#because apparently people already have low expectations for it

[hollowflight-propaganda]

Lego Dreamzzz, I've only known you for 5 minutes, but I'll defend you with my fucking life.

[calypso-rt]

5 LIL' THINGS

Rafe does as your bf...

-> Rafe x F!Reader

intro

There were a lot of things people said about Rafe Cameron.

Most of them weren’t nice.

Words like reckless, selfish, and volatile were tossed around with such regularity you’d think they were stitched into his DNA.

And maybe some of that was true. He could be a pain in the ass, even on a good day. But then there were the other things.

The things no one talked about.

Like how he’d tilt his head just slightly when he was pretending not to care but actually cared more than he’d ever admit. Or how he’d mutter something sarcastic to cover up the fact that his eyes softened whenever he looked at you. The kind of things that didn’t make headlines but stayed tucked away in stolen moments and quiet gestures.

Because Rafe Cameron wasn’t a perfect boyfriend. But if you paid attention, he was so much better than perfect.

He was Rafe.

And sometimes, that meant big, messy declarations of love. But most of the time? It was the little things. The ones that slipped through the cracks but left their mark anyway. The kind of things you couldn’t forget, even if you tried.

1 | Midnight Runs for Ice Cream

It started as an offhand comment. You were sprawled on the couch, half-asleep, mumbling something about how a bowl of chocolate ice cream would fix everything wrong with the world. You didn’t expect Rafe to hear it, let alone act on it.

But twenty minutes later, he was pulling up in his truck, headlights slicing through the darkness outside your window.

“Get in,” he called, leaning out of the driver’s side with his trademark smirk. His hair was messy like he’d just rolled out of bed, and his hoodie hung loosely on his frame, but there was something about the way he looked at you: like he’d move mountains just because you said you were craving dessert.

You didn’t need convincing.

In the car, it took all of five minutes for an argument to break out over toppings.

“Hot fudge is the only acceptable option,” you insisted, crossing your arms dramatically.

Rafe scoffed, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Please. Caramel’s where it’s at. You just don’t have taste.”

“Oh, I have taste,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “You’re the one with the palate of a toddler.”

He glanced over, his smirk widening. “Toddler, huh? That’s bold coming from someone who’s about to order sprinkles.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off. “And don’t even bother denying it. I already know exactly what you’re getting.”

The audacity.

“You don’t know me, Cameron.”

“Sure I do.” His voice was low, teasing. “Chocolate ice cream, hot fudge, and a mountain of sprinkles.”

And, annoyingly, he was right.

By the time you got back to your place, the ice cream was already melting, but neither of you cared. You leaned against the counter, savoring each bite like it was heaven in a cup. Meanwhile, Rafe stayed perched a few feet away, one hip propped against the edge, arms crossed casually.

He wasn’t eating anything. He never did. But his eyes lingered on you, soft and warm in a way that felt unguarded, like the weight of the world didn’t matter for a little while.

“Why are you staring?” you asked, raising a brow.

“I’m not,” he muttered, looking away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a grin.

But he was.

And even though he’d deny it later, you knew that Rafe loved these moments.

Just you, the quiet, and the faint hum of the world outside.

2 | Personal Handyman

It was a lazy afternoon when you casually mentioned the faucet in the kitchen was leaking again. You didn’t think much of it. It was a small problem, something you’d fix when you got around to it. It wasn’t worth stressing over.

But apparently, Rafe thought otherwise.

You were in the living room when you heard the sound of his truck pulling up outside. A moment later, there was a knock at the door, followed by the familiar voice of Rafe Cameron calling your name, low and a little rough.

When you opened the door, he was standing there, toolbox in hand, looking like he’d just walked off a worksite.

“Uh… what are you doing here?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Fixing your sink,” he said matter-of-factly, brushing past you and making his way to the kitchen without waiting for permission.

“Rafe, I didn’t-”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand. “You mentioned it. I’ll take care of it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the way he just acted, like it was no big deal. But you knew better.

Rafe wasn’t exactly Handy Manny. But for some reason, when it came to you, he’d drop whatever he was doing and show up, ready to tackle whatever needed fixing.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching as he knelt down by the sink, inspecting the faucet like he actually knew what he was doing. It was kind of endearing, watching him concentrate.

He grumbled to himself, clearly getting frustrated as he fumbled with the wrench. “This thing’s not going in right…”

You couldn’t resist. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

He shot you a glare over his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

It took him a bit longer than expected, a few more muttered curses under his breath, but eventually, the leak stopped. He leaned back, wiping his hands on a rag, a proud look on his face.

“Done,” he said, standing up and brushing the dust off his jeans.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, I didn’t think you were the handyman type.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, smirking, wiping his hands one last time. “But I’ll do it for you.”

It wasn’t the words that made your heart skip a beat, it was the sincerity behind them. Because Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy who did things for anyone else. But for you?

Anything.

3 | The Protector

The bonfire crackled, flames dancing in the cool evening air, throwing long shadows across the beach as the sound of waves crashed softly in the background.

Everyone was spread out in small groups, drinks in hand, laughing, talking, and basking in the glow of the fire. It was one of those nights where everyone felt a little too wild, a little too free, but you felt calm. Like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Except... Rafe had been watching you.

Not in the creepy, overbearing way, but in the subtle, Rafe kind of way. He was always nearby, his eyes scanning the crowd, just making sure no one got too close. He made sure you had a drink in your hand, not too much, just enough so you didn’t have to worry about someone else trying to buy you one.

He had a sixth sense for noticing when someone came too close to your space, his jaw tightening just slightly as he made his way over to draw you into a conversation, his hand resting at the small of your back like a silent warning to anyone who might have been eyeing you.

“Got everything you need?” he’d ask, his voice low and steady, as he plopped down next to you.

You grinned, giving him an exaggerated wink. “Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for being my personal bodyguard tonight.”

His lips quirked up at the corner, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. "I’m always looking out for you." The words felt like more than just an empty promise. They were a truth, simple but intense in the way only Rafe could be.

As the night stretched on, the bonfire began to fade. The crackling wood sounded more like a whisper now, the heat slipping away into the cool night air. You were just about to get up to grab more firewood when you felt a familiar weight settle over your shoulders.

Rafe’s hoodie. You didn’t even have to ask.

You didn’t even notice he’d stood up, not until he returned, draping the fabric over you in one smooth motion. “Don’t want you getting cold,” he muttered, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a second too long, like he was debating whether he should say more. But then he was back to his spot, his eyes scanning the beach again, always on alert, always looking out for you.

"Thanks," you murmured, pulling the hoodie tighter around your frame, the faint scent of his cologne making you smile.

"Anytime," he replied, his voice low, but it was the kind of ‘anytime’ that meant forever.

And that’s exactly how it felt. Forever.

4 | Has Your Back

It was supposed to be a simple night out.

A few drinks, some laughs, the usual. Dinner at a local spot with Rafe and his friends, the kind of casual evening that would slip by unnoticed in the grand scheme of things. But then, Ruthie opened her mouth.

"Honestly," she started, swirling her drink around nonchalantly, "I don't get it. How'd someone like Rafe end up with you?"

The words stung, and you could feel your cheeks flush. Ruthie had that uncanny ability to hit below the belt without even trying. You shot her a sharp look, about to respond, but before you could, Rafe’s demeanor shifted.

One moment he was laughing, holding court with the guys, the next he was leaning in with an icy calmness that made the air around him tighten. His hand shot out, resting protectively on the back of your chair, his body angling just enough to block Ruthie’s view of you.

"Watch it, Ruth," he said, his voice low, but there was an edge to it. "You might wanna take that back before you piss me off."

You could feel his gaze, intense and unwavering, but there was something else behind it. A playful edge that suggested he wasn’t taking Ruthie’s words too seriously, just looking out for you. You swallowed the heat that had risen in your chest, deciding to hold your ground and respond on your own terms.

"I'm not some charity case, Ruth," you shot back, keeping your tone even but firm. "If you’ve got a problem, maybe we can talk about it later."

Rafe’s lips twitched into a barely there smile as he let you handle it. He wasn’t going to fight your battles for you, but the way he hovered, close enough to let everyone know he was ready if things escalated, was enough to settle the tension.

"And just so you know," Rafe added, looking directly at Ruthie with a mockingly sweet tone, "you can keep your thoughts to yourself. I like her just the way she is."

There was a beat of silence, and Ruthie’s eyes narrowed, but she backed off, giving you a pointed look before taking another sip of her drink.

The night resumed, but you could feel Rafe's hand on your back as he leaned into you, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze.

Later, as you and Rafe walked out of the restaurant, he nudged you with a softer grin. "You handled Ruthie pretty well," he said, his voice a little quieter than usual. "Impressive."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sincerity. "You think so?"

Rafe nodded, his gaze softening. "Yeah. She can be a lot, but you didn't back down. I respect that."

You smiled, feeling a warmth you weren’t expecting. "Thanks, Rafe."

He pulled you a little closer, his arm around your shoulders. "Anytime. I’ve got your back." And in that moment, it was clear.

His admiration for you was genuine, and he'd always be there, quietly protective in his own way.

5 | More Than Words

After a long, draining day, you stumbled through the front door, exhaustion weighing heavily on you. The world felt too loud, too overwhelming, and you just wanted to escape for a while.

To your surprise, Rafe was already on the couch, his laptop resting in his lap as he looked up at you, eyes softening the second he saw how tired you were.

Without a word, he set the laptop aside, his usual cocky demeanor gone. He just knew.

He didn’t ask what was wrong.

He didn’t need to.

Moving toward you, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto the couch, guiding you gently between his legs, holding you like you were the most fragile thing in the world.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. His hand softly brushed through your hair, the quiet comfort of his touch calming the chaos of your mind. He didn’t need to say anything; his presence was enough.

"Hey," his voice was quiet, soft against your ear. "I know today was tough."

You nodded, leaning your head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just held you, grounding you with his steady presence. His fingers found yours, the simple act of holding your hand more meaningful than any words could be.

In the silence, you realized something: with all the messiness inside him, all the brokenness he carried, Rafe knew how to find peace in moments like this.

And in this small, quiet space, you found it too.

Wrapped in his arms, the weight of the world seemed a little less heavy.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU — you get the impression there might be alot of things your boyfriend is holding back on exploring.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, cnc, predator x prey, outside / wood scenes, some rough play, he’s such a tease, minimal prep ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! hiiii this idea literally hit me like a brick so i had to get it out my system before i died w it <3 honestly i cut this off a little earlier than originally planned because my brain couldn’t do a whole fic but i hope u guys enjoy regardless :3

you’d enjoyed your day out with gojo as you notice the way the sky around you both has began to darken pretty quickly, but you appreciate the change of scenery— grateful that he’d offered to take you out on a little day trip. he’d insisted he knew a place with a pretty view that was close to one of the school campuses, apparently it was used to host the kyoto sister-school good-will event a few months ago.

that was your destination now as you both walk down the street in that direction, your hand is in his but you still shiver despite the way his palm is warm around yours. his thumb strokes it’s way along your skin as you turn to look at him, it’s an innocent touch as you listen to him talk about his day but the air feels stuffy between you both— your hairs standing on edge before his hand squeezes.

your eyes meet gojo’s as you turn and you notice the way his strays to trail down the pretty line of your throat, sweeping along your figure in you’re pretty dress. his gaze is dark and expectant, but the smirk on his lips looks as pleased as ever as a tinge of anticipation makes you feel suddenly too hot for your skin. still, you smile when you feel his fingers skim from your hand up your arm then across to your lower back, an encouraging sort of touch that urges you to lean in closer.

“you cold?” he asks despite the way he can probably feel the heat running beneath you skin, his hands stroking slowly along your spine as his breathing fans along the shell of your ear. but a shiver still manages to pass through you when he squeezes at your waist.

you let him hold you for a few moments on the side of the street, you’re close to where you’re headed— you can see the tree line break when you turn to your left. you huff and gojo presses his lips to your cheek before he sighs into your ear, his words a low, drawl of a sound as he speaks to you only.

“one, two..”

the electricity that seems to rush through you is enough to make you quiver before you break away from his suddenly loose grip, something in your lower abdomen squeezing as your breathing becomes erratic.

the stride you take is quick as you rush quickly down the side walk, nobody seems to notice your sudden escape from the man’s arms that you looked so comfortable in a moment ago and even if they do— they don’t bother asking. the wind feels warm as it blows through you but you don’t dare look back, you can basically feel the hungry, crystalline gaze on your figure as the rush of adrenaline in your system seems to push you faster.

you can see the entrance to the trees as you make your way towards it, it’s dark but you feel the thrill ignite something in your nerves as you brush by the people still left on the street. your chest feels tight, it’s barely started but your heart is already pounding, beating at your ribs like it’s trying to climb up your throat as you near the outskirts of the campus.

you approach the opening before you allow yourself a quick glance over your shoulder, it’s a momentary look but it’s enough to make something warm shoot down your spine when you notice the looming figure in the crowd. his eyes are still locked in your direction despite the distance, like he can still see you— feel you from so far away as you finally decide to put your adrenaline to good use with your first step into a jog.

but you don’t notice that the figure seems to already have vanished from the crowd by the time you turn back around.

it’s quiet as the forest seems to swallow you whole, leaving you with only your breathing and the sound of your footsteps as you drink up the response that your body seems to have to this, to him. your heart is racing as you run but the air does wonders for your overheating skin, fanning over your features as you push yourself even deeper into the shadows.

you push yourself through a sprouting bush as your head twitches instinctively at a noise to your left and you swear you see it, him— the crystalline blue from his gaze as he stands a few feet away and you gasp, before suddenly it’s gone and you feel the sudden urge to go faster.

“what’s this, hm? aren’t you a cute lil thing.” it’s like an echo the way his low drawl travels through the trees around you, like something haunting as you almost lose your footing. it feels like he’s everywhere at once, deliberately letting himself flash into your peripheral vision— you can hear him in the trees above you, the bushes to your side, in the direction you’re heading towards.

“well, gotta be faster than that. come on, you can do it. don’t wanna make it too easy for me.”

your head twitches slightly before you duck into the heavier oak tree to your right for a breath, you can barely hear anything with the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears — there’s a throb between your thighs, fuelled by the lick of fear that follows before you hear the crunch of the grass behind you.

“oh? thats clever. but you can’t hide forever, don’t go shy on me now.” gojo drawls in the distance, dangerously as you try to suck in quick breathes, feeling your lungs quake with each exhale before you try to catch a glance behind you, eager to know his location— but you need to keep yourself moving.

“lookin’ for me?” you shriek when you snap your head back around to see him already in front of you, hands shoved in his pockets as he tilts his head down at you smugly. it’s like fight or flight the way you go to push past him to set off again but he’s already gone by the time you even blink, leaving you with your heart in your throat and the echo of his chuckle, left to only listen for his next location.

you feel like you’re caught in his web and every movement only tangles you further, but you can’t deny the flicker of lust at the base of your spine that comes with it.

it’s quiet for a few moments except from the rush of your own feet, like you’re being taunted with the taste of an escape, until you hear it— for the first time hear him, his footsteps as you try to steal a look into the darkness behind you that feels like it’s threatening to swallow you entirely.

then that’s when you actually see it, the way gojo’s tall form seems to rip its way from the shadows like he’s finally stopped playing with you — something unhinged and a little wild in his eyes as he gains on you alarmingly quick. he could’ve caught you already, all this time but that’s not fun— your heart is throbbing as you gasp at the sight of him, hearing the heavy footsteps as he sprints after you, the distance he’s closing quickly filling your mind as you make a break into the trees.

“so fast, sweet girl! but did you really think you could get away from me?” he teases from behind you, goading as you realise how close his voice actually sounds. you’ve never run as fast as you’re running right now, every thud from behind you feels like it kicks your legs out from under you but you can’t stop.

but fuck— gojo loves you like this, in your desperate, needy state, you’re like a bunny running from the jaws of a wolf as he watches you twist for an escape, such perfect prey.

you swear you feel his longer fingers reach for you, like the hairs on the back of your neck are standing to attention, atoms drawn into him like you’re above to be snared in a trap— but still so lured in by his touch as he gains on your figure. you almost fumble at the realisation, your feet slipping and giving you a few more seconds— a last ditch effort to escape as you skid on your feet and turn, making a break for the slight opening in the trees, just down by the river.

“hm? oh, well. guess i’ll be a little rough.” you hear gojo chuckle behind you as you keep moving and the sound tempts you into casting a last glance over your shoulder before you realise he’s already there, it only takes him a few strides of his long legs— it’s like he seen that move coming.

you can’t help but scream at the sudden contact of his hand on your skin, instinct telling you to push him away as you try but his grip is tight— pulling you into him before he’s taking you down hard onto the cool grass beneath you. the impact leaves you a little dizzy and disorientated as you both breathe deep, the breath feeling like it’s been knocked out of you as you try to drag yourself away from where he has you pinned between him and the earth, claiming and caging you.

“there we go, that’s better. right where you need t’ be, hm?” gojo’s voice shakes as he speaks to you, so driven by his lust as he watches you struggle beneath him, clawing at the dirt as he presses you down. his breathing comes quick as you feel his hand clamp around your waist — reaching up between your breasts to squeeze his hand around your throat and drag you back the few measly inches you’d escaped until you’re against his chest.

“oh, but you ran so well f’ me, princess. feel what you do to me, hm?” your eyes flutter at the way he presses his clothed cock into you, letting you feel the impressive strain of it through his slacks as he all but ruts you into the dirt beneath you like an animal. you stop struggling at that, collapsing under his weight and suddenly pliant with the hard press of him between your legs, already dripping with the adrenaline that courses through you as your cheek rests against the cool grass.

“p-please, please..” your voice is tight with need as you try to rock your hips back into his, feeling gojo curl his way over you before he’s pulling away entirely to twist you onto your back. that’s when you finally see him, mused and needy— hes flushed, something dark pooling in his usual bright gaze and it makes you gasp as he shoves your dress up your quivering legs, wrapping them around his waist before his huge body is pushing between your thighs to kiss you breathless.

“told you i’d catch you, didn’t i? knew i would, think i was gonna let you go? a sweet lil thing like you?” he’s gone completely as he speaks into the kiss, burying praise and filth between your lips as you squeeze your legs around his waist, grabbing at his snowy roots until he’s groaning against you.

he can’t wait any longer, gojo’s moan is wrecked as he pulls away to mouth at your throat, biting and suckling at the skin as you arch up into him. you’re panting out sweet little pleas, begging for him as he breathes through clenched teeth, tearing so mercilessly at your panties before his pants and belt follow afterwards and you need him so bad you feel tears bead at your lashes.

“aww, you cryin’ f’ me?” he tries to tease but it comes out as more of a breathless croon of a laugh, his cock twitching while your eyes look down to sweep over the thick curve of him. he pushes his chest closer to you, letting your hair tangle in the earth beneath you both as he takes you beneath him.

gojo would normally take his time prepping you, but you’re already a puddle of mewls and whines beneath him, basically begging for him already as he lets his cock tease it’s way through your folds, swiping the head at the slick gathered there as you feel the friction burn and sizzle into something that warms your body from the inside out.

“satoru, please!” you gasp and you’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline, the chase or the anticipation that makes it so easy for him to press his way into you but you’re soaked, feeling the first real silky grind of his cock split through your folds before it’s catching on your clit, making you both gasp and moan at the wet tacky sound that follows.

“oh? so greedy f’ me.” the desperate hug of your pussy feels like it pulls him in as you rub your slick along his cock, forcing him closer before he’s finally sinking into your twitching cunt. gojo’s hand fists your hair before he’s shoving your head back so hard your back arches, lapping into your mouth as you tremble and squeeze around him— panting loud in your ears as he hunches over you. “mm, but you’ve got me so hungry f’ you, baby.”

you’re so tight and barely prepped as he drags you along the grass beneath you— feeling his teeth drag along your lower lip as he ruts himself into the warm hug of your walls. every wet withdrawal of his hips is loud but the slap back is even louder as it echoes around the shadows, he’s like a man possessed, completely unhinged as his hips smack so mercilessly into yours it burns, forcing your walls to stretch and mould to him.

you’re already so close gojo can feel it as he presses deep into your body, losing himself in the pleasure he’s earned, the pleasure he owns as he claims his little prize as you claw at his shoulders for any sort of release.

