#What Is The Probability Of Getting Back With An Ex

[dante-mightdie]

long awaited part three of lowselfesteem!reader and simon

part two

invisible clothes

that’s what you called them, the rags you don when you have to integrate with the general population but you would much rather not be noticed. clothing that is so bland that it isn’t nice enough catch an eye but not hideous enough to catch any negative attention

you had told simon about them once, when he called you out on wearing them every time you stepped out in public, including your dates with him. especially since he knew you had a very elaborate wardrobe with a tailored sense of style

clearly they aren’t invisible enough to hide you from johnny’s guilty eyes from across the store aisle. you sigh when he comes up to you, tapping your shoulder to get your attention. he shifts uncomfortably on his feet

“I know ye probably hate ma guts, lass but ye should ken that simon shut down all of that bet talk after your first date. Ah just bring et up to annoy ‘im.” johnny says, with a nervous chuckles at the end. you don’t laugh alongside him

“okay, fair enough. look, he’s miserable without ye! he comes to the pub just to get pished and mope about how he fucked it all up with ye.” johnny continues, a pleading look in his eyes, “he’s supposed to he coming by to drop off some things of yours tomorrow. just hear him out, please, lass.”

you roll your eyes at him, continuing to grab what you need from the shelves in front of you. not even bothering to look him in the eyes when you finally begin to speak

"why should I? why am I always expected to think of other people even when they hurt me? you and simon didn't think about me or my feelings when you made your stupid bet. neither of you stopped to consider that I was just a person who simply wanted to be left alone." you say with a scoff, "he'll be lucky if I don't slam the door in his face."

johnny shifts on his feet, looking down at the floor since he feels too uncomfortable to look directly at you, "fair enough. take care've yerself, hen."

you bite back tears as you watch him skulk off in the corner of your eye. you stand there for a few more minutes, staring at the stacked shelves in front of you to distract you from the war raging inside of your head

-

it's late at night, nearly midnight, when there's a knock at your door. you let out a sigh, already knowing who was disturbing your doomscrolling at this hour. and when you open the door, you see him. you’re brooding prick of an ex-boyfriend. he at least has the decency to look guilty, like a dog caught ripping up the couch cushions

except he wasn’t a dog, he was the love of your life. and your heart isn’t so easily replaced like a cushion. though he definitely treated it like somewhere to rest his head

“hey.”

you scoff, you’re not sure why. there isn’t anything inherently wrong with what he said but it still annoyed you. he annoyed you. with his stupid stormy eyes and his stupid jokes and freckled shoulders that you used to connect like dots late at night

“just give me my stuff and go, simon. don’t have time for this bullshit.”

he doesn’t flinch. he saw that hit coming, and sometimes you gotta let them swing at you especially when you know that you deserve much worse

the exchange is quick, a box with small memories passed over to you. a couple items of clothing, a book and some toiletries. before you can slam the door in his face, he jams his heavy boot into it

“wait… love, I… there’s somethin’ else. I never gave it to you but it’s yours. got it for you and I’ll never give it to anyone else.”

the glare you give him only falters when he places a small velvet box in your hand, he pauses the speech you can definitely feel coming on. looking at you expectantly to open it. you do, waiting for him to laugh at you when you find nothing in there. ridicule you for even thinking he would consider making you his wife

but all he does it look on solemn, the beautiful ring twinkling as a devastating reminder of what could have been

“I kno’ I ‘ave no right to ask. I wouldn’t insult you like tha’ lovie. you can hate me, I deserve it. but you don’t deserve it. I won’t let you hurt yourself over what I did. you deserve to know the real extent of how bad I fucked up. maybe it’ll help to look at tha’ ring and know that I’ll spend the rest of my life having to know I lost the woman who should be my wife.”

there’s no chance to respond, not like you’d know what to say anyway,

“I’m sorry.”

and then he’s gone.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP Fanfic: Family bonding.

The Waynes, for all of their proclamation of being some of the best detectives in the world, missed the signs that one of their own was dating. Usually, that wouldn't have been so shocking, except that the person who dating made a point to tell the group he was dating.

He also somehow always stayed friends with his exes. Which was a superpower of its own, if they are honest, because not a single one of them was bitter about the relationship ending with Dick.

Another thing unusual about Dick having a lover was that he never brought them around or was seen in public with them. If anything, it felt like Dick was trying to keep the relationship a secret.

Which went against everything he cared about when dating someone.

That's why Bruce fully believed that the secret was being enforced by his partner. So it was up to the Waynes to find out who this mysterious lover was and evaluate if they were good enough for Dick.

So on a Friday night, when Dick was allegedly tutoring underprivileged kids but was actually meeting up with his lover, the Waynes piled into a shabby-looking minivan and followed.

It was cramped. It was dented, and it had tinted windows. Most importantly, the minivan belonged to John Constantine, who hadn't used it in over twenty years after learning to portal from one place to another.

Dick would never realize it was them.

"I think this is a terrible idea," Jason grunts from the back seat. He crosses his arms, refusing to pick up the binoculars Tim had passed around earlier. "Dick is a fully grown man. He knows how to properly talk to his partner about what he wants in a relationship."

"Shut up, virgin," Damian hisses from the passenger seat. He won the right to sit there after breaking Steph's skin with his teeth. Bruce had allowed them to brawl for a few minutes until Damian emerged victorious. He also let her use his phone to schedule a rabies shot, keeping eye contact with Damian in the rearview mirror. "Just because you never had a girlfriend-"

"-or a boyfriend. You fail to seducing both." Cass cut in from around her binoculars. She fist-bumped Tim as Jason threw her an offended look.

"Thank you, Cassandra. Ultimately, you have no experience and thus can not comment on what to do in relationships." Damian concluded.

"Neither do you!"

"Yes, but I am a child." Damian waves his hand in Jason's general direction. "It's expected of me to not have any romantic experience. You, on the other hand, are a loser."

"Unless you are Asexual or Aromantic," Bruce pipes in, leaning a little against the steering wheel, attempting to get a better view of the apartment building that Dick had walked into. He wasn't going up to any of the actual units; he remained in the lobby. "Then you are the are not a loser. But rather the closest thing to godhood."

"B, we know gods."

"That's why I said closest."

Thankfully, the lobby had huge windows. Dick was speaking to the receptionist, leaning on the counter with a little smile, and the man was grinning back.

However, Dick hasn't touched his hair even once. This was not the secret lover. This was a fool falling for Dick's charms, probably someone involved with a crime.

Ugh, so dull.

Jason crossed his arms stubbornly "I can get a date. I'm just busy."

"Doing what? Reading romance novels?" Steph laughs. Jason opens his mouth to yell at her, but the receptionist hands Dick a golden key that the eldest Wayne pockets. He strides out of the apartment complex, hands in his pocket and whistling joyfully.

The Wayns put away their binoculars, and Bruce carefully peels out of their parking spot. They keep a nice distance away from Dick as he scrolls around the stores, stopping every once in a while to admire a display before he sits on a bench, hand still inside the pocket with the key.

A person wearing a trench coat and thick sunglasses approaches the bench, sitting on the far end of it and not looking in Dick's direction. The van collectively gasps.

Despite the disguise, they can tell just who it is.

"Tatior," Jason hisses between clenched teeth as Duke slides a sealed brown package across the bench towards Dick. In return, the eldest places the key on the bench, back top, and strives away from the bench. Duke waits a few minutes before he stands, walking in the opposite direction of Dick, hand sliding out to grab the key nearly undetectable.

"Why does Duke need an apartment key? And one that was snuck to him," Tim asks, watching the two siblings walk away from each other as though they were strangers. "What's he up to?"

" We only have time for one family mystery today," Bruce answers, turning the wheel to the left and continuing to follow Dick. "I have dinner plans with Selina later."

Duke pulls out a red wig and slides off his coat. Underneath is a punk rock outfit, complete with spikes, the coat he throws into the trash and clicks his boots. Four-inch heels pop out from his shoes, and Duke struts out of sight.

Tim leans against the windows, face and palms against the glass, eyes wide. "Wait. Wait. I have so many questions. B, turn around!"

"Dinner plans, Tim!"

"But B!"

Damian points. "Look! Richard is twirling his hair! The harlot draws near."

Steph laughs, patting Tim's back, who is straining hard to open the door. Thankfully, Bruce was quick enough to press the child lock. "I love the way you talk, Dames. It's like a period piece villain escaped the TV."

"Thank you, Brown. I enjoy your existence as well." Damian smiles, pressing the binoculars against his face. "Oh."

Bruce's grip on the wheel tightens. He had chosen to stay really far behind Dick once the man had walked into a narrow street, making it harder to blend into the traffic. "What is Damian?"

"You will not like it, Father," Damian says lowly. Behind him, Steph and Tim also reach for their spying gear. Jason and Cass were grimacing from the back seat, one taking pictures and the other working on getting the listening device's antenna out the crack of the window to aim at Dick.

Bruce's knuckles turn white as he steeled his resolve. "Go on. I can take it. What do you see?"

"It's Danny Fenton." Tim, Steph, and Damian all say at the same time. "The person he is dating in secret is Danny Fenton."

Bruce felt his heart stop. "The man who makes bread in the shape of hero logos?"

"Yeah. Otherwise known as "The Happy Baker," Steph says gravely. "The only Gothamite who is unreasonably happy without drugs or Joker venom."

"I once saw him making up songs while setting out a display of animal-shaped bread. He rhymed Gotham with awesome." Tim practically spits. "I should have known. All those animals were circus-themed. The elephants were incredibly tasty."

"You bought some!?"

"Excuse me for being hungry B!"

Damian slaps Bruce's arm aggressively. "Father! Father! Richard is getting on one knee."

"WHAT?!"

Jason pressed one hand over his headphones and attempted to listen closer before his eyes widened. "Wait! It's not a real marriage. Dick's investigating a possible trafficking ring, who been using Gotham baking supplies as a cover. He wants Danny to help him infiltrate the front by pretending to be baking husbands!"

"He just asked him to get married," Jason reported, much to the horror of the general van. Cass' camera starts clicking aggressively, either to capture the moment or have something to hang over Dick's head and force him to call off his marriage.

It's hard to tell with her perfectly impassive expression.

"Oh, thank the gods." Bruce breathes, only to have Steph ruin the moment.

"They're frenching right now."

"Oh, come on!"

"This is fun," Cass says over Bruce, swearing under his breath. "We should spy on each other as a group more often."

"Can we find out what Duke is up to next? The heels will haunt me until I know everything." Tim pipes up.

Damian, Tim, and Steph do not lower their binoculars even though they are close enough that they become a nuisance rather than helpful. He hasn't seen them so engaged in a family outing in a long time. "Yeah, we can spy on Duke next."

There is a moment of silence as Bruce considers the request before he merges lanes. In doing so, they drive by the kissing couple, too caught up in each other to notice the people staring at them through spying gear.

"You're the best adoptive dad ever!" Tim cheers as the rest of the kids let out whoops. Fenton's ears twitch, breaking the kiss with Dick to look right at them over their eldest shoulder.

Bruce slams a foot on the pedal the second Cass starts yelling, "Go go go! He saw us!". They peel away, screaming while Dick throws them a finger, and Fenton laughs silently.

The happy little freak.

[nuttersincorporated]

Scarecrow: So let me get this straight: a natural disaster carried you and your dog across the uncrossable desert. You and your house fell on top of Nessarose – one of the only independent leaders outside the wizard’s control – and now she’s dead. The people rejoiced because she’d become an intolerant religious extremist.

Dorothy: Yes. I feel really bad though. I didn’t mean to kill anyone!

Scarecrow: You didn’t kill anyone. She died because of the natural disaster. You were just there at the time. Anyway, then my ex-fiancée came down from the sky in a bubble.

Dorthy: You mean Glinda?

Scarecrow: Yes

Dorthy: Then yes. I didn’t know she used to be engaged to a scarecrow.

Scarecrow: I was actually a Winky Prince when we were engaged.

Dorthy: Oh

Scarecrow: Anyway, my ex implied that you might be evil because you aren’t beautiful enough to be obviously good. Then she put Nessarose’s shoes on your feet, told you not to take them off and sent you – on foot – to ask the wizard for help!?

Dorothy: Yes, that about covers it.

Scarecrow: -screaming internally-

Dorothy: Are you okay?

Scarecrow: Me!? I’m just fine! Why do you ask!? You know what? Maybe I should come with you so that you don’t die. Would that be okay!?

Later

The Tin Woodmen: So, you’re saying that the cripple I asked out – to impress Glinda – is dead and Glinda sent you to find the wizard?

Dorothy: I killed a disabled person!?

Scarecrow: Dorthy, we’ve been over this, you didn’t kill anyone. I promise none of this is your fault.

The Tin Woodmen: Who cares about that? Ding dong the bitch is dead! I might finally have a chance with Glinda! Dorthy, I’m coming with you!

Later still

Lion: I am terrified of everything but you say you’re going to see the wizard?

Dorothy: Yes

Lion: Talking animals used to be treated as equal citizens in Oz but now we have no rights at all. As I cub, I was taken from my mother, placed in a cage and kept away from other talking animals. They hoped it would stop me from learning to talk. I was rescued and set free but I grew up alone and without sort of socialisation or education.

Scarecrow: …

Lion: Anyway, I’m sure that if everyone says the wizard is good, then he must be. The mistreatment of animals is probably just a big misunderstanding. If I can have courage and talk to the wizard, I’m sure this whole thing will be sorted out.

Dorothy: Can we just stop for a minute? Will someone please, explain what’s going on? I feel like I’m missing a whole lot of contexts here.

Toto: Just so you know: in later books, in the official original L. Frank Baum Oz series, it will be reveal that all animals in Oz can talk. I just didn’t feel like talking in the first book.

While the Wicked book by Gregory Maguire covers a lot of interesting, important and deep topics; it was unrelentingly depressing and the narration showed little to no sympathy for the women who suffer horrible things.

The L. Frank Baum books – though by no means perfect – have a far more progressive Land of Oz than the one Gregory Maguire wrote about. If fact, Gregory Maguire took a world that had women in most of the important positions of power and turned it into a sexist, racist and patriarchal world.

I prefer Wicked the musical to Wicked the book because the musical brought the fun back.

Dorothy: Did you say something Toto?

Toto: Woof no woof, woof

I’ve seen so many people joke about Glinda being exhausted having to cope with plucky little Dorothy Gale doing her little song while the entirety of act ii of Wicked is occurring in the background. Like the crushing weight of her complicity in an evil system is dragging her to hell and also her fiancé is now a scarecrow and has run off with her situationship. But the act ii context is actually exponentially crazier for Dorothy? Like imagine you are a fifteen year old whose admittedly unambitious dreams of just leaving the farm are already rendered impossible because you are staring down the double barrel of unprecedented rural poverty and climate crisis. You get caught out in a natural disaster and accidentally kill someone and end up straight in the middle of the craziest six-way divorce anyone has ever heard of that is currently actively melting down. No one tells you this. And they’re all taking it out on you. Free her!!!!!!

[thehighladywrites]

you’re just like me

pairing: cassian x crazy stalker reader

summary: cassian thinks of you as his insanely obsessive ex girlfriend who’s downright crazy. you are obviously cassian’s one true love and will eliminate anything that stands in your way.

warnings: murder, dark romance, cheeky little twist👀, stalking, obsessive behavior, sexual content, knives, nasty sex, um also a sick way of getting off just downright crazy, description of murder… um this is just kinda dark. two psychos encouraging each other

amara’s note: so i might be making this into a series bc i have an amazing idea for azriel next😫😫😫 also guys this was a lil dark lol

You couldn’t understand how Cassian had the nerve to walk away from you. There was absolutely nothing wrong with you, not one single thing. People just didn’t get it; love was supposed to be all-consuming, right? Obsession wasn’t a flaw. It was just proof you cared deeply. So what if you knew his schedule down to the minute, memorized the exact scent of his shampoo, or followed him everywhere he went like your very existence depended on it? That wasn’t weird, it was love. Real, burning, raw love.

Cassian must have been confused, that’s all. Poor thing, probably led astray by some outside influence. Maybe someone whispered lies into his ear or cast some strange spell over his mind. Yeah, that had to be it, because Cassian did love you. He did. He just needed to wake up and realize it again.

And when he did , he’d thank you for never letting go, for being the one person who truly saw him, who loved him without limits.

Seeing Cassian sitting next to some water-wraith makes your heart pound harder and harder, fury bubbling under your skin. That’s it — that’s why he hasn’t been his usual self. That wretched wraith is manipulating him, filling his head with filthy lies about you. Poisoning what was meant to be perfect.

You have to stop this. You have to save him. And the only way to do that is to get rid of her. Permanently.

