#albeit not the most serious of the three

[bowofbalance]

It's definitely a warning sign when you start to catch yourself repeating patterns of behavior that you only learned as a way to survive in a deeply deeply bad situation with people you definitely can't avoid

[woodywood101blog]

It’s been 5 years since Nick had his second child and told his partner, Brad, that “The library is closed”. Of course, Brad never quite believed he was done with having kids. If anything, the urge became more pronounced as time went on. Nick would have these waves of excitement when one of his friends announces they are having kids, or really anytime someone mentions kids. Of course, Brad had great joy in saying, “Ah, but the library is closed, remember?” Nick would then squirm and say, “Oh… true”.

At the same time, Nick was happy to have some sort of semblance of a male figure again. Now that the kids were in school, and he was back in full-time work, he had some time again to get back to the gym, which allowed him to regain most of his muscle back, the one that helped Brad fall in love with him in the first place.

It also meant that Nick and Brad were back on a regular schedule in the bedroom too. They had more time to do what they enjoyed the most with each other - having sex for fun. However, they did all they could to prevent Nick getting pregnant again, so it was all protected sex. Except for one night…

Nick and Brad went out for a date night, which involved dropping the kids off at Brad’s parents house, then going to their favourite local bar for drinks and dinner. It was also a strict “one look at the phone” type of date, because Brad realised very early on that Nick stresses about the kids all the time. Even during the breastfeeding stages, Nick would worry that he wasn’t giving them enough milk, so read up on how to produce more milk naturally. It worked so well that Nick now has slightly puffy pecs for good.

Their date night slowly turned into more drinks than food, and sure enough they got to a local gay club at an ungodly hour, kissing on the dancefloor in a sickeningly romantic way while charli xcx blasted in the background. Brad then whispered in Nick’s ear, “Let’s book a hotel room for tonight.” 

Nick whimpered in pure drunken lust as they left the club, with Brad sliding his hands down the back of Nick’s jeans to touch his puckering hole.

***

8 weeks later, Nick looked at his reflection in the mirror and noticed his abs were looking bloated more than usual. He wondered if his metabolism was starting to slow down, or if he ate something dodgy the night before that’s just causing a temporary bloat.

It wasn’t until he walked out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen that the first sign of something wrong. Brad was cooking bacon and eggs when the smell of the scrambled eggs made Nick immediately run back to the bathroom and vomit profusely.

Brad turned the stove off to go and check on Nick. He knocked on the door.

“Hey Nick, you okay babe?”

“Fuck off, Brad! I’m fine!”

“Sure you’re fine. This is just like every other morning, vomiting at the mere sight of my bacon and eggs.”

Immediately after hearing the word ‘eggs’, Nick threw up even more.

“Right, I’m going to the pharmacist today and grabbing some pregnancy tests.” Brad said while walking away.

“Fuck off, Brad. I’m not pregnant! We used -” Nick stopped when he realised they didn’t use protection on their date night.

“Oh, fuck me dead…” Nick said as he leaned back into the toilet bowl to vomit again.

***

Positive.

Nick looked down at the three pregnancy tests, running through every possible option. He really didn’t want to go through another pregnancy. While he loves his kids, and loved the feeling of being pregnant, he knew that he and Brad didn’t really have the space, time or energy to go through the rigmarole with a third child.

But he also knew that this child was conceived of love, albeit drunken love. He knew that even if he and Brad were getting older and more tired, this child would still be so loved, even if it meant going through another pregnancy and all that came from it.

He opened the door, where Brad was nervously standing outside, much like the previous two times. Nick played on Brad’s nerves by looking completely serious for a couple of seconds, before grinning and nodding. Brad jumped and laughed in excitement, kissing Nick deeply. The two kids wandered out to see what was happening.

“Daddy’s pregnant, kids!” Brad exclaimed. Nick laughed as the kids ran to him and hugged his legs, screaming and laughing.

Yep, I’m pregnant, Nick thought.

***

What Nick didn’t know was how pregnant he was.

A couple of weeks later, at only 12 weeks pregnant, Nick walked towards the kitchen where Brad was cooking the usual bacon and eggs. Brad was excited that Nick was starting to move beyond the morning sickness stage of pregnancy.

“Hey babe, do I look bigger this time around?” Nick asked as he stood and held his belly.

“Well, you seem to be eating a lot more this time around, babe? It might just be because you’re older, your body knows you need more energy.”

“But I swear I looked this big at 24 or 28 weeks, not 12 weeks? I’ve already skipped past the jeans I wore in the first trimester and gone to the jeans I wore in the second trimester.”

“Hmm… do you want to see Ben to find out what’s happening?”

“Yes. I just have this weird feeling that something's wrong.”

“Babe, nothing’s wrong - if anything, you’re looking more glowing than ever.”

Nick chuckled. “Right, thanks babe.” He kissed Brad on the cheek and walked towards the table to sit with the kids.

***

“So, back again, Nick…. Congratulations! I can see you’re coming along nicely for your 20 week scan?” Ben, Nick’s obstetrician, asked.

“Well, that’s actually why I wanted to come here. I’m actually only 13 weeks, so I just want to be sure I’m not going through a weird phantom pregnancy. I googled about -” Nick started.

“Okay Nick, Dr Google also says that every single thing under the sun will give you cancer, so let’s just lay you down and see what’s happening.”

Nick laid down on the bench and rolled his shirt up. Ben looked curiously at Nick’s belly. “Say, it’s not too common for the bellybutton to be looking shallow this early on in pregnancy. I have a feeling you might be carrying multiples, Nick.”

Ben squirted gel onto the ultrasound wand and started moving it around Nick’s belly. Nick looked up at the screen in confusion.

“What do you see, Ben?”

Ben looked intensely at the screen, counting.

“Ben? You’re taking a while to count… that’s not a good sign.”

After a couple more seconds, Ben looked down towards Nick and said quietly, “Seven. I see seven foetuses.”

Nick’s face went white with horror as he looked back at the ultrasound screen, counting seven little specks on the screen.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and talk through your options. By coming in now, there are options for you to ensure you have a safe pregnancy.”

“With all seven?” Nick asked as he stood up and walked back towards Ben’s desk, wiping the gel off his belly.

“Well, that’s up to you. We’re still within the time period where you could terminate some of the foetuses -”

“How many?”

“Well.. with larger sets of multiples, we typically discuss with the parents about bringing it to a more manageable number, like 2 or 3.”

“So 4 or 5 of these foetuses should be terminated?”

“In my professional medical opinion, yes. We still don’t know too much about men carrying larger sets of multiples. Only one man in research carried 4. We don’t know too much about the risks, but if female pregnancies are anything to go by, more than 4 babies are incredibly risky for both the mother and the babies.”

Nick looked back down towards his belly, tapping his fingers lightly seven times. His mind was swirling with hundreds of thoughts.

“Tell you what, go home, have a chat with Brad, and let’s rebook another appointment later this week. We need to make a decision soon so that, if you do decide to terminate some of the foetuses, it’s a safer operation for all.” Ben said.

Nick nodded and shook Ben’s hand. “Thanks, Ben. We’ll chat on Friday.”

***

Friday rolled around, and Nick sat up in bed groaning. He already ‘felt’ pregnant, with the babies starting to shift lower towards his pelvis. He was intrigued by the fact that he was still early enough in his pregnancy that he didn’t feel the babies move or kick. It did make him wonder how it will go later on in the pregnancy when all seven babies kick up a fuss.

Brad was already cooking the bacon and eggs, giving a larger plate to Nick. Nick smiled as he sat down with a small grunt.

“So, ready for Ben today?” Brad asked.

“I think I’ve made my decision.”

“Okay, that’s all that matters to me. Regardless of your choice, I’m here with you all the way.”

Brad took Nick’s hands and smiled. Nick started tearing up. “Oh, I didn’t miss these fucking hormones.”

“Well, your hormones are currently supercharged, babe! And only going to get worse over the coming months.”

“Tell me about it…”

***

Brad and Nick go to Ben’s office later that morning. “So good to see you two. Hope you’re doing well, Brad?”

“Doing very well, Ben. Bit of a surprise, I must say!”

“Well, safe to say you’ve got super swimmers, and Nick is very fertile. Right, let’s talk through what to do...”

“I’m keeping the seven.” Nick said bluntly.

Ben and Brad looked at Nick, Brad looking more confused than Ben, who seemed slightly concerned.

“What? I’m keeping the seven. If you want to include me in research, I’ll sign whatever is needed. This clearly happened for a reason, so the only reason any one of these foetuses are being terminated is if I’m at risk of dying.”

Ben looked towards Brad, who was still in a state of surprise. “I mean, we discussed the idea of keeping them, but I wasn’t sure if that was what you wanted.”

“I’m sure. We can make it work. We might need to buy a bigger place, but that will be fine. You just got promoted!”

“Yeah, but that would mean we need a place with at least 4 or 5 bedrooms, babe!”

“Again, it’ll be fine. With your promotion and my stable income where I work from home full-time, we will manage.”

Brad turned back around towards Ben, nervously smiling and said, “I guess we’re keeping them?”

Ben smiled nervously. “Okay, it is possible, but I do warn you we are going into completely unknown territory, so expect me to say ‘I don’t know’ a lot. Understood?”

Nick and Brad nodded. “Thanks, Ben.” Nick smiled.

***

Nick and Brad were amazed by how rapidly Nick grew…

... over the following weeks. 

Brad looked at Nick with a deep sense of lust, seeing Nick’s puffy pecs bloating more rapidly than ever before, his hips and ass widening further than ever before, and Nick grunting, moaning and groaning at every movement, kick and repositioning each of the seven babies made.

Nick was in a surreal state of bliss through the months. He became more and more certain he made the right decision, when he felt their first kicks, he felt his first Braxton-Hicks contraction, and even when he felt his first horned-up reaction to Brad swiping at his bloated nipples. Nick loved every moment of it.

Nick realised that at 24 weeks, he already looked like he was full-term, which made him both nervous and excited to see how much further his belly would grow. He was standing in their bedroom when Brad walked in, seeing Nick look at himself in the mirror.

“Babe, I don’t think you could call these pecs anymore…” as Nick turned around and lifted his shirt over his chest, revealing two engorged pecs that appeared fatty. Brad’s eyes stared directly at the two massive nipples poking out from Nick’s ‘breasts’. They were red and swollen, and looked ready to feed their kids.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so…” Brad said airily.

“Brad, my eyes are up here.” Nick chuckled as Brad shook his head and looked back up at Nick.

“I guess it’s… just… amazing… hot… boobs.” Brad slurred as he looked back down at Nick’s transformed body. Brad then leapt towards Nick’s right nipple and latched on, causing Nick to gasp and moan as a river of milk started pouring out of his nipples. Nick slowly moved to sit at the bed, while Brad continued sucking.

“Babe, don’t waste it all, and at least take some from the other nipples so my boobs look even.”

Brad nodded like a child and moved towards Nick’s left nipple, causing Nick to moan even more. Nick felt waves of hormones course through him, heading directly towards his hardening dick.

“Babe, there’s one more place you need to milk me from..” Nick gasped. Brad looked up at Nick and grinned when Nick lowered his sweatpants to reveal his hard dick.

That moment triggered a whole new part of Nick and Brad’s daily routine. Every night, once the kids were in bed, Brad would crawl towards Nick’s side of the bed, where Nick would open his bra to reveal his dribbling pecs. Brad licked his lips as he latched onto the nipples to taste the fresh, warm milk. The only noises then would be Nick’s moans of pleasure and Brad’s lips sucking Nick’s pecs dry.

“Thanks, babe. You sure know how to make me relaxed.” Nick said as he closed his bra again.

“Of course, babe. And you know how to make me the happiest man alive… Milkman!” Brad laughed.

Nick lightly punched Brad’s arm.

***

Nick and Brad were seeing Ben on a weekly basis until 28 weeks, when they saw him twice a week.

“In theory, Nick should have started experiencing contractions this week, but as far as I can tell, you’re only experiencing Braxton-Hicks contractions, your birthing cavity is still shut tight, and your amniotic sac has not ruptured.”

Nick looked up at Ben while he was looking at the ultrasound screen. “So, should I be induced?”

“I guess we could look at that, but you’re also a fit and healthy man to begin with, so we could explore seeing how far you would go with the seven kids. As soon as you start feeling contractions, call me directly and I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

***

Nick and Brad decided to keep going without being induced. Nick didn’t feel any need to do so when he still felt fine - as fine as could be when you’re carrying a belly the size of a country fair show watermelon in front of you. While Nick continued to not feel any labour pains, he did feel every other movement and pain across his body. His legs struggled when he stood up straight, and each step would cause his body to jiggle, which in turn caused the seven babies to kick up a storm. He lost sensation in his legs and feet each time he sat down.

Nick’s kids loved seeing how big his belly was. They started playing a game where they would hide under Nick’s belly while he was standing up. Nick didn’t feel comfortable at first, as it emphasised how big he had gotten, but when he realised how happy it made his kids, he decided to play along.

Brad came home from work one afternoon and saw what was happening. He saw Nick standing, leaning his hands against the table while the two kids were happily playing cowboys and aliens.

“Uhh, what’s going on here? Are you okay, babe?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. The kids are playing with cowboys and aliens…”

“And daddy’s a cloud!” One of their kids exclaimed.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, the kids realised how big my belly is and started using it as part of their games… It’s fine, it’s harmless!” Nick said as he saw Brad’s eyebrow raise in concern.

“Alright, then… who’s ready for dinner?”

***

At 36 weeks, Nick’s belly looked like a blimp stuck out in front of him. He resorted to wearing just a bra and XXXXL sweatpants which still struggled to fit over his massive backside and thickened thighs.

Nick generally stayed in bed these past few weeks, as his belly made it impossible to stand up and walk for long periods of time, and most of the chairs in the house buckled under his weight.

The kids would come in and see Nick each morning, kissing Nick and then kissing the belly before they ran off with Brad to get dropped off to childcare and school. Nick smiled when he saw the kids wave again and waved back from the window, but looked with a pang of sadness as he realised he couldn’t do the drop off or pick up like he usually would because of the seven kids in his humongous belly.

He groaned as he tried to get himself upright in bed, and groaned further when the babies sat deeply in his hips and over his thighs.

“Right, let’s see if I can get up in one go still.” he exclaimed.

“One… two… three!” Nick gasped as he swung himself up and felt his thighs and calves burn in pain, and his hips stretch further to account for the weight redistribution. His pecs wobbled, which was enough to cause his nipples to trickle drops of milk onto his belly.

After slowly waddling towards his wardrobe to put on his usual bra and sweatpants combination, he made the long trek towards the kitchen. In the time it took for Nick to get to the kitchen, Brad was already back home.

“Oh, hello again!” Nick said as he slowly turned around, holding his hands under the massive belly.

“Hello, sexy!” Brad moaned as he took in the sight of his beautiful husband.

“Ugh, I feel anything but sexy today. It took me 30 minutes, it seems, to put on a bra and sweatpants!”

“Well, do you want to set a record for how quickly those can be taken off?” Brad replied as he walked towards the back of Nick, kissing his shoulders and rubbing Nick’s pecs.

As Brad started to unclip Nick’s bra, Nick moaned in delight, but quickly shook his head. “No, we have a lot that needs to be done today, and I -” Nick stopped as he felt a small jab of pain in his lower back. “Oh…”

“First contraction?” Brad asked, looking for signs on Nick’s face that it was a contraction.

“I think so? Hey Siri, start a stopwatch.” Nick said. “There, now we can see how long it’ll be until the next contraction, and then we’ll call Ben.”

“Deal. Great timing that today is a work from home day for me, isn’t it?” Brad said as he walked towards the fridge and grabbed a bottle of milk to go with his cup of coffee.

“You know, although I don’t feel sexy right now… do you need milk for your coffee?” Nick said as he unclipped his bra and squirted milk into Brad’s coffee. Nick could see Brad’s dick hardening in his pants as he took a sip of his coffee laced with creamy breast milk.

20 minutes later, Nick was sitting and watching TV, while having his breasts pumped through a new machine he bought a couple of weeks before, when he felt a sharper contraction. “Hey Siri, STOP THE STOPWATCH!” Nick screamed as he felt his contraction peak. Brad came running out of the home office and saw Nick puff through the contraction.

“Is it really that strong?”

“Call… Ben… NOW!”

Brad drives responsibly most of the time, but this is one moment where speeding was the rule, not the exception. Nick was groaning in the seat next of him, rubbing his belly as each contraction got stronger and closer together.

“Babe, please don’t push. We’re almost there.” Brad said.

“Ughh, I’m trying so hard-AHHHH!” Nick screamed as another contraction pounded across his body and towards his ass. “It really feels like one of them is already wanting to come out!”

At that moment, they got to the entrance of the hospital, where Ben was standing there with a large wheelchair, smiling. Nick looked with concern at the wheelchair, wondering if it could handle his weight, let alone if he fit in it.

“Hello Brad, and hello Nick! You’re already checked in, so I’ll just send Nick to the room while you go and park the car.” Ben said. However, when Brad opened the door to see Nick squished inside the car, with his expanded belly taking over his entire body, Ben gulped with fear.

“I think… I’m… crowning!” Nick huffed.

***

Five hours later, Nick managed to naturally birth all seven of the babies. Brad looked in absolute awe at Nick’s sheer determination to ensure these kids came out healthily. Ben was amazed at how flexible Nick’s anal cavity was in continuing to pump baby after baby out.

Nick, meanwhile, had waves of emotions and hormones blasting through him, making him so proud of his babies. He cried as he birthed the placenta and felt the first set of babies move to his swollen breasts to be fed. Brad also cried in joy, while Ben also shed a tear in wonder.

A couple of hours later, Brad’s parents arrived with their kids, who ran into the delivery room in awe at the seven cots sitting in the room with their new siblings. They got into the bed and cuddled Nick, who beamed with joy at the sight of all 9 of his children in the one room.

As Brad’s parents left with the two older kids and all the newborns were moved to the nursery, Brad moved into the bed and cuddled Nick, massaging his tender belly. Nick quickly looked around the room before removing his bra and moving one of his nipples to Brad, who gleefully started sucking.

After a minute of sucking, Brad released with a pop sound and looked up at Nick. “You’re incredible, Nick. I love you.”

“I love you too, Brad… oh, and the library is definitely closed now!”

Brad chuckled. “We’ll see about that…” as he moved back towards Nick’s nipple and continued sucking milk. Nick glanced over to the window and whispered, “We’ll see…”

[kathaelipwse]

A Little Too Close | S.Mingi

Pairing: Song Mingi x Reader

Word Count: 12,154 words | Reading time: 44-ish mins

Trope: Brother’s Best Friend | Slow Burn | Friends to Lovers | Protective Male Lead

Warning: Mild language, mentions of alcohol, emotional heartbreak, brief violence (non-graphic and not between mingi and y/n), soft angst with a happy ending, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE.

Song:

Synopsis: You grew up with your best friend Nari and her charming older brother, Mingi. He was always just out of reach—too old, too flirty, too much of a heartbreaker. But when Mingi returns after three years abroad, everything changes. Lines blur, secrets surface, and your heart starts to beat a little too loud every time he’s near. And maybe… he’s always felt the same way.

Author’s Note: To the girlies who’ve ever loved someone they were never supposed to… who kept quiet out of respect, fear, or timing—this one’s for you. If you've ever smiled through the ache of watching him be someone else's or convinced yourself your feelings didn’t matter… this story will feel like home.

The chipped ceramic mugs, each bearing a faded illustration from a beloved children's book, sat precariously stacked in the cupboard. They were relics of countless childhood tea parties, elaborate affairs orchestrated by you and Nari in the sun-drenched backyard, filled with whispered secrets and the serious business of imaginary kingdoms. Your bond with Song Nari was an unbreakable thread, woven through scraped knees bandaged with cartoon plasters, triumphant performances in school plays where you always had each other's backs, and the bewildering, often hilarious, landscape of adolescence. And then there was Mingi, Nari’s older brother, a looming yet comforting presence who had always been a part of your shared world. Five years your senior, he was the one who could effortlessly reach the highest shelf where forbidden snacks were kept, the one whose booming laughter often echoed through the familiar chaos of your childhood home, and, perhaps most significantly for you, the one who had a way of making your stomach flip with a confusing mix of comfort and utter fluster.

Your first heartbreak had been a particularly brutal affair, the kind that felt like the world was ending. You’d stumbled through Nari’s front door, a hiccuping, tear-streaked mess of teenage angst. “He… he said I wasn’t… mature enough,” you’d choked out between ragged sobs, the callous words feeling like shards of glass lodged in your throat. Without a word, Nari had led you to her room, a sanctuary of plush toys and fairy lights, offering a comforting arm around your shoulders. But it was Mingi who had truly acted. He’d leaned against the doorframe, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a quiet intensity, his jaw tight with an unfamiliar tension. “Tell me his name,” was all he’d said, his voice low and carrying a hint of something that made you feel strangely safe amidst your despair. The next day, a series of hushed phone calls and cryptic teenage gossip confirmed that the offending boy had received a stern, albeit non-violent, talking-to courtesy of Mingi. “He won’t bother you again,” Mingi had simply stated later, ruffling your hair with a reassuring hand that lingered a moment too long, sending a confusing warmth through you. It was an act of brotherly defense extended to his sister’s best friend, but for your young heart, it had felt like something profoundly more.

That feeling, a quiet flutter of admiration that had stubbornly refused to dissipate over the years, had taken root early, like a tenacious little seed. Mingi, with his easy charm that could disarm even the strictest teachers and that lopsided grin that always seemed to hint at a shared secret, had unknowingly occupied a significant corner of your heart. “Hey squirt,” he’d often tease, using the childhood nickname that still managed to make your cheeks warm despite your protests. “Still tripping over your own feet?” But beneath the playful jabs, there was always a hint of genuine affection. But the unspoken rule, the invisible, yet fiercely enforced, boundary of him being Nari’s brother, had always kept those feelings carefully locked away, a secret you guarded closely. “He’s like a brother to me too,” you’d often tell yourself, a mantra whispered in the quiet corners of your mind, desperately trying to quell the inconvenient stirrings of your heart whenever he was near.

Three long years. That’s how long Mingi had been gone, chasing dreams of coding breakthroughs and late-night hackathons in the land of opportunity. “Finally escaping your annoying faces,” he’d joked dramatically at the airport, a mischievous glint in his eyes, but his hug had lingered a moment longer with both you and Nari, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that distance couldn't entirely erase. You, now twenty and navigating the chaotic landscape of university life with its demanding deadlines and existential crises, had grown accustomed to his absence, a dull ache of missing camaraderie settling into the background, like a familiar hum. Nari, ever your constant anchor, had filled the void with countless late-night study sessions fueled by instant ramen and impromptu movie marathons punctuated by insightful (and often hilarious) commentary. “Remember that time Mingi tried to cook pasta for us and almost set the kitchen on fire because he forgot to add water?” she’d laugh, and you’d laugh along, a bittersweet pang in your chest at the memory of Mingi’s sheepish grin and the smoky aftermath.

Tonight was one such night. Empty pizza boxes, adorned with greasy fingerprints, lay scattered on Nari’s living room floor, the delicious remnants of your earlier indulgence. You were cocooned in a fort of blankets and pillows, dissecting a particularly dramatic episode of a K-drama, your voices hushed with suspense. “Seriously, how can he just leave her hanging like that at the airport?” Nari had exclaimed, throwing a handful of popcorn in the air dramatically, the kernels scattering like tiny white hail. Just then, the familiar creak of the old kitchen door hinge announced an unexpected arrival, and the rich aroma of brewing coffee wafted into the living room, a scent that instantly brought back a flood of memories.

The kitchen door swung open wider, and the world, as you knew it for the past three years, seemed to tilt precariously on its axis. Mingi stood in the doorway, shirtless, his sleep-rumpled hair adorably messy, a sleepy haze still clinging to his features, softening the sharp angles of his jaw. The soft morning light filtering through the window behind him cast him in a warm, golden glow, highlighting the lean muscle he’d gained during his time away, a subtle transformation that made your breath catch in your throat. “Morning, sleepyheads,” he mumbled, his voice still thick with the comforting rasp of sleep. “Couldn’t sleep. Jet lag’s a real beast.”

The spoon you had been absentmindedly twirling in your empty soda can, lost in thought about the on-screen heartbreak, clattered against the cool tiles with a sharp, echoing sound, slicing through the comfortable silence like a sudden alarm. Your eyes widened, locking onto his unexpected presence, and your breath hitched in your throat. He looked… different. More mature, undeniably handsome, with a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there before. “M-Mingi?” you stammered, the familiar name feeling foreign on your tongue after so long. Your cheeks already felt hot, a blush creeping up your neck. The years melted away in that instant, bringing back that familiar, unwelcome flutter in your stomach with an unexpected and potent intensity.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across Mingi’s lips as his gaze met yours, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Well, hello there, Y/N,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver tracing down your spine, a sensation you hadn’t felt in years and one you instantly recognized. He knew. He had to know the effect his unexpected appearance, his casual state of undress, was having on you. Your carefully constructed composure, the wall you’d built around those old feelings, crumbled with alarming speed. A more coherent, “You’re back! When did you…?” finally escaped your lips, but the blush on your cheeks deepened, betraying your inner turmoil.

“Mingi!” Nari’s voice, sharp and exasperated, broke the charged silence, pulling you both back to the present. She strode over and delivered a solid smack to his bicep, a familiar sibling gesture. “Seriously? Put a shirt on! We have company.”

Mingi merely scoffed, rubbing his arm but his eyes still held a playful glint as they flickered back to you, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. “What? Can’t a guy get coffee in his own house without being assaulted by his overly dramatic sister?” he grumbled good-naturedly before turning to rummage in a drawer, the sound of rustling fabric filling the awkward silence.

Later, after Mingi had retreated upstairs, a plain white t-shirt finally adorning his broad shoulders, the comfortable atmosphere in the living room had shifted. Nari’s expression turned serious, her usual playful demeanor replaced by a thoughtful frown. “You still… you still like him, don’t you?” she asked softly, her gaze searching your face, her concern evident.

You avoided her eyes, picking at a loose thread on your blanket, the familiar gesture offering a small semblance of comfort. “It’s… complicated, Nari. He’s your brother.” The words felt inadequate, a vast understatement of the internal battle raging within you.

Nari sighed, running a hand through her hair, her brow furrowed. “I know. And believe me, if Mingi was the serious type, the kind who’d actually commit to someone, I’d be your biggest cheerleader. ‘Go get him, Y/N!’ I’d be shouting from the rooftops. But you know him, you. It’s always been flings, casual things, one-night stands. Remember Sarah from that party last year? Or what about…?” She trailed off, seeing the discomfort flicker across your face. “I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt, Y/N. He’s… well, he’s Mingi.”

The air in the room thickened with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You knew Nari was right, knew the potential for pain was a very real possibility. Yet, seeing Mingi again, that unexpected, slightly disheveled appearance in the kitchen, had stirred something within you, a longing that had been dormant but never truly extinguished. The return of the elder brother had not only brought him back into your lives but had also reignited a tension, a silent, magnetic pull between you and Mingi, that promised to complicate everything. He was back, and suddenly, the carefully constructed boundaries you had painstakingly maintained felt dangerously, thrillingly fragile. “He just got back,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Nari, a fragile tendril of hope unfurling in your chest. “Maybe… maybe things are different now.” Nari just gave you a skeptical look, a familiar expression that spoke volumes, and you knew, deep down, you were probably just wishing on a star that had long since faded.

The days following Mingi’s return settled into an uneasy rhythm. Nari, true to her protective instincts, subtly positioned herself as a buffer between you and her brother. During shared meals, she’d strategically place you on the opposite end of the table from him. When Mingi offered you a ride to university, she’d suddenly remember she needed a lift too, effectively sandwiching you in the backseat. Her efforts, though well-intentioned, felt a little stifling, and you couldn’t help but notice Mingi’s occasional raised eyebrow and suppressed smirk at her maneuvers.

Mingi, for his part, remained outwardly respectful. He’d greet you with a casual, “Hey, Y/N,” his tone friendly, devoid of the flirtatious edge you’d sometimes imagined in your more fanciful moments. Yet, there were subtle hints, fleeting glances that lingered a fraction too long, a playful nudge of your arm when he told a joke that made your skin prickle with a familiar awareness. He seemed to be treading carefully, a stark contrast to the carefree, sometimes reckless, older brother you remembered.

Weeks drifted by, filled with the usual demands of university life – late-night study sessions, caffeine-fueled group projects, and the constant pressure of looming deadlines. The tension with Mingi remained a low hum beneath the surface, an unspoken acknowledgment of the complicated history and the uncertain present.

Then came the text from Mingi: “Parents are off to their meditation retreat for the weekend. House party at our place Saturday night. You both are obviously invited.”

Nari’s immediate reaction was volcanic. “A party? In their house? He knows how Mom gets about messes!” she fumed, pacing her room. “The last time he threw a ‘small gathering,’ we found a rogue traffic cone in the bathtub!”

You, however, felt a flicker of something akin to excitement. The constant pressure of university had been weighing you down, and the prospect of a night of carefree fun, even with the inevitable awkwardness of Mingi’s presence, felt like a much-needed release. “Come on, Nari,” you pleaded, sinking onto her bed. “We’re both stressed out of our minds. A little break won’t hurt. Besides,” you added with a mischievous glint in your eye, “it’ll be a good distraction.”

After a considerable amount of persuasion, and your promise to help with the inevitable cleanup, Nari reluctantly agreed. Saturday night arrived with a flurry of getting ready. Nari, ever the stylist, insisted on picking out your outfit. She emerged from her closet with a shimmering silver silk dress that cascaded like liquid moonlight. It had delicate spaghetti straps and a daringly low back.

“Wow, Nari,” you breathed, admiring the way the fabric caught the light. “This is… stunning. Are you sure it’s okay?”

Nari grinned, applying a touch of lip gloss. “You deserve to turn some heads, Y/N. Besides, I have a feeling tonight might be… interesting.”

As you both descended the stairs, the music already thumping a steady beat, a wave of noise and laughter washed over you. Heads did indeed turn. You felt a flush rise on your cheeks as you navigated through the crowd, catching the appreciative glances of several guys. But it was Mingi’s reaction that truly registered.

He was standing near the makeshift bar, talking to a group of friends, his usual easy smile in place. But the moment his eyes landed on you, his expression shifted subtly. There was no leering, no lustful gaze like some of the other guys who had checked you out. Instead, a flicker of something akin to concern crossed his features. He scanned your bare shoulders and the expanse of your back, his brow furrowing slightly.

The November air, even indoors with the throng of bodies, held a definite chill. Mingi, you knew, was acutely aware of how sensitive you were to the cold. He remembered the way your hands would turn icy even in a slightly air-conditioned room.

Before you could even reach Nari, who had been momentarily waylaid by a chatty classmate, Mingi was striding towards you, weaving through the crowd with a determined look on his face. He reached you quickly, and without a word, he shrugged off the dark, wool coat he was wearing and gently draped it over your shoulders. The heavy fabric felt warm and comforting against your bare skin, carrying his familiar scent.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low, a hint of a scolding tone underlying his words, “it’s freezing in here. What are you even wearing? You know you catch a cold if a snowflake looks at you the wrong way.” His gaze wasn’t accusatory, but rather laced with a genuine concern that surprised you.

He adjusted the coat around your shoulders, making sure you were properly covered. Then, his hand lingered for a brief moment on your head, his fingers lightly patting your hair before he stepped back, his eyes still holding that perplexing blend of worry and… something else you couldn’t quite decipher.

Across the room, Nari, who had finally disentangled herself from her classmate, watched the exchange with a confused frown etched on her face. Mingi’s intense concern for you, so different from his usual detached demeanor, was a puzzle she couldn’t quite piece together. A seed of suspicion began to sprout in her mind. Was there more to her brother’s interactions with her best friend than she had initially assumed?

The house was quiet, the echoes of the party having retreated into the dusty corners and lingering in the faint scent of stale beer and synthetic fruit punch. You moved through the wreckage of the night, a solitary scavenger amidst the discarded remnants of revelry. Empty plastic cups lay scattered like fallen soldiers, their bright colors dulled by the dregs of forgotten drinks. Crumpled napkins, bearing the faint imprints of lipstick and hurried scribbles, lay abandoned on tabletops. Nari’s soft snores emanated from upstairs, a peaceful counterpoint to the lingering chaos below. You, however, felt a strange mix of exhaustion and a buzzing alertness, the events of the night replaying in your mind like a slightly blurry film reel.

You found Mingi exactly where you’d left him, still engaged in his impassioned, one-sided debate with the stoic ficus. “No, no, Ficus, you’re missing the crucial point!” he was slurring, his voice thick with the earnestness of the truly inebriated. He punctuated his points with dramatic finger gestures that nearly knocked over a nearby lamp. “It’s about… about the inherent conflict between… freedom… and… and… chlorophyll!” He squinted at the plant as if expecting a profound botanical rebuttal.