“my sweet girl, ran so hard and all f’ me. you said you could handle it, so ‘ts all mine to take now, right?”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

IYCRTTBFO - Joel Miller x reader

Summary/ warmings: dbf! Joel is also a cam model, a lot of masturbation, a lot of dirty talk, nudes, light(ish) daddy kink, sex toy mentions, and use, cunnilingus, filming, creampies, at least two references to Wheeler Walker Jr. songs, big fat age gap, Sara delegated to Joel's niece, author loves dilfs, especially this one, author entered a fugue state and this emerged

You couldn't sleep. It started at college, when you were working part-time while doing your masters thesis. Your night shift ended at 2.30 in the morning. Then, by the time you went to bed, you were struggling to shake off the buzzing energy. Your body was tired, and your mind was elsewhere. So you turned to the only true, tried and tested method of getting yourself to sleep. Masturbation. Low effort, porn video you've already watched, finger rubbing your clit, masturbation. It worked for about a week. Then your "sessions" got longer. And longer. You had to spend an hour now, chasing your orgasm. Begging yourself to cum. Getting more frustrated and then practically passing out like a log. You got good sleep out of it. But also it was getting painful. Your clit would hurt, a short stabbing pain taking your mind off of your thesis critique. Not that you were too keen on hearing about the feedback on your research model. So you were going to quit, cold turkey style. On the one hand, your insomnia persisted. Now you had replaced porn with your self assigned reading. But that did not help you sleep, just made you more cranky. Your cycadian rhythm was fucked beyond belief. So you moved through life half- asleep, always spending your days off napping. Morning meetings were rough and when you slept through an internship interview at 1, you knew enough was enough.

Back to flicking the bean to not be mean. You just figured you needed a change of scenery, so to speak. You considered OnlyFans, ready to be shelling out your hard earned cash for tasteful nudes (perhaps those of Markiplier or something like that). But that wouldn't be personal enough. You tried audio stuff, but the JOIs weren't really catered to you. Yes, they had your kinks. Or the pet names you liked. But never together, never quite enough. And call it conditioning, but you wanted something familiar. A certain Austin draw, a slice of the Texas you were far away from. But alas, your cowboy was not on Quinn or soundgasm. So you went old-school.

Girls like you weren't even supposed to know about camming sites. It was such a retro thing, more of your father's and Joel's generation. But it was thanks to the former's inability to delete a browser history that you were here. The landing page of the website was fine. You had to make the choice of looking at women, men, couples, or the trans category. Craving to see a solo cumshot, you click on "male". You should've expected that even here, it would be geared towards other guys, like most porn was. The tags of the rooms said it all. Anal. Fuckmachine. Party. But as you refreshed the home page again, someone caught your eye. It was a guy in a cowboy hat over his face. His tip goal was simple, promising a glimpse of him shirtless. It was the amount of tokens needed that amazed you, it was so high. Seriously, from your little time on the website, you could see this was a bit too self assured. But he was getting there. You clicked the video, morbid curiosity taking over. This and his username of thicktexanbeercan. A man after your own heart.

People flood in, apparently the red color of their usernames means they're part of a fan club? You wanna learn more, so you click through the whole thing. The "cam boy" or "cam man" or whatever you were supposed to call him was just welcoming people. There were other newbies like you because you were half-listening to him explaining about his mic.

"You can hear me so clearly cause I have it clipped to my neck on a fucking chocker. Which you guys should've let die in the 90s btw." You're looking at his tags of #monster cock, #daddy, #master and #orgasmguide. And when someone voices your thought of "some of us weren't even born in the 90s." you found out why. He reads it out and snorts.

"Look at you, so young and already a pathetic little pervert watching older men. What, daddy didn't love you enough, babydoll? So now you gotta come here at night and tune into me stroking my cock for you. Wishing you were on your knees, trying to take it in your bratty little mouth?". The donations explode. The sound effects of coins reverberate through your headphones. The goal is met and the stream has been on for only 15 minutes. You can't see him smile, but you can feel it, by the way his shoulders relax.

"You're such a good girl tonight, spoiling your old man. So needy, already wanting me to take off my clothes. I will, little slut, just let daddy take care of something first." He rolls his chair to the desk and takes his keyboard. You chuckle at the faded and yellowed stickers on it, they vaguely reminded you of something. The man can touch type and you've never wanted to be a pair of keys more in your life. The goal's adjusted, promising whipped cream on his chest. As he fiddles with the camera angles and wonders aloud how to best give you a show, you hover to his bio tab. The man intrigues you. Under real name, he put “Can't tell you, but my screen name is a pun”, so you guess it's Bud or even Sam Addams. His age is listed as late 40s, and when you see a glimpse of his salt and pepper chest hair, it makes sense.

This guy intrigues you. Instead of rubbing one out, you're scrolling further. There's pictures and videos. While there's one of him wearing assless chaps for free (which quickly gets saved to your phone gallery), the rest is behind a paywall. Videos of him cumming or even simple things like doing push-ups. Your palms are itching and you know your payday is coming soon. But before you end up buying a filthy mp4, you go back to the stream.

Somehow, he had made taking off a flannel sexy. Rubbing his fingers against his chest. Touching his happy trail. Then someone in the chat asked, "How much to see the good stuff?" He reads it out, chuckles, and presses a few keys, making a tip menu appear in the chat. It has the usual stuff, promises of flashing his cock or flexing his biceps. C2C and PMs (which you had learned stood for cam to cam and private messages). Then, was the more personal stuff. Nudes rating (5 photos), praise, degradation, ddlg. He clearly knew what people wanted. Was it what he craved as well, you wondered? Then came "the goods" the other person was probably talking about. Jerking off, cumming, even using a vibrator or a fleshlight on himself.

You wondered how long it would take to see the self-described "thicktexanbeercan.". But thanks to someone just as horny as you, if not more, it would be almost immediately. When the tip for "jerking off" came through, he said the person's username and then asked, "How do I thank you, using my southern charm or Austin dirtbag style?"

When the person replied with "dirtbag style," also my pronouns are she/they."he presumably glanced at the message. Probably keeping eye contact with the camera, he reaches for his belt.

"Thank you for being horny, I guess. Desperate little thing, that doesn't like to wait. Impatient darling, needing to see daddy pump his cock for you. Gonna show you exactly what you wanna see, baby.". The belt is on the ground and his jeans are around his ankles. Never did you think that a guy simply taking off his pants would be so hot. Your gaze trails from his delicious thighs to his boxers. Holy shit, even by his outline you can tell that his username isn't an exaggeration.

He pulls it out and it's the prettiest and biggest cock you've ever seen. His hand wraps around it, one slow pump he thrust into, back arching. Then he folds one arm behind his head and turns straight into the camera. You like the mystery, but wish he would show his face. His voice is breathy, he obviously likes what he's doing. And his thrusts are speeding up.

His chat is going crazy, tokens pouring in.

"You like what you see, huh? Bet you're aching to touch yourself, too. Go on, spread your pretty legs for me, and give me a show, too.". Before you know it, you're following his instructions. Pajama pants quickly pulled down, you touch yourself. And God damn, are you wet. You're fucking dripping, for this stranger on the internet. You don't have time to be embarrassed. You trail a finger against your opening, gathering the slick. Then you touch your clit, rubbing it slow and then gradually speeding up. But it's so much more intense, it's fucking electric. You glance at the clock on your phone. Look back at the man on the stream, his chest, his cock. And in a minute you're cumming. Eyes closed, pussy getting tighter and clenching around nothing orgasm. You close the stream, mortified. You go to bed and have the best sleep of your life.

By the next stream, you have an account, and you follow him. He acknowledges that, and you're tempted to already start touching yourself. But it's a Friday night, you've promised yourself that weekends are for yourself. Seeing that you pushed for Saturdays off, one would think you'd need to be up, bright and early, and going somewhere. But not this time. You had planned a slow day, where you catch up on laundry and read. But before the weekend was this. You caught on to today's stream a bit too late. Your cowboy (a middle-aged man that probably didn't know you existed) was already shirtless. He had a loofah and a mug filled with water next to him.

"One of y'all suggested I try temporary tattoos. Now, I had to go to the grocery store and get weird looks as I pumped quarters in a machine. So you better enjoy them. Or actually, if I find good ones online, I'm adding them to the wishlist.". He moves off camera and holds up two sheets of temporary tattoos, very tribal and barbed wire inspired. The other is surprisingly butterflies and unicorns.

He unbuttons his pants and lowers his boxers. You can see just the tip, straight as a ram rod. You can't help but wonder if he gets off on being watched. Your head gets filled with fantasies of him and you. Embarrassingly you're picturing him pulling out his pecker in a mundane place like Walmart and fucking you in the aisles. Maybe you just need to do better groceries, you think looking at the takeout bag from the restaurant you just spent 8 hours in. There were enough chicken nuggets in there to feed a family. You get your mind back in the gutter when the performer moans. You stare at the screen. His torso is covered in the temporary tattoo, and he's strategically placed the barbed wire around his nipples. As he drags the wet loofah against his pelvis, he groans.

"God, this is cold. Wish you were here, to warm up my cock. With your mouth or cunt or ass. Filling you so well."

This time, you come before he's even pulled out his dick. Yet you keep watching. A second orgasm gets squeezed out of you later, with the help of your dildo. When "beercan" reaches a crazy tip goal, he fucks his fleshlight. He's merciless, using the pocket pussy like a cocksleeve, whispering the most obscene stuff.

"You like that? You like it when daddy fucks you like this. Of course you do. You're so tight for me, yet you take my big cock so well. Trained you well, didn't I? Made my own little whore, that needs my cum. Beg for it.". And you do, miles away from this stranger. You orgasm with him, sex toy deep inside of you. He cums and makes the stream watch as he cleans the fleshlight with the same loofah he used earlier.

That stream basically breaks you. For some reason two intense orgasm equal a very productive day then. You're a new person. You study and work better and no longer need to fuck yourself to sleep. That you stranger whose name is Bud or Sam Addams or Miller. Not that you drink the latter anyway, so it never crosses your mind. After all, Joel is older, in his mid 50s. But what he's not above is lying on the internet. Using the world wide web to show his nasty bits to the world. And what he'd soon realize is that his best friend's daughter isn't too.

After finishing your masters thesis, you come to the harrowing reality that there's no jobs for you here. And then comes your dad's constant pestering to come home. You reject him at first. There's nothing left for you in Texas anymore, besides the family house. But then, a former high school mentor posts a job opening on their Instagram story. And it's perfect for you, aside from the fact it's in Austin. You off handedly mention it to your parents, after immediately applying. You don't expect to get it. But with interviews and all, you do. They even allow you to start a bit later, making sure you work off your part-time job shifts.

So you take the plunge and buy plane tickets. There's only one problem. The flight is so early that you'd practically have to leave your empty apartment at 4 in the morning. So you decide to pull an allnighter. You're not sure how you end up back on the chat room site. You don't even know if "thicktexanbeercan" still cams. But as you click on the page, you get a notification that he's in a live show. Feeling bold tonight, you know you wanna be a bit more adventurous. Call it what you will, but you need a shake-up. After so much uncertainty, you need to do something so out of character.

You feel the money in your pocket burns a hole in it. Yes, packing your stuff and sending it back wasn't cheap. Nor was the last-minute plane ticket (even with Spirit airlines). But you had sold a lot of your things, gotten your rental deposit back, and got your days off comped as overtime. So you were, technically, on the flipside. Now, responsible people would put that into savings. You were spending it on tokens. You wanted to be seen. So you tipped for "nudes review." Truth is, ever since your last partner in freshman year of college, it was a string of bad hookups and boring first dates. No one had seen you naked in a while. But that didn't mean you didn't have nudes. Nope, you liked taking shots of yourself in compromising positions. After all, your pretty lingerie deserved to be shown off.

So you mindlessly sent over 4 shots via the opened pm option. He moves a large IPad in front of his face to obscure it. His ever-present cowboy hat is moved to his head as he stares at your pictures. He strokes his cock, at his usual fast pace.

"Jesus fuck, darling, aren't you a treasure. Look at that ass, so perky. It would look good in red, after I'm done with you. Let's see the next one, oh, you're doing the hand bra thing. Need someone to fondle your tits, huh. Don't worry, I'd grope them for you. Put my mouth on them, tease your sensitive nipples. Fuck, let's see the third. Damn, you're stark fucking naked. What a little whore you are, showing me everything. Don't know if I wanna think about your boobs again or your hips or your pussy. Might just stick around and look at it. Only one more, okay. Fuck, that's my favorite one, doll. Even though you should've been more careful. You forgot to crop out your face. I can see your needy expression as you're rubbing your clit. Hand in your lacy black panties, must have been a special night. Who in their right mind would have let you go instead of fucking you right against the mirror you're using as a prop. Don't worry, I'll make it right. I'll give you a tribute, right here. How's that sound, darling? You want this old man to cover your photo with his cum in front of thousands of people?".

Any fear or shame you've had is long gone. You don't only want that, you need it. You type a "please, daddy" in the chat. His groan fills your headphones. He fumbles, balancing his hat on his nose. For the first time, you see a glimpse of his face. His tongue wets his lips as he zooms on the iPad, making sure that others only see from your chest down. He jerks his cock over it, painting his screen with spurts of his cum.

"That was intense, think I'll put you on hold for a bit. It's been a while since a first orgasm drained me like that. Daddy will be back soon." He says and pauses the broadcast. Truth is, his cock would be hard again in a minute. It was the fact that he came to you that was haunting him. His best friend's daughter. A girl who was younger than his niece. A woman who was coming back to Texas after leaving as a 19 year old. Then you were still awkward and Joel would never look at you twice. You were a child, for God's sake. But now, some years later you had shed your baby face. You were a fucking bombshell. And he was about to implode.

After a whirlwind rest of the stream, you go to the airport and catch your flight. Despite being a full-grown adult, your parents insist on picking you up. You're back in your childhood bedroom, surrounded by boxes of your new life. You notice that some stuff from before is missing.

"Hey dad, where's the old blueetoth keyboard we bought when the laptop was on the fritz? Might need it for work." You ask. You're sure you can easily write down notes on your phone or on paper. But there was something satisfying about hooking up your old iPad to a keyboard and typing. Maybe it's the fact that it got you through college twice that has you feeling sentimental. Maybe it's the truth that your parents didn't know you bought it, and now you had to use it daily to justify spending money on it. Either way, your dad replied with

"Oh, I gave that to Joel. He said he was starting some new call center job and needed it. Working on European projects, so he's always busy at night. Must pay a pretty penny, he's always got packages on his doorstep. You should see his new pickup truck too, she's a beauty." Your father said.

"Didn't need the whole prologue, dad. Can you just get it back?" You ask.

"Now come on honey, you're a grown woman. You can go over and ask him yourself. He's not gonna eat you." Your dad insists, and you have to agree. With a resigned "At least text him and tell him I'm on the way.", you go. There's no use arguing. You can not explain to your dad that when you were 19, you wanted nothing more than Joel taking your virginity. That now, years after, you still wouldn't mind a sip of that can of Miller.

One of the reasons your dad and Joel were friends was the fact that you could get to the latter's house in about 15 minutes. You're there in less, ringing the doorbell and waiting. Joel emerges in a moss green bathrobe and grey sweatpants. His hair is tousled, and it's obvious that he was sleeping. You'd feel bad if he didn't greet you with a

"What the fuck do you want, I ain't buying anything. Oh. It's you. Hey, kiddo.". Your eyes go to the mat on his front porch, but not before taking in his cock. Was he hard? Had you interrupted an intimate moment? You mumble something about "wireless keyboard" and "borrowing it back, please" when he leads you in. If he had a lady friend, she was as quiet as a church mouse.

"It's in the guest room. Had to convert into a sort of home office, after getting a desk job, so many years as a contractor. Got hard on my back. Wanted to enjoy doing nothing, then Sara got knocked up again. Just like Tommy, both of them can't stop having kids. So now I have to be rich gruncle Joel. And I don't know why I'm telling you this instead of just getting the keyboard." He says. Joel pops in, but he doesn't close the door all the way. Peeking in through the hole, it seems familiar. Like you've seen it before, but recently. You shrug off the deja vu and take the keyboard from him. But as he hands it to you, familiar stickers facing you, you piece it together.

"Thicktexanbeercan" had the same one. And you recognized it because you "decorated" it as a sticker obsessed teen. There was no way. Mr. Miller was not camming. You had not orgasmed to him dirty talking to you. And most importantly, he had not come all over a photo of your tits. It was just a huge, cosmic coincidence. But there was only one way to find out.

The wait until your first paycheck was too long, yet you had to endure. There is no way you were taking money out of your savings to fulfill possibly Joel's wishlist. So when that sum hit your bank account, you expertly navigated to thicktexanbeercan's page. Clicking on the shop icon, you choose to ignore that the man is selling his nudes, his underwear, and his socks. Though tempted by the Polaroids of his cock, you move on. You buy the custom temporary tattoos, a callback to a previous stream. Your pussy twitches at the memory and you're quick to suppress your urges. You send your "requirements" to the Amazon seller and hope they get them ready soon. You also secretly order some for yourself, shipping them to a friend's house. You start tuning into the streams regularly, watching them all the way through. Your coworkers have the grace to not comment. Especially since the nightly nsfw is always in the background of something else. So you're doing research on one screen, while listening to maybe Joel call you a nasty whore for watching him.

TGIF was never your thing, until this one. Your cowboy walked in with a package, his address dutifully scribbled out. He opens it and out comes the sheet of temporary tattoos.

"Oh, someone's been watching me for some time, huh. Can't get enough of me inked. Well, I aim to please, so let's get this show on the road.". Beercan undresses to his boxers and starts examining the tattoos.

"Whoever picked these out is one creative motherfucker. I like them.". He starts showing them off to the camera, chuckling about the "save a horse, ride a cowboy" and subsequently the "don't ride a horse, but I'm hung like one". But one in particular makes him tick.

"Your throat goes here? Really, sweetheart? You expect me to walk around with that, to make you all see it as I stroke my cock for you? Fuck it, it's my job to give you a good show." He peels off two of those and places them on the space between his thumb and pointer finger. Was he? He was. Thicktexanbeercan was gonna live up to his name, by using both hands to jerk off.

He's fast, wanting this to end. His Friday shows weren't that popular, so no use milking it. Now, on Saturdays, that's when most people tune in. It's better to save his stamina for then. But you and the chat had other plans. You had mobilized them as he was busy answering questions earlier. Now, he would get enough tokens for a cumshot. Maybe Joel really aims to please. So he goes for it, double orgasm, sure. Then, as soon as that one's over, another. He barks at the chat that he doesn't like being bossed around like that. But you have him cumming until he's shooting blanks. After he just shuts off the stream and goes to bed after running a wet towel on his stomach, to wipe off the cum.

Less than 8 hours later, there's a constant ring of his doorbell. He opens and you're standing there, looking so fuckable his cock stands to attention. You're wearing a skimpy outfit and your lips are shiny with a pinkish gloss. But that doesn't stop him from wondering why you're gracing his doorstep like an angel sent straight from hell.

“I need help picking out a present for my dad.” You say.

“Sweetpea, I know you've been away for a while, but that doesn't change the fact that your dad's birthday isn't for months.” he replies.

"I know. It's not for that. I fucked up and broke something of his. Can you help me?" You ask.

"Sure, what do you need from me?" He counters.

"I think I wanna be stereotypical and get him something stereotypically dad-like. Like a craft beer, something he can crack open with the boys. And since you're "the boys," I'm here. Need a recommendation for a thick Texan beercan." You watch him react. He twitches like a rabbit spooked by a stick snapping.

"So you know. But I'm sure your parents wouldn't be thrilled by the fact that you're watching porn. Have you ever donated, I wonder. Bought something with their hard earned money. Straight from your father's wallet to your daddy." Joel counters, not missing the way your eyes glaze over when he calls yourself your daddy. But you are not won over so easily.

"You're a liar. Late 40s, my ass. Late 40s when you last had to change your ID or what? I could expose you. I'm sure the girlies and the rest watching you would love to know they were scammed. Tinder swindler, but worse."

"What do you want?" He tries.

"As Lana del Rey said, put me in the movie. Let me be in a video." You demand.

"Come back at night, around 9. Get something to cover your face too. Don't need someone recognizing you." He says.

You follow his instructions like an obedient puppy. You make up excuses to your parents. Your cunt's shaved, your outfit is complete and you're not wearing underwear. Joel drags you in, literally. He looks at the pink cowboy hat you have in hand and chuckles.

"No saying my name, preferably not saying much. Just follow my lead, and I'll make you feel good. If you wanna stop, what do you say?" He lists clinically.

"Light beer," you say, acknowledging the pun behind his moniker. You should've figured this out way earlier.

He half laughs, half looks disappointed at your bad pun. You know he's gonna get you back for this , sooner or later. You just desperately hope it's with his dick.

