light filtered through the thinning branches, casting dappled patterns on the pavement. A chill hung in the air, and you pulled your coat tighter around yourself, gripping the lapels as if to ward off more than just the cold.

Satoru walked beside you, hands in his pockets, his presence a quiet but constant force. “Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asked, his voice measured, free of expectation.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around his handkerchief. The scandal had unraveled like a slow, agonizing wound. The world had always seen Nanami Kento as a man of honor, unwavering in his principles. But now, that image has shattered. Affairs. Years of them. All the women that go through those hotel doors.

Secrets hidden so well that even those closest to him had never suspected a thing. Yet you knew. And you had held it all together. He was your husband. He was all you knew. He was your only safe zone in a world that tries to thrust you forward into the wiles of danger.

You swallowed. “I don’t know what to say.”

Satoru hummed, as if considering. “You don’t have to say anything, you know.”

But there was something in his voice, something knowing, as if he understood the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say. “I thought I knew him very well.” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

“Not all people show their true face.” Satoru huffs softly. “Sometimes it takes time to really know them.”

“All this time, I thought…” The sentence trailed off, unfinished, swallowed by the ache in your chest.

Satoru exhaled, tilting his head back slightly as he walked. “People aren’t always who we want them to be.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “That’s a poetic way of saying I was an idiot.”

“Not an idiot. Never that. You’re too smart for that.” he corrected. “ But even smart people can lose with people they trusted.”

You stopped walking, your gaze fixed on the path ahead. Fallen leaves scattered at your feet, swept along by the wind. Slowly, you turned to look at Satoru. His usual carefree expression was absent, replaced by something softer.

“You don’t have to say that.” you said.

“I’m not.” His tone was firm. “I want to defend you. Even from the depths of your darkness.”

The words settled between you, heavier than the autumn air. A lump formed in your throat, and for a moment, you thought you might cry again. But instead, you took a breath, deep and slow, and nodded. Satoru, ever patient, simply resumed walking. You followed.

“Where are we going?” you asked after a while.

He grinned, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “No clue. But I figure if we keep walking, we’ll end up somewhere.”

You shook your head, but for the first time in days, the corners of your lips lifted, just slightly. Maybe he was right. Maybe you didn’t have to know where you were going just yet. Maybe, for now, moving forward was enough.

And so, you walked.

The two of you wandered through the quiet streets, the city humming softly around you. Tokyo never truly slept, but here, away from the main roads and blaring lights, everything felt muted. It was like the world had given you a small pocket of peace.

The wind carried the scent of autumn, crisp and tinged with the faint aroma of street food from a distant stall. Your steps were slow, unhurried, as if neither of you wanted to break whatever fragile moment had settled between you.

After a while, Satoru spoke. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You shot him a sidelong glance. “Says the guy who barely stops talking.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “Fair. But I mean it. You keep everything in here—” He tapped his temple lightly. “And in here.” His hand hovered over his chest.

You exhaled, shaking your head. “Not everything needs to be said.”

“Maybe. But sometimes, saying things out loud makes them a little less heavy.” He stretched his arms behind his head, tilting his face up toward the sky. “That’s why I talk so much. The words don’t pile up that way.”

You hummed, considering. You weren’t used to this at all. Someone trying to understand you, someone willing to sit in your silence without pushing too hard. Then, without warning, Satoru stopped in front of a small vending machine tucked into the corner of an alleyway.

He turned to you, expression unreadable. “Pick something.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Pick something.” he repeated, gesturing toward the machine. “Doesn’t matter what. Just choose.”

You frowned but stepped forward anyway, scanning the rows of drinks. It was full of those massive cans of coffee, bottles of tea, fruit juice in bright packaging. You hovered over a random selection and pressed the button. The machine whirred, and a moment later, a small can of hot milk tea dropped into the slot below.

Satoru went ahead and carefully retrieved it for you, the warmth seeping through his fingers as he handed it over to you with a small smile on his face. Then, he pressed a button himself, and a second can clattered into the tray.

“You’re being weird about this.” you muttered, accepting the drink.

“I’m always weird.” He cracked his open with a quiet pop. “But that’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

He took a slow sip, then met your gaze. “You didn’t think about it.” he said simply. “You just chose.”

You frowned, staring at the can in your hands. “And?”

“And…..” he continued as he closed his drink with its cap. “Sometimes, that’s all you need to do. You don’t have to have all the answers right now. You don’t have to know where you’re going, or what’s next. Just—” He gestured at the vending machine. “Pick something. Keep moving. One thing at a time.”

You looked at him then, at the way his usual arrogance had softened into something quieter, something just for you. And for the first time in days, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you’d be okay. You would be alright again.

You popped open the can and took a sip. 

It was warm. Sweet. Comforting.

Satoru grinned. “See? Not so bad.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered.

You stared down at the can of milk tea in your hands, the warmth seeping into your fingers. A thought crossed your mind, and you huffed softly, shaking your head.

“I should’ve paid for all of this.” you muttered. “I’m older than you, after all.”

Satoru stopped mid-sip, blinking at you over the rim of his can before bursting into laughter. It was loud, unrestrained, the kind that made passing strangers glance your way. You frowned, watching him with mild irritation as he wiped at the corner of his brightly lit eye.

“What’s so funny?” you asked.

He grinned, rocking back on his heels. “You. Acting like that makes a difference.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” you argued. “Seniority matters.”

“Oh, come on.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Can you let me be a gentleman for once?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You? A gentleman?”

“Shocking, I know you’ve seen it on the TV.” he said, smirking. “But I have my moments.”

You stared at him, the teasing glint in his eyes, the effortless way he carried himself, and sighed. “Fine. Just this once.”

Satoru gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. “Oh no, what an honor! I’ll cherish this moment forever.”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow, but your lips twitched despite yourself. He was ridiculous, but in a way that made the weight in your chest just a little easier to bear. He bumped your shoulder in return, his grin softening. 

“See? It’s not so bad letting someone take care of you once in a while.”

You didn’t answer right away, instead looking down at the can in your hands. Maybe he was right. Maybe, for once, it was okay not to carry everything alone. “…Thanks.” you said quietly.

Satoru didn’t make a big deal out of it, didn’t tease or push. He just took another sip of his drink and smiled. “Anytime.”

“I appreciate that.” You whisper back to him. 

And so, you kept walking, the night stretching ahead of you, open and uncertain—but somehow, a little less lonely. But at the very least, it’s not a road that makes it hard for you to breathe. Instead, there was warmth. There was tenderness. And there was care.

After nearly half of your life, you found someone who understands.

You finally made a genuinely good friend.

“You’re my first friend in maybe twenty years, you know?” 

Satoru looked at you, surprised. “That’s how long it’s been?”

“Well, when you’re a mom and a wife, your life revolves around them.” You sighed, drinking your drink carefully. “I don’t think I’ve had a life in a very long time. Well, one that’s reflective of myself, at least.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, quiet but heavy. "You're my first friend in maybe twenty years, you know?"

Satoru stilled, his usual playful demeanor momentarily giving way to something softer. He turned to you, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. “That’s how long it’s been?”

You let out a slow breath, staring down at the can in your hands, the condensation slick against your fingers. "Well, when you're a mom and a wife, your life revolves around them."

The confession sat between you, raw and unfiltered. You hadn't meant to say it, but now that you have, it felt like the most honest thing you'd spoken in a long time. It was like you hadn’t been yourself for a long time.

"I don’t think I’ve had a life in a very long time." You took a careful sip of your drink, the warmth grounding you. "Well, one that’s reflective of myself, at least."

Satoru didn’t speak right away, and for once, you were grateful. He didn’t offer meaningless platitudes or empty reassurances. He just listened. You exhaled, rubbing your thumb over the rigid aluminum of the can.

 “You spend so much time making sure everyone else is okay—your kid, your husband. You wake up every morning thinking about what they need, what will make them happy. And somewhere along the way, you forget that you had a life before them. That you were a whole person before you became someone’s wife, someone’s mother.”

Satoru hummed, tilting his head slightly. "And now?"

You hesitated. "Now… I don’t know." You gave a short, humorless laugh. "I’m still trying to remember who I was before all of this."

Satoru took a sip of his drink, watching you carefully. “Then maybe that’s the whole point.”

You raised an eyebrow. "What is?"

"Finding yourself again, like this." he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Not as a wife, not as a mom. Just… you.”

The thought settled deep in your chest, unfamiliar yet not entirely unwelcome.

Satoru nudged you lightly. "And lucky for you, you’ve got your first friend in twenty years to help."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Yeah, because you’re so qualified for the job."

“Hey, I’m an excellent friend,” he said, grinning. "And, as of today, your official bad-decision supervisor. So, if you ever want to do something a little reckless, a little fun—you know who to call."

You rolled your eyes but found yourself smiling despite everything. "Noted."

And just like that, the world felt a little less lonely.

Yet if you could have known, you would hear something else.

You would hear someone’s heart skipping a beat in joy.

epilogue

Nanami Kento wasn’t the kind of man to let emotions overtake him. He prided himself on restraint, on control. That’s what he always has been. Measured, precise. He liked thinking that he was a clear cut above the rest. That’s what allowed him to be what he was after all this time.

Even when the scandal broke, when his name was dragged through the mud, when the whispers turned to accusations and the life he had so carefully built came crashing down—he had endured it all with quiet resignation.

He had accepted that he was the villain in this story.

But nothing had prepared him for this.

The photo was simple, just an ordinary snapshot, but to him, it felt like a knife twisting in his gut. You, sitting on a park bench, looking at something out of frame with a quiet, almost hesitant smile. The late autumn afternoon sun caught the strands of your hair, casting a glow over your bright beautiful features. 

And beside you, Gojo Satoru, wearing that ever-present smirk, his body angled toward you as if he had been caught mid-conversation. His arm rested casually along the back of the bench, close but not too close. Just enough to make it clear that he was comfortable beside you.

Just enough to make Nanami Kento realize that he no longer had that privilege. At least not without you looking at him with such disgust. At least not without you pushing him away from you, caging him with the distance that never once existed in these past twenty–five years.

His breath felt shallow. He tried to convince himself it was just a coincidence. Just a fleeting moment captured in time. But the longer he stared, the harder it became to ignore the way his chest tightened.

He knew you. Knew the way your smiles had dimmed over the years, knew the exhaustion that had settled into your bones from carrying the weight of a life that had begun to feel more like a duty than a love story. He had seen the way you had started to shrink, piece by piece, until the person he fell in love with felt like a ghost within the home you once shared.

And yet, here you were, looking like someone he hadn’t seen in years. Someone lighter. Someone freer. Someone who no longer belonged to him. Someone who is slowly falling out of love with him.

His hand curled into a fist beside the phone, jaw tightening as a thousand memories flashed through his mind. The long nights he had spent making excuses. The lies. The guilt. The quiet moments where he had felt you slipping away and had done nothing to stop it.

And now, Satoru was the one beside you.

Nanami had always seen him as reckless, arrogant, a man who treated life like a game. And yet, in this single image, Satoru looked at peace. And worse—so did you.

A bitter taste filled his mouth. He had no right to feel this way, but it didn’t stop the anguish from settling deep in his chest, pressing against his ribs like an unbearable weight. He exhaled shakily and turned the phone face down on the desk.

There was nothing he could do. No words he could say that would erase what had been done. No way to go back in time and fix what had already shattered. All he could do was sit there, alone in the silence, realizing that the thing he had feared most had finally come to pass.

You were learning to smile again.

And it’s not because of him.

It was all his fault, it was all his doing.

But he wasn’t going to just sit back and let it happen.

Nanami Kento had always believed himself to be a rational man, a man who weighed his choices carefully, a man who never let emotions dictate his actions. He had convinced himself that he was in control, that he could accept the consequences of his own mistakes with dignity.

But this was different. It was one thing to lose his reputation. One thing to become the subject of hushed conversations and pointed stares. He could endure all of that with the quiet resignation of a man who knew he had done wrong.

But losing you?

That was something else entirely.

He wasn’t going to let it happen.

His fingers clenched around the edge of his desk, the tension running through his knuckles, through his entire body. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He knew he had hurt you, but you were supposed to be his. You were supposed to be the one thing in his life that didn’t slip through his fingers.

And yet, there you were beside Gojo Satoru, smiling like you hadn’t smiled in years. Nanami gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t let it happen.

He had spent twenty-five years loving you. Building a life with you. Living a life where you both were content and happy with your children. His mistakes doesn’t mean he was going to lose you. You said it yourself, you would never leave him. You would only stay with him.

And if Gojo thought he could just step in and replace him, if he thought he could steal you away, that he could make you forget, then he was sorely mistaken. Nanami Kento had fought for a lot of things in his life. His career, his dignity, his carefully built reputation.

But none of it had ever mattered as much as you. And he would fight for you. Even if it meant tearing the world apart. Even if it meant going to war. Even if it meant becoming someone you could never forgive.

Because he could endure being hated by you. He could endure all of the silence, the grief, the suffering. He could endure your anger, your resentment, your rage. But he could not and would not ever endure losing you.

Not to Gojo Satoru.

Not to anyone.

Not ever in this life.

It was till death do part, after.

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING MEAN !!! MAX V. X FEM!CHARACTER (18+)

summary: test the dutchman and he’ll test your limits — OR mean!max content goes brrrr…

content warning: smut (minors dni!), brief descriptions of dacryphilia, impact play, orgasm denial and squirting, literally just dirty, max just being a smug piece of shit but i like that ig 😋, smut under the cut!!!

note: i don’t know how to write smut (literally the first time writing one) and english is my second language so beware of shitty writing 🙏 please don’t judge me i’m trying

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

this had to be the… what? sixth time he denied her climax? yeah. something like that. but max couldn’t help it; she called him out on it in front of their friends— he wasn’t about to allow her to humiliate him like that.

“yeah he’s an asshole. he might be mean to others but i don’t know… he doesn’t seem like he would be mean in bed,” she laughed with their mates earlier today as she teased him with a flirtatious smile, “he won’t be vanilla. but he won’t be the type to deny for fun.” 

yeah right, max almost scoffed as his palm struck her throbbing cunt again— eliciting a pitiful cry of pleasure out of her mouth, and who’s being denied now? certainly not him. 

he could do this shit all day. he could continue to fuck her with his fingers that were three times bigger than hers until she was seeing white and even passed out after. he could just stay here and give her more than she’d been begging for. 

but her? she was just begging him pitifully to let her cum only to be denied with a hint of laughter and mockery. she loved it, but she needed more— and she was crying because he wouldn’t give it.

the red bull driver looked up at her. she was so pretty like this: incredibly fucked out, her eyes and lips puffy from begging and crying for more— for an orgasm, and her cheeks drying the tears that fell from her eyes. 

he couldn’t even deny that he enjoyed seeing her like this. but he’d have to be nice to her eventually— he had to ensure he wouldn’t push past her limits. 

his fingers curled up inside her again, sliding back and forth as he continued to hit the sensitive spot of her walls in a rigorous manner as he let out a breathless chuckle. she squealed in a high pitched tone, her body convulsing as she neared her high. 

“you look so pretty like this, schatje,” he crooned, holding her hips down as he continued to fuck her cunt with his fingers. “so desperate to cum that you’re crying for me. i thought i wouldn’t be mean, hm?” 

“m-“ she babbled, “max please~”

“please what, schatje?” her lips trembled as her body shook. “wanna cum?” 

“‘m cumming… i- i- hah~” she cried out, max’s lips spreading widely as he felt her walls clenching around his fingers. 

max silenced her with his lips reaching hers, hungrily devouring her as she whimpered. “go ahead. cum,” his fingers continued to thrust inside her rapidly as a sharp cry of relief escaped her mouth. liquid trickled out of her pussy as max grinned against her lips, his fingers drowning in her pleasure as her body slowly eased into the bed. 

breathlessly, she looked at him and grinned. max cleaned his fingers as his mouth opened with a pop and a smirk. 

“i hope you know that this isn’t it for tonight, schatje,” he muttered, grabbing a handful of her hair before tugging it harshly. “because i’m gonna make sure you’ll understand how mean i can get when i ruin you with my cock. maybe by then you’ll learn how to watch your words, hm?” 

