#but he’s really the only one to FIGHT against his family and actually try

[oaksgrove]

hi!! i love your fics sm! thank u for taking the time to write them. im the same anon that sent the prince!simon x knight!reader and let me tell you, i love it tons. and so, i have come back with another request.... (too many, actually) what about a sunshine-recruit!reader x simon riley? where reader dies because i am in need of a bit of angst... you can make it fluffy if you wish! tysm :3

-🌊

A Light that Never Goes Out.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Sunshine!Recruit!Reader

Synopsis: When you joined the team, you brought sunlight to a world built on shadows. Simon Riley, guarded and scarred, never meant to fall for you — but he did, quietly, in the spaces between missions and the weight of war. After a mission goes wrong, Simon is left to grieve the future you dreamed of together. Years later, he fights to build the life you deserved, haunted and comforted by your memory, learning that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. 

Warnings: Major character death (reader), intense grief, mourning, emotional hurt/comfort, bittersweet healing, found family support, soft mentions of afterlife signs.

Word Count: 1748

When you joined the team, you were a burst of sunlight in a world made of steel and smoke.

Simon noticed it right away — the way you smiled easily, the way you laughed like you weren’t afraid of the dark things that followed men like him.

At first, he kept his distance.

You were bright.

Not loud or flashy.

Just… bright. Like warm sunlight through broken clouds.

You fought with laughter on your lips. 

You comforted with hands steady and sure.

You lived like every second mattered, like every moment was a gift you refused to waste.

But you had this way of staying, even when he tried to shove you away with silence and gruff remarks.

It undid Simon Riley in ways he couldn’t name.

You became his shadow. His better half.

A hand on his shoulder after a rough debrief.

A warm, unguarded grin across the firepit on cold nights.

A quick-witted remark that made him huff a rare, quiet laugh behind the skull mask.

And somewhere along the way, friendship blurred into something deeper.

Into touches that lingered.

Into glances that burned.

Into conversations in the dead of night, hushed and full of almosts.

Maybe it was the way you handed him coffee in the mornings, always just how he liked it, no words needed.

Maybe it was the way you sat close enough during briefings that your knee brushed his, grounding him without even trying.

Maybe it was how, when nightmares yanked him awake gasping, you were the only one he could stand near — the only one who could sit quietly beside him and make the dark a little less heavy.

He didn’t say it.

You didn’t either.

It lived in the in-between.

The almosts — delicate, unspoken.

One evening — in a rare pocket of peace between missions — you sat together near a low campfire, shoulders brushing in the quiet.

You tilted your head back, staring at the stars, the orange glow soft against your skin.

“You ever seen the English countryside, Ghost?” you asked, voice dreamy.

He grunted. “’Course I have.”

You smiled — soft, faraway.

“I want to see it someday,” you said. “Not just pass through on a mission. I want to live there. A little cottage, a garden, some chickens maybe.”

He snorted quietly. “You, a farmer?”

You nudged him with your elbow. “Shut up. I’d be amazing. I just… I don’t want to miss life, you know? I want peace. I want mornings where the biggest decision is tea or coffee.”

Simon looked at you then — really looked — and something deep inside his chest clenched tight.

You deserved it.

The countryside. The garden. The peace.

Every goddamn good thing this ugly world had to offer.

But lately, you’d changed.

It was small things at first.

You hugged Soap a little longer.

You laughed louder.

You stared up at the stars like you were trying to memorize them.

You lived like you were racing time.

Simon saw it.

He always noticed everything about you.

“Somethin’ you’re not telling me, sunshine?” he asked one night, voice low and rough.

You smiled — soft and sad.

“Just… want to make sure I don’t leave anything unsaid,” you said, gaze flickering over his face.

His chest ached.

Something old and wounded and terrified flared inside him.

But he didn’t push.

He should have.

Because your next mission went sideways.

Explosions. Gunfire. Screams through comms.

Simon fought like hell to reach you.

Bullets sliced the air.

Dust and smoke clawed at his vision.

He found you slumped behind a shattered wall — blood pooling, painting the dirt dark and ugly.

“No, no—” His voice cracked, shattering something inside him.

You blinked up at him, smile trembling.

“Hey, Ghost,” you rasped, teasing even now. “Took you long enough.”

“Don’t you bloody dare,” he growled, hands pressing desperately to the wound, trying to keep you here.

You lifted a weak hand, brushed it against his masked cheek.

“You’ve got to let me go,” you whispered.

He shook his head, fierce.

“I can’t—”

“You can,” you said gently. “You will.”

Your hand slid down, gripping his glove weakly.

“I’m not scared,” you murmured, voice slurring. “I had a good life and you made everything better, Simon.”