Joel starts the stream. He makes you sit in his chair as he gets a bit closer to the camera. You can see him, mic clipped to chocker and all. He speaks to his chat, introducing you as a "special cowgirl guest.".

"Bet you all wanna take her place. I'm sure she can tell you all about it. If she can speak after I'm done with her anyway." He continues. You wanna protest, to bite back with a comment. But he crawls between your legs, placing kisses up to your pussy. And you are speechless. The fact that you can see him, dark brown eyes and gorgeous roman nose is too much. He's even revealing the top of his greying hair. You grip it and bring him closer to your center. He chooses to lick and suck your clit instead and you moan so loud, even the felt of your hat doesn't muffle it.

"Gonna make you extra wet so you can take my cock, doll. Would you like that?" He asks and you reply with "yes, daddy". You can hear him extra crisp, the audio bouncing around the room. It's all too much, every fantasy of yours coming to life. You come against him, riding it out.

"You ready for more, my little fuckdoll? Can I?" He asks. You plead, you tell him you need him.

Joel makes sure to zoom the camera to your sopping cunt, showing you off to the chat. He fiddles with it, making sure it captures your greed. He sits on the chair, swatting your ass to get you up. Legs trembling, you do. He unzips his jeans, the sound as familiar to you as a notification on your phone. He puts it against you, just to give his viewers a preview on how deep he was gonna be in you.

"You think I'll fuck her up. Make this pussy memorize the shape of my cock. Let's give this pretty doll her first cervix bruising, shall I?" He says. He slides his cock in you in one swoop motion, not caring about the stretch.

"Just like that." You moan, dangerously close to saying his name. Joel spreads your legs and fucks into you. He's all grunts and swears, gone is his dirty talk. His hands are grabby, squeezing your thighs. He's so pussy whipped that he says

"Let me come inside you. Please. Need to.". The "yes, yes, daddy" is enough for him to do so and continue thrusting in you until he's soft. Joel rolls the chair forward, "manually zooming" his camera. His audience gets a pretty shot of his cum dripping out of you before the broadcast cuts out. He helps you up and draws a bath. If the camming paid for the clawfoot tub you saw, hell you'd join in more.

"You know, what we did was wrong. But it sure as hell felt right. I'm not saying we should do this daily. But maybe instead of both of us getting off on each other from afar, we can do it together." He asks, almost a schoolboy confession.

“Yes Joel, I wanna fuck you again too. Now shut and let me enjoy my life after taking your thick Texan beercan.”

[marauder-misprint]

James' Idea

Series Masterlist

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

1.1k words

cw: fluff, swearing

“Padfoot!” James sings at breakfast.

Sirius groans and places his head on the table. He has a raging headache. He doesn’t want to deal with James or anyone else this morning.

“Lovely, lovely Pads, you’ll be delighted to know what our fairest Lilykins has just told me!” James says, still sounding far too loud and happy for Sirius’ liking right now.

“What?” Sirius groans.

“That you went off with the dog person last night at the party!”

“That’s why you went?” Remus asks, sounding amused.

“Oh, it is most definitely why he went,” James continues. “She says they spent some time together.”

Remus lets out a low whistle.

“So, do we get an update? Is she in love with you yet?” Peter asks teasingly.

Sirius groans again, his head still resting on the table. 

“That’s a no,” Remus snorts, rubbing Sirius’ back comfortingly. 

“Can’t win ‘em all,” Peter says.

“But she’s a dog person!” Sirius complains.

“So she has to like you? That it?” Remus asks, looking down at the mop of black curls.

He nods. Remus tuts and gives a knowing look to James, who is smiling at his friend’s apparent misery. 

“She obviously doesn’t hate you, mate,” Remus says. “If what Lily says is true.”

“But she doesn’t think of us as friends even.”

“Have you talked to her outside a party?” Peter asks.

Sirius sits up. “Yes, I have.”

“Huh, so you’ve done more than I expected.”

“Fuck off, Wormtail,” Sirius spits before turning to Remus. “How come she likes Regulus more than me?”

“The hell should I know for? You’ve literally talked to her more than the rest of us combined.”

Sirius groans again and places his head back on the table. 

“Maybe she just knows him really well? They are both Slytherins,” Peter says. “Wasn’t he her date to the party?”

“Yes,” James answers for Sirius. 

“But they are just friends,” Sirius says, speaking to the floor. “Her words.”

“Speaking of just friends, Prongs, do you think Lily will read my Transfiguration essay?” Peter asks, seemingly bored of the current topic.

“Probably,” James says shortly. “But why can’t Moony read it?”

“I’m not helping him until he pays me back for taking the rest of my chocolate flies without asking,” Remus replies, more bored with the topic of homework than you. “But I do think Wormtail has a point. You got to talk to her outside parties. You got to have a… cautious persistence.” 

Sirius snorted a laugh. “Cautious persistence?”

“Not what Prongs is doing with Lily,” Remus clarifies. “Talk to her in class or something. Ask her for help on homework or something. Don’t flirt.”

“But I’m good at flirting!”

“It’s not going to get you the friendship or approval or whatever you desire. Not if she likes your brother more than you.”

“Because of the person he is,” Sirius says in a mocking voice, sitting up straighter. 

“My point!” Remus exclaims, flourishing his hands in front of him. “You have to be around her in a friendly manner but not overbearing!”

“I got it!” James says, suddenly slamming his hands on the table and practically interrupting Remus’ game plan. 

“Hit me, Prongs,” Sirius says. He briefly gives Remus a polite smile to tell him he appreciated the advice but maybe James had a more direct method.

“She’s a dog person, right?”

“Right?”

“Not a people person.”

“Where are you going with this?” Remus asks. He can feel a headache forming already, not having heard James’ plan.

“What if she is a Padfoot person rather than a Sirius person?”

“Oh!” Sirius exclaims with a grin on his face. “I like where you’re going with this.”

“I don’t,” Remus says. “We don’t need to go around introducing Padfoot to all of Hogwarts. It’s bad enough when you let him out in the tower.”

“Can it, Moony. We’ll let him out in the common room. Keep it in Gryffindor,” James continues. “Then we enlist Marlene to have Dorcas go get her. Have her… prove her dog person-ness.”

“And once we confirm that she’s a Padfoot person, we can work on turning her into a Sirius person!”

---

You were on the couch with Regulus in the common room. He was looking over his notes, preparing for an upcoming test. You were laying with your feet in his lap and your Charms book in your hands. It was open but you kept rereading the same paragraph over and over. The words weren’t sticking. Regulus can tell that you were in your own head when he glances over at you.

“So, ah, what’s going on with you and my brother?” Regulus asks as nonchalantly as he can.

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, nice try. I don’t believe you.”

You narrow your eyes at Regulus and lower your book. “He’s like desperate for my friendship, my approval or something. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but there’s nothing going on between us.”

“Love.”

“What, Regulus?

“Let’s recap, shall we?” 

You roll your eyes but give him a gesture to carry on. 

“You come back from Gryffindor Tower twice smelling of him, dare I say reeking. I’m reaching here, but I think it’s reasonable enough to assume that Sirius is why you were requested. You and Sirius were talking when I told you Slug’s party was formal and he somehow shows up with Evans? I do not believe for one second that she asked him. And at said party, you disappear with him. And you come back smelling of alcohol that you apparently got from our cousin.”

“Okay, so?”

“You see why I don’t believe you?”

“No.”

“Love,” Regulus whines. “It all adds up. You’re secretly dating him.”

You look taken aback. Shock is etched into your features.

“I most definitely am not!”

“I still don’t believe you.”

“I can’t believe you’d think so low of me, Black. I told you I’d tell you if he made a move on me, which he has yet to do by the way.” You glare at him. “And if you really don’t believe me, get some veritaserum. I’ll take it in a heartbeat. But you should know, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Do you fancy him?” 

You’re saved from answering by Dorcas bursting into the common room and beelining for you. She grabs your arm and pulls you up. 

“What the fuck, Cas?” 

“Your skills are needed.”

“What skills? Cas!” You yank your arm free just short of the common room door. You plant your feet and glare at her. “What is going on?”

“There’s a dog loose in Gryffindor Tower.”

“So?” Regulus pipes up from the couch, where he was still sitting. “Why is that our problem?”

“They say it’s not listening to anyone and our lovely girl here is a self-declared dog person. They want to put that to the test.”

“Don’t think this gets you out of answering!” Regulus yells as you let Dorcas take your hands again and pull you into the corridor. 

tags: @2dloveshp, @yearninglustfully, @made-for-oliverwood, @ilovejamespottersomuch, @hisparentsgallerryy, @itsseaberri, @corawithfanfiction, @devilslittlehelper, @jllyunn, @barnes70stark,

tags: @crowleythesexydemon, @flow33didontsmoke, @navs-bhat, @louweenier

[icepip]

mdni/18+. satoru x male reader. mutual masturbation. oral (reader rec.) not proofread and typed on the app so there's probably a lot of mistakes lol.

best friend satoru who insists on watching porn together, says it'll be a bonding experience or some bullshit. you deny, deflect, and distract as much as you can but it's only a matter of time before you run out of excuses. for better or for worse, satoru is persistent.

he's excited when you finally agree, bright blue eyes sparkling with an unfamiliar glow. it's captivating and despite all logic pointing to the weirdness of this, you find yourself unable to resist satoru.

you're sitting on his bed next to him, just enough space between you so you're not touching. that would be too much, surely. that would be crossing a line that you wouldn't be able to uncross.

your palms feel sweaty as satoru types on his laptop, the soft light reflecting off his eyes as he searches for a video. something simple and hot, he told you. you had no idea what he would categorize as that, considering his concept of normalcy seemed skewed. most friends don't do this. but satoru, apparently, does.

the doubt in the back of your mind seems to grow, but before you can say anything, satoru settles the computer back down on his bed.

"this is perfect." and you recognize that voice — he's planning something. he looks at you with that stupidly perfect smile and you feel your resolve crumble before you. "you ready?"

its awkward. it's so painfully awkward and you feel weird because here you are, sitting next to your best friend, watching some shitty porn (sorry, satoru, but you have horrible taste) and a bulge is forming in your pants. your stupid dick is reacting to the sounds that echo around the room, to the sight of that woman on her knees as she worships this man's cock. sucking and licking and slurping and kissing and you never knew there could be that much spit from one person.

you steal a glance at satoru. his eyes are wide, practically glued to the screen as he watches the video. his tongue darts out to lick at his lips and you hate that your gaze falls to his mouth because now you can't seem to look away. you always knew satoru was attractive, you could admit that. people practically threw themselves at his feet as soon as he walked in the room. (less people stuck around when he opened his mouth, but that's besides the point.)

he had the perfect pretty face, not too sharp but not too soft, either. striking features with his ocean blue eyes and bright white hair that had heads turning. satoru had the confidence, too. he seemed to wear anything effortlessly, never spending too much time on his appearance because he already looked good.

he moves his hand, squeezing at his crotch, hissing softly at the much needed relief. you feel your own cock twitch at the sight.

"fuck, that's hot," your best friend says, eyes still on the video and you realize you don't even know what he's referring to. you haven't been watching for a while.

satoru pulls at his zipper, freeing his dick and wrapping his hand around it. it's pretty, too, but what else did you expect?

"what are you doing?" stupid question. your face flushes with warmth as he laughs softly.

"what? don't tell me you thought we'd just sit here?" his long fingers stroke his shaft, up and down, up and down, in a lazy rhythm. "c'mon, man, it's fine."

it's far from fine but it'd be even worse to sit there and not masturbate, too. you try to focus on the porno playing, keep your eyes trained on the girl bouncing on the guy's dick, as you shimmy the band of your pants down enough to grab your cock. your skin is practically burning, heat flooding your body and all you want is some relief. you're embarrassed at the low moan that leaves your throat but satoru doesn't say anything so it must be okay.

it's quiet between the two of you, the occasional grunt or sound of spitting into a hand the only thing that indicates the other is there. ignoring satoru becomes easier the longer you watch the video, the longer your hand is stroking at your length. you're focused on you.

but every good thing must come to an end and the girl gets up and the guy finishes inside her mouth and on her face. you didn't cum yet but you think that it might be a blessing in disguise.

until satoru comments.

"shit, i wanna do that. can i suck you off?" he's still fisting his cock, the head an angry red when he pulls the foreskin back.

"what?"

"i wanna make you cum with my mouth." satoru says it like it's a normal thing to say, like he's telling you what he's craving for dinner. it drives you crazy.

his mouth is so wet and warm around you, his lips parting enough to take your tip in between them. white lashes flutter shut against pink cheeks, a low hum vibrating through him at the taste of your precum. your fingers twitch at your sides, the need to grip onto something overwhelming you as he slides down another inch.

you grunt when he hollows his cheeks and sucks, hips bucking up from the sensation. it feels so good. satoru pulls off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting your cock to his smirk.

"you like this?" he presses kisses along your length, your precum smearing across his face and leaving a glistening trail.

"y-yeah," you swallow, your voice sounding wrecked already. "you're doing, uh, you're doing a good job."

he preens at the compliment and take you back in his mouth, copying what the woman did on the porno earlier. it's sloppy and he's obviously lacking the experience she did, but you certainly aren't complaining. satoru chokes a bit as he takes more of your cock, tears pricking at his eyes and you realize how pretty he looks like this.

before you can stop yourself, your fingers thread through his disheveled hair, pulling softly as he swallows around your aching cock. satoru moans, his hips rutting against his bed.

"satoru," you warn, your orgasm building as he starts to move faster and faster. "i'm gonna — gonna cum."

it doesn't take long before you do and satoru sputters as your release floods his mouth, sticky white dripping from your cock as he pulls off. he coughs, not used to the feeling, but he recovers quickly, smiling at you with your cum still on his lips.

"we should have bonding time more often."

[varpusvaras]

Apparently Willis is alive in the newer comics? I have no idea what's going on there, but I got thinking about it, and-

Willis already knew a lot of dangerous, skilled people. He had a strong enough connection to Lady Shiva for Jason to suspect that she could be his biological mother. Same with a spy.

So. Maybe Willis has some skills. He survives Two-Face and is then offered another job, one that pays a lot better, and he takes it. It was supposed to be a short enough job, but things went a little sideways and it took longer than expected, and then he gets back and his wife is dead and his son is adopted by a billionaire. And what is Willis supposed to do? He can't fight to get his custody back, because no matter how corrupt the systems in Gotham are, no one in their right mind would think that Willis is a better option than Bruce Wayne.

So Willis lets it be. He takes another job. He trains more. Takes another job. Collects every single piece of Jason he can find. Cuts the newest picture out of a newspaper and carries it with him. He trains, becomes more skilled. Takes another job. He looks at Jason's happy, growing face in the newspapers. He cuts them out and puts them in his pocket. He takes a job. He trains. He becomes better. He takes another job.

He looks for Jason in the papers and finds out that his son is dead.

He goes back to Gotham. He visits his baby's grave. He is more skilled now than the last time he was here. He knows how the city works. He lays low and listens.

It doesn't take long for him to figure it all out, not with how much the Joker brags about killing the Bat's little bird.

Willis looks at the pictures of Robin and sees Jason.

All he knows is anger.

No, the Joker is wrong. He didn't kill the Bat's little bird. Not to worry. The Joker will soon learn his mistake.

And after that, so will Batman.

Or, Willis Todd becomes a Batman villain to avenge his son.

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

chapter five:

<last chapter> <next chapter>

➴ warnings: fighting, misunderstanding, mentions of cheating

➴ word count: 3.2k

➴ author’s note: shit hit the fan yall… who the hell is going to fix this mess..

YOU woke up at ten to two after sleeping for seven hours straight. One thing about stressed you, is that you'd sleep for twenty-four hours if given the opportunity.

But you were thirsty and you needed to get your hands on a glass of water before you died from dehydration.

So, you got up, and made your way to the kitchen, only stopping when you saw your phone blowing up on the counter.

Frowning, you picked it up, confused with the hundreds of notifications on your lock screen.

You completely forgot about your need for water. With your heart on your mouth, you sat on one of your stools, unlocking your phone and texting Grace.

Usually, you didn't care about gossip. You'd always just joke about it on Twitter with your fans and move on.

People liked to invent things and you couldn't exactly stop them. So you just let it happen.

But apparently, Jack was involved in this too. Which left you confused because people didn't know about you two. Or at least, that's what your media team would say, whenever you had a meeting with them— a weekly occurrence, ever since the album was announced.

Typing your name on Google, you didn't have to dig too deep: an article published five hours ago was the first to show up. "Former Flames: NHL Star Jack Hughes Moves On with New Flame After Breakup with Pop Singer, Sophia Montenegro".

What the fuck?

Opening it, you could swear your heart would stop any moment. Hands shaking, you read every line, thinking of everything and nothing at the same time.

It seems love off the ice is just as fast-paced as the action on it for NHL star Jack Hughes. The hockey player, known for his fierce plays and competitive edge, is making headlines for his personal life as well. After a low-profile breakup with pop sensation Sophia Montenegro, Jack Hughes has already moved on-and he's not keeping it a secret.

According to our anonymous sources, the athlete and singer had started dating back in April, after they met at the New Jersey Devils [Jack Hughes' team] charity gala, and kept everything in the dark for six months straight: nothing more than a few Instagram comments and likes to prove anything.

However, despite the chemistry, the relationship ended after Jack was seen with one of his exes last night, Ava Mitchell. Jack Hughes is known for his short-term relationships so it wouldn't be anything new.

We hope Mrs. Montenegro is okay, after her second break-up in less than two years. Maybe our sweet girl, Sophia, has bad luck with relationships.

You didn't bother reading the rest, locking your phone and gently placing it on the counter again.

The rational part of your brain was telling you that none of that was true, and that this was just a gossip magazine doing what’s supposed to be doing, but you recognised the girl in the photo, it was the same girl on Jack’s lap yesterday. And that was obviously Jack, holding her hand like some kind of loving boyfriend.

You sighed, running your hands through your hair. You knew that something like this would happen. All of the good moments you had with Jack apparently were just that: good moments. And now, bad memories.

You knew what you had to do. Keep going, just like you did when Harris broke up with you over text after cheating on you the night before. Keep going, just like you did when your name got dragged into the mud because of that.

But doing that with Jack, for some crazy reason, was harder than you thought it’d be. Maybe because you had a lot of expectations and watching them getting crushed right in front of you sucked.

Your phone buzzed in front of you, Grace’s picture shining. You sighed, before picking it up. “Hi,” you whispered, remembering that you were still thirsty and this was the first word you said in seven hours.

“Hey, baby, how are you?” She sounded worried, and you understood her. This was the first somewhat scandal you’ve had in months. So yeah.

“I just read it…” you took a deep breath. “Gosh, what the hell. What happened after I left?”

You heard Grace move something around before she started speaking again. “Honey, I wish I could tell you something entirely different but… I did see Jack leaving with that girl. I am so sorry. Like, genuinely.”

Your entire body felt like it weighed three times more. Your heart shrank to the size of a pea and you could feel your hand tremble a little bit.

You had seen the picture, you knew that Jack had left the party with the girl but still. It hurt.

“Did you talk to him?” Grace asked, voice worried.

“No, I— Grace, I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, feeling something tickle your cheek. You wiped it with your hands, just to realize that it was tears. You were crying. “I like him so much. I had finally accepted it, I told you— I thought he felt the same.”

“I did too. I don’t know what happened. Maybe… God I hate to say this but maybe you should talk to him?”

You let out a wet laugh. “No way in hell I’m talking to him. I made that mistake with Harris. Every time he’d do something shitty, I’d go after him and talk to him, accept his excuses, his behavior. I’m not that Sophia anymore.”

“I know, I know… I just…” she sounded uncertain. “God. Why are men like this?”

You wiped your tears, smiling for the first time in hours.

“I don’t know.”

“Also, that song you sent me… is it about him?”

You were confused just for a second, before remembering the song you wrote last night— morning?

“Yeah,” you mumbled, feeling just the tiniest bit of embarrassment. “Couldn’t get it out of my head. What’d you think?”

“It’s perfect. Just like everything you write,” you could hear her smiling. You smiled too. “I love you so much, Soph.”

“I love you too, Grace. Don’t worry, I'll be fine,” you sounded like you were trying to convince yourself, and not her. “Let’s just focus on the album and the launching party, right? Fuck Jack Hughes.”

“Yes, you’re right. Fuck him and not in a good way!”

You laughed, feeling the pain inside your chest ease up a little bit.

It was going to be fine.