“Mingi,” you sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. His muscles were surprisingly tense beneath your touch. “Come on. Bed. The ficus will be here to discuss the socio-political implications of photosynthesis in the morning. I promise.”

He blinked slowly, his eyes struggling to focus. “Y/N? Is that you? Are you… are you the embodiment of arboreal liberation?”

You chuckled despite yourself. “Something like that. Now, up you get, sleepyhead.”

The journey upstairs was a slow, unsteady climb. Mingi insisted on stopping every few steps to share profound insights. “Did you know,” he announced gravely, leaning heavily on the banister, “that stairs… they’re just a metaphor for… upward mobility? Or maybe… downward spiral? Depends on your perspective, right?” He then proceeded to demonstrate both possibilities with a precarious wobble.

Finally, you managed to maneuver him into his surprisingly minimalist bedroom. As you attempted to guide him towards the bed, he latched onto your arm with surprising strength. “Don’t go,” he mumbled, his voice losing its playful edge, replaced by a raw vulnerability that tugged at your heartstrings. “Just… just stay for a little bit. My head… it’s all fuzzy.”

You sat on the edge of his bed, your hand still in his. “I just need to make sure you’re comfortable, Mingi. You’ve had a lot to drink.”

He squeezed your hand. “Talk to me. Just… just talk. About… about anything. Distract me from the… the spinning.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. “Okay… um… did you see that shooting star last night? Before everyone got… well, you know.”

He frowned, concentrating hard. “Shooting star? Was it… was it fast? Like… like a fleeting moment of… of hope?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah, kind of. Beautiful, but gone in a second.”

He sighed, his grip on your hand tightening. “That’s… that’s how I feel sometimes, you know? Like… like everything good… it just… vanishes.” He looked up at you, his eyes finally focusing with a startling clarity. “Like… like a real connection. You think you have it… and then… poof.”

A wave of unexpected empathy washed over you. “Not everything vanishes, Mingi. Some things… they stay.”

He shook his head slowly. “Do they? Or do we just… pretend they do? Because the alternative… the alternative is too damn scary.” He squeezed your hand again. “You… you always stayed, Y/N. You and Nari. Even when I was being a complete idiot.”

You managed a small smile. “We’ve known you a long time, Mingi. We’re kind of stuck with you.”

He chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest. “Stuck, huh? Or… loyal?” He looked at you again, his gaze intense. “Loyalty… that’s… that’s important, isn’t it? More important than… than fleeting sparks?”

Before you could answer, he tugged your hand again, pulling you further onto the bed. You landed beside him, the mattress dipping precariously. “Just… just lie down for a second,” he mumbled, his eyes already drifting shut. “Just… just need to not feel so… alone.” His arms wrapped around you almost instinctively, pulling you close. “Promise… just… just a hug. Nothing weird.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. This was definitely crossing a line. But the raw vulnerability in his voice, the almost childlike need for comfort, chipped away at your reservations. “Okay,” you whispered, settling back against the pillows, his warm body pressed against yours.

He nestled his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. “You know,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, “the thing about… about putting your heart out there… it’s like… like giving someone your favorite toy… and just… hoping they don’t break it.”

“Maybe… maybe if it’s the right person… they’ll cherish it,” you murmured softly, your own voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed again, a long, shaky breath. “Maybe… But what if I give them everything… and they… they just don’t feel the same way? That… that’s the worst, isn’t it? To be all in… and the other person… they’re just… dipping their toes.”

Without thinking, your hand reached up and gently stroked his hair. “Not everyone is like that, Mingi. Some people… they dive in headfirst too.”

He shifted slightly, his face nuzzling against your jaw. And then, he kissed you. It was a soft, fleeting brush of his lips against your skin, a moment of unexpected intimacy that sent a jolt of electricity through you. He chuckled softly, a low, contented sound. “You’re… you’re warm,” he mumbled, hugging you tighter.

Lying there in the dim light, entangled in Mingi’s drunken embrace, a storm of emotions brewed within you. His raw honesty, his unexpected vulnerability, the fleeting touch of his lips – it all felt significant, a crack in the carefully constructed wall between you.

What did this mean? Was it just the alcohol talking, stripping away his usual defenses and blurring the lines of your friendship? Or was there something more profound stirring beneath the surface, a hint of the feelings you had tried so hard to suppress for so long? The warmth of his body against yours, the lingering scent of him, the echo of his heartfelt fears – they all hung in the air, a silent, weighty question mark that promised to change everything. The comfortable boundaries of your shared history felt fragile, on the verge of shattering, leaving you adrift in a sea of unexpected emotions and a profound, unsettling question: what happens when the lines you’ve carefully drawn for years suddenly begin to blur?

And with that you fell asleep.

--

Next Morning:

The abrupt transition from the chaotic, laughter-filled energy of the house party to the stark, almost clinical silence of the following morning felt like waking from a vivid, slightly unsettling dream. Mingi’s consciousness flickered on like a faulty neon sign, a hazy awareness of a relentless throbbing behind his eyes and a deeply unsettling sense of disorientation. He blinked, his eyelids feeling heavy and gritty, as if they were coated in a fine layer of last night’s regrets. He struggled to orient himself, the unfamiliar softness of the pillows beneath his cheek a stark contrast to the usual firmness he preferred. Then, like a sudden, unwelcome downpour, fragmented memories of the previous night – the insistent thump of the bass, the forced, slightly manic laughter, the acrid taste of too much cheap whiskey – coalesced into a more alarming and deeply personal realization: he wasn’t alone.

Beside him, nestled amongst the tangled, rumpled landscape of his bedsheets, was Y/N.

A jolt of pure, unadulterated panic shot through him, cold and sharp, like a shard of ice piercing his already throbbing skull. His memory of the night was a fragmented, unreliable reel of drunken pronouncements that now sounded utterly ridiculous in the clear light of day, slurred jokes that had likely fallen flat, and hazy, disjointed conversations that he couldn’t piece together with any semblance of coherence. He carefully, almost imperceptibly, shifted his weight, his gaze sweeping over you, taking in the disarray of your sleeping form. The shimmering silver silk dress, the one that had caught the light so beautifully the night before, a sight that had inexplicably tightened something in his chest and made him momentarily forget his usual teasing banter, was now twisted and askew. The delicate spaghetti straps had slipped precariously off one slender shoulder, and the hem had ridden high on your thighs, revealing the smooth, vulnerable expanse of your skin. The neckline had also shifted, exposing the delicate curve of your collarbone and the subtle, innocent swell of cleavage.

His alcohol-addled brain, despite the lingering fog, lurched into unwelcome, deeply inappropriate territory, a rush of almost primal thoughts flooding his system with an unsettling intensity. A wave of intense, burning shame washed over him, hot and immediate. This was Y/N, his sister’s best friend, practically family. He’d known you since you were a gangly kid with perpetually scraped knees, mismatched pigtails, and an insatiable curiosity that often led to minor household disasters. What in God’s name had happened? Had he, in his drunken stupor, crossed an invisible, yet sacrosanct, line? Had he, in his inebriated state, somehow taken advantage of your inherent kindness, your gentle nature, your unwavering loyalty to his sister? The very thought sent a sickening lurch to his stomach, a wave of nausea mixing unpleasantly with the relentless throbbing in his head.

With a jerky, almost violent movement, he carefully, painstakingly, unwound his arm from where it had somehow ended up draped possessively across your waist. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped, frantic bird. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, a fresh, searing wave of guilt washing over him for even entertaining those base, disrespectful thoughts. He fumbled clumsily for the discarded blanket at the foot of the bed, his hands shaking slightly, and gently, reverently, draped it over you, covering you from your exposed shoulders to your toes, as if trying to shield you from his own shameful thoughts. He needed to get out of here, to gulp down some fresh air, to try and piece together the fragmented events of the night without succumbing to the worst possible, and frankly terrifying, conclusions that his alcohol-addled brain was conjuring.

He slipped out of bed, his movements clumsy and hurried, his bare feet padding softly on the cool, polished wooden floor. He practically stumbled out of his room, the silence of the morning amplifying the frantic, guilt-ridden beating of his heart. The hallway was a silent testament to the previous night’s excesses, littered with stray cups and discarded clothing. He made his way downstairs, each hesitant step sending a jolt of pain through his aching head.

He found Nari in the kitchen, already surveying the domestic disaster zone with a grim, tight-lipped expression that could curdle milk. Empty bottles lay scattered across the countertops, overflowing ashtrays emitted a stale, unpleasant odor, and sticky rings marked the surfaces where forgotten drinks had rested. The moment she saw him, her eyes narrowed, sharp and accusatory, her arms crossing defensively over her chest, a silent barricade. “What the absolute hell happened last night, Mingi?” Her voice was low, dangerously controlled, each word laced with suspicion and barely suppressed fury.

He ran a shaky hand through his sleep-tousled hair, his head swimming in a nauseating sea of guilt, confusion, and a desperate need for strong coffee. “Nothing, Nari. I swear on Mom’s prize-winning orchids, nothing happened. I just… I think I had way too much to drink. I… I fell asleep. On my own bed.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet her direct gaze, the vivid, unwelcome image of you lying peacefully beside him still burned behind his eyelids.

Nari’s eyes narrowed further, her suspicion hardening into conviction. “Don’t lie to me, Mingi. I saw you two. When I came to check if you were both still alive amidst that carnage, you were… incredibly close. Like, disturbingly close.”

“We just… hugged,” he insisted, his voice strained, the lie feeling thick and heavy on his tongue, a betrayal of the trust he held with both of you. “I was drunk, Nari. I was being an emotional idiot, saying stupid, sentimental things that probably made no sense. But I swear to you, nothing… physical, nothing inappropriate happened. No kisses, no… nothing like that.” The lie about the soft, fleeting kiss on your jaw felt particularly corrosive, a small but significant act of omission that gnawed at his conscience. The thought of admitting even that small intimacy, that potential breach of the unspoken boundaries of their friendship, felt unbearable, a confirmation of his own potential for drunken recklessness.

Nari’s expression remained unconvinced, her gaze unwavering, boring into him with an intensity that made him want to squirm. “Just a hug? Mingi, you were practically spooning her when I saw you. Her head was nestled right on your chest.”

He winced, the hazy memory, though incomplete, confirming her damning words. “I was drunk and… and feeling things, okay? I said some stupid, sentimental crap about being scared of being alone. But I swear, Nari, nothing… untoward happened. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do that to Y/N. Or to you. You have to believe me.”

Just then, you appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking slightly disheveled but thankfully enveloped in the comforting, oversized embrace of Mingi’s dark wool coat. You blinked, taking in the tense, silent accusation hanging heavy in the air. “Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still a little rough from sleep and the lingering effects of the previous night.

Nari’s gaze softened slightly as she looked at you, a flicker of genuine concern momentarily eclipsing her simmering anger towards her brother. “Are you okay, Y/N? Did he… did he do anything? Did he make you uncomfortable?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, your eyes flicking briefly towards Mingi, a fleeting, unreadable glance, before quickly looking away, focusing on a non-existent speck of dust on the floor. “Just… a bit of a headache.”

The rest of the morning unfolded in a strained, almost surreal silence as the three of you navigated the monumental task of cleaning up the remnants of the party. The clinking of discarded bottles and the swish of the broom against the sticky floor were the only sounds that punctuated the heavy, unspoken tension. Mingi kept his physical distance, his guilt a tangible presence that seemed to radiate from him in waves. You, too, felt a strange, uncomfortable mix of embarrassment, lingering confusion, and a persistent, almost dreamlike warmth from the fragmented memory of Mingi’s unexpected embrace and that fleeting, almost innocent kiss on your jaw.

As the days bled into weeks, an unspoken, fragile agreement settled between you and Mingi: the intimate, blurry moments of that alcohol-fueled night were never explicitly acknowledged, relegated to the realm of hazy, unspoken anxieties. You both pretended it was a mere blur of excessive alcohol and shared exhaustion, a forgotten, slightly embarrassing footnote in the long, complicated history of your intertwined lives.

Mingi, however, found himself increasingly haunted by the fragmented recollections. The unexpected warmth of your body pressed against his, the soft, lingering scent of your shampoo that had inexplicably clung to his pillow, the surprising comfort of your quiet presence in his usually solitary space – these fleeting sensations haunted the edges of his thoughts, resurfacing in quiet moments. And then there was the kiss. He remembered the soft, almost accidental press of his lips against your jaw, a moment of unexpected intimacy that now filled him with a profound and persistent sense of guilt and self-reproach. He berated himself for his drunken impulsiveness, for potentially taking advantage of your inherent kindness and vulnerability in a moment of shared inebriation. Lost in his own self-recrimination and the weight of his perceived transgression, he didn’t recall the gentle, almost tender kiss you had placed on his forehead earlier that night, a small, unconscious gesture of care and affection that might have offered a completely different context to their shared intimacy, a potential sign of reciprocated feeling. He was too consumed by his own internal judgment to remember that fleeting act of reciprocal affection.

Then, a few weeks later, the carefully constructed silence shattered with the bright, unexpected news you shared. You walked into Nari’s apartment, your face flushed with a genuine, radiant happiness that hadn’t been there in weeks, a lightness in your step that was undeniably new. “Guess what?” you announced, your eyes sparkling with a newfound excitement that made Nari beam in response. “I’m dating someone.”

Nari’s face lit up, her earlier protective anxieties instantly forgotten in the thrill of your romantic development. “Seriously? Who is it? Oh my god, tell me everything! Spill the tea!”

You launched into an enthusiastic, detailed description of Lucas, a charming and intelligent guy from your literature class with a quick wit that matched your own often-cynical humor, kind eyes that seemed to genuinely see you, and a shared passion for obscure poetry. Nari was absolutely thrilled for you, her earlier protective instincts regarding Mingi seemingly assuaged by the tangible reality of your new, blossoming romance.

Mingi, who happened to be over that evening, ostensibly to return a borrowed video game and avoid the awkwardness of another silent dinner, offered a forced, somewhat strained smile and a casual, “That’s great, Y/N. Really happy for you.” But beneath the surface, a quiet, unwelcome pang of jealousy resonated within him, a dull ache in a place he hadn’t expected. He watched the genuine happiness radiating from you and Nari, the easy camaraderie of their shared excitement, and though he knew he had absolutely no right to feel anything other than platonic support, a small, unwelcome seed of regret began to take root in the quiet corners of his heart. He tried to push it down, focusing on being the supportive friend he had always been, offering a clumsy thumbs-up and a slightly too-loud, “Good for you! He sounds… great.” But the lingering image of you nestled peacefully beside him in his bed that blurry, alcohol-infused night remained, a persistent, almost taunting reminder of a connection that had almost been explored, or perhaps, had been tragically, irrevocably misinterpreted, leaving him with a gnawing sense of what could have been, and a growing, uncomfortable awareness of what he might have inadvertently lost, all because of a drunken night and a kiss he only partially remembered.

Weeks continued their relentless march, each day etching subtle shifts onto the delicate tapestry of your relationships. University life, with its demanding rhythm of assignments and looming deadlines, provided a superficial layer of normalcy, a distraction from the underlying tensions that simmered beneath the surface. The dynamic between you and Mingi remained a carefully constructed facade of polite camaraderie, punctuated by fleeting, almost accidental shared glances that held the weight of unspoken memories and a lingering, unresolved intimacy. Your relationship with Lucas, viewed from the outside, appeared to be blossoming with a comfortable, predictable ease. He was consistently attentive, showering you with carefully chosen compliments and seemingly thoughtful gestures, his efforts radiating a clear desire to solidify his position in your life. Yet, beneath the charming exterior, a subtle, almost imperceptible undercurrent of competitiveness towards Mingi persisted, a silent, unspoken rivalry that you couldn't entirely ignore, a feeling that something felt performative rather than purely genuine.

Your twenty-first birthday arrived, a milestone you had once anticipated with unbridled excitement, now tinged with a subtle layer of apprehension. You opted for a small, intimate gathering at your apartment, a familiar constellation of university friends, cherished faces from the comforting landscape of your childhood, and, of course, Nari and Lucas. Mingi had also been included in the invitation, a fact that seemed to cast a barely perceptible shadow of irritation across Lucas’s otherwise celebratory demeanor, a subtle tightening of his jaw when Mingi’s name was mentioned.

As Mingi and Nari arrived, bearing a brightly wrapped gift that looked endearingly unassuming amidst the more extravagant presents piling up on your small coffee table, you greeted Nari with a warm, familiar hug, a silent acknowledgment of the years of shared laughter and unwavering support. Then, you turned to Mingi, a genuine, heartfelt smile gracing your lips, a warmth spreading through you that had little to do with the celebratory atmosphere and everything to do with the quiet understanding that seemed to exist between you. “Thanks for coming, Mingi.” He offered a slightly awkward but undeniably sweet smile in return, his eyes briefly meeting yours with a fleeting flicker of something that resonated deep within you, a silent acknowledgment of the strange, blurry night you had both tried to forget. “Happy birthday, Y/N.”

The party unfolded as a pleasant, if somewhat predictable, affair. Laughter filled the small apartment, fueled by cheap wine and the sugary rush from the birthday cake. Lucas remained steadfastly by your side, his arm often draped possessively across your waist, a subtle, almost territorial claiming of space. As the evening progressed, he dramatically announced it was time for the grand unveiling of the gifts, his eyes flicking towards Mingi with a barely concealed anticipation, a silent challenge in their depths. He presented you with a sleek, velvet box, its plush interior cradling a stunning ruby pendant, the deep red gemstone pulsing with a fiery intensity under the soft lamplight. “Happy birthday, my love,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of self-satisfied pride as he carefully fastened the delicate clasp around your neck. You thanked him, admiring its undeniable beauty, the weight of the expensive stone cool against your skin, but a small, almost imperceptible knot of unease tightened in your chest. It felt… impersonal, almost transactional, as if he were trying to impress not you, but someone else in the room, though you couldn’t quite pinpoint who.

Nari’s gift was next – a beautifully crocheted top in your absolute favorite shade of soft, calming blue. She looked a little nervous as you carefully unwrapped it, her eyes searching yours for genuine approval. Your heartfelt smile and the lingering hug you gave her were a silent acknowledgment of the years of shared secrets and unwavering support that bound you together. You opened a few more gifts, each thoughtful in its own way, before it was finally Mingi’s turn.

His gift was small, wrapped simply in unassuming brown paper tied with a piece of rustic twine, a stark contrast to the glossy, elaborate packaging of the other presents. Lucas, who was standing close beside you, his arm still possessively around your shoulders, let out a barely audible scoff, a dismissive sound that didn’t escape your notice. You shot him a subtle but pointed warning glance, a silent reprimand for his unnecessary rudeness, and turned your full attention to Mingi, a curious and genuinely expectant smile gracing your lips. As you carefully peeled away the plain paper, three sleek, slender tubes rolled out onto your palm. Your breath hitched, a wave of unexpected, almost overwhelming emotion washing over you. They were the exact three, incredibly elusive shades of a particular rare lip gloss collection you had been obsessed with since your early high school days. A limited edition release that had always seemed to be perpetually out of stock online, disappearing within mere seconds of being restocked. And here they were, nestled in your hand, a tangible piece of a long-forgotten desire, a small, potent reminder of a younger, simpler you.

A wave of genuine, heartfelt emotion washed over you, eclipsing the polite appreciation you had shown for the more extravagant gifts. You looked up at Mingi, your eyes shining with unshed tears, a lump forming in your throat. “Mingi… how in the world did you…?”

He shrugged, a small, shy smile playing on his lips, a hint of his old, teasing charm flickering in his eyes, tinged with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before. “Nari might have… mentioned something… a long, long time ago. And I… well, let’s just say I have my… resourceful moments. Sometimes, the things that seem small are the ones that truly matter, right?”

Without a second thought, you stood up and hugged him tightly, burying your face in the familiar, comforting scent of his cologne, a feeling of unexpected warmth and profound understanding enveloping you. “Thank you, Mingi. This is… this is the absolute best gift. You remembered. You actually remembered.”

Lucas’s smile had completely vanished, replaced by a tight, almost petulant expression. He watched the genuine affection in your embrace with a visible annoyance that bordered on jealousy, his grip tightening imperceptibly on your shoulder. “Lip glosses?” he said, his tone laced with thinly veiled disbelief and a distinct hint of condescension. “Seriously? You like lip glosses more than a ruby pendant I specifically picked out for you?”

You pulled back from Mingi, a slight frown creasing your brow. The possessiveness in Lucas’s tone and his blatant dismissal of Mingi’s thoughtful gesture rubbed you the wrong way, a stark contrast to Mingi’s quiet understanding. “It’s not about the price tag, Lucas,” you said, your voice firm, a subtle edge creeping in. “It’s about the thought, the effort, the personal touch. Mingi remembered something I loved years ago, something that’s practically impossible to find now. That means more to me than just something expensive and… impersonal.”

Later in the evening, after a few more drinks had loosened inhibitions and perhaps amplified Lucas’s underlying insecurities, his simmering annoyance finally boiled over. He cornered Mingi near the dimly lit balcony, his voice tight with barely concealed resentment. “You know, you really try too hard, don’t you? Always hovering around, always trying to one-up everyone, even on Y/N’s birthday. It’s pathetic.”

Mingi, ever the reluctant participant in conflict, simply shrugged, a wry, slightly weary smile playing on his lips. “Just trying to give a good gift, Lucas. It’s her birthday. Thoughtfulness isn’t a competition. And I wasn’t aware I was ‘hovering.’”

“Yeah, well, she’s my girlfriend now, in case your selective memory is acting up again,” Lucas snapped, his tone sharp and possessive, a clear warning in his eyes. “Maybe you should remember your place and stop trying to impress her.”

Mingi’s smile finally faded, replaced by a flicker of something akin to annoyance, a brief flash of the protective older brother you had witnessed years ago. But he kept his voice even, refusing to be drawn into a petty, alcohol-fueled argument. “I do remember that, Lucas. And I genuinely want to see her happy. If your insecurity requires you to see my friendship with Y/N as a threat, that’s your issue, not mine.” He turned away, effectively ending the uncomfortable conversation, not wanting to cause any further drama on your special day, even if Lucas’s words left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Days drifted by, the memory of your birthday lingering like a bittersweet melody. The ruby pendant remained nestled in its velvet box, unworn, a beautiful but ultimately impersonal symbol of a connection that felt increasingly transactional and driven by external validation. The three tubes of rare lip gloss, however, became your everyday indulgence, a small, tangible reminder of Mingi’s unexpected thoughtfulness and his quiet, enduring understanding of your inner world.

Then came the rain. It started as a gentle, almost romantic drizzle, the kind that lulled the bustling city into a quiet, contemplative hush, the droplets tapping softly against your windowpane. But with an almost violent shift, it escalated into a torrential downpour, the sky unleashing its fury in thick, relentless sheets of water that mirrored the tempest brewing within you. You stood on Nari’s doorstep, soaked to the bone, your hair plastered to your face, tears streaming down your cheeks, indistinguishable from the relentless rain. The moment Nari opened the door, her face etched with sleepy concern that quickly morphed into alarm, your carefully constructed composure, the fragile wall you had built to contain your growing unease, crumbled completely. Hysterical sobs wracked your body, each one a raw, guttural cry of betrayal. You stumbled inside, a broken, rain-soaked mess, leaving a trail of muddy footprints across Nari’s clean floor.

“He… he… cheated,” you choked out between gasps, the words feeling like jagged shards of glass tearing at your throat, each syllable a fresh wave of pain. “I went to his place… to surprise him… to maybe… to maybe try and talk about… about how things have been feeling… distant… and there were… there were heels… expensive, unfamiliar heels… and silk dresses… and… and lacy underwear… that weren’t mine. He… he didn’t even try to hide it. He just… he just looked at me like I was crazy for being upset.”

Nari’s face paled, her initial shock quickly morphing into a fierce, protective anger that radiated from her like a palpable heat. She pulled you inside, her strong arms wrapping around your trembling form, offering a silent haven in the storm’s fury. “Oh, Y/N… oh, honey. That… that absolute bastard. Come here.” She led you to the familiar comfort of her living room couch, gently pushing you down and grabbing a thick, fluffy towel to dry your shivering body, her touch surprisingly firm and reassuring.

Mingi, who had been sitting at the table, quietly working on his laptop in the corner, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his usually focused expression, watched the devastating scene unfold with a growing darkness in his eyes, a primal protectiveness surging within him. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching rhythmically in his cheek. Without a word, his gaze fixed on your broken, rain-soaked form huddled on the couch, he closed his laptop with a decisive snap, the sudden click echoing in the otherwise silent room. He grabbed his car keys from the nearby table, his movements swift and purposeful, and walked out into the raging storm, disappearing into the downpour without a backward glance, his silence more menacing than any shouted accusation. Nari, her full attention consumed by your inconsolable distress, barely registered his abrupt departure. You, lost in the fresh, searing agony of betrayal, didn’t even notice he was gone, your world shrinking to the suffocating weight of your shattered trust and the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the windowpane, a mournful soundtrack to your broken heart. Nari’s mother, hearing the commotion, came downstairs, her face etched with deep concern as she covered you with a warm, comforting blanket, her eyes filled with a silent, empathetic understanding of your profound pain.

The tempest outside gradually relinquished its furious grip on the city, the violent drumming of rain against the windowpanes softening to a melancholic rhythm, a somber soundtrack to the quiet devastation that had settled within the huge house. Hours crawled by with agonizing slowness, each tick of the clock amplifying the heavy silence, punctuated only by your ragged, uneven breaths as you wrestled with the raw, visceral agony of betrayal and the comforting, unwavering presence of Nari, a steadfast anchor in your storm-tossed world. Eventually, sheer exhaustion, the body’s desperate plea for respite, claimed you, pulling you into a fitful, dream-laden sleep on Nari’s familiar couch, the soft, worn blanket she had draped over you feeling like a fragile, inadequate shield against the sharp edges of your broken heart and the cruel indifference of the outside world.

Sometime in the pre-dawn hours, as the first faint streaks of grey began to paint the eastern sky, the front door creaked open, a wet gust of wind momentarily chilling the already tense atmosphere, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked earth and a raw, primal energy. Mingi stood silhouetted in the doorway, a dark, rain-soaked figure against the dim hallway light, looking like a wrathful spirit returned from a silent battle. Water streamed down his face, plastering his dark hair to his forehead, and his breathing was heavy, ragged, as if he had run a great distance or engaged in a strenuous physical exertion. His usually well-maintained hands were now clenched into tight fists, the knuckles visibly bruised and swollen, bearing the stark testament to a silent, furious confrontation waged in the darkness of the storm-ravaged night. He toed off his sodden shoes, leaving a small, dark puddle on the tiled floor, his gaze immediately finding you, curled up in a fetal position on the couch, your face pale and drawn in the vulnerable repose of sleep.

He looked up at Nari, who was sitting across the room in the worn armchair, her own eyes red-rimmed and weary from hours of silent vigil, her expression a mixture of lingering worry for you and a grim, almost resigned understanding of her brother’s actions. A heavy, unspoken question hung in the air between them, a silent acknowledgment of the violence that had likely just transpired in the tempestuous night, a violence born of fierce protectiveness and righteous anger.

Nari’s voice was low, barely a whisper, the question laced with a mixture of apprehension, a hint of fear, and a grim, almost resigned understanding of her brother’s volatile nature when those he cared about were hurt. “Lucas?”

Mingi simply nodded, his jaw tight, a muscle twitching rhythmically in his cheek, his gaze unwavering, fixed on your fragile form.

“Injured?” Nari pressed, her voice a shade louder, a flicker of something akin to grim satisfaction mingling with her genuine concern for your well-being. She knew Lucas had hurt you deeply, and a part of her, the fiercely protective best friend, couldn’t entirely suppress a sense of vengeful justice.

A muscle ticked more violently in Mingi’s cheek, the only outward sign of the controlled fury simmering beneath his stoic exterior. He nodded again, his eyes conveying a silent, resolute protectiveness that spoke volumes, a promise of retribution delivered without a single word. “A few… fractures. And a broken nose, for sure. He won’t be bothering her again anytime soon.” He didn’t elaborate on the brutal details of the encounter, the violence of it seemingly unnecessary to articulate between siblings who often communicated in unspoken understanding.

He moved with a quiet, almost stealthy purpose, shedding his soaked jacket and shirt in the hallway, leaving a trail of dampness on the floor like a silent testament to his nocturnal actions. He disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower running a stark contrast to the heavy, oppressive stillness of the apartment, a cleansing ritual after the night’s grim task. Twenty minutes later, he emerged, the steam still clinging to his damp hair, dressed in a fresh set of comfortable, familiar clothes, his movements now softer, more deliberate. He slid down against the side of the couch, sinking onto its soft fabric beside you, his gaze immediately softening, all the earlier fury replaced by a tender, almost reverent concern as he gently brushed a stray strand of damp hair away from your pale, tear-stained face, his touch feather-light, as if afraid to disturb your troubled sleep.

“……such a damn fool,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, almost a self-reproach, as if he couldn’t fathom the callousness of Lucas’s actions. “To cheat on someone so kind… so beautiful… so stunning… how could he even think about inflicting such pain on someone like her?” His eyes held a bewildered anger, a fierce protectiveness that seemed to extend far beyond the casual boundaries of friendship, a possessiveness that surprised even Nari with its intensity.

Nari watched him, her earlier anger at Lucas slowly receding, replaced by a renewed, intense curiosity about the depth of her brother’s reaction, the raw emotion that seemed to emanate from him. She finally broke the heavy silence, her voice soft but direct, cutting through the unspoken emotions that filled the small room. “Mingi… do you… do you like her? Like, really like her? Not just as a friend, not just because she’s my best friend.”

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand the weight of her question, the unspoken implications hanging in the air. He let out a long, weary sigh, his gaze still fixed on your peaceful, albeit fragile, sleeping face, a vulnerability etched onto his features that she rarely witnessed. “Yeah, Nari. I do. I have… for a long time. Longer than you probably realize.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly, genuine surprise evident in her expression, a flicker of understanding dawning in her eyes. “Then why? Why all the flings? Why act like you don’t take anything seriously, like every relationship is just a fleeting amusement, a way to pass the time?”

He finally looked away from you, his gaze distant, lost in a landscape of past insecurities and deeply ingrained self-doubt. “Because… because I’m scared, okay? Terrified, actually. Scared I’ll mess it up, scared I’ll hurt her. She deserves someone… someone who will be all in, someone who can give her their whole heart without reservation. And… and I’m afraid I’m not that guy. She probably thinks all I’m good for are… meaningless flings, fleeting moments of shallow connection, nothing real or lasting.”

Nari’s expression softened with a dawning understanding, a flicker of empathy for the internal battle her seemingly carefree brother had been waging. “You told her that night, you know. The night of the party. When you were drunk, you let some of that slip. About being afraid of putting your whole heart in and it not being reciprocated. That’s why you preferred those… no-strings-attached things, as a defense mechanism.”

Mingi’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of fragmented memory surfacing in their depths, a realization of the vulnerability he had inadvertently displayed in his inebriated state. He hadn’t fully registered how much of his carefully guarded inner world he had revealed that night.

Nari leaned forward in her worn armchair, her gaze serious and unwavering, her voice imbued with a protective intensity. “Look, Mingi. I know you. You can be reckless, you can be infuriating, and you can be a complete mess when you let your insecurities take over. But Y/N… she’s special. She’s kind, she’s loyal, and she doesn’t deserve any more pain, especially not from you. If you hurt her, if you ever do anything to cause her this kind of devastation again… I will personally ensure you regret the day you were born. I will unleash a level of sibling fury you haven’t even begun to comprehend. I mean it, Mingi.” Her voice, though quiet, held a steely resolve that left no room for misinterpretation.

Mingi went slightly red, a rare blush creeping up his neck, a testament to the seriousness of her threat and the depth of his respect for his sister’s fierce protectiveness. Nari’s lips twitched, a hint of her usual teasing nature momentarily returning, a small crack in the tense atmosphere. “But…” she continued, her voice softening slightly, a hint of something akin to approval, even encouragement, in her tone, “I also see the way you look at her, Mingi. It’s not the casual, detached way you look at those… fleeting connections. And… well, she’s not exactly oblivious. Give it time, Mingi. Be around her. Be the decent guy I know you can be, the one who kicked that idiot’s ass in high school for making her cry. Be yourself. And when the time is right… maybe, just maybe, ask her out. Properly. And for God’s sake, don’t be drunk when you do it.”

Mingi just nodded, his gaze returning to your peaceful face, a fragile flicker of something akin to hope – mixed with a healthy dose of trepidation and a newfound sense of responsibility – dawning in his eyes. The storm outside finally began to subside, the relentless drumming of the rain softening to a gentle patter against the windowpane, as if the heavens themselves were finally offering a moment of respite, a quiet promise of a new dawn breaking through the darkness.