And with a final, shuddering breath — you were gone.

Simon didn’t sleep for three days.

He sat in the base office, soaked in grief, as higher-ups coldly discussed standard procedures — how you’d be flown back to London, buried in a cramped military cemetery like a number on a roster.

Simon stood up — slow, dangerous.

“No,” he said, voice low and shaking with rage.

“Lieutenant—”

“No.”

He slammed a hand on the table.

“She wanted the countryside. She gets the countryside.”

It was the first time anyone had seen Ghost lose it like that — not from fear, not from pain — but for you.

It wasn’t easy.

There were papers to sign, approvals to fight for.

There were arguments, threats, pulled favors.

But Simon fought for you the way he wished he could’ve fought that day on the battlefield — until, finally, finally, they relented.

You were laid to rest on a gentle green hill, overlooking golden fields that swayed in the breeze.

Wildflowers scattered the meadow.

The air smelled like rain and earth and the soft promise of spring.

He chose the spot himself.

And they buried you with full honors.

But for Simon, it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

He stood at your grave long after the others left, rain soaking through his jacket, dripping off his mask.

In his gloved hand, he clutched your dogtags, now dulled but still bright in his palm.

“You’re home, love.” he said hoarsely, voice breaking the silence. 

A gust of wind stirred the air, soft as a sigh.

He squeezed the charm tight.

-

The porch creaked under Simon’s weight as he settled into the old wooden chair, a cup of black tea cooling in his hands.

The cottage he lives in is small.

It sits just over the rise from where you’re buried, hidden behind a low, hand-built stone fence.

The wildflowers still scatter across the fields like a living quilt— you would have loved.

It took him a few years to get here.

He wasn’t ready at first.

But your memory pulled him like a tide, quiet and steady, until one day he realized —

This was what you would’ve wanted for him.

Life.

Peace.

Home.

So he bought it.

He planted the garden himself — clumsy at first, rough hands better suited to weapons than trowels.

But he learned. Tomatoes. Lavender. Some stubborn sunflowers that leaned drunkenly against the fence posts.

The chickens were Price’s idea.

“Be good for you,” the old man grunted, hauling a coop into the yard one weekend.

Simon pretended to hate them. But secretly he built them a little covered run and started naming them after famous authors. You would’ve laughed yourself silly.

The 141 came by every few weeks —

Johnny crashing through the door with bags of groceries, insisting he could cook (he couldn’t).

Gaz plopping down on the porch swing with a cold beer, tossing a ball for the dog Simon somehow ended up adopting.

Price bringing his cigar and sitting outside under the stars, talking quietly like the world wasn’t rushing past anymore.

It wasn’t perfect.

Grief still lived in his bones, heavy and old.

Some days hurt more than others.

But here — in this little pocket of the world you dreamed of — Simon healed.

Slowly.

Steadily.

The night was clear — stars scattered across the sky like shards of glass, the fields bathed in silver moonlight.

The chickens were quiet in their coop.

The house behind him glowed warm and steady, windows like golden eyes keeping watch.

He should’ve felt at peace.

Most nights, he did.

But tonight… it felt different, harder to be at ease.

The breeze was gentler than usual — almost tender — brushing across his scarred knuckles, tugging at the collar of his sweater.

And for one trembling second, he could almost swear he felt you.

Sitting beside him.

Swinging your legs, the way you did when you couldn’t quite sit still.

Warmth where there should’ve only been air.

Simon’s chest twisted, a deep, old ache that no amount of time could ever quite erase.

He set the cup down with a shaking hand.

Pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes — rough, embarrassed, furious at himself for still being this wrecked after all these years.

But it broke anyway.

A ragged, raw sound tore from him as he hunched over, shoulders shaking.

Grief clawed up from somewhere deep and buried — sharp, brutal, endless.

“Fuck—”

He bit down hard on the curse, on the pain, on the shame of it.

He barely heard the front door open.

Barely registered the heavy steps across the porch.

And then there was Price, he stayed for the night afraid to drive home, — solid as the stone wall out back, steady as the seasons.

Without a word, the old man sat down in the chair next to him, lit his cigar with practiced ease.

Exhaled smoke into the quiet air.

He didn’t ask what was wrong.

Didn’t offer false comforts.

Didn’t tell Simon to get over it or move on.

He just sat there.

Like a lighthouse in a storm.

After a long while, Simon scrubbed his face with his hands, voice wrecked and raw:

“I just— I could feel her.”

A rasp. A confession.

“Like she was right fuckin’ here.”

Price nodded, slow and grave.

Tipped his head back to look at the stars.

“Maybe she was, mate,” he said simply.