Your hands itch for action, and you’re already stepping forward when a hand clamps around your wrist.

“Are you about to go over to Cassian?” Feyre’s calm voice cuts through your haze of rage. “Don’t cause a scene.”

You tilt your head, offering her a polite smile. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m simply going to claim what is rightfully mine.”

You tug at her grip, but it holds firm. Feyre’s eyes narrow. “Not so fast. You know Cassian will think you’re crazy if you kill her right here and now.”

Your breath catches. How the hell did she know? Were you that obvious?

Before you can respond, she steps closer, her intoxicating perfume filling your senses. Her voice, low and smooth, sends shivers down your spine.

“If you want that little whore gone, gut her like a fucking fish. I’ll even help you. But not now, it’ll look bad for us.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Never in a million years would you have expected Feyre to suggest murder.

“Why are you so interested in me killing her?” you ask, voice curious.

A wicked smile curls at her lips before she presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “That little bitch tried to fuck Rhys right in front of me. Didn’t even bother pretending she didn’t know who I was. She didn’t care. And now I want her gone.”

Her voice cracks with a manic edge before she smooths it over, composure snapping neatly back into place.

She was just like you, a comfort you took pleasure in, someone who understood that love was meant to be fierce, consuming, and without limits.

—

You did exactly what Feyre suggested — waited until the big meeting with all the courts had ended, biding your time until the wraith was on her way back to Spring. She was alone, vulnerable, just as you had hoped.

Before she could winnow away, you struck. Kidnapping her had been easy, far too easy. And then came the best part: stabbing her over and over until you were drenched in her warm blood. Her look of terror sent a sick thrill down your spine, flipping your stomach in delight. Fuck, it felt good to finally get rid of her. Like being on edge for an eternity and finally getting the sweet, blissful relief you'd craved.

You cleaned up meticulously, disposing of every shred of evidence. No one would ever find her.

Winnowing back to Velaris, you appeared just outside Cassian’s house, dagger still in hand. Breaking in through your usual route was second nature by now. You settled yourself on his sofa, waiting patiently like you always did when he needed a gentle reminder of who truly belonged to him.

The door creaked open, and Cassian trudged inside, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. Normally, you'd feel a pang of sympathy for how hard he worked — how much he gave of himself. But not tonight. Tonight, you were kinda pissed.

His eyes flicked toward you, squinting in the dim light. He hesitated, unsure of who he was looking at until he flipped the lights on.

The color drained from his face as he stumbled backward, eyes wide with shock. “What the hell?” His voice wavered. “What are you doing here?”

You tilted your head, offering a sweet, unwavering smile. “Hi, Cassian. Done being a manwhore? Ready to come back to your senses?”

His gaze darted to the blood soaking your clothes, the gleaming dagger in your hand. He shook his head in disbelief, taking another step back, as if distance could protect him from you.

“I said, what are you doing here?” His voice hardens, sharp and commanding.

Yours matches his, cold and steady. “Well, since you seem to be under some delusion that you can get away from me, I figured I’d burst your little bubble and remind you that’s not the case.”

A calm smile spreads across your lips as you lift the dagger, pointing it directly at him. The weight of it feels right in your hand, steady and sure.

Cassian’s chest rises and falls as tension coils through the room. “You’re insane,” he mutters, disbelief lacing every word.

“Call it what you want. Call it love, call it obsession. Call me fucking insane,” you say, taking a slow step forward. “But you belong to me, Cassian. Always have. Always will.”

You shake your head and laugh, a hollow, unsettling sound. “Gods, Cassian. I don't know why you're doing this to me. Stop being so damn difficult and realize there's no one else for you. That water-wraith slut sure knows it now.”

His face goes pale, a hand pressing against his chest. “W-what are you talking about? You... you killed her?” he asks, horrified.

“Sure did.” You smile sweetly, tilting your head. “And I'll end anyone you think can take my place. Am I clear? Either you realize it now, or I keep killing people. It's all up to you.” You shrug nonchalantly, inspecting your nails as if this conversation were about the weather.

There's a long silence, thick with tension, and then something changes.

His voice drops, lower and rougher. “Took you long enough.”

Your head snaps up, eyes narrowing in confusion. His pale, horrified expression has melted away, replaced by something darker, more primal. His eyes gleam with something unholy, and his mouth twists into a cruel, wicked smile.

“Was wondering when you’d kill that little wraith,” he says smoothly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Gods know it was hard feigning interest.”

A warmth spreads through your chest, almost dizzying. Was this a dream? No way. Cassian matching your intensity, your madness — that was only supposed to happen in fantasies.

“What?” you whisper, barely believing what you’re hearing.

He steps closer, eyes gleaming darkly. “Didn’t think I noticed your stalking? Or the way you conveniently disposed of anyone I talked to?” His smirk widens, sharp and dangerous. “The way you just happened to show up at places I had scheduled? I’ve been onto you since day one.”

Your breath catches, heart thundering. “And?”

“And I knew you were the one the day you snuck into my room and stared at me, thinking I didn’t know,” he murmurs, eyes burning into yours with dark satisfaction.

A shiver runs down your spine, both thrilled and unhinged by his words. “You knew?”

He leans in closer, voice low and possessive. “Of course I knew. Your heavy breathing was a dead giveaway, sweetheart. You looked like you were seconds away from crawling into bed with me.”

You grin, eyes gleaming with madness. “I almost did.”

And it was true. He had been shirtless, skin smooth and golden in the moonlight, hair tied back so his sharp, handsome features were perfectly highlighted. Only years of discipline had kept you rooted to the spot instead of crawling into bed with him like you’d wanted to.

His smile deepens, dark and taunting. “You should’ve.” He steps closer, voice dropping to a low, sinful whisper. “Not the Gods themselves could have pulled me away.”

Your pulse races, wild and electric. This was so not fucking happening. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m not tempting you, my love.” he says, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “I’m inviting you.”

He looks down at you, hands settling on your hips as he pulls you so close. Cassian’s heat makes your brain go fuzzy and for a moment you’re lost. Just as he is about to kiss you…

”Wait. So you felt the same I did? Why did you act all high and mighty when you’re literally worse than me?” You step back and raise an eyebrow at him, arms crossed over your chest.

Cassian blinks, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, but instead of guilt or surprise softening his expression, something darker gleams in his eyes — intrigue, even delight. “You’re mad at me, baby?”

“Of course I’m mad!” you snap, practically vibrating with frustration. “You knew I’m bsessed with you, and instead of saying anything, you just sat there, playing with me, making me feel insane.”

Your grip on the dagger tightens in pure frustration. “Do you know how many nights I spent plotting ways to keep you? How much blood I spilled thinking you didn’t care?”

His lips twitch, eyes filled with dark amusement.

“You could’ve just matched my crazy from day one, but nooo, you had to be all stoic and mysterious. Gods, Cassian, that’s infuriating.”

He steps closer, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re adorable when you’re pissed off, ya know? A cute, hotheaded little thing.”

“Adorable? I should stab you,” you snarl, but he only grins wider.

“Do it,” he whispers, his voice dripping with challenge. “I’d love to see what happens next.”

Your breath catches, heart racing as his words sink in. Cassian wasn’t just tolerating your madness, he wanted it, thrived on it, matched it beat for beat.

The realization sends a dizzy thrill through you, but you pout anyway, refusing to let him off the hook that easily. “You’re the worst,” you grumble, turning your head away with a dramatic huff.

He chuckles darkly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “I was only interesed in seeing how far you’d go. Didn’t know if you’d run for the hills when I told you I murdered Helion’s advicer for looking at you yesterday.”

Your heart skips a beat, then thunders wildly in your chest. A sharp, wicked grin tugs at your lips despite yourself. “You did that?”

“Snapped his neck right before breakfast. Or did I feed him his own fingers then strangle him with his insides? Can’t say I remember.”

A sick thrill courses through you. Man, he was fucking perfect. It was so fucking wrong but your knees went weak and you started throbbing. He killed someone just for staring at you?

That was actually hot.

—

With no surprise, cassian fucked you for so long, so hard so fucking deep. It was so nasty, a reaaaal mess. one hand of his grabs onto your thigh, another gripping your waist while he’s glancing down at your sloppy cunt, what a masterpiece. Cassian decided he needed to see better so he pulled out as you whimpered pathetically.

his fingers smear his oozing cum all over you, from the slit all the way to your, swollen, throbbing clit.

“look at you makin’ a damn mess.” Your shaky hands gripping his wide shoulders start to slip. His arm tightens around your waist before you fall backwards. “fuckkkk, baby, look at how good your pussy was takin’ me, see how fucking wet she is?” you shudder as his fingers go knuckle deep into your cunt, giving you a few pumps before he pulls it right out, stringy wetness coating them.

he places two thick fingers inside of your mouth, you suck them clean whilst still moving against him, silently pleading for him to fill you out.

“shiiit, not fair. you got these killer hips that’ll dumb down any man.” Cassian finally fills you up again, his fat cock gliding against ypur wall just right. “oh-fuckkkk thaaat’s it, slow baby. slow, fuck me good, yeah?”

Cassian’s breath hitches as you tighten around him, his arm hurling behind the headboard. the desperation of having something to hold on to gives you an ego boost. was your just pussy too damn good?

“c-cas,” you moan, feeling his big fingers stroke their way against your waist to the very undersides of your thighs. you made sure to go slow, slow and steady just like he wanted. cassian’s got a sleazy grin, feeling the wetness of your cunt take him with all its might. “g-gonna cum!”

“i can tell, ah shit— you’re squeezin’ the fuck outta me,” He grunts in response as he feels you writhing, groaning at the gummy texture of your walls mightily gripping around him tight.

But it’s not enough. The rush lingers, addictive and gnawing, and you want more — need more. Something to cling to, something to burn into your memory for the rest of the week. A painfully sweet reminder of just how far you’ll both go for each other.

Your lips curl into a sly smile, voice dropping into a breathy tease. Finally, you’d lock in one last time to see if he was really as crazy as you. “Do you want to know,” You pause, your breath hitching in pleasure, “how it felt to kill t-that wraith?”

Cassian’s entire body tenses, his pupils dilating as a spark of something wild flickers in his eyes. His pulse kicks up, thrumming like a war drum. Fuck yeah, he wanted to know. Every sickening, twisted detail. Morality be damned—this was love.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice low and raw, filled with a dark hunger.

You grin wickedly, savoring his reaction. “It was beautiful,” you whimper, letting the memory flood your senses. “The way her breath hitched when she realized she was going to die? Gods, Cassian, it was intoxicating. She looked so helpless.”

His breath shudders as he pumps harder, his voice gravelly. “What did you feel?”

A dark satisfaction blooms in your chest. “Relief,” you murmur. “Pure relief. Like I’d been waiting forever and I was free.”

Cassian’s eyes burn into yours, his lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. “Absolutely perfect. Absolutely mine.”

Your heart races as you lean in, lips hovering near his ear. “Next time,” you purr, “I’ll let you watch then fuck me right there.”

That’s it. Those few sadistic words are all the power he needs to finish you both off.

“you’re a nasty fucking girl—ughhhh.”

his speed had the bed creaking louder, and cassian’s grunting in your ear was getting louder as you were feeling fuller than ever. with hot pounds of skin against skin roughly slapping against each other after each second, the two of you felt the same pangs of pleasure and fervent dizziness. “inside, cas—fuck, cum inside me!” before an inevitable flood of heavenly pleasure consumes you both.

your cunt throbs the second he spills an entire whopping load inside of you raw, and you nuzzle your face into his neck. “cas—,” you stammer, and your walls were oh so greedy, adjusting to the way your pussy convulses around him, sharp nails dragging over his back. you both cum together as a surge of electricity pulses through each of your veins.

“fuck… ya better take every drop, s-shit,” he groans before slumping back against the headboard, tugging you closer so your face rests on his neck.

This was absolutely perfect. Cassian was yours now—forever. He could never leave you. And if he tried? You wouldn’t just kill him; you’d burn the entire world down with him. If you couldn’t have him, no one could. He simply wouldn’t exist without you.

That was love.

And Cassian being utterly, unapologetically insane? A gift wrapped in chaos. He understood you better than anyone ever could. Maybe you’d push him, see just how far that darkness in him stretched. Because Cassian didn’t get jealous—he got even. He got murderous.

“I love you, Cassian. So, so much,” you sob into his neck, your body trembling under the weight of the confession.

“I know you do,” he rasps, his voice rough as he grabs a blanket, wrapping it around your shivering form. His strong arms envelop you completely, his touch obsessive, possessive. His hand trails down your hair and back with agonizing tenderness as though memorizing every inch of you.

But something gnaws at you—a flicker of unease. Why wasn’t he saying it back? Did he need more proof that you were his literal wife(even if he didn’t know it yet), his reason for fucking breathing?

As if sensing your doubt, his grip tightens, pulling you even closer until you could hear the rapid, frantic beat of his heart. His lips brush against your ear, his voice low and raw, trembling with emotion.

“There are no words for what I feel for you,” he says, voice breaking. “Love is too weak, too pitiful. What I feel for you—gods, it devours me whole. It’s a sickness, an obsession that digs its claws into me and never lets go. You are everything. My breath, my blood, my madness.”

His words crash over you, wild and terrifying and utterly beautiful. And you know—he belongs to you as much as you belong to him.

Always.

[nilla03]

“𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑃𝑅𝐼𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐸𝑅𝑆 𝑇𝑂𝑈𝐶𝐻“

𝑃𝑙𝑜𝑡： 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠： 𝑖𝑛𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖！

It’s been months since you first wrote to him—your sweet, careful words scribbled onto paper, like you didn’t know exactly what kind of man you were writing to. At first, he only responded for the hell of it, something to pass the time. But then you kept writing. Kept calling. Kept sending little pictures, telling him about your day, about the way you thought about him before bed.

Toji leans back against the cold wall of his cell, rolling his shoulders as he cracks his neck. The dull hum of prison life drones on around him—men talking, footsteps echoing, the occasional distant shout—but his mind is elsewhere.

You’d written him last week, said you were thinking about visiting. He didn’t take it seriously at first—figured you’d get cold feet, get spooked by the idea of stepping into a place like this just to see a guy like him. A big, fucked-up ex-hitman locked away with nothing but time and too many bad thoughts in his head.

But then his name got called today. Inmate Fushiguro. Visitation.

And now? Now he can’t sit still. His fingers twitch, jaw tight, every muscle wound up.

He thinks about the pictures you’ve sent—just little things, nothing too much, but enough to get his mind working. The way you look, soft and sweet, like you don’t belong anywhere near a place like this. Like you sure as hell don’t belong anywhere near him.

And yet, here you are. Coming to see him

Dressed up all pretty, he bets. Maybe in one of those little dresses you told him about, the kind that clings to your curves. Maybe with your hair done all nice, lips glossy and pouty. He swears he can already see the way you’ll fidget, the way you’ll tuck your hands in your lap, playing shy under his stare.

He’s been sitting in this hellhole with nothing to do but think—about you, about all the things he’d do

Got him hooked before he even realized it.

And now, here you are, stepping right into his world, like some dumb little thing with no sense of self-preservation.

“Fushiguro,” a guard’s voice snaps through the bars. “Visitation.”

Toji exhales through his nose, cracking his neck before stepping forward, offering his wrists up for the cuffs. The cold metal clicks around them, snug but not tight.

His patience is running thin by the time they lead him out, his mind already painting a picture of you. He knows you dressed up for him. Knows you probably checked yourself in the mirror a dozen times, playing with your hair, biting that glossy lip, wondering if you looked good enough.

Sweetheart, you don’t even know what you’re walking into.

By the time he’s escorted into the visitation room, his eyes are already scanning for you. And when they land on you—standing there, all soft and nervous in that little dress, eyes wide and pretty—his lips curl into a slow, dark smirk.

The visitation room is loud—voices overlapping, chairs scraping against the floor, the occasional bark of a guard reminding inmates to keep their hands visible. But none of that registers to you. Not when your eyes finally land on him.

Toji Fushiguro.

You’ve seen his handwriting for months now, memorized the way he talks through his letters, the teasing, the way he calls you sweetheart like you belong to him. You’ve heard his voice over the phone, deep and slow, taunting when you’d get shy, amused when you’d get flustered. But nothing—nothing—prepared you for seeing him in person.

He’s big. Bigger than you thought. His broad shoulders stretch the seams of his prison-issued jumpsuit, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick, veiny forearms. His hair is a little messy, longer than you expected, and his sharp green eyes are locked onto you the second you step forward, looking so out of place in this cold, gray room.