The following weeks unfolded within the familiar, comforting confines of Nari and Mingi’s house, a sanctuary slowly transforming from a haven of solace to a space where the first fragile shoots of hope began to emerge from the cracked earth of your heartbreak.

You remained blissfully unaware of the silent confrontation Lucas had faced, and Mingi, ever mindful of your delicate emotional state within their shared living space, was subtly careful to keep his hands out of sight, often tucked deep into the pockets of his hoodies or deliberately occupied with mundane tasks – meticulously organizing the spice rack in the kitchen, or painstakingly dusting the already pristine shelves in the living room – whenever you were in the same room.

The bruises on his knuckles, a silent testament to a rage you never witnessed, gradually faded, their angry purple hues softening to a pale yellow, hidden beneath the guise of everyday activities within their home.

Mingi became a gentle, consistent presence within the familiar rhythm of their household, a comforting counterpoint to the emotional storm that had recently ravaged your heart. He’d leave your favorite artisanal chocolates on the small table beside the couch, suggesting low-key movie nights in the cozy living room, complete with oversized blankets and endless cups of herbal tea, or quiet evenings spent immersed in the strategic complexities of board games spread out on the dining table.

He seemed to instinctively understand that you weren’t ready for grand gestures or forced cheerfulness within the familiar comfort of their house. Instead, he offered small, consistent acts of kindness – a perfectly brewed cup of your preferred coffee left by your bedside, a carefully curated playlist of soothing instrumental music drifting softly from his room – a quiet understanding that allowed you to heal at your own pace within their shared living space.

One particularly languid afternoon, seeking a momentary distraction from the persistent ache in your chest that seemed to echo the quiet stillness of the house, you found yourself playfully suggesting a makeover session while all three of you were idly passing time in the sun-drenched living room.

Mingi, after a moment of comical wide-eyed hesitation witnessed by Nari’s amused smirk, gamely agreed to be your unlikely canvas. The sight of his usually stoic face adorned with bright pink blush, shimmering lavender eyeshadow, and a surprisingly artful application of glitter elicited genuine, unrestrained laughter from you for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a sound that warmed their shared home like a sudden, unexpected burst of sunshine filtering through the clouds.

He even patiently endured your attempts at a dramatic winged eyeliner, the results endearingly lopsided, making Nari snort with laughter. The easy camaraderie, the shared silliness within the familiar setting of their home, felt like a soothing balm to your wounded spirit, a gentle reminder of the simple joys that still existed.

Over shared meals at the dining table, Mingi would recount ridiculously embellished stories from his time in the States, exaggerating the comical mishaps and cultural miscommunications with a newfound flair for the dramatic that always managed to bring a genuine smile to your face as you all sat together.

In the evenings, as you sat curled up on the couch in the living room, he’d listen with quiet patience as you tentatively talked about Lucas, offering gentle words of support and validation without ever resorting to bitter recriminations against your ex, allowing you to process your tangled emotions without judgment within the comforting space of their home.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the light began to return to your eyes, the corners of your mouth curving upwards with increasing frequency as you spent time in their comforting presence. The inherent sunshine that had always been a part of your personality began to peek through the heavy clouds of your sorrow, illuminating the familiar corners of their house with its gentle glow.

In the quiet moments that punctuated their days within the shared rhythm of the household – a shared glance that lingered a fraction too long across the kitchen counter as you both reached for the same carton of milk, a comfortable silence that held an unspoken understanding as you sat side-by-side reading in the living room, a gentle brush of hands as you both reached for the same board game piece in the den – a different kind of connection began to subtly simmer between you and Mingi.

These small, wholesome moments, unfolding within the intimate space of their home, held a quiet, almost palpable tension, a nascent awareness of something unspoken and potentially significant, but never pushed beyond the comfortable boundaries of your established friendship. It was a slow, delicate dance of tentative emotions, a silent acknowledgment of a potential that neither of you dared to fully explore just yet under the same roof.

Nari, ever the astute and fiercely protective observer within the confines of their home, watched this subtle but significant shift with a knowing, almost conspiratorial smile playing on her lips. She saw the genuine, unguarded care in Mingi’s eyes whenever his gaze rested on you across the breakfast table, the way his usual teasing banter softened into gentle concern when you seemed down in the living room.

She witnessed the genuine, unadulterated joy that flickered in your eyes whenever he managed to elicit a heartfelt laugh in the kitchen. One quiet evening, as Mingi was about to retreat to his room after another comforting visit downstairs, Nari caught his arm in the dimly lit hallway. She looked at him, her usual playful demeanor replaced by a soft, encouraging smile that held a hint of mischievous anticipation within the privacy of their home.

“You know, Mingi,” she said, her eyes sparkling with a knowing glint, “the coast is clear. She’s starting to heal. Just… please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t screw it up. You both deserve a little bit of happiness in this house, after all the rain.”

Mingi’s eyes widened slightly, a hopeful flush creeping up his neck within the familiar surroundings of their home. He simply nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his usual guarded expression as he headed towards his room, a silent promise hanging in the air. The silent rage had finally subsided, replaced by a quiet, tentative hope, a fragile sunrise beginning to paint the horizon within the shared space of their home.

The week that followed your emotional storm unfolded within the familiar, comforting embrace of Nari and Mingi’s house, a sanctuary slowly but surely transforming from a haven of solace to a space where the first fragile tendrils of hope began to unfurl from the cracked earth of your heartbreak. The raw, jagged edges of your pain had begun to soften, smoothed by the gentle passage of time and the unwavering, steadfast support of your two dearest friends, their presence a constant, reassuring warmth within the familiar walls. You remained blissfully unaware of the silent, furious confrontation Lucas had faced in the rain-soaked night, a consequence of Mingi’s fierce protectiveness that played out beyond your knowledge. Within the shared living space, Mingi, ever attuned to your delicate emotional state, was subtly, almost instinctively careful to keep his bruised hands out of sight, often tucked deep into the comforting pockets of his worn hoodies or deliberately occupied with mundane, everyday tasks – meticulously arranging the mismatched mugs in the kitchen cupboard, or painstakingly dusting the already pristine surfaces of the antique bookshelf in the living room – whenever you were in the same room, his quiet attentiveness a silent reassurance.

Then, one radiant, sun-drenched afternoon, as the air hummed with the promise of late summer, Mingi casually suggested a long drive, a spontaneous escape from the familiar confines of the house, a chance to breathe in the crisp, clean air of the countryside and perhaps, as he subtly hinted with a hopeful glint in his eyes, allow the vast expanse of the horizon to clear away any lingering emotional clouds that still clung to your spirit. "Just the three of us," he'd said, his gaze flickering between you and Nari as you all sat together in their brightly lit living room, the sunlight streaming through the window illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. "Some open road, maybe find a secluded spot with a killer view, catch a nice sunset." Nari had readily agreed, her enthusiasm a little too bright, a knowing, almost conspiratorial glint in her eyes that didn't quite escape your notice, but you were nonetheless grateful for the prospect of a change of scenery, a temporary reprieve from the quiet introspection that had become your constant companion within the house.

The designated day arrived, dawning with a clear, azure sky that promised a perfect escape. The allure of open roads stretching out before you like a beckoning ribbon of possibility, the anticipation of breathtaking scenic vistas, felt like a welcome balm to your weary soul, a tangible contrast to the emotional weight you had been carrying within the familiar walls of their home. As you were getting ready in Nari’s sun-drenched room, carefully selecting an outfit that felt both comfortable and imbued with a whisper of newfound hope – a soft, flowing dress in your favorite color – Nari appeared in your doorway, leaning against the frame with a knowing, almost mischievous glint in her eyes and a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "So," she began, her voice laced with a theatrical air of regret, "about that drive… something rather… extraordinarily pressing… came up. A matter of grave importance, you see."

You frowned, a sliver of disappointment momentarily clouding your burgeoning anticipation. "Oh? What in the world is it?"

She waved a dismissive hand, her eyes twinkling with undisguised amusement. "Nothing truly catastrophic, nothing that would warrant a national emergency, you understand. Just… a sudden, utterly urgent and frankly non-negotiable need to finally alphabetize my extensive collection of vintage vinyl records. You know how it is. The sonic vibrations of the universe have aligned in such a way that only perfectly ordered vinyl can restore cosmic harmony. It's a burden I must bear." Her smile widened, a clear, unsubtle signal that you weren't buying her flimsy excuse for even a single second. "Seriously though," she continued, her tone softening, her eyes holding a genuine warmth and a hint of conspiratorial excitement, "you two go. You both desperately need some time away from this house, some space to breathe. And… well," she hesitated for a fleeting moment, a delicate blush dusting her cheeks, a hint of nervousness momentarily crossing her usually confident features, "Mingi's been wanting to do this for a while, I think. It's… it's his kind of grand gesture, in his own quiet way." She gave you a gentle, encouraging nudge towards the door, her eyes sparkling with unspoken encouragement. "Go on. Have some fun. Enjoy the sunset. And for goodness sake, try not to overthink everything."

The drive with Mingi was surprisingly comfortable, the initial awkwardness that had occasionally lingered between you melting away with the passing miles and the shared soundtrack of your lives playing softly on the car stereo. Easy conversation flowed between you, punctuated by comfortable silences filled only with the hum of the engine and the whisper of the wind through the open windows. The scenery outside the window blurred into a calming, hypnotic rhythm, and the subtle tension that had simmered beneath the surface of your interactions for weeks, a delicate, unspoken dance of burgeoning feelings, finally began to ease, replaced by a quiet sense of anticipation, a hopeful stirring in your chest. As the afternoon sun began its slow, majestic descent towards the horizon, painting the sprawling sky in breathtaking, vibrant hues of fiery orange, soft lavender, and deep, velvety purple, Mingi pulled the car over to a secluded scenic overlook, a hidden gem he seemed to know well, the panoramic view stretching out before you like a vast, vibrant, living canvas, a masterpiece painted by the dying light of day.

He turned to you, his usual playful, teasing demeanor completely absent, replaced by a nervous sincerity that made your heart flutter like a trapped butterfly in your chest. He got out of the car, and for a fleeting moment, you simply admired the stunning vista alongside him, the silence comfortable and filled only with the gentle chirping of unseen crickets and the distant rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. Then, he turned back towards you, his gaze locking with yours, and your breath hitched in your throat, a sudden wave of understanding washing over you. He was down on both knees on the dusty ground, the setting sun casting long shadows behind him, a beautiful bouquet of your favorite pristine white lilies held out in his trembling hands, the delicate, fragrant petals catching the golden, ethereal light of the dying day.

"Y/N," he began, his voice a little shaky, the emotion in it raw and undeniably sincere, his gaze locked on yours with an intensity that made your cheeks flush with a mixture of surprise and a long-dormant hope. "Can I… can I be yours? Can I be the one to finally chase away the shadows that have been clouding your light? Can I be the one to make you laugh that unrestrained, beautiful laugh again, every single day?"

Hesitation, a deeply ingrained habit of always considering Nari’s feelings and the potential complexities of your intertwined lives, flickered within you, a momentary shadow of doubt. A small, cautious voice whispered anxieties about disrupting the delicate balance, about the unspoken history that bound the three of you together. "Mingi… Nari… does she… is she truly okay with this? I don't want to… I don't want to come between you two."

He smiled, a genuine, heart-melting smile that reached the depths of his warm eyes, chasing away any lingering doubts like the setting sun dispelling the darkness. "She knows, Y/N. She's been… surprisingly, wonderfully supportive. She sees how happy you make me, how much I care about you, how much you both mean to me. She wants us to be happy, more than anything in the world."

A wave of profound relief washed over you, a lightness spreading through your chest, quickly followed by a surge of a different, more powerful emotion, a feeling you had tried to suppress for so long, a quiet ember finally bursting into flame. You reached out, not for the offered bouquet, but for his hands, your fingers intertwining with his, pulling him gently but firmly to his feet. Before he could fully register your intention, the last vestiges of your carefully constructed reserve, the walls you had unknowingly built around your heart, melted away like ice in the summer sun. You stepped closer, the scent of lilies filling the air between you, and you pushed him gently against the cool metal of the car, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was a culmination of unspoken feelings, shared laughter, quiet understanding, and a burgeoning, hopeful future.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dizzy, a soft, radiant smile bloomed on your lips, mirroring the joy in his eyes. "You have absolutely no idea," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I've loved you since high school, Y/N. All those stupid, ridiculous nicknames, all that incessant teasing… it was my terribly awkward, completely inadequate way of trying to get your attention, to be near you, to make you notice me."

A comforting warmth spread through your chest, a profound echo of his heartfelt confession resonating deep within your own heart. "We're in the same incredibly awkward boat then," you confessed, your fingers tracing the familiar, slightly rough line of his jaw, the stubble there surprisingly soft against your touch. "All those eye-rolls, all those sarcastic remarks directed your way… it was my equally terrible, equally inadequate way of trying to pretend you didn't make my stomach do ridiculous, embarrassing flips every time you were near."

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping securely around your waist, his embrace feeling like coming home after a long, arduous journey. He kissed your cheek, then the sensitive curve of your jaw, lingering there for a moment, a silent promise in the gentle pressure of his lips. You reached up and playfully ruffled his dark hair, a familiar gesture that now felt charged with a new, exhilarating intimacy, a tangible connection that transcended the boundaries of friendship. As the last vibrant rays of the setting sun bathed the two of you in a golden, ethereal light, painting the sky above in a final blaze of glory, a profound, quiet happiness settled in the air between you, a tangible promise of a beautiful, shared beginning unfolding under a sky ablaze with hope.

The End

[thelikesoffinn]

„Astarion ending as the Vampire Ascendant is the correct ending for him, because it is what he wants.”

That is a claim I’ve been seeing pop up more and more often these days. And I think it’s both a very bold and a very odd claim to make.

But first things first: Hello, I’m a licensed social worker! So far, I’ve worked with children, refugees and youths with behavioural issues stemming from bullying and or abuse.

Please be aware that I will be mentioning different kinds of abuse, coping mechanisms, and victim/abuser relationships. If any of this is difficult for you, don’t force yourself through it. My jabbering about a traumatised vampire is not worth your wellbeing, not ever.

I will, however try to stick to Astarion and not use other examples. If, in any case, I do use a non-Astarion example, I’ll add a warning beforehand so that you can skip the part. And I’ll make it clear what will be discussed in the next bit, so that you have a chance to skip it entirely.

This is an effort to make this as accessible as possible for everyone that wants to indulge on a mad woman’s rambling – and I know there’s a few people that like this sort of stuff!

And, uh, there's obviously spoilers for all three acts. Serious spoilers, even.

Before I can get into the whole ‘why Astarion didn’t really want to ascend,’ we need to understand him a little more. And to understand this pretty boy’s brain, we first need to understand the gist of what we’re talking about when we throw around the word ‘abuse.’

“Abuse” is when someone is treated with cruelty, violence, or neglect – often to bad effect – on a regular basis. Repetitively. Check’s out for Astarion, I’d say, but we all knew that already. I mean, if one thing was obvious, it was this.

1. Astarions Abuse

Next we need to look at what kind of abuse Astarion faced over his long years of torment, seeing as different types of abuse will have different effects on the victim.

Not that that is anything we have to worry about with him – Astarion won the abuse lottery, to put it bluntly. In a horrible game of fate, he got everything. He himself indirectly mentions all the types of abuse he faced, albeit never using the correct terms.

The first we properly notice – fitting, seeing as it is often the most obvious form of abuse – is the physical abuse. Astarions scars are probably the biggest tell Larian could shove down our throats, only underlined by Astarion’s tale about the night itself. About how Cazador ‘misspelled something’ every time he flinched or screamed and had to do ‘many corrections. On top of this, Cazador locked Astarion up for months on end and tortured him – or had him tortured – on a regular basis both as a rite and as a punishment.

Next up, we have the fact that Astarion was forced to basically prostitute himself repeatedly. This is what we call sexual exploitation.

“I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master.” – Act 2

Two hundred years is a long time, filled with great many people. Now, we don’t know how many of those people actually tapped into the sexual exploitation and how many he could just lure back with other means, but the fact that it happened a lot is undeniable.

Next we have a form of abuse that we often disregard in adults: Neglect. It sounds odd, I know, saying that a fully grown adult was neglected. They can care for themselves, can they not?

Well. Yes and no.

Adult neglect is proceeded by the condition that one adult has to lean on another adult to fulfil their needs for whatever reason. This could be anything, from disability to income-based issues.  

Seeing as Astarion had absolutely nothing, while Cazador had everything, we can assume this was the case. Cazador had the house, the money, the power. Astarion owns but one pair of clothes, assumedly, that he has fixes over and over again. Fair to say, that’s pretty neglectful. (And it’s one more reason to shower the guy in pretty armour and camp clothes. Go ham, people.)

Last we have the form of abuse we actually get to witness later in the game – emotional abuse.

Once again, it’s undeniable that this happened. Especially since we’re all seeing it in the flesh upon meeting Cazador in his crypt.

“Have you no respect for yourself?”

“I strove for perfection in all things. Even those as imperfect as you.”

“A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts.”

“A pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything.”

All Act 3, Crypt

Here we have just a few examples of things Cazador throws in his face. It’s like reading a textbook on emotional abuse, this one (and it’s definitely a reason to throw hands).

Blaming the victim, keeping their sense of self and their self-worth as tiny as possible to make them cower and flee. A true classic.

This pretty much shows that Astarion suffered all forms of abuse we commonly see and it is implied – once again by Astarion himself – that at least a few of those instances were ritualistic.

Now, what does that mean exactly? Well, I fear I need to use a real example here, so please skip the next paragraph.

Ritualistic doesn’t refer to a proper ritual – it can, but that’s mostly a thing for those in a cult. So, we’re not necessarily talking about a ‘Vampire Ascendent Ritual’. A husband, beating his wife every evening after his third bottle of beer is also called ritual abuse. It happens regularly. It is part of a routine. Both parties know what will happen.

I can’t find the exact quote, so I’m working of my memory here, but at one point he said that when Cazador invited him to eat and he said yes, he would be served a putrid rat. If he said no, he’d be beaten.

The way it was phrased made it clear that it happened more than once and that Astarion clearly knew what would happen. So, this can be classified as ritualistic abuse.

2. A Note on Conditioning and Compliance

By default, abuse victims are conditioned to behave a certain way or in a certain fashion. This is a natural response to avoid further abuse.

In Astarion, the thing we see most often is his inherent need to please. Not literally, he doesn’t mind being an arsehole. But he initially feels the need to follow Tav’s orders, even if they go against his own wishes.

This can be clearly seen in the conversation with Araj Oblodra. Astarion very clearly doesn’t want to bite her. He doesn’t. But he will do so, if Tav tells him to. This behaviour is not conscious – he doesn’t know why he does it, he just does – and it is to be expected. This is how he kept himself save for two centuries, so of course he will fall back into his usual pattern when the pressure is high.

This goes hand in hand with the fact that most abuse victims don’t fight. Maybe initially, but not after long term abuse. Especially not after two fucking centuries.

This is true in Astarion – offered by his ‘siblings’ during act 3 and unhappily acquiesced by the man himself. Astarion stopped fighting and, once again implied, cowered, and did as he was told in order to survive.

3. The Astarion we know and love

Obviously, all that abuse does have an impact on our vampire boyfriend. He shows various common signs of abuse and just like with the forms of abuse, Astarion raked every coping mechanism he could find. (Not really, but it feels like it.) It’s also important to note that nearly all of the following things happen inwardly. Astarion is not one of the victims, that tries to rationalise and minimise the actions of his abuser. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ll note from the beginning, that rationalisation will not be covered in this bit, as most examples will be important later on. But he definitely does it.

One of his biggest skills is to hide every ounce of fear or hurt behind sarcasm and snarky theatrics. He doesn’t seem to hide his anger much, though, so that’s something! Our boy is cool with anger, not so much with being afraid.

“Ahahaha, now that you mention it….I might have done…that.” – Act 3, regarding the Gur children

“The thing that will decide my fate forever more? Yeees, it’s been on my miiiind. Why?” – Act 2, regarding the Ritual

And there’s many more instances that prove this. Honestly, half his dialogue is sarcasm, so it would really be too long to get into and we all know what I mean, right? We have alltalked to the guy before. It’s obvious that he’s sarcastic to a fault.

This goes hand in hand with his penchant for defensiveness. I would personally state that he’s simply not really good with guilt. When talking about fear, he usually just opts for sarcasm or avoids the topic completely, but guilt especially has his defences going up. This is also when he’s most likely to shove all the blame off to Cazador.

“Don’t look at me like that. Cazadors orders.” – Act 3, Crypt

“I just did what I had to!” – Act 3, Crypt

And don’t get me wrong, he does that anyway. And with good reason. Astarion didn’t have a choice for the most part, but he’s still easy to shove things off.

This kind of connects to his penchant for denial.

Astarion doesn’t really like to talk about most things. He firmly believes he is an ‘action’ sort of person that just does instead of plans, which invertedly just means he’s great at pushing the thinking stuff away. He also likes to get rid of stuff, so that he doesn’t need to face it ever again.

“I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn’t need to know my shame.” – Act 3, about the children

And yes, this partly rings true. He’s probably ashamed and doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s done. But it’s also very clear that he himself simply doesn’t want to face his own actions, something that is just  underlined by his extreme willingness to red rid of the other spawn.

As mentioned by Astarion himself, he’s big on manipulation. I mean, I don’t think there is much explaining necessary. The guy is willing to do a whole lot in order to get what he desires – which mostly revolves around safety and survival, to be honest – and he’s not really shy about it either. And that’s despite the fact that he doesn’t really like intimacy – especially in form of sex.

It’s not a secret that Astarion is not big on sex and anything surrounding it. This goes far enough for people to consider him either ace or ace coded.

A claim that, personally, I’m not super in line with.

Now, it’s not entirely wrong and if this is your head cannon I’m surely not going to stand in your way – but on a larger spectrum, I think he’s more traumatised than ace. And while those go hand in hand sometimes, it’s a bit difficult for the ace community if you attach traumatised characters to them because it can fuel a whole lot of stigma that is honestly neither needed nor wanted. But I digress!

If it comes to his own behaviour, he’s great at minimising his mistakes. Honestly, he’s a master of minimisation. A very obvious and famous example would be:

“’Killed’ feels like a…strong word. Not many corpses have your vigour.” – Act 1, after killing Tav

Astarion. You literally sucked poor Tav dry and left them flopping around, cold, and dead. Killed is exactly the right word and we all know it.

“Quite the deviation from my usual routine. Capture, not lure. I didn’t bring them in with sweet rolls or anything.” – Act 3, Gur Children

This is another attempt at minimising what he did, if a bit less obvious because at this point there isn’t much he can say. But at least he didn’t sexualise the gur children, right? They’re still spawn but whoo, at least that didn’t happen.  

The next point would be dissociation, which is extremely common in abuse victims – of all forms of abuse.

Astarion himself mentioned certain moments that could be classified as dissociation over course of the story, which is probably the coping mechanism I personally expected the most.

The pale elf has a penchant for violence, but he’s not entirely shameless or abhorrently vile, which gets clearer the more the story progresses. So, two hundred years of forced prostitution, torture and doing whatever other horrible things? Yeah, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t dissociate.

Examples of that would be:

“A moment of disgust to push myself through and then I could’ve carried on, just like before.” – Act 2, after Araj

“I felt nothing the moment I handed them over.” – Act 3, Gur Children

“Did you enjoy it? It felt like you weren’t fully there.” – Act 1, Tav after Sex

The latter is generally more of an assumption than actual prove, but with context it does make sense.

The last common sign of abuse we find in our boyfriend would be his low self-worth. It’s a consistent trait that stays over the course of all three acts, noticeable in many different conversations.

We can see it in his reaction to wanting to break up before finishing his story. We can see it in his genuine surprise when Tav picks him over any of the other characters. We see it in his insecurity whenever Tav asks to sleep with another character. He’s fine with it, but he still worries their decision to sleep with someone else is based on something he did.

It eases up ever so slightly after Cazador is dead, but even then he’s still struggling which is once again perfectly illustrated if you try to break up with him.

“Oh shit. I- Did I do something wrong?”

That is the first thing he asks and I think it speaks for itself. He genuinely doesn’t believe he has much to offer and for Astarion, it’s likely that Astarion will always be the problem.

4. "Oh, I tried them all none of them answered.”

Another big thing that’s important to note, is that Astarion was never saved. No one came to save him from Cazador. There was no darling boy on a white steed riding into that castle to rescue him and princess carry him away. Not even the gods answered his desperate calls.

So, he never received any kindness or luck. To him, the world seems as cruel and horrid as before because he didn’t have the chance to experience goodness in two centuries.

But worse than that, he didn’t even get to save himself. Astarion didn’t stand up to Cazador, he didn’t run out of his own might.

He was beaten to near death and ‘saved’ by Cazador, who would become his abuser.

He tried to save someone and, in turn, was locked up and starved for an entire year.

He was abducted by mind flayers, i.e., saved from Cazador, only to end up tadpoled and on the cusp of getting a fancy, squiddy beard.

Anything that’s good, any kindness, any selfless action…it all came with a ginormous price tag.

5. Over the Course of the Story

Astarions behaviour changes a whole lot over the course of three acts – which is important once we talk about his quests climax – so let’s review what we’re working with!

Act 1 Astarion is guarded as fuck. The man has walls around him that are so high, even the gods can touch them.

A lot of his behaviour in act 1 revolves around staying save and staying liked. He lies, manipulates, and flutters his lashes in order to get what he wants and needs. Instead of asking, like Wyll, Karlach and Gale do, Astarion uses all he has to offer to get by. He is still very much in survival mode and tries to weasel his way through an unfamiliar situation with familiar methods.

On top of that, and most notably, he’s absolutely not fond of kindness or selflessness.

#I saved a child and now my boyfriend is mad

Here, we are most likely to gain disapproval for doing the decent thing – unless you sent him outside for a minute whenever you’re being a good person.

And I’d assume that this is because of two things.

First: The very traditional ‘Why not me?’

As I mentioned before, Astarion wasn’t saved. He hasn’t experienced kindness in a very long time so seeing that the world is literally filled with kind people is hurtful. Why didn’t anyone save him? Why was he left to his own devices for so long? Why should he care about others when it’s so clear that no one ever cared about him? No, dead to all of them. If he didn’t get it, neither will they.

“And what am I owed? What about the injustices I suffered? Am I not entitled to anything?” – Act 3, Crypt

“I was in the prime of my life when I was turned. Everything was taken from me too.” – Act 3, Crypt

And secondly is the fact that, as I mentioned, goodness always has a price. And it’s one most people won’t be willing to pay. That’s how his life has been, so why would theirs be different?

This is precisely why Astarion may disapprove of kind actions, but he mostly neither approves nor disapproves if Tav asks for payment. That’s just how the world works.

Once you venture out into act 2, after getting to know him a whole lot more, he starts to mellow a bit – if only towards Tav.

“He’s afraid, so afraid, of everyone but you, who she should fear the most.” – Sceleritas about Astarion

His approval is a lot easier to gain – or at least keep! – and he tends to approve of some more proper actions. He doesn’t throw a fit if you promise to find Mol, he approves of Tav being kind to His Majesty, of saving Aylin and he even approves of Durge apologising to Isobel after threatening to rip her to pieces.

He's slowly starting to open up, allowing Tav to see some parts of him he previously kept hidden. He accepts their offer to help, if hesitantly and, by god, the man starts experimenting with boundaries.

The social worker in me is shedding tears at this. It’s my favourite thing to see in my clients and it’s no different here. Yay to saying no!

Of course, it’s still a bit hit or miss. If Tav urges him to bite Araj, for example, he will only to later notice that he didn’t fucking have to. He recognises this on his own and he calls Tav out on it. Just like he calls them out on not helping him with his Orthon quest.

Good job, chap. Good fucking job.

And the growth-train won’t stop going even as we reach act 3.

In act 3, there’s not many things he disapproves as of right now – those he does, mostly have to do with how Tav treats him and not with anyone else. In fact, he’s more likely to approve good behaviour now, like giving Yenna food or money.

And yes, we need to consider that this could simply be because he gets used to Tav’s behaviour and just learns to roll with it. But it’s also highly likely that he notices that there’s truly good people around. At least one person. And that person is not only good, no, they’re in the process of helping him break free once and for all.

They’re helping him save himself.

By act 3, he has learned that he can absolutely say his piece where Tav is concerned and he’s more likely to disagree with them on certain things. It’s seen during a lot of small dialogue that he’s no longer terribly afraid to be honest with them, willing to listen and talk and he’ll ask for help if he needs it.

“I can do this. But I need your help.” – Act 3, Crypt

Something that can be viewed both positively and negatively is that he’s definitely loyal to a fault. He will stick by Tav’s side, no matter what.

“I really hoped we could avoid being pawns for a dark god, but here we are, I suppose. I’m with you, my dear, wherever this might lead.” – Act 3, After Jaheira confronts durge

As I said, this can be both positive and negative. On one count, it’s a recipe for disaster, seeing as he could be waltzing into a really bad situation for Tav alone.

But on the other side…this is a man who only cared about himself because that is the only person he could afford to care about. He needed to survive. He now has enough room to breathe and the capacity to care for someone else and I’d be inclined to count that as a good thing.

6. The Crypt

All the progress he made in act 2 and 3 is nearly tossed into the wind as soon as the crew enters Cazadors castle.

It’s not an immediate thing, of course.

At first, Astarion tries to stay light and simple and he hides behind flippant tones and relaxed faces. The way he recounts this is almost comically disinterested and the façade is actually quite good.

It’s start’s cracking after we meet Godie, one of the people who tortured him on more than one account, but he mostly manages to remain as upbeat as one can honestly expect for the first half of the journey.

All that, however, is done for the very moment we meet Sebastian. His mask not only slips, no, it full on shatters and there’s none of his apparent lightness left.

Which, of course it does.

The man is suddenly faced with years and years and years of victims. Innocent, unlucky people he lured back to his master over two centuries. People he liked, people he pitied.

“It’s sickening, seeing them again.”

It’s basically a room filled with guilt, exclusively for Astarion. And, as we mentioned before…Astarion is not great with guilt.

The guilt, however, is not where it ends.

No, he’s also faced with reflections of his own past. The spawn pose as reminders of what he did, sure, but also as reminders of what he was.

Weak, desperate, hungry.

There’s an abundance of images of his worst moments, reflected back at him in the thousands. It’s probably like staring into a funhouse mirror, but instead of seeing yourself in a funky way he just sees everything he so desperately doesn’t want to be.

“It should be [who I am]! I don’t want to be like them. They’re pathetic, horrible…”

He’s forcefully made aware of how darn weak he can be, which claws at all the wounds he’s barely had time to close. Something, he of course won’t admit if asked.

“THEY DO NOT [remind me of myself]. That weakness in me is dead, IT’S DEAD. I have a higher purpose.”

The high pressure of the moment brings out all of his act 1 traits in but a few moments. You can pretty much watch how he starts to shut down mid conversation, one of his old walls snapping back into place to remove himself from the situation.

Thing is though, walls usually become a bit brittle after disuse. Especially when talking to a person you don’t usually want to wall out.

Or, in his case, when talking to Tav.

After meeting Sebastian, Astarion shows extreme reactions to Tav nudging any of his weak spots. His reaction varies on whatever choice you make, but it ranges from aggression to defensiveness, to denial and even to downright begging Tav.

“Don’t hate me. I just did what I had to. I swear I did what I had to.”

This probably the most shocking out of all of them, since that is not something we got to witness before. The begging is likely a mixture of intense fear of losing Tav, his low self-esteem and pre-Tav behaviour, since we can assume that Cazador made him beg more than once.

Another old coat he puts back on would also be the least surprising of them all.

Manipulation.

He falls right back into it, using Tav’s affection to get what he want if we trigger the right action.

“If they die and I ascend, I won't have to rely on the parasite to walk in the sun. I'll be free. Truly completely free. Isn't that what you want?”

This, to me, was probably the biggest tell that Astarion was back in survival mode. He’s panicking, for fucks sake, and who can blame the guy? He’s back. He’s about to face down his abuser.

Of course he’s fucking panicking.

Panic leads to an increased craving for safety and, in his case, power. This is why he clings to Tav, why he begs them to love him still. And this is why he jumps head first into the rationalisation pool.

“I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual. - [You can save them.] – What’s the point? They're as good as dead! I thought they were dead. If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. […] They must die. Better they serve a purpose.”

Another textbook example.

They must die anyway. They’re basically dead. No need to save them now. They’re dangerous, I’m doing the right thing by sacrificing them. I already thought they were dead, so it’s not changing anything for me. They’re a lost cause and I deserve  all this power. I deserve it, because I suffered and nothing will change if they die.

So, seeing as we already spoke about his usual behaviour in act 3 – behaviour he showed after we allowed him to breathe and be himself for a while – I think we can fairly easily conclude he’s not thinking straight.