Another long stretch of silence.

Only the chirring of insects.

The whisper of the fields.

Price knocked the ashes from his cigar and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Grief’s just love that’s got nowhere to go,” he said gruffly “You loved her. Still do. Nothin’ wrong with feelin’ it.”

Simon swallowed hard.

Felt something inside him — tight and knotted and hurting — ease just a fraction.

He didn’t say thank you.

Didn’t need to.

Price just reached over, clapped a heavy, fatherly hand on his shoulder, squeezed once.

And for the first time in a long, long time —

Simon let himself lean into it.

Let himself be comforted.

Not just by your memory.

But by the living.

By the life you would have wanted him to keep holding onto.

That night, when he finally went inside, he left the porch light on.

Just in case.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear @anonymouse1807 @twoandahalfdimes

[hanana-myc]

WHY STOLITZ WORK (at least for me)

First thing first im gonna start with season one and working my way towards sinsmas since the way the episodes show stolitz matter for storytelling and psychological state of their characters.

ALRIGHT lets start

Season 1 episode 1

in these episodes they establish Blitz and Stolas relationship, both using each other for their own wants and needs. For Stolas he wants someone to date and for Blitz he just needs Stolas grimoire.

Season 1 episode 2

This episode focuses on Stolas, we get to know him more than a horny powerful owl, we learn about his fucked up relationship with his wife and get to know Octavia.

Now we know he is a prince of hell, a powerful being, forcefully married to Stella which screams at him at any chance she gets, verbally abusing him. Octavia being this light in his life, the only good thing to come out of that toxic relationship, but she is saddened by (in her eyes) her dad’s new family, thinking he would forget about her ands leave her forever for him.

We watch this 17 year old confused and scared about this huge change with her life, trying to navigate the best she can while still thinking its her fault that her parents are getting divorced.

We see this (up until now) prince who was always happy, now fragile by simply talking to his daughter about his life, about how truly miserable he was in his marriage.

And the worst part is that none of them really have any fault in how they are acting, they are just two broken people trying to navigate life the best they can, with their errors and traumas but still trying to be happy.

Season 1 Episode 3

In this episode we get a little more of insight into Blitz character, we get to learn about his attachment issues, through Verossika that he actually dated her.

Throughout this episode we see bits and pieces of how Blitz really feel, his fight with Loona was showing us he actually cares too much, his face after Loona screamed at him that she didn’t need him subtly showed us that he feels like he needs to be useful to be loved and cared for.

Theres not much in this episode that outright tell us, this just lays the ground for future episodes

Season 1 episode 5

In this episode we watch Stolas “embarrass” Blitz within the harvest moon festival, at one point we even see Blitz slightly blush at Stolas advances. We learn time and time again about the line that Blitz draws between him and Stolas.

In this episode we get to learn about Striker, which quickly becomes Blitz’s friend with him even offering Striker a job at IMP (which means he became important enough to mean family to Blitz), later in the episode we learn Striker true intentions, to kill Stolas.

This is why I think this episode was so important, it showed us how much Blitz cared for the bird, Striker offered everything Blitz would ever want if he truly despised Stolas like he made us think.

But thats not the truth, he loves Stolas and would never betray him even if he went against someone who he almost considered family.

Because why would you have the trouble to risk your life against someone for something you “supposedly want”, if he truly despised the deal and the prince he would simply side with Striker, kill the owl and be free with the grimoire.

The truth is that Blitz likes the deal, he loves Stolas and is desperately looking for his love care and affection even if he doesn’t let it show.

He has been through so much trauma he became this desperate for love but still cant let anyone know how he truly feels because then everyone who he ever loved AND HIM will get hurt.

He hates himself so much to the point that even if he is starving for affection he just pushes everyone away because he truly feels that he is never enough.

Getting caught in this endless torture.

He cant let anyone know about how much he care for everyone, after all to him he is just this piece of shit person who could never do anything right and in the end everyone will eventually leave him or worse.

Im gonna talk more about this in later episodes since right now we don’t have much context clues, but THIS is why The Harvest Moon Festival is such an important episode, it LITERALLY shows us from the beginning Blitz true feelings.

Season 1 episode 6

This episode…. im already seeing the paragraphs for it jesus christ.

This episode shows us how truly fucked up in the head Blitz is, how much he pushes everyone away and the first visual clue about how much he loves Stolas.

This episode is genius at showing, not telling, this. Like with many Stolitz core interactions, this is why i think this couple is so well developed and so many people cant see it and as im writing this, their story is not even finished.

Back to the episode.