[bluesidez]

GymRat!Miguel Part 6

content warning: fluff!, mentions of alcohol, uses of Spanish (if wrong, PLEASE correct me), boy-mom tendencies coming from Conchata, judging coming once again from Conchata (she means well, I promise. it just takes her a while to get there), mentions/pics of food, some PDA, it gets a little suggestive so MINORS BEWARE, Tyler + Nancy + Kron are all white for those who don’t know, Miggy still looks like ATSV Mig though, this is probably the LAST time that sorority party is mentioned, some body insecurity, Kron is a moron + freak, some violence at the end

word count: 8.5k, kinda proofread (no comment 😒 just buckle up)

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GymRat!Miguel who hopes his package makes it to you in time for New Year's. He hates that he can't just come and see you. He wanted to be with you as the clock struck 12, he always wanted to have a New Year's kiss with someone, but it felt a little silly to drop everything a drive to you. January was soon, which meant that the new semester started soon. He wasn't one to count down the days until school started, but if it meant he could be physically near you again, he would mark off the days in bright red on every calendar in the house.

GymRat!Miguel who records himself counting down with his rambunctious family in his grandma's backyard. His baby cousins are jumping up and down, throwing Pop-Its on the ground just giggling away. His aunts and uncles are yelling loudly. His mom and dad are huddled up together, his dad kissing his mom's cheeks as she laughs. George is a little drunk so he's feeling a bit more brave than usual. Gabriel and Dana are sitting in a corner, lighting sparklers to pass out to his relatives.

GymRat!Miguel who sends the video to you as soon as he can. You were probably busy with your own family so he didn't expect you to reply right away. He watched the fireworks that his uncle set off. A little dangerous with the trees being so close, but amazing nonetheless. His mom and dad gave him a group hug, then started dancing and singing loudly to Selena. He didn't even look to his Gabriel who he knew was kissing Dana's face off. He really missed you.

GymRat!Miguel who confessed everything to his Abuela as soon as she opened her mouth to say "¿Qué pasa, mi nietecito?"

He sat at the end of the table next to her, sniffling away as he rambled about everything that had happened the past semester. The late nights, the early mornings, his roommate that didn't dry off in the shower sometimes, his failed party, his missed alarms, group projects, and most importantly you.

He told her how much he missed you and how silly he felt. She rubbed his hands and reminded him that love has no bounds. She jokes about all the times she stayed with his abuelo after the stupid things he's done.

Who proposes without a ring?

GymRat!Miguel who laughs at his Abuela's stories of her younger love life. They trade stories back and forth, his stories mostly of you because you're his first true girlfriend. His Abuela listens with glee, happy to see her Miguelito so joyful. She warns him not to be like his abuelo in terms of common sense, but to be like him when it comes to how much love he has to give.

GymRat!Miguel who is eager to show her a picture of you. She is the second family member to see you outside of Gabriel, as she is one of the family members that he is closest to.

She was the one he cried to when the truth of his parent's past life unfolded. She was the one he went to when his mom berated him for the smallest things. She was the one he went to when he felt that he was competing to be seen, but he didn't want Gabriel to notice his pain. She was his everything.

He opens his growing folder full of pictures of you and scrolls to one of you during one of your library dates. You're looking up at him with the cutest smile on your face. Your glasses are falling a little bit and there's a half eaten granola bar in your hand. You were studying for an art history exam and complaining about the influx of European artists over every other continent. He had told an art joke he found on the back of a laffy taffy.

"What did the art thief say to the museum curator?" he said, getting his camera ready.

"What?" you ask, highlighting a passage.

"Give me all your Monet," he said, a snicker following.

You turn to him quickly with a giggle, "That's so silly."

"It made you laugh, though," he said, snapping a picture.

You were really sweet that day. Looked sweet, smelled sweet, and even your kisses tasted like strawberries.

His Abuela took the phone in her hands, pulling her glasses down to look at you.

A smile grows on her face as she sighs, "¡Muy hermosa!"

Miguel's heart soars. He is glad that she sees what he sees.

Of course, she wants to see you. She compliments you profusely, praising Miguel for finding such a beautiful girl. Miguel promises to bring you by one day, happy to be the bridge that connects to women who bring him such joy.

GymRat!Miguel whose bubble bursts when his mom comes up from behind, asking what he and his Abuela are talking about. He quickly brings his phone back to his chest and looks up at his mom.

“Uh, we were just talking about school,” Miguel answers.

“What are you hiding, mijo?” Conchata asks, raising her eyebrows as she tilts her head. There was a warning tone in her voice, daring him to lie.

“You’re always fussing at him! It’s New Year's, Conchata, let him relax,” his Abuela sighed.

“Ma! He is hiding something,” she says, voice getting sharper. “He’s been strange ever since he got home. What is it? Háblame.”

Miguel just let the air go from his lungs.

“We were talking about my girlfriend. I was just showing Abuela some pictures,” Miguel said, tone quiet as ever.

“That’s it? Well, can I see them?”

Miguel hesitated, not knowing how his mom would react. She could be a bit of what people described as a “boy-mom.” Despite all of the years of her nitpicking and nagging him, she still had her moments where she thought others were too good for him.

Miguel hesitantly showed her the same picture. She quickly yanked the phone and looked intensely, pinching the screen in and out.

Then she started scrolling. It would have been fine, but there were still some of the scanned Christmas photos of you that he didn’t move to his locked folder yet.

“Hey!” he said, jumping up to grab his phone. He quickly uses his height to his advantage and gets it back in his hands while his mom tried her best to keep scrolling. He looks at the photo she stopped on, one more swipe and she would see what was only meant for him. “Seriously, Ma?”

“I just wanted to see,” she said, straightening her blouse. “She’s- nice.”

Her tone was nonchalant, sarcastic.

“Nice? That’s it?” Miguel ask with his mouth turned up.

“Sí. What does she study?”

“Art.”

“Hm,” she says. “I guess you’ll be the breadwinner. If it goes that far.”

“Ma, please don’t start this,” Miguel says, feeling a headache coming on. “I already told you that this was a new relationship. One that has lasted this long for me. And there are plenty of jobs you can get with an art major!”

Conchata made a face as to say ‘really?’ with her arms folded.

Miguel looked to his Abuela with an exasperated look in his eyes.

“They are hard to get, but the world cannot move without art or love,” his Abuela says, taking Miguel’s hand in both of hers.

“Love?!” Conchata just about shouts.

Miguel just groans.

GymRat!Miguel who stomps over and yanks up Gabriel by his shirt, disconnecting him from Dana, and dragging him inside.

“Gabri. A dinner party? Really?!” Miguel huffs out, irritation high in his voice.

“Where’s ‘Hi. Hello! How are you?’ No ‘Happy New Year’s Eve, Gabriel. My darling baby brother who I love!’ Just using your sheer strength against me. Removing me from the safe arms of my girlfriend. Just rude,” Gabriel turns his nose up and folds his arms.

“You running your mouth is all the answer I need,” Miguel says as he flicks Gabriel on the head. He yelps out a cartoonish ‘yeowch!’ “Why did mom just tell me about a dinner set up to meet my girlfriend?”

“Um! Well, you see, things happen when you’re enjoying a lovely ski resort!”

Miguel just geared his hand up for another flick.

“And!” Gabriel says, leaning back with his hands up. “Sometimes little brothers have to cover up for their big brothers when they almost punch the shit out of their half brothers!”

“So you tell them to throw a dinner?”

“No! That’s not even how I roll. All I said was that you were probably talking to her. Blame Nancy. And Tyler. And ma! Once Nancy suggested it, ma was ready to tag along. She’s been trying to stick her nose into your life for years.”

Miguel’s shoulders just slumped.

He pulled Gabriel in for a hug, “Sorry Gabri. I should have just asked you. She was just being really weird about the whole thing.”

“It’s ok, nobody knows your heart like me. But, do you really think it’ll be that bad?”

Miguel pondered that question.

“Hopefully not. I won’t let it get awful. She doesn’t deserve that,” Miguel says.

“Let’s look at the bright side. Tyler likes her. Dad likes her. Nancy’s opinion doesn’t really matter, but she likes anything Tyler likes. Kron is an idiot. And I definitely like her.”

Miguel clicks his teeth.

“Oh don’t make that face, Miguel. You know you love me!” he says and puckers at Miguel’s face.

“Ew, get away from me. You were just slobbering all over Dana,” Miguel says as he pushes Gabriel away and turns to go to his designated room.

“You’re so mean!”

GymRat!Miguel who answers within seconds when you call as he sits on the bed.

“Happy New Year!” you sing out, dragging the ‘year’ in a cute melody.

“Happy New Year, baby,” he says, smiling at your cuteness.

“I got your package!” you say, fighting with the phone to stay straight. You finally get it steady and start backing up. “It’s so comfy! The chest part is a little snug, though. Nothing too crazy.”

You stand in the middle of the camera. Miguel had delivered a bunch of his old sweaters to you after you mentioned wanting to snuggle during one of your FaceTimes.

He did everything to make sure they smelled like him. He used a specific detergent. He sprayed them in his cologne. He even wore them each for a set amount of time.

The one you were wearing was merchandise from when Gabriel decided he wanted to play basketball. You turned around and Miguel was met with ‘O’Hara’ printed across the back and your cute little shorts.

“Do you like it?” Miguel asked, internally freaking out. You’re wearing his clothes and his name.

“I love it!” you say, grabbing the phone and climbing onto your bed. “They smell like you too. I feel nice and warm.”

You brought the neck of the shirt up over your nose, eyes smiling at the screen. You were going to be the death of him. He’s become jealous over cotton and wool.

“Can I see it one more time?” Miguel asked, eyes heavy as he sat back against the headboard.

You popped up from your cocoon of his sweater and bit your lip, “Is this riling you up, Miguel?”

“More than you know. How could it not? My girl is wearing my clothes,” Miguel replied earnestly.

He heard you let out a soft noise, embarrassed as you stretched the phone out.

“Yeah, I’m really loving this,” Miguel said, voice lower.

You brought the phone back to your heated face, still not used to that type of response from Miguel.

“Don’t hide from me, cariño,” Miguel said, watching as you fanned your face. “Let me see you.”

“Cariño?!” you say, heart beating even more.

“Are you not my sweetie? My baby? My girl?” he asked, looking at you playfully.

You just rolled to the side and let out a huff.

“You’re teasing me,” you say, voice just above a whisper.

“Not teasing. Just admiring,” he says, eyes twinkling.

You bite the nail of your thumb, “I have an old selfie stick. I can go get that if you want to see more.”

“Please!” Miguel all but shouts.

You giggle as you run to get it out the of box. Miguel’s anticipating the show as he listens to you throwing things across the room.

When you get your phone high in the sky to pan over your body, it takes everything within Miguel to not start howling. Your legs were glowing, thighs full and ready for him to grip and bite. Your shorts were squeezing your hips. Most importantly, his sweater was stretching across your chest.

“God, I wish I was there,” Miguel groaned, rearranging his pants. His excitement was making his clothes feel uncomfortable.

“Me too,” you say, panning the camera back to your face. “I want my muscle bear.”

“Yeah?” Miguel asked, smiling at the screen. He loved it when you called him that.

“Mm hm,” you reply, picking at a loose thread. “I told my mom about us. She was getting worried and said I was walking around the house like a ghost. She’s excited to meet you.”

Miguel sat up straight, heart dropping. That was a stark difference from his mom.

“That’s great! When does she want to meet? I need to get her a gift. Is she still looking for that travel bag set? Or do you think she would prefer a meal?”

“Miguel-”

“I can ask my Abuela to help me make something. Does she have a favorite restaurant? Should I wear a suit? Business casual, maybe.”

“Mig-”

“I need to get her some flowers too. Does she have a favorite flower? Oh my gosh. Is she allergic?”

“Miguel!” you speak up, laughing at his state. “Calm down. It won’t happen until like, next month. You have enough time to prepare.”

“Baby, don’t laugh! This is important. I have to make a good impression,” Miguel pouts.

“And you will! I’ve already told her so much about you.”

He actively gulps, “Even the party?”

“Ok, that didn’t go over too well. She ran her mouth to my dad about that. But! She doesn’t blame you,” you say, calming tone.

“She hates me. Your dad hates me. How am I going to win them over?” he says, dramatically bopping his head against the wall.

“Miguel,” you sigh. He just groans out shaking his head from side to side. “Baby, look at me.”

The cursed baby card had Miguel at attention.

“You’re sweet. You’re handsome. You’re intelligent. And you’re charming. I promise you, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” you say, reassuring him.

Miguel nods slowly.

“You think I’m handsome?” smile creeping back.

“Oh my god. Is that all you got from that?”

“No! But you called me handsome, so I have to lock that away.”

“You also have himbo tendencies,” you respond.

“All the better to fawn over you with, cariño.”

GymRat!Miguel who curses when the pictures of you in his sweater come in shortly after you in the call. One of them is you on your stomach with the ‘O’Hara’ on full display with your underwear and ass peaking out.

He sets it as one of his wallpapers in record speed.

“How do you expect me to NOT be a himbo?”

“Feral”

“Oh my god. 😭”

GymRat!Miguel who does his same pick up and spin you around number when he sees you a couple of weeks later. You were glowing and giggly.

GymRat!Miguel who casually greets the people in the dorm lobby as he carries you to your dorm room. You didn’t even fight him, as he was always adamant with PDA. You just put your head in his neck and didn’t look up until you were at your door.

You saw the red face of one of the girls living on your hall as Miguel kissed your neck. You quickly averted your gaze, squirming so he could hurry up and open the door. Miguel just assumed you were hungry for more and took even longer to open the door.

“Mig-” you say, cut off as he groans into your skin. “The door, please.”

Your legs wrap around him tighter as he turns to where you were just looking.

“Sorry about that! Got a little excited,” he says to the girl with a wink. She turns even darker and it looks as if steam is about to escape her head as she scurries down the hallway.

“Rude.”

“Miguel!”

“What? She could have said something instead of just watching us.”

“Just please. Open the door, you goof.”

“Yes ma’am!”

GymRat!Miguel who is ecstatic that Jess won’t be there until tomorrow afternoon. He lays you out on your bed and hovers over you.

“I missed you so fucking much,” he says and drops his body on yours. You let out an ‘oof’ relishing in his dead weight.

“I missed you too, Miggy,” you say, patting his head. “Enough to be on my bed with outside clothes on.”

Miguel looks at you, sheepish. “I’ll help you wash them. And pay for it.”

“Yeah you will. But for now,” you pull him close and bring his lips to yours. “Let’s enjoy this.”

He loses track of time and kisses you until your stomach growls for dinner.

GymRat!Miguel who goes all out for Valentine’s Day. He opted to buy you one of the Valentine’s Day packages that the school offers, figuring that it wouldn’t hurt.

He sets up a small breakfast for you and Jess for Galentine’s as a gift for having his back. He had MJ deliver it to you, as he still had class that morning.

He sent you a photo later after his workout, one of your paper kisses on his cheek as he stood in the mirror with a towel wrapped around his waist.

You almost screamed in the middle of your studio class.

To end the day, the two of you did a couple challenge in Target. Once back in his car, you both gave each other gifts.

You almost cry when his “something that reminds me of you” gift is in fact not something from Target. It’s a cute bunny necklace inside of a handmade box.

“Miguel! This is so beautiful,” you say, in awe at everything.

He puts the necklace on for you, “A bunny for my baby.”

You devour him with kisses in the Target parking lot.

GymRat!Miguel who’s sweating bullets when your mom comes to visit later that month. He woke up with his stomach rocking. He couldn’t even look Peter in the eye as he stepped out of the bathroom, apologizing profusely.

“Dude, you might not make it out of here if you don’t calm down,” Peter says while lighting a candle he definitely wasn’t supposed to have in the dorms.

“I know, I know. It’s like my body can sense the bad vibes from my brain,” Miguel says, gathering everything for today’s lunch. “I haven’t even eaten anything today.”

“Cheer up, O’Hara,” Peter says as he pats his back. “At least you’re not meeting her parents’ eyes while you’re humping their daughter in their guest bathroom!”

“Jesus, Parker.”

GymRat!Miguel who laughs when he sees Gabriel’s texts. He’s sitting in the parking lot of the meeting location an hour and a half early.

“Ik your ass has the bubble guts”

“Remember to breathe”

“And that the dinner with our mom might be waaaay worse”

“Like”

“Miles worse”

“Thanks for the words Gabri”

“Real touching”

“So you’re saying I should become a motivational speaker?”

“Got it”

“Not quite!”

GymRat!Miguel who runs open the restaurant door when sees you from the waiting area. He’s so freaking nervous.

“Hello!” he says, holding the door for you both. Your mom gives him a quick thank you as you all step inside.

“I remember you saying he was tall, but I didn’t know he was this tall!” your mom says to you as she holds Miguel’s arms.