You tried to dress sweet for him—nothing too much, just a little sundress, soft fabric hugging your curves, hem flirting with your thighs when you walk. Pretty sandals, glossy lips, your hair done up all nice. You wanted to look good for him, and judging by the slow smirk stretching across his face, you succeeded.

“Damn,” he exhales, leaning back in his chair as his eyes drag over you, slow and heavy. “They really let an angel like you in here?”

You bite your lip, heat creeping up your neck as you take a seat across from him. “Wanted to see you,” you say softly, tucking your hands in your lap.

Toji tilts his head, his smirk widening. “Yeah? Came all this way just to sit across from me? Thought you’d be braver than that, sweetheart.” His voice is a little rough, edged with something dark, something that makes your stomach tighten.

Your fingers curl around the edge of the table, playing with the smooth surface. “I—I didn’t know if I should…”

“Toji.” A guard’s voice cuts through the tension. “Hands on the table.”

He huffs out a laugh but obeys, resting his forearms flat, fingers tapping against the surface. His eyes never leave yours. “They’re real strict about that kinda thing,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear. “Means I can’t touch you the way I want. Shame.”

You swallow, shifting in your seat, and his gaze drops to your thighs when your dress rides up just a little.

“You nervous, baby?” His voice is taunting, but there’s something deeper behind it—something that says he likes it. That he likes the way you fidget under his stare, the way your thighs press together when his voice drops an octave.

You nod, and his smirk turns sharp. “Should be,” he mutters, eyes flicking up to yours. “Been readin’ your letters, hearin’ your voice, thinkin’ about all the ways I’d handle a little thing like you if I ever got the chance.” He leans in just a fraction, voice thick with something dangerous. “You really think it’s smart to come here dressed all sweet, sittin’ all pretty, actin’ like you don’t know what you do to me?.

You let out a shaky breath, fingers twisting in your lap. “Didn’t mean to tease,” you whisper.

Toji chuckles, low and deep, the sound curling around your spine. “Nah, sweetheart. I think you did.” He shifts in his seat, his legs spreading under the table.

Your cheeks burn, and you can’t find it in yourself to deny it—not when he’s looking at you like that, like he could devour you whole if given the chance.

“You just wait,” he murmurs, voice rough with promise.

Toji is pissed. Not at you—never at you. But at the fact that the second he got a real taste of you, it was ripped away.

He sits on the edge of his cot, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled together as he stares at the concrete floor of his cell, jaw tight, muscles tense. His body still hums with leftover frustration, the kind that no amount of pacing or deep breathing is gonna fix.

All sweet and shy, sitting across from him, your little dress hugging your body just right, knees pressing together every time he spoke low, teasing. He saw the way you played with the hem, the way you bit your lip when he leaned in just a little, voice dripping with everything he wanted to do to you.

And the worst fucking part? The way your thighs squeezed together when he talked to you all sweet.

He saw it. Saw the way your breath caught, saw the way your fingers twitched in your lap. You liked it—the promise in his words.

And then the guards had to cut it short. Had to remind him where he was, who he was. Had to take you away before he could see just how much further he could push you.

Now, he’s stuck here, wound up so fucking tight he could snap.

And you? You’re probably outside now, getting into your little car, all flustered and worked up because of him. Probably staring at your phone, debating whether to call him, whether to send him another picture just to fuck with him like you always do.

Toji exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face before shaking his head with a low chuckle.

“Fuckin’ little tease,” he mutters, stretching out on his cot.

[themultifanshipper]

nobody gets me when i say daniel x oscar x reader but i need it desperately

“What's an Aussie kiss?” 

Or, the story of how Mark Webber’s existence led to a series of very fortunate events. 

Warnings: smut, threesome, mention of alcohol, oral, brief anal play, the sloppiest two person blowjobs, just pure filth, anti FIA propaganda lmao, also bad dirty talk? 

Being Daniel's ex-teammate, and current best friend, you knew a lot of Aussie slang. 

And you'd learned even more upon becoming Oscar's teammate. 

You were in a club, and for some godforsaken reason, you were squashed in between Mark and Oscar, with Daniel on the other side of the table in the small booth. 

And then you'd met Oscar's manager Mark, and, well… whenever the three of them found themselves together, your head would start pounding within minutes of them starting a conversation. 

“F1 has gone soft!” Mark slurred, already halfway into a coma. “And it wasn't even that long ago that we could swear freely and make dirty jokes without FIA cunts breathing down our necks!” 

His drink sloshed around his glass as he spoke, and you managed to dodge the spills despite being in the splash zone. 

Daniel laughed and added “Yeah, you couldn't talk about Aussie kisses nowadays without being fined!” 

The three of them laughed freely, taking sips of their drinks. 

Everyone had seen the famous clip of Mark. 

Unfortunately, you had not. And that delightful little nugget had never come up in conversation before. 

So you turned to Mark, and drunkenly asked “What's an Aussie kiss?”, much to the delight of your two fellow drivers. 

“You'll find out when you're older, kid” he smirked and you scoffed. 

When he tried to get up to order more drinks, he swayed so badly that Daniel had to catch him to avoid him falling onto the table. 

“Okay old man” he chuckled “let's get you an uber while you're still conscious” 

He led Mark through the crowd towards the exit, leaving you and Oscar to laugh at their retreating figures. 

“He's such a lightweight” Oscar giggled. 

"You're one to talk!” you slapped him on the shoulder “Your cheeks are redder than a fucking Ferrari” 

“Oh yeah?” he smiled at you, “At least I know what an Aussie kiss is” he bit his lip teasingly. 

The way he said it made a shiver run down your spine. Despite not knowing what it meant, you felt the urge to ask him to show you. 

You were suddenly very aware of how close you were, and the heat of his thigh against yours made your stomach clench. 

You cleared your throat, breaking the awkward tension and took a shy sip of your drink. 

“Don't suppose you’re going to tell me, are you?” 

He chuckled and bumped his knee against yours under the table. 

“Like the old man said, you'll find out when you're older” he teased. 

Even though there was only a year between you two, you always felt like he was the mature one of the team. The older and wiser teammate. 

You found that quite attractive, if you were fully honest. And with the amount of alcohol in you system, you definitely wouldn't hesitate to say so if asked the question. 

“Fine, I'll just ask Daniel, I'm sure he would be happy to show me” 

Oscar rolled his eyes dismissively, absolutely hating the idea of you going to someone else, just as Daniel stepped back into the booth and sat down where Mark had been a few minutes before. 

His thigh was now firmly pressed against you, and you suddenly felt very overwhelmed by their presence. 

“Dannyyy” you whined “Oscar won't tell me what an Aussie kiss is!” 

Daniel just laughed. 

“That's because he probably doesn't have much experience in that domain. I on the other hand-“ 

“Uh, actually I have more than you think!” Oscar interrupted and Daniel grinned at him. 

“Sure you do Piastri, but I’ve had at least a decade of practice more than you so-“ 

Oscar scoffed and gave him the finger. 

“Guys!” You slapped the table to grab their attention. “Just tell me and I’ll be the judge!” 

Oscar hesitated. He was slipping into dangerous territory right now. 

He was very attracted to you, and would love nothing better than to spend the night showing you his uhh… kissing abilities. 

But you were all far too drunk to make any rational decision making, and Daniel's presence was making him uneasy. 

Not to mention you were his teammate and friend. 

Daniel was thinking along the same lines. You were his drunk best friend, and the last thing he wanted to do was take advantage of you. 

“I'll tell you what” he piped up. “If you ask again when you're sober, we'll show you” 

They nodded at each other. They both wanted you, but they needed you to be clear headed. 

There was absolutely no chance you would remember this tomorrow, so this was their safest bet. 

You warily agreed, and the subject was quickly changed. 

What they didn't know, is that that night, before you went to bed completely hammered, you set a reminder on your phone. 

“lok up Ausie Kiiis on gogle” 

Well, at least it was readable to you the next day. 

And you did look it up. And found the video of Mark, which made you laugh. 

But as the night before came flooding back in your mind, you remembered Daniel's offer. 

They wanted you. They wanted to do that to you.  

Butterflies erupted in your stomach as the thought of the two of them between your legs made you gasp. Yep, it had to happen. 

Daniel and Oscar really thought they were out of the woods when they didn't hear from you all day. But then, in the evening came a text from a group chat you'd created with the two of them. 

There was a screenshot of the urban dictionary result, and few simple words that made both men twitch in their pants. 

“Instructions unclear, demonstration necessary. Room 312” 

Oscar being only a few rooms away in the same hotel meant that he got there within two minutes of his phone buzzing. 

As soon as you opened the door your were lifted by your thighs and carried over to your bed. 

He crawled over you, not giving you so much as a hello before he captured your lips in a bruising kiss. 

He was going to make the most of Daniel’s delay. 

You couldn’t help but gasp into it when you felt his hands wandering over your body teasingly, making quick work of your outer layers. 

“Jesus Osc” you panted as his lips travelled downwards, sucking and nipping at the skin of your neck. “If you were this desperate to touch me you could have just asked” 

He grunted into your skin, continuing his descent and leaving soft kisses over your barely covered breasts. 

“Didn't know you'd be into it too.” He mumbled “I didn't want to make anything awkward” 

Any response you had quickly died on your tongue when you felt a fingers brush against your clothed cunt. 

“Soaked through your panties already?” he chuckled darkly, rubbing against you with more pressure.  

You blushed, hips bucking against his hand. 

“Please, Oscar” you whimpered into your hands that were covering your face. 

“Please what?” he teased, sliding a finger under the fabric and ghosting it over your sensitive skin. 

“Fuck me, please” you whined. 

He laughed softly. “But darling, that's not why you invited me here, is it? And in any case I think we should wait for Daniel, don't you?” 

You huffed impatiently. 

“If you're that wound up, why don't you come here and let me use that pretty mouth of yours, hmm? It'll give you something to do while we wait…” 

Daniel almost broke his neck by tripping in the stairs while running as fast as he could to get to you. 

When he wrenched the door to your room open he scoffed at the sight of you on your knees at the foot of the bed. 

“Couldn't even wait for me, could you. Bastards…” 

He ripped his shirt off and made his way over to the bed. 

“I had to shut her up somehow, she's so fucking needy” Oscar pulled you off his cock and helped you to your feet. 

Daniel cooed and leaned down to kiss you, and expertly unclasped your bra while Oscar dragged your underwear down your legs. 

The kiss with Daniel quickly turned filthy, and he walked you slowly towards the bed and pushed you down on it. 

“So who gets first dibs?” Oscar asked, eyeing your body and smirking at the goosebumps appearing on your flesh as you gazed up at the two men. 

“How about Oscar first, since he was gentlemanly enough to wait till you got here?” you offered and they shrugged in agreement. 

“Works for me, that way I'll get to prove I'm better afterwards” 

You and Oscar both rolled your eyes at Daniel's statement, and the younger man quickly spread your legs and kneeled in between them. 

You were dripping already, and at the first swipe of his tongue through your folds, Oscar thought he'd died and gone to heaven.  

He groaned, lapping up your juices, and then alternated between fucking you with his tongue and circling it around your sensitive clit. 

You were moaning freely, gasping at every change of pace and pressure.  

There was definitely no denying it, he knew what he was doing. 

When he sucked on your clit your back arched, letting out whiny little moans as he made your legs tremble in no time, your thighs trying to close around his head. 

Daniel, despite not touching you, was having the time of his life. 

He was sitting next to you on the bed, and from this angle he could see every tremor, every micro-expression as you writhed under Oscar's undeniably skilled mouth. 

You were exquisite in his opinion, and he hungrily watched your breasts heaving as you tried to catch your breath after Oscar made you come all over his face. 

The younger man licked his lips hungrily as he stared up at Daniel, eyes challenging him to do better. 

You barely got any reprieve before Daniel was pushing Oscar out of the way and bending your legs at the knees. 

“Hold yourself open for me, darling” 

You did as you were told, and looked down at him while he nosed along the crease of your inner thigh. 

He pushed his tongue inside you, and you let out a gasp when his nose brushed against your clit as he moved. 

The tip of his nose was quite cold, and the difference in temperature was surprisingly pleasurable. 

But Daniel didn't plan on staying there for long, he'd come to win, even if that meant playing dirty. 

He gave your clit a teasing suck before releasing it with a pop, and slowly, his tongue made its way lower, exploring your taint, and eventually making contact with your tight rim. 

The new feeling made you shudder, and he brought a hand up to thumb at your clit in a steady rhythm while he worked his tongue against your ass. 

Your nails were digging into your own thighs where you were holding them open, and a quick glance at Oscar's expression told you he was not happy, despite being obviously turned on. 

Once Daniel could feel you loosening, he prodded his tongue inside you a little, and the sensation was so foreign to you it forced a shaky moan from your throat. 

You felt Daniels smirk against your skin and he quickly retracted his tongue, and slowly made his way back up. 

You were rapidly approaching the edge now. And the renewed attack of his mouth on your cunt was promising a spectacular finish. 

Then you felt a slight pressure lower down. 

He was rubbing his thumb against your asshole, aided by your dripping juices. 

He applied some pressure, and his thumb easily slipped inside, carefully massaging your walls while his tongue lapped at your clit hungrily. 

It took you seconds. 

You came with a loud cry as you arched your back, riding out the waves of your intense orgasm, through which Daniel helped you gently by slowing down his movements until you were shaking under him. 

He sat up and grinned at you from above. 

“So? Who was better?” 

“That's not fair, you cheated!” Oscar huffed indignantly. 

“I did not! It isn't specified how low we're allowed to go”  

“But you used your fingers! I didn't”  

“Well yeah, you gotta make use of all your assets” he wiggled his brows. 

They looked at you expectantly. 

“If one of you isn't inside me in the next 30 seconds I am kicking you both out” you muttered at the ceiling. 

They chuckled and shuffled around the bed. 

You ended up on top of Oscar, sinking down on his surprisingly thick cock while Daniel sat next to Oscar's head. 

You leaned down to take him into your mouth and he grabbed your hair in his fist in a makeshift ponytail. 

“So eager to please, isn't she Oscar? I think we’ve struck gold with this one” 

Oscar started thrusting into you slowly, and your deep groan around the cock in your mouth made Daniel mad with need as he watched you take him down eagerly. 

He then noticed Oscar was eyeing his cock with something akin to hunger in his eyes. 

“You look jealous, Oscar” he teased. “Fancy a taste?” 

He pulled you off him, and Oscar licked at his tip teasingly. 

You didn't feel like stopping though, so soon Daniel had two mouths on his cock, licking and sucking at his shaft. 

“Jesus Christ, you two are so fucking hot, what the fuck” 

You and Oscar worked in tandem, lips making brief contact as you made out with the cock between you. 

It was truly a porn worthy performance and Daniel could feel his composure slipping. 

“Fuck- stop, I'm gonna come too soon” 

He pulled you off and shuffled backwards, taking a quick breather, and Oscar laughed meanly. 

“The old man's gonna come first, that's funny” 

He was obviously just goading Daniel, but the evil glint that suddenly appeared in the older man's eyes as he got an idea made his stomach churn. 

“Wanna swap then?” he grinned, and Oscar nodded eagerly. 

Daniel lay down so you could climb on top of him, rolling your hips slowly to get used to the slightly lengthier cock, and Oscar kneeled next to him, mirroring the position from before. 

You took him down to the base first, the taste of your own slick making your eyes roll back in your head, and Oscar couldn't resist thrusting into your mouth a few times. 

“Fuckin’ hell, why were we arguing over who's better when her mouth is clearly superior”  

He gasped when you swallowed around him and used your tongue to trace the underside of his cock. 

Then you let him go with a pop, and looked at Daniel with a smirk. 

The two of you got to work, worshipping Oscar's cock with your mouths and he marveled at the sight. 

But then Daniel decided he needed to prove his superiority. 

He licked down the vein on the underside, slowly inching towards Oscar's balls. 

He licked over them, and took one into his mouth, gently sucking on it just to make Oscar lose his mind. 

“Jesus, Daniel… fuck-“ 

With Daniel working wonders down there, and you making your way up his body, currently scraping your teeth over one of his nipples, he was scared of coming before he'd even had a chance to savour the experience. 

Daniel huffed under him, drawing his attention.  

Apparently his tongue could just about reach behind Oscar's balls, but the position didn't allow him to go any further. 

“Sit on my face”  Daniel panted. 

“What?” Oscar squeaked, sure he'd misheard. 

“You heard me, come here”  he slapped Oscar's thigh to get him to move. 

Oscar didn't hesitate for long, he swung a leg over Daniel's head and hovered, facing you as he bit his lip to hide just how aroused he was at the idea. 

Daniel wrapped his arms around Oscar's thighs and slammed him down onto his eagerly waiting mouth. 