Here we get a literal glimpse into Blitz’s mind, a muddy place, ugly and twisted. Blitz wearing a clown costume the whole time he is in this mud, getting harassed by his own mind telling him what he doesn’t want to hear.

This clown clothes dare i say, are a representation to how much he still feels like that imp from the circus, made and wanting to please other, and that is a visual cue to show us how much he still cares for everybody, which then lead us to SE2EP6 the Fizz and Blitz episode.

Now we directly hear how badly he pushes others away from him, scared that them will hurt him and he would hurt them, but still craves for affection.

This episode show us, if The Harvest Festival wasn’t enough, that Blitz LIKES the deal they are in and he willingly goes to Stolas. After all the bird give him the love that he needed while he can still lie to himself that he doesn’t care for it.

It shows us how much Stolas means in Blitz life, the representation of the prince being in this only clean part of his mind but still being above him, this is the clue of some of their power dynamic and classism that Blitz got taught from early age. (this will come up later in Apology Tour SE2EP9)

The imp being clean only when he is with the bird is a representation of the tranquility only Stolas gives him, the chains and shackles are the deal he made since he cant leave from it.

But he doesn’t want to anyway.

Moxxie literally tells us how deep his impostor syndrome for love is, “he cant fathom the possibility of loving him but still crave it as well”.

We watch as his clown clothes becomes the usual clothes as he crawls up the stairs towards the prince, I see it as a way to communicate that Blitz doesn’t have the need to keep up this carefully made clown persona in front of the bird, he can just be himself.

The only one that deep down Blitz know he might be the only one to truly know him and accept for who he is.

But theres so many things at stake, how could he ever show this to this prince who is much better then him and deserve so much more then this fucked up little imp.

How could he show this to Stolas and get him dirty with the same sludge that dirties him. He just needs to enjoy while it lasts, because he makes himself believe that he is unlovable and eventually everyone will know how fucked up he is, so in the end people will always leave him.

So why not scare away them first, they will be much less hurt by it.

But he just can’t bring himself to do it with Stolas, the bird is just too important for him.

And maybe this is one of the things that shows us Blitz always cared too much, even if other would hate him and he will eventually be left alone, he would always do it with the well-being of others in mind.

Because he truly hates himself and think he is a monster to everyone and everything.

There’s so many things this episode shows us, how many thing hidden in the context that makes this in my opinion the best episode in the whole show, it lays the ground for future episodes, and they make it subtle as to not throw so many information all at once in our faces.

Season 1 Episode 7

This episode is kinda weird for me, but it actually develops the two so much. It makes Stolas and Blitz slowly realize what they feel to each other.

First things first im gonna talk about this episode on what it shows us, then im gonna talk a bit about my interpretation for it (i swear theres some fun stuff in it ((i dont think anyone have interpreted like i did)))

In this episode we watch Blitz and his obsession with M&M, i have not talked about until now because this plot line is the most prominent in this episode.

The reason why Blitz is so obsessed with them is because they represent all that Blitz would ever want in a relationship, they are the idolized version of love, the care and affection they give to each other is what the imp truly wants, but he is not allowed to it.

This comic relief joke actually show us how deeply the imp wants others but is so broken that he thinks the only way to get a glimpse of this pure love is by stalking them, he wants to feel it even if its not directed at him.

(maybe he even sees himself in Millie, both at one time in their life broken, but if Millie could find love why wouldn’t he?)

This is why he follows them to the restaurant, he just wants to experience this closeness with someone. But he can’t enter alone so he calls Stolas.

Which immediately think it is a date.

Let me remind you, the prince is a newly out of the closet guy, with no romantic experiences besides his tv dramas, going out with a guy that is his crush, it’s his first date with someone he truly loves so he goes with Blitz. Thinking someone finally wanted him for what he is.

There Blitz is only focused on M&M, a visual representation to his blindness from other people love to him.

The thing that i like to think about the most in this episode is how much of a discourse between love and lust it is, M&M being love and Stolitz lust, both in contrast between each other and their respective characters.

But more than that i see this particular episode, and song, this “fight” between Stolas, love, and Blitz, lust.

The song and their respective reactions to it gives us more proof about how they are truly feeling, first with Blitz giving us more context about his relationship with Verosika, she loved him but when it was his turn to love her he simply vanished, calling him selfish for only wanting her love and when he got it he dipped.

As I said earlier, Blitz can’t deal with the thought of someone loving him, this is why he just wants to live in lust, within lust he can have all the love he can get, even if its fake and only for a while, without worrying about his complicated trauma ridden feelings. He believes that if he is with someone just for the sex then eventually when they all leave, or when he makes the person life worst he can easily slip in that mask that it was just for sex and pretend long enough that he never actually cared.