Astarion is right back in survival mode, where all that matters is he himself. If it weren’t for the seven thousand spawns, he might have moved through this more gracefully, but seeing those tipped the scales and Astarion is absolutely losing it.

Remember that for the last section, per favore.

7. The Ascension

“Astarion wants to ascend and Tav manipulates him into doing what they want.”

That is basically the essence of what people often claim and I can’t help but shake my head at such a blatant disregard of everything he has become. This is completely ignoring the change and growth he has gone through over the course of their journey.

Astarion wants to be free. He wants to be safe. That does not mean he wants to ascend.

And the claim that Tav manipulates him into doing anything is even more baffling. We are all aware that Tav is not manipulative by nature, yes? That is entirely on you. You decide who your Tav is.

And then let’s remember: Astarion is panicked. He’s afraid and he’s not thinking straight. His abuser is on his knees before him and he still feels so weak. And there’s seven thousand spawns that need handling.

Astarion is very much not okay right now.

In fact, reading his thoughts just proves this theory.

“You can see the fear in his eyes but also the hunger. The thick smell of blood in the air and the promise of power being so close is intoxicating to him. All he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom that power brings. The freedom to do anything. To be anything.”

Tav, however, has none of those problems. They can actually see beyond the current situation and they are fully aware what the consequences are. Astarion is not. As we previously established, Astarion is a doer. Not a thinker. He didn’t think this through, not at all.

The only thing Tav is doing – the persuasion roll – is reminding him of the very real consequences he is facing. The consequences he hasn’t thought about before.

"I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

And that is the kindest thing Tav could do in this situation. They’re not bodily dragging him away from Cazador. They’re not even telling him to not do it. They’re just offering him the truth. He can do with that information whatever he desires.

“Astarion cries when he doesn’t ascend, that just shows that it was the wrong choice.”

A hare-brained point that I thankfully have only seen once so far.

That crying? That is healthy crying.

That is him, crumbling under the stress that suddenly dissipates. That is him mourning two hundred years of torment. That’s him letting out feelings he hasn’t been able to for centuries.

And, for the love of god, try to put yourself in his shoes.

Two hundred years of torment, ended in but a moment.

Astarion was abused and tortured for so long, afraid for so long only to see his tormentor die just like that.

Cazador died within a moment and all Astarion needed was a darn blade. Of course he fucking cries.

Seeing how pathetic a being the very core of your life’s misery actually is hurts. It hurts like hell because not only are you finally free – free! – no, you’re faced with the fact that this pile of nothing, the thing that’s bleeding out right in front of you…this was what tortured for so long.

This thing hurt you so much. That guy took everything from you, everything you once were, and broke it again and again and again over years.

You were so scared of this thing.

And yet he has the gall and the gumption to die just like that.

It was so easy.

And yet you suffered for so long.

8. Evil Playthrough?

An evil playthrough is really a different setting altogether.

All of this, as you can probably tell, is really only applicable on a good playthrough. Realistically speaking. I’m not sure how the game mechanics handle it.

On an evil path, Astarion never really gets to experience kindness and goodness. Evil Tav will just prove him right in his believe that the world is a vile and cold place, meaning that he realistically would be more inclined to actually want to ascend.

9. Final Conclusion

I think all of this should be enough to make it clear that no, ascended Astarion is not the best ending for the guy. In fact, it is probably the worst. Because it’s just him, running away. He’s running into a lonely and cold state of being, where cruelty and power lord over everything else and he’s running because he’s terrified of being hurt again. He’s running despite desperately wanting to stop running.

“I'll spend the rest of my life running watching the shadows, never feeling safe…no, this has to happen. Here and now.”

And, the worst part is: Nothing about Astarion is left after he ascends. Even his tone of speaking gradually changes, his theatrics fading. He’s slowly losing himself, until there’s nothing but an evil caricature left.

So, in the end, ascension will have proven him right.

That version of him is dead.

[straows]

“Why are you so clingy?” P.2

—in which, 5 months after you broke up with Gojo, you see him again in a grocery store, and— he wants to be friends??

A/n: Prob gonna end up doing like an enemies-friends-lovers type shit. But it will not be quick. I refuse to just hand over y/n to him. 😒 I’ll bedazzle this when I get home.

<<part one, part three, part four>>

“You have got to be kidding me.” You sighed, opening up the fridge and realizing there was no more milk after pouring a bowl of cereal.

Rubbing a hand over your face, you sighed and grabbed a glass of water before pouring it into the bowl. Sitting down on the chair, and began eating your cereal.

Mid-bite your eyes roamed across your new apartment. It wasn’t the nicest. By any means. A big ass step down from the house you’d shared with Gojo.

It’d been five months since you broke up with him. Sure, you missed him. You missed the him he was at the beginning of the relationship. All sweet and loving. And no matter what, you’d always still have some love for him.

But the him now? Well.

“That motherfucker can eat shit and die.” Rolling your eyes, you took the last bite of your cereal aggressively. Thinking about the way he spoke to you had you angry all over again.

Putting the bowl into the sink, you moved over to the living to grab your car keys.

“Cannot believe I let him talk to me like that.” You mumbled to yourself, brows furrowed as you locked up your apartment before walking out to your car.

Sitting in the drivers side, you glanced at your phone, feeling the buzz, and paused.

You stared at the phone for a good long minute, before sighing and biting the bullet and replying. Maybe it wasn’t who you were thinking it was. Maybe it was some other person. Maybe.

“Is he serious right now? Are we deadass?” You had to close your eyes and take deep breaths. You used to love it when he’d call you pretty but now it felt so fucking condescending.

Staring at the phone, you wait for a reply. But you didn’t get one. His instant replies had turned into no reply, and it just had you rolling your eyes all over again. Putting the phone down, you pulled out the driveway.

“Okay— so I need milk,” listing off what you needed to get from the store, it only took a few minuets before you pulled into the grocery. Parking, and walking in, you kept repeating you list until you had most of it in the buggy. “—and I just need-“ you froze.

You froze, and you stared. Because right at the end of isle, was the same blue eyed bitch you did not want to run into.

Immediately, you turned around and began walking out of the isle. That is, until you felt an arm grip your wrist.

“Wait! Wait, just wait a second!” Gojo pulled you to a halt, his grip on your wrist so gentle it had unwilling memories of your relationship pop back up into your mind.

Glaring up at him, you snatched your wrist from his grip, “what.” And oh, the way you glared up at him had his heart racing, butterflies flying and bouncing all around his stomach at finally seeing you again.

“How- um, how have you been?” Gojo smiled down at you, albeit a little nervously.

“If you don’t get to the point Gojo I swear to god.” Your patience had already run thin— it’d snapped.

“Let’s be friends. I want to be friends.” Gojo blurted out, and immediately screamed himself mentally, because no, he did not want to be friends with you, he wanted to be your boyfriend again, he wanted to be yours, not some friend.

“Really? Friends?” You gave him an unimpressed look, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Yes! Friends.” He was already too far into the bit to go back, “I miss you. So fucking much. We don’t have to be what we once were— I just want to be friends. Like the good ol’ days.”

His words actually had you pausing. Thinking back, you and Gojo had always clicked so well, especially back when you were friends. It was so easy back then, so fucking easy.

“I don’t know Gojo, this doesn’t seem like a good idea…” you looked back down at the shopping buggy before looking at the exit, then back up at him.

“I can understand why you’re on the fence about this! I do! But can you honestly you don’t miss us being friends?” He could feel your hesitance, but hesitance was better than just a straight up rejection.

Groaning, you finally gave in. God you were such a pushover. “Just friends. Which means no talking about our past relationship— or anything like that! And no touching.” Glaring at his hands, you eyed him sternly.

“Yes! Thats great— perfect. I missed you so much,” he tried to pull you in for a hug, but you pushed him back by the chest.

“What did I just say?” Your brows furrowed and you took a step back.

“I’m sorry- my bad, my bad.” Hands up in defense, he took a small step back as well. “No touching, got it…. Sooooo, you free Saturday?” He tilted his head with a grin, “we can hang out? Like we used to?”

“I’m busy. Let’s just start with texting.” You sighed, ready to just leave with groceries and escape this awkward ass conversation.

“Alright, whatever you say, pretty.” Gojo shot you a charming smile.

“And don’t call me that.” You added, before just nodding awkwardly and turning to walk away.

Gojo watched as you walked away, his eyes softened, and his hands slipped into his pockets. “Fuck. I can’t do friends, why the hell do I do this to myself?” Mumbling to himself, Gojo walked down the aisle, and went to grab the certain brand of cookies he was wanting.

—

Tagged

@peightonnnnn-blog @nonamebbsblog @jup1tersuccubus

[lay-z]

Simon Riley is your nemesis.

cw/info: 18+ | time skip; cheating/infidelity; smut; angst; cussing; open ending

♰ [back to black | masterlist]

He’s here.

Standing on the opposite side of the field by himself under the old chestnut tree, his heavy gaze is glued to the lush grass of the soccer field. He looks slightly different than he did the last time you’d seen him a few weeks ago—a little more put together and somehow even bulkier. Strong.

He’s watching you, observing the way you walk over to the sideline, settling down next to the parents and waiting for the game to start while his heart is nearly bursting through his chest, sweaty palms stuffed into the pockets of his worn jeans.

Meanwhile, you could sense his presence before you could see him—you somehow always do—and after greeting the other parents currently present to watch their kids play, waiting for the game to start, you politely excuse yourself and make your way over to him.

It finally stopped raining three days ago, and now it’s a surprisingly warm and sunny April spring day; warm enough to wear one of your new dresses. Tommy, who turned five just last month, has a soccer match and while John is running errands with Annabelle, having a daddy–daughter day, you stayed to support your son.

The moment you start walking over to him, Simon straightens his broad shoulders; trying to keep his nerves at bay. He didn’t expect this to happen. You haven’t much as spared him a glance since your wedding.

He’s filled with tension, a mix of anticipation and trepidation building up in him as you approach, his eyes trailing over your curves, your new hairstyle, the way the sun dances off your dewy skin—

Bloody hell. You’re still the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on.

He clears his throat, looking slightly awkward, as you come to a stop right in front of him.

“Hey,” he manages, a hint of uncertainty lacing his gruff tone, muffled by his mask.

“Hey,” you greet back, slightly less awkward as you take off your expensive pair of aviator sunglasses to get a better view of him.

Even in this weather, he dresses in thick jeans, combat boots and hoodies. His skull balaclava secured in place.

“If you wanna keep a low profile, I suggest leaving that bloody mask at home, Riley.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a half-smirk beneath the black cloth as he shrugs unapologetically. “Can't help it, pet,” he replies with a quiet chuckle, tucking his hands deeper into the pockets of his trousers.

It’s been some time since he’s seen you this up-close without any disturbance, and he uses the moment to study you closely, his gaze taking in every inch of you, lingering on the way your summer dress hugs your curves; how the colourful floral pattern on the crème-coloured fabric accentuates your complexion.

Seeing you dressed like this, all loose and free, makes his heart twist painfully in his chest. You’ve changed some since having your second child and his fingers itch to touch as his eyes flicker down to glance at you ample bosom.

For a brief moment, he wonders if you’re still breastfeeding.

“Mhm, sure.” You kiss your teeth appraisingly as you give him another once over before crossing your arms. “You came to watch Tommy play again.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you can't blame him for being here and trying to see his son grow up—albeit from the shadows.

You’ve been wondering how he knows when and where Tommy has his matches, he certainly didn’t ask John, but then again, it doesn’t surprise you at all that he keeps himself informed.

“That obvious, huh?” he mutters jokingly, lifting one corner of his mouth in a slight smirk. His gaze drifts off to the side, watching the kids running onto the field and warming up, their parents cheering them on. He knows Tommy is one of the fastest, never afraid of the ball, a bloody Liverpool fan—thanks to Price.

He lets out a quiet sigh as he looks back at you, his expression turning serious, but you caught that flicker of longing and sadness in his tawny eyes.

“I can’t stay long,” he adds, his voice low. “Just... jus’ wanted to see him, y’know?”

And despite everything, you can’t not worry about him.

Your stomach churns and you hug your arms around yourself tighter as you gaze up at him, squinting against the bright daylight without your sunglasses. John didn’t tell you about a new upcoming assignment, and the news don’t fail to piss you off.

“Where are you going?”

His gaze locks with yours, and even through the balaclava, you can see the slight frown on his face. Simon hesitates before answering, debating whether he should tell you the truth or not; he can tell that you don’t know about it yet. Finally, he heaves a heavy sigh and looks towards the field again, avoiding your gaze.

“Special Forces business,” he answers simply. “Can't say more than tha’.”

You let out an involuntary snort, a rather whimsical sound, before cupping your hand over your mouth and nose. “Sorry.” You make a dismissive small gesture with your other hand. “I just–”

Composing yourself again, you continue: “Uh, nevermind.”

You don’t want to mention John right now and how he usually always tells you where he’s going whether he’s allowed to or not.

However, Simon can practically read the thoughts running through your head, and another pang of guilt hits him.

“Listen…” he starts slowly, taking another careful step closer to you. “I–” he pauses, fighting the urge to reach out and touch your face, your arms, your hair. He wants to feel you again, to hold you, to pull you close, to be near you. It’s been years since he last held you—his woman.

Your lashes flutter as he murmurs your name and suddenly, the warm air around you seems to fizz with tension. Dangerous tension, but you stand your ground; refusing to flee despite knowing better.

“What?” you rasp, tipping your head back to gaze up at him with bright doe-eyes.

“Use your words, Simon.”

His heart is pounding in his chest at the sound of your voice saying his name so sweetly, at the way you look at him, eyes practically sparkling in the sunlight. He can almost feel the electricity crackling around you, and he feels like he might go insane from it. He steps even closer, practically towering over you now, chest to chest, invading your personal space. His dark eyes are fixed on your face, drinking in every feature like he’s never seen you before.

His throat feels dry when he swallows thickly, his voice is gruff, raw with the emotions he’s holding back as his words rumble from his chest: “You know what, pet.”

The wooden door to the storage room falls shut behind you with finality; the sound echoing through the empty club house building while everyone is outside, watching the soccer games on the fields, enjoying the nice weather.

You should feel utterly ashamed about this—how easy it was for him to coax you away from the herd of your flock like the big bad wolf he is—but you cannot bring yourself to think about anything else but him right this moment.

It’s dark and dusty and you can barely see him except his large silhouette, thought you sure can feel him—big hands, once so familiar, groping and roaming over your body with urgency while you’re slowly backed up against the nearest wall.

Your breath gets caught in your throat at the feel of his hands on you, at the way his body towers. His touch is rough, desperate, fingers digging roughly into your hips, your waist, and your thighs as he presses himself against you, pinning you against the chilly wall.

His forehead drops down to rest against yours, and his ragged breathing mixes with yours.

“God, I missed you,” he whispers gruffly, voice rough with need.

The words are stuck in your throat—I missed you, too,—but you swallow them down and focus on his presence instead, the here and now.

A brief indulgence, it’s what this is.

“Take your mask off.” Your hands are fisting into the front of his hoodie, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away for good.

And yet, you find yourself standing on your tiptoes like a lovesick schoolgirl to nudge your nose against his clothed one: “Kiss me.”

Simon takes a shuddering breath, his fingers gripping your hips tightly over your dress, his body trembling with the effort to not lose himself in you, to not fully give in to the desire coursing through his veins like molten molasses, but your voice, the way your fingers curl into his hoodie, the way you ask him to kiss you—it’s his breaking point. He doesn’t hesitate a second as his mask hits the floor carelessly. Fuck, he’s missed this.

He cups your face with both hands and his lips crash onto yours. God, you taste just the same.

The kiss is rougher than anything, all teeth and tongue; both of you drowning in your shared passion. It’s been so long, too long, and that knowledge makes him kiss you even harder, his tongue pushing into your mouth with a possessive need while he cups your jaw and squeezes to make you open up wider. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place against the wall, while his body presses you into it, trapping you there.

It’s like a shockwave to your system as his lips connect with yours for the first time in years.

Shock and awe, because this isn’t supposed to feel this good, this bloody right, and you should put a stop to this, but his chapped lips mould as perfectly to yours as they used to; his tongue licking into your mouth so eagerly that it’s taking your breath away; tasting of cheap cigarettes and peppermint gum.

You can feel your pussy throb and slick up within seconds while he sighs into your mouth; toying and nipping at your lips as playfully and feral as ever.

And it’s a losing battle. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak—

“I–fuck–” Holding his face steady in your hands while your breaths mingle and his forehead rests against yours, you can feel your brain short-circuit. “I need you.” I want you.

He’s drunk on you, on the taste, on the feel of you against him. Your ragged breaths, the feel of your fingertips, the little sounds spilling from your throat—it’s all driving him insane. His hand sneaks under your skirt, his calloused knuckles grazing your quivering inner thigh. So bloody soft.

Your words are his undoing, the ones he was never meant to hear again. He knows he doesn’t deserve this.

“You have me.” You bloody own me. The words come out guttural and raw, more of a growl than anything as his fingers dig into your flesh. A shuddering breath leaves your throat as the pads of his fingers slowly rub along your clothed slit, and he groans when he finds the cotton damp already.

Reaching out with a shaky hand, you cup his crotch in retaliation and feel a familiar bulge straining against his jeans, large and warm, and too big for your palm.

Simon lets out a deep, ragged grunt at your touch, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest as he feels your hand on him after so much time of neglect. He’s been outright starving for you, for the feel of your hands on him, the way your supple skin feels against his, and he grinds his shaft into your palm, his body trembling and his cock weeping into his boxers with need. His eyes are closed, and his forehead is still pressed against yours.

“Fuckin’ hell, I'm losin’ my bloody mind here, love.”

Cupping the back of his head with your free hand, you swiftly ruck up his hoodie and undo his belt before unzipping his jeans with your other hand. He doesn’t stop you, only breathes hard, and when you finally slip your hand inside and past his boxers, you slowly start stroking his throbbing cock, earning a deep exhale of relief from him.

There’s so much you want to say, but you keep biting your tongue and let your eyes fall shut as you touch and explore him, drinking in his reactions while you feel his thick shaft throb in your grasp.

Simon leans into you, his hips rocking instinctively into your hand as his cock twitches and leaks precum into your palm, the feel of your touch igniting a blazing fire within him. He’s been craving you so badly, his body aching for you. He’s drowning in the sensations, his brain short-circuiting as badly as yours.

Both his hands are roaming over your body under your dress skirt, exploring the curves he remembers so well, his lips leaving a trail of heated kisses on your neck.

“God, I–” he breaks off, his voice rough, “I’ve missed you so fuckin’ much.”

“Yeah,” you rasp, brows furrowed in a pained frown as you keep rubbing his length almost reverently, stroking back his smooth foreskin until he hisses at the sensation. “Me too.”

Simon can feel the heat pooling low in his gut at your touch, your quiet admission, and he fears he might finish in his boxers at this rate, his breathing coming out ragged and harsh. He presses his hard, muscled body against yours, pinning you to the wall as he buries his face in the crook of your neck; inhaling your scent, the familiar smell of your skin sending a wave of emotions through him.

“I need more.” He breathes against your throat, chapped lips dragging over sensitive skin, teeth grazing over your pulse point while his hands grope your plush thighs.

“Then take it.” It’s all you can reply as a myriad of emotions threatens to choke you.

And when you give him permission, you can feel the rough pads of his fingers teasingly caress over your upper thighs and hips before he pulls and slips your cotton panties off your legs while his face never leaves the crook of your neck; shaky breaths puffing against your flushed skin. He gropes your ass cheeks with a string of muttered curses and chuckles at your squeak of surprise, when he squeezes them hard enough to make your pussy lips spread.

You swat at his biceps with a soft hiss, but that only spurs him on, and he rucks your skirt up before gripping the backside of your thighs and lifting you up effortlessly to wrap around his hips as he pushes you up against the wall.

You’ve almost forgotten how playful and passionate you tow used to be with each other, and for a split second, an almost carefree smile ghosts over your lips.

There’s a tense moment, a brief pause, where he’s holding you there, his fingers stroking the flesh of your thighs as he rubs the sticky tip of his cock through your slick folds. He takes a deep breath through his nose, his lips pressing against your forehead, savouring the feel of you against him.

“You're so wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice gruff. “For me, right?” He sucks in a breath. “Say it.”

You let out a small whimper, a pathetic noise in the dark of this dusty storage room. It’s a surreal moment; teetering on a nightmare and yet you’re clinging on to it. To him.

“For you,” you obey softly. “All for you, Si.”

The nickname slips out and then his cock slides in without any trouble, like he’s never left, like he’s been stretching you out every night like he’s supposed to. You gasp and groan in unison and your spine arches at the intrusion; toes curling inside your ballerina shoes as he bottoms out while your whole body buzzes deliciously.

You’ve gotten more sensitive since the pregnancies, and for a split second, you worry he might not like what he’s feeling, but then he lets out the most wanton moan—loud enough for you to swiftly clamp your hand over his mouth to muffle it momentarily.

“Fuuuuck.”

He’s truly losing his mind now as it spins with the feeling of you around him, his eyes rolling back in pure bliss as he feels you silken walls ripple around his rock hard prick. He’s home. There’s no better way to describe it. He’s missed this, missed you, the way you move, the way you feel, the sounds you make. He has to take a deep, grounding breath, his grip on your thighs tightening as he tries to calm his racing heart. “I’ve dreamt about this.”

He’s possessed, desperate and hungry; needing to touch every inch of you, to touch every place he’s been craving and longing for so badly. His lips find yours again, his tongue driving deep into your mouth. It’s a possessive kiss, raw and hungry, and he can’t get enough of you, of the taste, of the way your body fits against his.

“Touch me,” he murmurs against your mouth.

Your legs wrap tighter around his waist while your dress is tucked under your armpits, keeping it out of the way. Your whole lower half is bared to the warm air inside the stuffy storage room, rear pressing against the cool wall as he starts thumbing your rapidly swelling clit while you moan into his mouth. His admission that he’s been dreaming about this, about you, makes your pussy clench and flutter around his thick shaft buried deep inside your sopping walls.

And then, you obey him as you drag your shaky hands over his buff chest, feeling the fabric of his black hoodie under your palms. He must be sweating bullets and your mouth waters at the thought of your tongue licking over pale, scarred skin—lapping up his salty taste.

When you cup his face tenderly, you lean in to capture his lips once more; deep and passionate, eagerly swallowing his low moans.

He can’t get enough of you, of the feel of your skin against his, of the taste of your lips on his own. His body responds instinctively, his hips starting to rock slowly, the movements rough and desperate, like he can’t get close and deep enough.

“Love ya,” he grunts, his words raw and ragged. “Been so goddamn cold without you.”

It’s a confession filled with pain and regret, the words spilling out before he can stop them. He’s vulnerable, he’s broken, and he’s desperate as he presses you against the wall, his body trembling with the effort to hold it together, to not let the emotions he’s been bottling up tightly swallow him whole.

“Need you,” he breathes against your lips, his voice rough and strained. “Need ya so damn bad, love.”

You bite your tongue in return, unwilling to reciprocate his love confession yet. He doesn’t deserve to know that you never stopped loving him; that you never quite stopped being his despite the name Price engraved on your golden wedding band—the bloody ring that seems to be searing the skin around your ring finger in reprimand.

In your lust-filled frenzy, you’re tempted to take it off and throw it into the darkest corner of the room.

“Then fuck me like you mean it,” you retort instead as you wrap your arms around his neck to stay close, to breathe with him. “Our son is outside playing soccer with his friends and I don’t have any fucking time for this.”

His eyes darken at your words, a low, primal groan escaping from his throat. He obeys, because he always has; because he’ll do anything you ask of him, because he still has no damn dignity when it comes to you.

Simon grips you more firmly, his blunt nails biting into your flesh as his hips start to snap upwards. “Like this, huh?” he snarls. “Want me to make ya feel me, love? Make ya feel how much I fuckin’ need ya, how goddamn much I missed ya?!”

“That right?” you manage to grunt, still holding his face as you keep your forehead pressed against his, sweat now starting to make your skins sticky.

He’s holding onto you, desperate to keep you close, to make you feel him, make you feel and remind you how much you’re his. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breaths ghosting over your skin, and his words are almost a reverent prayer: missed you, missed you, fuckin’ missed you.

His fingers dig into your thighs, his grip tight and possessive, as his hips angle you towards him just a little bit better before he practically bounces you on his cock like a ragdoll; biceps bulging with the effort underneath his hoodie.

Soon enough, you can hear how embarrassingly wet you are while he pumps his hips and fucks you with deep, powerful strokes that leave you gasping and mewling for him.

“Fuck, baby,” you whine, lips brushing against his temple while his fingers dig into the plush fat of your ass.

Baby. It’s just one word, but it tears through him like a bolt of lightning. He loves you so goddamn much, he always did, and now, he’s drowning again, concrete weights pulling him under. He can hear the slick sounds of your body taking him so well, the way you whimper and whine against his ear. And he wants you to say it again, wants to hear that word spill from your lips again and again.

“Don’t call me tha’,” he grouses with a huff.

“You called me love,” you hiss in return, nipping at his cheekbone. “I’ll call you whatever the ah! f-fuck I want.”

He lets out a low growl at your defiant words, his powerful hips snapping into you with more purpose now; grunting and cheeks flushing at your comment, because you’ve always known how to get under his skin. He grips your thigh, pulling you down onto him rougher, his cock driving into you with determined, punishing thrusts.

“You,” he grits his teeth, “are goddamn infuriating.” Simon wants to shut you up, to make you focus on him, on the way you feel, on how good he makes you feel.

He wants you to say that you’ve missed him, that you’ve craved his touch, his presence. Something, anything to hint that you still love him, that you still need him.

The pleasure is almost unbearable and you go limp in his arms; too overwhelmed and too focused on your strange feelings at the same time. You can feel your orgasm readying to break you apart in his embrace, though you know Simon is right here, all too eager to catch you as soon as you fall.

As you bury your face in his neck to muffle your cries of pleasure, you suddenly feel your throat tighten and your eyes well up with fat tears.

Meanwhile, Simon can already feel you coming apart in his arms, can feel the way you tremble and clench around him. He knows the bloody signs; has studied them during his time with you. It’s everything he wants, everything he’s missed, and it almost undoes him. He clutches you close, one hand wrapping around the nape of your neck to hold you tight against him, and his movements become even more desperate, borderline frantic as the harsh sounds of skin slapping skin fills the small room.

Simon can feel the tears building up, too, feel the lump in his throat grow bigger until it nearly chokes him. He doesn’t quite know what cocktail of emotions he’s currently experiencing, but he’s too lost in it all to care. He’s struggling to contain himself; struggling to hold back his own sobs as he buries his face in your hair, his body shaking with the effort, his muscles tight. His whole body is taut with tension, getting lost in the way you’re making him feel.

He can’t hold back the words anymore; they come out in broken whispers against your skin: “I love you. God, I love you so fuckin’ much, I missed you, I love you, baby. I love you,” he utters like a mantra as his eyes squeeze shut, causing his tears to spill.

His words push you over the edge and rip you apart at your carefully mended seams, cracks and holes where he’s trying to sneak and settle in again.

And you’re too weak to deny him.

You cry out in pleasure and pain as you hold on to him; arms wrapping around his muscular neck tightly while your tears soak into the fabric of his hoodie, and you cream around his throbbing cock like your needy cunt has a mind of her own.

As if your body knows how to take him despite years of not having him; of being depraved from the man you love.

Simon can feel you, he can feel every inch of your body as it clenches and tightens around him, and it’s too much, too much, too goddamn much.

He can’t speak anymore, can’t do anything but cling to you, like you’re the only thing keeping him together. His hips are stuttering, losing their rhythm, and he’s so close, so damn close; trying to hold on, to savour this, but it’s too much, too much, and he’s breaking, he’s breaking, he’s breaking—

“Say it. God, baby, please jus’ say it,” he groans, begs, demands, his voice a ragged, desperate gasp. “Say you miss me. Tell me you miss me as much as I miss ya, love.”

You grit your teeth until your jaw aches, muffling your pathetic mewl as he fucks you to the brink of overstimulation. With your eyes squeezed shut, you whimper against his neck: “Come f'me, baby. Just, please... come–”

The sound of you, the words you’re panting into his neck—it’s not what he wants nor needs to hear, but he’s willing to take whatever you offer him, and it pushes him over the edge at last. Simon gasps out your name, his body shuddering, his vision going white. His balls draw up tight; his cock throbs violently as he fills you up with his needy load. He holds on to you, his bulky arms wrapped around you like a vice.

All spent, his body trembling, his head spinning, he keeps grinding his hips, desperate to keep his sensitive cock nestled against your womb. It’s intense, and yet he can’t stop the words that spill from his lips once more, as sincere as they are raw: “I love you. Oh, God, I love you. I missed you so much, loved you every day... every fuckin’ day.”

He’s losing himself completely, but he welcomes this madness if it means he gets to keep you at last. He can’t let you go, can’t bear to feel you slip away again.

He presses his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged, and his chest heaving with the exertion. With a hoarse, broken voice, he rasps out the words again, pleading, begging you: “Please... say you still love me.”

Your heart is thudding so harshly in your chest that you fear a cardiac arrest for a second while your brain is filled with cotton, only slowly processing the moment—what just happened, what you’ve done.

Slow tears are still running down your burning cheeks as you pull pack to gaze at him, sniffling softly, and in the semi-darkness of this random storage room, you can barely make out the shape of his features, the blackness of his eyes.

When you cup his cheek with one shaky hand, you feel wetness beneath the pad of your thumb, causing your breath to hitch and your heart to shatter as you realize that he’s crying, too—yet you can’t bring yourself to say it.

“Why... Why does that even matter, Simon?” you croak out. “This won’t happen again. It–It can’t.”

He can hear it in your voice, the way you’re already pulling away, already shutting him out again.

It’s like a knife to his wretched, rotten heart.

He tightens his arms around you, refusing to let you go, refusing to let you slip away, and refusing to pull his softening cock out of your warm, welcoming cunt. His eyes are dark, his expression fierce, even with the tears streaming down his rugged face.

“Because it matters,” he says his voice rough with emotion. “It matters, dammit!”

He pulls you closer against his chest, his grip so tight it’s borderline painful, like he's afraid that if he lets go of you, even just for a second, you’ll disappear into thin air like a rainbow bubble that gets popped, and he won’t let that happen—won’t let you slip through his fingers like drift sand.

His grip is unyielding, his body tense as he holds onto you tightly, keeping you pressed against the wall. His heart is pounding in his chest, his breathing ragged as he tries to control the maelstrom of emotions that are surging through him.

“Please,” he whispers, “Please don’t push me away again.”

Your nimble fingers tangle in his hair roughly while you caress your other hand over his broad back soothingly, and you feel the damp, heavy fabric of his hoodie as his sweat soaks through it.

It’s so hot in the room at this point and the weight of what you two have done is starting to push down on your chest, making it harder to breathe all of a sudden.

“I’m married to John,” you weep into his neck, nails digging into his skull. “We have a baby together now and Tommy... Tommy calls him daddy, Si–” Your voice cracks and you hold him tighter, trembling in his arms.

“And I can’t forget what you’ve done to me.” To us.

His heart is clenching painfully in his chest as he listens to the words you’re saying, each one a stab to his gut, though he can’t hold back his desperate response nor the fresh wave of tears spilling over and dripping onto your skin.

“I know,” he says, his voice thick with regret, with guilt. “I know, baby, but I regret it. Every day. Every fuckin’ day I regret it.”

He frantically blinks away his tears as he trembles against you, and he knows how pathetic he must be sounding right now, though he cannot bring himself to care.

“I’ve never stopped loving you. I will never fuckin’ stop lovin’ you.”

If you vote, please consider reblogging, liking, or commenting! Thanks :)

[pokechbi]

🎀The Holy Trinity🎀

🎀summary🎀

Ghost x König x Soap x Reader (4sum) !!

18+ V NSFW!

Word count: 11.5k 💕 (not proofread yet!)

Enjoy! <3

She was the invisible woman they didn’t know they needed. The woman no one seemed to pay any attention to as she quickly paced the hallways trying to get back to the sanctity of her office. No one actually paid her any mind, howbeit her detrimental job as the base medic. She had been tasked to perform her duties in the wing that housed the Special Forces, along with the men of Task Force 141. There were many powerful, brave soldiers that could’ve caught her attention, but there were 3 in particular that grabbed her by her very womanhood and kept on squeezing, threatening her morals and standards to leak right out of her.