— ♡

JACK called you three times in the past three days.

You felt shitty not picking up any of his calls because you knew he was away for the entire week, but honestly, you weren’t ready to hear any of his excuses.

So drowning yourself in work was the answer for all of your problems. Day and night, you went to photoshoots and interviews, none of the questions being about you and Jack, thankfully. You knew it was all your team’s doing but still, it felt nice to talk about yourself and your work, and not about men who did nothing but make you hate yourself.

Grace thought you had to at least hear Jack out. But you knew that if you did that, the chances of you forgiving him were high. Higher than they should be. Because you’re still very much in love with him and want to be with him at all times.

“Good work today, guys,” Russel, your choreographer, shouted, everyone clapping together. You were all rehearsing for your launching party, a mini-concert with only a couple hundred people, something to introduce your album.

“Thank you, guys, love you.” You breathed, remembering how you should go back to the gym because singing and dancing at the same time required a lot of effort.

You headed back to your house, staring at the sunset through your car’s window, sighing loudly at the traffic in front of you. It was seven p.m. and you were tired and famished, thinking about all of the take-out options you could order when you got home.

“What the…” you muttered, when you tried entering your garage, but was unable to since there was a car there already. A car that you unfortunately knew very well. “The hell is he doing here?”

Jack was leaning against his car, a crazy thing to do during winter but whatever, wearing a beanie and a Devils hoodie, while looking at something in his phone.

He was supposed to be away. For a week.

Opening your door, you welcomed the cool breeze on your skin. The workout clothes felt too tight on your body and the bag on your hand felt too heavy but you held it tight. He still hadn’t noticed you so maybe you could walk past him without him noticing you?

“Hey, baby,” and yes, of course that didn’t work. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You looked at him like he was out of his mind, but he just kissed your forehead and grabbed something from inside the car. A Five Guys takeout bag. Fuck him for knowing your favorite burger place.

“I got us food but I think the guy there messed with my order on purpose because he recognised me and he was wearing a Rangers pin which I thought was forbidden during work hours? But I never had a nine to five job so I can’t really tell.”

You continued to move, asking yourself why the hell Jack was so talkative today. Usually, he’d just answer your questions and leave it at that. But he must’ve spent too much time with Luke because damn, this man was a yapper now.

Opening the door, you let him in, not really sure why. Maybe Grace was right and you did need closure, but you expected to have this conversation with him through texts, and not face to face like right now.

He looked so dreamy. He’d shaved, so he looked eighteen years old all over again. His hair, hidden by the beanie, looked longer now and you desperately wanted to run your hands through it. He was standing there, cheeks and lips red, blue eyes looking directly at yours.

Why did he have to be so handsome? It’d all be much easier if he was ugly.

“You’re so quiet today, did something happen?” He asked, yanking you out of the train of thoughts about how handsome he was.

And suddenly, you were back in Harris’ living room, one year ago, watching as the man cried on your lap, apologizing over and over again, saying that he’d never lie to you and that he’d never let you down.

Your stomach was starting to hurt and you felt yourself breathing faster.

“I ran this conversation in my head a thousand times, but I never once imagined you’d just not talk about it and move on, y’know?” You mumbled, heart racing in your chest. “Was it worth it, Jack?”

His confused face made you hurt even more because, somehow, it looked genuine. “What are you talking about? Was what worth it?”

“So you’ll keep denying it?” You raise one eyebrow, feeling the sorrow being replaced by something uglier, something heavier. Something like anger.

“Denying what, Sophia?” He stepped closer, hands reaching to your body, which you dodged. If you’re going to do this, you’ll need every ounce of space in your house. “Sophia, what—”

“I know I have no right to be mad at you for this, because I know we were just fucking,” you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Hell, I was the one who said I didn’t want a relationship first. So I understand why you didn’t reach out to me, why you’re not apologizing, why you’re playing dumb, but—”

“Sophia,” he cut you off, his voice one octave deeper. You shivered, watching as he frowned at you. “I don’t know why you’re saying all of this shit. What the hell happened?”

You looked at him, analyzing his face and, once again, seeing nothing but pure confusion in his expression. You found it hard to believe that he didn’t know about the article, didn’t know about how people were saying that no one stayed with you for a long time, didn’t know about his ex announcing to everyone on her Instagram page that they were together again.

But unfortunately, you also knew that Jack wasn’t a liar. He’d never been, and probably would never be.

“So you don’t know about the article?”

“Article?” He furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you talking about gossip pages on Instagram? Soph, you know the only thing I do in that fucking app is like your photos, watch the weird ass reels you send me, and send pictures of ugly animals to my brothers and say it looks like them,”

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you google the article that you had every word memorized by now with how much you’ve read it. Showing it to him, you saw his face go through all stages of emotions: confusion, anger and understanding.

“You didn’t know about this?”

“I don’t read the articles people write about me. I don’t give a fuck about people’s opinions,” he growled, handing your phone back to you and taking his beanie off so he could run his hands through his hair. “I don’t know who the hell sent that information about us.”

“Can’t you see that the problem here isn’t people knowing that we were fucking?” You snapped, almost crushing your phone with how hard you were gripping it. “The problem here, Jack, is you leaving that fucking party with your fucking ex, after she spent half of her night on your lap.”

“The hell is wrong with that, Sophia?” He snapped too, looking angry and annoyed at the same time. “You left with fucking Quinn and didn’t even say goodbye to me. Me leaving with Ava isn’t any fucking different.”

“‘Isn’t any fucking different?’ Fuck you, Jack. Fuck,” you touched his chest with your index finger. “You.”

“Sophia, what is going on? You’re mad at me because I left with Ava? She was fucking out of her mind, drunk as hell, and I just took her home!” He raised his arms, like that was enough of an explanation. “It’s not my fault someone took a picture of us leaving and wrote a fucking article about that.”

“I’m not mad at you, Jack,” you whispered, staring into his eyes, losing yourself all over again, just like you did six months ago. “I’m mad at myself for falling in love with you.”

You were both taken aback by your statement. You had zero intentions of telling Jack how you felt about him because that would just be too much humiliation to handle but now the shit hit the fan and he knew.

“It’s…” he stared, biting his lips and averting your gaze. “It’s not like I cheated on you, Sophia. We aren’t dating.”

Oh.

Right.

You knew something like this would happen and still. Your heart hurts all the same. It isn’t that serious, your brain was yelling at you, get a fucking grip.

“I know,” you whispered, trying to count your breathings. “I know that, Jack. You don’t need to tell me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He stepped closer. “About how you feel?”

“Was it going to change anything?” Your voice quivered with sadness and you hated yourself for it. The plan was to tell him to fuck off and leave him but now you were almost crying and losing your shit in front of him.

“Yes, Sophia, fuck,” he put his hands on your arms, squeezing you slightly. “Of course it was!”

“Jack, no,” you freed yourself from his touch, walking around your living room, with your hands on your head. “I didn’t tell you that just to watch you pity me, I was trying to make a point. Don’t start lying now just for the sake of it.”

“Lying? I’m not fucking lying, Sophia,” he sounded angry now. “If you had told me this before, I would’ve—”

“‘Would’ve’ what?” You raised your voice too, tears now streaming down your face freely. “Would’ve said you’re in love with me too? Would’ve abandoned your whore days just to be with me? Fuck off, Hughes, we both know that isn’t true.”

“Just because you like to paint me as the man whore of the Devils it doesn’t mean that that is true,” he snapped, again. “I’ve been with you for six months now, and I never, not even once, touched another woman, or even thought about doing it. Because I just wanted you, Sophia, can’t you fucking see it?”

You sat on the couch, covering your face with your hands, trying to hide the fact that those words affected you more than you would ever admit.

“I get it that your fuckhead ex-boyfriend fucked you up and I am sorry for it, baby, I really am, but I’m not like him—”

“Jack, no,” you stopped him and removed your hands from your face, not caring if you looked ugly or destroyed. “Just leave. It’s better this way.”

“Leave? Are you insane?” He raised his voice. “No, I’m not leaving. I’m telling you that I am in lo—”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Hughes,” you got up, walking until you were toe to toe with him, looking up until your eyes met his. “I don’t want to hear it. Leave, please.”

“What the hell, man, you’re— you’re not even hearing me out!” He sounded desperate.

“I don’t want— I don’t need any more of your lies or pity. Sorry if you lost a good fuck, but I’m sure you’ll find someone else to get your dick wet.” It hurt you saying this but you needed to hurt him in order to make him leave, even if only God knew how much you wanted him to stay.

But the people you loved, the men you loved, never stayed.

Eventually, if you both started dating, he’d get tired of the routine and he’d find someone else. He’d start lying and cheating and apologizing just to do it all again, stepping on your heart like he did to the ice.

So you needed him to leave.

“So you think that you were just that to me?” He scoffed. “A good fuck? I took you to my parents’ house. I introduced you to them. I talked to my friends about you and I made time for something else besides Hockey. I wanted you in my life and now you’re telling me that it was all just sex to me?”

His eyes have never looked bluer. Your entire body felt cold, and you knew it wasn’t because of the weather. It was because you could feel Jack distancing himself from you, and it hurt.

“Leave, Hughes.”

He stared at you for a full minute, the room quiet. Then, he nodded once and twice, before stepping back and making his way to your door.

Opening it, he turned back and looked at you again. “I hope you know that you can’t keep your heart locked away forever, Soph.”

Wanting nothing but to be in his arms, you stared at him until he softly closed the door. You don’t know how much time you spent looking at the wooden entrance, feeling like you just watched your forever walk away.

[screamforyani]

stargazing

warnings: dubcon, use of knife, unprotected sex

wc. 2.1k

you could literally feel the bass beneath your feet. the house felt like it was going to crumble in on itself at any given moment, but of course, frat boys went all out with their parties. loud music was an essential, apparently.

to be honest, you were looking for ethan. you hadn’t seen him since earlier that evening and he promised that he’d go stargazing with you later. how you lost ethan of all people at a party was way beyond you. he literally couldn’t fit in if he tried.

“gosh, E,” you grumbled to yourself, searching around for him. you didn’t find him, but you caught tara and mindy and asked, “hey, guys, have you seen ethan?”

“nope. he’s probably somewhere stabbing people,” mindy replied, crossing her arms. 

you rolled your eyes. “would you stop already? ethan’s not a fucking killer. just look at the guy.”

mindy droned sarcastically, “because being a computer-obsessed socially enept dork isn’t a great cover for a psychopath, wow, you definitely have what it takes to be a final girl.”

tara nudged mindy and said, “we haven’t seen him. i’ll ask anika if she knows where he is though.”

“alright, thanks,” you said in relief. “i’ll be in the kitchen.”

like you said, you headed for the kitchen, temporarily pausing your hunt for ethan. to make things worse, literally everyone was cloaked in a costume, making it all that much harder to recognize everybody that was surrounding you. you’d tried calling him, but ethan’s phone had probably died or something because it went straight to voicemail.

“whatever,” you grumbled, peering inside the fridge for a beer.

“boo!” 

you screamed, so loud the entire block could probably hear you over the raucous. you grabbed a knife from the counter and whipped around to spot chad pointing his finger at you, laughing his ass off. you rolled your eyes, annoyed by his shenanigans. for the past two weeks, chad had been pranking you for no other reason than getting on your damn nerves.

“you’re not fucking funny, chad,” you hissed.

“because i’m hi-fucking-larious,” chad retorted, then pointed at the knife in your hand with amusement. “what, were you going to stab me?”

you thrusted the knife forward, “i still will!”

“yeah, sure thing. maybe when you stop shaking and you can actually hold the knife,” chad teased, holding your wrist to stabilize you. you snatched your hand away from him and ignored his laughter while you set the knife back down, and chad gave you a chaste kiss to your cheek. “hey, we’re running low. can you go grab some more beer from the fridge in the garage?”

ugh, no wonder there’s nothing in the fridge here, you thought to yourself. “yeah, sure. just send a defenseless girl into a dark garage by herself to get slaughtered like an animal,” you retorted, but headed for the garage anyways. 

chad called after you, “thanks, babe!” 

“don’t call me that, i’m telling tara!”

the garage was just as dark as you expected it to be and you felt the wall for a light switch, breathing a little easier in relief when the lights flickered on. it was a little scary in there, not that you would admit to anyone. you were probably just a little shaken up from chad giving you the scare of your life. again.

you waltzed over to the fridge, opening it and grabbing as many bottles of beer as you could carry in one trip. god, it was going to be all chad’s fault if you dropped any of them. if he was a gentleman, he would’ve never let you carry a darn thing.

turning around to close the fridge, you jumped with a shriek when you heard a noise, only to find it was the cat. “jeez,” you muttered, walking back to the door.

much to your inconvenience, it was closed when you turned around. you blew out a breath and slipped the drinks under your arm, pulling at the handle. to no avail. “shit. which idiot locked me out?” you huffed, though you had a couple of ideas.

you were literally going to kill chad. 

“hello,” you called, knocking the door on your fist. “can anyone hear me?”

you could still hear the music loudly thumping behind the shut door. needless to say, your shouts were drowned out. 

you were completely annoyed now. then, you remembered the front door, and pressed the button to let up the garage. you walked towards the garage door, only for it to mysteriously come back down. brows furrowed, your turned on your heels, only to spot somebody in a ghostface costume by the door.

you gave them a look. “chad, is that you?”

the ghostface shook his head. 

“great, what movie is this - i spit on your garage?” you asked, stepping back over to the door. you gave him a look. “lose the costume. you’ll give minds a heart attack and as much as i hate you, i don’t want you to be the next victim of her PTSD.”

again, he shook his head.

you scoffed, “oh, you wanna play psycho killer?”

he nodded. 

you deadpanned, “can i be the helpless victim?”

predictably, he bobbed his head again.

“okay, let’s see,” you said, giving in to his little games. “no, please don’t kill me, mr. ghostface. i wanna be in the sequel!”

you laughed, expecting chad to laugh it off too and take the mask off, but you were baffled when he didn’t budge, shaking his head at you.

you were annoyed again. “okay, that’s enough. i’m not drunk enough to deal with your bullshit and i have to go find ethan.”

rather than let you go, he grabbed you and you struggled against his hold, asking, “chad, what the hell are you doing?”

you writhed so much that you dropped the beer, the bottles cracking into tens of glass shards on the cold floor. you couldn’t get away in time, because he pulled out a blood-stained knife and pointed it towards you, making you back down the steps until you tripped backwards, just barely missing the broken glass.

you hit the ground with a thud and ghostface crawled over you, giving you nowhere to run. your heart was thumping in your chest at a rapid speed, and you couldn’t find your breath. this wasn’t fucking chad. even he wouldn’t go this far.

this was a fucking monster.

“stop,” you said, gathering yourself on your elbows. you tried to back away, but it was no point, because you were too slow and there was absolutely nowhere for you to run off to. 

the ghostface shook his head. 

you made a risky move and reached for the mask, pulling it off his head to reveal the true identity of your attacker.

and nothing could describe the shock and anger that paralyzed you when saw his face. “what the fuck?” 

“surprise, surprise,” ethan said, waving at you with the knife.

“you’re kidding.”

ethan beamed at you. “i’m afraid not, sweetheart.”

you shook your head. you couldn’t believe this. the boy you’d been (not so) secretly smitten with and defended with your whole being was at the helm of the latest ghostface killings. you felt betrayed and back-stabbed, and you were terrified of how soon you would mean that literally. you were at a loss for words. 

“please don’t hurt me, ethan,” you begged, your eyes glistening. your back hit the large garage door.

“hurt you?” ethan repeated, cocking his head. “never that. i just want to fuck you.”

your brows furrowed. “huh?”

“you have a crush on me, don’t you?” 

“well, i did,” you mumbled, making a face. 

“say you don’t want me,” ethan demanded, staring into your eyes. you couldn’t look away from his even if you wanted to. it was as if you were being hypnotized. “tell me you don’t want me and i’ll leave you alone.”

you frowned. you couldn’t do that, because you would be lying - to him and to yourself. you’d wanted him for ages, dreamed about him even longer. your heart beated for him, each pump spelling his name over and over again, and it would until the very last beat.

ethan pretended to be impatient. “well?”

i don’t want you. it was that simple. you knew it was the smarter choice, because ethan was dangerous, but when your heart was involved, rational thinking was out the window. as was the safety of your friends and the preservation of yourself.

“i want you,” you whispered. 

“huh? i didn’t quite catch that.”

god, he was so annoying. “i want you,” you blurted. 

“that’s all i needed to hear,” ethan chirped, smashing his lips against yours. 

you let yourself be consumed by his lips and the heat of them, because it made you feel things inside, inexplicable things. he was a hell of a good kisser. you threaded your fingers through his curly, brown head of hair, wanting to tangle them through there until the end of time. you’d imagined it before, like a passing daydream. how soft his hair would feel in your hands and how gentle his mouth would feel pressed to yours. 

for a killer, ethan was a surprisingly sweet and steady kisser, and for a moment you were so immersed in an entirely different world - one where there was only you and him - that you forgot reality.

in no time at all, ethan had ditched the ghostface fit and you were both more or less nude. the door was locked and the garage was down so there was no way for anyone to interrupt you. you expect chad to complain that you were taking too long to grab some fucking beer, but well, he’d just have to wait. and you’d have to come up with an explanation for why you dropped so many on the floor, but that was a problem for later. 

right now, you were more concerned with getting ethan landry’s dick inside of you.

“fuck,” you moaned when he slipped inside your cunt, slowly but surely pushing inside.

ethan was making a similar sound, grunting about how tight you were and how perfect you felt wrapped around his cock, how he’d imagined this moment countless times. you had, too, but it wasn’t exactly playing out how you’d planned it in your mind. not that you were really complaining. to have his dick inside you, you were content.

you were glad that he wasn’t wearing that stupid mask. it did things to you seeing his handsome face scrunch up in ecstasy as he used your body for his own pleasure. and you would let him, because you loved him half to death.

“you’re mine. nobody else can have you,” ethan hissed in between marking up your neck. you were so engrossed with him that you didn’t even consider the fact that your friends would definitely poke fun at and interrogation you for the set of hickeys he was sure to leave on your throat and collarbone. you wanted to mark him back, but would take your time for now, dragging your nails down his bare back. “say it.”

“nobody else can have me. i belong to you,” you reiterated through thick breath. 

ethan winced at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin, but he didn’t mind the sting. “i’ll kill anyone who touches you with my bare hands.”

you were just nodding along and barely acknowledging his words at this point, too fucked out to offer anything meaningful, because ethan was doing way too good of a job at pleasuring you and you physically couldn’t take it.

the two of you were so close, you could feel it, your bodies moving in sync with one another. your lips connected and reconnected, the kisses doing nothing but fueling your mutual arousal. the air was hot in the garage and the floor was cold, but you could feel nothing save for your growing feelings for the both between your legs and the absolute bliss he was bringing to you.

ethan became more obsessed with you with every thrust and he didn’t exactly know that was possible, because he was already quite obsessed with you. you were everything he wanted and more. if he couldn’t have you, then absolutely nobody else would.

“E, please cum inside me,” you begged. “pretty please.”

“shit,” ethan groaned, because you sounded so pretty when you begged for him. “i will, fuck, trust me.”

true to his word, he did cum inside you, once giving you the greatest orgasm, most mind-numbing of your life. you could still feel his palm over your mouth, smothering the sound of your shrill cries of his name as you shuddered with climax. the music was loud enough so that it would drown out the sound of sex, moans and skin-slapping included, but he didn’t want to risk anybody else hearing what was his and only his. 

you lay there panting when you were done, your vision steadily clearing. ethan let out the most guttural, delicious groan when he came inside of you and you knew then that he was irresistible.

maybe you did see stars after all.

[cressidagrey]

You are the best thing that's ever been mine - Part 4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: Sao Paulo 2024. The Dutchman delivered a defining drive…but maybe there is a relationship that could also use some defining. 

Warnings: Jos Verstappen, angst, crying, mention of pregnancy, mention of sex and sexual acts, physical confrontation

Author Notes: Hi, hey, hello! Apparently I write F1 Fanfiction now?! Also this is the first time I am trying a social media au so my Canva Skills were put to the test. (Disclaimer: I kinda put legibility over authencity, so twitter doesn't look like twitter and messages looks like...something) Also huge thanks to @onebigfangirlworld and @leodette for holding my hand with this 😘)

Max let out a small sigh, his hands falling from her side. He got up from the couch, pausing for a moment to look at her.

Ariel’s face was still a little pale, her eyes tired, but her smile was bright, and he felt a pang in his chest at that. He hated to leave her, while she was unwell and miserable, but she was right. He had just won a Grand Prix. 