You introduce them, “Mom, this is my boyfriend, Miguel O’Hara. Miguel, this is my mom.”

Miguel almost sputters as you casually call him your boyfriend.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Miguel says, handing her a gift bag and you both a bouquet of flowers. “I have heard so much about you.”

“Likewise,” your mother says, shocked at the gifts. “And what a gentleman. You didn’t have to get me these!”

“Please,” Miguel says. “I needed to get something for the woman who brought such a gift to this world for me.”

If Miguel still wasn’t so nervous, he’d chuckle at the twin surprised looks you and your mom were sporting.

GymRat!Miguel who hits it off with your mom quite well. He’s a bit shaky at first, stuttering over simple phrases when the conversations were first starting. You put a hand on his thigh, rubbing your thumb to bring him reassurance. From then on, he just let go.

He’s able to chat about everything she brings up. Even the obscure TV show that she loves to watch. You’re highly impressed with how good he’s doing.

He even apologizes smoothly when the sorority party is brought up. Your mom reaches across the table to hold his hand and tells him that she is proud of him for owning up to his mistakes and taking a stand.

She heads to your car first, giving you two some private time.

“You think that went ok?” Miguel asked, finally relaxing his shoulders.

“I think that it went swimmingly. I also think that I want to kiss you.”

Miguel turns to you, blush high on his cheeks and neck as you walk your fingers up his thigh. You give him a peck on the cheek and say you have to drive your mom back to her car.

Miguel walks you out and waves you all goodbye as you leave the parking lot.

“He is such a handsome young man! Charming, too,” your mom finally says.

“I know!” he was never going to shut up about that once you told him. “What else do you think about him?”

“I think he’s great for you. He’s very smart. Respectful. He’s clearly infatuated with you. He couldn’t stop looking at you.”

You avoid your mom’s gaze as she teases you.

“He was lovely, truly. He has my approval. Now, it’s your father he has to really impress,” she says with a chuckle.

You rolled your eyes, not even ready for that storm.

“As long as he doesn’t break your heart, he has nothing to worry about from me. Your father? One bad day and you might not see Miguel ever again.”

You just tapped your finger on the wheel and pursed your lips, mind lingering near the future.

GymRat!Miguel who talks to you about coming to his house after the semester is over. The midterms were soon but so was spring break. He had to let you know sooner rather than later that his family was going all out with trying to meet you.

“A dinner?” you say incredulously as you look up from your sandwich. “Like at a restaurant or at home?”

“Like a full blown dinner party at my bio dad’s house.”

“That’s,” you say taking a pause as the words settle. “A lot.”

Miguel felt like shit.

“I know. Look, I can tell them to cancel the whole thing. They can see you whenever,” Miguel says, sliding his foot next to yours under the table.

“No. If attending this is how I can make a good impression, then I’m more than willing to attend. I just need to prepare. Starting right now.”

Miguel smiled, “And I’ll be there with you for every step of the way.”

Miguel sat with you and helped you break down every relative that he knew was coming.

Gabriel

You knew him already

Easy to please

Annoying (according to Miguel)

Likes you a little too much (also according to Miguel)

Wants to steal you from him

“Miguel, I don’t think he’d do that. He has a girlfriend,” you say, still writing down notes.

“Baby, I know my brother. He might have a girlfriend but that doesn’t stop him from being Denis the Menace,” Miguel huffs out.

Tyler

His biological dad

A little aloof, but means well

Gifts money like it’s nothing

Might still be a little in love his mom

Will give you a bear hug, unaware of how large he is

“Kind of like you, babe,” you comment.

“But I’m doing way more than hugging you, babe.”

“And he’s in love with your mom?”

“It’s a long story.”

Nancy

Tyler’s wife

Definitely married Tyler for the money but eventually found love with him

Owns a Pomeranian named Lala

A bottle blonde turned housewife

Wanted to actually be on a housewife show until she secretly went to Bravo-con and saw how stuck up all of the housewives were

“I feel like that was pretty obvious, but alright.”

“She’s still not the brightest, but she’s nice.”

Kron

A dickhead

Miguel’s half brother

Tyler and Nancy’s only child after Nancy never wanted to go through the pain of childbirth again. And she didn’t want anymore changes to her body.

A year older than Miguel

A dickhead

“Should I have to stay clear of him?”

“No because if he tries something with you, I will handle him myself.”

George

The dad Miguel grew up with his entire life

Where Miguel gets his hopeless romantic tendencies from

Really likes soccer, wanted one of his sons to be a soccer player but got two nerds instead

Met his mom before she knew she was pregnant with him and charmed his way into her life. He didn’t know that Miguel wasn’t his until he was born and Tyler barged his way into the room when he was originally visiting someone else. He saw Conchata’s name on a baby sign and came in crying.

He still stayed with his mom because he loved her but he made Tyler sweat for ever leaving his mom like he once did: lost

“Your dad punched him?” you ask, stopping your writing.

“Yeah. My mom says it wasn’t pretty. Tyler learned a valuable lesson that day because Nancy came in and slapped him once she figured out what went down. He’s never denied Nancy or my mom a material thing since.”

Conchata

Hard on Miguel but dotes on him a lot now

The reason for a lot of Miguel’s self doubt

Wanted Miguel to be a doctor but has settled with science

Blasts music on Sunday mornings while she cleans, therefore waking the entire house

Will actually give you trouble (hence the conversation from two months ago)

“Did she give Dana any trouble?” you recall Gabriel’s girlfriend. “Is there anything that I need to not do specifically?”

Miguel tilts his eyes up, “Now that you mention it, I feel like she welcomed Dana with open arms. That might be more of a little brother privilege than anything else, though.”

You bit your lip, “That’s not good then. I don’t want her to think awful of me or our relationship.”

“She won’t. She just needs time to process.”

“That makes it sound like I’m stealing you from her.”

Oof.

Abuela

Already eager to meet you

Miguel’s world

Taught Miguel how to do certain meals and crafts as he was almost always at her house

Thinks you’re gorgeous

“She said that I’m gorgeous?” you ask, shocked.

“And talented,” Miguel hums. “And brave. Lots of compliments.”

“Oh!”

GymRat!Miguel who stays pent up all of spring break. He was supposed to be enjoying his days off but instead he’s replaying your whiny voice messages and watching videos of you in his clothes. He doesn’t know how much more he could take.

He looked down at his state. Tissues, lube, ragged sheets, your polaroids, his phone. You were driving him crazy.

GymRat!Miguel who almost sprints around campus when his last final is finished. He’s free! For a couple of months at least. To celebrate, he and Peter are having a small get-together in their dorm room with lots of pizza, wings, jello shots, cake, and games.

GymRat!Miguel who cries like a baby at Gabriel’s high school graduation. His baby, who he raised and cared for, practically birthed, is growing up!

George makes sure to get a wobbly video of Gabriel dancing across the stage and Miguel with snot dripping down his face as he hollers.

“What to do with these two?” George sighed as he wrapped his arm around Conchata.

GymRat!Miguel who tussles with Gabriel later that week after he finds out that he sent that video to you. Their dad has to come break up their play fight.

GymRat!Miguel who isn’t surprised that Tyler managed to pay for all of your transportation and stay ahead of the dreaded Stone-O’Hara dinner.

Miguel picks you up from the fancy hotel and thinks that his dad went overboard.

You're waiting in the lobby when he sees you, stunning as ever.

“Wow,” Miguel says, stunned to stillness as he takes you in, unbeknown of his presence. Your dress is flattering you in every way. His goes from your legs, to your heels, to the necklace he got you for Valentine’s Day adorning your chest.

“Baby, you look amazing,” he says, finally coming up to you.

You look up at him with those deer eyes again.

“You think so? It’s not too much, is it?”

“Not at all,” he says grabbing your purse and helping you to your feet. “So beautiful, cariño.”

You duck a bit, bashful from his gaze. Miguel leans your head back up, stealing a kiss from your lips.

“If we weren’t expected, I’d take you back up to the room,” Miguel whispers.

You ball your hands on his chest and look around nervously.

“I might have to take you up on that offer tonight,” you whisper back, heart rattling.

It was Miguel’s turn to feel shy. He walked close behind you as you both made your way to his car, mind racing of the things you both could get up to.

GymRat!Miguel who thinks your reaction is adorable when you see just how huge the Stone property is. You can’t believe that one man owns all of this land. Miguel tells you that this is, unfortunately, just the beginning.

GymRat!Miguel who almost knocks Gabriel down. He’s gawking at you like an idiot when he opens the door to Stone Manor.

“Woah,” Gabriel says, mouth gaping like a fish.

“Hello to you too, Gabriel. It’s nice to meet you in person,” you say with a cute curtsy.

Gabriel continues to flounder, mouth opening and closing like that cat meme.

“Will you at least let her in, you idiot?” Miguel barks.

“Sorry! So sorry,” Gabriel says and opens the door further. “That’s really embarrassing. You’re supposed to see my charm and fall madly in love with me.”

Miguel is about to seriously hurt him when Dana comes around the corner and does the job for him.

“Who’s falling in love with who?” she says, elbowing Gabriel in the stomach.

“Nobody and no one!” Gabriel keels over in pain.

“Thank you, Dana. You could probably hit him again for me,” Miguel says. “I want you to meet my girlfriend.”

“It’s a pleasure! The boys have told me a lot about you. I hope that you enjoy tonight’s dinner,” Dana says, reaching her hand out to you.

“Gabriel has said a lot about you as well. He didn’t say how cute you are though!”

Dana blushes instantly and holds her hand over her mouth as she giggles.

“Of course he couldn’t. He was too busy trying to win you over. I might have to beat them both to the punch though,” Dana replies.

Miguel and Gabriel just make the same irritated noise.

GymRat!Miguel who hold your hand as the four of you walk into the dining room. You’re gripping his hand tight as you take everything in.

It was so grand. Like a hotel. The ceiling fixture was huge and intricate. The color scheme was muted with pops of bright white.

It was…a lot.

“There she is! The lady of the hour,” you see a man even taller than Miguel say. He has brightly gray hair that’s styled intricately so. He’s grinning bright as he comes towards you with his arms wide.

He indeed goes for something like a bear hug, just like Miguel said. Except, Miguel is there to steady you when Tyler collides with you a bit too hard.

“I’m so sorry, I’m just so excited to meet you! I’ve heard so much through the grapevine and I remember your emails like they were yesterday! Please, Please! Have a seat.”

“Not before she greets everyone, Ty-Ty!” you hear a shrill voice from behind him. “Sorry about him. He’s like a golden retriever. My name is Mrs. Stone but you can call me Nancy!”

You shake her hand and exchange pleasantries. She snaps her hand behind her with a beckoning motion.

“This is our son, Kron!”

You look up to see a man with platinum blonde hair and a scowl aimed towards his mom that could rival Miguel’s.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say, holding your hand out.

Kron eyes your body in a way that makes a horrible feeling go down your spine. His eyes plant themselves a bit too long on your chest before he decides to return the greeting.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he says, with a voice that assume was supposed to be smooth. Yuck.

Miguel quickly wraps his hands around your shoulders, “Let’s go meet my other parents.” He turns his mouth up at Kron as he moves you past him. If Tyler or Nancy weren’t there he’d buck at him.

“Mom, Dad, Abuela, this is my girlfriend,” Miguel says with a hand on the small of your back.

“Tan bonitia!” his Abuela cries and walks fast to take your hand into hers. “Eres tan bonita! Miguel! Where did you find such a doll?”

You giggle at her words, bashful at the attention.

“Thank you so much, ma’am. You are extremely beautiful yourself.”

“Oh, a sweet one too! Call me Abuela, yes? ¡Eres un ángel!” she says cradling your face to get a good look at you.

“Gracias, Abuela,” you say, a little softer. Miguel thinks he’s falling in love if he hasn’t already admitted it.

“Come, come! Meet my daughter and son-in-law!”

“This is George!”

“Lovely to meet you, Mr. O’Hara,” you say, looking into his eyes with a smile.

“A pleasure to meet you! My son has been in high spirits these past couple of months. And truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for what you did for him. He’s so stubborn, like his pa. He wouldn’t have budged!”

You chuckle at his comments about that O’Hara stubbornness, “It was no effort on my part, Mr. O’Hara. I wasn’t going to let something like that slide.”

You briefly turn to Miguel, trying to find a safety net under all this attention. You were happy to see that he was staring right back at you.

George then stepped to the side and brought Conchata forward, “Speaking of effort, I’d love for you to meet my wife.”

Here was the big one. The one you felt in your heart and soul was the woman of the night to please, the final boss.

“Mrs. O’Hara, what an honor it is to meet you. Miguel has told me countless stories about you. I’m happy to finally meet you face to face, and not just through words,” you say, holding your hand the highest it has been all night.

You could hear a pin drop with how quiet it was.

You panicked, thinking maybe you said something wrong. You’re about to pull your hand back until she finally reaches out and shakes your hand.

“Yes. You are the one that my son took forever to introduce me to. I’m happy that you made it here tonight. I do hope that you enjoy it,” she says. Her voice was calculating and a little cold.

You didn’t know how to take that so you just smiled and hoped that this was how she acted when she first met new people.

You heard the clinking of a fork against a glass.

“Gather around everyone,” Nancy said. “Dinner is about to be served!”

You all go to your seats. You smile at Miguel as he pulls your seat out and helps you sit at the table. He sits next to you and rubs your thigh, just as you did to him months ago.

Gabriel and Dana are sitting in front of you and Miguel. George and Conchata are to Dana's left as Tyler and Nancy are to your left. Kron has somehow placed himself near the head of the table near the parents, while Abuela is seated at the opposite end near the O'Hara brothers.

Nancy calls your name with glee, "I hope you came hungry because tonight we're doing a six-course meal."

You raise your eyebrows. You didn't know that this was the route they were going to take and from Miguel's face, he didn't know either.

There is an array of what you assume to be butlers and servers to come out, each holding a dish. There's even a chef who comes out with a smug look on his face.

"The theme for tonight is 'Everlasting Love.'"

You watch as Gabriel gives Dana a quick side eye and they communicate a silent conversation within just a few seconds. If you were to guess, it would be something along the lines of "is this serious?" and "as a heart attack."

"The first course is roasted artichoke hearts with a feta dressing drizzle. It represents the budding of a fresh relationship. I do hope you enjoy," he says walking away as the waiters lifted the cloches from the plates.

Below were the tiniest little artichoke hearts you've seen in your life.

As you were grabbing your utensils to begin eating, you could see Gabriel fighting for his life not to let out a laugh, shoulders twitching. Miguel just sighed as he put an entire heart in his mouth.

"So," you hear Tyler start up a conversation. "I hear that you are an art major. I would love to see some of your work. We do need a new painting for the entrance hall."

You wait until you swallow before you answer back, "I would love to create a piece for you! I'm sure you would want to see my work first, but whatever you want, I'm sure I can provide it."

"That's exciting! I'm so tired of seeing that boring white horse everyday. Right, Ty-Ty?" Nancy whines a bit as she leans close to Tyler.

"My wife is right. I'm sure your work will liven up the place!"

"I took that picture of the horse," Kron looked at his parents with a frown on his face.

"Oh, I wouldn't want you all to take that down. I'm sure it's very valuable," you say, trying your best not to upset anyone.

"Nonsense! We can always put the horse somewhere else," Tyler says, patting his son on the shoulder. "There's no need to frown son."

"You don't even know what her art looks like. It could be awful for all we know," Kron mumbles.

Rude.

Miguel's about to open his mouth but you quickly respond, "I would be happy to show it to you. If you don't mind, I can pull up my website right now."

So, you did. There are gasps, oos, ahs, and oh mys as your phone makes its way around the table. Kron's face cracks especially when he sees your work. He gets a little red in the face as he squeezes a compliment out.

By the time the next two courses come out, (an oddly pink soup based on the pool of memories that we store in our hearts and a market salad with cranberries and almonds to represent the start of young love) you've managed to impress the Stones, George, and Abuela plenty more times, shut Kron up four more times, and get an eerie stare from Conchata several times.

She hadn't really said a word since you shook her hand.

You all were enjoying a small palate cleanser of sparkling grapefruit juice to represent the sparks of love at first sight when she finally decides to speak up.

"Where did you get that dress?"

She had your full attention, "Oh! My mom lent it to me. She said it would be perfect for a special occasion."

"Your mom?" Conchata looked concerned. "She didn't think it was a bit inappropriate for dinner?"

You look down at your dress. Your cleavage was on display. You knew it was too much.