König, the 6’10, patriotic Austrian beast of a soldier who most definitely was a man of few words. When she treated him, he sat confidently, staring a hole into her soul. He was definitely a man whom she felt was socially anxious, and in a way it made her feel, connected to him. She had imagined that it had to be due to his size. He was hard to miss, often turning heads and stopping conversations everywhere he went. She felt the same way at times, finding solstice in being alone, and away from the terrifying stare and judgement from the rest of the soldiers and staff on the base. She wasn’t bullied, but she was definitely not one who fit in with the rest of the medics in her department. She made it a priority to do her deed and leave to her apartment at the end of the day, not bothering to make many friends. The only friends she had managed to make were the two nurses who tended to the front end of the medical ward in the Task Force’s wing. The three of them often went out for drinks at the bar just outside of the base’s gates.

König rarely spoke to her, but when he did, she found herself wanting it to never end. His voice was honey to her ears, a warm embrace in a cold and hard world. Even sitting down on the bed, he towered over her and made her hands shake and her heart pound so hard in her ears she was sure he could hear it. A habit she managed to kick years ago, working endlessly to rid herself of her shaky fingers and anxiety. All come undone by the simple presence of him. In a way, she secretly adored it. Adored him. She found herself thinking of him at the end of a long day, much like a teenage girl still in grade school. She was curious about him, and wanted to know all there was about the mysterious giant. What he looked like under that sniper hood, under his shirt, under those tight military cargos that she was sure got uncomfortably snug when he was aroused. It was nonsense, and she knew that. There was no way a man of his rank would even spare a second glance at her. But it was fun to fantasize.

John “Soap” MacTavish was the polar opposite of König. He was surely a man who would voice his mind whenever and wherever. She admired that about him. He spoke what was real, and gave not a single fuck about it. He was also a sweetheart, always throwing compliments her way and making her feel like hot shit. His spunky Mohawk was always a sight she loved to see in her examination room, and she made sure he knew it. She would return the favor of any compliments he spared her way, and it caused their friendship to blossom. She hoped it would evolve into something more, but Soap seemed like the kind of man who’d wham bam and thank you ma’am, albeit the romantic that he was. She wouldn’t mind it either way, though. A little taste of him couldn’t hurt.

And then there was Simon “Ghost” Riley. The grandest enigma of all three. The man was truly nerve wracking to be around. As nervous and anxious as he made her, she couldn’t help but feel enticed by his mysterious aura. She had no idea how he had managed to find himself on the same team as Soap, as menacing and serious as he usually was when around the base. When he found himself in her examination room, his eyes lingered a bit too long wherever she would touch last. She never knew why he did this, until their small talk had turned into something much more meaningful on one particular visit.

“You’ve got a soft touch, dear.” His rough, jagged accent ran from her ears straight down to that spot that made her squeeze her thighs together to keep it from leaving her. Hearing it wasn’t enough. She wanted it injected in her veins.

“No medic on this base has ever been this bloody gentle. They ought to hire more o’ ya.” He said with a low chuckle. That small, insignificant laugh regularly rang through her mind at the most unexpected moments. She could be doing dishes, cleaning her desk, anything. That laugh stuck to her like glitter on sweaty, sticky skin. She knew it wasn’t something he did often, so when she heard it, an icy cold shiver enveloped her skin and raised goosebumps. She loved it. Wanted to hear more. The lieutenant had her in a chokehold and there was nothing she could do to free herself.

So when she found herself sat in the same vicinity as the trio and a few of the other members of the Task Force in the bar just a ways off base on her birthday, she was understandably a nervous wreck. Just a few tables away, she felt as if the trio were breathing straight down her neck.

**✧*̥˚<3 *̥˚✧**

“Man, that hen from the medical wings’ got a crush on me, mark my words lads.” The Scot breathes, glancing over his shoulder. “Been givin’ me the eyes past few weeks.”

“Fuck’s sake, Johnny. She’s doing her job. Every time a woman spares you a look, you go whipped.” Simon says sternly, also glancing up at her every few minutes. He also found himself painfully interested in her, not wanting to admit to something that could threaten or demean the persona he’s worked so hard to build up. Often times he feels himself unable to help it, her soft touch and sweet smell permeating his senses when he’s least expecting it. No amount of working out, training, or smoking could shake the insatiable hunger he was starting to develop for her. He would visit her office when she was so blissfully unaware of him, just to see how she looked when she was swamped with paperwork, or just relaxing on her break. He was genuinely interested in how she lived, how she loved, how she felt. He hated Soap for the way he started to mention her in the lewdest of ways, only encouraging his raging, exponential growth of feelings for her. A medic? Of all the hardcore, tough women on base that could do him just right, he wanted that one. The one who’s knees would buckle under her if he so much as breathed in her ear. He wondered what it would take to break her mind, body and soul until all she could think about was his thick, fat cock and all the places she could take him. He shifts in his seat at the thought of it, adjusting his pants. God forbid if Johnny saw the way he was rocked up at just the mere sight of her. He’d never hear the end of it.

“What about you, König?” Soap says with a sly smirk. His ears perk up at his name, usually excluded from the conversation due to his introverted nature. “Want a piece of ‘er? I know you do.” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “All the quiet ones are the biggest freaks, aye?” He continues.

“ Ich würde sie direkt an diesem Tisch ficken.” König says lowly, hoping no one else at this club spoke his language. Soap and Ghost glance at each other in confusion.

König knew what Soap said rang true. On all of his visits to her examination room, he’d put on this facade of being stone cold, not interested. But he was more than interested. He wanted to know how she would fare under his touch, how much it would take for him to absolutely ruin her. He was nervous at the very sight of her. She was the reason he’d taken his hygiene more seriously. The reason he started scrubbing his cock and balls more thoroughly every shower, on the off chance that he’d actually get to take her right on that little hospital bed he had made more excuses to come and sit on. She was the reason he became distracted from his work, all of his thoughts eventually turning into some unholy fantasy about her. He often fiddled with his knives to distract himself, to ground himself from any given stress. But to no avail. He wondered if she liked knives, if it was something she’d ever even thought about, if it was something she would let him teach her. It always started innocently like that. Then he wondered how fast he’d be able to cut every single piece of clothing off of her. He wanted to run the knife along her pretty, velvety skin, marking her with every swipe of the blade. Marking her with him.

Surprised at the silence at the table after he asked, Soap grew curious. He chuckled deviously as he leans forward, speaking lowly, keeping out of earshot from the rest of the table. “Well then, lads. I’m afraid we’ve reached an impasse.” He takes a sip of his drink. “And I’ve got the filthiest of ideas for a solution.”

**✧*̥˚ <3 *̥˚✧**

“ Their eyes are all over you. How do you not see it!” Her friend Belinda states, uncomfortably loud. She was glad to see that it wasn’t just her delusions making an appearance. Or the alcohol making her see things that weren't there. She smiles, looking down at her half-empty glass.

“There’s no way, Bal. Why would any of them be interested in me? I’m literally a nobody here” She states, smugly trying to fish more validation out of her. She takes another sip of her drink, wincing at how strong it was. It was her birthday. This was no time for girly drinks. She needed some liquid confidence. She had set her mind to approach one of them, but had no idea who would she would take the chance with. It was an ongoing debate that had been going on in her head for the past few weeks, her nerves practically incapacitating her whenever one of them showed up in her exam room. It felt silly, as if she were simply window shopping at the mall.

“You’re right, Bal. They’re all staring. Maybe they want you guys too. There’s enough of them to go around” She says with a low chuckle, a quiet green monster stirring awake in her belly. She couldn’t stand to see any of them wanting to be with anyone else, even if she had no right to feel that way. She hadn’t managed to speak any of them in a romantic manner other than Soap, who surely wanted in her panties by now. Maybe he’d be the one. Or König. Or Simon. All she knew was that she needed to be satiated. And fast.

“Well hello there ladies, how are ‘ye?” The Scot’s voice rang against her ears, making her freeze in place. She hadn’t seen him walk to their table, spaced out with the thoughts of who she would try and approach first. The girls were just as stunned as she was, smiling up flirtatiously at Soap through their eyelashes. She wanted to jump across the table and bash both of their heads against each other. She flinched at the new feeling she had, the newfound possession in her blood made her confused. She looked up at him, parting her lips to speak.

“It’s her birthdayyyy!” Bal says drunkenly, interrupting the modest approach she was going for.

“Well then!” Soap says, looking down at her, something close to amusement in his eyes. She could get used to this angle. “Come celebrate with us! We’ve got some pints about to roll out, what d’ ya say?” The entire table looks at her, waiting for an answer. Her mouth hangs open, the words stuck in her throat.

Her friend grabs her hand and practically drags her from the table. Bal and Sophia giggle like girls as they start approaching they boys’ table. Her heart pounds so hard, it threatens to break open its bony cage in hopes of escaping out of her mouth. When they finally reach the table, Bal and Sophia slide into the table, Soap smugly sitting in between the both of them. She bites her bottom lip nervously, the only spot left would be smushed in between König and Ghost. Not that it particularly bothered her, but it was still something embarrassing to have to do against her own will. In public, at that. She didn’t need the entire bar population to know that she would be more than happy to put all of her holes to use at once. She glances between the both of them as Ghost stands up, offering a spot between him and König.

“After you, luv” he says lowly. Goosebumps raise on her arms at the sound of his deep, husky, accented voice. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to hear the way he must have groaned and growled if she rode his cock like a cowgirl racing her favorite horse. She felt heat rise to her ears at the sudden infiltration of a dirty thought.

“Well thank you, Lieutenant. Didn’t know you were such a gentleman!” She says flirtatiously, the liquid courage going straight to her head. He freezes slightly at the way she addresses him, sending a white hot wave of deviousness to settle right in his balls. She smiles as she sits down, scooting closer to König’s large frame. She looks across the table to her friends, watching as their eyes widen at his height. He was the tallest at the table, even though he was sitting down. She loved to see the way he turned heads. The way women seemed to either cower from him, or wanted in his pants and how there seemed to be no in between. And she was no exception. She took a certain pride in being his primary care provider, feeling on top of the world sitting next to the king-sized man.

“Hey, König. How are you?” She says, greeting him quietly and sweetly. She spoke softly as if she would scare him away. She had a different approach for each man. She had it all calculated in her head, the subject being something that lingered in her thoughts for weeks and weeks on end. She felt pathetic trying to choose in between the three of them, not wanting to choose at all. She wished she could take them all at once, no regrets in the world. For Soap, she knew she wouldn’t have to hold back. She could be as flirty as she wanted, with not a care. She knew he’d soak it up like a damn sponge. For Ghost, she wanted to appear just as hard of a nut to crack as he did. She wanted to play mysterious too. For König, she knew he was a dominant, insatiable beast. How could a man of that stature not be? She wasn’t opposed to the idea of him making her his absolute whore.

“I’m well darling. And you?” He says his Austrian accent wet and thick on his words. The visible lines of his eyes squeezing together under his sniper hood. He was smiling? She thought to herself. Now that was a sight she could get used to seeing. She smiled back at him, parting her lips to speak, when the Scot interrupts her once again. Maybe his mouth wouldn’t run so much if he had someone sitting on it. She thought, heat rising to her ears and spreading to her cheeks. The more she sipped her drink, the bolder she felt her thoughts getting, threatening to breach the vocal barrier she’d worked so hard to build.

“It’s the lass’s birthday, aye? We’ll need some way to celebrate the life of our favorite doctor on base!” He says enthusiastically, raising his glass for a cheer. They all clink their glasses together, her eyes landing on König’s as she smirks at Soaps annoyingness. He smiles again and leans down to whisper in her ear.

“Happy birthday, Liebling.” He says lowly, his breath raising the hairs on her entire body. She looks at him and absentmindedly yet softly wraps her arms around his neck, squeezing him in a small hug. His muscles tensed under her touch, and his hands hesitated wrapping themselves around her waist as she hugged him.

“Thank you, König.” She says sweetly, an innocent smile splayed on her face.

She nuzzles her face in his neck, inhaling his masculine, musky pheromones. He smelled of what she would envision a man’s pure, raw love to smell like. She wanted it all over her skin, all over her bedsheets for her to smell the next morning.

“Do I smell good, doctor?” He says teasingly, her arms still wrapped around his neck. His Austrian accent rings through her ears, sinuously slithering it’s way down her core and settling into the deepest parts of her womanhood.

She freezes in place, letting out a breathy chuckle of embarrassment. She quickly gathers her thoughts and fixes the situation the only way she knows how. By flirting.

“You do, sir. Not sure what cologne you use, but I like it.” She purrs, leaning into his ear, not wanting the rest of the table to hear. He freezes under her touch, looking up at her with his half lidded blue orbs. She instantly noticed that look in his eyes. It was pure lust. And she wanted every single part of what it had to offer. She looked back at him with her same drunken gaze, not wanting to break the stare, afraid this moment would run out of the door, never to be seen again. Was he the one she wanted?

“Well thank you doctor, but I’m not wearing any.” He concludes smugly, scanning her face gently for a reaction. She smiles deviously, taking a sip of her drink and hoping to God he doesn’t notice the deep shade of red spreading from her ears to her entire face. She sits back, only now noticing how quiet the table got. She looks around and makes eye contact with her friends across the way, both of them seemingly shell-shocked at the bold display from her and Konig. She smiles at him, placing her glass down. They all begin speaking again. She looks her to her left at Ghost. As many times as she spent alone with him, he still wracked her nerves. He can tell that was the effect he had on her, so he leaned close to her and spoke near her ear with his hot, accented breath that sent shivers up her spine.

“Happy birthday, luv. Surely you don’t plan on spending it here, with the men who are always hurt and working you the hardest?” He says lowly, his voice barely a rasp. She bites her lip at his comment. He was surprisingly right. She could’ve been spending her birthday somewhere nicer. Maybe in the city, far away from her workplace. But she knew what she wanted for her birthday. She smiled at the thought.

“Oh? And why’s that, L.t?” She says teasingly, subtly scooting her way closer to him. His smell inches its way to her nose and wrapping itself around her brain. He smelled of masculine musk, cedarwood and the rough smell of the outdoors. He looked her face up and down, his gaze landing on her lips. He catches her gaze again and looks away, embarrassed at his own forwardness. She smirks to herself at his boldness. She sits back in her seat between Konig and Ghost, feeling like an ant between two mountains. She looks at Soap across the table. He was in the middle of a conversation with her two friends, shooting a glance her way ever so often.

Her friends finish off their drinks, drunkenly giggling with Soap as he makes endless flirtatious jokes and dirty innuendos.

“Well birthday girl…” Sophia starts, gathering her purse and phone, scooting to the end of the booth as she gets up, presumably to leave her alone with all three men like a madwoman. “We’d love to stick around, but we’ve got an early start tomorrow.” Bal starts to get up also, scooting past Soap, she shoots them a look. A glare that could cut diamonds. There was no way she wouldn’t break down into an absolute nervous mess as the only woman under the three men’s gazes. Her anger turned into pleading, and she shot her friends a desperate look of help me before they giggled and rushed out of the bar. They knew what they were doing. Her mouth hung agape as the three men ran their eyes all over her.

“And then there were four, aye?” Soap says, finishing the last of his drink.

**╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝**

“You want to…what?” She says, her mouth hanging open, her eyes shooting between the three men as she’s taken aback by their proposal. “All…three of you?” Her voice comes out barely a squeak. She looks down at her glass, her drink long gone. The glass was still sweating in the suddenly humid bar, the condensation moistening her fingers. Soap, Konig and Ghost look at each other, a smug, hungry look in their eyes. She suddenly felt much smaller, as if her lungs were shrunk to a point where they couldn’t take enough air to support her brain function. She couldn’t possibly deny them. She couldn’t. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. A dream of many women on the base. Soap was no giant, but the other two…she should be scared. But she wasn’t. She craved to know what they all felt like. What they all looked like under their rough military attire. How they would all fit on her Queen sized bed. She nudges Ghost beside her, wanting to stand up. He slid out of the booth and let her stand, staying stood beside her, looking down at her with a lust laced stare. His eyes ran up and down her body, starting from her eyes and trailing all the way down to the low heels she wore. Her gaze fell to the floor as she cleared her throat before speaking.

“We won’t be mad if you say no, dear.” König says before she could speak, his voice almost a whisper. He spoke to her as if she would break if he spoke to her. She looked at him with grace, the thoughts running through her head anything but. She clears her throat again. The thought of denying them seemed to be a bigger sin than what she was agreeing to.

“Um…sure. We can do that” she says, nodding her head. She let out her statement as if the opportunity would slip through her fingers, as if it would expire any moment. She smiles at them as they look among themselves, smug in their eyes.

**╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝**

The cab ride to her apartment was going to be nothing short of awkward, her squishing herself between three gigantic soldiers, two of them masked. The driver asked no questions and nervously drove off from the bar. The ride was filled with a certain bloated tension that could have surely spilled over at the slightest of movements. She sat tensely between König and Soap, the three of them barely fitting in the back seat. The scot placed his hand on her left knee, nonchalantly moving it further and further up under her skirt. König looked at them through his sniper hood, doing the same to her right knee. They looked at her like hawks to prey as she felt her panties moisten with anticipation. Soap was the first to reach the hem of her panties, slipping a finger through them. She jumped slightly at the sudden contact. He moved his finger deeper into her panties, reaching her weeping hole. He leaned down and whispered into her neck.

“Tsk tsk, so ready for me aren’t ‘ya?” His warm accented breath caressed her skin, sending signals to her brain for her to spread her legs right then and there. She bites her bottom lip, unable to part them in fear of the most ungodly of noises escaping them. Without warning, he enters a thick finger right into her. She gasps quietly, glancing at the driver and praying that he hadn’t heard. She was sure he knew something was up back there, but with the ecstasy Soap’s finger was causing to run through her every blood cell, she couldn’t bring herself to care. He pumps his finger in and out of her, curling it ever so slightly and grazing the one spot that would bring her to her orgasm. She looks up at him, her eyes lidded and tears brimming her eyelids. He was driving her insane, simply by the curve of a thick digit. She can see the slight smirk on his lips, his smugness driving her crazy as he drags his finger out of her abruptly. She let out a quiet whimper, her mouth hanging open in astonishment. Her head whips around to look at König, who’s hand had hovered by the hem of her panties as Soap did his thing to her. She can see his eyes squint, signaling that he was smiling.

She parts her legs the slightest bit, the only bit that she could while being sandwiched between the two men. He wastes no time in slipping a finger into her panties, taking a slight pause when he notices just how wet she really was. He glanced up at Soap, an amused look in his eyes. His fingers were much larger than Soap’s, evident by the way he slightly struggled to get his hand in her panties. He withdraws, then pulls out the smallest of pocket knives. Her eyes widen at the glistening blade, looking at the driver to make sure he hadn’t noticed the weapon. He reaches down between her legs, a nervous look written on her face. She stares at him, absolutely oblivious to what he’s about to do. She hears the noise of fabric ripping, and a gust of cold air hit her clit as she realizes. He had just expertly sliced the crotch part of her panties right open. How he hadn’t cut her was beyond her. Her mouth remains open in awe as he puts the knife back into its respective spot in his belt. He stares at her in the eyes through the whole ordeal, a starved look in his green eyes. His hands travel back up her thighs as his finger rests in the spot she wouldn’t want anywhere else at the moment. He inserts a finger into her hole, still slick with juices and ready for him. His other hand palms his crotch secretively, and his eyes roll back into his head as he dips his head forward. He bottoms out his thick finger, long and muscular. She wondered if his fingers were this large, what he must be carrying between his thighs. She looks down at his crotch, the imprint of his half hard cock showing itself. She wanted nothing more than his pants off in that moment. He curled his finger, the length of it reaching more spots than Soap had managed to get to. He continuously flicked her swollen nub of nerves inside of her, causing her to buck her hips forward. Her movements caused the leather seat under her to squeak slightly. Soap places a hand on her knee, stilling her. She shakes from holding in her moans, which she was surprisingly able to do considering the giant finger pumping itself in and out of her and stimulating her plushy walls. König enters another finger inside of her, stretching her hole. She places a hand on his strong forearm, the thick ropes of muscles flexing as he continues fingering her pussy. She feels her juices run out of her and down her thigh as they pool under her ass. As he continues, she feels the familiar tightening of her core. She squeezes his arm tightly, looking up at his green eyes as she reaches her orgasm. He takes notice of her approaching climax and slows his pace, letting her ride it out slowly as she struggles not to buck her hips forward. Her breathing begins to get sporadic and hitched as the hot coil inside of her snaps, and a thousand pound wave of euphoric pleasure melts her brain in the backseat of the cab.

She starts to taste blood in her mouth from biting her lip, trying to stifle her moans and whimpers as best she can. König palms his dick at the sight of her, a heavy breath escaping his lips. He pulls his finger from out of her, sliding them up and coating her clit with her juices. She jumps slightly at the sudden touch to her sensitive bundle of nerves as he flicks it with his middle finger. Soap continues holding her down by the knee, a look of amusement in König’s eyes as he overstimulates her. He takes his hand from under her skirt, inspecting his fingers as they glisten with her juices. He raises his hand to his mask, slipping his hand under as she hears the sound of him putting his fingers in his mouth. She rests her head on the headrest behind her as she looks at him in awe. So he was a freak, under that stoic, mysterious aura he always gave off. She steadies her breathing, noticing how they were around the corner from her apartment. She looks past König at Ghost, his jeans uncomfortably tight in his crotch area as the imprint of his cock makes an appearance. She licks her lips at the sight, looking up to his eyes hungrily.

**╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝**

As she unlocks the door to her apartment, she feels the hungry gaze of all three men on her back. She felt as if she were turning her back to a starved pack of wolves, ready to pounce on her at any moment. She walks in first, turning to meet their gazes. Ghost walks in first, followed by König and Soap. She smiles at them nervously as they look around her apartment, taking at her decor. She bends down to take her heels off, suddenly feeling a strong hand on her hip. She freezes in place as a gruff voice caresses her ear.

“Sit on the couch, love” Ghost says gently. She walks to the couch in her living room, her heel strap half undone. She sits down as Ghost approaches her slowly, the soft fabric of the couch caressing her thighs. He gets down on one knee in front of her, and takes her ankle in his hand. Her ankle fit snugly into his hand, his large fingers wrapping around it. König and Soap watch as he begins undoing her heel straps, his fingers grazing her skin and leaving a hot trail of fire in its wake. He looks up at her, and back down. His eyes travel to underneath her skirt, chuckling to himself at the mess that König made with her panties.

Once he gets both heels off, he runs his warm hands up her legs and to her hips when he lifts her right off the couch as if she weighed nothing. He walked through the small hallway as she straddled him, her legs wrapped around his jeaned hips. The rough material of his jacket rubbed against her clit slightly, causing her to let out a starved moan.

“Such a needy girl, aren’t you, lovie” he says in her ear, his eyes lidded with hunger through his balaclava.

She looks over his shoulder at Soap and König as they follow him to her bedroom. She smiles at them as they strut through her apartment, their large stature making it feel tiny. As they reach her bedroom, she looks Ghost in his eyes, darkened with lust as he swings the door open. Once he sees the bed, he wastes no time in throwing her on it.

The way they don’t speak definitely intimidated her. She knew she was in for it when they all stood in a line, staring down at her on the bed. All three men begin undressing, starting with their jackets.

She gulps before breaking the silence. “So…who’s first?” She says, her voice shaky with anticipation. They all glance at her, a smirk written on Soap’s face. He chuckles.

“Who said anything about taking turns, lass?” He asks nonchalantly as he pulls his shirt over his head. She looked at his body, his prominent abs jutting from his skin. His abdominal muscles flex and the light pink scars move as he throws his shirt on the carpeted floor. He unbuckles his jeans, sliding them down at the same time as his boxers. His cock jumps forward, twitching to attention. He wasn’t too long, but his shaft was surely thick and veins protruded from the soft skin. He approaches her first, sitting on the bed next to her and placing a hand on her thigh as the heat from his hard dick radiated onto her leg. He leans over and lightly kisses her neck, seemingly holding back the passion and hunger that’s rubbing through his veins. He runs his tongue over the soft skin on her neck as his hands run up and down her belly. She moans aloud as he leaves small love bites on her. Hearing the continued shuffling noises of the other two men undressing, she looks over to König as he begins pulling his sniper hood off. She stares at him in awe as he reveals his face to her for the first time. He was simply gorgeous. He had strong centric European features, his nose large with a sharp bump on the bridge, and plush pink lips that parted once she made eye contact with him. He had dirty blonde stubble littering his strong jaw.

“You’re…so handsome, König” she says in awe, the words barely coming out as a squeak. He smiles at her, his charmingly crooked teeth making an appearance. He was perfect. She wanted him inside of her immediately. But impatience would get her nowhere in this situation. Soap bites her neck harder, seemingly out of jealousy. She jumps and smiles as he does this, noticing the knowing look on his face.

“No favorites, lovie” Soap says, softly licking to soothe the spot he bit harshly.

“Thank you, Liebling.” König says gently, his German caressing her ears and shooting right down into her core. He continues undressing, kicking his cargo pants off and kicking them to the side. He pulls his underwear down next, his cock springing up and letting out a quiet smack as it bounces off his stomach. He was huge. She was no virgin, but the sheer size of it made her shudder. It was long and thick, matching the gigantic size of the rest of him. She looked at it nervously as he began stepping forward.

“Don’t be nervous, dear. I’ll be gentle with you” he says softly, crawling onto the bed in front of her. She smiles at him in response. He lies on her right, with Soap on her left.

As Soap continues his work on her neck, she looks past him at Ghost, now naked as well. His cock seemed to be the perfect size. He was big, just like him, but he wasn’t packing a monster like König. He grabs his shaft, slowly stroking it as he walks forward. He lets out a grunt as he crawls on the bed, taking the only spot left being in front of her. With all three men now laying before her naked, her heart pounded in her ears in nervousness. König gets to work on her shirt, lifting it over her head, leaving her in her bra and skirt. He palms her right breast, running a thumb over her tender nipple through the padded fabric of her bra. He lets out a low chuckle at the sight of it.

“Sit up for me, Liebling” he says, a smile lacing his voice. She looked at Soap as she sits up, her neck still moist with his saliva. König begins to fiddle with her bra strap, one of the hooks resisting. He grunts as he continues to fiddle with it. All of a sudden she hears a loud rip as her bra falls down to her thighs. She looks at him as he smiles at her nonchalantly.

“I will have no panties or bras to wear if you keep this up, König” she says, giggling at his short temper.

“Good, I like you better that way, dear.” he says in her ear, gently pushing her chest down so she can lie on her back. He wastes no time in going for her nipple, wrapping his lips around them and flicking the bud with his tongue. She moans, holding his head in place. Soap does the same as König, sucking and biting at her other nipple. The double stimulation was driving her crazy, it was enough to pull an orgasm out of her right then. She bucked her hips into the air as she looked over both of their heads at Ghost. He was naked all except his balaclava. She knew he wanted to conceal his identity, so she didn’t press the matter. And with both men sucking and biting at her nipples, she couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment. It was a discussion for another time. She knew she was soaked, she could feel her slick practically dripping down her thighs. Ghost looks down at her as he moves his hand from his cock to her thighs, running them up and down her skin and landing on her hips. He wraps his fingers in the waistline of her skirt, pulling it down roughly. She lifted her hips to assist him in getting her naked, parting her legs as soon as it was pulled off. He threw it to the floor, looking at her exposed pussy with nothing short of starvation.

“I don’t think you know how long I’ve waited for this, lovie” he says, leaning down on his stomach and positioning his head between her legs. He pulls his balaclava over his mouth, resting it on the bridge of his nose, exposing his dark stubbled jaw. He wraps his arms under her thighs, holding her in place. He reaches around her thigh and thumbs her clit, the sudden contact making her buck her hips forward. The three of them stimulated her all at once, making her brain dizzy with pleasure. She cries out as he circles her clit.

“God damn, look how wet you are baby.” He says, his voice low, coming out much like a growl. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He continues, his breath caressing her heat. Ghost dips his head forward as he replaces his thumb with his tongue, running a stripe along her entire slit. She cries out in pleasure, her moans ringing off the walls. She slides her hips forward, burying her clit in his face.

“I love the way you sing for us, lass.” Soap praises against her breast. She rolls her eyes back, unable to focus on anything as all three men work on her simultaneously. Ghost continues eating her out, sucking and flicking his tongue over her clit as König raises his head from her breast. He pinches her nipples as he leans down to her face.

“You’re doing so well for us, Liebling.” He whispers, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers. “T-thank you, König” she whimpers. He closes the gap between them, kissing her with a hunger she can only describe as ravenous. He takes her bottom lip in his, biting at it gently. She moans into his mouth as they make out. His stubble scratches roughly against her mouth, resulting in her lips to swell and plump. He continues palming at her breast, caressing her body as he kisses her. She knew she wasn’t supposed to chose favorites, but she loved how he was the gentlest with her, caressing her and putting her pleasure first. She feels a finger on her chin, turning her head to her left. Soap turns her face towards him, kissing her swollen lips. She swirls at the mix of smells, both men’s musk filling her nostrils and settling on her breath. He continues kissing her hungrily, caressing her cheek roughly. He moans into her mouth and stroked himself beside her. She reaches next to her, König’s cock not hard to find. She takes it in her hand, the thick shaft hard as a rock in her small hand. She takes the head in her hand first, thumbing his slit and smearing his precum over it. He lets out a pitched moan, close to a whimper. She smiles at his noises, his moans driving her over the edge. She feels the familiar tightening in her core. König caresses her breast as she continues stroking his thick shaft, all while kissing Soap and practically riding Ghost’s face from under him. He pulls away as he feels her tense around his tongue, parting with a kiss on her sensitive clit.

“Not just yet, baby. Can’t have ‘ya tappin’ out on us can we?” He says nonchalantly, standing up on his knees. She whimpers as he stands.

“P-please, Simon.” She breaks the kiss with Soap as she pleads, the desperation practically leaking off her tongue. The use of his government name was a means to beg him into continuing. He shakes his head hearing her call him by his name, smiling at her smugly. He pulls his balaclava down over his mouth as he leans forward, placing a finger on her chin and pulling her face forward.

“Oi, don’t you dare try and entice me ‘ya little minx. Be patient like a good little puppy, right lads?” He says. The two men on either side of her nod their heads, and let out a string of mhms. König continues moaning and grunting as she strokes him messily. He places his hand over hers, guiding her and noticing her becoming undone more and more by the minute. She looks back up to Ghost, who begins lining himself up with her pussy. He holds her legs apart as he slides his tip up and down her slit, coating it in her slick. She moans, looking back at König as he watches her face contort with pleasure. He watches her with such admiration, such devotion that her brain screamed at her to jump his cock first. She stared at him with nervousness as Ghost begins pushing his tip inside of her, letting out s groan as he does so. She bucks her hips forward, feeling him falter as he stretches her hole.

“So fucking…tight” he says breathlessly, pushing into her. She feels the pressure build up in her core, electric waves of pleasure shooting through her spine as he connects himself to her walls. In no time he bottoms out, his balls laid against her ass. He begins thrusting in and out of her, his grip on her thigh becoming rougher and rougher with each thrust. She lets out a loud moan, close to a yell. König continues sucking and biting her nipples, leaving hickies all along her breast. Soap leans over to her face, kissing her again as Ghost continues fucking her senseless. Their hips slap together lewdly as he fucks her, his dick hitting her swollen bundle of nerves inside of her. He moans and grunts aloud, his gruff voice music to her ears.

“Fuck, lovie. You feel so good. So…inviting.” He says, lifting her leg and throwing it over his shoulder. The new position would allow for him to reach her deepest spots, the part of her walls no man had ever ventured before. She cries out as he hits her cervix repeatedly, the pain turning into instant pleasure as he opens her up and sexes her most sensitive spots. He grunts loudly and squeezes her foot next to his head. He continues pumping in and out of her, throwing out praises and slurred words. His thrusts falter as he slows down, gently lowering her leg off his shoulder. “I won’t last long if I keep that up, sweetheart.” He chuckles, slowly pulling out of her. “On your knees, baby.”

She takes a second, catching her breath before sitting up. König and Soap move over slightly as she gets on her hands and knees. Ghost wastes no time in pushing his fat cock into her again, hitting her deepest, sensitive spots in this position. She cries out as he grabs the fat of her ass, landing a few rough spanks to the soft, plushy skin. They were surely going to be bruised the next day, not that she would mind. He curses out as she backs her hips onto him, allowing his dick to go even deeper, if even possible. “Such a good little puppy. Listenin’ so well.” She looks up at Soap and König as they watch her get railed and praised by the masked man behind her.

“Tsk tsk, we’ve oughta put your other hole to use, right König?” Soap says, grabbing her by the chin as he strokes his cock to the sight of her getting fucked stupid. König grunts in response, his hand replaced hers as he also strokes himself, unbelievably aroused by the sight of her thoughts being fucked right out of her head. She smiles to the two men as she understands what he’s insinuating. She opens her mouth wide, tongue hanging out like the puppy Ghost praised her so well to be. Soap shuffles towards her face, his thick cock in hand. She takes his head between his lips, feeling how swollen and plump it was with arousal. He moans breathlessly as he bucks his hips forward, gently fucking her mouth. She teases him by licking the precum off of his slit, and licking her lips, coating her lips with his juice. He bites his lip at the sight of her, roughly grabbing her hair from the back of her head.