He should get his goddamn trophy.

Max leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Then he turned around and headed for the door, his footsteps measured and steady. He looked back one more time, his gaze lingering on her figure.

Then he went through the door, closing it softly behind him.

Max did get his goddamn trophy.

He accepted congratulations and claps on his back from various people, but his mind was wholly on Ariel.

But the smile on his face was real for once, even when as soon as all the handshakes had been done and he had managed to hand that trophy off to Christian...he was back to the driver's room, where Ariel had bundled up in one of his hoodies.

He knew it was his, because it swamped her.

There was no denying the warm feeling of belonging that came over him, at the sight. 

"Let's get out of here," she told him with a warm smile, having already packed up all the things. He took her bag from her, pulling the hoodie’s hood over her bright red hair and then tugged her against her side, one arm around her shoulders, as they made their way to the car. 

Of course there was press there, waiting. He had expected that, but it still pissed him off. 

Max ignored their shouted questions, the click, click, click of the cameras, only caring that Ariel would get into that car as quickly as she could, as she used the hood of the jacke to shield herself from the media glare. She climbed in first, scooting through and he followed, pulling the poor door closed with far more force than strictly necessary.

As soon as the door was slammed shut and they were safely out of sight from the media, Ariel let out a sigh of relief, relaxing into the seat.

She looked tired and pale, her eyes half closed. The drive back to the hotel would probably lull her to sleep.

Max reached over and took her hand in his, his fingers stroking gently over her knuckles, as the car started moving.

He pulled her against his side, putting his arm around her, pressing a kiss against her hair. He could do that now.

He could do that now.

He couldn’t believe that. 

She smelled like strawberries, he realised weakly.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her softly.

She leaned into his side, snuggling into the crook of his arm, letting out a weak huff.

"I'm tired," she mumbled, nuzzling her face into his shoulder. "And I still feel nauseous but it's better."He tightened his arm around her, rubbing his hand over her arm.

"Just try to sleep, Schatje," he said quietly, his voice low and gentle. The term of endearment slipping from his tongue as easily as breathing. "I'll wake you up when we get to the hotel."

It would only be an half-hour drive, but if she could get at least some rest it would probably do her some good.

The steady rumble of the car and the warmth of his embrace combined lulled her to sleep quickly, her breathing growing steady and deep.

Max knew he should be feeling exhausted from the race and all the interviews afterwards, but all he could feel was absolute contentment.

He could hold her, touch her, love her.

His grip tightened around her a little more, pulling her even closer, his thumb caressing her arm gently.

She mumbled something unintelligible, subconsciously nuzzling against him, pressing her face into his shoulder. He looked down at her. Ariel looked so peaceful like that, so calm and serene.

He continued running his thumb over her skin, a silent, soothing motion.

Max had never allowed himself to imagine this, holding her after winning a race, feeling her body against his in a way he had been dreaming about for so damn long.

The feeling of euphoria, of satisfaction and pure happiness was still buzzing all over him. He had just won a damn race, and the girl he was in love with was currently sleeping soundly against his side. 

It almost made him giddy, a smile tugging at his lips.

God, was this what happiness felt like?

The rest of the car ride passed in silence, Ariel still asleep, her head resting against his shoulder. He just sat like that, holding her against him, watching the landscape outside the window. He was tempted to run his hand over her hair, through the the long messy curls that had escaped her usual braid. 

But he didn't want to risk waking her. She needed the rest more than she needed him playing with her hair, as much as he longed to do it.

He woke her up as they arrived at the hotel, to the two interconnected suites they had taken that time. 

A shower later, he found himself reclining back onto a stupidly comfortable couch in his room with Ariel pressed against his side, resting against him, a blanket wrapped around her. 

It was better than any kind of celebration. Better than anything he ever had had before. 

Including the fact that Ariel wore pyjamas that literally featured Jimmy and Sassy all over them.

He raised an eyebrow at the sight of her in those pyjamas, a little amused. Of course she would buy pyjamas with the goddamn cats on them. He couldn't help the little laugh that escaped him.

"Jimmy and Sassy pyjamas?" he said, a teasing grin on his face. "You are such a cat lady, Schatje."

She shrugged, snuggling up to him on the couch and burying her face in his shoulder. "Hey, they are cute," she defended herself half-heartedly.

He couldn't deny that, especially paired with the way her hair was half-tied up in a messy bun, strands falling around her face. The pyjamas were cute on her, but then she could wear anything and he would think that.

"Feeling better?" he asked her as she tucked herself against his side, reaching out for his hand.

"Much," she said with a happy sigh.

He smiled, lifting their joined hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

"Good," he hummed, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles gently.

She felt better, looked better, and all he wanted to do was pull her into his lap and kiss her silly. 

But not yet. She was still unwell and weak. No matter how much he wanted to hold her close against his chest, he knew that his desire didn't matter in this case.

What she needed right now was to rest, not get smothered by an overly eager racecar driver.

"You should probably go to bed," he said quietly, although it took a herculean effort to get those words out.

What he wanted to say was 'stay up with me, curl up in my lap, let me hold you', but he knew she needed to sleep, more than she needed his cuddles.

"No," Ariel said, her voice soft. "I'll stay right here."

Max was selfish enough to simply hum his agreement. "Here, at least have some water," he said softly, reaching for the bottle on the coffee table. "You need to hydrate."

"I'm fine," she protested stubbornly, and he had to hold back a soft snort.

She was so damn stubborn, she always had been. Especially when it came to refusing help, or not admitting when she really wasn't okay.

He lifted his eyebrow. "Schatje," he said, his tone firm, "It wasn't a suggestion, take a damn sip."

To be honest, he was the same way. Stubborn to a fault, and even the worst illness or injury couldn't make him admit when he wasn't okay.

But damn it, she was his to look after and take care of.

Ariel wouldn't take care of herself, so he would just have to take the reins and do it for her.

"I like it," she told him suddenly. Max tilted his head in confusion, his expression curious.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his hand still holding hers, his thumb caressing the back of her hand.

Ariel was being oddly vague, he was half expecting her to say something along the lines of 'liking him taking care of her'. 

"When you call me that," Ariel admitted, a blush high on her cheeks as she did take a drink from that bottle.

His eyebrows rose in surprise, a small wave of heat spreading through his chest.

She liked him calling her Schatje??

"You do, huh?" he asked, a smirk spreading on his face.

He was never going to get sick of calling her that now.

God, she was blushing.

He could swear his heart skipped a beat every time her cheeks reddened like that.

It was an adorable sight, her face flushed with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, and a rush of possessive heat went through him.

She was so damn adorable, and she was his.

He chuckled softly, his arm tightening around her waist, pulling her closer.

"Noted, Schatje," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave lower.

The term of endearment rolled of his tongue as easily as his own name.

He shifted a little, getting more comfortable and pulling her more snug against his side. He was enjoying the feeling of having her so close to him. She fit in his arms like she belonged there.

Until there was a knock at the door.

Max sighed.

"Who are you betting on?" he asked her drily.

"Probably Gemma," Ariel said with a sigh. "This is a PR nightmare."

Ariel was right. As usual. 

As Max moved to open the door, Gemma Roberts, Red Bull’s long-suffering PR manager was waiting for him.

"How's Ariel doing?" she greeted him, holding out a plastic bag for him. "Saltines, Bananas, Ginger Ale...pretty much everything we could think off."

He took the bag from Gemma, nodding his thanks.

"She's doing a little better, still unwell though," he said, gesturing for Gemma to come in with a tilt of his head.

"I can't believe it hit her this hard," Gemma said as she entered behind him.

She was an incredibly efficient woman in her mid-thirties, and an absolute professional, but even now Max could see the hint of worry on her face.

"It's the perfect storm," he said grimly.

His father wasn't enough. Oh no. Food Poisoning at the same time too.

Max ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "She's barely slept or eaten anything since breakfast," he told her. "I'm getting her as rehydrated as possible, but she is still unwell and exhausted."

“I do need to talk to you both,” Gemma said with a grimace. “I would wait till tomorrow but…”

Max's eyebrow raised, and he nodded. "Sounds ominous," he grumbled, already regretting whatever the hell she was about to tell him.

He led the way back into the living room, where Ariel was still sitting on the couch, sipping her water.

"Ariel," Gemma said in greeting, and Ariel looked up at her with tired eyes.

"Hey," Max's girlfriend said, giving the PR woman a tired smile.

"Gemma brought you a few things that might help," Max explained and held out the bag of food and drinks. The ginger ale would hopefully be something to settle her stomach. He opened one of the cans and handed it to Ariel, exchanging a look with Gemma behind her.

"Thanks," Ariel mumbled. Max could hear the exhaustion in her voice, see it in the way she couldn't help but lean up against his side, his arm still around her shoulders.

He kept his arm on her, a silent comfort and support as he listened to whatever his PR manager had to say.

“I talked with legal about the…incident in the garage today. If you want to sue, it would be a cut and dry assault case,” Gemma said carefully. “We literally have the whole thing on three different cameras and have around 4 dozen witnesses.”

Max's jaw clenched in anger at the reminder of what had happened.

He was tempted, so damn tempted to press charges. 

He felt Ariel lean into his hand and he found himself exhaling.

"What do you suggest?" he asked Gemma, his voice steady but strained.

"I know you want to," Gemma said bluntly, reading his mind almost like a pro.

He couldn't deny it, he wanted to press charges, he wanted to do anything possible to keep that bastard away from Ariel.

But she was right. The press would be all over it, turning it into a goddamn circus.

“No,” Ariel said flatly.

His gaze flicked to her, he could sense the firmness in her voice, the determination.

He knew she didn't want him to press charges, he could tell from how she was keeping herself firmly against his side, her hand tightening its grip on his.

He let out a slow breath, resisting the urge to just wrap her in his arms and keep her close to his chest, away from the press, away from his dad, away from everything.

“I was the one he hit. It’s my choice. And I am not going to press charges,” Ariel said calmly.

“Schatje,” he choked out.

His heart was thumping frantically in his chest.

He couldn't deny her, he couldn't make her change her mind when she was being stubborn like this.

But the thought of doing nothing about his bastard of a father, the thought of letting the whole incident go, of letting that bastard think he could get away with hurting Ariel. The thought of his father possibly coming near her again…

"Why on earth not?" he asked, his voice strained.

Her hand came up to cup the side of his face, her touch immediately calming him.

"It's not worth it, Max," she told him quietly, her eyes on his, and he felt himself deflate a little. "It's not worth the headache and the fallout."

He wanted to argue, he wanted to fight her on this, but damn it, she was right. It would be nothing but a massive clusterfuck, and she didn't deserve to be put through that, especially not after today.

“Regardless of what happened today, regardless of what I feel towards him, he’s your father,” Ariel said softly.

He hated how she was being so understanding, so calm and reasonable when all he felt was anger and frustration.

He let out a bitter sigh, his arms tightening around her.

"He hurt you today," he gritted out. "He hurt the woman I love. And you want me to what, forgive and forget?"

"No, not forgive and forget," she clarified, her words still firm but somehow gentle at the same time.

A part of him knew, logically, that she was right, but the other part, his stubborn, possessive, protective part was itching to do something, anything to make his bastard father pay for hurting her today.

“I am saying that… you can use today to get him to do what you want,” Ariel clarified.

Max raised an eyebrow again, his mind racing as he thought about what she was suggesting.

He could see where she was going with this, and damn it, she had a point.

He might not be able to press charges, but he could use this to his advantage, to pressure his father into backing down, to stay the hell away from him and Ariel.

He could force his father to do what he wanted, and to leave Ariel alone.

“Besides, I doubt think Christmas dinner will be a nice occasion with the in-laws otherwise,” she quipped. He could just stare at her.

In-laws.

Her words hit him like a freight train, and he found himself staring at her in disbelief for a moment. 

She had referred to his family as her in-laws.

She said it as a joke, so easily and casually, yet...

It made something warm go through his chest.

“So if I never wanted to see him again…” Max trailed off, turning to Gemma.

Gemma understood what he was getting at, and she let out a low, impressed whistle.

She had seen what happened, had seen the incident first hand, and she knew damn well that it would be better for everyone if his father just stayed away.

She nodded slowly. "Blackmailing then," she said. "Leverage he can't just sweep under the rug. I like it."

“Max,” Ariel said quietly. “Are you sure?”

His gaze flicked to her for a moment, before he let out a grim chuckle.

He was damn sure. He was absolutely, totally, one hundred percent sure.

If this was the only way to protect her, to make sure that bastard would never touch her or hurt her again, he would do it, no questions asked.

"Yes. I'm sure," he said firmly, his arms pulling her closer against him, protective and possessive.“It was your suggestions,” he said drily.

“My suggestion wasn’t to cut off all contact with your dad, Max,” Ariel said carefully.

He let out a tired sigh, letting his arms tighten around her a little.

He hated how exhausted she looked, how she should have been in bed, getting rest, and how she was instead here, trying to defend his damn father of all people.

"So what?" he said, his irritation still clear in his voice. "I'm supposed to maintain a relationship with a man who assaulted you? I am supposed to let him near our children?!” He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching tightly.

The thought of his father getting anywhere near their future children…

His father had gotten to shape him into the perfect river. He was not getting a chance to do that to Max’s children. 

It made his blood boil.

It was a miracle he didn't just let out a loud, irritated growl.

"No," he said firmly. "God no. I'd rather break my own legs than allow him near our children."

He felt Ariel lean into his side, and he let out a slow breath to try and calm himself.

There was a complex mess of emotions there, a tangle of anger, disappointment, resentment, and even love.

He had been…a difficult father, but he had still been Max’s father. Had still been his father.

He knew she was right, it was a complicated mess of emotions swirling inside him.

His father might have been a shitty, cold bastard who had never cared a damn about him, who had put pressure on him from a young age and had forced him to be the ideal heir to his empire...

But still, he was his father.

He had to make a decision.

He didn't want to choose between his father and Ariel.

But when it came down to it…there was no real competition.

His relationship with his father had been strained, cold and distant from the very beginning.

He had always been nothing but a tool to the man, a tool to be used to further his goals.

But Ariel...

Ariel had been the one to thaw the ice around his heart, to make him actually feel things again. To make him feel alive.

He loved her more than he had ever loved anything, she meant everything to him.

Compared to that...his father was nothing.

It was simple. His choice was simple.

He could choose his father, choose to forgive him and try and maintain a relationship with that cold bastard who had never actually cared for him...

Or he could choose her, choose the woman who had become the most important person in his life, the woman he wanted to build a future with, the woman he loved more than anything in the world.

The choice was a no-brainer.

And so he chose her.

He would choose her, over and over and over again.

He would choose her, because that was all he wanted.

His future, his happiness, lay with her, with the beautiful woman sitting next to him on that couch. And who, even now, was trying to find a way to make it easy for him. 

Make it easy for Max. 

Ariel was willing to put her own feeling on hold so that he could get what he needed. 

But the thing was…he didn’t need his father. 

He needed her. 

His heart belonged to her. He belonged with her.

He would do anything for her, and his father be damned.

She meant more to him than anything. More than his racing, more than 3 world champion titles. 

He had spent so long focusing on his racing, focusing on beating his rivals and on winning races. 

He had focused on the things that didn't matter, on all the meaningless, frivolous bullshit that surrounded him like a noose, all in the name of being the best driver on the grid.

But it was her who mattered. She was the one that gave his life meaning.

She was the woman he loved, the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

He would protect her, cherish her, give her everything he could.

She was the woman he would marry, the woman who would bear his children.

He would fight a thousand battles for her and for their family.

And God help anyone who would try and come between them.

"That settles it then," he said in a firm, resolute voice. "No contact with my father."

It would be difficult, to cut off what little remaining connections he still had with the man.

But he would do it.

For her.

For their future together.

The moment the words left his mouth, he felt the tension in his chest release, and his body relaxed slightly.

It was the right decision, the only decision he could have made.

His arm tightened a little more around Ariel's side, pulling her gently closer against his side.

He could feel the weight of his decision settle into him, the knowledge that he had just chosen her over his own father. And the thought that he didn't regret it one bit, that he didn't have a single shred of doubt in his mind...it was like a massive weight off his shoulders.

He pressed a small, gentle kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair, relishing in the feel of her snuggled up at his side.

In that moment, with her so close to him, her warmth and comfort surrounding him, he was reminded once again how much she meant to him.

How much he treasured her.

How she was his whole damn world.

Next Part

[rarastmblr]

“I'll wait. I'll always wait.”

#Pairing? Teru Minamoto x FEM!Reader

#Sypnosis. Your boyfriend finds out you've been keeping a secret from him, how does he react?

#Tags. The overused trope of three (in this case, two) of the boy's fangirls bullying his girlfriend lmao, Akane Aoi and Aoi Akane is here‼️

—This post was requested by anon. Thank you for requesting! 💕 I don't think this is exactly how you wanted Teru to find out, so I apologize for that! 😅

When you had confessed to Teru you thought you would be rejected too, just like the girls who had poured their hearts out when they wrote their love letters for him.

You expected to have your heart broken as you prepared for the words that would shatter your heart as if it was just a fragile plate.

Getting rejected by the handsome prince isn't the worst that you expect; it was the sheer embarrassment that you'd have to deal with as you walk down the halls of the school.

You could only wonder what had happened to the girls that had gotten rejected by him, were they able to quickly move on?

Unfortunately, unlike them, you surely aren't someone who is able to handle rejection lightly, especially if it's from him.

But— Thank the heavens! The result was much more fruitful than you thought it would be. Pushing the negative thoughts of what people would think aside, Teru accepted your confession.

The both of you had agreed to keep the relationship on the low because Teru had many fangirls— and you know what would possibly happen if they found out.

Teru is worried about what would happen to you. Some girls are driven by love to the point they take it too far if they heard news about their crush having a significant other.

That's what led to this — apparently, a certain someone found out about your relationship between Teru and spread the news to the girls, particularly the ones who were known to be obsessed over him.

“Are you seriously Minamoto-senpai's girlfriend?” Kyoko doubted, right after hitting you multiple times earlier along with her best friend Mayu.

“Oh gosh, he must've been out of his mind!” Mayu snorted. No, their parents must've been out of their minds for giving them names that contradicted their personalities. Though, you suppose it wasn't their parents fault their daughters grew up to be bitches a pain in the neck.

“Minamoto-senpai is too good for you, y'know? He's like a prince charming and you..” Right after finishing her sentence, Mayu grimaced: showing a face of disgust. “Don't let the rumours get into your head..”

Well, that's true.. No. You weren't going to be gullible with all the stanky comments Mayu and Kyoko were throwing at you. But it still does bring some tears into your eyes — not enough for them to roll down your face though.

Oh come on, Teru had just comforted you over your insecurities 2 days ago and just plain words from two girls were already melting down the wall of confidence that Teru built up.

“Augh, come on.. is the crybaby gonna cry again? This is just a routine now” Kyoko sneered, annoyed at the routine she herself made. If she thought bullying you was such a chore then why doesn't she just stop? She might as well just be sadistic.

Crybaby. That was the nickname they gave you when they started this mess; ever since they noticed that you were awfully close with Teru. Way before you and him started dating.

You stood up. Well, at least tried to. The bruises Kyoko and Mayu left on your legs didn't really do you any good. Mayu had already beat you into pushing you against the wall before you could stand up.

Just as the two girls were gonna start berrating you again, a cough was heard from behind. The two turned around to see the one and only Akane Aoi. The two froze in fright, wondering what she was going to do.

Her petite figure walked up to the three of you, her indigo hair tied up into two circle sections behind her head as usual. Aoi stared at you with an expression Kyoko and Mayu couldn't read.

Kyoko and Mayu's next move proved that they were idiots. “Akane-san! The princess of the school! Wanna join us over here?” Kyoko suggested, earning a confused look from the indigo-haired girl.

“This little minx sitting on the dirty floor over here is supposedly dating the one and only Teru Minamoto. Could you believe how absurd that rumour is!? Especially since you and Minamoto-kun dated before..” Mayu babbled. Where did she get that information from? As far as you knew, Teru and Aoi never felt any romantic feelings towards each other. Akane would fume at the thought of that.

“What are you talking about?” Aoi looked like she was gonna burst at any moment, well, at least she looked like she was in your perspective. Because of Kyoko and Mayu not being one of Aoi's close friends, the two bullies in front of you wouldn't be able to relate with you being able to read Aoi and her expressions.

“I heard—” “Whatever you're gonna babble next, just shut up. This bathroom is already reeking because of the stank you and Kyoko are emitting. It'd stink more if you open your mouth again.” Aoi shut Mayu up, already fed up with the two girls in front of her.