"I-I guess it is a bit too exposing," you say, conscience over every rise and fall of your chest she could probably see from her side of the table. You didn't bring a shawl with you either. You couldn't hide it.

"I mean, look at Dana. A long, non-revealing gown," she pans to Dana with a warm smile.

You did look to Dana who looked up, bug-eyed and confused. She looked back and forth across the table, a little incredulous.

"Ma, Dana's entire back is exposed," Gabriel said matter-of-factly as Dana turned her body a bit to show the criss-cross detailing of the string pulling the dress together.

"Sure, but, we can't see it here at this table."

"Conchata, dear, what is this about?" Nancy reaches her hand across the table, concerned.

"This isn't about anything! I'm just making conversation like everyone else here," she responds.

She's about to open her mouth again when her mom bites out a sharp "Conchata!" from the end of the table.

Luckily, the tension is broken by the chef bringing out the fourth course: a rare filet mignon to represent how our hearts bleed as they yearn for love.

How fitting.

You chewed your food in silence, controlling every movement that you could because now you felt that the entire table was ogling your chest.

It wasn't until the second palate cleanser, a red sorbet, came out that you saw that Kron's eyes never left you or your body. You felt sick.

You excused yourself and briskly walked to the bathroom.

You closed the door and took a deep breath. You looked over your appearance again. Was it really too much?

You washed your hands and took a few deep breaths. You were here to meet Miguel's family and make a good impression. Even, if his mom seemed to hate you, you were still gaining the hearts of everyone else. You're doing this for Miguel. Keep it together.

After a short pep talk, you straighten out your dress and your back, wanting to walk back into the room with your head held high.

What you don't expect is to be met with Kron as soon as you open the door.

"I'm sorry, did you need to use the restroom?" you ask, thinking that you were in there too long.

"No, but I was hoping to speak with you," he says, staring you down. "I apologize for my reaction earlier. Your art really is nice."

"Thank you," you say, trying to discreetly step from the door. He really did give you the ick. "I'm sorry that your parents are trying to take your art down. That was never my intention."

"No harm, no foul," he said. "What is confusing is how a pretty little thing like you ended up in Miguel's bed and not mine?"

"Excuse me?" you asked, a dirty look planted on your face.

"I'm not speaking another language, baby. You should dump him and get with the winning team. You'd make a great trophy wife."

"Look, Kron. Chronic. Megatron. Whatever," you say, trying to get away from him as he leaned closer. "I'd really appreciate it if you left me alone. I'm just trying to get back to dinner."

"The one person who you want to notice you is not impressed," he says with a snicker on his lips. "My parents seem to already enjoy you. You could drop this whole gig and be with me. Seriously."

GymRat!Miguel who storms over to where you went with a quickness. You were gone way too long and Kron was nowhere to be found.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Miguel asked with a bass in his voice.

"Great. Now the bear has been poked," Kron says to you. "We're not doing anything, Miguel. Calm down."

"You are doing something because why are you that close to my girlfriend?"

"Is she your girlfriend? Because I'm real close to getting a taste of that-"

Miguel grabs Kron up by his collar so quickly, you almost miss his movement, "You wanna finish that sentence?"

"Hey. Hey!" you whisper-shout, trying not to get the attention of everyone else. "Can we please just make it through this dinner? You two can do whatever you want afterwards. Please."

Miguel lets Kron go who sports a smirk across his face as he heads back towards the dining room.

"Thanks, dollface," he says, shooting you a wink.

Miguel only tightens his fist as he watches him walk away, "I should have hit him."

"Later, baby, please."

GymRat!Miguel who is significantly calmed down by the time you both make it back to the table. You let him breathe you in for a minute or two and it was like the bad energy was drained out of him.

The last two courses were a dessert and a specialty tea. The chef offered them both up at the same time, claiming that they complement each other like two parties in a couple.

You sipped your tea gingerly, happy to have made it to what you hope is the end of a long night.

The dessert in front of you looks delicious. It's in such a cute cherry shape, and it takes everything within you not to take your phone out to snap a picture.

You're about to dig in until you hear Conchata clear her throat.

"Are you sure you don't want to save that until tomorrow? I wouldn't want you to be bloated or anything," she asks hurriedly.

Oh.

So that's what this is about. All the remarks, the stares, the comments. They weren't about your character, your words, or even how you treat Miguel. It was all because of your appearance.

She thought you weren't good enough for her son because of your appearance.

You put the fork down, defeated. Conchata won the night.

Your throat burned as you bit back tears of shame and embarrassment.

"Mom, are you serious right now?" Miguel spoke up, voice cold as ever.

"Miguel don't talk to me like that! I'm your mother."

"A mom that's kinda being a bitch right now," Kron mutters under his breath.

You would agree, but it wasn't your place to make that comment.

Miguel lets that be known as he gets up and socks Kron right across the face.

The entire table is up in a flash, trying to get Miguel off of him.

Tyler is finally able to pull Miguel up after a few minutes. He's heaving, face the angriest you've ever seen it.

He yanks his body from Tyler's and opens his mouth, "This sorry excuse of a party to gang up on my girlfriend is over. I'm sick of it."

"Ma, you really said some horrible things tonight. I've tried for years to remain respectful towards you, but tonight you've really pushed it, and hurt someone that I love."

Love? Your eyes went wide and your heartbeat started to ring even louder in your ears.

"Kron, I've been sick of your bullshit for god know's how long. Biting off of me and my accomplishments is one thing, but cornering and harassing my girlfriend that I chose to bring around you is another. If you ever try that shit again, our poor dad isn't going to be able to get me off of you. You will never be me. Get over it."

"And finally, it seems that only a select few of you can stand up to the consuming fire that is Conchata O'Hara. I love my girlfriend for who she is first and foremost. She was the light that came into my life. You think I'm going to let something as minuscule as her body stop me from loving her? You should be ashamed, ma."

Miguel moves quickly as he shoves two plates in one of the butler's hands and tells him to pack it to go. He then turns to his grandma at the end of the table who didn’t even budge when Miguel snapped.

"Lo siento, Abuela," he whispers to her, truly upset that he let this get this far.

His grandma just gave him a long kiss on the cheek and whispered something in his ear.

"C'mon. We're leaving," Miguel holds your hand as he gets ready to guide you towards the entrance.

You bow to everyone, "I'm sorry about all of this." You're pulled by Miguel who wants to get out of the suffocating manor quick.

What a horrible first impression.

GymRat!Miguel who is silent on the car ride back to your hotel room. He's partially still calming down and partially listening for you to say anything. Your head hasn't turned from the window. He just places his hand in yours, hoping that he can get the message across that he was here for you.

GymRat!Miguel who doesn't see you crack until you're up in the hotel room, the lights are dimmed, and your heels are off. He's quick to wrap his arms around you as you sob. Your cries becoming louder and louder. His heart breaks at every shaky breath that you take.

"I know, I know. I got you, baby," he says, rocking with you, in hopes that you could just breathe.

GymRat!Miguel who helps you unzip your dress, offering to wash your body. You tell him no and that you need that little quiet time to yourself to think. He understands.

He still paces the room while you're in the shower, thinking about the things he should have done to prevent this.

GymRat!Miguel who feeds you bites of the leftover dessert, still wanting you to enjoy something from tonight. You hum in between bites, sniffling a bit along the way. Even in this state, you were most precious to him.

GymRat!Miguel who kisses away your tears as you let out your insecurities. He reassures you that you're perfect. Body, mind, and soul.

"I love you," he says looking at you deeply. "Honestly, I feel like I've loved you since our group project. I loved you since our smoothie date. I've loved you since carrying your art supplies. I've loved you since listening to you rant about animatronic rats. Since you opened your dorm door pissed off at me. Since our coffee dates. Since our library dates. Since I first saw you with your matching outfits."

You still couldn't believe it.

"You love me?" you say, still trying to comprehend.

"Te amo, mi amor. Deeply and truly."

GymRat!Miguel who keeps you in his arms the entire night, kissing you to oblivion. You're both staring at each other. A faint moonlight peaking through the curtains.

"I love you too, Miguel," you say, words drifting into the night.

It's all Miguel needs to kiss you to sleep.

dividers by: @y-onb + @benkeibear 🩵

a/n: If you would like to become my designated Spanish checker or a buddy to help me learn/write my Spanish, please let me know 😭. (There was already someone but I forgot your @ !!!)

As always like, reblog, and COMMENT! Let me know how you feel. 🩵

(I am thinking of putting these on my AO3 because they are officially long enough to be fic chapters lol. The question is...how much should I change the format?🤔)

taglist: @ghost-lantern @miguelhugger2099 @slushycoookie @emelie-s-h @lake-lili @obsessed-with-miguels-ass @scaleniusrm @superiorspiderass @lexluvswriting @flordelalunas @froggygal @vmpz8sauceee @famouscattale @nixinluv02 @jada-of-arcadia @spideykid22 @what-the-jams @julia4today @tojishugetiddies @samjinxx @sleeklyalisha @the-pan-liquid @prongs-lover @kikaaauu @urlocallocachica @wanderlustingcastaway @peachey-pie @ch3rry-bl1ss @girl-of-multi-fandoms @love-kha1 @manlikemilesmyguy @sillysillygoofygoose @monticellohoe @kodzuminx @lauraolar14 @bruhhvv @m4dyy @farrowroyale @ce3stvu @ohara-whore @muneca-lemon-steppa @alexa4040 @amelialysm @snails-doodles22

[eeboyysworld]

“Broken down and hungry for your love, with no way to feed it.”

—⋆. ᯓ★ ⋆.

Genre: Angst

In-ho X Male!Reader

Cautions/Warnings: Reader is lowkey evil ..beware , angst but things get a lil heated , attachment issues , guilt tripping, hurt no comfort, blood and death , Unrequited love, love bombing.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The bunk bed that he sat on was rather uncomfortable, feeling the metal bottom beneath him, bright white sheet crumping under his shoes.

The tacky tracksuit clinging his frame , his body filling it up.

Metal tray in one hand, stuffed with dull over cooked rice, milk in another. The white liquid swashing around the container.

He was the one who conducted the games to be like this, who was he to complain about his own doing.

Maybe he rather focus on the imperfections he missed than watching you across the room, you , who was currently messing around with some purple haired freak.

You, whose sole purpose was to ruin him, taking him apart piece by piece. Leaving him once he had absolutely nothing, only to beg you not to leave.

It was pathetic. The way he managed to become a love-sick fool under your embrace, just a touch and he’ll melt into you.

He would say that his and your souls interlinked, merging into one.But, your soul was tainted, officially marking his own demise.

You, who had let him in with open arms, wide smile and home-cooked meals.But, even after all that love, he would find himself getting pushed away from you, warm hands no longer holding him, no words of comfort.

Comfort replaced with disdain , the tone you held was harsh on him.

Ever since he won these games, he found no purpose in life.The will to hang on slowly slipping out of reach.

Until, one summer day , you appeared before him, laced with swimming trunks , open button - up shirt loosely wrapped around you. Water droplets falling down your soaked locks of hair , sunglasses sat on-top your nose.

Kindly asking him to join a round of volleyball, since you and whoever else was there were short one member.

It was random, he came to the beach on a typical afternoon. Hoping to jump in the lake and catch a cool breeze. But yet, he found you. Or, more like you found him.

Someone who could calm him down without a breeze.

He wasn’t the sports type, but after seeing you, the urge to please you had fallen into place.

Convincing himself that all he was doing was being kind, not that he just agreed because he wanted to see more of you.

After some time passed, one thing was sure of , he had fallen in love with a stranger.

He had told himself he was gonna join this game just to keep a keen eye on the man who desperately wanted to shut this place down.

Sabotaging any plan that took place.

But he looked too long across the room, his eye catching you, the small tattoo on your finger , the one you got during the teenage years, inked your skin, the one he traced each day in bed.

How could he have not seen your picture.. had he forgotten the past he shared with you. Perhaps, after-all it had been 5 years since he last saw you.

He had quite the busy life after taking over as the front-man.

Now that he caught you, looking content with yourself. Looking like you had it all under control, while he still yearned after you.

You were doing fine despite the debt you had, while he lost his mind over you.

———-

It wasn’t long before you had him under your finger.

After scanning the whole room of people out of curiosity , you had immediately noticed the man. Sitting next to another middle aged man, a young guy who claimed to be a marine along with another, a rather young women snacking on some extra bread.

The smile you held was the opposite of what you felt, jealousy flowed through you. ‘ Did he get over you that fast ‘ .

You waited all day , ignoring him, ignoring the constant glances he threw.

Waited till night-time appeared, watched as the other man politely asked to use the restroom.

Sneakily getting up, nudging the purple haired male off of you, grumbling in his sleep.

Stalking your way over to the door, giving the nicest look you had to the square headed guard, flirting your way to the back.

By the time you reached the bathroom, the man you searched for was leaned against one of the many sinks, water falling down the drain.

Taking it upon yourself to speak up, scaring the lonely man as you spoke.

“I missed you.” The other flinched , quickly looking up, eyes landing onto yours. The shock evident over his features. As you prowled your way over to him.

Still as a statue, your own body cornering his, hovering over the poor man.

He couldn’t move even if he wanted to so desperately lean towards you.Heart pounding endlessly, butterflies in his stomach like he was 16 again.

You still looked so beautiful, even as blood smeared across your face, the dried parts prickling off , every imperfection was perfect for him.

Part of you missed him, truth be told.. you only broke things off because you got bored.

Age graced the man with more beauty, soft skin glowing in the dim light.

His eyes trailed down to your lips, cracked from the being over - bitten, but still smooth.

The lips he once used to kiss, whispering ‘i love you’ into each other. Oh , how he missed it.

“ You left me all alone.” That wasn’t true, he knew that. But the way you spoke with such authority, he could only believe any little word you said.

His lips quivered, tears slowly filling up his sight, your face becoming blurry, vision blacking out as he shut his eyes closed.

Pain emitted inside his chest , every memory engraving itself into him, every little talk you guys had, big and small.

Searching for the answer on why you left.

Cooing softly, lifting his chin upwards, kissing the tears away, the saltiness reaching your taste buds. Being as gentle as you can muster.

Guiding the broken man’s head into your embrace, soothing the brown locks of fluff, slowly rocking you both back and forth.

The shirt you wore became damp, the wetness making you cringe slightly, but it didn’t matter , as long as you held him in your arms.

He kept apologizing..again , and again. The words becoming a prayer. The heaviness ached inside him no matter how much you tell him he was forgiven.

Your lips finding his cheek again, the tears still flowing out. Sluggishly moving downwards, closer and closer to his mouth.

You both stood there, the water still dripping down the drain.

All you heard was his breathing mixed with the heavy silence. All that he heard was static ringing inside his ears.

Searching his eyes for any kind of decline, yet you found none, just pools of regret swimming inside the black orbs.

No movement was made, he didn’t try to move away from you. All he did was stare at you, afraid that this was just a sick twisted dream his head would muster up.

But no, you were very much real.. here with him. Even as his sight was blurry , he knew you were still here, as the feeling of plush lips pressed against his own.

“Don’t you miss me?” His lips stuttered but no sound came out. Continuing on with your stunt, pressing yourself flush against the other.

He didn’t move for a bit, slight doubt entering you , before lips started to work with yours, enticing slow movements.

His own lips trembled, hands gripping for life onto your flesh, nails biting down.

Adjusting yourself to dig deeper into the shaky man, stroking his jaw, the skin plushy as you played with it.

It was only a few minutes before a loud knock echoed the room. The guard you had long forgotten stood there, stiff as a broad.

If you didn’t know any better you would think he was nervous.. why would he care if you were making out with a random dude. Wasn’t like they somehow knew each other.

‘Ridiculous’ removing your body away from contact, clearing your throat, solemnly walking away.

Walking away like he was nothing to you but a play thing.

Nudging the guards shoulder as you hurriedly left, successfully leaving the masked man and the man you once loved.

Said man stood there, wobbly as awkward silence followed suit after the door shut.

He wanted to reach out to you.

You had just left him here after sucking on his face. Left like you had the night you admitted you didn’t love him anymore.

Delusions kept him going, foolishly thinking you could and would one day come running back to him.

Expect you weren’t the one running , he was the one running a whole mile just for you.

———

The night went on, people snoring away like their life wasn’t on the line. Most slept carelessly, others took caution. Gi-hun’s group being one of them.

In-ho found himself touching his lips , the feeling of yours molding against him, the burn still there, waiting to be ignited.