Oscar let out a high pitched moan and had to stabilise himself with a hand on Daniel's chest. 

You grabbed his hair and pulled him in for a rough kiss. 

Daniel somehow had the dexterity to pound into you from below while eating Oscar out like his life depended on it, and all the two of you could do was pant into each other's mouths as Oscar came untouched all over Daniel's chest and his own hand. 

He crawled away, and Daniel grabbed your waist to pull you down onto his cock while he rolled his hips up into you. 

“You close, beautiful? You gonna come all over my cock?” 

You nodded desperately, the new angle and speed was making you cry out in pleasure as it built up rapidly inside you. 

“Do it then, show Oscar what a good girl you are and come right now, baby” 

How you managed to stay upright will always be a mystery. The force with which your orgasm washed over you was enough to make your voice crack and your vision go momentarily dark while you rode out the most intense pleasure you'd ever felt before. 

While you waited for the feeling in your legs to come back, Oscar went to grab a washcloth to clean you all up. 

You were lying on the bed, limbs akimbo while Daniel’s cum dribbled out of you. 

“Remind me to thank Mark Webber” you said and the other two guffawed in disbelief. 

“You want to thank him? What about us, we actually fucked you!” 

You laughed. “You're right! Maybe I should ask Mark to fuck me!” 

The other two groaned. 

“Never say that again” 

You all got into bed, you in the middle, facing Oscar while Daniel spooned you from behind. 

“Well at least now I know” Daniel muttered. 

“Know what?” you asked. 

“That Piastri likes getting his ass ate” he chuckled and you burst out in a fit of giggles. 

“Fuck you” Oscar groaned. 

“In your dreams Piastri” Daniel chuckled. 

“Next time, I'm fucking you” 

“Ha!” Daniel laughed “As if !” 

But you saw the defiant look in Oscar’s eyes. 

You knew him in and out, he was not going to back down from a challenge. 

[definitelynotanalien]

Boyfriend!Sae who’s your long distance boyfriend, a childhood best friend that you’ve kept in contact with ever since he left for Spain

Boyfriend!Sae who meets up with you his second night back in Japan, after spending so long in Spain playing football

Boyfriend!Sae who you’re so excited to see again, cause it’s been like 6 years since he left and he never visited

Boyfriend!Sae who stuffs his hands in his Re Al branded jacket and blankly stares as you wave excitedly at him

Boyfriend!Sae who gives you a nod back as you run up to him, practically about to tackle him to the ground

Boyfriend!Sae who’s gotten thinner, and seemingly unhealthy. His cheeks are a bit too hollow, and his hair’s a bit too messy

Boyfriend!Sae who ignores you while you ask how he’s been, like the caring partner you are

Boyfriend!Sae who cuts to the chase, demanding that you cut the pleasantries and listen to him instead

Boyfriend!Sae who tells you that you’re a distraction, and if he is to become the best midfielder in the world he doesn’t need distractions

Boyfriend!Sae who glares down at you, as you beg him to stay, calling him your whole world

Boyfriend!Sae who easily breaks up with you, walking away as you plead for him to stay through tear ridden eyes on that cold winter night

Ex!Sae who doesn’t seem to regret it at first, his football career flourishing as he loses all distractions

Ex!Sae who stops visiting Japan as much, only coming by to visit his parents - as he’s permanently moved to Spain

Ex!Sae who spots you in his city one day, you’ve stopped to chat with his little brother

Ex!Sae who notices how cheerful and lively you seem to be, a sore difference from the saddened state he ajd last seen you in

Ex!Sae who’s a bit peeved when he sees that you’ve moved on, as he was planning to see you again eventually

Ex!Sae who goes up to talk with the two of you, while you make an excuse to scurry off as fast as you can as soon as you lay eyes on him

Ex!Sae who purposefully attempts to run into you and crinkles his eyebrows as you ignore him and avoid him

Ex!Sae who interviews his brother about you, and what you’ve been up to while he’s been gone

Ex!Sae who glares once his brother tells him that you have a fiancé, and you’re rather happy with them

Ex!Sae who reasons that his brother is probably lying, in a twisted attempt to get back at him after what happened many winters ago

Ex!Sae who walks away from his brother after the interrogation, choosing to talk to you himself

Ex!Sae who confronts you about having a partner, finding your home after asking your parents where you live

Ex!Sae who scoffs as you say you’re engaged, asking you why you didn’t tell him

Ex!Sae who narrows his eyes when you explain yourself, in a signature show of pettiness, he really didn’t know how to take someone not liking him

Ex!Sae who mocks that your ‘boyfriend’ is not a better football player than him, and that you’ll never do better than Sae

Ex!Sae who crosses his arms, even as you explain your partner is a pro player as well and that if they can win against Sae or not doesn’t matter to you, all that matters is whether you love your partner or not

Ex!Sae who storms off, angrily stomping so he can sulk in privacy

Ex!Sae who’s determined to win you back, no matter what it takes…

[paperyowl]

This is a weird ask. Feel free to ignore it.

But post breakup Buck staring at Rockon thinking Tommy has a date with this hot silver daddy (he ain't blind) and confronted them cos he's jealous to find out he was wrong. They bought him home for either a threesome (cos David never had one) or maybe just cuddles cos looks at the sad puppy and doting on Buck.

(what buck doesn't know is that Donovan is Tommy's cousin with a hilarious sense of humor who texted him the very next day to collect his man cos he ain't sharing his daddy with his cousin's ex no matter how pretty he is)

It's not weird at all. I love the idea! And I have two vastly different thoughts for this - lets go with this one for now. (I might have changed it a little bit - but I definitely need that threesome happening sometime still.)

+++

Pick up, idiot.

Calling me names doesn't make me want to talk to you more.

Tommy dropped his phone somewhere on the couch, not really bothering to check where it fell. He was not in the mood for his cousin's antics. His week had been so busy that Tommy was aching in more places than he knew he could. Maybe was is getting too old for this job.

Or perhaps he'd been slacking. Not eating well, not sleeping enough. These days, Tommy is usually good at taking care of himself. A hard-learnt habit, but he'd put in the work.

Not that it mattered now when his mind kept circling back to the rather sweet sentiment of someone saying, 'You don't have to do everything by yourself' and 'I'll take care of you'.

It was a certain someone with those impossibly warm baby blues that Tommy was trying very hard not to think about. (And failing miserably.) He deserved this. After all, he'd been the one to implode what they had.

His phone kept buzzing. After the third or fourth time - which frankly was ridiculous Don, what the fuck, get a life - Tommy hunted it down in the cushions and unlocked it.

Only to almost drop it when he saw the last message was a photo of -

"Hi, cuz," Donovan drawled, sounding deeply satisfied with himself. But Tommy wasn't focused on that at all.

"How do you have a photo of Evan? Is he there with you? Why is he with you?"

"Okay, first of all, ouch, I think I'm insulted-"

"Donovan."

Tommy heard his own voice rise and wondered since his fuse had become this short. Then he remembered that Donovan had always had this way of riling him up. That's why they hadn't talked in months. They'd been fighting about something; Tommy couldn't really remember what it had been about.

"Figured that pic would get you to call me," Donovan said. "No 'Hello, my favourite cousin, how are you doing?' It's nice to hear you, too, you know."

"Don't be mean, Rocker," another voice said in the background, one that Tommy didn't know. Or actually, he might - he'd heard it once before, and now he could remember what the fight had been about. But his focus was somewhere else completely.

"Hi. How are you. It's been too long. I miss you - is Evan okay?"

Donovan laughed at the way only one of those sentences ended in a note high enough to count as a question. Tommy hissed his name again, and finally got a 'yeah, yeah, alright.' before the phone was handed off to -

"Hi," Evan said softly. He sounded like he'd been crying. His sniffeling was hard on Tommy. "Your cousin and his partner are nice."

Tommy couldn't help but scoff. "Maybe they're doppelgängers."

There is a momentary pause, and Tommy is almost certain that the rustling he hears is a bit of a grapple for the phone. But it's still Evan on the other end when the noise dies down.

"I wouldn't know about that," Evan said. "You never mentioned them."

Fuck.

"Evan-"

"So we're back to Evan?"

"Bu-"

"Don't," Evan pleaded. "Just. Don't."

"Want me to go and rough him up a little? I still remember where he lives."

Donovan's offer sounded weak, and Tommy could imagine the way he had probably put a hand on Evan's shoulder. Or his back.

Evan didn't exactly laugh, but it was similar enough. The sound still unravelled something in Tommy's chest.

"Can we talk in person?"

"I'd like that," Evan breathed. "Just maybe not tonight?"

"Of course. Do you want me to text-"

"I'll take over from here," Donovan said, and Tommy vaguely heard the muffled noise of the receiver being covered. He checked his watch, aware that whatever conversation happened on their end took less than a minute, but to Tommy, it felt like ages more.

"You free tomorrow? Wanna come over for lunch?" Donovan asked without any lead-up, startling Tommy a little. "I somehow think you have a bit more of a reason to say 'yes' this time."

Tommy huffed a laugh.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm free," he said. "Is he alright?"

"Are you going to stop being an idiot?"

"Don."

Donovan sighed. "Listen, I know it's not really my place, but I know you, and I can make an educated guess what happened here."

"I don't like you," Tommy groused.

And like the total bastard that he was, Donovan only laughed and responded, "But you love him."

Like that was a normal thing to say. Tommy spluttered.

"Just be here tomorrow at noon, I'll cook" Donovan completely ignored Tommy's rather childish comment, 'You can cook?' and just went on. "And I'll introduce you to Deacon."

"The ominous partner that you wouldn't tell me more about when I asked?"

That was a rather shortened version of the outright shouting match of a phone call that they'd had all those weeks ago. There had been a lot of implications about very different, and Donovan wouldn't even tell him the name of the man who had him all secretive.

It was easy to read between the lines, and perhaps Tommy had been protective in exactly the wrong way. But he'd never been able to help that when it came to Donovan. The only family member that Tommy cared about.

"He just filed for divorce," Donovan told him. Tommy hissed in sympathy, starting to apologize for the whole fight, but Donovan went on: "And you wouldn't believe the things he can do with his tong-"

"Shut up."

Donovan kept laughing at him, and Tommy felt too exhausted to do something about it. And perhaps a little relieved.  

"Noon, you said?"

He might have only imagined it, but Donovan softened a little after that. But he proved he was still an absolute asshole when he yelled out, 'Hey Evan, say goodnight to your daddy,' and like the absolute cheeky brat he was, Evan did just that. (Tommy almost choked on his own spit, but after hanging up, he felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in months.)

[sirhamburrger]

BREAKING NEWS: CHART-TOPPING ARTIST YN LN PUBLICLY DISSES PXG STAR PLAYER AFTER HISTORIC VICTORY AGAINST BASTARD MÜNCHEN?!

after #JusticeForPXG starts to trend on most major social media platforms within a mere two hours, you receive an email from their manager. they… want you to perform before their match against the ubers? for a horrifying moment you’d thought your career might actually end over an offhand comment, but it seems you’ve been thrown a lifeline.

well, so much for that lifeline, because you’re pretty sure you trample all over it and set it on fire when, during your performance item three evenings later, a photo of none other than rin freaking itoshi appears on the big screen -

and the flash of a thousand cameras captures the very moment you roll your eyes in front of ten thousand people. and the whole internet.

you grimace when you step off the pitch and head back to the holding area, still panting from the exertion of the set. as the players stream out from their locker rooms, you brush against someone’s elbow, and as you turn a second later to wish the teams luck, you notice the man of the hour himself staring back at you.

and you really hate that you might care what he thinks about you.

---

“look,” aiku snickers, pointing at the screen in the locker room. “it’s your favourite bm fan.”

“it’s not even that funny.” rin tightens the laces on his cleats a little too aggressively to punctuate his sentence.

but he’s thinking: does she really hate him all that much?

“i’m pretty sure sendou dated her at some point,” karasu chimes in, rather unhelpfully.

“no way,” aiku says dismissively and more than a little seriously. “she’s waaaaay out of his league. she’d have to be blind - or really, really desperate.”

“get out of my player’s head, aiku.” julian loki pulls his jersey over his head, shooting the ex-u20 captain a withering stare. “or is it because you know you don’t stand a chance against us?”

“casse toi!” charles pipes up.

rin groans.

---

pxg wins that evening. you can’t even say you’re surprised - you knew, somehow, that it would turn out like this.

and here’s how the rest of it goes:

you tell yourself you’re going to leave the stadium quietly. slip out before anyone can get another picture of you, before the internet takes your face and pastes it onto another meme.

but fate has a funny way of playing games with you, because when you round the corner leading to the underground parking lot, you walk right into him.

rin itoshi.

you freeze, half because of the collision, half because - well, you’ve never actually been this close to him before. he’s taller than you expected. his hair is damp from the showers, and his stare is impassive, unreadable.

you expect him to be mad, or annoyed, or at the very least, indifferent enough to walk right past you. but instead, he speaks.

"you don’t like me."

it’s not a question.

you could lie, smooth things over, but that would be too easy. and honestly, you’re still annoyed - at the internet, at this whole situation, at the fact that he looks this good after running across a pitch for ninety minutes.

"what gave it away?" you say dryly.

his brow twitches, just the slightest bit. "is it because of pxg?"

you sigh. "no, it’s because i think you’re kind of an ass."

his lips press into a thin line. you expect him to snap at you, but instead, he just studies you - like he’s trying to solve some kind of puzzle.

"fair," he says after a beat, and for some reason, that catches you off guard.

you cross your arms. "that’s it? no defense? no ‘you don’t even know me’ speech?"

"if you think i’m an ass, i probably was." he shrugs, looking away for a second before flicking his gaze back to you. there’s something almost amused in his expression now. "but you still came to perform."

you roll your eyes. "only because your manager begged me to."

"right. had nothing to do with me."

"nothing at all."

he hums, as if he doesn’t quite believe you. as if he can see the way your resolve wavers, just a little, under the weight of his attention.

and you hate that he might be right.

he shifts then, stepping aside, giving you space to leave. but before you do, he says, almost offhandedly, "i don’t hate you, you know."

something about the way he says it makes your stomach flip. or maybe it's the compression shirt. (yeah, it's probably just the compression shirt.)

---

© sirhamburrger 2025

[requiemforthepoets]

the proposal ⟢ FA14

⟢ part four of this time, i’ll love you much better

𖤓 series masterlist ⟢ playlist ⟢ part five ☽

PAIRINGS: fernando alonso x ex-wife!reader

SUMMARY: the twins thought that they have all the time in the world to devise a plan on how they would get you and fernando back together. that is until fernando had told the news to jullianna, prompting to put their plan in motion.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, named character (except for reader), parent trap inspired fic + plot, google translated spanish and french, single dad!nando and single mom!reader (for the time being), evil fiancé, twin switching, inaccuracies with information, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: part four of the series!! i have a lot of things going on, so that’s why it always takes a long time for me to update my series/post new parts to fics. as always, this series is open for taglist, so just comment or message me if you wanted to be tagged, and your comments/reblogs are highly appreciated, i hope you’ll enjoy this new part of the series! :)

The sunlight filtered through the curtains as Jullianna pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail, already dressed in a crisp white tennis outfit. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, adjusting the collar of the polo shirt she wore. Jullianna’s focus, however, was more on the bubbling frustration in her chest. It was not just about the day ahead or the tennis session with Fernando—it was about everything Sofia had dropped into her lap without any warning.

As if on cue, Jullianna’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. She picked it up and saw Sofia’s caller ID flashed on the screen. Narrowing her eyes, she swiped to answer, voice immediately sharp.

“Well, it’s about damn time,” Jullianna began, tone clipped. “I’ve been waiting for you to call, and now you finally do.”

Sofia’s tone was light, almost too casual. “Why good morning to you too, Disney princess. How’s it going?”

“How’s it going? How’s it going?” Jullianna repeated incredulously. “Comment ça va? Vraiment? Tu es sérieusement en train de te moquer de moi?! Sofia, do you have any idea of what you’ve put me through?”

There was a pause on the other end. “What are you even talking about? You know how I can’t understand any of what you’re saying, right?”

“Oh don’t you play innocent with me,” Jullianna snapped. “Karting, Sofia. Karting! You didn’t even bother to tell me how to drive the freaking damn thing! I had to watch youtube videos just to figure out what I was supposed to do. Do you know how embarrassing that was?”

Sofia chuckled nervously. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would be a big deal, papá would’ve helped you.”

“He did,” Jullianna admitted begrudgingly. “But that’s not the point! You could’ve warned me!”

“Fine, I’ll make it up to you,” Sofia said, tone placating. “But seriously, Jules, it’s only karting. You survived, right?”