“It's best you leave (name)-chan alone, unless you want this audio tape sent to the supreme student council office, where Minamoto-senpai would hear it.”

Hearing Teru's name and seeing Aoi shoving a videotape into their faces — repeating everything they said to you, the two girls quickly dashed out of the area.

It was just you and Aoi now. You stared at her as if she hung up the stars, bowing and thanking her profusely again and again for saving you from them. Aoi only crouched down and helped you to stand up. She then put your arm around her shoulder, guiding you as you two walk together towards the nurse's office.

The nurse's office wasn't far. Lucky day for you. It wasn't like you were dreading the time you were walking with Aoi anyway, while you were walking earlier, she had wiped off your tears and helped bring back a smile on your face. She joked about how the two girls didn't have any room to talk to you even — they literally are in the lowest ranks in the class when it comes to intelligence, while you and Aoi are in the top 10.

The nurse was generous (she always is) to have you excused to any of last the classes you had, and with Aoi's help, the teacher agreed to just sign you as ‘excused’.

When it was time to go home, the bruises on your legs have already healed a lot more than you expected. You thanked the nurse and grabbed your back (that Aoi dropped off earlier) so that you can head back home.

Unexpectedly, Aoi was there just as you opened the door of the nurse's office to leave. She said that she'd walk with you on the way home, as the both of your houses were close to each other.

“Where's Nene-chan?” You asked her.

“Hmm.. I don't know either. She's been spending a lot of time in the bathroom lately, do you think my story about Hanako-san took a toll on her?” Aoi responded. The thought of a ghost in the girl's bathroom sent chills down your spine — At least Hanako-san is a girl though, well, rumoured to be.

“AO-CHAN~!!” Ah, you knew that voice. Turning around in sync with Aoi, Akane walked up to you guys with a smile on his face. Though you felt like you were third wheeling..

A conversation started with Akane and Aoi as the three of you were walking. Akane invited himself to walk the both of you home (by both he definitely just meant Aoi, you didn't really care though).

Aoi didn't see a way to escape from this, the three of your houses were close and there wasn't an excuse she could make up except for “We're gonna have a girl's night. Only girls are allowed” and Akane would just unknowingly counter her by saying “I'm only walking with you until you arrive at your house, it'll be fine!”

The walk back home ended with Akane trying to have a long conversation with Aoi, only for it to be a short conversation. He'd try over and over again while you are just there; observing the two of them. Sometimes you'd often see Aoi's eyes light up more than they usually do, so you didn't bother to include yourself into their conversations.

Though, you really did want to ask what Aoi was going to be doing tomorrow. Tomorrow's Saturday after all, meaning no school to stress about.

*Audio file sent* ...What the hell?

Teru didn't know what to say or feel at the moment. He was just cooking for his siblings earlier right now and they are eating joyfully like a happy family. (Cue Kou excusing himself to go to the bathroom to barf)

A single audio file ruined his evening — even worse that what happened in the audio file had something to do with his girlfriend.

He messaged you, not to ask if the audio was real, he already had enough evidence. But to ask you if you were okay. You replied once he greeted you, but left him on read as soon as he typed the message: ‘Akane and Akane-san informed me about what happened to you today. Can we talk about it? Please?’ He spammed you with messages. He was worried.

After a while, his messages were left on sent. ‘..I'll be visiting you tomorrow.’ That was his last messaged before Teru had turned off his phone. As he looked up, expecting to see Kou and Tiara, he realized he was sthe only one sitting in the dinner table. Where did they go?

You were nervous. It was the crack of dawn and you checked to see Teru's messages again, only to be left frightened because of the news that he'll be visiting you.

No. It wasn't like your parents had any issues with your boyfriend or anything, they loved him. What you were nervous about was the inevitable conversation that is going to happen today.

You weren't very much of a productive person during the weekdays, so you opted to take a bath later instead of right now in the early morning. Not like Teru would mind anyway.

It wasn't long before 7:47 AM, exactly the time Teru arrived at the doorstep of your home. Your mom, though surprised that your boyfriend unexpectedly visited so early, welcomed him warmly.

Before your mom could lead him to the living room so he could sit down while she goes to your room to call for you, he already saw you taking a sneak peak of him from the stairs. Immediately, as if in a emergency, Teru excused himself and hurriedly walked upstairs to your room almost tripping halfway.

“..Young love~” You mother sighed in happiness for her daughter.

“I don't know, it kind of looks like they're gonna break up.” Your father broke your mom from her dream of you getting married to Teru.

“Don't say that!” She hissed at him, grabbing her slipper—

“Please let me in sweetheart,” Teru begged in a soft tone, not wanting to overwhelm you with everything that was happening.

You cracked the door open slightly. You saw him smile reassuringly. You then opened it enough for Teru to walk in, as Teru is finally inside he waited for you to close your door. He knew you liked it best when conversations between you and him were in private.

“You could've just called.. you didn't have to come here.” You told him, only to be countered by his next words.

“I knew you wouldn't reply anyway when you hear my voice from the phone.” Teru responded, only to get a playful hit from you.

“So..” The room was silent as you locked your door for privacy, fearing that one of you're parents would possibly walk in.

“How long has this bullying been going on for?” Teru asked as he walked closer to you, holding your hand in his and rubbing his thumb across your knuckles.

“..Way before you and I started dating.” You answered truthfully, it was better to speed up this conversation than to slower it down and tell lies.

At that, Teru froze. “Why didn't you tell me?” Almost immediately, Teru used his other hand (the one not holding yours) to wipe away the tears that were starting to brim in your eyes.

Teru knew you like he knew his own mind. He knew that you were getting overwhelmed and we're crying because of it. He could almost predict every move that you were gonna do.

Teru smiled at you softly, then gently held the back of your head. Sobs that came out of your mouth turned muffled as he gently pushed your face into his t-shirt. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling a sense of comfort.

“If you don't want to talk about it now, then that's okay. There's no use dwelling on the past.” Teru muttered as he kissed the top of your head. “I'll deal with those girls at school. You won't have anything to worry about.”

Teru continues to comfort you through your muffled sobs, you hear a series of “shh” and words of encouragement throughout the whole ordeal.

Teru tilted your head up to meat his eyes and wiped away any tears still on your face. Also, he used his shirt to wipe of your snot too — much to your embarrassment.

After that he peppered your face with kisses, resulting into the two of you cuddling in your bed the rest of the morning. But your mom called the two of you down stairs when she noticed you haven't eaten breakfast yet.

The rest of the day ended with Teru hanging out with you and your family. Teru invited you to go on a date tomorrow — his treat ofcourse (nothing changed, he was always the one who pays). Tiara decided to come along that day, not that you minded.

Sunday passed, and the walk to school with Aoi was peaceful if you just ignore Akane in the background. The bruises have healed, thanks to your mom and Teru. Dad was the one stressing over the many things he had to buy from the store and pharmacy.

“You look better now. Guessing the talk between you and Minamoto-senpai went well?” Aoi asked as the two of you were at the school gate. Akane got called by the other student council's to hurry up because of an urgent early meeting.

“It went very well.” I answered, giving her a thankful smile. “Thanks again, for protecting me that day..”

“No need.” The two of you walked towards the classroom. “Oh! Nene-chan is finally here!” Aoi chimed, delighted to see her friend. Her absence in classes made her seem like she went missing.

You followed Aoi as she went to converse with Nene. You also gave out some opinions and thoughts about the topic the three of you were conversing about, but only like once or six times since you really didn't know a lot about supernaturals.

The teacher finally arrived, students immediately went to go sit down on their seats. Akane was still busy with the student council meeting you suppose. But what was weird is Kyoko and Mayu not being there chattering, judging everyone in their field of view as if they had any room to talk.

[didyoulookforme]

walkabout

your teacher asks you to tutor none other than matty healy. the very beginning of the bf matty au.

warning: cheesy fluff. teenagers being dramatic. grammatical errors, typos.

au masterlist here

-----

you cannot believe your luck.

of all the people mr. davis could assign you to tutor, it has to be matty healy. matty, who sits at the back of the classroom, half-asleep, drumming on the desk like he’s got an entire band in his head. the boy who’s always late, looking as if he just rolled out of bed. the one everyone can’t stop whispering about—quiet, untouchable, with that mess of hair and a permanent slouch that somehow makes him even more infuriatingly attractive to every single girl in school.

“so, you’ll do it, yeah?” mr. davis asks, holding you both back after class, his tone practically daring you to argue. his eyes flick between the two of you, clearly expecting some kind of protest.

no. absolutely not. you want to say, mr. davis, i will do literally anything else. mop the floors. clean the whiteboards. just, please, don’t make me do this.

but instead, you say, “of course,” because that’s what good students do, isn’t it?

mr. davis turns to matty, who, by the way, hasn’t even looked at you once. not even a glance. “and you? will you actually show up?”

“yeah. sure.” matty shrugs, voice low, casual, not impolite exactly but not making any promises either.

when you leave the classroom, your brain is spinning. how is this your life now? you spend the rest of the day picturing every way this could go wrong. matty showing up late—or not at all. matty being too quiet, distant, barely meeting your eyes. matty fidgeting in his seat, counting the minutes until he can leave, not paying attention whatsoever.

and after school, you unload all your frustration onto your friend, desperate for a shred of sympathy. but really, you should’ve known better.

“shut the fuck up.”

her voice slices through the air, sharp and disbelieving. she’s already sitting up, magazine abandoned, eyes wide like you’d just confessed you were moving to mars. “are you serious?”

“unfortunately,” you groan, covering yourself with your favourite pillow, your words coming out muffled. “apparently, someone thinks i’m a miracle worker who can make him care about school.”

“holy shit.” she leans forward, her grin stretching wider by the second. you can feel it without even looking. “you’re kidding. matty fucking healy?”

“yes.” you drag the pillow over your face wishing it could block out her inevitable reaction. “he doesn’t even try in class. now i’m supposed to magically make him care about algebra?”

“oh, who gives a flying fuck about algebra!” she waves a hand dismissively. “you’re gonna be sitting across from him. alone. for an hour. every week. that’s… basically the fucking dream.”

“oh my god,” you collapse further into the bed hoping the worn sheets beneath can provide some sort of comfort. “you’re delusional.”

“no, you’re delusional if you think this isn’t fate.” she’s practically vibrating with excitement now. “you have to find out everything about him.”

“he’s not some alien experiment,” you deadpan, lifting your head just enough to glare at her. “he’s just a guy who probably can’t add fractions.” still, the thought lingers. maybe you do want to know more—just a little. not because you care, obviously, but because it’s… curious. infuriatingly so.

“and yet, he’s also the hottest guy in school. don’t even try to deny it.”

you hesitate. she’s not wrong, exactly, but you can’t admit that—not out loud.

“there’s no—”

“don’t.” she cuts you off like a stern teacher catching a student mid-lie. “i know you. i remember. you had the biggest crush on him.”

you can’t help that your face burns instantly. “that was years ago.”

“doesn’t matter,” she sings songs, her grin practically glowing. “you were obsessed. you used to be like, ‘oh my god, matty’s curls looks so soft’ and ‘did you see how he dressed today?’ you were embarrassing.”

“i was twelve.” your voice cracks, too defensive, maybe too high-pitched. “it doesn’t count.”

“oh, it absolutely counts.” she leans closer, “plus, you’re really flustered right now.”

“i’m not!”

“you so are.” the smile plastered on her face is absolutely wicked now. “you still like him, don’t you?”

your stomach warps into knots. “jesus christ, no!” you practically shout, burying your face in your hands.

“sure,” she drags the word out. “but just so you know, louise totally made out with him at that party last month.”

your head snaps up so fast you’re pretty sure you strain something. “what?”

“uh-huh.” she looks far too pleased with herself. “she said he’s, like, weirdly good at it.”

“matty healy?” those two words don’t even make sense in your mouth and brain anymore.

“apparently, he’s super eager and… sweet. can you imagine? matty fucking healy being cute?”

you snort, because no. you can’t.

“right? same. but louise swears it’s true. she said he kept pulling her closer and saying, ‘is this okay?’ and ‘you’re really pretty.’”

your gut twists again, this awful, fluttery thing you refuse to acknowledge.

“you’re so full of shit.”

“she’s full of shit,” she corrects, laughing. “but honestly? if it’s true, it makes him even more confusing. how can someone be broody and sweet? pick a fucking lane.”

and there it is again—that thought you don’t want to have. matty healy. sweet. yup.

he barely talks to anyone, always hunched over a notebook or sketching weird little patterns on the edges of his papers. he’s quiet in this intense, self-contained way, like he doesn’t want anyone seeing too much. he doesn’t seem like the type to ask ‘is this alright?’ or let alone call someone pretty.

but what if he is? what if there’s something softer under all the sharp edges, something he keeps hidden on purpose? what if—

no. fucking. way. it’s ridiculous. you shove the thought down, locking it in the imaginary safe inside your brain. plus, he’s probably never even thought about you twice.

“he’s not like that,” you say finally, more to yourself than to her.

“oh, yeah?” she raises an eyebrow, daring you to argue. “guess you’ll find out, won’t you?”

“jesus christ, stop it.” you grab the nearest cushion and launch it at her, but she just laughs, catching it before it hits her face.

“hey, i’m just saying,” her grin is downright evil now. “if he’s a good kisser, you’re practically obligated to confirm it.”

“get out,” you groan, flopping back down.

but even as you bury your face back in the pillow, you can’t stop thinking about it.

what if she wasn’t wrong?

—

by the time the first session rolls around, your nerves are a complete wreck. your hands are clammy, you feel a bit lightheaded, and you’re already regretting every decision that’s led you here. the library is practically dead—just the low buzz of those ancient fluorescent lights and the occasional shuffle of someone flipping a page somewhere in the distance. it smells strange, this weird mix of dusty books and that lemony floor cleaner that somehow always feels sticky no matter how fresh it is.

your swear your bag is a million pounds, stuffed to the brim with textbooks and notes you’re not even sure will matter. every step toward the back of the room seems slower than the last, as if your feet are trying to talk you out of this whole thing. but you press on, your heart hammering, every instinct screaming to spin around and hide in the safety of the nearest aisle.

he’s already there when you stumble around the corner, looking exactly how you expected. his hair’s a reckless mess, all careless pieces falling into his face because gravity’s obviously playing favourites. his shoulders droop so far it’s a small miracle he hasn’t slid off the chair entirely. his tie’s hanging on by sheer willpower, slack and crooked, and his shirt—don’t even get started on the shirt—looks like it’s been wadded up at the bottom of a gym bag for weeks. yet by some ungodly miracle, he still looks stupidly good. you’re sure the universe must’ve bent the rules just for him.

you stop dead in your tracks, your stomach doing this annoying thing once again, but this time more from dread than nerves. he’s not quite intimidating but there’s something about the sheer disinterest radiating off him that makes you hesitate. you’re clutching your bag so hard your knuckles are white, and for one brief, tempting second, bolting feels like a legitimate option. but then he glances up, his eyes widening just enough to make it clear he didn’t think you’d actually show. the expression isn’t inviting, but it’s enough to stop you from finding the exit. barely.

“oh. hi.” his voice is soft, so quiet it takes you a second to register that he’s spoken.

you swallow hard, willing your nerves to calm, and walk over, lowering yourself into the seat across from him. “hi.” your voice comes out steadier than you feel, the single word hovering awkwardly in the air.

you pull your bag onto the table and set it down with exaggerated care, as if even the slightest sound might disrupt the fragile calm between you. he doesn’t say anything else, just shrugs, his movements loose and lazy, still half-melting into the chair. 

“are you ready?” you manage, keeping your tone neutral, polite, professional even.

another shrug. “yeah. sure.”

his voice is low and rough. perhaps it hasn’t gotten much use today. it’s still not exactly rude, but it’s not encouraging either. you nod, your hands fumbling slightly as you flip open your notebook. you start simple, writing out a basic equation: 3x + 4 = 10.

“try this one,” you say, sliding the notebook toward him.

he picks up his pen, taps it rhythmically against the table for a few beats, then scribbles something down. x = 2.

“good,” you say before you can stop yourself, a flicker of surprise coloring your voice. you didn’t expect him to nail it on the first try, and the unexpected ease of it catches you off guard. “okay, what about this one?” you write out another problem: 2(x - 3) = 8.

he stares at the equation for a long moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he traces the numbers with his eyes. his lips press together in concentration and for a brief second, you think he might actually be invested in figuring it out. then he bites his bottom lip, and it’s glossy and pink when he lets go, and you have to snap your attention back to your notebook, pretending you didn’t notice.

“uh… x is… 11?”

it’s wrong, obviously, and you should’ve seen it coming, but something about the way he says it—hesitant, unsure—makes you bite back a laugh. instead, you shake your head, the corners of your mouth tugging into an involuntary smile. “not quite. here, let me show you.”

you walk him through the steps, breaking it down as simply as you can, and to his credit, he listens. his eyes follow your pen as you write, nodding slowly while he tries to piece it all together. his hair falls into his face as he leans in, the faintest shadow of understanding flickering across his expression.

“oh. so x is 7.”

“exactly.”

he leans back with a soft sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. his fingers catch in the tangles, but it doesn’t seem to bother him—it’s more automatic than deliberate. “right. makes sense, i guess.”

you glance at his notebook, curiosity tugging at the edges of your focus. it’s open, but not to anything remotely useful. instead of math problems, the pages are crammed with chaotic scribbles—tiny guitars, abstract shapes, half-finished stick figures tangled with half-finished sentences. words scratched out and rewritten so many times they’re barely legible, spiraling across the margins in waves of ink that don’t seem to lead anywhere.

you try not to stare, but it’s impossible to ignore the sheer disarray of it. it feels oddly intimate, a window into his head he hasn’t really hidden but hasn’t offered up, either.

“this one’s hard,” he mutters, pulling you back. his voice is quiet again, but there’s a faint sense of frustration as he frowns at the problem you’ve written: 5x - 2 = 3x + 6.

“it’s not too bad,” you say, leaning forward slightly, your tone gentle. “just move all the x terms to one side and the numbers to the other.”

he scratches something down, his pen pausing mid-air as he hesitates, then scribbles a little more. finally, he looks up, the faintest smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “x is… 4?”

you nod, feeling a flicker of warmth at the small victory. “exactly. see? you’re getting it.”

his lips tug into a smile—small, tentative, almost reluctant—and it’s not much, but it’s something. you look away, turning the page in your notebook, refusing to acknowledge the way your chest flutters for half a second.

the hour drags and flies at the same time. he tries, which surprises you more than anything else given that he has the attention span of a newborn goldfish. his foot taps a steady rhythm against the floor, and his fingers keep tugging at the frayed edge of his sleeve, but when you gently redirect him, he comes back.

the more time you spend with him, the more details start to sink in. the way his voice softens when he’s unsure of something. the way his nails are bitten down to jagged nubs. the way his lips part slightly when he’s thinking, his gaze flicking back and forth between the notebook and the table as if the answer might reveal itself if he stares long enough.

when the hour’s finally up, you take your time packing up, every movement drawn out and careful, watching out of the corner of your eye as he shoves papers into his bag. half of them are crumpled, a few look like they’ve barely survived, and none of them seem to end up where they’re supposed to.

“thanks for this,” he mutters, barely loud enough to register, his focus stuck on cramming his notebook into the disaster zone. “i mean… yeah. thanks.” 

“no worries.” you aim for light, casual, as if your pulse isn’t doing that weird, too-fast thud in your chest. “that’s why i’m here. see you next week?”

he nods, barely, and there’s this tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth—a smile that doesn’t quite make it but lingers just enough to be noticeable. “yeah. see you.”

he walks off, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his bag hanging awkwardly from one shoulder, papers still sticking out at random angles. you’re just about to leave when your eyes catch something on the table. a crumpled piece of paper, left behind in his whirlwind of packing.

you pause, glancing around like you’re about to commit some kind of crime, but the library’s empty. no one’s watching. your fingers hover for half a second before curiosity gets the better of you, and you pick it up, smoothing the wrinkles carefully.

the handwriting is a mess—words scratched out and rewritten, lines twisted into tangles of uncertainty: and this is how it starts

take your shoes off in the back of my car van

you share my shirt, looks so good

when it’s just hangin’ off your back (???)

you stare at it, the edges still crumpled, the ink smudged in places where his hand must have dragged across the page. it feels too personal, but you can’t stop looking. your fingers hover for a second before folding it up and slipping it into your bag, your thoughts buzzing with questions you’re not sure you should even want answers to.