Its a coping mechanism to not get hurt anymore.

Thats why the deal was wonderful to Blitz, it gave him the possibility to be loved without the need to care about the other person, since it was only fot one night every month. But Blitz wouldn’t take into consideration that the other person in this deal is Stolas.

One of the people he cares about the most, but im gonna talk about this later. The thing is lust and love clash against each other in this song.

And the same thing happens with Stolas.

Representing love, Stolas gets confronted about his decision to leave his daughter and wife for the imp. The song brings it in a light of lust but it was really just pure love.

He is a gay man trapped in a arranged abusive marriage, his wife even admitted to “having to do all the work while he just stared at the wall”, nobody important in his life knows about the domestic abuse he suffers, not even his daughter who is manipulated by her mother to go against her father.

Since he was a child he loved Blitz, as his first and only friend, and now he still loves Blitz but as the one who made Stolas realize who he really is.

Even if Blitz is emotionally detached, Stolas feels like he is the light in his life, giving him courage to divorce his abusive wife and finally opening him to new and exciting experiences about himself. Just like he did years ago when he was a child.

Blitz may not be directly involved with these changes but he was the one that Stolas felt he could rely on to change.

And thats the most beautiful thing in a relationship, to love is to be changed.

But in this song it’s brought up as a bad thing, it’s brought only as lust, Blitz sees this as a confirmation that Stolas only wants his body (just like everyone else) specially when he hides himself in the menu, ashamed to be seen with an imp.

Also Blitz seemed guilty because he thinks he made Stolas life worse, after all he had a wife and daughter which both are vanishing from his life. Blitz sees this as if he destroyed Stolas life simply by being beside him, he is a monster that makes everyone lives worse, why would it be different with the prince.

We watch time and time again reasons to why Blitz became this way, why he draws this line, why he is so distant with everyone he dates while still wanting their love, and the worst of all is that he had to deal with it since he was a kid, dealing with his mother’s death and his father abuse.

Stolas is embarrassed by this situation, how could we blame him, freshly out of the closet, someone that had his life dictated by his father and position and only now being able to make his own decisions, he probably never went to a date with someone he liked, if not for Blitz he probably wouldn’t even know he was gay.

He had been educated as a prince, someone higher than the pleb, even if he wasn’t someone so caught up in royalty and status it must still have some hold within him.

It was a natural reaction but it had already told Blitz enough.

The final nail on the coffin was the M&M song, it must have been torture for Blitz just after he “confirmed” all his fears, he sees something he idolizes so very dearly reminding him he will never have what they have. He is not worthy enough for love.

They leave, Stolas heartbroken by his failed date trying to pick their relationship up again tries to invite Blitz in, just to talk and maybe cuddle.

Blitz refuses, he got the confirmation that Stolas only wants him for his body, doesn’t want to be lied to again.

He just revived all his traumas, and the one person who could help him is now dead because of him.

He cries to sleep remembering his mother and his simple life as child, before he became this fucked up imp.

Season 1 episode 8

This episode is more of a comic relief and a deeper insight to Loona’s and Blitz’s relationship but still we see once again that Blitz doesn’t want to be alone, he doesn’t want to die alone, but he feels alone having fought with Stolas.

AND THIS IS IT FOR PART 1 (season 1)

IM GONNA POST MORE LATER BUT OMFG I SPEND 2 DAYS WRITING THIS AND REWATCHING THE EPISODES AAAAA

[jasontoddscrowbars]

Part 38 of is that French? 🐽🩹

(I spent forever on this one to not end up anywhere but with Damian’s pants down. It’s really bad haha)

Tim trudged into the bathroom. It was ten in the morning, there was far too much noise and commotion coming from in there, and he had a bag ready to throw over his boyfriend’s head to help him go back to sleep.

Just for a little bit. A few hours. Days. Weeks. He’d come back. He’s always talking about wanting to die again anyways.

As he shuffled past the threshold yawning with his heavy eyes closed, he raised the bag over his head and whipped it down creating a balloon. It caught and he felt that fight. Fell against his idiots back.

Tim: shh, shh. It’s ok. It’ll all be over soon. Then we can both go sweepy-

Jason: Tim?

Tim shot up. Kept his hands tight around whoever he’d caught as he stared at his husband who was sitting on their vanity’s counter. Jason had a face of horror.

Jason: we’re- were you going to suffocate me to sleep?

Tim, shrugging it off as he shook his head dismissively: huh, psh! No, of course not! I was sleep walking! …No? I was catching an intruder!

The person elbowed him. He grunted, released them and they whipped the bag off. He sneered at them then covered his mouth to hide the smirk as he realize he’d bagged Bruce.