He took the second chance to stay on guard, he knew nobody was gonna try anything. He made sure of it, he didn’t want anything bad to happen to you.

Sleep was catching up to him, eyes hazy as his weight fell onto the pole next to him.

Thoughts of you turned into dreams.

———

The next day was brutal. He should know of all people.. but the blood brought back unwanted memories, ones he forgot as time went on.

Mingle. The game were you don’t know what’s gonna happen next.

He stood next to the man who seemed to befriend him, having no clue who he truly was, as the determined man gripped his hand, waiting for the next number announced.

The number 5 flashed on the screen, the group he had rushing into an empty room. While running , he searched for you in the crowd.

There you were, running with the same young guy, the punk. You should be with someone your age ..but it didn’t still the want in his stomach.

The smile on your face was wide , the purple haired boy must of gave you some sort of drug. That only added on to his list of worries.

The last round came around. Everyone around him anxiously awaited, waiting for the number to be announced.

The number ‘2’ flashed across the big screen as the robotic voice filled the room. It was uneven, just like he planned.

He immediately got pulled away , gi-hun gripped onto his blood dried tracksuit. His legs carrying his weight across the room , worried for you.

Looking from person to person, only to find you getting ditched, that’s what it looked like to him at least.

You stood there frozen, adrenaline rushing through your whole body. The flashing lights hitting your face.

He could only watch as you got swept among the crowed of desperate people.

The room he was in coloured a bright orange, blood stained the walls and floor.

Rushing to the little peep hole, not caring for the other man’s glance of confusion.

Rapidly searching for you, looking for the number you wore.

His heart could break in half from the pressure.

The guard showed no mercy towards you despite the constant reminder he said to not kill you.

Dreed filled him. Watched as you got thrown to the ground, the masked men playing around with you. Were they targeting you on purpose.

Had the square headed guard told the others about what happened last night.

He loved you so much it hurt. Sickness could be felt pooling inside him.

He could only watch the scene in-front of him , blood dripped down the side of your head , the wide gash evident.

One of the men was searching through the room, before suddenly locking onto his door number.

Gripping your broken body, waltzing towards him.

His eyes scanned the blood adorning your face, you still looked perfect to him. Your eyes barely opened, the glint in them no longer there.

He couldn’t speak. He would be revealed if he said anything at all. All this work would be for nothing.

The man proceeded to lean towards the open hole, whispering so only he could hear.

“Just doing my job sir..He was left outside.”

He found himself slamming his head against the door , he already went crazy during the last game, who cares anymore.

He couldn’t watch this, all he heard was your voice speaking out in a gruff manner.

“I’ll.. love you- in the next life.”

Before the unmistakable gun shot rang throughout the empty room. Silence followed, before the sound of leather boots walked away.

It was quiet, he forgotten about the other presence in the room.

Your last moments were decided for you.

A hand rested on his shoulder, rubbing him repeatedly. It felt like a sin to have anyone touch him beside you.

All he could do now ,while stuck with the other man , was to hide his head towards the door. Hiding the tears silently falling down , digging his teeth into his lips to stop the sobs.

You said you’ll love him in the next life. But , why couldn’t it be this one?

ᯓ★

My bad for angst ..do you still think im sexy aha🤗❕

Thank you guys for the support!!🩷

[lizouri]

This is a warning I originally posted in the “Photographer’s Original Gallery”-Community. @boschintegral asked me to repost it. 💗

TL;DR: Beware of scam comments offering to buy your photos

Hey everyone! 🌟  You may have noticed a few days ago a user popping up in the comments on your posts, showering you with compliments and asking to buy your photos. While I totally agree that your work is absolutely stunning, this might be a scam you should steer clear of! With the help of one of our amazing mods, @exuviiae, we’ve removed around 55 of these shady comments, but I felt it was crucial to spread some awareness since these messages have also been sneaking into people's asks. What do those comments look like? Here’s an example: “Your artistic insight is incredible, and I'm impressed by your creativity. I'd like to buy some of your photographs. Please message me to negotiate.” How is this a scam? Well, they’ll send you an overpayment and then ask you to send the excess amount to someone else—only for you to discover weeks later that their original payment never actually went through. Remember, there are billions of pictures out there on the internet. Why would someone choose to buy yours from an unknown photographer? Don't get me wrong, all the photography here is truly remarkable! But let’s be real—the market is REALLLLY oversaturated. Plus, often these users don’t even follow you or engage with your content. If someone genuinely wanted to buy your work and loved your photography, wouldn’t you expect them to at least hit that follow button? Stay alert and keep creating! 💖

[hoes4lino]

Poisonous tears

Genre: Angst, fluff & smut | exes to lovers

Word Count: 10.8k

Reading Time: 40 minutes

WARNING ⊂✦⊃ This story contains NSFW / suggestive & angst content and mentions of infertility, alcohol & cigarettes. Minors please don’t interact, please beware of the content you consume online.

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May 8th 2021,

They say that when cats are about to die they run away from their home so that their owners won’t see them die.

In this case, no one is dying, though every day you notice a black stain growing on Minho’s love— as harsh as it sounds.

He would take late night shifts to avoid being on the same bed as you, hanging out more with his friends so he wouldn’t hear your obnoxious voice, he was just barely home nowadays.

He was running away from you, so you wouldn’t notice how the light of his heart was diminishing by the day, perhaps this was his way to protect you from a heart-wrenching heartbreak. Ironic isn’t it?

However, one thing you know about Minho is that even though he might not love you anymore, he would rather walk on fire stones than hurt you. How do you know that? You just know it.

You knew it. You knew something was wrong the moment he told you he was going to be home for dinner.

You knew something was wrong when he suddenly kissed you this morning after weeks of no kisses.

“My feelings for you died” The words repeated over and over again, you felt your gut wrenching in pain as the sudden urge to scream, run and throw up rushed through your whole body, suddenly the air felt too thick to breathe, your skin was icy cold and your lips trembled.

“Oh” is all you said, not even a word just a mere sound ‘Oh’ though it sounded nonchalant deep inside it held all the emotions, the grief you were going through.

You didn’t cry though. He was not worth your tears, thats what you told yourself as you felt the knot in your throat tightening, deep inside you wanted to burst your lungs out crying for him, cling into his leg and tell him you would change.

However crying was useless, it wasn’t going to help you get him back, on the other hand it would make him see you as a weak woman, you didn’t want that.

“Im sorry”

Right. He is still here, he is sitting on the opposite side of the table, eyes watery, head hung down.

You felt the urge to scoff, he was the one ending this long term relationship why is he swallowing tears? That should be you.

The silence that filled the room by the seconds consumed the both of you, the tension was something that couldn’t have been cut with the sharpest knife. You have a million questions but the main one is why? when did all go wrong?

Millions of memories rushed through your mind as your love for Minho was on the verge of life and death, trying to recall the moment where things when downhill.

“Y/n”

Why does his voice still has that soft caring tone when calling your name in this situation? You felt your stomach twirl, your gaze looking up to meet his.

He stays quiet as you both locked eyes for the first time today. Suddenly he ran out of words.

“Please leave” you needed time for yourself, him being here was pointless now, there was no reason. You didn’t wanna hear him anymore, you didn’t want to see him nor breathe the same air as his.

You wanted him to vanish from your life. He stood up and slowly walked away, he hesitated to leave his heart having a million words to tell you, he wanted to clarify that deep down he cared for you. But he knew better.

Little did you knew he would actually vanish from your life.

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July 18th 2021,

After the breakup you felt you were scarred with the deepest wound ever, two months passed and getting up the bed was the hardest task every morning.

Who would say a person could have such impact on you? To be fair you never thought of breaking up with Minho ever since you two began dating during senior year of high school.

I mean every action he did guaranteed you that he was meant to spend the rest of his lifetime with you. Maybe it was because he applied to the same colleges as you to always keep you close, or because you guys discussed your wedding, pregnancy, sex, kisses, undying love. BULLSHIT that’s what it all was.

You found yourself on the floor, greasy hair, puffy eyes, runny nose, pajamas you been wearing for days— takeout boxes laying next to you alongside soju bottles.

What was the point of living if your reason to live is gone? Were you being dramatic? That’s what your friends said… that’s what your mom said… that’s what everybody said.

“You are overreacting”

Maybe you are, maybe you are not, however you don’t care, you don’t care anymore about anything, that’s why you find yourself in this state.

You can’t cry anymore because there’s no more tears to shed, you can’t continue with your daily life because your daily life didn’t exist anymore. So what now? are you supposed to just suck it up? You don’t even remember how your life was before you started dating him.

Five long years of him next to you, now there was nothing. Just an empty heart and poisonous tears that would sting your cheeks.

The ringing of your phone rung on your ears, you groaned as you stood up. You didn’t check the phone, you didn’t care. Instead you sat on your vanity and looked at this version of you, the sad one, the miserable one.

You gaze slowly shifted to the wrinkled Polaroids of you and him that you tried to rip off but couldn’t because your weak. And just like that you felt your wound bleeding again. That hypothetical one, the deep wound of your heart.

Your phone lit up next to you catching your eye. You vaguely grabbed it to see an unknown text pop on your home screen. It was a video.

You furrowed your brows as you open the displayed media. Your phone dropping to the floor as soon as you realized what it was. A sex tape.

Not any sex tape. It was Minho’s with some other girl. Just like that… the wound got deeper. The video clearly shows the girl recording herself sucking him dry. Even if his face wasn’t shown you knew it was him, you knew every inch of his body better than yours. Also with the fact you could hear his soft moans in the back, pet names that used to be yours and only yours being used on some bitch.

Your knuckles turned white, if you said there weren’t more tears to be shed you were wrong. You walked to your kitchen opening the fridge to get a soju bottle. Drinking it one go, you smashed it on the floor, the glass shattered all over the room. Another bottle was opened.

Fuck you Lee Minho, is what your brain screamed while your heart screamed heart wrenching why’s.

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January 1st 2024,

The colorful lights and the loud bangs of the new years fireworks hovered all over your apartment. Another year passed. Another year without him. Its been about 3 years since Minho broke up with you, and honestly you don’t care about it anymore though the pain always lingered.

However you could feel the wound of your old long term relationship healing as the years passed by. You have had no contact with the man you used to love dearly. He vanished from your life, just as you wished the day he broke up with you. Crazy how someone you love can turn into an stranger in mere of seconds.

You took a long drag of your cigarette as you stare at the invitation of a new years party. Scheduled for Jan 8th. You had the feeling he was going to be there since you were invited by Changbin, a mutual friend of yours.

You wanted to go, and not because deep down your heart longed to see him, but because you truly felt like a party was what you needed, it's been a while since you last went to one and had actual fun with friends and new people; However, you hesitate to reply, as you had no clue how you could react if you were to cross paths with him. You still had a bunch of unanswered questions for him and though you craved an answer you needed to move on. His love was dead as much as you were.

The next couple days were filled with crippling anxiety, you hated that after 3 years the thought of him still lingered in your mind. However how could he not? He used to be your world mere years ago.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

January 8th,

You applied your cherry tone lipstick, trying your best to not mess up as your hands trembled. You looked at yourself in the mirror longer than you’ve wished. Your dress was completely neat yet you kept passing your hands over it.

“You got this”

You mumbled as you took another look at yourself, you looked divine, smooth skin, perfect hair and dress that snatched your body perfectly. It was his loss it really was.

The pang of your heart increasing with ever step you to took to the main entrance of the party. As you entered the music automatically ringing in your ears as it progressively got louder the deeper you went inside the house.

“Y/n” You heard a cheerful voice call out for you, it was Changbin alongside with Seungmin. You gave them a sheepish smile. The two boys stared at you reassuringly, they been your friends for so long… they knew.

They knew about the way your stomach twirled and your heart pang with the thought of seeing him and you hated that with your soul.

“Your late, I thought you were going to ditch us” Seungmin said with a warm smile trying to break the tension that was surrounding you.

You chuckled nervously, they know why you late. “Don’t press it Seungmin, she arrived at the best time, everyone is drunk meaning the party is about to get lit” Changbin jumped up and down gaining a glare from the younger one.

You laughed this time sincerely, gaining a bright smile from the boys. “Do you wanna join us at games?” Changbin said and you nodded.

In a place filled with hundreds of people, you are the one my eyes look for every time I look around.

The burning sensation of the tequila hitting your throat made you squint your eyes as hard as you could as you downed your shot refusing to answer the question being asked on the game of truth or dare.

“Would you talk to him if he was here?”

Crazy how a simple hypothetical question made your whole body spin.

You could hear the boys scolding the person who asked the question as you bit onto the lemon. You didn’t wanna play anymore and they knew, but you didn’t want to feed into their perspective of you being a weak woman. So you sucked it up.

Today it seems that they’ve decided to make it a target to get you wasted as all the questions they asked revolved around him, guess that's what you got for making your love for him your whole personality back then.

Chan scolded everyone a million times for bringing him up, however you reassured him it was ok. He knew it wasn’t. Yet he was just as curious as everyone else on why you two broke up. And as painful as it was you didn’t know the answer to most of their questions either.

You excused yourself to go to the bathroom. It wasn’t until you stood up that you realized how drunk you were. “I’ll go with you,” Felix said, ensuring you would make it safely to the bathroom.

The conversation that bloomed between the two of you as you walked to the bathroom was pleasant, maybe it was because of the way he slightly flirted with you or because as you two talked you spotted a pair of eyes looking at the two of you with anger in them.

Fuck you.

Before you could even made it to the bathroom you were pulled into a kiss, not that it was unpleasant, it was unexpected… more like uninvited, you haven’t kissed anyone since Minho.

And not because you couldn’t but because you wanted your first kiss after the breakup to be significant, as significant as the ones you gave Minho during your relationship.

This kiss meant nothing to you, just the desperate desire of love to be loved.

Tears creeped into your eyes as you locked eyes with Minho while Felix’s plump lips were on yours, his hands roaming on your waist. Since when things turned like this? You could see Minho swallowed a lump that formed in his throat.

His eyes looked red-ish, sadness lingering in them. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t believe his poisonous tears. Fake tears. Same tears you saw the last time you saw him when he broke up with you.

Fuck it.

You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around the blond boy’s neck. Gaining a soft moan from him, you smirked into the kiss as you opened your eyes again. This time no one was there anymore. The brunette boy was long gone… again.

The wet kisses being placed on your neck and the leg in between your legs was not enough to get him out of your mind, Felix was too drunk to even notice you were standing stiff against the wall with a blank face.

You played with Felix hair as you slowly pushed him away. The freckled boy gave you a sweet smile, the blush of his cheeks rushing to his ears.

“Sorry y/n, I got carried away” His words were sincere and warm, but what can you expect from one of the purest souls you know. You reciprocated his smile and pecked his cheek.

“It's fine lix” You said softly as you walked away. While Felix had a full-on makeout session with you, you made up your mind. And you would face your biggest fear.

Your body walked aimlessly through the crowd of people that filled the house, you tried your best to walk as straight as you could, but those shots of tequila you had while playing truth or dare added a weight to your shoulders. It wasn't until you crashed on a firm body that you snapped out of whatever was on your mind.

Maybe you underestimated the seriousness of the situation once you were face-to-face with him. The whole scene felt like something out of a book, his sharp features looked more prominent under the soft light of the neon lights, the music blasting in your ears and the people that constantly crashed on you as they danced were quickly erased from the face of the earth, as all your attention revolved around him.

“You are drunk” His voice had a cold tone you never heard before, not even when you barely knew each other. You began to understand why people thought of him as a cold person, it was the first time you saw him using his shield on you; just like that the first dagger stabbed your heart.

You scoffed softly as you looked at the floor, taking a deep breath to get your act together, missing the way his gaze was fixated on the hickeys Felix had given you previously, he pressed his tongue against his cheek annoyed at the sight.

“I don't want to talk to you right now" You tried to say firmly, however you could hear your own voice trembling. Minho knew he should have just gone and left you alone but he didn't want to, and as selfish as it sounded he wanted to stick around just so no one else would touch or even look in your direction.

After a while of fighting with his own thoughts, he grabbed your wrist to pull you outside the party "We need to talk" He said as he led you out to the balcony, stopping in his tracks as he felt you trying to pull away.

“Please not now” Your voice cracked, you sounded vulnerable. He could feel his heart dropping to his stomach as he heard your voice, he hated how much he had corrupted your happpiness, he was always aware of your emotional status, maybe he hadn't been present these past three years but he often checked on you, finding himself going to your favorite spots and watch you from afar.