“Barely,” Jullianna muttered, crossing her arms. “And you’re lucky I did, because I would’ve switched back and made you deal with the mess.”

The line went quiet for a moment, and then Sofia’s voice softened. “I’m sorry, Jules. I didn’t really mean to make things harder for you. I’ll give you all the details next time, okay?”

Jullianna exhaled, some of her frustration easing. “Fine. Alright. But that’s not all we need to talk about.”

“Oh?” Sofia sounded wary. “What now?”

“Stephanie.”

“Stepha-who now?”

“Exactly,” Jullianna said, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “She’s some woman papá had apparently been seeing, and she keeps on coming over to the house like she owns the place. I had to deal with her the other day, and let me tell you, she’s awful.”

Sofia’s voice hardened. “I haven’t heard of her before. When did this start?”

“Eh, probably while we're at camp,” Jullianna said bitterly. “Alejandra told me this woman had been coming around, and from what I’ve seen, she’s trouble. Fake, loud, annoying—you name it, she got it. The worst part? Papá seems completely oblivious to it.”

“Well that doesn’t sound good,” Sofia said. “Keep an eye on that woman. If she’s really as bad as you say, we’ll figure something out. But don’t let that woman get to you, okay? She’s not worth your energy.”

“Easier said than done,” Jullianna muttered.

The twins were so engrossed in their conversation that Jullianna barely registered Fernando calling out for her downstairs. “Sofia! ¡Vamos! It’s time to go!

Jullianna jumped up, glancing at the clock. “I’ve got to go, papá’s waiting for me. We’re going to play a few rounds of tennis.”

“Alrighty. Good luck, Sofia,” Sofia teased.

“Oh shut up.” Jullianna rolled her eyes.

“But seriously though, keep me updated about Stanley.”

“Fia, it’s Stephanie,” Jullianna replied, and Sofia just blew raspberries at her. “And will do. Talk to you later, ugly.”

“Hey! We look just th—” Jullianna ended the call before Sofia could even respond.

Jullianna stuffed her phone into the tennis bag and grabbed Sofia’s tennis racket from where it leaned against the wall, and headed downstairs. Fernando was waiting by the front door, dressed in an equally sporty outfit like Jullianna and holding his own tennis racket.

“Finally,” he said with a smile. “You ready?”

Jullianna nodded with a smile. “Ready.”

The sun was high overhead when Jullianna and Fernando stepped onto the private tennis court—air was warm but pleasant, with a light breeze that rustled the nearby trees. Jullianna adjusted the grip on the racket, movements fluid and confident. Playing tennis was her forté, and it was surely worlds away from the stress and confusion of karting or dealing with unwelcome houseguests like Stephanie.

Fernando took his place on the opposite side of the court, bouncing the tennis ball a couple of times before looking up at Jullianna with a grin. “You ready, chiquita?”

Jullianna smirked. “Yup!”

Fernando laughed, tossing the ball into the and served with precision. The ball zipped over the net, and Jullianna moved quickly, her racket connecting with a satisfying thwack! as she returned the shot.

The rally began, and for the first few minutes, the only sounds were the rhythmic hits of the ball against the racket, quick and hurried footsteps against the clay surface, and the occasional grunt of effort. Jullianna found herself smiling as she played, thoughts drifting briefly to when her and Sofia had shared a match back at camp walden. It was an intense match, filled with playful trash-talking and endless determination to outdo each other.

But then, Fernando broke the silence, tone casual yet curious. “So,” he began, returning a particularly fast shot, “what do you think of Stephanie?”

Jullianna hesitated, her focus briefly faltering before she sent the ball back over the net. “Stephanie?” she repeated, trying to buy herself some time.

“Yes, Stephanie,” Fernando said, voice light but persistent. “You’ve spent some time with her now. I just want to know what you think of her.”

Jullianna tightened her grip on the racket, her mind racing. She couldn’t very well tell him the truth—that she finds Stephanie insufferable, fake, and most certainly not the right woman for Fernando. Instead, she decided to tread carefully, masking her irritation with forced politeness.

“Well,” she began, returning another shot, “she’s…very put-together. Always dressed nicely, very stylish.” she paused, muttering just loudly enough for herself, not my style, though. Mamá’s much better.

Fernando chuckled, clearly amused by Jullianna’s side comment. “So, you think she’s stylish. That’s good to hear, and it seems like you two are getting along.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jullianna murmured, keeping her tone neutral. She didn’t elaborate further, focusing instead on the ball.

Just when Jullianna thought that the conversation about Stephanie is done, turns out that it’s not. Fernando wasn’t done. As the rally continued, his tone shifted slightly, becoming more serious.

“Sofia,” Fernando said, eyes following the ball as it sailed over the net, “I’ve been thinking about the future, and you know that I’m not getting any younger. Sooner or later I’m about to retire soon from Formula 1, and I want to know what you think about Stephanie joining the family.”

Jullianna froze for a split second, the racket nearly slipping from her hands. The words hung in the air, heavy and unmistakable. She knew exactly what he meant, but she decided to play dumb, her voice laced with forced confusion.

“Joining the family? What do you mean, papá? Are you planning to adopt her or something?” Jullianna said jokingly.

Fernando let out a hearty laugh, clearly amused by Jullianna’s sarcasm. “No, chiquita. Not adoption.” he hesitated for a moment before continuing, tone filled with quiet excitement. “What I mean is that I proposed to her.”

The words hit Jullianna like a freight train. For a brief moment, she stood frozen in place, staring at her father as if she had not heard him correctly. Then, as the reality of his statement sank in, something inside her snapped. Jullianna’s next hit was ferocious, with the ball rocketing past Fernando so fast that he barely had time to react. He turned to watch it bounce out of bounds, a look of surprise on his face.

“Wow,” Fernando said with a laugh, jogging to retrieve the ball. “That was quite the shot, eh?”

But Jullianna was not done. Her hits became more aggressive, each one more powerful than the last. She was not just playing tennis anymore, she was channeling all of her anger and frustration into every swing. Fernando was struggling to keep up, missing shot after shot as the intensity of the game escalated.

“Sofia, mi vida,” he called out, tone now tinged with concern. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Jullianna didn’t answer, her jaw clenched, and eyes burning with a mix of anger and betrayal. Finally, after one last blistering shot that Fernando couldn’t even attempt to return, she threw the racket with force—destroying it in the process and turned on her heel.

“Sofia!” Fernando called after her, voice filled with confusion as to why his daughter was acting up. “Where are you going?”

But Jullianna didn’t look back. She walked briskly off the court, chest heaving with unspoken words, and tears of frustration stinging her eyes. When Jullianna reached the front door of the house—still angry and frustrated, she grabbed the handle and turned it open, but in her haste and anger, she twisted it the wrong way. The door didn’t budge.

“¡Por favor!” she hissed, shaking the handle violently.

When it still refused to open, Jullianna growled in frustration, yanking the door with all her strength. Finally, it gave way, and she stumbled inside, muttering to herself. She glanced at the door handle, relieved to see it hadn’t broken. Once inside, she marched into the living room, pacing back and forth, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor.

“Comment peut-il penser que c’est une bonne idée?” she muttered, throwing her hands in the air. “Who even is she? Elle est insupportable!”

Jullianna’s rant alternated between languages—English, French, and Spanish, as her thoughts tumbled out uncontrollably. “He proposed? To her? ¡Dios mío, papá, estás loco!”

She stopped pacing momentarily, pressing her hands to her forehead. “This is not happening. This cannot be happening. I can’t handle this alone, I’m only one kid.”

Lost in her tirade, Alejandra peeks around the corner of the armchair she’s been sitting in with a cup of coffee in her hands. Alejandra initially assumed Sofia was in one of her usual moods, but the erratic pacing and the odd blend of languages caught Alejandra’s attention.

When Jullianna finally turned around, Alejandra cleared her throat gently. “¿Tienes algo que quieras compartir con la clase, mi chica?”

Jullianna froze mid-step, head snapping up—to which she immediately regretted because of the strain of her action. Her eyes widened in shock, the usually composed façade already slipping. Her heart was racing so fast, and quickly straightened her posture, smoothing her tennis skirt and forcing a smile.

“Alejandra! I didn’t see you there, you gave me a fright!” she said, tone overly bright.

Alejandra sat her coffee cup down at the side table, her eyes narrowing slightly as she stood up from the armchair and slowly approached Jullianna.

“You didn’t see me? Gave you a fright? I’ve been sitting here the whole time, chica. You were so lost in your own thoughts, or rather, in frustration, that you didn’t notice.” Alejandra folded her arms, studying Jullianna closely. “¿Qué está pasando? En serio.”

“Nothing, I swear!” Jullianna replied too quickly, smile tightening. “Just…a lot on my mind lately.”

Alejandra tilted her head, gaze sharpening. “¿Seguro que no hay nada de lo que quieras hablarme?” she asked for the second time. “You’ve been acting strange, mi niña.”

“Strange?” Jullianna echoed nervously, the forced smile on her face faltering. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Alejandra took a step closer, expression skeptical. “Sí, extraño. For one, you’re acting too proper—using expressions like you gave me a fright, the way you eat—you barely touch your food now, and even the way you speak sometimes, it’s different. I didn’t even know you speak French.”

Jullianna opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a loss for words. She tried to come up with some silly excuse, anything to divert Alejandra’s growing suspicion, but her mind went completely blank.

“Alejandra,” she trailed off, “I changed a lot over the summer, that’s all.”

Alejandra’s gaze softened, though her tone remained firm. “Si no lo supiera, diría que es casi como si estuvieras…” she paused for a little bit, “Ay dios mío, no importa, eso es demasiado imposible.”

Jullianna hesitated, the weight of the secret she had been carrying threatening to crush her. “Almost as if I were who, Alejandra?”

“Nadie, nadie. Chica tonta, olvida que lo mencioné.” Alejandra chuckled. “Why don’t I make your favorite food, huh? I think that tennis session with your papá had made you hungry.”

Finally, Jullianna sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She couldn’t take it any longer, so she’ll take the chance now. “¿Casi como si fuera Jullianna?”

Alejandra’s eyes widened. “What?” her breath hitched. “You know about Jullianna?”

“I am Jullianna.” Jullianna breathed out.

For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Alejandra stared at her, mouth opening and closing as she’s trying to process what was happening. Then, tears welled up in Alejandra’s eyes.

“¿De verdad eres Jullianna?” Alejandra asked, voice trembling.

Jullianna nodded, her own eyes glistening. “Yes, it’s me.”

Alejandra’s hands flew to her mouth as a sob escaped her. “¡Mi niña!” she cried, rushing forward to embrace Jullianna.

The hug was tight, almost crushing, but Jullianna didn’t mind. She wrapped her arms around Alejandra, feeling an unexpected wave of comfort.

“No puedo creerlo!” Alejandra said through her tears. “The last time I saw and held you, you were just a baby—barely a year old. You and your mother left for France after the divorce. I thought that I would never see you again.”

Jullianna blinked back tears. “I’ve missed you too, Alejandra.”

Alejandra pulled back slightly, cupping Jullianna’s face in her hands. “¡Oh, mírate!” she said, voice filled with awe. “All grown up, but still the same little girl that I used to hold in my arms. But why are you here in Spain? Where is Sofí?”

Jullianna hesitated, unsure how much to more of her and Sofia’s plan she could reveal. “It’s…complicated,” she said finally.

Alejandra nodded, sensing that Jullianna wasn’t ready to share everything just yet. “Alright,” she said gently. “But you have to be careful, mi niña. If your papá finds out—”

“I know,” Jullianna interrupted, voice firm. “That’s why I need you to keep this between us. Please, Alejandra.”

“Of course,” Alejandra nodded. “Haría cualquier cosa por ti.”

Fernando stepped inside of the house, chest heaving as he called out, “Sofia! ¿Dónde estás?” his voice echoed through the house with urgency.

The sounds of Fernando’s footsteps grew louder as he entered the living room, and Jullianna stiffened, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest. Alejandra had sensed the tension, so she placed a comforting hand on Jullianna’s shoulder.

“Está bien,” Alejandra whispered gently. “I’ll leave you two to talk, I’ll be at the kitchen and prepare you some snacks.”

Jullianna nodded, watching as Alejandra quietly exited the living room and headed towards the kitchen. She barely had a moment to collect her thoughts before Fernando appeared in the doorway of the living room, looking left and right for Jullianna. When he saw her, he paused, hands on his hips, exhaling deeply as though trying to steady himself.

“Sofí,” he said softly, tone coaxing. “Come, sit with me, princesa.” Fernando gestured to the couch.

She hesitated but eventually walked over and perched on the edge of the couch, arms crossed defensively over her chest. Jullianna’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor, refusing to meet her father’s eyes.

Fernando sat beside her, leaving a careful distance between them. “Why did you run off like that mi vida?” he asked, voice gentler now.

Jullianna did not respond, jaw tightening.

“Sofía,” Fernando pressed, leaning forward slightly. “I proposed to Stephanie the other night. It was a very special moment for us—”

“Stop. I’m gonna stop you right there,” Jullianna cut in sharply, standing abruptly. The words struck a huge nerve within her, and she could not hold back any longer. “Just stop, papá, please.”

Fernando blinked, surprised by her sudden outburst. “¿Qué te pasa? Why are you acting like this?”

Jullianna turned to face Fernando, eyes blazing with nothing but anger. “Because it is outrageous!” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re marrying her? That woman? Marrying Stephanie?”

He frowned. “And what is so outrageous about that?”

“Oh my god, papá! That woman’s practically young enough to be my sister!” Jullianna shot back, pacing back and forth as her emotions spilled over. “Do you not see how absurd this is? All of it!”

“I never knew you would be reacting like this,” Fernando stood, hands raised in a placating gesture. “Sofía, calm down, por favor. There’s no need to—”

“Je suis calme!” Jullianna shouted like a maniac, clearly not calm at all. She began to switch to French again without even realizing it, her words tumbling out in a torrent. “Comment peux-tu faire ça? As-tu même pensé à ce que cela signifierait pour nous? C’est insensé! Je ne peux pas croire que tu ferais ça. Elle n’est pas la bonne pour toi, papa. Pas du tout!”

Fernando furrowed his eyebrows, stepping in closer towards Jullianna. “What…French? Desde cuándo hablas francés?”

Jullianna stopped pacing, momentarily caught off guard. “I-I um, uh, learned it at camp,” she said quickly, brushing past the question. “But that’s not the point!”

She faced Fernando. Taking a deep breath, she began, voice softening slightly. “I’m sorry for my outburst,” she said, brushing her hair back from her face. “But we need to talk about this rationally.”

Fernando nodded, motioning for her to sit again, but Jullianna preferred standing. “Alright, alright,” he said. “Let’s talk. But in a language we can both understand, por favor mi vida.”

He sighed, patience already visibly thinning. “Sofía, I don’t understand why this is upsetting you so much. Stephanie has been kind to you, hasn’t she? She’s made every effort to—”

“Kind?” Jullianna scoffed, cutting him off. “That’s not the issue, papá. This isn’t about her being nice, this is about you thinking you can just bring someone into our lives and marry them without even considering how it affects everything!”

Feenando’s brows furrowed deeply. “I have considered it. Stephanie is someone I care about, and I thought you would—”

“Well you thought wrong!” Jullianna interrupted, voice rising again. She felt the heat of tears threatening to spill but blinked them back furiously. “You can’t do this, papa. You can’t marry her—or anyone else! It will ruin everything!”

He opened his mouth to respond, but before Fernando could even say a word, Jullianna already turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her tennis shoes squeaking against the floor.

“Sofía!” Fernando called after her, voice tinged with frustration and confusion. But she didn’t stop despite how many times Fernando called out for her.

Jullianna slumped into the St. Anthony’s face-to-face swing, letting her head fall back against the smooth wood. She exhaled sharply, crossing her arms over her chest, still reeling from what she had just learned. Fernando had proposed to Stephanie. Proposed. The word itself made her stomach churn.

This was worse than she and Sofia had imagined. They had time, or so they thought. But now, with a ring on Stephanie’s finger, the entire course of action had been changed—everything was moving too fast. Jullianna and Sofia had to quickly put their plan into motion if they even want to stop this wedding from happening, they need to act now. But there was only one viable solution: they had to get you and Fernando back together.

Jullianna was deep in thought, brainstorming ways to subtly, but not-so-subtly, bring you to Spain or maybe one of his races so that she and Sofia can just push you both back towards each other, when a sudden knock against the wooden frame of the swing had startled Jullianna. Her head snapped up, and saw Stephanie.