[remember-the-fanfics]

An asked 'I feel like if Adam met the gen Z overlord before he came to the hotel they talk circles around him.'

But it came out as their first interaction, they still roasting Adam when they can.

Set in the first episode

-

"Ah yes, the first man. The reason I had to live my life and have responsibilities. So wonderful." Said (Y/n), after Adam revealed who he actually was..

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking too? I'm the dickmaster!" Adam said finally noticing (Y/n)'s presence in the room.

"Well being the first man, you really had nothing else to compare it to." They told him with a smile.

"This is (Y/n), they came with me because-."

"I don't trust any of you so I'm making sure Charlie stays safe." (Y/n) finished the sentence not wanting Charlie to soften any words with the Angels.

"No sinner should be here, I should end you for even setting a foot in here." Said Lute, glaring and getting close to (Y/n), who just glared back while getting up from their chair.

"Test me, bit-." Getting interrupted by Charlie pulling them back into their chair. (Y/n) looked at Charlie with a upset glare but settled back down while Lute returned back to Adam's side.

"I want to discuss biggest problem." Said Charlie, trying to get back on track on why she was here.

"Oh herpes. Yeah, that's a bitch." Adam replied.

"Seems to be a you problem." Said (Y/n), seeming already done with Adam.

"No! Our... other biggest problem."

"Ugly people? Math? Global Warming? No wait, that's earth problem." Said Adam, earning a deadpan look from Charlie, who (Y/n) patted on the back.

"You can't change stupid, Charlie. No matter how you try." They whispered to Charlie. "But hey maybe he isn't a complete moron."

Which (Y/n) completely took back after tuning in to Adam being on a different topic now. Being sexist and boasting his own masculinity.

"Do you cope by being a complete ass?" They said, Adam completely ignoring (Y/n) went on.

"-expects you to pay the check but you're like 'Hey, I thought you wanted equality."

"I'm gonna kill him." Said (Y/n), looking at Charlie.

"No! Our shared problem of overpopulation in Hell!" Charlie finally said before (Y/n) could try and kill him.

"Ohh, well that's not a problem! We got that covered." Adam said before turning to Lute. "Lute, how many demons did you kill this year?"

"A good 275 this year, sir."

"275? Woah, badass! Awesome job, danger tits! Pound it." Adam said putting his hand up for a fist bump which Lute did.

"That's not good! They aren't your people to kill!" Said (Y/n), upset with how casual the two seem to be about it. "They are Charlie's people, me including."

"Well that must suck for you." Said Adam before laughing, making (Y/n) pissed. But Charlie jumped in before they could get any more heated about it.

"But these are souls...Humans souls just the same as the ones you have up in heaven." Said Charlie, getting (Y/n) to sit back down.

"They're not the same. They had their chance and they earned damnation." Lute coldly said before looking at (Y/n). "Like you."

"Oooo, so scary." Said (Y/n), flipping Lute off.

"You're wrong. Sinners made mistakes, sure, but everyone makes mistakes." Said Charlie.

"Angels don't make mistakes."

"You really believe that?" Said Charlie and (Y/n).

"I know that."

"Yeah, I've never made a mistake in my fucking life." Said Adam.

"Didn't you get kicked out of the Garden?" (Y/n) asked him.

"That was one tim-."

"And apparently had your first wife leave you."

"Low blow, tiny." Adam said before Lute walk around the table to where Charlie and (Y/n) was seated.

"The only reason you're still here is because daddy gave you and your hellborn kind a pardon from an exorcist blade. How does that feel, to know how little you matter?" Lute said, taunting Charlie.

"Bitch, he probably did that because he cares about her." Said (Y/n), glaring at Lute. "So go fuck yourself with a chainsaw."

"Nothing is stopping me from killing you now, sinner." Lute said, getting close to (Y/n)'s face for to long before moving on.

"Opps, almost out of time. Guess we should get into it." Said Adam.

"Oh fuck!" Said Charlie, getting her presentation ready. "Okay I've got a lot to get through and not a lot of time and I feel like you weren't hearing me before so here it goes."

-I ain't typing a whole ass song-

"-Ugh, Shit!" Said Charlie, after (Y/n) and her got pushed out of the room.

"Mother- trucker!" Yelled (Y/n), not wanting motherfucker and Adam in the same sentence or thought. "Dude that hurt like a buttcheck on a stick." They said getting off the floor and helping Charlie up.

"Are you okay? You weren't treated kindly in there." Asked Charlie.

"It's fine, I knew what I was walking into when I came with you." Said (Y/n), shrugging.

"I'm sorry you got dragged here for nothing." Charlie said before getting a side hug from (Y/n).

"You got nothing to apologize for. I knew from the dipshit's face from the start it would be a long shot if he is in charge."

"Thank you, (Y/n)."

"Soo.. 6 months, huh? I have to go back to my territory to get ahead start with that but I'll meet you at the hotel afterwards, okay?"

"Alright, see you then!"

"Byyyyeee~" With that (Y/n) took off to their territory.

-

"(Y/n)... where have I heard that name before?"

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Surprise | Soap x Reader

Summary: After a mission that they barely survived, Ghost leads the team to a safe place to stay, his half-sister’s apartment.

Word Count: ~ 1.6k

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, missiles, etc

A/N: first time writing for cod…hope you enjoy, lmk what to do for part 2!! (also here is what I had in mind for the apartment layout, if you’re like me and can’t picture buildings in your head)

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

Their mission had gone to complete shit.

It had started relatively simple compared to the other missions they’d been doing, with Russians, cartels, Mexican forces, and whatnot. They’d been shipped out to America, a suspected terrorist group that had been working for General Barkov when he’d been killed.

A group that had now gone rogue, and rumor was that they were headed to Britain, holding a missile for transport that had been stolen from a covert American base. The Americans weren’t taking it too well, but that was to be expected.

“We don’t have enough information to know who they are, you just need to get that missile transported, and get out of there.” Laswell had told them.

“Sounds easy compared to what we do every mornin’, right Lt?” Soap had said with a grin, nudging him with an elbow slightly, and he had only given a grunt in response, still processing information.

“Easy” his arse.

Sent to one of the states at first, they’d tracked down this supposed terrorist group, apparently it being a lot larger than they originally expected. A lot larger.

It was only because of the intel Gaz had gotten his hands on that they’d been able to locate the missile while it moved, it being located in a broken-down warehouse near Galveston, Texas. Right near the Gulf of Mexico, if they were planning on taking it to sea to travel with it.

And when they’d stormed the warehouse?

A total mess. Unorganized and sloppy.

Soap had blown the door, and they’d planted charges around to detonate for the men guarding the missile but had underestimated just how many there would be. It was crawling with them, more confirmation that they’d been informed somehow beforehand of Task Force 141.

Men in vents, ceiling panels, underneath desks, and hiding behind cabinets, doors, anything.

The missile had only been taken out because of air support, the same air support that had nearly been shot down and taken out, when a heli had finally come in to reprieve them while snatching that missile up and getting the hell out of there.

That didn’t solve the problem of the men everywhere, though. The charges that had been meant to blow some to pieces had been botched, and with all the gunfire, they would attract unwanted attention. Police were already investigating, conveniently turning a blind eye to Price and the rest of his force. It wasn’t a coincidence. Not when Shepherd had a history of paying people off to keep them quiet.

But that wasn’t their problem, right now, Ghost was trying to devise a way to get them the hell out of America, or at least out of goddamn Texas. Of all the places to be stuck in.

“Laswell, where the hell is our exfil?”

He radioed over, crouched down on the roof of a building, taking out whoever he could from it. Many of the men in the terrorist group weren’t a bad shot either, so he decided to keep his head relatively low.

“Negative, Ghost.” Price’s voice responded.

“The hell does that mean?”

“We aren’t leaving. Too many men still here, Kate wants us keeping eyes on ‘em.”

“Bloody fucking hell..”

They had decided to regroup at an old church down the road, Soap was a little banged up, with more than a few cuts and bruises, and Gaz dealing with a minor head injury he’d gotten when someone had tried to smash his skull in with a gun, and Price donning a decent sized cut to the arm.

“This is a covert mission. We can’t stay at a hotel or anything of the like, so where are we going?” Gaz asked, and Price paused for a moment, looking a bit unsure, which made sense considering this had been a get-in-get-out mission before it had changed. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Ghost spoke.

“I know someone, but they’re a long ways away.”

~ 3:48 A.M.~

A knock that was more like a banging on your door woke you up from your light sleep as you quietly sat up in your bed, standing and tiptoeing over to the front door of your spacey apartment.

It was large, for the price. But considering you were working for the landlord at a local restaurant, as he was the general manager there as well, it made sense.

The apartment held two spare bedrooms, and a nice living room connected to a kitchen with a table in it you liked using. Two bathrooms, one in the hallway where your room was in, another connected to a guest bedroom. A little balcony, which came in handy when one of your friends wanted a smoke break when over at your place.

Palming the closed hunting knife still connected to your pants and hanging loosely, you figured you were safe enough to answer the door, and looking through the peephole, you saw four men.

Military, and the one in the Ghost mask…

Opening the door, your face now annoyed, you stared him dead in the eye. Didn’t even glance at the others.

“We need a place to stay. A month or two at most.”

His low and rough voice, donning a British accent, said. It was louder than you remembered him being, but then again, he wasn’t the scared little Simon that you’d known anymore, scared of the abusive father you’d both shared. He wasn’t the Simon who mumbled or spoke quietly anymore.

A silent conversation passed between you two at the door, a thick silence passing over the entire group. The other men stared. Your eyes narrowed, a nonverbal question.

Are you on a mission?

He didn’t move for a moment, no doubt thinking of the information he could share with you. Another reason for your eventual fallout, the fact that he wouldn’t ever share with you anything if what he did. It was always to keep you safe.

Eventually, he gave a tiny, near imperceptible nod. On a mission. Of course, he would come to you while on a mission, dragging you into it. It wasn’t like you were helpless against attackers, not at all, but they’d had some crazy shit happen to them over the years, and that was just from what you’d overheard.

With a resigned sigh, you looked over at the other men he’d brought.

A taller man, with a beard, and a bucket hat. He looked like he had authority. A man on the shorter end, with some scruff, a mohawk, and a poorly restrained cheeky smile. The last man was darker, an almost caramel brown, with short hair, cleanly shaven, and a hat on.

Military men, clearly, but if Simon was willing to trust them around you, then you didn’t count them much as a threat right now.

“Names.”

You said flatly, and the Mohawk-one’s brows raised before replying.

“You can call me Soap-“

“I mean your name, not your shitty military nickname.”

You interrupted bluntly, clearly not in the best mood after being woken at 3 AM because of Simon Riley. “Soap” raised his hands in a mock gesture of innocence.

“Easy, lass. It’s Johnny, if you must know.”

Scottish, then. You could tell by the accent. The taller one spoke.

“John Price.”

The prettiest of the group spoke with a little smile that could’ve fooled you for not being faked.

“Kyle.”

Giving them all one last flat, surveying look, you jerked your head into the apartment, walking in.

“Two guest bedrooms down that way, bathrooms down the hall, there’s a balcony if you want a second exit. Don’t break anything.”

You said simply, and they walked in, looking tired as hell and covered in bandages. However, you weren’t going to let this go. Not right now.

You grabbed Simon by the arm, and he stiffened, stopping.

“You and I are going to have a little talk, Simon.” You said, dragging him into your room, and shutting the door behind you as he sighed, pulling his mask off. Blond hair and lashes came into view, as well as baby blue eyes.

“What the fuck were you thinking, bringing-“

You began, pissed as hell. He hadn’t contacted you in years, not since his mom had died, and with your shared father already dead, you’d been shoved into foster care.

“We’re all injured. We can’t stay anywhere we can be easily found. This area isn’t as well registered, and we’ll be gone in a month.” He spoke simply as if it wasn’t anything to get upset or emotional about.

You took a breath and breathed it out. Stay calm.

“I’m not talking about the mission, Simon.”

He seemed unused to being called his real name. At least, by the stiffening of his shoulders, you guessed so.

“There’s nothing else to talk about.”

He said gruffly, turning to open the door and leave. You stepped in his way, and he stared down at you, unamused. You were barely 5’6, and he was 6’2, so it was quite the height difference.

“You can’t run from your problems forever, Simon.”

You said, hands on your hips, and he simply picked you up, placing you beside him as he opened the door and walked out. Always running from his problems.

It was surprisingly unsurprising.

~ 4:07 A.M.~

“You want to explain who the hell that is, Simon?”

Price asked gruffly from where they were all gathered in one of the guest rooms. Simon paused his quiet pacing for a moment to reply.

“My half-sister.” He answered, and a silence fell over at that. The only sibling they knew he had was Tommy, and Tommy was long dead at that. A few seconds passed, before Soap, in the bathroom connected to this particular guest room, combing his Mohawk and going through his haircare routine, spoke up.

“She’s a real bonnie lass.” Johnny said with a grin, and Simon sighed.

“English, MacTavish.”

“She’s hot as fuck, sir.” The Scotsman said, and there was a small, disappointed sigh from Gaz, who already knew he’d have to patch up Soap from Ghost, who was fuming silently.

[midnight-bay-if]

Hey, hey!!😊

Quick ask, what would ROs do if they saw someone hitting Mc? (I feel like I'm going to see the chaos that the ROs are going to create, pure fun 😎)

Bye, bye!!

(Oh, dear... Yep, you'll unleash the beast with an ask such as this. The beast being all of the ROs because all of them are capable of being monsters if pressed, haha.)

S: S watches you from a distance, as they so often do when they are around you. It isn't on purpose. Their eyes are naturally drawn to you when their mind begins to wander. But what they wander to this time is less pleasant. They don't know who it is with you, but it is obvious the conversation isn't going well. Then, they strike you across the face. It happens in moments, but it slows down for S.

In theory, S knows you can handle yourself well enough. The hit was sloppy with little technique; they have seen you take worse. Yet the indignity of it all only makes them feel... angry.

"You do attract some odd sorts, MC," S says, stepping between you and the assailant, arms crossed with muscles flexed. "Now even rodents are vying for your attention."

The stranger steps forward momentarily, blind rage cutting through common sense before reason again takes hold. They weigh their chances against the two of you before quickly scuttling away with their head dipped low.

"I could have handled that, S."

S turns back to you with a soft smile. "I know. That was for me." S reaches out and gently caresses the area that was struck. "Let's find something cold for the swelling. Then you can tell me all about how you managed to anger the pest."

Rain: Rain's been a little distracted by their surroundings. They still have much to learn about the human world, which can be a lot to take in. So, they don't realise they have been gradually wandering further and further away from you; not until they turn around to ask you a question, and you aren't there. They are momentarily confused until they spot you a little away being confronted by someone who looks especially angry.

The man leers into your space before reaching out to slap you across the face. It shocks them. The blatant violence against you is harrowing and difficult to believe despite it staring them right in the face.

Rain sprints to close the distance, setting themselves between you and the attacker with a face of fury reserved for only the worst of creatures.

"Back off. Now."

The man scoffs, clearly not very impressed. "This has nothing to do with you. This is between me and them."

"Wrong." Rain pulls out an official-looking badge that denotes them as a government employee. "I suggest you walk away before this becomes my problem further."

The man tuts, shakes his head, then turns on his heel with a quick step.

"I had that handled, Rain."

Rain sighs. Then turns to you and shrugs. "At least he's gone now. Let's get some ice for that cheek, shall we?"

Taj: Taj has zoned out. Sometimes, they have to do it in public to stop themselves from feeling suffocated by the people around them, which gets them in trouble a lot. S can be whittling away battle plans on the fly and will quiz them once finished, only to find Taj had stopped paying attention about halfway through.

So, it isn't immediately apparent to them that you have begun to draw back. But they do not step too far away before their ears twitch, alerting them to a change in surroundings. They turn back, expecting you to already be rushing to catch up, but instead see you waylaid by a furious man shouting spittle in your face.

Taj is already rushing back in your direction when they see the closed fist contact your cheek. A burning heat engulfs the pit of their stomach, and their vision hazes red as Taj pounces onto your assailant, forcing them to their floor as their fists and claws start going wild.

"How dare you?! You filthy little--"

You have to drag them away. It isn't pretty. The man's face is bleeding from multiple lacerations, terror in his eyes as he crawls to his feet and dashes down the street.

Taj is breathing heavily, their skin burning hotter than usual. They feel tiny lumps of skin collected under their fingernails from where they dug them into the human's face. It was wild, untamed. They want to keep going.

"Taj?"

Taj inhales sharply, closing their eyes as they count to ten in their head. 0ne, two, three...

They feel your hand on their arm and open their eyes again.

"Are you... all right?" Taj finally says. "Are you hurt?" A warm hand encompasses your cheek with much more gentleness than they showed the man.

"We need to go. Now," you command, tugging on their sleeve. "Hopefully S will know how to fix this."

N: It is common for N to fill the silence with the sound of their own voice. They have a lot to say, and their voice is lovely by the way. So, when you are wandering the street, and N is gesturing wildly as they recount the tale of their day, they don't immediately notice you lagging behind. "And that is when I said, 'Nice try. Next time try using your actual legs to--" They stop, eyebrows creased and turn towards you.

The instant they do, a resounding slap fills the space. Your head turns with it, but otherwise, nobody moves. N feels the Hael in them raging. The fire that keeps them tethered unleashes inside them, boiling their blood dangerously.

But they do their best to mask it, hiding behind an insidious grin.

"And who is this delightful individual, MC?" They ask, reaching out to grab the woman's hand before she can pull back, gripping it tightly. "You always make such interesting friends."

Sensing their darkness, you place a placating hand on their shoulder. "It's okay, N. I can handle this."

The woman senses it, too. N may be smiling, but there's no amusement there. She's scared; all previous bravado has wilted to nothing. So, N lets her go.

"Scuttle away now, my dear," they say, waving their hand away as if dismissing a servant. "Before my hand slips."

The woman does as she is bid in record time, and N's smile slowly twists to a snarl. "Wretched cur."

"It's fine. I'm fine. Let's just drop it."

N inhales deeply, the hatred still burning. Then, they firmly plant a smile back on their face. "Of course, my dear. Let us go about our day together, unspoiled. You should probably get that face seen to. We can't allow your perfect features to become marked, can we?"

Strangely enough, you don't bump into the woman again on your usual morning routes. It's almost as if she has vanished entirely from Albach Bay.

Umbra: Umbra spent some time away from you today. They are getting better at it. Their instinct is still to remain close, watchful, a silent sentinel destined to guard you. But they have since learned that it can be unhealthy to have such a strong attachment to a living person—unhealthy for the recipient and harmful for the provider. It's not something they particularly understand, but they want to learn—for you.

But now they are keen to return to your side. It's been two hours, after all. That's more than enough time for something dreadful to have happened. They need to see you. To see you safe.

They round a corner, their face lighting up when their eyes catch you. The other person with you barely gets a second glance. Until that person lifts a hand to you, anyway. Then, Umbra is instilling that face into memory. Within moments, a cloud of black smoke disappears and reappears beside the assailant, a black dagger curled beneath his throat, pressing against the skin.

Black smoke pillows out of Umbra's eyes, the typical whites of their eyes pitch black. Within a breath, a dagger is pressed close to the man's throat, nicking at the skin.

"How dare you?!" The voice is raspy, much lower than Umbra's usual tone, and joined by a myriad of dissonant whispers.

You reach out, grasping Umbra's arm to stop them. "No, Umbra! Don't!"

Your voice cuts through the fog, the black in their eyes returning white as they turn to you. "But this man--"

"Does not deserve to die!"

Umbra feels your anger and disappointment in them. It cuts deeper than any dagger could. But they do not know how to differentiate between those who hurt you and those who should die for it.

Umbra drops the knife from the man's neck, stepping away to let him run. And run, he does. Umbra watches a moment longer, allowing the man to shriek and holler far into the distance.

"We should go. Now. Hopefully S can fix this."

Umbra follows, their dagger arm still itching.

(I may have gotten slightly carried away again. Why do I do this? lol)

[linkspooky]

So I was genuinely surprised last week when we were finally shown Megumi's mental state inside Sukuna and he was predictably at his lowest point ever, and instead of sympathy from the fans most of the responses on twitter I saw were people mocking him.

Which I am going to assume comes from a misunderstanding as his character. You see Megumi doesn't fit into the role of the black haired supporting protagonist / rival well. He's not Sasuke, he's not Uryu Ishida, he's not Yuno but he's not meant to be a rival or even a typical shonen character who's progress is only measured by a series of power ups. Megumi is perhaps one of the most subtly written characters in the manga, and perhaps he's hard to sympathize with because he doesn't fit into easy to udnerstand shonen tropes. Which is why I will try to explain his arc below and why Jujutsu Kaisen does it like no other manga currently running.