You sucked your breath as you turned around to leave, he knew this wasn’t the moment but while you weren’t looking he took a second to admire your delicate beauty, the one he fell in love with, the one he still loves but it is kept a secret as his emotions are trapped in a bottle deep inside his heart.

“You are drunk” He said as his warm fingertips rubbed around your wrist. You felt an electric shock tensing your muscles. “Call it a night and let me drive you home” You should have said no. That’s what your brain kept telling you, however you didn’t listen. The moment you nodded your head it felt like the biggest betrayal ever.

The ride to your house felt nauseatingly nostalgic, he remembered the shortcuts he used to take, your favorite song playing on the car radio. You were too drunk for this.

As you were getting out of the car, you stumbled making him worried you wouldn’t make it safe to your door. You protested against him, but he wouldn’t budge. Walking you to your apartment, hand on your waist as you grabbed into his shirt for steadiness.

Your heart jolted with joy, the whole scenario that your head was creating was fake but you blamed the alcohol, just enjoy the moment and play pretend.

He helped you enter your apartment, helped you clean up, and gave you pills to prevent the hangover, the whole interaction felt too domestic for a man who became a stranger three years ago. You wonder what he has been up to, and yeah maybe you stalked his social media here and there, but he was too mysterious— there was never something new on there.

“Minho” You said in a soft voice as you struggled to stay awake, his soft gaze looked at you as he sat on the edge next to you, his hand softly caressing your hair “Let's talk… someday” You sounded weak, you hated that.

The last thing you recall before blacking out was a chaste kiss on your cheek that reassured your question.

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January 9th

You woke happier than usual, filled with a lot of energy, you found it odd since you swore you blacked out last night, matter of fact you don’t even remember how you got home.

You did remember your dream vividly though, Minho taking care of you like he used to when you two were dating. Perhaps and that’s why you felt energized, you were unsure of it.

Turning on the shower you took a long steamy shower, today you wanted to feel pretty just like your mood. You even did your hair and makeup, you had nowhere important to go, but you might as well.

Once you were done you walked over to your kitchen, and thats when your heart dropped.

You could smell the fresh aroma of breakfast— walking closer to spotted a plate with french toast and berries, a cup of coffee on the side alongside a note.

“Im writing this since you probably forgot about last night, and before you freak out no we didn’t do anything, sorry I stayed the night, I just wanted to make sure you were ok, here is some breakfast in compensation.

Also lets meet up next week, I’ll send you a text with deets”

- Minho

You could feel your stomach twirling as you read the note. No way what you thought was a dream was actually real.

Honestly, you hoped he would forget about it but it's Lee Minho, something about him is that he never forgets stuff, which was a blessing and a curse considering that he never forgot any detail about you or important dates, however, he never forgot your weakness either.

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February 12th

Minho has been texting you nonstop since that night, often sending good morning texts to check on you, etc. You hated the way you woke up every day with the thought of finding his texts on your phone. His been wanting to meet up with you to have a proper conversation but to be fair you were unsure of it.

"I don't know Chaewon" You groaned as you threw your head against the table, Chaewon laughed softly as she took a sip of her coffee. "Girl look, Im in no position to talk about Minho's business, but I've heard from Jisung that he went through some hard shit even before you two broke up if anything you weren't the only one suffering," Chaewon said as she moved her gaze towards you, your head laying on the coffee table while looking out the window.

"And? I don't care that bitch made me lose myself, he can't just come back whenever he wants to" You said stubbornly standing on your own business "You know that's the biggest cap ever, you do care, and plus who said he wants to go back with you? what if he just wants to talk and finally tell you why he decided to cut off the relationship? Cause you know damn well it wasn't because he didn't love you anymore" You rolled your eyes softly at her remark.

You know she was right and you hated that. "Bitch you are supposed to be on my side, what happened to hater Chaewon?" You said frustrated making her laugh "She died the moment she learned the other side of the story," She said making you scoff "I will never get why you and Jisung refuse to tell me his side of the story"

"Because that's none of our business, Minho should be the one to tell you" You sat up straight on your chair looking defeated "Chaewon..." You spoke softly, "I'm scared" She gave you an encouraging smile "Girl, trust me..." She paused briefly taking a deep breath "The worst thing that can happen if you two meet is him leaving again but this time for good" She then took a sip of her coffee.

"Being honest it all depends on your reaction when he tells you his side of the story, but I must say you two might end up bawling your eyes" Chaewon suddenly laughed when she saw yours eyes widen.

"You'll be fine trust."

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February 14th,

After your little coffee date with Chaewon, you went home and texted Minho that you were ready to meet up and talk in person, however, should you find it suspicious that after a month of casual contact since the New Year's party, he suddenly texted you on Valentine's Day that he would drop by your house? Yes.

You were sitting on your living room couch as you re-read the text over and over, did he mean today? now? You quickly got up and rushed to your room to get ready, however, you stopped. Should you look casual? yeah, it might be Valentine's Day but he is not your date.

After sitting on the floor with a bunch of clothing options you decided to not think much about it, I mean yeah it's Valentine's Day but it's also February 14th, just another date on the calendar.

You wore your favorite pair of new balances, black track pants, and a cute crop top along with all your jewelry, like you said it's just another date on the calendar, therefore, you dressed casually. Just another day.

You arrived to the cafe downstairs your apartment. You immediately spotted him, baggy jeans with a black hoodie with the picture of a cat. Great, he was also dressed casually. Just another day.

“Hey” you said softly as you scooted on the chair in front of him. It would be weird to say this wasn’t awkward however it really wasn’t, and that just made you more uneasy about this whole interaction.

He looked up from his phone to look at you, and he smiled softly. In all honesty, it was hard for him to be here for so many reasons, and this is the main reason why he fought with himself this morning to come here and not ditch you.

Before the breakup, Minho was going through some issues on his own, which would eventually evolve to be the main reason why he left you. He knew he would hurt you sooner or later, so he decided to do it quick, leaving the situation as vague as possible as his heart imposed him from opening up to you.

“I'm sorry it took me so long to come back and clear things up” Although he sounded nonchalant you could see the pain in his eyes, maybe Minho was never open with his feelings but his eyes always spoke what he felt.

“Being honest, I couldn’t bring myself to face you, Jisung basically smacked some sense into me” He smiled awkwardly "Plus when I saw you at Binnie's party I felt it was time to stop running away" There was tension surrounding both you that made it hard to breathe.

“It’s fine… have you tried the pudding here?” Maybe you knew he was here to tell you something, but you also knew the knot in his throat was making it hard for him, so you chose to break some of the tension. Just another day.

Thinking about it, it’s kinda ironic how forgiving you are of him, he left you with no explanation, made you lose yourself and on top of that he never dared to show up again after three years and no. The cherry on top is the sex tape you have engraved deep down on your brain of him and some other bitch.

You could feel the rage boiling inside of you, but you quickly shrugged it off as he began speaking “I haven’t…” He was hesitant with his answer, something tells you that he has tried it before but he wanted to pleasure you by pretending he didn't.

You just nod as you suggest he try it, and once the waiter comes around to pick up your order, he gives you a vague smile as he orders for both of you.

Just another day. You have been sitting in this cafe with him just talking about life as if you are back in time and you two are together again. It’s smooth and pleasant, there's chuckles here and there. However, he is not talking. He is not addressing the big elephant in the room and it's bothering you, however, you stood quiet, waiting for him to feel ready.

“This might be weird, but you think he could keep talking in your apartment? I kinda want a more private place” He has always been a confident man, and you know that, however, he sounds weak and insecure, completely opposite of who he is.

Maybe and the break up also made him lose himself? Little did you know he lost himself way back before the breakup.

Once in your apartment he sat on your living room as you poured some wine for both of you, after a while of thinking you figured some alcohol would help him loose his tongue and speak fearlessly to you.

“Thanks” He muttered, immediately taking a sip of the wine. “To be fair what I’m about to tell you is not easy for me, but I know you want answers and I want to help you find them as much as I can” His voice was sincere, soft, and vulnerable, you could feel a squeeze in your heart.

“I won’t pressure you into talking” Although you tried to sound sincere and gentle, the hidden anger inside of you was slightly present in your tone. You hated yourself for being bad at hiding it.

He chuckled softly at your tone, he knew you were mad at him and so was he "I sound like a hypocrite I know, I broke up with you yet I'm the one making a big deal to just clear things up" The room was quiet for a moment, it felt cozy, the gentle sunlight from the sunset hovering over the living room, the soft breeze of spring moving the dried trees with flower buds on them, but most importantly he was there. After three years, there he sat on your couch, you wondered if he noticed you changed it, you wondered if he noticed that you changed it because of him.

His soft sigh broke the silence and darted your attention to him, he fidgeted nervously with his fingers as he kept his gaze on the window. "Do... Do you remember our life plan" You knew words had power but you never realized how much power they had. Your stomach twirled in anxiety at the memories.

The sweet memories of him and you cuddling in bed some Tuesday afternoon as you both made life plans. You nodded, biting your lip as the urge to cry became present. "How could I forget, we planned to live in a peaceful neighborhood, adopt a few cats, and raise our children with love and virtue" You chuckle softly attempting to cut whatever tension was forming in the room.

At the sound of your soft laugh, he smiled melancholically "The day we talked about our kids, made me realize how much I wanted to be a father... especially with you" He took a deep breath and your eyebrows furrowed as you listened to him.

"I... I really wanted to be a father" His voice cracks softly as his words hold an incredible amount of weight on him "So I went to my doctor to have my annual check-ups" A knot began to form on your throat as you began predicting where this was going.

"He... he told me I can't have kids" His voice broke into soft sobs "I wanted to tell you about it, but seeing how in love you were with the idea of having a baby... I couldn't... so I kept it to myself" He stood quiet as he tried to get himself together.

"My emotions eventually began fogging my brain, and I felt I had to distance myself to prevent hurting you... however, seeing how happy you were every time you saw me after days of me treating you like shit made me resent you" His voice raised with each word we spoke as his emotions began overwhelming him.

"I didn't resent you because I was mad at you, but because you still loved me after the way I treated you during our last weeks of dating" You looked at him with teary eyes while he still refused to look at you "I didn't deserve your love, yet you never stopped loving me... and I never stopped loving you either..." The silence in the room felt deafening, there were so many things you had to process, many things to take into consideration. He then grabbed the courage to move his gaze towards yours, your lips half parted in shock as the sudden confession made you feel dizzy.

"Minho... I..." You were at a loss for words, so many things to say but nothing was coming out, a single tear fell down your cheeks, your conversation with Chaewon repeating in your head, she was right both of you were about to bawl your eyes out.

"Why you never told me?" You quickly wiped the tear that rolled down your cheek, you were tired of crying for this man, you were tired of everything "Because I was scared of losing your love y/n" He screamed at you making you lose your patience.

"That's the stupidest thing I have ever heard Minho" You screamed back but then took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down, however, you failed. "Do you know how many nights I cried for you? The amount of times I wondered what was wrong with me? You hurt me and left me, like you didn't care and you expect me to believe this was your reason? Because you can't have stupid babies?" You stopped at your last sentence when you realized what you said, you let your anger control your words and now unconsciously you stabbed a knife into Minho's wound.

He looked unfazed by your words, again he was using the mask everyone talked about, the one that never let anyone see his emotions, however, you didn't miss the way his lips slightly curled up, that's how you knew it deeply hurt him.

He scoffed softly "Stupid babies?" He laughed "I guess I lost myself over something you didn't really care about" He stood up from the couch and looked at you one more time "Sorry for wasting your time" You quickly stood up to stop him from leaving but words didn't leave your mouth as you blankly stared at him storming out your house.

"The worst thing that can happen if you two meet is him leaving again but this time for good"

Chaewon's words stroke your heart as you are left alone in your apartment.

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March 18th

"How many times do I've to tell you, I won't talk to him again" You groaned as a very exasperated Jisung paced in circles in your living room "C'mon y/n, you have to admit that what you crossed the line, I mean I understand the anger but really? did you not hear what he was telling you?" Honestly, at that moment, you felt you could smack Jisung in the face.

This past week was filled with a bunch of guilt trips not only by your friends but also by yourself "You know what Ji?" You said bluntly "I'm tired. Tired of everything, why am I suddenly the bad guy? Why does it feel like my side of the story is being invalidated?" You could feel tears creeping in your eyes.

Jisung sat down next to you as he took a deep breath "I'm sorry..." He said softly "It's just... I've seen both of you hurting for so long, I just want for both of you to finally clear things out" You understood Jisung's point, he was your and Minho's friend, he knew both points of view perfectly and you never really thought how that might of been a weight for him too.

"I get it... I also wish we could talk things out but... it's hard you know?, we both got our own wounds and it's hard to talk without making one of them bleed" You took a deep breath "That's the most poetic shit I've heard in a while" You couldn't help but laugh at his statement, nudging his shoulder playfully "Shut the fuck up" He laughed along with you.

"You think he would let me talk to him?" You said as you both stopped laughing "It would be a hard task but not impossible, his soft spot for you is one of the most loyal things I've seen" You smiled softly at his remark.

"You know... I've got an idea... so next week the 24th I have to take care of my baby nephews, however, that same day I got a final, I was going to make Minho babysit them for me, but to be fair he will definitely need help" You squinted your eyes at his suggestion "I don't know Ji..." He was quick to interrupt you "Shshshs don't say a single word you are babysitting with him"

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March 24th

Jisung left the house a couple of minutes ago, he reassured you that Minho was on his way and that he knew about it. You sat down on the play mat with the two baby twins, they were 2 and a half years old and truly a menace, they wouldn't stop moving around and crawling to be on top of you.

Although you felt overwhelmed it felt nice, playing with them made you forget about Minho and your current situation, you had one of the babies in your arms while the other one showed you some toys and spoke nonsense, you chuckled as you pretended to understand what he was saying.

When Minho entered the house, you were completely unaware of him as he stood at the entrance of the living room looking at you, looking at how domestic you looked with the babies. He couldn't help but fantasize if this is what it would feel like if he were to come home to you with your own babies.

He hated the way butterflies would rush down his body to his... 'Get it together Minho' He scolded himself, he was supposed to be mad at you not feel this way.

"You are not Chan" He finally spoke making himself present, you and the babies fixated your gaze on him and he could feel his heart melting "Huh? Jisung told me you knew you were babysitting with me" You said slightly confused.

"He lied then, he told me Chan was helping me out with the kids" You nodded awkwardly making a mental note to smack Jisung's face later. Although the tension between you and Minho was prominent, the babies made sure to keep both of you busy, constantly crying because they were hungry, needed a change of diapers, wanted attention, etc.

Both of you sat down on the couch exhausted when you managed to get them to sleep, the silence felt nice after all the noise that came from the babies, and you sighed softly "I'm sorry" it was unexpected, you didn't expect yourself to say it, it just came out, it was sincere and you hoped Minho knew.

"Sorry for what?" He said genuinely confused making you raise an eyebrow as you moved your gaze to meet his "You know... for what I said the other day, I didn't mean it I was-" He cut off your words as he chuckled softly.

"Don't worry about it, your reaction was totally valid, I mean I understand why you were mad, it's fine, you did nothing wrong" His words felt like a bandaid being placed in your heart, these past weeks you were convinced you were the bad guy, your friends reminding you your lack of understanding towards him, yet here he was all chill about and validating your feelings, it was just what you needed to hear.

You smiled warmly at him, glad he was able to see the situation from both perspectives, you envied the way he was so mature about it. "Still it was not nice the way I acted, It was immature and I know you, I know you got mad" He nodded in response "I did, and I won't lie I am still a bit salty but I understand your anger I do"

You chuckled softly and bit your lip not sure if you wanted to say this but you eventually got the courage to say it "I didn't know you really wanted to be a father" You said softly trying not to cross any boundaries "It was just a silly dream" He said making you shake your head immediately "It's not silly... You would be the perfect father" You said reassuringly.

"Bullshit" He said in a playful tone making you scoff "Bullshit? I don't know how the hell you managed to put those babies to sleep" You chuckled softly making him smile, his heart beating faster than usual at your compliment.

"Well even if I do have the potential to be a good father— I can't have babies" You noticed the way his voice cracked softly as he said those words, although he was smiling you knew those words were like daggers to his heart. "Bullshit" You said in a confident tone, he moved his gaze back to yours and raised an eyebrow "Bullshit? The doctor said-" You interrupted him before he could "Who cares what the doctor says? don't you know about rainbow babies?"

He was quiet for a while, his gaze focused on yours "We... we never tried to have one... what if" It was his turn to interrupt you "I'm tired of the 'what if' y/n" He sounded defeated and you hated that, this was not the confident man you knew.