“Mind if I join you?” Stephanie asked, voice light and airy, as if she had just wandered into the garden without a care in the world.

Before Jullianna could even answer, Stephanie lowered herself onto the vacant seat of the swing, facing her directly. Jullianna barely stopped herself from grimacing, just looking at Stephanie made her want to barf.

Stephanie clasped her hands together, tilting her head slightly. “I can imagine how surprised you must have been by the engagement news.”

Jullianna forced a tight-lipped smile, words laced with passive aggression. “Oh, shock doesn’t even begin to cover it, honestly.”

Stephanie just chuckled, completely oblivious to the sharp edge in Jullianna’s tone. She relaxed herself on the seat, movements elegant and poised, as if this were just another casual afternoon chat. Forcing herself not to groan, Jullianna braced herself for whatever nonsense Stephanie was about to spew.

“You know,” Stephanie began, leaning slightly forward, “eleven is such a very wonderful age.”

Jullianna arched an eyebrow. What in the actual world does that have to do with any of this?

Stephanie smiled wistfully, as if she was reminiscing about something so precious. “When I was eleven, I had my first beau.” She let out a soft laugh, eyes sparkling with nostalgia.

“It was the first time I really started to feel like a woman.” she sighed dramatically. “That’s when I realized love was this fantastic, exhilarating mystery, one that takes a man and a woman on the most magical journey.”

Jullianna’s hand was tightly gripping the armrest of the swing, jaw now clenched, and resisting the great force of rolling her eyes. Oh, for the love of all things holy. She kept her expression neutral, pretending to listen, but internally, Jullianna was already pulling her hair out and screaming.

Stephanie continued, completely unaware of Jullianna’s growing irritation. “And believe it or not, you’ll understand that feeling soon,” she said with a knowing smile.

Jullianna just stared at Stephanie, fingers curled slightly now against her arms. She was not sure what was more annoying—Stephanie’s patronizing tone, or the fact that she spoke as if she had somehow unlocked the secrets of the universe. She certainly did not want to sit there, listening to this woman yap on about love like she was some kind of modern day Aristotle.

Before Stephanie could continue her sickly sweet monologue about love and magical journeys, Jullianna lifted a hand slightly, cutting Stephanie off.

“You know, I don’t want to sound all jerky or anything, because, from what I can tell, you’re trying really hard to be all mushy and sentimental.” she tilted her head slightly, letting her eyes linger on Stephanie’s with something close to amusement. “And I think I finally got it.”

Stephanie blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Get what, exactly?”

Jullianna leaned forward slightly, lips curling into a knowing smile. “What my papá sees in you.” she continued, voice still laced with that same passive aggressiveness, but now there was something else woven into it—a challenge. “You’re a beautiful woman. Sexy, even, and my papá? Well, he’s only human, after all.”

Stephanie’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out just yet. Jullianna’s smile widened just a little, though her eyes were sharp.

“But if you ask me, marriage is supposed to be based on something more, don’t you agree?” Jullianna let the question hang in the air for a moment before her smile turned almost innocent. “Something more than just…fornication. If you don’t know what fornication is, it means sex.”

Stephanie’s entire expression shifted. Gone was the light, airy persona. Her posture stiffened just slightly, and the sweetness in her eyes dimmed, now replaced with something sharper, something calculated. Jullianna didn’t flinch though, in fact, she was thoroughly enjoying every bit of it.

She smiled, but it was a whole lot different now. “Oh boy, your papá really underestimates you, doesn’t he?”

Jullianna let out a small, breathy chuckle. “Oh?” she mused, cocking her head slightly, as if intrigued. “And you don’t?”

Stephanie studied her closely, lips still curved, but her eyes darkened. Jullianna could feel it now—she was starting to get on Stephanie’s nerves. It was a beautiful sight and symphony for Jullianna. Good. People always tend to overlook her, underestimated her. People would assume that she was just a kid who did not know any better. She liked it that way. Because nothing thrilled Jullianna more than a good challenge, and judging by the way Stephanie was staring her down, she had just found herself a new one.

She then let out a light laugh, though there was no real humor behind it. Stephanie tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just a bit as she studied Jullianna with thinly veiled annoyance.

“So what if I’m young and beautiful?” Stephanie mused, voice airy but carrying an undertone of sharpness. “Last time I checked, being young and beautiful isn’t a crime.”

Jullianna simply raised an eyebrow, keeping her smirk firmly in place, which only seemed to annoy the hell out of Stephanie even more.

“And for the record, I know what fornication means, thank you very much. I love your father, I adore him. Your father is exactly the kind of man I’ve always envisioned myself marrying. This—” she gestured between herself and Jullianna as if making some kind of grand declaration, “is the real deal, honey. Nothing, and I say nothing, is going to come between us.”

Jullianna barely blinked at Stephanie’s words. She just leaned back against the wooden swing, one arm lazily draped over the armrest, completely unbothered, and yawning out of boredom to piss off Stephanie more.

While Stephanie, on the other hand, was growing impatient. She leaned forward slightly, gaze piercing as she said, “you need to understand something, sweetheart. This is the reality now, you have to accept the fact that you’re no longer the only girl in Fernando Alonso’s life. You need to get over it.”

That did it. Jullianna’s lips curled into an even bigger smirk, one that was almost too smug, too knowing. It made Stephanie’s fingers twitch slightly, as if she were resisting the urge to wipe the expression right off her face. She leaned in slightly as well, resting her elbows on her knees as she stared Stephanie down.

“Oh? That’s the reality, huh?” she drawled, voice dripping with amusement.

Jullianna continued, her smirk never wavering. “So, just to be clear that we’re on the same page here, papá’s money has nothing to do with any of this? No part of you thinks that marrying him just so happens to come with a very very comfortable lifestyle?”

Stephanie’s expressions had immediately tightened, but she quickly schooled her features back into something neutral. “Are you insinuating that I’m marrying your father for his money?” she asked, feigning offense, though her voice was just a little too even to be genuine.

Jullianna simply shrugged, the smirk on her face never fading. “I’m not insinuating anything, but if that’s what you think, then feel free to think of such things,” she said innocently, though her eyes were gleaming with mischief. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen this in a film before. I mean, come on, I’ve watched cinderella more times than I can count.”

Stephanie’s brows furrowed slightly, unsure of where this was going. Jullianna sighed dramatically and shook her head. “And if this whole shazam isn’t about money, then great! But personally? I’d rather not end up scrubbing the floors and befriending the neighborhood birds while you have breakfast in bed, smiling down at me from your throne in papá’s house.”

Her entire face stiffened at what Jullianna just said, lips pressing together tightly as the words settled between them. For the first time in their entire conversation, Stephanie had no response at all, and that? That brought nothing but pure, unadulterated joy.

However, Stephanie’s entire demeanor changed the moment Jullianna’s words sank in. Her perfectly poised expression faltered, just for a second, before her brows furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. It was the exact reaction that Jullianna had been hoping for. She had successfully gotten under Stephanie’s skin, and now? Now she was really starting to see the cracks in the woman her father wanted to marry.

Stephanie inhaled sharply, composing herself before leaning forward again, but this time, her face was mere inches from Jullianna’s. She locked eyes with her, the intensity of her gaze enough to make most people shrink under the pressure. But not Jullianna.

“You are unbelievably out of line, jovencita,” Stephanie said in a low voice, tone dripping with controlled frustration.

Jullianna simply blinked up at her, her smirk never faltering. Stephanie exhaled through her nose, clearly trying to keep herself from snapping. Then, with slow precision, she spoke, enunciating each word carefully.

“Listen to me, and you listen good,” she began, voice dangerously soft. “I’m marrying your father whether you like it or not. So if I were you, I’d quit playing whatever little game you think you’re playing and stay out of my way.”

Jullianna raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly as if contemplating Stephanie’s words, but said nothing. Stephanie leaned more closer, voice dropping even more lower.

“You are way in over your head, sweetheart,” she continued, tone carrying a hint of condescension. “So I suggest you don’t tangle yourself up in things you clearly don’t understand.”

There was a heavy pause. Stephanie studied Jullianna’s face, waiting for some kind of reaction, for her to look intimidated, or at least acknowledge the warning, and Stephanie took Jullianna’s silence as an agreement, she leaned back on the swing, arm draping over the armrest.

Instead, Jullianna just smiled. Not a polite smile, not a nervous smile. But a slow, teasing, infuriating smirk. Then, she shrugged, Stephanie’s eye twitching. Before the woman could say another word, Jullianna stood up, stretching slightly as if this whole conversation had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience for her. Without a warning, she bent down so that she was now the one at Stephanie’s eye level.

“Je comprends parfaitement, Cruella.” she said smoothly. Stephanie blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

Jullianna smiled again, that same mischievous, knowing grin that had been pushing all of Stephanie’s buttons. Then, because Jullianna was still eleven after all, and feeling particularly childish, she blew raspberries right in Stephanie’s face, wherein the woman recoiled, visibly appalled. Jullianna giggled, straightening up before giving her soon-to-be stepmother a playful wink.

“Au revoir, Stéphanie,” she said cheerfully.

Jullianna turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the woman completely dumbfounded.

taglist : @qghosty , @seonghwaexile , @linnygirl09 , @tallrock35 , @madnesstaking0ver , @akulici , @scopeiguess , @ferakillia , @exactlycoralfox , @iambored24601 , @mx13sworld , @tibadi , @chainsawangel

[prettylilyanime]

Our Blessing ♡ Chapter 01

♡ Pairing: Toji Zenin x reader

♡ Synopsis: in which your ex boyfriend left you with your biggest blessing in life, or- a bundle of a blessing. And he doesn’t even know it.

♡ tags/warnings: 18+, (explicit content in later chapters) angst, and drama, exes to lovers, hidden baby trope, Toji is an asshole (but we love him), Reader just wants to raise Megumi in peace, CEO Toji, possessive Toji, emotionally constipated Toji, Tension, misunderstandings, Flashbacks to past relationship, Heavy themes of abandonment, trust issues, and redemption, baby Megumi is a cutie, Megumi is a mama’s boy, reader works at a flower shop, Hidden Baby Trope

♡ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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Your apartment is quiet when you step inside, the familiar scent of lavender and something faintly sweet—maybe the remnants of the candle you blew out this morning—wrapping around you like a blanket.

It’s small, but warm, filled with little touches of comfort: thick knit blankets draped over the couch, a few potted plants thriving near the window, the soft glow of afternoon light spilling through sheer curtains.

The tension in your shoulders eases, if only slightly.

Megumi trails behind you, rubbing at his eyes with tiny fists, the weight of a full belly and the lull of the afternoon already making him drowsy. You bend down, gently guiding him toward his bedroom.

Megumi’s room is as cozy as the rest of the apartment—small but carefully put together, a space filled with warmth and the little things that bring him comfort.

“Let’s get you ready for a nap, honey.” Your voice is quiet, soothing, and the small smile on your lips is all the encouragement Megumi needs. Without complaint, he toddles over to his dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer where his pajamas sit neatly folded.

You crouch beside him, running a hand over his soft hair before holding up two options. “Which one do you want today?”

He barely hesitates before tapping the set covered in tiny black and white puppies on a blue fabric. His favorite.

A warm shower later, he’s clean and bundled up in his pajamas, the scent of lavender baby shampoo still clinging to him. By the time you carry him to bed, his head is already lolling against your shoulder, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt.

You pull back the covers, lowering him gently onto the mattress.

He flops onto the pillows with a contented sigh, blinking up at you with heavy eyelids as you tuck the blankets around him. His hair is still damp, and you smooth it back with gentle fingers, savoring the quiet moment.

Then his little brows furrow.

“Mama,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. “That guy looked weird.”

Your stomach clenches. You hesitate, already suspecting exactly who he means.

“What guy, baby?”

“The one with the white hair.” Megumi yawns, wiggling deeper into his pillow. “He looked funny.”

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to keep your expression light, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Mm, some people just look different, sweetheart. Now close your eyes, okay?”

You wish you could laugh, really. Because of course Megumi thinks Satoru looked weird.

Your son—sweet, thoughtful, but undeniably blunt—had inherited an unshakable judgmental streak from his father. And if that weren’t enough, well… Toji always gave Satoru shit for his hair too.

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face.

The sheer luck—no, the sheer misfortune—of almost running into them after all these years makes your stomach churn. The whole encounter had probably shaved a decade off your life!

You could still feel the phantom weight of anxiety pressing against your chest, the way your breath had hitched the moment you spotted them.

They hadn’t even looked in your direction, too preoccupied with ordering their takeout before rushing off, long strides carrying them away before you could even process what was happening. But the what-ifs claw at you now, twisting in your gut.

What if they had seen you? What if they had noticed Megumi?

A shiver runs down your spine, and you force yourself to exhale, slow and steady.

Megumi, at least, had been completely oblivious—munching on his pizza without a care in the world, kicking his little feet under the table like nothing was wrong.

Watching him had been the only thing grounding you in that moment, the only thing keeping you from spiraling into full-blown panic.

Because at the end of the day, he’s your world.

No, he doesn’t have a mountain of toys or the biggest bedroom, the kind of life he could’ve had if his father had been around, but what he does have is love. Endless, unconditional love. And that, you remind yourself, is what truly matters.

Your heartbeat slows as you watch him now, tucked into bed, his breathing even and deep. His little chest rises and falls under the soft weight of his blanket, long lashes fluttering once before settling.

He’s asleep. Safe.

Leaning over, you press a gentle kiss to his chubby cheek, lingering just a second longer than usual. Then, with slow, careful movements, you stand, turning off the main light and slipping out of the room, pulling the door closed behind you.

The moment you’re alone in the quiet of your living room, it finally hits you.

Satoru and Suguru. After all these years... really?

You stand there for a long minute, your thoughts racing.

What if they had noticed you and Megumi but just chose not to say anything?

No, impossible. If there was one thing you knew for sure about Satoru Gojo, it was that he was a blabbermouth.

If he’d recognized you, there was no way he wouldn’t have marched right up to you, a cocky grin in place, and demanded an explanation. Suguru, though—he always had more restraint, more control. He might’ve seen, might’ve pieced things together, and simply kept quiet.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the feeling creeping up your spine. Maybe a bath would help.

Determined to wash the tension from your body, you head to the bathroom, stepping into the small, shared space you and Megumi make do with. The clean white tiles are cool beneath your feet, and the soft grey bathtub sits at the end of the room, partially hidden by a shower curtain decorated with Megumi’s favorite cartoon characters.

You can’t help but smile a little as you take in the mess of bath toys still scattered around the tub—small rubber animals and plastic boats bobbing in the leftover water droplets from Megumi’s earlier bath.

It’s a familiar sight, a quiet reminder of the little life you’ve built together.

With practiced ease, you scoop them up, placing them into their designated basket before stepping back to take in the tiny, shared space. The bathroom is small but warm, the soft glow from the overhead light casting a golden hue against the clean white tiles.

Megumi’s favorite towel, a faded blue one with little stars along the edges, hangs neatly by the sink.

The air still carries the faintest trace of his shampoo, a gentle mix of lavender and chamomile that always seems to linger after bath time.

Your world truly revolves around this little boy. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Turning the faucet, the tub begins to fill, steam rising in delicate wisps as the water gushes down. The sound is soothing, steady, a white noise that drowns out the rest of your thoughts. You pull your clothes off slowly, the cool air prickling against your skin before you step in, letting the hot water swallow you whole.

A sigh slips from your lips as you sink lower, the tension in your shoulders beginning to ease, the weight in your chest—though not gone—momentarily bearable.

Finally, finally, you can breathe.

Or at least act like you can.

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Time moves the way it always does—too fast when you want to savor it, too slow when you want to forget. Before you know it, the leaves in your neighborhood start to orange, the once stifling summer air turning crisp and cool.

And today—today is Megumi’s first day of kindergarten.

Much to your own embarrassment, your five-year-old is handling it with far more grace than you ever could.

You had stayed up late the night before, carefully ironing his tiny uniform—the crisp white academy polo and little navy shorts (that, to your horror, actually made you tear up a little).

You’d hung them neatly on his door, ready for the morning, and now here you are, holding him close, lingering longer than necessary as you send a sheepish smile to his teacher over his shoulder.

She returns it with understanding warmth, the kind that tells you she’s seen this a hundred times before—mothers reluctant to let go, children ready to run headfirst into something new.

“I’ll pick you up later, honey,” you murmur, smoothing his hair down even though it doesn’t need it. “Have fun, and eat your lunch, okay? Don’t just eat the brownie I put in there.”

“There’s a brownie?!” His wide-eyed excitement makes you want to laugh—and cry a little, too.

Oh, great.