“Such a dirty lass. Who knew?” He says breathlessly, shoving half of his dick in her mouth. She hollows out her cheeks as she takes him, bobbing her head forward. As Ghost fucks her from behind, she involuntary takes him deeper in her mouth with each thrust. In no time his tip grazed the back of her throat, causing her to gag and tear up as he groans and grunts. He begins fucking her face ruthlessly, the hunger getting the best of him. She gags as tears brim her eyes, tears and drool spilling over onto the bed below her.

“Look at ‘ya. Dirty, drooling little puppy. This’ll stick in my head for a while” he chuckles, tightening his grip on her hair.

He continues thrusting his cock deep into her mouth as Ghost goes feral on her pussy. He continues spanking her, praising her as she tries to pleasure both men simultaneously. Soap slows his thrusts, dragging them out. He pushes into her mouth until his pubic hair brushes her nose, and pulls out almost all the way, properly slutting out her mouth. She feels weight shift beside her as König lies beside her. He reaches below her, his middle finger rubbing her wet clit as Ghost continues pumping into her. Unable to look at him, she moans on Soap’s shaft. He grunts at the added stimulation, her moans vibrating the nerves on the head of his cock. As König circles her clit, she feels a hot wave of pleasure grow inside of her. She feels as if she’s about to simply implode, clenching tightly around Ghost. He slows his pace, unable to fuck her as angrily when she was clenched so tightly around him. His cock met resistance, causing him to moan loudly as he leans over her, hands still tightly gripping her ass and hips. She cries out, muffled by the thick dick in her throat as a stream of her juices spray out under her, pooling in König’s hand. He chuckles, bringing his hand from under her gently.

“Little Liebling, you’ve made such a mess, hm?” He purrs in her ear, standing on his knees. Her thighs shake and tremble, threatening to buckle as her body weakens. König made her squirt, which she was sure was a group effort, but it stunned her nonetheless. Soap lessens his grip on her head, letting her up for air. She looks towards König at he stares down at his hand covered in her squirt. He stares her in the eyes lustfully, bringing his hand to his thick cock. He uses her juices to wet his shaft, moaning and grunting as he jerks himself with her slick. She stares at him in awe, as he lies back down and begins circling her clit once more with his free hand. The sight alome was enough to drive her over the edge. She feels her knees buckling under her once more as he pleasures her sensitive bud again, resulting in Ghost grabbing her hips to keep her up.

Ghost’s thrusts falter once again, this time he stops completely. She whimpers onto Soap’s shaft in need, bucking her hips backwards for more. Ghost chuckles. Behind her as she whines. He pulls out of her as he leans downward, whispering in her ear. “You’ve brought me to the edge, lovie. Can’t cum just yet. ‘M not done with ‘ya.” He growls, his gruff voice distracting her from Soap. He leans back up, giving her a last smack on her ass as he motions Soap behind her. They switch spots, Ghost now on her right, Soap lining himself up with her entrance, and König still below her, fingering her clit. He looks at her in awe as the two men switch themselves, using both her holes as he focuses on her pleasure. She puts him on a pedestal for this, metaphorically wanting to save him for last. She smiles at him, her eyes lidded with tiredness. He smiles back at her, his charming crooked teeth flashing at her. Her heart melts at him, but their moment is cut short when Soap shoves himself into her.

“God, lass. So tight. Even after you’ve taken such a big cock in ‘ya?” He says breathlessly. He grunts as he bottoms out inside of her. She cries out, the double stimulation from him fucking her to the hilt and König’s thick fingers caressing her clit from under her, not to mention the stinging pain on her ass cheeks from Ghost’s ruthless spanking.

“Wait, Soap. Let her get on her back.” König says gently, placing a hand on her hip as he helps her onto her back. She’s now face to face with Ghost and König. Soap places a hand on her thigh, lifting her leg onto his shoulder as slaps his heavy cock onto her clit before entering her. He grunts as he pushes into her, wasting no time in fucking her senseless. He slams into her, resulting in her yelling out as a sharp, pleasure laced moan bounced off the wall. Ghost takes König’s place at her clit as he uses a thick finger to circle her bud, slowly jerking himself in the process. He dips his head forward and lifts his balaclava, and begins working at her nipples, sucking and biting them roughly.

König sits up impatiently, his thick cock hovering over her face. He looks down at her in awe, his eyes squinted and breathing hitched in excitement. He places a hand on her bed frame as he lowers himself onto her face, the tip of his dick entering between her lips. She moans at the double use of her holes, eagerly widening her mouth. His cock only makes it a bit past halfway before she hits her limit, gagging and choking on him. He pulls out slightly, looking at her with concern in his eyes. His grip tightens on the headboard, hitting the back of her throat ever so slightly. She melted at his gentleness, but she wanted nothing more than to take all of him. Or at least try. She lifts her head, hollowing her cheeks and breathing out as she takes him as deep as she can, she can smell the musk of his pubic hair as she gets deeper than she had before. König lets out a gentle moan as she sucks him, deepthroating him and feeling the bulge of his cock protruding from her throat. She takes her hand and grabs the remainder of him, gripping his base and squeezing as she continues taking him in deep. Soap leans forward and pushes her stomach down, releasing a new feeling she’s never felt before. She felt closer to him internally, taking every single inch of him as he moans at the new feeling too.

“Fuck, lady. You’re just perfect. Look at ‘ya, taking every damn inch of me like a good little puppy.” He purrs, his Scottish accent stronger as he pumps himself in and out of her, slowly dragging each thrust out. She smiles at him, baring her teeth from around König’s cock. He starts to move his hips slightly, seemingly not wanting to hurt her or choke her to death. He smiles at her as she nods her head at him, signaling that he was good to start thrusting. He takes her silent confirmation, and starts pumping in and out of her mouth. She gags and gurgles, the lewd noises bouncing off the walls. The sound of her choking on his absolute monster cock drives her crazy, it was music to her ears. He continues fucking her mouth as she moans over the tip of his shaft, the vibrations of her voice driving König closer to the edge by the minute. Soap's thrusts begin to get sloppy, signaling that he was close to his climax. His grip on her leg tightens as it hangs over his shoulder. His muscles glisten with sweat. He grunts as his pumps get slower. She feels his cock twitch and pulse, as he lets out a string of curses and moans into her leg. He pulls out of her before he can paint her walls white with his cum, and jerks himself, aiming at her stomach. Ghost watches from her breasts as he shoots his seed onto her stomach, grunting with every pulse of his shaft. He steps back, admiring his work like a painter admires his freshly finished canvas. He breathes heavily, walking into her bathroom and emerges with a bundle of tissues. König then pulls out of her mouth slowly, letting go of her headboard with a creak. He reaches down and runs a thumb over her tear stained cheeks.

“You did so good, lass. So good for me.” He says as he wipes her stomach of his seed. König gets up and walks towards Soap as she watches them tiredly, her holes fatigued and swollen from the constant use. Ghost lifts his head from her breast, her nipples now sore and overstimulated from being sucked and bitten through it all. He gently slaps her breast, causing it to jiggle and making him chuckle lowly.

“Such perfect little mounds, lovie” he says, caressing her neck. She smiles at him, leaning forward and planting a kiss on his lips before he can pull his balaclava back down. He pauses for a moment and his mouth hangs agape, a smile growing on his lips before he pulls it down over his mouth.

König places himself in front of her, offering his hand. She takes it as he helps her stand. Her legs like jello, her thighs shake and falter as she holds onto his strong shoulders. “My poor little liebe, so tired and fucked out, yes?” He purrs, bringing her into an embrace. Ghost and Soap watch as he sits on the bed, crawling toward the headboard. He places his back onto the headboard and effortlessly lifts her onto his lap, spreading her legs over his knees. He slides his hands up and down her thighs, parting them while kissing her neck and nibbling at her earlobes. Her body shivered as he did this, his gentle caresses feeling like sparks on her skin after the roughness of the other two men. “I’d love to ruin you tonight, liebling. But you’ve have enough of that, hm?” He purrs. She nods her head, her brain swirling in her skull and preventing any words from leaving her. She lies her back onto his chest as he positioned his cock in front of her clit. He slides his head up and down her slit, coating him in her juices. He slaps his tick, heavy shaft against her entrance before pushing the tip in, waves of electricity flowing through her veins. She moans at the thickness of him, throwing her head back onto his chest. He kisses her forehead, grunting as he pushes himself deeper inside of her, his cock only halfway inside before he hits her tightest spot, unseen by any man. He pushes into her slowly, forcing the rest of his thickness into her walls. Tears brim her eyes as she moans and cries out, a toxic mixture of pain and pleasure shooting through her. Ghost reaches forward and slowly circles her clit, trying to keep her from clenching too much. The room was silent besides König’s hushes and sweet praises in her ear, the other two men seemingly feeling sorry for her. She had never had any man this big before, but there was a first for everything. The stimulation from Ghost fingering her clit allows König to enter into her deeper. In no time he bottoms out, his cock buried deep inside her, all the way to the hilt. Soap approaches her to her right, kissing her stomach and leaving love bites all the way to her breasts. She would look like she had been through a war the next day, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. He begins suckling and biting at her nipples once again, flicking his tongue over the sensitive buds.

“Scheiße, du bist so eng, Liebe” he praises. She hadn't any idea what he said, but the way he spoke to her made her insane. “Hm?” She replied, the only word she had managed to squeak out since being ruthlessly fucked by the two other men. König lets out a deep chuckle at her cluelessness.

“I said you’re so tight, dear. So warm. So inviting for me.” He breathes out. He begins thrusting inside of her, slowly at first. He grunts and moans in her ear, his grip on her thighs tightening with restraint as he tries his hardest not to fuck the thoughts right out of her brain at any given moment. He begins thrusting faster, pumping himself in and out of her. She moans and cries out, going absolutely dumb on his dick as he fucks her at a steady pace. She reaches her hands behind her, running her fingers through his dirty blonde hair, it being soft in between her fingers. She lets out a string of curses as she feels her core tightening. She clenches around him, her grip tightening in his hair. He dips his head forwards as he lets out a string of German expletives and grunts, thrusting his hips up into her. He speeds up his pace, feeling as she tightens around him. His cock met with resistance as she comes close to her edge.

“Are you going to cum for me, love?” He whispers in her ear. She nods her head sporadically, unable to focus on anything but the thick, hot cock sliding in and out of her. “Mhmm. ‘M gonna cummm” she manages to squeak out. He chuckles in her hair, the gruff voice caressing her ears. “Cum for me, my sweet liebling. I want your juices all over my cock and balls, hm?”. He praises, giving her a small slap on the stomach. She rolls her hips, in sync with Ghost’s finger flicking her clit and Soap periodically nibbling at her nipples. König thrusts into her g-spot faster and harder, his own moans and cries hot on her ears. She feels the familiar tightening of her core, and warmth pooling at her clit as another spray of her juices spew out onto the bed. The mixture of her moans and his grunts make for a porn worthy scene as her squirt runs down her pussy and onto his balls. Her thighs shake with pleasure, her body now completely spent from orgasming. König chuckles as her legs shake violently. Ghost moves his hands from her clit, chuckling as he licks her juices off of his fingers.

“You’re like a sprinkler, love” Ghost chuckles, his fingers glistening with her slick. She smiles at him as he stands, his cock ready and twitching with need. He hadn’t finished fucking her in hopes that he’d be the one to breed her. But the way he saw her going stupid on König’s cock meant that he’d have to make do with her delicious mouth for now. He leans forward, grabbing her head gently by the hair and guiding her lips to his shaft. He moans as she takes him in her mouth, bobbing her head the best she can while König fucks her. He’s now drilling into her, cursing and whimpering aloud shamelessly. Ghost begins to thrust into her mouth, unapologetically starved from being cut short earlier. She relaxes her jaw muscles and allows him to fuck her face ruthlessly. She gags and chokes on him, droll dripping down her chin and onto her breasts as she bounces from König’s fucking. She moans onto his dick, riling him up more. He slides his cock deep into her throat, bottoming out until her nose is buried in his pubic hair.

“Fuckkk, lovie. I can see my cock bulging from your throat. God…damn.” He praises, his voice shaky from the fast thrusts. He pumps into her mouth at a steady pace as he grabs her throat and squeezes around his bulge smugly. He chuckles at the sight, loving the look of her bouncing on König’s dick as he uses her mouth as he pleases. “Good fucking girl. Taking my cock like the slutty puppy you are.” He says, landing a gentle smack on her cheek. He squeezes her throat again, making her gasp for air. He pulls out completely, letting her breathe before shoving himself as deep as can go again. He does this for a minute, pulling out and shoving himself back in, tiring her throat out. She was a drooling, crying mess, and he wouldn’t have her any other way. He feels the familiar tightening in his balls, his dick tensing with every thrust bringing him closer to the edge. He fucks her face a few more times before he lets himself fall. He moans loudly and lets out a powerful grunt as he paints her throat white with thick, hot ropes of cum. She feels the warmth of his seed travel down her throat, her eyes rolling back in her head as he keeps his cock down for a few seconds too long. His grip on her throat loosened, and he slowly pulled out from the walls of her windpipe, slick with her saliva and his cum. “Jesus.” He exclaims, out of breath from emptying his balls into her throat. “You’ve milked me dry, sweetheart.” He says, plopping himself onto the bed next to her. He reaches over and caresses her stomach as König continues drilling into her from underneath her.

König’s thrusts become sloppier, his cock starting to twitch inside of her. She notices his body tensing under her as he reaches his orgasm. “Scheiße, Scheiße!” He yells out. He roughly grabs her by the throat, squeezing her windpipe and causing her face to turn a deep red as she throws her head back. He buries his face in her neck, his face now a deep shade of red as he sweats and his muscles flex under her. His thrusts become slower, staying inside of her for a second longer before pushing into her again. He groans and whimpers in her ear, the gigantic killing machine of a man seemingly coming undone by the mere tightness of her pussy. “Such a sweet…tight fucking…cunt…Scheiße!” He continues, his cock twitching violently inside of her as he breeds her. She feels his hot seed filling her, slowly dripping down her walls as he pulls out of her, the tip swollen and sensitive. “God…you took me so well, my little liebe. So well.” He breathes, his breath hot on her cheek. He presses his forehead to hers, planting a soft kiss to her lips. He lingers on her mouth for a minute, catching his breath. They breathe heavily into each others mouths, eyes dancing between each others.

“So much for no favorites, aye L.t?” Soap says smugly, standing to his feet and slowly walking to his pile of clothes in front of her bed. She smiles at him, her brain still spent and thoughtless from the three cocks whose only intention was to ruin her. Ghost chuckles as he stands, grabbing his underwear and sliding them over his hips before lying back in bed next to her. König doesn’t bother getting up, and simply moves her next to him. She lied between the two giant men, her eyes fluttering closed as König and Ghost untucks the blanket from under her and placing it over her. She opens her eyes and looks over to Soap, standing at the edge of her bed in only his underwear. He crawls towards her and plants a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll be taking your couch, lass. No space on here for poor old Soap!” He jokes, winking at her before leaving to the living room. Ghost reaches besides him and flicks the switch to the lamp besides them, engulfing the room in darkness. The only light from the yellow hued street lamps outside. König shuffles behind her, spooning her with his naked frame. He kisses her on the back of her neck, rubbing her back gently with his large hand. “Goodnight, dear. I’ve had the best time with you tonight” he says, his voice barely a whisper. She smiles as she backs up into his embrace in response to his soft praises. Ghost runs a thumb over her cheek as he lies on his back, and puts her hand in his. “Sleep well, love. You did great.” He purrs. In no time, the sweet embrace of sleep blanketed her senses.

**╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝**

She wakes to an empty bed, the smell of sex still permeating the room. She checked her clock on the nightstand. 12:42 PM, it read. She’d be screwed if she had work today, but her body had taken the rest it needed from being absolutely ruined by three giant soldiers last night. She smiled to herself, wishing to herself it hadn’t been a dream. She glanced at the hickies on her body, and noticed the soreness between her legs. She sat up, scanning her room. Her eyes caught a flash of a pink gift bag on the other side of her bed. She smiled as she took the bag in her hands. She took out the contents, a red hot blush spreading to her ears. The lacy bra and panty set sat softly in her fingers. She looked in the bag and saw a card, opening it to reveal the sloppiest handwriting she’d ever seen.

Forgive me for ripping your panties and bra, dear. Enjoy. -König

She knew she wasn’t supposed to chose favorites, but hell.

[mimicmimikyuwrites]

The Riddler (Edward Nashton) Dating Headcanons

Ask: "shakes ur hand. hope it's not too much, but could i req some headcanons on what'd it'd be like to date the riddler/edward nashton? i dont mind SFW or NSFW! :3"

Contents/Possible Warnings: Angst, Edward is slightly a little creep, fluff, GN!Reader/AMAB and AFAB inclusive, smut warnings in labeled section, SMUT, MDNI

Other Notes: I did both SFW and NSFW, but they're separated into labeled sections in case anybody wants to only read one or the other. I'm happy to be writing for Eddie again! Thank you, Anon. 💚

SFW Headcanons:

You're most likely to meet him somewhere he frequents heavily, such as his workplace or his favorite diner. You're probably his coworker in some way or someone who works/is a regular at the diner. He's not very social, so it'll take him a while before he greets you in any way. Expect a lot of glances or small smiles from him before he feels confident enough to strike up a conversation with you.

Alternatively, you could even be a follower of his. This would change the meeting dynamic a lot, as he'd be more confident in talking to you; he does have ways of knowing things about you if you attend his streams (you should probably invest in better security for your computer, y'know.)

Edward has never had any sort of long-term or serious/semi-serious relationship before you, which is something he's never been proud of. His relationships before you were short-lived and when he was much younger, and they typically came to be because someone pitied him or needed to use him for something. They were hardly really even relationships.

He doesn't form bonds easily with others on account of never really being given the chance, so his relationship with you cycles between him being distant and scared to interact with you out of fear of rejection or abandonment, all the way to him being very clingy and affectionate when he realizes you're not leaving.

Even when he's deep into his fears regarding rejection, he's still very loving. Not a day goes by without him telling you how much he appreciates and loves you. You're the first person in his eyes to truly give him a chance, and he'll never let that go.

Similar to how he sees Batman before meeting him face-to-face in Arkham, Edward thinks you're the only good thing in the city. You are his angel in every sense of the word, a beacon of light in his miserable life.

Going back to the topic of affection, he starts very awkwardly. He's touch-starved in every single way. He's rarely been hugged, kissed, cuddled, etc. He craves affection, but it scares him at first, because he's afraid of fucking it up and pushing you away.

His first kiss with you is something you initiate, and he freezes up when your lips touch his. With his heart pounding in his chest from pure adrenaline, he melts into it, letting out a desperate whine against your lips. He is pathetic in an endearing way.

You'll have to teach him how to kiss, but he's a quick, eager learner. Soon after, kisses will become a primary form of affection for him (giving and receiving).

He's the first one to say "I love you," albeit accidentally. It had slipped out one night while you were on a date, and while he meant it he worried it was too soon, or that he had even might've mistaken your relationship for something more serious than you had seen it.

You had to reassure him that everything was alright and that you did share his feelings. "I love you, Eddie." You had told him.

He had never heard those words before, and they felt exhilarating to hear. He almost started crying, but held it back because you were both in the middle of a restaurant and he didn't want to embarrass you. Once you two get home he hugs you tightly, crying into your shoulder as he does. He's just so happy.

Jumping to discuss his inevitable change into the Riddler, he's very secretive about it in the beginning. It's for three main reasons: he doesn't want to jeopardize his plans and work, he doesn't want to scare you, and lastly, he doesn't want to lose you.

You found out on your own, discovering his whole Riddler outfit hidden carefully in a mostly unused storage closet in your shared apartment. You do eventually accept him and what he's doing to some extent, but his hiding it from you does cause tension and a newfound distrust in your relationship.

Once things settle he's eager to show you off to his followers. He covers what features need to be covered, of course. With a mask of your own covering your face, he gleefully introduces you to his watchers, a myriad of giggles leaving him as he does.

You're met with a positive reception by his chat, with many asking to see you in future streams. You become a feature of his tamer ones, usually being in the background or chiming in occasionally.

Weirdly, his crazed giggles and little riddles are nice to hear. They mean he's happy, and that's what you want for him. He's lived a horrible, lonely life and you think he deserves something good for a change.

All in all, Edward is an awkward, but sweet man to be with. Even when he's dangerous and out for blood when donned in his Riddler persona, he'd still never hurt you. He's in love for the first time in his life, and every part of him cherishes you. Whether he's your Eddie or the infamous Riddler, a lot of love is to be expected from him. He'd happily kill for you, no questions asked.

Bonus: He gives you a lot of cards filled with cheesy, romantic riddles. "What flower is kissable? Tulips." Or "What did the paper clip say to the magnet? I find you very attractive!" The more it borders on being funnily cringe-worthy, the better it is to him.

NSFW Headcanons (Contains: Oral sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, sex on a live stream, semi-clothed sex, questionable use of duct tape):

He fucks like he's in heat. The first time you have sex with him he's rutting into you, trying to get as much of you as possible. He's whimpering, moaning, and whining. He's loud, too. He tries to speak, to let you know how fucking good it feels and how much he loves you, but he's unable to. He's overwhelmed by it all, but it feels too amazing for him to stop

He doesn't last long during your first time, spilling into you with barely a warning, a long whine of your name leaving his mouth as he cums. When he's done he has a dopey smile on his face, green eyes glazed over.

He cuddles after sex every single time. He may like feeling used during the act itself sometimes, but afterward, he wants to feel loved. Snuggle with him, give him little kisses, and clean up with him and he's good to go. Sex is very intimate for him, especially when he's being submissive to you during the earlier parts of your relationship.

This man loves to give oral. He's sloppy and makes a mess of you while he does it, but he is eager to please. He sucks dick/eats pussy like it's his calling and his life depends on it. Please tug on his hair while he's on his knees for you, he loves it.

Edward may give you control, but the Riddler is a different story. The mask gives him confidence and makes him feel fully in control. He feels unstoppable. He'll be a lot rougher and degrading, often demanding you beg for him to touch you. Even so, he's still your Eddie under that mask, and Eddie fucks like he's desperate.

If you're up for it, the Riddler will have sex with you on his stream, claiming it's a little treat for his loyal followers. It gets him off knowing that even though you're being viewed by hundreds all across Gotham City, you're still his and he's the only one touching you. He likes to show off what's his.

He's a fan of taking Polaroids of you during the aftermath of your sessions. Some of his favorites have you tied up with his cum in or on you.

Speaking of tying you up, he likes to use duct tape on your wrists for some extra, kinky control over you.

Edward Nashton is a horny, desperate little freak.

[slinkythecoffeekid]

Chapter One || You Know What They Say About New Guys

Updates: Hi everyone, I'm back! I've been binge-watching Ted Lasso (because I was gifted some Apple+ for the holidays), and honestly, Jamie and Roy have been all over my reels and stuff, so I wanted to finally watch it. Let me tell you, I was inspired!

Chapter 1/? of the "Standing Again" pairings: unsure at the moment Rating: T for teens word count: 6.2k Warnings: mentions of injuries, anxious behavior, depressive episodes, swearing, self-esteem issues. Notes: pretty sure I made this GN, but if I missed something let me know

Synopsis:

You used to be a professional footballer. That was until you got injured with a torn ACL at the height of your career in the final match of a championship run. It's been three years since you've played competitively (let alone at all). You've been offered a job at AFC Richmond Football Club as their new nutritionist. Accepting the position to move on from your past, you find yourself dealing with one of the most chaotic teams in the Premier League in their day-to-day and your own healing from your past.

playlists are 10 songs per chapter!

“Well, Arlo, we have two minutes left of the ninety, and Man City is up one nil to Crystal Palace in this game.” 

“Yes, well, Chris, it comes down to how many shots on goal. Man City goalie number 13 (Y/N) (y/l/n) has battered down and blocked everything that has been thrown their way. They're on quite the defensive hot streak today.”

“The ball is with Sharpe, Sharpe passes to Blanchard, Blanchard to Weerden, and Weerden lines up for the shot! And- It's blocked by the goalkeeper! Another brilliant save by Man City's own (Y/N) (y/l/n)”

“Listen to the roar of that crowd! Crystal Palace won't have time to score another goal.”

“Not that it would help besides tying the game; excellent save on Man City's part.”

“Yes, well- Wait, somethings wrong on the pitch… it looks as if the goalkeeper is down.”

“Well, they are holding their leg in pain; perhaps they tore something.”

“Medical has come out to assist them off the pitch… They are taking them off the field on a stretcher.”

“ Hopefully, it's not too serious.”

The alarm next to your bed buzzes to life next to your bed, on the table it sits on, raising you to some form of alertness as you reach over and smack it before rolling onto your back, staring at the ceiling, and letting out a heavy sigh before looking back at the clock, 5:25 am—a routine you had set in you for long before now. With one last sigh, you kick the warm covers from your body and force yourself to brace the cold that is your new and albeit bland Richmond flat. You look around the room and check your phone for any new notifications. The same ones you have yet to clear from old friends and family, sending you hundreds of messages you'll never open.  There's no point in removing them, but it is far too late to respond to them. Dropping the phone back onto your bed, you head out of your room to your tiny kitchen. 

The entire flat was small and bland, much like your bedroom was; it's not like you moved many things into this place, just the basics of what you would need. It was meant to fit one person, and you are one person. Walking to the stove, you grab the kettle and fill it with water. Then, you walk to the fridge and grab an apple from the bottom. Taking a bite out of it, you look out the adjacent window. The city was dark because it was still so early in the morning. The street lights were still lit, causing a gentle fuzzy yellowish-orange glow on the rest of the world; it had rained the night before, so the reflection of the light bounced in the puddles and water droplets that hung off the windows. It was peaceful and quiet. You used to enjoy the quiet time of early morning; it let you get your thoughts together. You liked it less now; being alone with your thoughts leads to thinking about things you found unpleasant. 

Finishing your apple and tea, you head back into your room and to your wardrobe to get dressed. 

Getting dressed in plain black joggers and matching black shirt, you grab crisp white trainers and some socks before putting them on, grabbing your phone before walking to the bathroom to brush your teeth and pull your hair up and out of your face, holding a white baseball cap to match your shoes. Checking the time, it was 6:07. Normally, you would leave for the Man City Club House at this point, but that was three years ago, and you couldn't kill the habit of wanting to be training early this morning. You may not be a pro footballer anymore, but you could still go for a jog, correct? You head out of your bathroom one last time, shutting off the lights as you go, grabbing your watch off the bedside table as you pass it to head towards your front door. At your front door, you hold the keys and work bag you'll need for this next chapter in your life. Slinging it over your back, you head outside, looking back at your new flat, and give it a rueful smile before locking the door and putting your headphones in to provide you with something to listen to on your morning run. 

I don't wanna let it pass through the pressure in my head

I don't want to marinate in it, in it again and again

And if I let it into me, I get a rod in there, and it's gonna ring through me again and again

Half of me is melting away. Half of me never goes away, away.

Your run takes you through all of Richmond; you've always felt the best way to visit a city was by planning a jogging course and taking that run every day. The only difference was Richmond was going to be your home now. You would have to change up your routes every so often. Still, that thought gave you something to be happy about as you smiled to yourself as you managed to jog into the car park of your new place of employment. AFC Richmond Football Club. Checking your watch, it was 8:05, which is still early for your first day. The car park was still pretty empty, with a few cars here and there, a grab bag of luxury and economy class type cars; knowing how male footballers are, you knew most of those sports cars belonged to team members. Heading inside, you head straight to your new boss's office. Jogging up the posh stairs, you stop to take your headphones out before the office door, smoothing your jumper and adjusting your hat. Taking a deep breath, shaking the jitters out. 

Were you nervous? Fuck yes, you were, are, and probably will be for a while. This wasn't just some new club owner; you could handle the old men who owned some clubs. This is Rebbeca Fucking Welton. One of four women in a position of high power in football, a gorgeous woman who could ruin your career and take your husband, and you'd apologize to her. Her divorce didn’t change your view of her, and you wanted to impress her; besides, she hand-picked you to be the new nutritionist for the team. Though you still were quite unclear as to why she had picked you. Sure, you knew football; you played all your life, your brothers played too, and your dad- well, you didn't like thinking about your dad and football. Even after your injury, you still tried to be present in football, became a registered dietitian, and worked for several footballers independently. Maybe word of mouth hit Rebecca's ears, and she felt the team needed someone to keep them on a decent diet? Who the hell knows? 

Shaking your head, you let out a deep sigh before shaking the jitters out of your whole body. Then, knocking on the ajar door before you, you hear a clear voice, like the Bells of London, chime out, “Come in.”

Stepping into the office, you look around; it's a posh office, very sleek and minimalist, the windows overlooking the pitch, but what really caught your attention was none other than Rebecca Welton, with her platinum blonde hair and her perfect work suit she wore in charcoal grey and her strong jawline. There also is another person sitting in a chair across from her. The man who had been all over the news, Ted Lasso, looked like what you’d seen on the table, with a warm smile that reached his eyes and definitely reminded you of an uncle in the best way possible. Your focus was broken when Rebecca raised an eyebrow and called out to you once more.

“(Y/N), are you alright?” Her concern was polite, but it didn't matter; you kept your boss waiting for your response.

“Sorry, I was just observing; you have a lovely taste in decor.” You chuckle awkwardly, rocking back on your heels ever so slightly, hands jammed into your pockets and balled up as you let out an awkward “so…”

Sensing the absolute thick fog of anxiety, Ted slapped both of his knees with a midwestern ‘welp’ and stood up and turned to you with the happy smile he seemed to always be wearing before speaking to you. “Well, as much as I'd like to stay, I do have to head downstairs and make sure everyone makes it in, but later, you should come to my office. Come in and know me better, man!” Ted tried to imitate a British accent towards the end of his sentence. Still, it failed as he couldn't beat his own Kansas accent, tipping an imaginary hat as he got up and headed towards the door. 

“Alright, ghost of Christmas present,” you retorted just before he got out of sight. All you could hear was “Yes! They got it!” before a loud ow and what sounded like possibly running downstairs to catch himself or the tumbling of a body. Honestly, you were unsure you wanted to tell the difference for this coach.

You sat across from Rebecca, who, unfortunately, or fortunately, was enjoying the biscuits that Ted had brought her since it was ‘Biscuits with the Boss’ time. Clearing her face and desk of any crumbs, she clears her throat and ensures she has finished her biscuits before speaking. She smiles at you ever so gently. “I'm so glad you accepted the invitation (Y/N). Our PR mastermind has been trying to get me to hire a ‘life coach’ for the team, but none of them know football the way you do, dear.” she stands, “did you want anything to drink?” she asks you as she walks to get tea for herself.

“Yes, please,” you realize you hadn't had too much to drink after your run, as the last time you stopped to get water was a while ago; yes, you had your water bottle, but you drained that of its contents a while ago. Looking at the bookshelf behind Rebecca's desk brought a small smile to your lips, seeing all her achievements on the shelves and the books. Looking over your shoulder as she offers you a glass of water, you provide a soft “thank you” and take a sip before speaking. “I've seen Keeley on Instagram and Twitter, and  I have seen the team's social media presence since she took over, and I’ll admit she's done wonderfully.” You give a kind smile before clearing your throat, “So you want me as the dietitian for the team? Do you have a list of things for me to keep in mind or-” 

“Oh nononono, as this is a newer addition to our clubhouse, I feel it most important for you to get to know the boys and learn about them yourself. Of course, I understand setting up diets for twenty people is quite a lot. Still, you'll have the coaching staff to help you, and hopefully, the team will be quite flexible to help you, and you’ll have Leslie to help you with anything you need as well.” She gestures to the door where one Lesslie Higgins, who wears a brown tweed suit and a tan and maroon striped tie with a beige button-up shirt, makes himself visible to you, enters the room, and offers a hand to shake. 

Shaking your hand, he politely smiles at you before looking at Rebecca. “I can show her to her office if you do not mind.” 

Rebecca shakes her head as she returns to looking at some information on her computer. " That would be lovely, Lesslie. The team should be out on the pitch now as it is.” She looks so incredibly focused on her work that she doesn't even notice when you and Higgins exit the office and head down the stairs together. 

Higgins gives you a detailed tour of the clubhouse and the team's history over the years, looking at the history of the clubhouse and nodding as Higgins imparts you with many tidbits of obscure soccer knowledge you'd pocket in a mental file somewhere for a rainy day. Higgins also showed you where everything was, from the locker rooms and medical rooms to the training room, the bathrooms, and even the copy room. He showed you everything you would need for your job in great detail. The only thing you two had missed on your tour was the pitch. However, you didn't mind too profoundly. Your tour ended with Higgins holding the door handle to one last room, and he cleared his throat before adjusting his tie with his free hand. This concerned you, and you raised an eyebrow, watching this jovial older man seem nervous about opening a door that you assumed was an office or corridor. 