"I'm serious though, I never knew you actually wanted to have a baby, if you had discussed it with me we could have gone to an endocrinologist and seen our options... it's not impossible Min..." You sounded frustrated making him sigh "I'm sorry for not telling you it's just, that I was too overwhelmed" He stopped talking when he felt your hand on top of his, he looked down to see them and then up at you.

A single tear rolled down his cheek as regret filled his head, regret of not telling his issue before, regret of closing up to you, when all he needed to heal was you, your reassurance, your love, and your understanding.

You both stood quiet as his tears began falling, you couldn't bare see him like this so you moved to hug him. Once his body was fully engraved on your warm embrace he began crying harder, his tears soaking down on your shirt, but you didn't care. You were finally there for him, something he restricted from himself out of pure spite.

A couple hours passed and the babies woke up again, you and Minho were playing with the kids while both of you also caught up with life, it felt nice, the tension that felt suffocating was finally released.

"Pause... So that video you sent me way back, wasn't you?" He shook his head as he played kitchen with the baby girl "This bitch blackmailed me, a month after we broke up Jisung took me to a stripper club and I might've vented to one of the strippers...." He said embarrassed as you played cars with the baby boy "Tell me the name of the strip club" You said coldly making him laugh.

"Don't worry Chaewon already dealt with her" His remark made you laugh so hard you could barely breathe. The remaining time you both stood at Jisung's house playing with the babies and talking felt nice, way more nicer than it should.

It honestly was impressive how despite the difficulties you both went through, that connection you both had never faded. Once Jisung was back home he couldn't help but smile as he saw both of you getting along.

Both of you served as bandaids to cure each other's wounds.

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March 28th

"How many times do I have to tell you it's not a date?" You told Chaewon who was on the other side of your speaker "Yeah, sure" She said in a mocking tone "Two exes going out for dinner as friends my ass" You couldn't help but laugh softly "You are insufferable" You said making her giggled.

"Says the girl who called me asking me for fashion advice for her D-A-T-E" You rolled your eyes at her remark "It's not a date!" You said frustrated as you finished putting on your dress that hugged your curves perfectly and complimented your eyes and hair.

"Yeah, Yeah, Just remember to wrap it before you tap it," Chaewon said jokingly but her comment made your stomach twirl in anticipation of something occurring tonight.

"Girl- goodbye" You said hanging up the phone before she could finish whatever the hell she was going to say next. Minutes felt like hours and you could feel anxiety rushing through you, you shouldn't be this nervous... after all it's just a friend's hangout. Right? However, waiting for him to text you felt like torture.

The sudden knock on your door took you by surprise, a shiver traveling down your spine as you took a deep breath. He was here, the amount of happiness swirling in your head felt nauseating. You thought he was going to call you to come down, but of course, he had to be the gentleman he is and personally escort you to the car.

The moment you opened the door he felt butterflies rushing down his stomach as he saw you, you looked beautiful, you truly had no idea how much he had missed you. This was supposed to be a casual hangout but the way your long-sleeved dress hugged your waist and fell free at your hips. Made his heart flutter and wish this was a date instead.

"Hey" He said with a shy smile, softly scratching his neck. You swallowed the urge to chuckle at his shy demeanor, it reminded you back to when he first approached you.

"Hey" You replied cheerfully making him smile, you could feel your own nervousness leaving as you realized he was in your same position. Minho and you decided to do some errands first before going to the movies, the car ride was surprisingly pleasing, you both seemed to have so much to talk about. The soft music playing in the background as you casually averted your eyes from him to the window as he spoke.

You weren't quite sure what exactly he was saying, but the melody of his voice was welcomed by your ears. The first stop was the pet shop, while Minho made his way to the cat section to buy his cat's food, you took a turn to see the little animals, your heart melting at the sight of the lovely animals on display. As you read the description of each animal, you couldn't understand how a human out there would purposely abandon such cuties.

Maybe you were too invested in the animals you didn't notice him calling your name, it wasn't until you felt a warm hand on your back and butterflies rushing down your stomach that you turned around to meet his eyes. "All done?" You asked as you looked at his hand that was carrying the cat food. "Yup" He said with a smile "No toys for the babies?" You asked playfully, however his heart skipped a beat at the question, making him wonder why he felt like this.

"They already have enough," He said with a chuckle as you squinted your eyes and shook your head "They deserve to be spoiled, but you are their father so whatever" You giggled as you both walked to the cashier. Again Minho wondered why his heart kept missing a beat with each word you spoke.

He wasn't expecting anything from tonight, he truly just wanted to spend time with you after so long, make your relationship better... as friends of course, but the more he interacted with you the more desperate his heart turned for you.

The moment you both sat in the movie theater it was an instant regret for Minho to have suggested it. Memories flooded both of your minds as you both sat next to each other. MInho cleared his throat and looked at you. "Popcorn?" He offered you with a thin smile, you wanted to laugh at that moment, if he was trying to make the situation less awkward he was failing to do so.

"No, I'm fine" You said in a soft whisper as the movie began. The whole time you couldn't really focus on whatever movie was on display, your gaze kept averting to his hand that rested on his leg. You hated yourself for wishing his hand was on your leg instead.

Take it slow.

You kept reminding yourself, this was a hangout as friends nothing more, it hurts slightly the thought of it, but after the complicated situation you both faced this past years, it was better to take things slow, who knows maybe you both will end up together? maybe not? whatever destiny the world was for you both.

Minho didn't know if he was tripping or not but he swore he could see you looking at his hand, to be fair he wasn't paying attention to the movie either he was too focused looking at your every move with his peripheral vision. he thought you might be cold as your legs were exposed to the theater air conditioner, so he took his jacket off and gently placed it on your legs.

The action took you by surprise the warm jacket on your legs did feel nice, and as he placed it on you, you could smell his scent all over you, how much have you missed that scent. You leaned closer to him, your breath hitting his cheek as you spoke a soft "Thank you"

That moment felt like pure temptation to Minho, they say God likes to test his strong soldiers, however, Minho was 100% sure he was not his strongest soldier when it came to you.

Soft moans echoed in the theater, both of your bodies stiffened as a sex scene came up, honestly what's the deal with movie franchises adding unnecessary sex scenes in their movies? Can we talk about it? At that moment you could feel a tension forming between both of you, was it awkwardness, or was it a hidden desire? You don't know but you closed your legs together trying to stop any lustful thoughts from popping on your mind.

You noticed the way he shifted on his seat awkwardly, looking at his phone to check the weather, you chuckled to yourself, feeling playful you leaned to tease him "Can't handle a sex scene hm?" You chuckle softly, he moves his gaze from his phone to look at you. His desire woke up with each word you said.

You were going to tease him? two can play that game, was it a dangerous move? maybe, but fuck it, let the night take whatever route it wants.

He turned to face you and leaned closer, his face just inches away from yours, you took a second to admire his eyes and features, you never forgot how handsome this man was from up close. "It's not that I can't handle the scene, I just can't handle my inner thoughts" The tone and the look he gave you was more than enough to let you know what he was thinking.

You were both on the same page. Involuntarily you squeezed your thighs together, he noticed, his eyes looking down at your covered legs, he smirked making you nudge his shoulder "Focus on the movie" You scolded him as you turned your attention back to the movie, not missing the way butterflies twirled around stomach and the evident heat on your cheeks.

The ride to your house was quiet, there was a tension lingering in there, but unlike the heavy uncomfortable one, this one was a little more light-headed, more enticing. Your footsteps were the only sound echoing through the hallway to your apartment, he followed behind you, he wasn't too close but he was close enough for you to feel his warmth and presence.

When you opened the door you turned to look at him, the silence felt deafening, both of you stared at each other, you didn't miss the way his eyes slightly moved to get a glimpse of your lips. You were both desperate to feel each other, that was no secret, but who would make the first move? most importantly was it the right time to make a move?

Your thoughts were interrupted when his hand flew to your waist and pushed you closer to his body, his lips crashing against yours. You felt on cloud 9, suddenly everything felt more vivid you could swear hearts and stars were flying around you both.

His soft plump lips felt as if a feather was brushing against your lips, it felt tender, full of love yet you wanted more, you needed more. When he moved his lips away from yours a soft whine escaped your lips, making you embarrassed.

Although he wanted to laugh his worries took over him, he looked at your eyes for ay sign of discomfort, maybe even regret but he saw none. "I'm sorry, I know its too soon-" His words were interrupted as you placed a finger on his lips.

"Too soon?" Maybe it was soon but to be fair you have been waiting for this kiss for some time now, so yeah maybe it was soon, but rhetorically it wasn't, you waited long enough. And if he feels the same way you do, what is really stopping you?

"Min..." He felt his breath hitching at how lovely his nickname escaped your lips, it's been so long since he last heard it... it felt nostalgic. "I'm not sure if it's too soon for you, but to be honest I've waited long enough for that kiss" Before you had the chance to say another word, his lips were on yours again, and this time he pushed your body inside your apartment and closed the door behind, his lips not daring to leave yours in case you realized you didn't want this.

As the kiss progressed you could feel your knees turning weak, the way he caressed your waist while his other hand was on your cheek was enough to send you down a spiral, however when you felt his warm tongue brushing against your bottom lip, desperately asking for access inside your mouth was when you lost it.

He groaned softly as his tongue danced with yours, you began feeling light-headed, maybe it was because of lack of air but you didn't care you didn't want to leave his lips.

"Y/n..." He said in a pleading tone as he panted for air once the kiss broke, his eyes looked darker than normal yet they looked tender, his body was still pressed against yours, his hand moving up and down your sides. "I need you" Your heart dropped as your blood rushed through your body. This night was going to take a different route.

You were currently leaning back against the wall while he left a trail of wet pecks on your neck, your body shivered as the delicate kisses fogged your mind, it was a sensation you couldn't really describe. A groan left your lips as he nibbled on the soft spot you used to love, he remembered. "Aren't you getting greedy?" Although you wanted to tease him your voice was shaky, too high in the ecstasy of having his lips attached to your neck.

"I'm sorry princess, you have no idea how bad I'm craving you" He said in a low tone as he nibbled your lobe, your eyes closed shut and a soft whimper was heard, he pressed his body harder against yours, too desperate and touched deprived for you. "Fuck" He mumbled when his erection brushed against your crotch, your dress rolling up as he grinded on your vaguely.

The wave of wetness that pools between your thighs immediately soaks your underwear. It takes every bit of your lingering self-control to not moan at the sensation.

Even so, the desire and lust took over your body with each minute passing, his hands traveled up and down your legs, pausing to lift and wrap your leg around his hip. So this is what heaven feels like. It's been so long since you last felt like this. You nearly moaned as you felt his erection pushing against your pelvis.

His face was at the crook of your neck as his desperate whimpers traveled through your body. "Oh fuck—" Your mind went blank, losing yourself at the delight of his touch you began whimpering.

"Can we go to my room?" You hid your face when he shifted to look at you, too shy to look him in the eyes. It's been so long since you both were intimate, yet you never lost that alluring presence that hypnotized Minho every time.

"Whatever my princess desires" He said softly as he looked down at you, your soft blush and trembling body, the way your dress was messy because of how desperate he was touching you, sent a rush of heat down his dick.

He grabbed you bride-style as he walked to your room, opening the door your sweet scent embraced his nose, he was getting drunk on you. He gently placed you down on the bed, the fairy lights of your room plus the soft moonlight that crept through the windows added to the vibe going on.

You could see his sharp features as he hovered on top of you, he moved your hair gently out of your face and giggled "I've missed you" he said in a tender tone before he leaned to leave pecks all over your face, you giggled along him until his lips crashed on yours.

The kiss was slow yet passionate, taking your time to taste each other properly, the string of saliva created wet sounds that echoed in the room, he took this time that you were distracted as an opportunity to spread your legs with his hand, his soft fingertips leaving ghostly touches all over your legs and inner thighs.

Three years and he still knew how to get you ready for him, although you had been ready ever since you two started making out at your front door. He broke the kiss to move down your body, his intense gaze never leaving yours, as he began kissing your legs, in a painfully slow rhythm, he knew what he was doing, he wanted to get you all needy for him.

However, he was also making this hard for himself, as he was also getting impatient, he moved back up so he could nibble on your neck, soft moans escaping your lips, making a sweet melody for his ears. His body involuntarily pressed against yours Yours and his moans bleed into one another as your clothed cores come into contact. Minho's fingers tightened on your leg, it was definitely gonna bruise overnight.

You wonder if he can feel the extent of your wetness against the front of his jeans, as your dress had rolled up and you were basically on just your panties, all thoughts are chased away when he drags his finger on top of your drench mound. "Fuck princess" He hisses, his hand beside your head tightening into a fist, his face pressed against your neck "Feeling how wet your pussy is for me is making it hard for me to just not cum" How you loved the chokehold you had on this man right now.

His words only motivate your intentions, thrusting your hips into his fingers, desperate to create some type of friction. Seeking more leverage, you wrapped your legs around his waist pressing him against your clothed cunt. His face traveled down your collarbone sucking and biting on it as he hand massaged your breasts.

"Fine. I’ll give you what you want” He said breathlessly as he sat to take his pants off, your gaze never left his as you admired his body, he was indeed the man of your dreams, you pressed your thighs together and bit your lip.

A loud moan escaped your lips when his tip tap on your clothed cunt. He moved it up and down your drenched panties to coat his dick with your arousal. You both breathed heavily at the sensation. He looked at you for reassurance, his priority was your comfort and that made him even hotter at that moment, you nodded your head and smiled at him, letting him know that you wanted this as much as him.

He teased you by gliding his hands up and down your inner thighs but not touching your cunt, when your moans got desperate, he moved his index finger up and down your slit, he then used that finger to move your panties aside, he felt his cock twitching at the sight of your wet pussy.

He leaned closer to blow on it and then gave it a kiss "I missed what mine" He said possessively as he bit your inner thigh, you moaned at that, you felt loved something you hadn't felt in quite some time.

The way your warm cunt clenched on his tip was making it hard for him to go slow, he wanted to go slow and stretch you out properly since you didn't let him give your foreplay due to your impatience. But how could he restrain himself when your hand is playing with your clit in front of him?

And oh god you were indeed the devil because of the way you desperately moaned his name so he would go all in, if it wasn't for your greediness he would have done way more than just put his cock deep inside you, but he couldn't say no to you, not when you have full control of his body and mind.

The lewd sounds embraced the room, the sloppy sound of your arousal and the thump of his pelvis hitting yours turning both of you even more. His lips crashed into yours as he felt his cock deep inside your wall, he kissed you passionately, his hand leaving a feather touch on your leg.

Although everything felt so sudden, it felt right. The passion the lust everything. It felt like the best timing despite the previous circumstance, lord how badly you missed him, and not only for his cock but for the way he always made you feel like a princess, you were his queen.

It wasn’t until his kisses got sloppier that you knew he was close to cum, you grabbed his hair and squeezed it tightly as your back arched, the feeling of his cock twitching was sending you to cloud 9 and it made your mind blank as moans left your mouth shamelessly.

If you thought he couldn’t go any deeper you were wrong. His dick rubbed that spot that’s been getting teased for a while now. He pressed his hand on your stomach just so he could see how deep his dick was inside you. And oh lord the sight of his dick drove him to the edge.

You both cling to one another as your high approach one after another. Minho's groan triggered a release that spilled white-hot bliss through your veins. The feeling of your cunt clenching around him made you pant for air, you both stayed still for some minutes.

He then began kissing your neck again which made you chuckle, as you moved to play with his hair. "Can we start over?" His voice was shaky, you could tell the question triggered some anxiety in him, you moved your hand to caress his neck to soothe his nerves.

"Asking me that while I'm cock warming you is crazy" You tease him making him groan "I'm serious... I want to take you out on dates again, I need you in my life again" His words triggered something inside you making you clench your cunt, he moaned as he was still sensible, making you blush embarrassed "Sorry" You mumbled making him laugh.

"I'll take that as a yes" He said making you laugh, his lips attaching to yours once again. "How about we do a round two but you let me see them..." He stopped talking to squeeze your breast, you chuckled playfully as you pecked his lips.

"Anything my prince desires" You said before wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his lips. Time might've separated the two of you, but the bond you both had was stronger than any misunderstanding.