You press a kiss to his forehead, inhaling the faint, familiar scent of his shampoo. Then, after taking a million pictures (all now safely stored in a newly created Megumi’s First Day! album on your phone), you finally let him go, watching as he disappears into a classroom filled with other pint-sized kids just beginning their lives.

And just like that, he’s off.

The commute to your storefront is quick, the gentle rocking of the train lulling you into a rare moment of peace. You spend the ride scrolling through all the pictures you took this morning, smiling to yourself.

God, he’s so cute. His backpack is almost bigger than him!

By the time you arrive, sliding your key into the glass door of your little shop, you find yourself slipping back into the rhythm of your usual day, letting the comfort of routine settle over you like a well-worn sweater.

For the first few weeks after seeing your former friends, paranoia sat heavy in your bones. Every knock at the door made your stomach twist, every unexpected phone call sent a jolt of nerves through your system.

You had half-convinced yourself that any day now, Satoru would show up with some smug grin and a stack of custody papers lined up on your kitchen table. (You realize you might be a little dramatic.)

But there’s been nothing. Silence. No sign of them.

It’s almost enough to lull you into a false sense of security.

Almost.

Because right now, standing in the quiet of your small shop, head down as you sweep away scattered bits of dust and stray plant clippings, the door swings open with a soft jingle of the bell.

You don’t think much of it at first, glancing up with a ready smile to greet whoever’s walked in—

Only for that smile to drop instantly.

Your grip tightens on the broom, fingers curling around the wooden handle as your breath catches.

Suguru Geto stands at the entrance.

The glass door swings shut behind him, sealing him inside your cozy, cramped little shop. And suddenly, the space that’s always felt like a safe haven—filled with soft greenery, shelves lined with ceramic pots, the faint scent of soil and fresh blooms—feels suffocatingly small.

He doesn’t step forward. Just stands there, tall and unmoving, his presence filling the entire room like a shadow stretching across the floor. He’s older, leaner, his dark hair longer than the last time you saw him.

For a long moment, neither of you speak.

Then, finally—

“Hi, Y/N.”

His voice is steady, calm, like this is a normal conversation, like he hasn’t just ripped open a wound you were desperately trying to ignore.

You don’t answer. Your lips part slightly, brows furrowing as you stare at him in stunned silence.

Suguru exhales, glancing around the shop before meeting your gaze again. “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

You swallow, gripping the broom so hard your knuckles ache.

“I saw you the other day, a few weeks ago on my lunch break,” he continues, voice softer now, like he’s offering you a moment to process. “Satoru hadn’t noticed, but I did.”

Your stomach twists.

You knew it.

Your intuition had been screaming at you ever since that day, whispering that something felt off. That feeling of eyes lingering a second too long, the way your skin had prickled with unease. You had hoped you were just being paranoid. That maybe, just maybe, you had been lucky enough to slip away unnoticed.

But Suguru saw you.

And now, here he is.

“Oh.”

You want to laugh at yourself. Because oh? Really? That’s all you can come up with? Out of everything rushing through your mind—panic, anger, the crushing weight of memories—your grand response is oh?

Suguru’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes searching yours as if he’s waiting for something more. An invitation. A reaction.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, his voice quieter now, like he’s treading carefully. “I wouldn’t have come and bothered you if I hadn’t seen—I know we all broke communication on rough terms.”

Your heart twists violently in your chest.

We? We broke communication?

That’s almost funny. Almost.

Because you didn’t break a damn thing.

They did.

Toji did.

Suguru shifts slightly, exhaling as if trying to steel himself before continuing. “I just saw… the boy.”

The words hit you like a stone, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Your throat tightens, eyes instantly burning as you take a step back, as if physical distance will make this moment any less real.

"Don't tell Toji."

Suguru’s brows shoot up, stunned at how fast you react. “Y/N, are you joking?”

“No, are you joking?” You snap, heat rushing through your veins as your grip on the broom tightens. “You’re not about to walk into my life and ruin absolutely everything I’ve built in the last five years, are you serious?!”

He flinches slightly, but his stance remains firm. “Y/N, that’s his child too—”

Your vision blurs with fury, your breath coming short. You've always hated how easily your anger turns to tears, and now is no exception.

"Well, I thought so too," you spit, voice cracking, "And then after a year of begging and begging and looking like a fucking idiot to you people, I gave up. I gave up on Toji being a father."

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Suguru’s jaw clenches, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. Pity? Regret? Guilt?

You don’t care.

“I didn’t come here to argue with you,” he finally says, his voice level, steady, frustratingly calm. “I just—I saw you. I saw him. And I had to know.”

“Well, now you do.” Your voice is sharp, cutting. “So what now, huh? You gonna run off and tell him? Let Toji swoop in and play dad for five minutes before he disappears again?”

Suguru sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "I don’t know what you think this is, but I’m not your enemy, Y/N.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “That’s funny. You sure felt like one when I was begging for help back then and none of you even looked at me."

Suguru flinches. Just barely. But you see it.

And for a brief second, you wonder—if you just stood there, silent, would he finally say what you've wanted to hear for years?

An apology? An explanation?

Something?

Suguru exhales, running a hand through his dark hair, fingers threading through the strands like he’s trying to ground himself. His hesitation is palpable, lingering in the charged air between you. Finally, he speaks.

“Toji doesn’t know. And I—” His voice falters, his expression shifting with something unreadable—guilt, regret, uncertainty. “I won’t be the one to tell him.”

Your breath catches.

You should feel relieved.

Should.

But instead, something inside you twists, sharp and aching, like fingers pressing into an old wound that never fully healed. The audacity of it—of him.

Does this motherfucker actually expect you to be the one to tell Toji?

Your fingers tighten around the broom handle, your knuckles whitening as you hold onto something, anything, to keep yourself from shaking.

“My son is happy.” The words come out steady, but there’s a rawness to them, an unspoken warning in the way they cut through the air.

“We’re okay on our own. I moved on with my life. And now you walk in here, acting like I’m supposed to be the good guy? Like it’s my responsibility to reach out to that man and tell him what he left behind?”

Suguru flinches. It’s barely there, just a flicker in his expression, but you catch it. And it’s enough to make your blood boil.

“If he cared—even a little, even in the smallest, most pathetic way—he would have called me back,” you continue, your voice tightening with every word.

“Just once. Not to fix anything, not to make promises—just to acknowledge me. To listen. To give a damn.”

Your breath is uneven now, your chest rising and falling a little too quickly.

The weight of it all—the years of silence, the gut-wrenching nights spent waiting by the phone, the way hope had rotted inside you until it was nothing but a husk—it presses against your ribs, suffocating.

“How long was I supposed to chase after him, huh? Forever?”

You scoff, shaking your head, exhaustion creeping into your voice. It feels like you’ve carried this pain for so long that it’s settled into your very bones, an ache that never quite dulls, no matter how much time has passed.

Suguru, to his credit, does look genuinely remorseful. His brows knit together, lips parting slightly like he wants to say something—to explain, to defend, to fix—but he doesn’t. Because he knows.

He knows there’s nothing he can say that would make up for the years of nothingness. The way you had to scrape yourself back together, piece by piece, until you could stand on your own again. The way you had to build a life without the person who swore he’d always be there.

Instead, Suguru just stands there, hands in his pockets, regret shadowing his face.

And somehow, that only makes you angrier.

It isn’t really his place to bear the brunt of your frustration, but hell, he’s the first and only person from your past to show up in five years.

And even though you know this anger is misplaced—that Suguru, despite everything, is not the one who truly shattered you—you can’t stop yourself.

Because he should be standing there. Not Suguru.

Toji.

Your first love. Your one true love.

The one who broke your heart in ways you don’t think you’ll ever recover from.

He’s the one who should be standing in front of you—drowning in guilt, burdened with regret, crushed under the weight of what he did. Not fucking Suguru.

You scoff, the bitterness settling like acid on your tongue. This entire conversation feels like a slow unraveling of wounds you’ve spent years stitching closed. And you’re tired—so tired.

“Suguru.” You exhale, gripping the broom just a little tighter, as if it might somehow keep you steady.

“I get why you’re here. He’s your friend, after all. And I appreciate you not telling him about my son. I really do.” Your voice stays level.

“But please… I’ve built a good life for myself. A nice life. I don’t need anybody affiliated with Toji coming back into it.”

The words hang between you, heavy and unmoving.

Suguru studies you for a long moment, and to his credit, he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t try to convince you otherwise or play devil’s advocate. Instead, he gives a slow, understanding nod, slipping a hand into his pocket.

“If you ever change your mind,” he says quietly, holding out a small, folded piece of paper.

You hesitate before taking it, the weight of it feeling much heavier than a simple scrap of paper should.

“It’s Toji’s new number.” His voice is unreadable, careful. “Whatever you decide to do… I’m sure it’ll be what’s best. For your son.”

You stare down at the numbers, scrawled in hurried, slanted writing.

Toji’s number.

A part of you wants to rip it in half right then and there, let the pieces fall to the floor like the remnants of the life you once had with him. But instead, you close your fingers around it, pressing the paper into your palm as if doing so will somehow keep your emotions in check.

“…Thanks,” you murmur, though you’re not sure why. Maybe because Suguru doesn’t deserve your anger. Maybe because, despite everything, he did come here.

Suguru gives you one last look—something almost unreadable in his dark eyes—before he exhales and steps back.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says simply.

You nod. You don’t stop him as he turns toward the door.

But even as the door swings shut behind him, even as the silence settles back in, the paper in your palm burns.

How has the day only just started?

⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖

The hours blur together after Suguru leaves. You spend an embarrassing amount of time sitting in the back room of your shop, staring at that stupid piece of paper like it holds some kind of power over you.

It doesn’t.

It’s just a series of numbers.

Just a string of digits that you could crumple, toss, burn, and never think about again.

And yet…

You exhale sharply, shaking your head as you finally push yourself up from your chair. The day continues whether you like it or not, and soon enough, it’s time to pick up Megumi from school.

The crisp autumn air nips at your skin as you walk, the leaves swirling at your feet in shades of orange and gold.

The routine of it, the normalcy, helps ground you. By the time you’re home, the weight of that conversation—the lingering ache of Suguru’s words—is pushed into the back of your mind.

At least, for now.

Megumi is curled up on the couch, his small body swaddled in blankets as an old Scooby-Doo movie plays on the TV.

His dark hair is tousled from the wind, his little head resting comfortably on your lap. The scent of warm dinner still lingers in the air, mixing with the faint floral notes clinging to your clothes.

It’s peaceful.

This is the life you built. Simple, steady, good.

"Mama, school was lame,” Megumi suddenly grumbles, breaking the silence. He shifts slightly, turning up to look at you with those big, expressive green eyes. “Mrs. Ito asked me if I knew my colors and if I could count to ten. Do I look dumb to her?"

You bite down a laugh, brushing your fingers through his messy hair. "I'm glad you're advanced, Megumi, but some classmates are at different levels,” you remind him gently.

"But don't worry, you definitely look like the smartest boy to me."

He huffs, rolling his eyes in a way that’s so Toji it makes your chest tighten. But he doesn’t argue, just shifts a little closer, cheek smushing against your thigh as his slow, sleepy blinks return to the TV.

The evening passes quietly.

Megumi is full, warm, safe—his homework is done, his little body relaxed against yours, the glow of the screen casting soft shadows across the room. You let yourself sink into it, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the comfort of this moment.

Life is good. You are good.

So why is there a hollow ache sitting in your chest?

Why does your mind drift to him?

You thought you were past this. You thought you had moved on, buried all those feelings so deep they couldn’t possibly resurface.

You spent months—pregnant, alone, suffering—promising yourself that you would never let him have that power over you again! That you would never waste another second longing for someone who left you behind.

But now, now—all it takes is a name.

His name. A scrap of paper with his number scribbled in someone else’s handwriting. The knowledge that somewhere out there, he exists still.

And suddenly, just like that, he’s in your head again.

Would he be proud of Megumi for being one of the smartest kids in his class? Would Megumi curl up against him like this, the same way he always finds his way into your arms?

You inhale sharply, forcing the thoughts down before they can settle too deep.

It doesn’t matter.

It can’t matter.

Because Toji isn’t here.

And you’re not sure you could handle it if he ever came back.

[pascalislove]

The Call: Han Jeong-Won x Fem Reader!!~2

Summary: Your arrival would change everything, even if Jeong-Won didn't know it yet.

The New Marriage meeting room was impeccably decorated, with elegant sofas and large windows that let in the soft afternoon light. Y/N arrived early, nervous but determined. Loki was left at home, probably tearing apart his favorite cushion while she prepared for one of the strangest meetings of her life.She smoothed out the simple blue dress she was wearing and took a deep breath.

—One year. Just one year, Y/N. You can do this, right? —she whispered to herself. Before he could completely calm his thoughts, the door opened with a sharp click. Han Jeong-Won entered with confident steps, dressed in an impeccable black suit that highlighted his slender but imposing figure. His expression was cold, and his dark eyes barely bothered to look directly at her. “You must be Y/N,” he said bluntly, his tone dripping with disdain. Y/N jumped to her feet, extending her hand with a natural smile. “Yes, nice to meet you, Mr. Han.” He looked at her outstretched hand as if it were a nuisance and sat down without shaking it. —Don't waste time on unnecessary formalities. This is just business, not a romantic date. Y/N's heart faltered at the shock of those words, but she kept her smile intact. -Understood. —She sat in front of him, crossing her legs elegantly—. —What exactly do you expect from this contract? —Jeong-Won leaned back on the couch, watching her with a mixture of annoyance and distrust. Don't interfere in my life. I need you for social events, business meetings and occasionally to show my ex-wife that I am happy. Other than that, I don't want unnecessary questions or conversations. —Y/N blinked, surprised by the coldness of his tone. I had expected him to be reserved, but this bordered on rude. "It sounds simple," he replied with a forced smile. Although if we're going to pretend we're happy, maybe we should get to know each other a little, don't you think? —Jeong-Won gave a dry, humorless laugh. —Know each other? Don't make me laugh. I don't need to know you to pretend.Just do what I ask and everything will be fine. —Y/N felt her patience begin to wane, but she reminded herself why she was there: the money. That contract could solve many of their problems. “Very well, Mr. Han.” His tone was firm but still polite. I hope this is a mutually beneficial arrangement. Jeong-Won looked at her for a long moment, as if assessing whether she could stand his presence for a year. —That remains to be seen. He stood up without saying goodbye and left the room, leaving Y/N with a mix of disbelief and defiance shining in her eyes. —“Wow,” she muttered to herself as she picked up her bag. I think I just met the most insufferable human on the planet. But Y/N wasn't the type to give up easily. If Han Jeong-Won thought he could scare her with his icy attitude, he was very wrong.

Habrán notado que no sigo la trama de la serie, díganme si les gusta🫶 Diganme si quieren que los etiquete en la siguiente parte.

THE CALL MASTERLIST

[sylus-little-meow-meow]

The Sleepover: Part 3

She's back with Sylus again.

But it's that day. 

The day she finally decided to end things. 

He's standing in “their” room, his gaze distant, like always and that's something she could never change no matter how many times she tried.

She could wear the most gorgeous gowns or a potato sack and he'd simply give her a once over and a non committal “you look lovely” before he went back to whatever he was doing, his gaze never lingering. 

He's changing out of his robe and into something more befitting of a leader. 

She's never even seen him in casual wear. 

Sylvia: Sylus?

Sylus: Yes, kitten?

He doesn't look in her direction, doesn't note the shift in her tone.

Sylvia looks at her fingers.

Sylvia: You're never going to love me in the way I do you, are you?

The man freezes on the spot, his fingertips hovering over a black button down before he withdraws his hand.

Sylus: Where is this coming from all of a sudden?

Sylvia gives a laugh, but it's hollow just like this entire relationship.

Sylvia: You're dancing around the question. You don't want to answer it, do you?

Sylus: Kitten—

He turns around but she slips off of the bed, fighting back tears as she yanks off the shit she tried using to impress Sylus in the bedroom, the see through nightgown about as appetizing to him as a box  of  stale crackers. 

She's biting her lip so hard it's almost bleeding.

What's worse?

Having an ex so obsessed with you to the point they'd kill one of the most precious people in your life?

Or one who doesn't care at all?

Granted, at least with Sylus she'd still have her older sister. 

But she doesn't have either because her love life is a mess and every man she chooses is just…

She shouldn't feel hurt towards Sylus. 

This is nothing in comparison to what she went through, but the frustration of him agreeing to date her despite the fact he probably knew he'd never love her is too much.

Because she loves him.

Right down to her core she knows she's fallen in love with him.

And that's why she needs to let him go.

This will always be one sided and it's become clear there's someone else out there he's looking for.