“Right- before we go in, I must warn you that Keeley, ah yes, the sweet woman she is, might have gone a tad overboard when making sure you had everything you would need to feel comfortable. If she did, please don't hesitate to ask us to remove or exchange items."He had yet to look back at you as he fumbled with his key ring before unlocking the door to this space; when he did, he slipped in, shutting the door in your face. But not before reopening it for you with a nervous smile. Letting you step inside to the ample space. 

The space you had stepped into was a large state-of-the-art kitchen. It reminds you a lot of the ones from the American Hells Kitchen. The floor was nonstick sleet linoleum, and the light grey walls and the counters were all stainless steel. Still, they had built-in appliances; this kitchen had not one, not two, but three fridges, and you assumed equal freezer space. And you had suddenly become a woman who had five ovens in your kitchen. If it wasn't for the fact that this was your workspace, you'd just be living in your new office. Then you noticed all the kitchen gadgets linked up on your counter space, blenders, stand mixers, hand mixers, hell, even a bread maker, all in a neat row on your counters. Could you even call them yours? The semantics of the matter would have to wait as you finally cracked a small but visible smile. Walking through the kitchen and checking every cabinet for its contents. Whoever came before you was organized, but you knew this setup wouldn't work for you. You pull a notebook from a small compartment in your backpack that sits at the small of your back and a pen from the same pocket and start writing down notes about the kitchen. Engrossed in your work, you had failed to notice Lesslie leaving and leaving the key with you. 

After looking everything over in your kitchen space, you decide to head to your actual office; it was a small room right off the kitchen, with a window to see into the kitchen. It had a desk, bookshelves, and a desktop for you to use, not personalized to your taste but standard practice, and that was fine enough for you. You set your backpack down in the chair and open it, pulling out your things. You had cookbooks and recipe cards to put up on the shelves, cords to plug in so you didn't steal your home chargers, and the small but important things to get through the day. But the most important things you'd brought from home were two picture frames that you put on either side of your computer. 

The photo on the left was from your childhood, and you and your two siblings were in the photo. Both of them are in their secondary school kits and taller than you. You stood in the middle of them with a broad, slightly toothless grin. All three of you holding a football in your hands. Your kit was covered in dirt and grass stains, as were theirs; it was the first day that all three of you had a game, and your parents couldn't have been any prouder. Your sibling's numbers are their favorite numbers; yours is 13. The other photo to the right was from your debut season. You played as a goalkeeper sub for Man City in your debut year, number 13, and it's still your number. You had come to thrive with 13 as your number; people found it unlucky. Unlucky thirteen people used to say, but that was until they watched you play. It became fast learning that Man City's opponent was unlucky if you played keeper. 

Reminiscing, you failed to notice that anyone was in the kitchen as it was closed off to the rest of the world, but jumped violently at the knocking at the doorframe, “jesus-fucking-shit!” you turn to see who was at your door. Still, it was none other than the coach Ted Lasso, his eyes wide with panic, probably from scaring him by scaring you.

“I didn't mean to startle you there. (y/n) thought you heard me, though if you swear that much, I'm sure you and Roy will make fast friends.” He smiles at you. His recovery was smooth enough to make things less awkward. “Can I come in?” he asks, gesturing to your office. 

“What? Oh yeah, yeah, come in!” quickly trying to steal your racing heart, you drop your bag to the floor and sit down in the chair across from Ted, who looks like a labrador looking at his owner with a treat. Calming yourself, you sigh and put on a polite smile. " Hello, Coach Ted. What can I do for you?” you ask him to settle into your chair.

Ted gave a soft ‘oof’  as he let himself fall into the chair across from you and crossed his right knee over his left, holding it in his hands and looking off into the distance before looking back over at you with that Ted Lasso smile you've learned well from the internet, “well first off I wanted to come down and say hello and introduce myself again before you are fed to the wolves. so please just call me Ted” he chuckles at his own little joke before continuing, “secondly I wanted to apologize for scaring the bejesus out of you, you jumped so high I thought you might be a cat!” 

The concern made you laugh; you'd think he'd seen them jump from being startled, or maybe it was the goalkeeper phenomenon that all goalkeepers jumped in strange ways to protect their goals. Still, you shake your head in response, “I'm fine, Coach Lasso- I mean Ted, I'm sure this won't be the last time I get startled in my corner of the world. And I appreciate the concern about meeting the players, but I'm sure I will be just fine.” 

Ted makes the face that can best be described as the dad equivalent of ‘OK, bud, if you're sure’ before setting both his feet on the ground, smacking his knees aggressively, and hoisting himself up and out of the chair. " Welp, if you're sure about that, how bout we go for a walk so you can meet them?” He heads towards the door and holds it open for you. 

You sigh, forcing yourself out of your chair. It's not that it was comfortable, but it gave you the relief of being off your feet for the first time in a few hours. “Sure, why not?” you head out the door, following Ted towards the locker room. Ted stops you outside the locker room before stepping in and returns a few moments later to find you looking at your phone. He waves to catch your attention before waving you in with the excitement of a toddler. You roll your eyes and pocket your phone before walking into the locker room where every team member is sitting in their locker cubbies; most decent, a few people topless, but no one was in a towel. You walk to the center, where the other coaches stand in a line and wait. 

“Now, alright, everyone. This is (in) they’re joining us as the team's new dietitian, like Jenni Craig but better. So you guys need to let them know all your diet things so they can help you be the best you can be. Do you all understand?” Ted introduced you to the team, but they just seemed more confused by who Jenny Craig was, and honestly, you were a bit too. 

A coach to Ted's side, with a beard and wearing polarized sunglasses leaned into Ted's side. " They don't have Jenni Craigs, Atkins maybe.” With that comment, everyone on the team nodded and let out a collective ‘ah’ of agreement. 

However, you did hear a scoff to your right; in the number 9 cubby sat a man who was probably, if not your age, definitely younger than you. The name above 9 was Tartt. Oh yeah, you knew who this was, Jamie Tartt; he used to play for Man City, was on loan, got shipped back, and then shipped right back to Richmond. You had never met him personally. However, you'd heard from others that he was less than delightful to deal with on a good day. However, that scoff was short-lived when a man standing near him smacked him upside the back of his head. Eliciting a hiss and an “ow, what was that for?” 

The man was fit, physically muscular, had a black beard and bushy eyebrows, and wore a coach polo. You knew immediately this was Roy Fucking Kent; you’d have been stupid if you didn't know who this man was or if he was born in the last five to six years. And you were neither of those things. He was not having any of the young striker's behavior and glared down at Jamie, “shut it, Tartt,” he snapped at Jamie before turning his attention back to you. Still, his stoic, frowning face stayed the same. 

Ted looked at you and gestured to the team, “Do you have anything you want to add? Anything at all?”

You shrug and look around the room, taking in each of the team members' faces. You'd memorize them eventually, but that wasn't the point of today. Clear your throat and readjust your shoulders, squaring them back and holding your chin high. Confidence is key when dealing with people you don't know or need to convince. “Names (y/n), I'm your new diet coach; I need an updated diet form; I'll send that out in an email by tomorrow morning; I need it by Wednesday to do orders. It's simple, I need your allergies, preferences, and restrictions. If anything changes, please try to tell me as soon as possible. I don't make a habit of killing my clients.” You knew it wasn't the most admirable introduction, but you were not the nicest woman either. You think briefly before remembering something important, turning to the coaches. “Kitchen is off limits to the team now if it wasn't before; if you need something from the kitchen, message me.” with that, you head for the door. “Cheers,” you wave before walking out of the locker room. 

The locker room sits in stunned silence before everyone turns to Ted, and an amalgamation of voices hits Ted like a load of bricks before he raises his hand and raises his voice, “Hey! One voice at a time, I'm not the Complaint whisperer; that's Nate's job. Now, what's got all your ducks out of their rows?” 

“They seem like a very knowledgeable coach; where did Ms Welton find them?” Sam asked with a raised hand so that he would be noticed.

“Probably the internet; that is how most people get hired in this economy,” Jan states from beside Sam. The others around him nodded in agreement, but a few tried to shush him. 

“they seem fucking cheery, but as happy as granddad over there, fit though, ain’t they?” Jamie snickered, leaning back into his cubbyhole. He and a few others close by laughed at his comments as well.

Standing next to Coach Beard and Nate, Roy frowned before Ted smiled at the team, “Welp, you heard them. Ensure you promptly respond to their email, or you might end up on the menu.” His words fell on primarily deft ears, and with that, the coaches walked into the office. Roy shut the door behind them, and the locker room returned to its chaotic, chatty atmosphere behind them. 

Ted plopped himself right down into his chair and stretched his arms up in the air before looking at the three other coaches, who looked right back at him with a dumbfounded look; all Ted could ask was… “What?”

“That's all we get. What?” Beard asked, putting his sunglasses on top of his hat. The boss hires a new person, and all we get is a what?” he asked before crossing his arms in his chair, leaning back as far as it would let him before falling backward out of it.

“Well, I don't know what to tell you guys. I just met ‘em this morning in Becca's office before practice. They seem like nice kids to me, honestly. Oh, but don't sneak up on them. When I spooked them earlier, they looked like Shaggy and Scooby getting ready to run away from a scary monster.” Ted looked to Nate and Roy for their input. Roy scowled like usual, and Nate nodded in agreement and understanding.

“Of fucking course they are- are you fucking stupid?” Roy pinched the bridge of his nose before putting his free hand out to stop Ted from responding, “Don't answer that. I already know the answer to that. Thats, (y/n) fucking (y/l/n)” seeing the deer in headlights look both coach Beard and Ted are giving him he lets out an exasperated sigh looking to Nate for some sort of assistance on this explanation. 

“Oh-ah yes! Um, (y/f/n) they used to play for Man City about three years ago, but they retired due to a torn ACL at a finals match a few years ago and used to be an all-star goalkeeper. Also called unlucky 13 for a time,” Nate jumped onto the shelf behind him and crossed his arms, “a bit surprising that Ms. Welton would try hiring them even for a dietitian position.”

Ted's eyebrows rose at the mention of your former nickname, “because of their injury or before that?” curiosity in his eyes.

“Before that,” Everyone else in the room responded in unison. 

“But it's not all that surprising; we've been missing someone to ensure everyone can eat healthy; young boys like that will eat whatever they want. Especially if they aren't being monitored,” Beard said, looking back into the locker room where the team, now unattended by the adults, was mucking about. 

Ted nodded before getting up, “Welp, I will see you gents on the field, but I've been summoned for girl time in the office.” He pushed in his chair, waving his phone around as if to show them the text, “Now, if you'll excuse me.” With that, Ted left the coach's office, leaving the other three coaches confused and shaking their heads in disbelief. 

Ted headed down the halls and bounded up the stairs before knocking at Rebecca's office, peeking his head around to make sure that people were inside, with his goofy smile, “knock knock.” 

Rebecca looked up from the sofa she and Keeley were both sitting on, looking at something on Keeley's laptop, and she waved Ted in quite frantically, “Keeley, put that away. We will watch those later."

Keeley whines in annoyance, “Fineeee, but I want to watch more of them when we are done.” She closes her laptop, turning to Ted with a smile on her face. " Morning, Ted! What did you think of them? I think they are pretty stellar!” She is now leaning forward, her arms propped up on the arm of the sofa and her chin resting on the back of her palms.

Rebecca lets out a small chuckle, seeing Keeley's excitement about your employment, before clearing her throat: " Yes, that is why I brought you up here. I wanted to ask your opinion on (y/n). Based on my very little interaction, I don't fully understand them even if Higgins also gave me a report of his own.”  She adjusts to sit with one leg over the other, expecting Ted's praise or lack thereof. 

Ted nodded before leaning forward in the armchair, in that deep-thinking sitting position he was well known to do before looking between the two women in the room. “Welp, they seem straight to the point, I think they’re just not comfortable yet. If we give them a few weeks, they will be busier than a bee in spring and sweeter than the honey from it.” 

His analogy was lost on the two women sitting across from him before Rebecca cleared her throat, “Right, yes, well… with that in mind. I wanted to discuss something with you, Ted, and Keeley. I would also like your input on the matter.”  Rebecca had this glint in her eye, where she had something purely devilish up her sleeve.

Keeley looks over, adjusting herself to fully face Rebbeca, and nods thoughtfully, or as seriously as she can manage: " Absolutely, what are you thinking?”  before smiling, seeing how serious Rebecca looked.

Ted nods, gesturing towards the space in front of them. “Floors yours, boss,” he gave her an encouraging smile. 

Rebecca smiles a devious smile. “What I am proposing doesn't leave this office until we are ready to put it into motion.”

You had spent your entire afternoon doing tedious paperwork, sending out the survey email to the team, looking at cookbooks former staff had left behind,  and double-checking the incoming order that would be arriving on Wednesday. Your afternoon was peaceful, being able to be by yourself and acclimate to your new environment. During your time in the kitchen, you found it was basically soundproof, so you could listen to whatever you wanted, and no one would know or even care. You had your music turned up for most of the day and listened to anything that could and would keep you distracted from thinking. 

Finishing up your daily task list, you check the 5:30, a respectable time to leave work. Grabbing your bag, pack away anything you need to take home, like notebooks and order information. You look at the two pictures on your desk as you zip up your backpack and nod to them both. Standing up and putting on your backpack, you head out of your office and ensure the kitchen and office lights are off before locking the door behind you. You head towards the door and car park before you hear your name being called from overhead. 

“(y/n)!” Standing there was Keeley, waving frantically and smiling. " Where are you goin’?” she asks as she runs down the stairs that lead to Rebecca's office. You hadn't ever met Keeley in person, but you'd seen her on Instagram and knew that she and Jamie Tartt dated at one point, but anyone in football knew that. You were not expecting Keeley to hug you very aggressively, much like a koala holding onto a tree.

You tense at the contact but relax quickly and return the hug, albeit awkwardly. “Hello, Keeley. Is this how you greet everyone you meet for the first time?” You blow her hair slightly out of your face, your voice strained from the hug. 

She quickly lets go of the hug but still tightly gripping your shoulders and smiles, “No, but I've been so excited to meet you, but your office was locked, so…” she pouts slightly at the fact you had unknowingly locked her out. “No biggie, though! If you don't mind me saying love, your fucking fit! Your parents must be fucking gorgeous!” 

You let out an awkward chuckle, avoiding eye contact. “Thanks. I'll be sure to inform my dad you said so. Sure, he loves that.” Sarcastically, you roll your eyes. " But to answer you, I'm heading home for the night. I have a lot of research to do.” You manage to get yourself out of Keeley's grip somehow. 

“That's perfect! I'm heading home too! Did you drive? If not, I can give you a lift!”

You put your hands up, shaking them in a no gesture, “I didn't drive, but there's no need; my flat isn't too far from here.” it wasn't a lie; yes, your run was two hours, but that was nothing for you, and moreover, on purpose. Besides, the sun was still up, so there was no excuse for needing a ride. However, the pout on Keeley's face tugged at your moral compass, “Tell you what? If it ever rains, I'll let you drive me.”

Keeley's eyes lit up excitedly, and she let out a little squeal before hugging you again. “Oh, that sounds grand! You'll have to give me your number, or I'll message you on Instagram. You have one of those, right? " She started digging through her bag, looking for her phone. Once she found it, she began to type. 

You nod, “It's (y/n)unlucky13.” You look down at your shoes sheepishly. When was the last time you said that out loud? 

Keeley hums in response before tapping a button: " And done! I followed you, so now I can message you!” She looks at you and offers her arm to link with your own to walk outside. “Shall we then? Get our last glimpse of the boys on the pitch?” 

You instinctively link arms with her and walk outside the car park lined up to the pitch. The two of you walk to the fence and watch the team doing the last bit of practice for the day. Keeley watched with the same eagerness as a small kid. Looking over at her, you smile before returning to the field. Your arms crossed, resting on the fence, and your head resting atop them, you watch in personal silence. You study the field, watch the goal, and look at everyone's movement. It wasn't long before the team headed towards the dugout for the end of their days. You stretch and let out a groan of relief from your stretch. 

Keeley smiles, “Well (y/n), have a safe walk home.” She heads to her car, but before leaving, she rolls her window down, “See you tomorrow (y/n)! Send me your coffee order!” And with that, she is gone.

You stood there incredibly dumbfounded; how could someone make such fast friends with everyone? Was she now your friend? Actually, you liked the sound of that. You missed being surrounded by peppy people. You adjust your backpack and start your trek home for the night. Richmond in the evenings was not too much different from the morning. You passed children coming home from school, passing footballs as they went. Couples walking hand in hand, young and old. Parents running errands with their children. It reminded you of before. When you did this before in Manchester. You shake your head to force the thoughts out and return to your flat at around 6. You unlock your door, remove your shoes, and set your bag on the kitchen table.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, and you looked down to see a text from Coach Ted. You don't remember giving him your number, but you opened the message. 

Ted Lasso

Hey Doc! Well, actually, you're not a doctor, are you? Calling you chef seems odd, too. I'm going to stick with Doc. Anyway, we are glad to have you. I think you'll work wonders for the team. Have a good night!

You reread the message repeatedly, whipping your eyes as tears rose, and put your phone back in your pockets. You decided you had no energy to cook, so you ordered some takeout. You worked on building a new diet regimen while eating your own meals into the late night hours. You looked over your phone, unlocked it, and decided not to leave Ted on read. 

Thanks, Coach Ted; if you're gonna call me Doc, I'm calling you Coach. 

You press send, clean up your food, and put your work back into your backpack, only to hear another ding from your phone. 

Ted Lasso

Alright, Doc, have a good night!

You smiled, looking at the time. It was after 10, which was late, even by your standards. You shut the lights off in the kitchen and head to your room, changing into shorts and a t-shirt before brushing your teeth and brushing your hair from your hat hairstyle. Walk out and stare out the window before crawling into your bed, plugging in your phone, and watching. You check your phone one last time for the night and open Instagram to send Keeley a DM. 

Hey, here's my order. 

You attach a photo of your preferred drink and its modifications so it's easier to order in person. You put your phone down on the bedside table, missing the heart reaction Keeley gave your message. Hunkering down in your blankets, you let out a sigh of relief, and for the first time in a while, you felt your shoulders relax, your jaw unclench, and your muscles unclench. You drifted into a restful sleep for the first time in over three years. 

Moving to Richmond may be good for you.

[twstedpurple]

TWST characters getting jealous when you spend more time with Stitch than with them (Part 2)

✧ Part 2 of the TWST boys (+ Grim) being jealous of Stitch as requested.

✧ You can read Part 1 here.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul might initially put on a facade of indifference, acting as though your affection for Stitch doesn’t faze him. However, the fleeting glances and subtle signs of displeasure says otherwise.

Rather than confronting his jealousy directly, Azul employs a more subtle and calculated approach. He’d insinuate himself into your activities, claiming curiosity about Stitch and wanting to learn more about the blue alien. This guise allows him to stay close to you, all the while observing Stitch.

But Azul wouldn’t stop there. His tactical mind would concoct subtle schemes to divert your attention away from Stitch. He'd craftily orchestrate situations to divert your attention from Stitch, devising scenarios where you would require his expertise or assistance. By showcasing his intelligence and skills, he could prove that his presence is far more valuable and captivating than that your blue, furry friend, reasserting his place in your affections.

Jack Howl

Jack felt a twinge of jealousy but tried to suppress it, deeming it beneath him to be envious of such a small creature like Stitch. He'd keep his feelings to himself, choosing to quietly observe from a distance, trying to understand what makes Stitch so special and why you're so engrossed in him.

When you invite Jack to play with you, he joins in, albeit a bit stiffly at first. Gradually, he began to relax, revealing a softer side as he interacts with both you and Stitch. Jack then became more curious about Stitch, asking questions and learning about him while you all hang out together, seeing this as a chance to spend more time with you as well.

As the three of you played on the beach, Jack's competitive nature would occasionally kick in. He would find himself playfully challenging Stitch in games, striving to win your attention by showcasing his strength and skills, all in an effort to impress you.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia might display a touch of jealousy, but it would be in a playful and exaggerated manner. He would never be truly upset, merely craving your attention.

He would pretend to be jealous in a dramatic way, pouting and lamenting about how he's being replaced by a cute alien as your favorite. He'd ask you in a mock-serious tone who you like more, him or Stitch, and perhaps even throw in a few fake tears for effect, just to see your flustered reaction. His antics were more for his amusement than out of real jealousy.

In truth, Lilia was genuinely happy to see you and Stitch having fun and becoming such good friends, his heart warming at the sight. He would even be thrilled to join in on your fun, turning the situation into a playful competition. Of course, he wouldn't miss the chance to cause some harmless mischief to get your attention. Playing pranks or playful tricks with Stitch, he'd see who could entertain you or make you laugh the most, reveling in the shared joy and laughter.

Grim

Grim couldn't fathom why Ace and the others thought he and Stitch were alike. To him, they were completely different. Stitch might be clever and good at making stuff, but he was far cooler and more impressive. After all, he was destined to become a great mage, so it made no sense to him why you kept hanging out with that alien.

He didn't even make any effort to hide his displeasure, constantly grumbling about how you fawned over Stitch. In his eyes, he was more interesting and better company. You were his henchman! Your attention should be on him, not some creature you just met a few days ago. Your affection should be solely for him!

Grim would frequently act out, always inserting himself between you and Stitch. He'd interrupt any interaction, insisting that as your boss, he should be involved in whatever you were doing. A boss and his henchman should always stick together, he reasoned. He would even engage in petty competitions with Stitch at every chance he got, trying to prove that he was better than him, be it in cuteness, cleverness, or usefulness. But Stitch wasn’t one to back down without a fight. The more Grim intervened, the more Stitch clung to you, a smug smirk on his face as he snuggled up to you, which only infuriated Grim more.

No matter how many times he denied it, it was clear Grim was jealous of Stitch. His possessiveness over you, the way he pouted and sulked, his bright blue eyes glaring at the other furry creature—it was all so obvious. You found it adorable watching Grim and Stitch bicker, biting your lip to suppress a smile. You would have loved to snap a picture of them, but you knew it might aggravate Grim even more. You had to deal with Grim before he causes trouble for you and the other students while they're trying to find a way off the island and back to school.

[cherryblossom-heart]

Stealing the spotlight (Media coverage)

Model!Satoru x Makeup Artist!Reader

<Previous chapter. Next Chapter>

New Faces Light Up Aether Vision Runway: Suguru Geto and Kento Nanami Shine, While Satoru Gojo Falls Short

Osaka, Japan – The Aether Vision Runway event, designed to spotlight fresh talent hoping to make their mark in the modeling industry, proved to be an unforgettable night—but not for the same reasons for everyone involved. While Suguru Geto and Kento Nanami impressed with their poise and professionalism, Satoru Gojo’s flamboyant performance left much to be desired, casting a shadow over what could have been a promising debut.

The event brought together aspiring models from across Japan, offering them a chance to showcase their skills in front of industry insiders. Among the hopefuls, Geto, Nanami, and Gojo stood out as the night’s most talked-about participants.

Suguru Geto quickly established himself as the highlight of the show, exuding confidence and charisma as he commanded the runway. His ability to embody the mood of each outfit, paired with his intense, magnetic presence, left the audience captivated. Industry insiders have already begun speculating that Geto’s performance may open doors beyond modeling, with rumors of casting offers for both fashion campaigns and film roles circulating after the show.

“Suguru has that rare ability to make you stop and watch,” said one casting agent. “He understands how to tell a story without saying a word.”

Kento Nanami also left a lasting impression, albeit with a very different approach. His clean-cut style and quiet elegance stood in stark contrast to the dramatic flair of the event’s theme, but it worked in his favor. Nanami’s composed demeanor on the runway resonated with audiences and industry professionals alike, showcasing a classic charm that some say is sorely missing in modern fashion. Whispers suggest Nanami may already be in talks for future international runway shows, as well as appearances in television dramas.

“Kento is the kind of model who can fit anywhere, whether it’s on a high-end runway or in front of a camera,” commented one fashion journalist. “His versatility is going to take him far.”

Satoru Gojo, on the other hand, struggled to find the right balance between personality and professionalism. His bold style and cheeky attitude generated excitement leading up to the event, but his performance on the runway failed to live up to the hype. Gojo’s exaggerated gestures, such as repeatedly adjusting his sunglasses and breaking into playful smirks, drew more laughter than admiration. Many felt his antics detracted from the outfits he was meant to highlight.

“Satoru definitely caught attention, but not for the right reasons,” said a fashion insider. “He has the charisma, but he needs to remember that the runway is about showcasing the designs, not himself.”

Despite the criticism, Gojo’s natural charm and striking appearance still garnered some attention, with whispers of potential casting in light-hearted commercials and possibly even action-oriented projects. However, his road to establishing himself as a serious model might require some reevaluation.

Social media buzzed with commentary after the event, with hashtags like #GetoBreakout and #NanamiElegance trending, while #GojoOverhyped became the center of heated debate. Fans of all three models defended their favorites, but even Gojo’s supporters acknowledged that his performance didn’t meet expectations.

As Aether Vision Runway closes its doors, the future seems bright for Suguru Geto and Kento Nanami, whose professionalism and talent have made them names to watch in the industry. For Satoru Gojo, this debut served as a learning experience—and perhaps a reminder that charm alone won’t always carry the day.

[driaswrld]

city boys! — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 1.4k

summary : you go grocery shopping with satoru and suguru and they're just idiots tbvh (gn! reader)

part of : the star paradox collection.

notes : i have shamelessly brought my calculator to a kfc drive thru and yes i do it at the grocery store bcus i have dyscalculia math sucks don't @ me. also i have so much satosugu brainrot i can't breathe. yay to the satoru themed era of the blog :))

other : this can be read as platonic or poly just however you wanna see it! (like three curse words i think - mentions of cunnilingus) I SWEAR ITS NOT WHAT U THINK

current casette : city boys - burna boy

There’s something about summer that makes Satoru and Suguru hang off your shoulders more than they ought to. In the most mundane situations too.

“—and it’s not even that serious!” Satoru groans, dragging his feet on the floor, reluctantly marching behind where you’re pushing the trolley. “Who cares what kind of curry it is? Curry is curry.” He reasons with a huff.

Suguru nudges you in the middle of the supermarket aisle from time to time, pointing out things you usually buy, brands you usually prefer over most, and you grab whatever you find remotely necessary and toss in the cart, both of you collectively ignoring Satoru’s whines.

“C’monnn… Listen to me!”

You pick up a can of diced pineapple and look at Suguru. “Nah, that one’s too sour,” he murmurs and you put it back instantly. Afterall, Suguru’s the best taste tester you could ever ask for. Satoru just scarfs down everything in a forty mile radius.

“The design on the can was pretty though, ‘s a shame.” You sigh.

Satoru’s groans fall on deaf ears.

You turn a corner and head into the fruit aisle. Suguru’s eyes flick to something over your head and his steps falter for a moment. While you’re pushing the trolley ahead, a soft smack! noise comes from behind you and before you can turn your head—

“No! I wanted the other one—”

“This one’s better—”

You ignore them, albeit barely with all the commotion both boys are causing in the supermarket. Leaning over an array of cherries on display, you hum to yourself, carefully picking the pretty ones to add to the cart, perusing at the other assortment of fruit and if even possible, Satoru and Suguru’s bickering gets louder.

“That tastes like shit—” “You look like shit—”

“You kiss your mom with that mouth?”

“You eat pussy with that mouth?”

You strain your head forward as an old lady strolls past, her eyes a little wide and eyebrows knitted with a look of utter shock and you shrink. With a stiff, humorless giggle you turn your back to her, suddenly finding a bunch of grapes oddly interesting.

Embarrassing.

And when you breathe a breath of relief as the old lady passes by, Satoru swings his arm over your shoulder, pouting. “Suguru’s a dumbass—” He’s cut off by a smack to the back of his head, and despite yourself you can’t help but laugh a little.

“Will you two just behave and,” you shift out of Satoru’s hold to take the mini package of ridiculously sweet m&m infused rice krispies he has in his other hand.

You toss it into the cart. “—help me pick some stuff for my fruit salad?” Satoru shrugs with a sigh, he hates shopping. It’s so boring—

You laugh and pull up the list you typed up on your phone : Raspberries, check. Kiwi, check. Watermelon, check. Grapes…

“What else do you need?” Suguru asks, and he sidesteps Satoru, leaning casually on the trolley, one foot pushing it forward and backward as you look through the fruits. “Grapes—” you murmur, suddenly feeling indecisive as you look through the different bunches. Green or Purple. Purple or Green.

Satoru pushes his sunglasses down to the curve of his nose. “Green, ‘s prettier,” he says and you turn to grab a bunch of the green grapes as Suguru straightens his body, pretending to look over your shoulder as he sneakily drops a package of plain marshmallow rice krispies into the cart. “Yeah, green would make it look way more appealing, wouldn’t it?” You whisper to yourself.

“I saw that—” Satoru begins to say.

“Purple’s better, healthier than the green ones.” Suguru says with a straight face. Behind your back he flips Satoru off.

You shrug your shoulders and grab a small bunch of both. If anything, it’ll be shared well between you and Shoko in the bentos you make. Hopefully she appreciates the struggle.

Sliding your phone unlocked, you glance at the list again as you step off. Grapes, check. Suguru pushes the trolley, following close behind you as Satoru trudges behind him. “Wait—” You halt immediately, and Suguru has to steer the trolley left so he doesn’t run into you, but Satoru steps on the back of Suguru's shoes, and looks away with a bashful whistle.

“Other aisle, we need to turn around.” You say, sliding your phone back into your back pocket. Canned Pineapples. You forgot you put back the last one. “How many damn aisles are there?” Satoru mumbles as you turn and make a beeline for the next corner, going back where the three of you came. Suguru chuckles.

Kneeling, you grab the canned pineapples opposite to the ones Suguru said were sour. Hopefully that much distance in the store is enough of a difference between the two brands.

You check the list one more time. Pineapples, check.

“Right, that should be it.” You mumble and both boys internally celebrate — well, Satoru makes a show of letting out a long dramatic sigh of relief while Suguru nods.

Taking a look into the cart, Satoru pettily moves his package of rice krispies on the other side of the cart, away from Suguru’s and when Suguru looks at him incredulously, he sticks a tongue out, “Your flavor’s trash.”

Suguru rolls his eyes and is about to push the trolley forward to run him over when he sees you pull out a scientific calculator from your tote.

A scientific calculator. The same one you use for school. “The fu—” Satoru is about to say, and Suguru glances at him, both of them trying to at least read each other’s minds about what the hell is going on.

You however, are so hyper focused on your little task, pushing the buttons of your calculator, tongue poking the inside of your cheek. Satoru and Suguru watch you for all of two minutes. One minute spent with expressions morphing from confused, to even more confused, to utterly amused. The second minute spent snickering quietly and snapping silent pictures for the groupchat.

“Huh, I went over a little.” You hum and though they haven’t wiped the sheer amusement off their faces, they both find themselves intrigued. “By how much?” Suguru asks, quickly sending off the pictures to the groupchat.

“Seven hundred yen.” You reply as you step forward to peer into the cart, willing and ready to discard one unnecessary item to drop the price.

Three of your phones chime. Satoru checks his own notification.

[Gojo Fanclub]

Nanaminn <3 : who added me to this???

Nanaminn <3 : delete my number gojo.

“Bet it’s the curry.” Satoru mumbles absentmindedly, typing at his phone screen. “The curry’s like—” he pauses, shoves his phone in his hoodie pocket and counts silently on his fingers. “A thousand yen or something — they must’ve put the god of curry in there or something.”

“It’s not the curry,” you reason scouring the cart for any discrepancies. And there’s quite a few of them. Including but not limited to some Sakura tarts, sour candies, an extra package of rice krispies—

“The curry powder we picked is five hundred yen, it’s not the curry.” Suguru shrugs, and Satoru leans against one of the shelves of seasoning, letting out a quiet sneeze.

“Bless you— I need to recheck these.” The calculator comes out again as you murmur to yourself, the click clacking of the buttons drowning out your own thoughts.

“I’m just saying— maybe it was the rice krispie Suguru snuck into the cart—” Satoru mumbles, all while he bends his body at the end of the aisle, reaching blindly around to the shelves on the other side.

“You put one in, I was only balancing the trolley weight.” Suguru interrupts, and he turns his head away when you look up from your calculator at him accusingly.

“See?” Satoru grins, almost victoriously as he grasps a package of baumkuchen, wheeling his hand back as he sidesteps Suguru, moving to slide the pastry into the trolley. “Who knows what else’ll just drop into the cart?” And your calculator is forgotten as you snatch the pastry from Satoru’s hand. “Nothing else is dropping into the cart—”

But something else catches your attention as you’re about to scold him.