[koinotame]

how dangerous the twst cast is as yanderes

content warnings: this is yandere stuff so plenty of relationships and mindsets of questionable healthiness. reader implied to be yuu. mentions of murder and violence (nothing explicit/graphic, but frequent. mostly not aimed at reader). most are pretty ambiguous wrt being romantic or platonic (though it’s assumed they have an at least somewhat close relationship with you). i don’t think there’s any explicit spoilers but this was written with mostly-up-to-date knowledge so maybe beware if you really want to avoid any spoilers

whole main cast is included, under the cut for length (near 4k words)! if you read ortho's section as incestuous or romantic in any other way i will shoot a laser beam at you.

fairly harmless overall ▸ i actually normally wouldn't put them together, but in either case i can't see either of the adeuce duo being too dangerous to others. yeah, they might beat someone up for getting too close to you or hurting you, but i really really can't see either of them going much farther. deuce in particular used to be a delinquent, and he does sometimes slip back into that mindset, and he does know how to beat someone up well… but he's a good boy now. your good boy. even in his delinquent phase he would've never actually killed someone, and the idea horrifies him a little too much to ever seriously consider. ace has a bit less restraint, but also a lot less experience. what he lacks in experience he does more than make up for in wit and quick learning, but… while the thought does cross his mind occasionally, he wouldn't be able to stomach actually killing someone either. he'll beat someone up if they hurt you or you ask him to though. unlike deuce, he'll probably brag about it to you if he knows your reaction would be positive.

▸ don’t you worry! your cay-kun would never kill someone! in fact, cater is very unlikely to get violent at all. when he gets jealous (which happens pretty often), he turns that bitterness inside. what do they have that he doesn’t? do you like quieter guys? is he too obsessed with magicam? do you not like the way he doesn’t let you in unless you push, because he’s too afraid you won’t like what you find and leave? is he not affectionate enough? do you not like his hair? it doesn’t matter what it is about him that you don’t like, about others that you do like. he’ll fix the problem; he’ll fix himself. he’s already used to putting on acts around others—this isn’t that different. even if it’s not him you like at this point, as long as he can stay by your side, it’ll be fine. there’s a desperate edge to his actions that’s hard to spot, but once you have is impossible to unsee. as long as you continue liking him, he’ll throw away who he is—just. don’t throw him aside once you’re bored of him, okay? keep him around forever. please. ▸ jack is another that’s fairly harmless. it’s in his nature to be overprotective, and he doesn’t see much wrong with that, but he has no issue with your friends and he’s pretty reasonable at telling apart actual threats from things like jokes. he’s much like your guard dog… or maybe he’s more like guard puppy, with the way you doubt he’d ever actually hurt anyone despite his big stature. he’s embarrassed when you tell him this, but the wagging of his tail gives away just how much he likes knowing you’re okay with—even like—his constant presence. he’s not… completely against going behind your back when someone is actually about to hurt you to deal with he issue, though. just… just occasionally, when it’s really necessary. he won’t make a habit of it. he just… doesn’t want you to see him like that. he’d never want to scare you. that’s all.

a bit less harmless but not by (too) much ▸ riddle is good and well behaved and refuses to resort to something as drastic as violence or murder, or at least he’s trying very hard to convince himself so. he’s definitely somewhat tyrannical to everyone around you even after he mellows out after his overblot, and he has no hesitation in punishing those who hurt or displease you, especially his own dormmates. even once both of you graduate, this habit of his never quite vanishes. he gets a little frantic if you show disapproval of his actions though, especially if you seem scared of him. he’s desperate to prove that he’s good and loves you and would never hurt you, and if that means toning down his ardour, he’ll try his best. the stress of possibly losing you just makes him all the more overbearing to everyone around him. he’s trying his best for you though, so… don’t you love him as much as he loves you? won’t you turns your eyes back to him and only him? ▸ kalim would never kill someone! nor would he have someone be killed. but his family's wealth and influence extends far, and anyone seeking to hurt you (or him through you) would be a fool to think otherwise. he'd never kill someone, but making sure they end up rotting in prison for the rest of their life is just doing the right thing! he might be a little blinded by his panic, sure, but— they tried to hurt you! if he's really jealous (something that doesn't happen often—he only has eyes for you, after all, so he tends to not think too much about others), it's not hard to just have them transfer. or be fired. or something. he won't tell you outright, but if you ask he sees no point in hiding it from you. if you don't react well, he gets a little frantic and insists that he really really really wouldn't ever go farther than that…! probably. ▸ epel getting into yet another fistfight for you is something you’ve grown unfortunately used to. you’re frankly convinced he outright wants you to see at this point, maybe in some misconceived idea it’ll make you think he’s tough, with the way he runs up to you like a puppy expecting praise afterwards. he’ll be torn if you fuss over him afterwards—on one hand, he wants you to think he’s tough and your coddling doesn’t really give the impression that you understand that, but it feels really, really nice when your attention is focused on only him. but as unrestrained as epel is, he’s not particularly dangerous. if you seem really put off by his actions, he might even rein it in a little (vil is glad for your cooperation, even if that wasn’t your intention). he’s more preoccupied with earning your attention and approval than he is with stuff like keeping other suitors away from you. ▸ i just think it’d be really funny if despite everything about him, rook is one of the most harmless. he’s the type of yandere to have a shrine (it’s not in his closet because he has no shame) and have his room covered in notes about you but who’d never actually kill someone. he’s also… the type who enjoys and loves everything about you. to rook, the journey is more important than the destination, and that includes you. the you on your own, the you around your friends (not that they’ll stick around too much once they notice rook), and the you around him are all different and equally worth loving. he’s not exactly shy about his stalking either, but once you get used to his constant presence, it doesn’t really get worse. maybe a little more intense, but not worse. he’s fine with pretty much any way you want to treat him, too—whether you treat him like a beloved pet or a plaything or act like you don’t know or notice him, he’ll love you all the same. forever.

holds themselves back… but not because of ethics ▸ when trey thinks about the future he wants with you, he allows himself to imagine what it would be like to be so wholly engrossed in each other that everything else might as well not exist. unfortunately, the two of you live in real life and not in a fairy tale, so he’s settled for the idea of eventually settling down and growing old with you. it’s… not entirely ethics that holds him back. he’s aware that most of the urges he gets when he sees you around others or when he sees you get hurt in someway are immoral, and he reigns himself in. aside from some people in your life suddenly finding it odd how the ever dependable senior suddenly doesn’t seem to like them much and has been giving them the cold shoulder, most people are very unlikely to realise there’s anything off about trey… including you. just let him be your normal (if fairly fussy) boyfriend, okay? and if he occasionally slips a bit of a sleeping potion into your food and masks the taste with his unique magic so you end up staying the night just so he can spend a little more time with you… that can be his little secret. ▸ it's definitely not ethics that holds ruggie back, but it would be a serious problem if he gets caught killing someone. or even just gets particularly violent with someone else. he'd do it in a heartbeat, especially for you (especially if you asked him), don't get him wrong, but, well— if he goes to jail, he's fucking his family over. if he goes to jail, he won't be able to provide for you in the future—or have any sort of relationship with you. his resolve might waver if you were to actually ask, but even then he’s determined to stick to actions he can reasonably get away with. it's not uncommon for him to use laugh with me to embarrass any guys he thinks are getting too close to you though, and it's not too hard to be discreet with his unique magic when someone really deserves to fall face down a flight of stairs. or three. oopsie. odd they don't remember it, huh? well, he had nothing to do with that. ▸ jamil is a bit more restrained. murder is fine (it’s definitely not his first resort, but it’s there as an option if he really needs it—he did kind of try to kill five people, even if it was during his overblot), but using snake whisper is just so much more convenient… most of the time. due to his position as a servant of kalim, he has to carefully consider any actions he takes unless he wants there to be dire consequences for his family. unfortunately for him, this means he can’t just beat up anyone getting too close to you no matter how much he may feel like it. his unique magic does work well for him here though—and he’s not opposed to using more force if there’s a good reason (like impressing you and getting complimented by y—ehem. making sure your bullies won’t bother you again). the one person he’d rather not use his unique magic on is you. what he likes so much about you is that you’re choosing him of your own volition, and that’s worth more than any force could get him.

not the worst, but… ▸ azul tries really, really hard to keep everything he does behind your back, well. behind your back. he doesn't usually get his own hands dirty, but it would be a serious problem if you found out about the students he's been tricking into unfair contracts just because he got jealous. and it'd be one thing if it ended there, but more than that… if anyone hurts you, the tweels haven't amassed a certain reputation for nothing. if azul’s this fond of you, there’s a very high chance they’re familiar with you as well—and even if they weren’t, azul being jealous enough to send them after people that aren’t even remotely threatening your relationship is amusing enough for them to comply. he won’t go too far though, no matter how envious he may get. ruining someone’s reputation, having the twins beat them up or tricking them into unfair deals is one thing, but even someone like azul wouldn’t resort to cold-blooded murder. ▸ remember when vil, pretty lucid, tried to poison neige? yeah. with his unique magic and social standing, it would be really easy to get rid of anyone causing you issues. of course, with you being aware of his unique magic, he’d have to be careful to make sure you don’t realise, so it’s something he’d reserve for only actual emergencies. it’s also a lot easier to abuse his influence and fame to keep others away from you, whether it’s by threatening them himself or getting others to do his dirty work for him. when it comes to you and keeping your attention on him, he finds it much more rewarding to keep working on himself to meet your standards and doting on you even much than he already does. keep your eyes on him and only on him, won’t you? he’ll make it worth your while. ▸ idia, as a yandere, is incredibly desperate. he’s already perfectly content (well, not perfectly, but content enough) to just watch you through his screen and maybe chat with you online (with your anonymous pal who you definitely don’t know irl, of course), so if he gets lucky enough to be with you for real, there’s very little he won’t be willing to do to ensure it stays that way. in practice this means trying to appeal to you more than anything else; if you seem even the slightest bit unhappy with him, he’s desperately trying to fix it immediately. do you think he’s too offputting? he’ll cover his mouth and hair and— are you mad because he tried to convince you to ditch your friends and just stay with him again? he’s sorry! he doesn’t have an excuse, he’s just scared that you’ll realise you could do so much better and don’t like him that much after all. sometimes he thinks about how he definitely has the resources for more forceful and permanent measures, but then you smile at him, or tell him his smile is pretty, or run your fingers through his hair, or laugh at a comment he made and his mind goes blank and gives him a 404 error. there’s no way he could ever give that up just for some measly certainty… though the same can’t be said for those who he gets too jealous of or those who hurt you. not that you need to know that.

not needlessly violent ▸ sebek is… very enthusiastic about the things he dedicates himself to. this includes you. if you thought his devotion to malleus was excessive, it’s even worse when it comes to you. while he has no personal issues with fighting if it means protecting you (whether that protecting includes only actual threats is debatable), he takes pride in his position as malleus’ retainer. this means that no matter how he feels, he has to consider how his actions would make briar valley and his lord look. he also doesn’t really get jealous. instead (and this is almost worse), he has his own idea of how everyone else should treat you and he does get aggressive with others if he doesn’t think they’re treating you right. you deserve a heavy amount of respect and he finds it very aggravating when others don’t give you that (see: treat you like a regular person). he’s not subtle either—if anything, going behind your back on this would go against his values. he wants to be useful to you!!! he wants you to know how much he cares and how you’re superior and the one with all the power in this relationship!!! the good thing is he listens to everything to ask of him, no matter how ridiculous he finds you insisting you prefer being treated casually by your friends and peers. ▸ silver, while less outwardly enthusiastic, is no less devoted. he doesn’t really get jealous (there’s a dull ache in his chest when he sees you with others and thinks about the possibility of someone being more important to you than you are to him, but that’s not jealousy, right?), and he’s fairly realistic about what counts as a threat to you and what doesn’t. the problem is that as soon as something crosses that threshold, he’s drawing his wand (or baton. or sword. he’s trained and prepared with all three). it’s almost scarier than if he were enjoying it, because you have absolutely no clue how far he’s willing to go for your safety—or if he even has any limits when it comes to you. he has a rather twisted view on relationships, and that extends to you. you’ve been so kind and accommodating and caring, and he needs to repay you for that. he’s insistent on serving you, because his entire self worth (and by extension any care you’ve gracefully granted him) relies on being useful. also doesn’t really see himself as your proper equal, though he’s less aware of this compared to sebek, and also listens well to just about anything you ask of him. if it’s for you, he’d do anything. ▸ you have a very different definition of "not needlessly violent" than lilia, but it’s at least true he doesn’t go around picking fights. he's not bothered at all by baby chicks clinging too close to you. if anything, he might pop into the conversation and agree with them—you are great and wonderful and adorable and so much more! it makes the conversation kind of awkward, and whoever you were talking to might not seek you out as much afterwards, but beyond teasing you there's never any indication that he goes any further. of course, violence is something he’s been very accustomed to over his long life, so when someone actually hurts you he has no issue with getting the message across in a more… drastic way. as soon as he's done, he's right back to coddling you. they won't be repeating the same mistake again, so don't worry too much about it and stick close to him from now on, okay?

very needlessly violent ▸ violent probably isn’t the best way to describe leona, but he doesn’t hold back when it comes to you. what, you think he’s just going to sit back and let you go? you’re the best thing that’s happened to him, like hell he’s going to not put in the proper effort in keeping you. …even if you’re not sure if you entirely agree with the sentiment. he gets jealous very often, so it’s common to see him glowering and scaring off anyone he deems too close to you. there’s no need to go further when he knows they’ll leave you both alone afterwards, but the threat only works as well as it does because he has both the magical prowess and social influence to make good on his promises. he’ll insist he doesn’t see them as threats so much as pests hanging around and leeching off of you, but there’s some part of him deep down that’s scared you’ll decide you like someone else better after all. he’s not sure he could take even you leaving him. any actual danger to you is also dealt with quickly, and while he doesn’t want to threaten you into it, you won’t have an easy time abandoning him even if you try. you were the one who wormed your way into his life—you don’t get to leave now. ▸ yeah. lol. the tweels are very, very needlessly violent. perhaps not the most Dangerous in the grand scale, but almost definitely some of the most unpleasant. for their victims, at any rate—though they do occasionally (or not so occasionally) nearly give you a heart attack. they’d never seriously harm you though… probably. or actually kill anyone. right…? floyd tends to be the most immediately dangerous. he’s quick to turn to violence (and to get a little too into it) when you’re involved, even more than usual. someone’s bothering you? someone’s getting a bit too close to you in his opinion? you just want him to? you’re not paying enough attention to him and he knows this’ll get your focus back on him, where it should be? :) he’s not too hard to pacify, at least when it’s you offering to let him rest on your lap or offering to spend the whole day with him. jade is usually clocked as less dangerous than floyd, but. well. you know that line he says when he ruminates on how he’d react if betrayed? yeah. unlike floyd, who’s very open about his misdeeds, you’re not actually sure what jade does behind your back. you don’t want to know. the way some people in your life pale and flee at the sight of you, the way you don’t see some of them again at all, and the way jade smiles when this happens tells you all you need to know. what would happen if you betrayed him? fufu, you’d never do that so there’s no need to worry about it. ▸ didn't he attempt to blow up the school once… 💀 yeah, as cute as ortho is he's not exactly built with too many stop guards. the good news is he's easy to dissuade! the bad news is he's also very quick to escalate to really ridiculous levels. you're his older sibling, it's only natural he'd want to protect you! are you sure you don't need him to blow them up? chances are the threat alone worked well enough to deter anyone from messing with you again. you might want to have a conversation with idia about limiting some of ortho's abilities though because his enthusiasm… is a little very concerning… he does get a little jealous occasionally, but it's much easier to insert himself in the conversation and steal your attention that way. isn't your little brother cute? won't you focus some more on him? please?

▸ malleus is… malleus. violence isn’t his first resort, largely because it just… doesn’t need to be. he’s one of the five most powerful mages in the entire world. that title alone is enough to scare off anyone who’d mean to hurt you or is getting too close to you, so he rarely has to intervene in the first place. he also doesn’t mind you having other friends (though he does get lonely in your absence… make sure to make it up to him afterwards), so he really only steps in when you’re in danger. he’s not particularly worried about getting caught by you, because he’s so out of touch that it doesn’t occur to him that you may not appreciate him turning anyone who hurt you into ashes. if anything, he enjoys showing off how capable of keeping you safe he is. he’s defending you, who he cares about most in the world; why would that upset you? if you try to spin it as being worried about him getting into trouble for killing someone, he’ll be very pleased you’re worried about him instead. the only thing that would crack his calm attitude is any sort of reminder that he will long, long outlive you… but it’s best not to dwell on that. fret not, he won’t ever let you go.