She can see it in the way his gaze sweeps over every destination, like some part of him is missing and maybe he thought it was her once upon a time, but now they both know better.

It isn't her.

So she goes to the closet, moving him out of the way as she begins to collect her things.

Her jaw is clenched and her eyes are hard. 

Outwardly she'll show anger, yet on the inside she's crying for him to stop her.

For some small part of him to care.

Sylus: What are you doing, kitten?

Sylvia: Nothing you need to worry about. I'm done here. This was fun, but I think it's time we cut things off. 

Sylus looks down at her.

She internally pleads for him to hold her back, to lightly grab her wrist, to ask her to stop what she's doing but he doesn't.

Instead he steps back.

Sylus: If that's what you truly want, kitten.

Her hand pauses.

Sylvia: If you really think this is what I want you should go fuck yourself. 

She yanks the last piece of clothing off the hanger and spins towards him, the tears threatening to spill over, but she won't allow them to because Sylus doesn't deserve her vulnerability.

Sylvia: I wanted love and I wanted a partner. You've made it clear you don't want to act as either of those for me. You're not even present in this relationship.

Sylus stares at her, the quiet expanding between them and her outburst.

There's not even a flair or hint of emotion in his eyes. 

She wants to cry. 

She wants to scream.

She wants to throw something just to get him to react to her presence at all. 

But she doesn't.

Instead she stalks past him, her gaze trained forward, eyes on a door that will open and shut for the very last time.

Sylvia: Send me the rest of my things when you get the chance. Try not to forget because I know half the time you forgot I was even your girlfriend. Have a nice life, Sylus.

She says and then slams the door behind her.

When she sees Mephisto, she ducks her head to hide oncoming tears.

It's over.

They're done. 

The memory turned dream fades as a cool hand brushes against her forehead. 

Sylvia: Sylus…?

She murmurs, nuzzling her face into that same hand, pressing it more into her cheek with her own.

Sylvia: Did you come back for me…?

Her voice cracks, tears seeping through her closed eyes.

She buries her face into his palm. Did he finally see her after all this time?

The voice doesn't say anything, but the hand tries pulling away and Sylvia clings tighter, not wanting to let go of this one small gesture. 

Sylvia: Don't go. 

Sylvia: Please. 

She sounds pathetic, pleading like this, but she can't help it. 

If he's here now, even if this is a dream, she doesn't want to let him go. She wants him to stay.

She's completely forgotten that Sylus already moved on with another.

All she knows is that one small gesture from Sylus proving that their time meant something to him would mean everything to her. 

Sylvia: Don't go.

She says again and feels the hand shift, no longer trying to pull away and her body relaxes as a second one brushes the hair out of her face.

They're surprisingly gentle. 

Caring. 

She manages to slip into a peaceful sleep, feeling the hands of someone who cares about her.

                        ************************************

Felix awoke to the sounds of Sylvia calling out in her sleep.

He got up off the couch and found her tangled up in her bedsheets, her face flushed and beads of sweat trickling into her hairline.

Did she feel sick?

Did she need to throw up?

He approached her and gently touched her cheek.

Then he heard a name.

Sylvia: Sylus…?

She said it so quietly, her voice cracking at the last syllable.

Felix stiffened and attempted to pull away, not wanting to confuse her if she fully woke up.

But she held fast.

She asked Sylus to stay.

And it killed Felix that it wasn't him she was asking, but some other man.

He swallowed his pride, ducking his head as he warred with himself, wondering if there was even a right choice.

In the end, the hopeful expression on Sylvia's face—her eyes still closed—made him shift closer and brush the strands of hair off of her forehead with gentle finger tips. 

She relaxed then, a content smile finding its way to her lips. 

Felix didn't leave until he knew she was fully asleep.

She didn't need to wake up and have her dreams crushed when she realized it was him.

Felix goes to leave, but pauses at the doorway, looking back at Sylvia, her silver hair mussed, her face clear of makeup which softens her features.

It's looking at her that Felix realizes Sylvia wasn't the only one in this room with an unrequited love, wondering what it would be like if Sylvia looked at him like she did with Sylus.

He'll probably never know.

He won't ask that of her.

She's got more on her plate than just a man who didn't return her feelings.

So he gently shuts the door behind him and pads over to the couch, lying in wake for the rest of the night.

[frownyalfred]

will dan the alpha be in the ninth wave? there is no OC tag but there are mentions of him in some of your coral posts. i got around to reading the side stories and i like him! dan is chill and wouldn't restrict lex from being himself (active menace to society) but assertive enough that he wouldn't let lex get lost in the worst of his self destructive tendencies.

the discrepancy between sleezy omega billionaire, ex arkham asylum inmate, domestic terrorist who made a machiavellian plan to kill superman using batman and A Normal Guy is so funny to me. when dan found out he knotted lex goddamn luther in the woods he probably experienced emotions previously only felt by shrimp. sorry king your life is going to get so much more complicated.

imagine being the only normal guy in a pack with bruce wayne who moonlights as Batman, an alien with godlike abilities whose secret identity is a pair of glasses and a slouch, the former robin who came from the dead with anger issues, lex luther who thinks treason is a fun friday night out, and alfred. also you live in gotham. someone hand him a drink.

Funny you should mention that! I was just working on a few scenes where I had the possibility of slotting Dan the Alpha in, but I keep going back and forth on if he should be in the ninth wave or not. I think he should, and it would add some complexity to later on in the plot (mwahahaha) but I know people are a little wary of OCs, especially if they didn't read the side story with Dan in it.

But yeah, poor Dan. I'm not even sure he fully realizes what he's gotten into, since he doesn't know who his client is (he only talks to Alfred, after all) and he didn't even recognize Lex's name. He just knows they're an odd, tightly-knit pack who are a little (lot) reclusive and have some strong dynamics at play. The more he learns/realizes, the more he just shakes his head and tries to be useful.

I agree with you that he's well-matched to Lex, in that he isn't going to get in Lex's way but he will still be a moderating influence in the craziness. I don't think Lex could be with any alpha who wasn't like that, or wasn't deferential like Clark and Dan both are.

[crescenthistory]

Hi sweetest angel❤️it's me again although I already asked for the interpret of your 2k event and I LOVED SO MUCH❗️❗️...maybe can I ask for an Argue too? 🥺

I was going through your event and when I saw the List B and my eyes landed on the prompt 4 Coffee Shop AU I instantly thought of Regulus🤷‍♀️How could anyone blame me?? I love everything you write and if is for Regulus I'm down bad🤭

Anyway congratulations once again my angel❤️You deserve and I'm sure you'll achieve even more cause you just write works of art❗️❗️ I love you so much big hugs❤️

you could probably ask me for anything and i'd give it to ya di — regulus coffee shop au coming right up <33 a bit of a unique take on it, but still

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 4 "coffee shop au" with regulus black

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: fem!reader, non-compliant wizarding war, (implied) exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, making up post-war, open ending

wc: 1.1k

If you had told Regulus Black five years ago that he would be working in a muggle coffee shop on the outskirts of Edinburgh, he would have scoffed in your face.

Had you told him ten years ago, he might have burst into tears.

Today, though, all he felt about it was a monotone neutrality about this new reality of his, in addition to a little ache in his heels from standing upright eight hours a day five days a week.

A nagging voice in the back of his head kept murmuring about how that pain is the least of what he can shoulder, but he tried to push it away – not out of disagreement, but exhaustion. Carrying guilt tires out your bones and Regulus must admit his had already been weary. After the stunt him and his friends pulled with the horcruxes, they were lucky to be alive in the first place. Not to mention to be free, at least as far as the Ministry was concerned.

Though for the time being, his elusive group of reformed purebloods turned war heroes were scattered all over the country as top notch aurors – regretfully including his brother and his brother's friends – hunted down the last of the loyalists. Barty and Evan refused to be separated and were somewhere near Bath, a choice they made during their very last night together when the friends all got wine drunk and reminisced about their various heists over the past few months. Their sole reasoning was that Bath was a "funny sounding name" and "Bath sounds like Barty trying to say his name after getting his teeth kicked in". Pandora was supposed to be in Wales, but Regulus had a sneaking suspicion she had snuck off to France instead to be with Xeno. Dorcas had simply been unable to separate from Marlene after the war, so the two were happily engaged and hiding in one of the many Potter properties.

Moody – who Regulus still refused to admit he was intimidated by – had stressed that it's not hiding, it's just waiting the storm out.

In his apron and with his hair pulled up with a small silver claw clip, Regulus surely felt as though he was hiding.

The long queue of customers felt like it was only growing, all the 9-5 employees from the various office buildings around his coffee shop relying solely on Regulus for their morning fix before their first meetings. He was mixing and pouring and adding and shaking all the while the minutes ticked away. 

Regulus never let his mind drift when he worked like this. Instead he kept it in check between focusing on the tasks and tuning out all the noise. If he started thinking, he might begin wishing and once he began wishing he would never stop.

More than anything, if he began wishing, a longing would fester itself in his chest, a longing he managed to quelch during his horcrux heists and thus had no business reasserting itself in his life. A longing for a certain witch he managed to not be able to say goodbye to twice – once before embarking on the months-long endeavour and now before running off to wait the storm out.

This last time, he might have been able to say goodbye first. Before the horcruxes it was too dangerous, but now… now he could have waited. If he had tried, Regulus was certain he would have been able to.

Yet, here he was. Without a goodbye and with a pocketful of regret and cowardice. 

He shook his head, cursing beneath his breath as a few strands of his hair fell in his face at the movement, as he tried to get the thoughts out of his head. Focus on the work, he kept telling himself. Turn it all off. He used to be so good at it, but apparently having a “redemption arc” as Barty kept cheerfully calling it, had made compartmentalisation a bit tougher. 

Regulus never half-assed anything, not even a temporary barista position he had no intended future within, so it saw the queue dwindling fast despite him being the only one on shift today. 

As he neared the last customer of the first rush hour, Regulus had to take a quick break to fix his hair. He shucked off his gloves to put his hair back up, stubborn strands refusing to stay put. While mid-movement, he turned around to the counter, plastering on his most neutral and polite customer-service smile.

“Good morning, what can I get you?”

As his eyes landed on his customer, Regulus’ entire body froze. Arms in the air, polite smile still on his lips. The only part of him that moved was his eyes blinking rapidly as they widened.

“Good morning. I’d like to order an apology or two and then maybe a hug, depending on the flavour.” You matched his customer service tone of voice, but you had him pinned beneath your gaze.

Stood before him, was the very witch he had banished from his train of thought earlier, every day, that still somehow managed to sneak on. Except you were very much not a thought as you leaned against the counter, arms crossed defiantly over your chest and an expectant brow raised at him. 

“Amour,” Regulus breathed out. It was a word he hadn’t said aloud since before the war.

“Hi, Regulus.” Your gaze softened and he could see the sadness beneath it. “What are you doing here?”

He let his hair go as his arms fell down to his sides, looking around to ensure there were no more customers waiting. “I could ask you the same question. How did you find me? I’m supposed to be in hiding.”

If you were offended by his questioning in place of greeting, you didn’t let it show, which he was grateful for. There were a hundred thoughts rushing through his head at the minute and the sound of the creamer didn’t make it any easier to sort through them. 

“I had a word or two with Moody.” You shrugged your right shoulder as if it was no big deal. “Explained that he had no business hiding you from the wrath of your girlfriend, only the loyalists.”

Regulus’ lip quivered a little at that word, and you seemed to catch it because your entire demeanour softened this time. “Girlfriend?” he asked quietly.

“Supposedly,” you amended, but you gave him a small smile. “If I could get that apology I ordered. And maybe a coffee to talk it over.”

Regulus’ eyes were wet and his face twitching as he began losing control over it, but he nodded emphatically. “There’s heaps of both apologies and coffee here.” His attempt at lightheartedness. “I would be happy to serve you.”

Your expression matched what he was sure his looked like – pained and hopeful, bittersweet and in love. “Then I think a chat’s long overdue.”

[specific-dreamer]

inspired by @broareweabouttoviberightnow ‘s post abt pony still having baby teeth. it’s not as good as i wanted it to be so soz for the abrupt ending 😭😭

Ponyboy did not have a great day at school, thanks for asking. It started off alright at least, but then, in gym class, they played kickball. And Pony’s fairly good at kickball, alright? Between ex-football player Darrel Curtis and Steve always-out-to-get-him Randle, he kind of had to be good at kickball.

Today, though, he didn’t stand a chance. Ponyboy was in charge of rolling the ball to the other team’s kicker and, honestly, no one could have expected the other guy to be such a strong kicker with such shitty aim and, well. The ball hit Ponyboy in the mouth with the force of at least ten Steve Randles.

He blacked out a little, it was a hard hit, alright, sue him, but he remembers everyone crowding around him, asking if he was alright or if he needed to go to the nurse. Ponyboy was fine thankfully, he even felt fine enough to keep playing. When he rolled the ball again, he ran his tongue over his teeth for good luck and he felt it. A loose tooth. That motherfucker knocked his tooth loose.

He almost couldn’t believe it, but a larger part of him was grateful. He’d been waiting for that tooth to come loose for a really long time. Plus, he kinda liked having a loose tooth; he forgot how much fun it was wiggling it around whenever he got bored. Usually, he had a loose tooth for a week before it’d eventually fall out. This time it lasted til lunch. Three hours after it first loosened.

It was the one time Ponyboy actually ate lunch in the cafeteria and he promised himself never again. But Curly really wanted some casserole surprise or whatever the lunch ladies were serving. Pony hadn’t thought it’d be edible, let alone good, so he grabbed a dull red apple for his lunch (that apple costed him three cents by the way. Three whole cents! Pony’s never eating in the cafeteria again, he swears it).

Ponyboy finished about half the apple when Curly abruptly dragged him out the cafeteria. He said something about how he forgot Dally and Steve were waiting for Pony, and by default himself,in the parking lot. That means Pony suffered through a pathetic lunch for nothing. He gives Curly a nice hard punch as he tosses the apple in the trash on the way out.

When they arrive at Steve’s car they find him and Dally in the middle of… an argument? They were glaring at each other in a way that could be mistaken for a staring contest, but Pony knows better. The two were probably about to duke it out if not for him and Curly arriving. Well, they probably still would have, but Dally glances at Pony once, turns back to Steve, then widens his eyes and almost breaks his neck turning back to Ponyboy.

“Fuck are you bleeding for?”

Pony frowns and instinctively touches his chest. “I am?”

Dally clicks his teeth, “From your mouth, idiot.”

The sound of a snicker then the most agitating voice Ponyboy has ever had the misfortune of hearing says, “You lose a fight and get punched in the mouth, kid?”

God, just the sound of Steve’s voice grates on Ponyboy’s nerves. Wait. His eyes widen and he quickly runs his tongue over his loose tooth. Well, where it should be. “My tooth!”

From the corner of his eye he can see Dally gagging, some blood may have spat from his mouth when he spoke, and Steve stiffening up and looking back at the school. Gearing for a fight he’ll probably lose, Pony thinks absently. “Shit, he knocked your tooth out!”

“When did you have time to get in a fight?” Ponyboy isn’t paying much attention to any of them, too busy searching the ground for his tooth, but he’s pretty sure Curly sounds more disappointed than worried, the asshole.

“Darry’s gon’ kill us— Would you quit actin’ a fool!” He can hear Steve slapping someone upside the head, Dally if the hiss is anything to go by. “What? Mr County Lock up ain’t never seen blood before?”

“You hit me again and you ‘bout to see some real blood.”

“You know who will hit us? Darrel.”

A pause. “Shit.”

“Shit,” Steve says in agreement.

Pony rolls his eyes and cuts his losses. He’s never gonna find that damn tooth. Who knows when he lost it. Wait, did he swallow it? What’s the last thing he ate? “That damn apple,” he answers aloud.

“What?” Curly asks. This is all his fault. If he didn’t drag Pony to the cafeteria then he never would’ve eaten that apple.

“I ate that damn apple,” he shoves Curly for emphasis. “And it took my fucking tooth.”

“Why am I getting abused! The fuck?”

“Wait. Hang on, munchkin.”

“I am not—!”

“Shut up, munch,” Steve repeats. “Are you telling me you lost a fight to an apple?” Dallas doesn’t even try to hide a snort.

Ponyboy is very much not pouting okay? “It was already loose! Hardly a fair fight,” Pony climbs into the backseat of the car and he's mostly over this stupid conversation. He doesn’t need to explain himself to them. He lost his tooth big whoop, that’s hardly any of their business. Leaning over the side of the car, he spits a good amount of blood into the parking lot and he can hear Dally gagging again. Serves him right for laughing, Pony thinks.