Tim: I was practicing one of my new moves! What do you two think?

Jason narrowed his eyes on him. He was one hundred percent positive Tim had been trying to take him out but couldn’t prove it.

Jason: with a plastic bag?

Tim: yeah? Gothams riddled with them? It helps the recycling issue. Win-win.

Jason crossed his arms shaking his head.

Bruce:… I like it.

Jason tilted his head at Bruce in disbelief, his brows furrowed. Jason was generally the gullible one when it came to the family but when he was next to Bruce, he looked like a damn genius.

Jason: you do?

Bruce, rubbing his chin: I do. Using items we find on the street definitely it tactical.

Bruce tussled Tim’s hair as he began to leave. Tim blushed, his mouth forming this weird wiggling half smile half frown. Jason paused in confusion.

Bruce: very good Timmy. Always coming up with such good ideas. And not bad getting the better of me. Your skills are improving.

As he left and Tim lowered his head, Jason sighed. Why’d Tim have to be so cute when getting appraisal like that and worse, why’d it have to make Jason into a pervert and turn him on?

Tim: I was going to knock you out.

Jason: I know.

Tim: what were you two doing?

Jason: he’d taken all of my biore strips and bought me new ones.

Tim, sniffling: is that French?

Jason snorted as he reached out plucking Tim’s collar and dragging him in.

Jason: cmon, let’s give you a pampering.

Tim: I’m allergic to croissants.

Jason: no you’re not.

Bonus (if you are satisfied with the above don’t read because the below is pure crack)

Jason ran into Dicks room. It was a matter of seconds before he’d be caught up to. Dick, who was face timing Kon, waved his hands confused.

Dick: hello? I’m busy here.

Jason: busy being a bitch.

Dicks jaw dropped but he didn’t have time to respond as something small was tossed onto his bed. It was light, like paper, in fact it was paper, a corner torn off in a hurry. He heard a thud. His eyes lifted from it just in time to see Jason being dragged out the door, a shadow with glowing eyes dragging his legs.

Jason: make sure Damian gets to see it!

Eery silence pursued. Dick didn’t want to look. He didn’t want that fate. He stared down at that piece of paper on the corner of his bed. He didn’t want to look-

-

Dick: Damian!

Damian started, yanked his comforter up as Dick slammed his rooms door open.

Damian, blushing: knock!

Dick: there are no boundaries in this house Damian! If you want to do unholy things you’re better off in the Kent’s house! They might hear it but they’ll respect your privacy.

Damian: what the actual fuck! Get out!

Dick only neared further. Damian tucked into a ball. Dick tossed a small piece of paper on the bed. Damian clenched his jaw.

Damian: you did not come in here for this.

Dick: I did. I did break into your room catching you with your pants down for this. And Damian. It’s important. It’s so important. Give it to-

Dick fell to the floor with a thump. Damian didn’t even sit up as he heard nails scraping against the wood as he was being dragged out. He knew who had him and whatever the reason was he wanted no part of.

Except that piece of paper. Why was it so important?

Dammit.

Damian ducked down snatching it up. As he held it up he gave it a quick scan. It had three words. Tim was crying. Tim was crying? It sounded mean, but, Tim was crying? The man that made Clark Kent bawl over that hang in there cat poster because he told him the cat did, indeed, not hang in there? The man who sent Joker pissing in his pants because he’d taunted him playing Rebecca Blacks Friday on repeat for thirteen hours, that Tim?

Tim actually cried.

Bull.

What could possibly break a man like that? Who?

Fingers clasped around Damian’s ankles and in that moment he had one sole thought.

He really wished he’d pulled his pants up.

[sotangledupinit]

i’m obsessed your honor

[inbabylontheywept]

i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

we’ve all watched the scene of logan putting out the cigar on himself and it got me thinking about him with a reader whose mutation allows them to burn people. (he’s such a freak i need him).

-

he’s a squirming, whimpering mess underneath you. such a gorgeous sight, and one that only you get to witness - the big, bad wolverine turned into a moaning mess through the use of your power, completely at your mercy, his hands tied so he couldn’t fight you off even if he’d wanted to (not that he ever would).

you were anxious to try this. your power wasn’t one that could be used for good. it only ever caused pain, suffering, family and friends leaving you once it had manifested, spitting out words that felt like venom. you burn people when you touch them, like fire licking over their skin, making them cry and scream and beg for mercy. 

you have gloves of every colour of the rainbow, an array of different fabrics and patterns and textures, pairing them with your outfit every day. you hate touching people, hate hurting them.

but logan has a thing for pain. he’d admitted it to you, under the cover of a dark and cloudy sky, when you’d asked him how he could possibly stand to be with you when you’d never be able to touch him, never be able to kiss him without hurting him.

he’d begged you, actually begged you to touch him, to burn him, to hurt him.

for the first time ever you can touch someone without a layer of fabric in between. you can drag your fingers along his thighs and watch the red burn marks it leaves behind, watch the colour fade and the texture smooth over as his body heals itself. it’s like he was made for you, a perfect match, both with cracked and broken edges, but somehow you fit.