1. Meet Potential Man

Let me introduce you to the worst meme on twitter.

Megumi's inability to live up to his potential to reach his full power as a sorcerer is probably his biggest flaw, one that is rightfully called out by the narrative again and again, but apparently an intentionally written character flaw is bad writing.

It's covered in Gojo's "Swing for the fences" speech.

Gojo notices Megumi bunt in the baseball game and decides to confront him about it later. He highlights that while bunting is alright in baseball, and it's good to sacrifice yourself so your teammates can advance in a team sport that being a sorcerer is a solo sport. No matter what Megumi is going to reach a point where he's forced to fight alone, and instead of trying to push himself to be as strong as he can be he intentionally limits himself to cooperate with the sorcerers around him.

Basically, the opposite of Gojo who literally cannot fight with other sorcerers because he won't be able to fight at full strength as they just get in the way.

It's not just that Megumi can't use the ten shadows to its full potential, something pointed out by Sukuna, and then later again by Gojo, it's also that he always prioritizes either the group or someone else above himself when trying to decide how to act. Megumi is a semi-decent strategist so this is not necessarily a bad thing, but because of Megumi's tendency to care more about trying to live up to other people's expectations towards him, and what other people need of him rather than his own needs he doesn't have the attitude necessary for sorcery, especially since the strongest sorcerers don't take others into account at all and act like living calamities.

Megumi doesn't look at himself, he looks at the people around him. He judges himself based on what the people around him want from him, not what he wants. This is going to be a continual theme in his arc.

Sukuna is a living calamity, the definition of the attitude a strong sorcerer has, Gojo Satoru wields sorcerery only for himself, and is a sorcerer because he finds exorcising curses and using his god given talents to be fun for him.

Megumi's reason for fighting, his self worth, are all much, much less than the strongest characters in this series which is why he continually fails to live up to his potential. It's not because Gege is not good at writing or Megumi is a disappointing character, but rather he's been written as someone with tremendous potential under the pressure to live up to that potential but who continually fails to do so. Megumi's low self-esteem, low self-worth, and lack of self-identity explains both his failure to progress as a sorcerer something that requires selfishness and self-identity to reach greater heights in, but also his tendency to pick the suicide option with Mahoraga because Megumi genuinely believes compared to the others even just his classmates his life is simply worth less.

So potential man, is an intentionally written character flaw already called out in canon. The more interesting question is why does Megumi fail to live up to his potential.

2. Meet The Original Potential Man

So, I said that Megumi is not like a lot of characters in Shonen Jump but that doesn't mean he's entirely unique. To help explain Megumi's inability to live up to his potential I thought it would be helpful to compare him to a character he's clearly inspired by.

Killua Zoldyck, is the deuteragonist of a manga called hunter x hunter. You may have heard of it, Gege certainly has. Killua is born into a family of assassins who all have supernatural powers. The assassins inflict incredibly harsh training on their children from birth in order to raise them into assassins because their potential as assassins is all that matters. They also start with a "Z".

Killua is apparently the most talented Zen'in... I mean Zoldyck of this generation, though he's still young so he's weaker than his father and brother he's expected to easily surpass them one. Which is why Killua's family has already decided for him that he's going to be the next one to take over the family, Killua's opinion doesn't matter. Illumi and Silva are both setting him up for success by forcing their "help" upon him. Several other members of the family even point out that Killua probably doesn't have the attitude to be the head of the family, but what does it matter when he's got such great talent?

Killua is a complicated victim. He's a victim of many things, familial abuse is the most obvious one because the Zoldyck have a nasty habit of torturing their children, but the less obvious one is grooming. Not in a sexual sense, but rather the adults in Killua's life have decided to use their authority over him to manipulate him into becoming what they want him to be - the next head of the family.

What's insidious about this is the Zoldyck's don't just torture or beat Killua into submission, they will use any tool in their arsenal, familial love, emotional blackmail, threats, all to undermine Killua's agency and choices in order to make him not only do what they want to do but make him think he has to grow into the person they want him to.

Grooming not in a sexual sense, but definitely in a psychological sense, an adult using their authority as an adult over a child and their maturity to manipulate that child into becoming what they want them to be instead of letting that child grow naturally. When it's used in a sexual sense it's when an adult establishes a connection with a minor, and then uses that connection in the long-term to manipulate them into having a relationship and lower the child's inhibition. Think of that, but without the sexual part - an adult using their relationship with a child often in a long-term manipulation to lower the child's inhibitions and make them more malleable and raise them to do what you want them to do.

Killua has not been sexually groomed, but he has been groomed by both his parents and his brother to make him more suggestible to becoming the family head which is something he explicitly does not want to do. Not only did Killua's family only raise him for the purpose of becoming an assassin and taking over the family one day (raising him as a child into an adult, his emotional maturity, his health and well being are all secondary priorities to what Killua can do for his family) they also manipulate him into thinking he has no choice other than being an assassin.

Killua is a kid put through extremely harsh training from a young age, to do a horrible job that is being an assassin that doesn't let him make normal friends or have a normal life. On top of the physical abuse he's already endured, whenever he expresses a desire to do something else in his life, his parents send Illumi to emotionally manipulate him into thinking that not only is he a natural born killer, and therefore a bad person who deserves all the abuse he's been put through, to further convince him that his only path forward is to be an assassin.

Killua is a character who has a lot of power, but little agency. Agency, in fiction is the ability a character has to take action and make decisions for themselves. Despite Killua starting as a more powerful and more savvy character than Gon, he has little agency and is often very passive. He doesn't act, he reacts. Even running away from his family is a reaction. We don't really see what he wants in life, we just know that he looked at his family and went "NOT THAT". However, his entire identity is still formed in response to his family's abuse. Even when he gets farther away from them, Killua doesn't really do what he wants, he does what Gon wants, and follows around Gon.

However, it's very understandable why Killua doesn't act with a lot of agency, when Killua does try to make decisions his family always shows up to undermine him and make another attempt to emotionally manipulate him into doing what they want. It's not always Illumi showing up to spook him. Silva pretends to be a loving dad for five minutes and has a heart to heart conversation with his son, and lets his son go adventuring with his friends but that too is a manipulation. He only did so to make sure Killua would eventually come back, by giving Killua more positive memories that would make it harder to make the decision to leave the family.

With the extent that Killua's family goes to sabotage any decision he makes, it's no wonder Killua is so passive and afraid to make his own decisions. It's almost like a character flaw he's gotta work on.

Now here's where I'm going to blow your minds. Megumi is an incredibly similar character to Killua, they are both the victims of longterm grooming however people don't like to acknowledge Megumi's victimhood. That's because in Killua's case, his abuser looks and acts like this.

Killua's abuser Illumi is a creepy guy who looks like the girl from the grudge, telling him he's not allowed to make friends and giving off such rancid vibes that he's obviously a bad guy. Whereas, Megumi's groomer this this guy.

Gojo Satoru who is one of the most popular characters in the series, and who also gives speeches about how he wants to let children be able to live out their youths, which is why it's hard for the fandom to see that he has taken advantage of Megumi and stolen his youth away from him pretty much the same way that Silva / Illumi has for Killua.

Megumi, like Killua has no choice in who he wants to be when he grows up, or what kind of person he wants to grow into. Megumi, like Killua has been groomed for a young age and forced into an incredibly dangerous and life threatening job that he does not want to do, that denies him the chance of a normal life, and that does not really allow him to make many friends. Megumi is railroaded onto this path, not by his choice, but by Toji's choice, and later Gojo's choice... because he has potential. Megumi like Killua cannot leave his family and stop being a sorcerer, otherwise his little sister who is the only family member he cares about will be hurt.

Gojo doesn't show up with an evil aura looking like the grudge girl and telling Megumi that he doesn't have the right to make friends, and that he's inherently evil and a puppet that only exists to kill people though so it's harder to tell that Megumi is a victim of the same kind of grooming that has hurt Killua so thoroughly.

This is what I mean when I say a lot of Megumi's characterization flies over your head because his victimization is written really subtly. Gojo does the same thing that Illumi / Silva does to Killua, he may seem like a stand up guy compared to those two but Megumi has about as much choice about what he can do with his life that Killua has.

Not all grooming is Illumi showing up with his spooky eyes to intimidate and coerce Killua into submission. Silva shows up to give Killua the first fatherly talk he had in his life, and lets him go from the mansion.... not because he realized he was wrong for restricting Killua's life choices and giving him no choice but to become heir.

No, it was a ploy to guilt trip him into coming back because he knew if he held Killua there by force he'd just run away the next chance he got. Fear and intimidation wasn't working at keeping Killua in line, so they switched to love instead.

Gojo can encourage Megumi to make friends, let him hang out and spend time with Itadori, even honor his wish to save Itadori and in the end still be manipulating him into becoming a sorcerer and not letting Megumi choose what he wants to do with his life. Gojo just prefers the carrot to the stick.

This is something the databooks confirm, that Gojo hunts prospects like Yuta, Yuji and Megumi not out of the goodness of his heart, but because they are talented students he can recruit to his cause with the added bonus that by appearing as their savior, they "owe" him.

Megumi is also a character lacking in agency, he is someone who's had no agency his entire life and what little agency he did have was stolen away from him by the adults in his life.

Let's analyze Megumi's situation for a second. As soon as Megumama dies, Toji gives up on the idea of fatherhood entirely, and decides to sell his son, literally, like in the sense of human trafficking to be raised by the highly abusive Zen'in Clan.

However, before the deal could be completed his father died in the middle of a mission. Megumi apparently saw his father so little that he didn't recognize him on coming face to face with him years alter, which says a lot about what kind of role Toji played in Megumi's life before he was outright abandoned.

Not only does Megumi believe his father just left him to run away with his new wife (Megumi's stepmother and the mother of Tsumiki) but now he and Tsumiki had to live together in a household without supervision for an indeterminate amount of time and watch their money slowly run out.

When it looks like they're about to start starving, Gojo Satoru shows up to save the day.... or not.

Gojo seems like he's offering Megumi a choice, but it's a loaded one. There's no choice in this scenario where Megumi gets to be a normal kid. The option of calling social services so this orphaned child does not starve doesn't occur to him.

Megumi's options are a) go to the Zen'in Clan and be a sorcerer where Tsumiki will be abused, or b) be a sorcerer under me where Tsumiki will be safe. The unspoken part is that if Megumi rejects his offer not only will he just let the Zen'in Take him, he'll also probably just let Megumi starve. Megumi the uh six or so year old child at this point has to sign away the rest of his life as a sorcerer, and work in order to earn money to eat.

No adult is taking care of Megumi, no one is raising him, even the food and shelter Megumi is given comes with a price tag that he has to pay back by being a Jujutsu Sorcerer and attending Jujutsu High as a teenager. Gojo even kind of subtly uses Tsumiki as a hostage to get Megumi to join with his agenda, because his offer isn't really much better than the Zen'ins but he needs Megumi on his side because he needs to raise kids to be future allies to his political agenda.

At the tender age of six Megumi signed his life away to be a sorcerer and he hasn't looked back since. Considering his severe behavioral problems getting into fights constantly at school, I think it's safe to say Megumi is about as reluctant to be a sorcerer as Killua is an assassin.

Honestly, if Megumi had phrased it like this:

"I'm so tired of being a sorcerer, I just want to be a kid."

Megumi would have a lot more fans, and Gojo would have a lot of explaining to do, but I think the brilliance of Megumi's grooming is that it's not really as blatant as Killua's. Megumi doesn't talk out loud about how he wants to be a normal kid, he's just angry at the whole world, and prone to fits of violence because he's mentall unwell.

Another way in which he parallels Killua, by the way.

Megumi does not talk about his lost childhood out loud. Instead of knowing his thoughts on the matter, instead we are shown his behavior, the effects of having his childhood taken away from him and how unstable it makes him and left to ponder as the audience what Megumi himself thinks of this.

The same way that Illumi steals all of Killua's agency away, robbing him of the chance to be anything other than what the Zoldycks want him to be, so to does Gojo. It's just instead of Gojo using the stick, he uses the carrot. He is Megumi's benefactor, he's the savior, for whose help Megumi owes him, sort of like repaying a loan with interest.

Gojo tries to shape Megumi into Gojo Satoru 2.0. Or maybe a second Geto. That's more likely as it's Geto defection which inspires Gojo to go looking for him after neglecting to do anything about Megumi until a year after finding out about his existence. Gojo says that Megumi is going to have to work hard or else he'll be left behind, just days after Geto had left him behind. Megumi is helped by Gojo, he is protected from the clans by Gojo, he has been taken on missions alongside Gojo his entire life, Maki even refers to Megumi as a treasure that was raised carefully by him.

Gojo invests a lot of time and effort into Megumi and because of that Megumi is expected to "perform." However, he doesn't.

That's the thing, Megumi is supposed to be either Gojo or Geto 2.0 but he just can't be. THe reason why again is Agency. If Killua is limited because of his inability to decide for himself, then so to is Megumi b/c Nen and Cursed Technique Development both depend on things like imagination, ego and self-image to raise them up to their full potential.

However, Gojo has shot himself in the foot with regards to Megumi. Becoming a Jujutsu Sorcerer requires a strong identity, but Gojo by sabotaging Megumi's agency and ability to decide for himself every step of the way has robbed Megumi of the chance to form that strong identity.

Megumi, just like Killua has no sense of self and instead both judges himself according to others, how he meets their expectations, how he measures up to them - he also glorifies others while constantly putting himself down.

Megumi doesn't give speeches about how Yuji is like pure light, but he also refuses to let Yuji out of his sight post Shibuya, and even says it'd be better to be killed by Sukuna alongside Yuji if Sukuna does take over.

In the Chimera Ant Arc Killua defines all of his self-worth around being useful to Gon, and beats himself up for not being able to measure up to him - because Killua has no sense of self his selfhood has always been undermined by his family who wanted to make him more suggestible to what they wanted.

Megumi is flippant with his own life and very willing to lay down his life for another's sake, because Megumi has very little agency in his life and has been taught by both Gojo and his circumstances that he himself and what he wants does not matter. Megumi doesn't fight fate, and fight for what he wants because he's already been shot in the kneecaps by both Toji's abandonment, and Gojo Satoru, and he's having a difficult time just trying to stand with bullets in his knees.

Maybe, the reason Megumi is so willing to risk his life to summon Mahoraga and sacrifice himself if he thinks it will help his allies is because Megumi has been forced into a job where he's gonig to be expected to sacrifice his life for the greater good since the tender age of six years old and therefore everything in life has conspired to tell him his life is worth less than others.

Yuji isn't the first person in story to think of himself as a cog, that's Megumi. He doesn't even need Shibuya to beat him down to accept the cog mindset, Megumi is already there at the beginning of the story.

I think a lot of misunderstanding of Megumi's character comes from the fact that his grooming is more subtle and insidious, and not as blatant as Killua's, and also that it's done by a character well-liked by the fandom. However, if Megumi has all the same symptoms of Killua then it's logical to deduce that they share the same trauma

Even Megumi's summoning of Mahoraga has a tie to Killua.

There's a pattern of KIllua running away from stronger opponent that's established in HXH that's eventually revealed to be because of a needle that Illumi inserted directly into Killua's brain to mind control him to run if he faced someone that was too much of a threat.

Obviously, that's just continuing the metaphor of the fact that Killua isn't able to believe in himself to face people who are stronger, because Illumi has been constantly putting him down his entire life.

Isn't this essentially what Megumi does as well?

When Megumi is faced with an opponent that's too strong or a hopeless situation, instead of running like Killua he summons Mahoraga. He does this because he doesn't believe in his ability to surpass his limits and fight, because he doesn't believe in himself or his own potential.

When is actually able to think more freely and picture a version of himself who can surpass his limits and who can do these things - these are the moments he is shown to grow.

Megumi however, for the most part isn't free. He can't think of himself as free and he can't free himself, because not only does he still have no choice about what he wants to do with his life (even if he becomes the msot powerful sorcerer in the world Gojo won't let him quit, he's gotta pay off those student loans), but he's also internalized the idea that he's not free. Not only has Gojo raised him to be a cog, Megumi has also accepted the fact that he is a cog and what he wants does not matter - the most he can do is hope that his actions will protect the people he loves and give them a little bit of happiness.

Megumi doesn't need a needle in his brain to control him and make him run away from fights and more obedient, because Megumi has already done all of that to himself with the toxic and self-harming ideas he's internalized.

Megumi and Killua having given up on themselves, try to make others happy, the same people they put on pedestals in order to make themselves feel even worse in comparison.

However, from this point Megumi and Killuas arcs go in opposite directions. You see after the Chimera Ant Arc when Killua hits his lowest point and his codependent friendship with Gon is exposed for what it is, Killua returns home in order to try and rescue his sister Alluka who is probably the reason he ran away in the first place.

Alluka and Tsumiki are both at the start of the story taken away from Killua and Megumi respectively, and with them the only genuine familial affection they ever enjoyed in their lives is taken too.

However, Alluka and Tsumiki are inversions. Alluka finds her freedom and agency, and Killua is able to reform his connection with his sister by accepting both pats of her, Alluka and Nanika. Afterwards the two of them finally leave their family home together and go off on a journey together.

If Alluka finds her personhood, Tsumiki remains a plot device. She never awakens from her coma, she's possessed instead and then murdered.

Now, here is where I point out how unfair the audience is being to Megumi. If you're a hunter x hunter fan remember all the character development that Killua gained by reforging his relationship with Alluka, how much confidence it gave him to connect to the one person who's even unconditionally loved him as a family member.

Now imagine that Alluka is brutally butchered right in front of him, and Killua has a first person point of view, because somehow in this scenario Illumi used a needle to mind control him into killing Alluka.

Do you really think Killua would be able to stand after that?

Sukuna is really just the last in line of a long line of people who've stolen Megumi's agency away from him, in order to benefit themselves. Sukuna even saw the same "potential" in Megumi that Gojo did.

Sukuna physically posessing Megumi's body, is just what both the Zen'in Clan, and Gojo Satoru have been trying to do to him in the most literal way possible. Gojo wants to remake Megumi into Gojo Satoru 2.0 with no regards to who Megumi is as a person, what Megumi's wants and needs are. No he just wants to raise someone as strong as him and pass the burden of protecting society onto Megumi, this starving orphan Gojo decided to exploit.

People have always used Megumi as a puppet for their own agenda, Naobito wanted to make him the head of the Zen'in Clan because he had the technique, Gojo wanted him to become the next strongest sorcerer / Gojo Satoru and also to replace the elders with Gojo's political agenda. They all want Megumi's "potential" for themselves to use to their own ends. Sukuna just takes what Gojo did one step further by literally stealing Megumi's body away from him and using him as a literal puppet instead of a metaphorical one. Gojo took Megumi's childhood by making him work as a sorcerer, Sukuna kills the physical embodiment of Megumi's childhood innocence by murdering Tsumiki, the only thing Megumi had in his life besides being a sorcerer, his only family, the only person he grew up with in his childhood years, the only person who loved him for who he was.

Megumi coped with what Gojo did to him the same way Killua did, by building himself around his use to others, and by building his identity around protecting others but now that's all gone. Tsumiki is gone, Megumi is trying to kill his friends, and he's already butchered Gojo Satoru.

Yet the fans are surprised that Megumi doesn't immediately get back on his feet.

However, and this my slightly optimistic ending to the post. Perhaps, Megumi is going the complete opposite of Killua, because what Megumi needed to learn was not to grow strong and confident enough to protect his sister but to learn to fight for himself.

At this point Megumi has nothing else left. It's sink of swim. He either develops a strong enough identity to regain control of his body and push Sukuna out, or he loses and the anti-Sukuna team will just have to resort to killing Megumi along with Sukuna.

Even in that case.

Megumi not being saved by Yuji is a good thing.

Because a victim who gets rescued by a hero still has no agency.

Megumi told Yuji that he needs to start by "saving me."

However, it might just be the opposite. Before Megumi can save anyone else, before he can become a protector, he has to find his own power and save himself. He has to both accept thathe's someone worthy of salvation, and at the same time he can't just passively accept the hand that Yuji's offered to him he has to actively be the one to break free of Sukuna and save himself.

Megumi can't become the strongest sorcerer by becoming the next Gojo Satoru or being what Gojo or Sukuna wants him to be. THe only way Megumi can become the strongest, is by being himself.