Two bright green bags, hidden at the bottom of the cart, stuffed under the packaging of Sakura tarts.

“Who the hell put Kenpi chips in here?”

Satoru and Suguru both freeze, and suddenly their accusing fingers are pointed at each other. But instead of scolding them like they expect—

“Should’ve at least put one for me.”

You're never going to the grocery store with them again.

Bonus :

“Satoru’s paying for the extra snacks—”

“Not fair! Suguru shouldn’t get to just stuff his face—”

“Only two of those snacks are mine. Two. Out of ten.”

A notification sounds on the three of your phones.

[Gojo Fanclub]

Nanaminn <3 : is that my calculator that you borrowed???

@todorokies gets the privilege tag cs i told knives ab this first😭

[sssammich]

💘 supercorp bc its on brand for them

omg ok i finally have some time to write the rest of these so we're gonna tackle this one!

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss

ask meme

---

Lena has to chew on her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing, forcing her face muscles to stay absolutely still. She covers her face with her hand, pressing her palm up to her lips as she attempts to make sense of what Alex is saying to her...to them.

She drops her hand down on her lap and is about to respond when Kara, having been equally quiet beside her on the couch, rests her elbows on her knees and asks the question that's on the tip of Lena's tongue.

"You want us to be in a pretend relationship?"

"I don't just want you two to be in a pretend relationship, I need you two to be in a pretend relationship."

"That's--"

"It can't be that hard," Alex reasons, almost talking to herself, her hands on her hips as she stands across the coffee table of Kara's apartment staring at them with a completely serious face. Lena and Kara share a shocked look with one another.

"And why not?" she challenges, unable to help herself.

"Because you two are best friends," Alex responds smoothly and stares at them expectantly. Hard to fault Alex about that. She and Kara are best friends with each other.

"Run it back again," Kara interrupts. "Explain one more time why we need to be dating."

Alex huffs, though by the way she drops to her knees in front of the coffee table, steepling her hands as she rests her elbows on the wooden surface, Lena suspects that Alex thinks that she's hooked them.

"Because the entire operation hinges on the fact that you're already in a relationship. And since this is so last minute, the most believable option we have going for you is your best friend who you already spend so much time with."

Lena tilts her head. It all makes sense, all things considered. She already spends almost all of her free time with Kara whether at her penthouse or at Kara's apartment (which, for the record, is where they are currently, and where she had been for the better part of the last three hours since finishing up some work earlier that afternoon).

"It makes sense," she says out loud, as if considering Alex's words.

"I knew you were the best Luthor out there," Alex quips, leaning forward. Lena can guess that Alex feels so close to attaining what she needs from the two of them, but Kara beside her doesn't sound as sold.

"I don't know, Alex. Don't you think we've done our fair share of deception and lying?"

Alex rolls her eyes, her hands pressed flat on the table in front of her. "Kara. You are a superhero vigilante with a secret identity. Deception and lying is literally part of your everyday life."

Kara turns to Lena for support, the corners of her lips tugged down and strained. Lena gives her a supportive albeit apologetic smile. "She has a point, darling," she says finally.

The pout on Kara's face is worth a hundred kisses to make go away, Lena thinks, but she doesn't move. "I thought you were on my side?"

"I am on your side. But so far, your sister is making good points. Even though the why is still a bit flimsy."

"I just said the operation--"

"But why does this supposed operation require Kara being in a relationship? Can't she simply be unavailable or that she's not currently in the headspace to date?" she asks, her hand placed on Kara's back, rubbing soothing circles between Kara's shoulder blades. She resists smiling when Kara leans a bit closer to her, as if Lena can't reach her. There's literally no space of distance between them already on the couch.

"Because," Alex starts. "There are going to be relatives and family friends from Kelly's side that'll be relentless--" and this is where Lena is baffled by how Alex is acting, "--to insist that they will have the best and most suitable eligible single daughter or son that's perfect for you, Kara. And you too, Lena. Don't think you'll get out of this scot-free."

Her face furrows in confusion. "Me?"

"Yes! They will, undoubtedly, ruin the wedding by trying to set both of you two up with other people, and we honestly can't have you two distract everyone from our big day."

Lena's eyes narrow at Alex whose own gaze is fixed in staring at her sister. It's an odd request, and her suspicions are raising alarms inside of her mind. Still, she keeps quiet, especially when Kara leans forward, her strong hand somehow landing on Lena's knee as she does so.

"You think we'll be distracting you and Kelly on your guys' big day?"

Lena pretends to scratch at her chin to try and cover her mouth knowing that she can just about hear the pout in Kara's voice.

"God, no. That's not--" Alex takes a deep breath as she straightens herself up from where she's kneeling by the coffee table. "Kara. It's not you two I'm worried about, it's them. They are going to make a big deal and I'm just trying to protect the both of you. And, of course, my wedding day with Kelly. And the truth of the matter is that there's no reason to wait for things to happen when we can prepare and cover all of our bases. That's all."

The truth of the matter. That's an interesting choice of words, Lena ponders, but she keeps those thoughts to herself.

Kara worries her bottom lip between her teeth even as her hand stays on Lena's knee. From the corner of her eye, she catches sight of Alex's gaze dropping to Kara's hand and Lena's leg, no doubt making a mental note of what she's seeing. But Lena's attention is pulled back to Kara who has now twisted her body to better look at Lena beside her. For her part, Lena stays in her exact position, hand on Kara's back, and waits for Kara's lead.

"What do you think?" she asks, her face serious, though something flashes in her eyes before Lena could really read what it had been.

"I think..." Lena begins to say, weighing every word that comes out of her mouth. "It's better to be safe than sorry."

Kara stares at her for a long moment, like it's just the two of them in the room, before sighing and leaning back, suspending Lena's hand between her back and the couch. Lena doesn't mind in the slightest, instead lets the tips of her fingers gently scratch Kara's back.

"That's all?" Kara asks, this time the question directed to her sister.

Lena turns her face enough to witness how Alex strains from smiling too wide when she nods emphatically and says, "That's all. That's it."

The longest five seconds seem to pass over all three of them until Kara sighs. "Fine. We'll do it."

Alex struggles to keep her fist pump under control and Lena wants to roll her eyes.

"Great. Figure out whatever cover story you two think will work the best. Remember, closer to the truth works best."

"I think we'll figure it out just fine, Alex," she comments, her voice taking on an airy tone. "It's not the first time we've had to give a cover story."

Alex nods again before rising to her feet. "Right, right. Okay, I'm gonna go home to the missus, and you two can work on your cover story."

Kara's just about to get up when Alex stops her. "You stay put, I'll let myself out. Have your story figured out by brunch this weekend. Sound good?"

She and Kara glance at one another before returning their focus on Alex. With her free hand, she offers a mock salute just as Kara nods up at her sister.

When Alex shuts the door behind her and leaves the two of them still on the couch, it's Kara who breaks first, tugging at Lena's arm from behind her so she can perch it around Kara's shoulder, their fingers tangled by Kara's bicep, before slumping further down on the couch with a loud exhale. She rests her head on Lena's shoulder, and Lena places a soft kiss on the crown of her head.

"You know, she used to be so much better at lying. Like I didn't even know she worked for a shadow government organization."

Lena chuckles, despite herself, and pulls Kara closer to her. "She was laying it on rather thick, I thought."

Kara tilts her head up, her ear resting on Lena's shoulder as their faces sit only a few short inches apart.

"Good work on the pouting, though. I think you really sold it."

The sleepy smile on Kara's face widens into a proud one. "You like that? I was really considering the waterworks but I think I would have given it away if I did."

"Mm, probably."

"You're a little actress yourself, Luthor," Kara comments with barely contained laughter. "Better safe than sorry. Pfft. You were practically having Alex eat out of the palm of your hands with how much you were agreeing with her. So devious."

"If there's anything Lex ever taught me, it's having the theatrical range."

Kara snorts before shuffling to sit back up. "How mad do you think Alex will be when she finds out that we're already dating?"

Lena shrugs, thinking about all of Alex's possible reactions. "Oh, I'm sure she'll never let you live it down."

"Us, babe," Kara says, leaning forward, the tips of their noses brushing with each other. "She'll never let us live it down."

"She shouldn't assume then," Lena answers before closing the remaining gap between them. Their lips slotting perfectly in place pressed against each other. It's still new, this feeling, but Lena thinks that she'll never tire of it.

Her breath hitches when she feels Kara's strong hand release her fingers only to grip her nape, followed by the smirk she knows is on Kara's lips.

"Wanna figure out our cover story in bed?"

She raises a brow, but Kara just shrugs. "So is that a no?"

Lena rolls her eyes before wrapping her arms around Kara's neck as Kara carries her towards the bed.

"I was thinking we tell people it was love at first sight," Kara muses.

Lena throws her head back in laughter, just in time for Kara to place a kiss on the hollow of her throat. She thinks love at first sight is not too far from the truth at all, and didn't Alex say the closer it is to the truth, the better?

[twstedreamweaver]

Something Wicked - Yandere Jade Leech x G/N Reader

NRC is a dangerous place and you got on the bad side of some Savanaclaw students.

You end up making a huge mistake, but don't worry, Jade Leech is there to clean it up for you.

TW: A student commits suicide, violence, drugging, reader has a panic attack, slight suggestive content, murder -> minor character deaths, yandere themes, stalking, reader gets into a fist fight, kidnapping

The students of Twisted Wonderland's prestigious Night Raven College are known for many things, but kindness is most certainty not among them.

You knew the first day you stepped foot on campus that this world reveres the strong and preys upon the weak, and in the months since, you have become well acquainted with the unspoken laws of the school. The watchful eye of the faculty and the Housewardens (well, some of them) only extends so far. Out of their reach, in the shadowy hallways and courtyards, NRC devolves into a merciless, brutal game of survival of the fittest.

You're lucky that your friends are looking out for you.

"Ugh, those Savanaclaw students only seem to be gettin' bolder by the day." Ace frowned.

The expression on his face was hard to read, but he seemed... frightened. Genuinely frightened. The air suddenly felt frigid.

In the blink of an eye, Ace returned to his usual, cocky demeanor and his signature shit-eating grin replaced his previously solemn features.

"You're lucky I was here, or your ass would have been toast-".

"You mean we-" Deuce interrupted, annoyed.

"Whatev, dude, it was pretty much all me that made them run for the hills anywayyyy."

Deuce opted to ignored Ace's insult, his eyes clouded with genuine worry, "Y/n, are you alright?"

You glanced behind you, as three figures clad in Savanaclaw uniform rounded a corner. You frowned.

Right before they disappeared, one turned his cloaked head to look at you, features dark, hidden beneath his hood and he curled his lips into a sinister grin.

A chill crawled up your spine. They were too far away to see clearly; you must have imagined it.

You invoked the ire of Savanaclaw once before, during the Spelldrive tournament, but being in Leona's good graces convinced them to overlook you for easier targets.

But not even Leona could deter them this time.

"They've been at it for what? Three days now?" Ace's voice pulled you from your thoughts.

You let out a heavy sigh before giving them a smile, albeit a pained one. You chose to ignore Ace's rhetorical question for the time being.

"Thanks guys. I'm honestly really grateful to always have you guys ready to back me up. I don't know what I'd do without you." You can't remember the last time you admitted something so serious, so sincere and heartfelt.

The constant state of paranoia and hypervigilance you'd been living in were really getting to you.

Both Deuce and Ace seemed to reel back at your words, surprised. You swear you see the hint of pink grace their cheeks, as they turn away, muttering jumbled combination of "Erk, yeah, uh, no problem!" and "Well, yeah you should be thanking us."

No way that's all it takes to make them blush. You smile inwardly.

"Let's get out of here. It's getting dark."

As the trio, talking amongst themselves, returns to the safety of the main corridor, a lone figure quietly follows.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Even Grim's snoring could not distract you from the cacophony of your thoughts that night.

Ace and Deuce were insistent on spending the night at Ramshackle. Ace in particular tried to worm his way into your bed, on the pretense of 'protection'. Deuce vehemently objected of course.

Your bed was already small after all, and Deuce definitely did not seem to enjoy the idea of you lying that close to him while he dejectedly watched from the hard floor. And Grim would have been pissed to not have enough room at the bottom of the bed to curl up.

And Grim did already loudly insist that he - Grim the Great! mind you - is perfectly capable of protecting his human! And he certainly didn't need help from those two.

You turned down Ace's suggestion anyway, teasing him alongside Deuce, leading to a grumbling Ace defeatedly disappearing down the staircase.

In all honesty, you wouldn't mind - given the current situation - but the thought of your bodies touching admittedly made your cheeks grow uncomfortably hot.

The duo opted to sleep on the couches in the foyer instead, as Deuce suggested. It was the best location anyway, as they'd be closer to the main entry if anyone tried to break in.

After giving them blankets and biding Ace and Deuce goodnight, you settled in with Grim, who quickly fell asleep, leaving you to lie awake, alone with your thoughts.

You sighed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep was futile.

Your troubles began well before the incident.

Henry, a Savanaclaw student you had shown a sliver of kindness to in Alchemy class, started following you around the school, trying to talk to you, to befriend you, to be near you. He spiraled into a twisted form of infatuation. He'd give you weirdly expensive gifts (which you'd decline), researched your interests extensively, and hunted down all your socials online.

You weren't interested in him, not romantically or even platonically, he was creepy, to say the least, and you hardly wanted him as a friend. You were civil, polite at first, but you became increasingly harsh as the weeks dragged on.

While NRC was cruel, you were lucky to have made allies with the people you did.

Your friends noticed him within a few days. You had amassed many friends in high places while at the school and they ensured that he never got close to you, except, of course, in Alchemy class, the one class you shared with him. Crewel, ever watchful, quickly noticed and separated you, ensuring that you weren't together on projects.

Occasionally, you'd feel a tinge of guilt. While he certainly was annoying, you couldn't help but feel that he didn't deserve what happened.

Seemingly over the span of a week, Henry managed to amass a large group of very powerful people who all greatly despised him.

Idia deactivated his socials and Leona and Ruggie practically banned him from leaving the dorm after classes. Azul tricked him into a terrible deal and Riddle would slap a collar on him for the most minor of infractions.

You guessed he'd give up. He didn't. He actually got more aggressive, more spiteful towards you for not reciprocating his feelings. More hateful and angry at the injustices he was subjected to by the Housewardens. He got worse and worse by the day, until one day, he inevitably snapped.

Love potions are not only highly taboo, but also illegal in Twisted Wonderland. Moreso, it's incredibly easy to determine the culprit, as each potion is unique to its user.

Jack, with his sharp sense of smell, caught a whiff of something in your drink at the cafeteria. You had no idea how Henry managed to slip something into a sealed drink that you purchased from the cafeteria directly, but he did.

You and Jack went to Vil, arguably the alchemy genius of the school, who determined that it was a love potion. And given the situation with Henry and a strand of his hair, it was easy to determine that it was none other than Henry's love potion.

Henry was expelled from Night Raven College shortly after Vil showed Crowley the evidence. The police were alerted, and it seemed that he was set to spend a year in prison.

But Henry never went to jail. He never even got arrested.

A few hours after the police arrived and they couldn't seem to find him, a frantic student stumbled into Crowley's office.

Henry was found hanging from a tree on the edge of school grounds. A noose tightened around his blue neck, eyes bulging. It was a terrible sight and one that Crowley did not want to get out. And Crowley made sure the truth never saw the light of day.

To the general public and his family, Henry likely ran away to escape prosecution. But you, and a select few, knew the truth.

The whole situation reeked of suspicion to you. You couldn't help but wonder if Henry was framed, if he really did kill himself, or if someone else was responsible.

But for everyone concerned, it appeared Henry disappeared from your life as quickly as he had entered it, but the problem was far from over.

Henry had dedicated friends, and they resented you. Despised you.

They started appearing late at night, tailing you as you walked home. You told Deuce and Ace and you all concluded that while their identities were always obscured, it had to be the late Henry's vengeful friend group. They were upperclassmen, Savanaclaw students, and while Ace and Deuce seemed ready to take the fight to them, you urged them not to. The last thing you wanted was for them, your best friends, to get hurt on your behalf.

After all, they were likely just trying to scare you. But the sinister aura you felt told you otherwise. You wish they knew how guilty you felt, how you cried when he died. It wasn't your fault, you knew that, but you couldn't help but feel responsible for Henry's suicide.

You hadn't told anyone besides Ace and Deuce. Fear and guilt stopped you. Fear that history would repeat itself. That another student would stumble upon three more bodies hanging from a tree.

Why is this always happening to me?

You tossed and turned for an hour, until finally you fell into an unsteady sleep, haunted by nightmarish visions.

Unbeknownst to you, they were waiting for you to do just that.

A person, clad in black, crawled out from under your bed.

"Got you."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You awoke to cold, unrelenting, freezing cold. You felt as if you were in a fog, as if your limbs were tied to weights you couldn't hope to lift. You heard distorted voices and the whispers of wind.

The Savanaclaw students. Henry's friends. They got you.

Adrenaline surged through your body, ripping you out of your deep, mind-numbing slumber.

Your eyes flew open, but you couldn't see anything except the night sky as your eyes adjusted to the low light. You were on your back, you felt grass against your exposed skin and the hard ground beneath your head.

The voices sharpened into focus.

"-wait for this lying bitch to get what they deserve."

You have to get up. You're starting to see figures moving around you. Three, two milling around, one trying to lift something with magic. They had a lantern set on the ground, but it was faint, barely enough to emit enough light to see what the one was trying to lift.

"Well, then fucking help me lift this. Jeez, why am I doing all the damn work-"

It almost looked like, a rock?

"Sorry, got distracted. Rich, you recordin'?"

You have to get up, now.

You feel like there's electricity surging through your body, snapping you out of the sleep-induced haze.

You were drugged. It must have worn off before they planned.

"I can't wait to see their head fucking splatter."

You leaped up. The world was spinning, you were moving so fast, your brain couldn't keep up. You stumbled then lunged, aiming for the lone figure that wasn't lifting up the rock.

Your vision narrowed.

One of them yelled, out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the students whip around towards you, canceling the spell, as the rock fell right onto the other's foot.

Curses, yells, it didn't matter. The man's screams were dilluted by your concentration on the man in front of you.

His face was distorted, his mouth agape. He was turning towards you.

Perfect.

You clenched your right hand into a fist and planted your feet into the dirt, bracing yourself, as you reeled back and aimed for his exposed jaw.

You exhaled sharply right before your fist collided with his jaw with a crack. His head whipped to the left, spit flying out of his mouth, a choked, strangled noise coming from deep in his throat.

Your left elbow was ready, your right arm coming back to guard, twisting your torso as you threw your elbow into the left side of his head, swinging through.

You couldn't feel anything, everything was moving too fast, but you were sure you might have broken your hand.

After the collision, you jumped back, head whipping around to face your approaching opponent.

A punch was heading right for you, aimed at your head.

You side stepped, centering yourself, grabbed his arm with your left hand and then reeled back for another right punch. As he stumbled forward, your right fist met the side of his face. He lurched to the side, and you stepped behind him to kick at his lower back, you planted your foot on his tailbone and pushed, sending him sprawling forward.

The other man was trying desperately to lift the rock off his foot, but he couldn't pick it up with magic alone and he certainly couldn't lift it with his own strength.

The man fell face first into the dirt. He was weak, helpless, entirely at your mercy.

Your vision was red, your breathing was heavy, your lungs and throat burned as you raised your foot and slammed it down.

They deserve this.

You were enraged, terrified, the world was spiraling but. You were finally in control.

You were on top now; you were the one in power.

Your foot slams down over and over again.

They were going to kill you.

You didn't need magic, not this time.

In this shitty world, you were always the magicless nobody, lost, homeless, at the whims of a headmage who couldn't care less.

He was begging for you to stop, trying to lift himself, but each stomp left even weaker.

And you blame me? You go after me?

His face is caved in, you hear a crack as your foot meets his skull again and again.

Why am I always the problem? Why do I always have to deal with this?

The blood looks black under the moonlit night.

I never asked for any of this.

Tears started streaming down your cheeks, the man with the rock on his foot was yelling, begging you to stop as he watched, completely helpless, as his friend was beaten.

You were going to do this to me! Why the fuck should I stop?

He wasn't breathing anymore, was he?

Reality seemed to shift into focus.

What have I done?

"I never wanted Henry to die!" You screamed, as you stepped back, staring at the lifeless body in front of you, shaking.

You collapsed to the ground, sobs wracking your throat, "I never wanted any of this!"

"What was I supposed to do?"

The other student still lay unconscious on the ground a few feet away.

You couldn't breathe.

He was dead, you were certain.

Everything was spinning again, you were nauseous, your hand stung, your elbow stung, your head was muddled by the lasting effects of a drug.

You were sobbing and you couldn't figure out how to breathe. The air wouldn't enter your lungs.

"Oh my god." you wheezed through choked sobs and tears.

A hand landed, gently, on your shoulder.

"It's going to be alright, Y/n."

You whipped around to see Jade Leech towering over you. His expression unreadable in the dark.

"Jade?" You choked out.

The boy with the rock on his foot stared, mouth hanging open. He was quiet.

The whole world was quiet for a moment.

"In the flesh." You saw the trace of a smile in the dark.

"I'll take care of this, Y/n. Nothing is going to happen to you." You suddenly noticed the sharp edge in his calm tone, the piercing sinister nature of his words.

You couldn't move as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to you. You took it with shaky hands.

He stood up and walked quickly toward the remaining Savanaclaw student.

Like a predator that knew its prey was cornered.

"Please, no, I'm sorry, Jade-" The boy was trembling, his pleas falling on deaf ears. "I'll do any-", the student's sentence was cut short. A gurgling, gasping sound came from the student. Jade's gloved hands were squeezing the boy's neck. The student flailed, arms clawing at Jade, writhing, and Jade only dug his fingers in more.

You watched in horror, at his inhuman strength, at the silent, brutal way in which he drained the life from the student's eyes.

All you could hear was the gasps of the boy in the dead of night, as you stared, helpless to move.

His body collapsed, head lolling to the side, with a final twitch.

Jade refused to let go as the seconds seemed to crawl by, barely half a minute but it felt like an eternity.

Jade dropped the boy, still stuck under the rock, as his body rag dolled and flopped onto the ground.

"No matter how many obstacles I must dispose of, I will always protect you, Y/n," Jade's voice broke the uncomfortable, painful silence.

Your stomach churned and your vision closed in, your arms barely able to hold yourself up. You collapsed onto your side, the drug and the stress and the fear all adding up.

Jade turned his head to look at you, a sinister grin flashing sharp teeth contorting his face.

"I assure you that I will always keep you safe." As you fell into unconsciousness, you heard Jade moving towards you in the dark.

You felt a gloved hand brush hair from your face.

"Allow me to take care of your problems, just like last time."

[angel-kyo]

Almost the one [II]

When a too prone to fall in love Satoru decides he is tired of always chasing the wrong person, his eyes finally turn to the one that should be his perfect match, and to your dismay, this is no other than one of your closest friends; and while the idea of assisting your friend in becoming the man of someone else's dreams held no appeal to you, with your past revisiting, maybe helping him might be the way of helping yourself.

Prev: I

=======================

He must be nuts. There is no way he means it.

That’s what you had thought at Satoru’s request to date him before letting out an incredulous laugh followed by a court ‘No’, and turning around in direction to the campus.

“Why not?” he had asked, catching up with your step.

“What do you mean why not? Because it’s crazy.”

He had not insisted after that, and you assumed that he had not really meant it and it would be best to just forget it.

So why were you not forgetting it?

You peeked at Satoru from the corner of your eye. You two were now listening to the lecture of Mr. Nishikawa, or rather him reading an extremely long set of slides on statistics. It was one of the two classes you and Satoru would be taking together that semester. But as your friend kept looking ahead, his mind probably not on the lectures either, you kept wondering...

He could not have meant it, right?

Back there, he had looked so serious about it that, for a second, you almost believed him. However, you knew better. You were not the type he would date. No, he liked a certain kind of girls. Exotic ones, cute ones, some with stunning features or just girls who has a certain air around them. He liked girls who… stood out in a crowd. Girls like…

“Utahime!” a girl behind you called. “We saved you a seat.”

Utahime was one of your closest friends, and you were aware that her cool personality, and not to mention, graceful features, made her rather popular among your peers. So much that she seemed to have picked the interest of the Gojo Satoru himself.

The way he glanced to the back when she arrived did not go unnoticed by you.

He was at that phase of the Gojo cycle where he could not take his eyes off the one he liked.

The “Gojo Cycle” was something Shoko had come up after a night of too many drinks while you and your friends were discussing Satoru’s love life, and it could be summarized in five stages. The first stage was “The Cupid stage”, in which Gojo sets his eyes on someone for the first time and, as if targeted by Cupid himself, he thinks fate has brought them together. That was usually followed by the staring phase, where he currently was at with Utahime, always searching for her and effectively finding her in his surroundings, reinforcing his belief that the Universe wanted them together.

The third stage was dating. Most times, Satoru would be successful in asking someone out and even in taking them on a few dates for two or three week, but then, for some reason, they would inevitably enter the ’This isn't working stage’ and Satoru’s object of affection would start avoiding him, not answering his calls and texts, or plainly stating that they were not interested anymore. It did not matter how much he chased.

And that is when it came, the phase you feared the most: the heartbreak.

The last stage of the Gojo cycle you feared if not for it’s duration but for it’s unpredictability. Albeit short in terms of time, the process for mending Satoru’s heart could be… challenging. Sometimes he needed an emotional marathon of movies, some others, indulging in sweets to the point of almost making himself sick; other times, he just needed to hit the gym as if his life depended on it.

Party nights, running marathons, trying new hobbies, long calls at 3am….The list could go on and on. Sometimes, he would do all. And what all of Satoru’s coping mechanisms had in common was that he would drag you along with him.

Surprisingly, the breakup, if it could be considered as such, with Hana had not hit him too hard. While Satoru had worried you for a second making you think he was looking too deep into the reason why she had left him, his focus had then shifted to Utahime, which wasn’t ideal but just the fact of him moving on was a relief nonetheless.

===

“Are you sticking to basketball this semester?” you asked Gojo while you walked together out of campus.

He nodded with a big smile on his face. “Of course I am. The team is counting on me after all.” He winked and you would have rolled your eyes at his egocentric notions and tried to kick some sense into him so he would focus more on his studies, but the vision in front of you prevented any words from coming out.

Satoru, who had been expecting a snarky reply, looked down at you when none came from your mouth, only to find out you were not by his side but a few steps back, fixed on a couple of guys looking at one of the campus maps.

He knew one of them, Suguru, his friend and fellow teammate in basketball. However, he had never seen the guy next to him. Seeing that Suguru appeared to be giving directions and pointing at the map, Satoru assumed it was a freshman or a visitor who had asked for help, but that did not explain why you had gone pale out of nowhere.

“[name]? Are you okay?” Satoru asked returning to your side.

It took a couple seconds for you to nod and force yourself to look somewhere else.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Peripherally, you saw Geto wave and probably say his goodbyes to the other guy, and you couldn’t help but turn and try to get another look, hoping that you were mistaken, that it wasn’t him but someone with an uncanny resemblance.

You and Satoru were at least thirty feet away from them, but his eyes still met yours and you could have sworn you saw a brief flash of recognition on his face. You averted your gaze a soon as you could.

No, it was definitely him.

=======================

Note: To everyone's surprise, myself included, I'm alive.

[creaman]

—BECAUSE KUNG FU PANDA 4 KILLED MY GRANDMA, OKAY?

To preface, I watched this movie and I'm genuinely tweaking right now so I had to write down a very brief (lie) criticism on this film — which you should boycott, by the way.

Starting with the things I liked, before briefing my primary points of criticism:

Po's Character Regression

Po and Zhen's Dynamic

The Chameleon

I'd also yap about Lord Shen and the death of the art style and the entire narrative and pacing and use of the staff of wisdom but my therapist says being such a hater is 'unhealthy' or something. My heart is full of hatred.

SPOILERS for the entirety KFP4 for the 2 people who care.

KFP4 undermines and ignores the previous three movies — Unwriting character developments, outright removing the Furious Five, straying from the character design philosophies and is completely inconsistent with the established lore.

Things I Liked About Kung Fu Panda 4

The Chameleon's character design

Visual gag in the Tavern where Po uses a recently thrown axe as a hat rack (made me laugh)

When Mr. Ping did this:

so cute! the little heart!

Po — Character Writing

Po, as established in the previous movies, is confident in his abilities and identity — he’s learnt inner peace, he’s matured as a character. However, in KFP4, his character has completely regressed. He’s immature again (such as KFP1, possibly worse) and says verbatim, “only knows kicking butt and taking names” — UNLEARNING inner peace and insisting that “…being the Dragon Warrior is all I know.”

It’s childish, and sort of Hotel Transylvania-esque.

Which isn’t helped by the comedy, the dialogue — a large chunk of which are jokes in the style of:

Master Shifu says something philosophical

Po quips off of it / doesn’t get it (i.e. Whoa!! beat I don’t know what that means.)

Oh, it’s great, yeah, very tolerable. Po’s shenanigans are normally reeled in by the presence of the Furious Five who are generally more serious in nature, creating a much needed balance in the dynamic — So without them, it’s just Po becoming increasingly obnoxious and insufferable with every consecutive quip throughout the screenplay.

Po and Zhen — Character Dynamics

[No more graphics sorry I'm too angry]

As if it wasn’t obvious that Zhen was going to be the next Dragon Warrior the second she was introduced.

Zhen, as a character, has no depth besides being a quippy thief. She quips, she steals. This character has no motives — it can be assumed that the writers intended on a ‘change of heart’ thing, but she isn’t established as evil, her working for the Chameleon is written as a (albeit poor) twist reveal.

By which point, her taking either side wouldn’t make sense, given that she has shown no loyalty or attachment to either Po nor the Chameleon.

The movie artificially strengthens their bond by having Zhen start opening up about her backstory out of nowhere for no reason but they have done nothing to grow closer to each other.

Small tangent, her backstory is exactly what you’d expect it to be with no subversions or even emotional weight. Woe is me I was so small and hungry I had to steal to survive. Glossed over in about a minute.

The majority of the dialogue between Zhen and Po is spoken exposition — explaining how powerful and badass the Chameleon is, explaining how ‘we have to go here to do that’ and ‘this place was cool until the Chameleon did such and such’, and the rest of their time together is spent engaging in filler chase sequences and fight scenes.

The Chameleon

Where do I even start…

This is where it becomes apparent that the movie relies heavily on telling rather than showing —

She is the weakest villain by far, not only in universe but as a written character; which is particularly disheartening because I genuinely adore her character design and feel as though a shapeshifting character has great potential.

The movie artificially inflates her power by insisting through exposition that this is the most capable antagonist thus far (lie).

The audience is TOLD by Zhen and various restaurant patrons that the Chameleon is a powerful shapeshifting sorceress and that she 'dominates the city' whilst the film does nothing to showcase this.

'Dominating the city' meaning letting her henchpeople run amock and bully the civilians just like Lord Shen's wolves in KFP2... uninspired.

I just realised they didn't even give her a NAME what the FUCK is going on

She describes HERSELF as ruthless, clever and unsentimental when comparing Zhen to herself.

She says HERSELF that she’s “Stronger than every opponent you’ve ever faced.”

Let’s see what vile reprehensible things she’s done, shall we?

Gently push someone down some stairs

Her first appearance is through Zhen’s exposition, as opposed to the dramatic and memorable entrances of the previous villains. Her motives or character aren’t established until the final third of the film. She doesn’t even FIGHT anybody until the final third of the film; and even then, her fight sequences are uninspired and she never really poses a real threat. (She goes down in two hits.)

That being said, WE CAN STILL SAVE HER GUYS WE CAN STILL GET HER OUTTA THERE I'M COMING FOR YOU CHAMELEON I'M GONNA DRAFT YOU A PROPER BACKSTORY AND MOTIVE AND YOU'RE GONNA BE THE MOST THREATENING VILLAIN THUS FAR

There's a scene after the climax of the film where all the kung fu masters and previous villains from the spirit realm bow to Po. I'm not going to provide my thoughts on this because I fear I may burst a blood vessel. Good day!

Closing Statements

To put it simply, Kung Fu Panda 4 was my Megamind 2.

The film rejects its predecessors in every way. It really feels as though they brought in somebody with no prior knowledge of the franchise to direct the movie.

It's a film that relies heavily on telling rather than showing — banking on the previous three movies to carry it through the box office.

It's just really disheartening to see studio execs turn one of the best franchises into a safe sequel cash grab and regress every character's development.

Nevertheless. I do adore the chameleon's character design so I might do my own take on her character.

As far as I'm concerned, there is no fairy godmother, there is no tooth fairy, and there is no kung fu panda 4.