“fuckin’ touch me,” he spits, “c’mon.”

“i am touching you,” you reply, pressing your hand down onto his hairy chest. his skin is warm, slightly damp from a thin layer of sweat, alive and real. he cries out, but it’s not the sound you’re used to hearing when you touch people. it’s a whine, higher than you thought his voice could go, pain and pleasure mixing into something he hadn’t been able to describe to you in words.

“y’know what i mean,” he pants. you just smile, serene. you’re not teasing him on purpose, though you must admit it’s certainly entertaining to watch him fall apart, rather you’re taking the opportunity you thought you’d never get, exploring your lover's body with your touch, breathless at the feeling of skin against skin.

you finally grab his cock, feeling the thick, warm weight of it in your hand. you can feel the telltale buzzing under your skin, the sign that your powers are burning him, but he doesn’t try to pull away from you. rather, his hips jerk up, chasing more of the feeling. a bead of precum pearls at the tip, and you rub it down his shaft.

“you actually like this,” you muse, “you’re such a freak.”

the degrading comment only makes him groan, rutting his hips up to fuck into your fist. and he’s just so pretty, so lovely when he’s desperate, so as much as you want to play with him, spend hours making him beg, you don’t. because you need to see what he looks like when he’s falling apart.

you jerk him off slow, never letting the pressure relent. it’s a fight with your instincts, your mind telling you to let go before you hurt him, before he decides that he doesn’t actually like this, before he leaves like everyone else. but he heals as fast as you burn him, again and again.

you watch his face instead of your hand, focusing on the way his lips part with each sound he makes, the pleasure contorting his expression. he gets louder, warnings filling the space between you, and then his hips stutter, faltering, and you watch his eyes roll back as he cums, shooting thick ropes of white all over his own chest.

your eyes widen slightly at how quickly you’d made him cum, but he’s already hardening again in your hand, chasing the pleasure of his orgasm even as it fades.

“do it again,” he orders, though really he’s in no position to be making demands. still, you oblige, because it feels good to be able to hurt him and know he’ll always come back. you could definitely get used to this, and isn’t that a terrifying thought.

[lady-lauren]

❥ SATORU GOJO X FEM! READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2.1k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: incest (big brother/little sister), hatefucking, degradation, Satoru's hand smothering your mouth, some dub-con tones but really you both want this fucked up situation, semi-public sex (the door isn't closed and it really should be), creampie

Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Read those warnings again.

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

You’ve always eclipsed his light. A stain on his legacy, a re-shifting of the scales when you were born.

Always on his heels, nipping at his skin. 

Satoru wonders how many times the two of you have tangled like this—fury and jealousy, adults carrying the bitterness of spoiled children.

“Are you even trying?” 

You’re pinned beneath him, both of you wild and uncoordinated, driven more by emotion than immeasurable skills. 

“Fighting dirty isn’t fair, ‘Toru,” your tits are heaving as you try to catch your breath, hips squirming and bucking to keep mean fingers from playing with the one toy he was never allowed to have.

“Excuses, excuses,” he tuts, bicep flexing as he catches your wrist in an attempt to scratch his cheek, “you like when I play dirty, little whore.”

One step away from a tense family dinner had him cornering you in some tucked away office with your dress bunched around your hips on the floor.

Satoru thought fucking you would depredate you, make you take on the burden of his sins. Instead it’s only wrecked him further. Now he tastes you in the back of his cheeks whenever he looks in the mirror.

God he hates you. Because you make him sick, make him do sick, nasty things and you barely try to fight back. 

“It’s like you want to get fucked by your brother, hm?” he thinks aloud before pressing his mouth against yours. He cups your neck, pulls you closer, pays attention to how you grunt and tug at his shirt. Your nails catch buttons, scratch into skin. 

He shouldn’t kiss you here, where any roaming maid or distant cousin could catch a glimpse of what the Gojos do when no one is looking. 

But he’s at a point where he wants people to look, wants people to see just how fucked up you both are.

“Toru,” you hiss, “stop, get off—”

“Oh shut the fuck up. We don’t have time for the but ~Satoru~ we shouldn’t song and dance. You always let me have you, so be quiet and take it.” 

Still, you fight, like you always do. Your toned muscles push and shove, one leg nearly smashing air from his lungs. He catches your calf in time, insatiably mean fingers digging into your soft flesh and forcing your thighs apart. He can tell you bite back a whine of pain, too prideful to let him know when he hurts you.

“You cannot do this here in the fucking floor of—” 

“Really? Would you rather me take you to your old bedroom so you can cuddle your stuffies while big brother fucks you stupid? Hm? Is that what you want?” 

“What I want,” you try to pull his hair like a child, “is for you to find someone else to be obsessed with. What about Sugu? Oh, that’s right you—”

Just the sound of that name makes him want to rip you apart, smash you to such small pieces that he’ll never have to think of you again. Satoru clamps his hand over your babbling mouth, squeezing until his knuckles turn white and you actually whimper.

He’s going to fuck you into the floor, into oblivion, until all you can think about is him. It’s only fair. 

Satoru keeps the pressure on your mouth, forcing his free hand between your spread thighs so he can shove two long fingers into your cunt. Your panties are soaked around the edges of his knuckles, pussy drooling and squishy as he thrusts and scissors in the way he knows will make your eyes roll. 

“You sure are wet for someone who doesn’t want this.” 

He knows you do. You don’t have to tell him—you probably never will say the exact words aloud. He won’t either. 

You roll your hips back as he fingers you, the dress around your hips falling open like wilting petals against your skin. 

The palm of his hand eats your moans, still small and breathy, desperate to feel more than just the squelching spread of his fingers. 

He wants to punish you, wants to bruise your pussy with his knuckles and make you scream. But he doesn’t have that kind of patience. His cock is smothered in his pants, straining and thumping against the floor. Pre is already leaking into threads; he feels another drop bead against his cockhead as your cunt squeezes when he curls his fingers into a spongy spot that makes you buck.

It’s so wrong and fucked up that he knows that soft spot within you, knows that if he rubs it a few more times it might actually make you cum in his hand.

“God, is your slutty cunt this messy for other guys? Such a fucking pain in the ass—you’re gonna stain the rug.”

Only he loves how easy access your slick makes you. Just a few movements—glossy hand down his pants, shoving the waistband down over his ass, plugging his tip into your hole—and he can thrust his cock all the way to the back of your pussy. 

You manage to bite into the side of his palm, canines pressing into sinew as you weep for him.

Fuck you feel so good, too good, tight and full with the most familiar, decadent squeeze around his thick shaft.

“Pull your tits out,” white lashes flutter as he pushes in, out, “lemme see ‘em.” 

Like always, your fight is gone the moment he’s buried in your cunt. Your hands scramble to obey him, nearly ripping the delicate straps of your dress so you can pull it down, breasts falling on display. Satoru keeps his eyes on the bouncing fat, biting his tongue when your nipples harden into the most delicious looking buds.

You muffle a cry at a particular cruel thrust, legs starting to burn and shake from the weight of his hips between them. Your lips are swelling behind his hand, sloppy with drool. 

Satoru shifts back, getting on his knees so he can curl your leg against your bare chest and worm his way to the very depths of your pussy. The sound is lewd, all wet and gushing, each push of skin on skin making him prickle.

His keen senses perk—footsteps in the hallway, voices through the wall. Dinner guests shuffling about in the absence of the prodigal siblings. 

Your eyes flash toward the cracked door, yet the little ah, ah, ah~ behind his palm won’t quit.

“Yeah? You want someone to find us? Want them to see how your big brother pounds into your guts because he can? Because you’re a little fucking slut who lets me?”

The annoyance that flares to life as your gaze returns to him has his balls tightening. You hate that he gets the best of you. This is the one way he can, by making you weak and wet and willing for his cock.

Satoru presses his hand to your belly, presses in deep and hard until the heel of his hand meets the outline of his dick. 

“Feel that? Feel how fucking full you are with my cock?” 

He uses strength he couldn’t on anyone else, barreling his hips until you’re moving back on the floor, rug scrunching beneath your bodies as he pounds into you so recklessly. 

You whine, actively try to bite his hand, to suck his skin, to hurt him. 

“Oh please, you can take it. You’re a Gojo.”

That reminder makes you both groan, your cunt sucking as his cock swells. 

He wonders for a split moment what really draws you together. Lust? Failed parenting? Some mutual sense of rebellion? All of it, probably, and some other sick, twisted shit laced in between. 

Your little fingers start prying at his over your mouth, clawing and plucking his knuckles. 

He shows a little mercy and releases his hold on you, only to clamp both hands down on your hips so he can fix your pace and build a faster rhythm. 

You suck in a deep breath, “Kiss me.” 

A pale brow quirks at your request, smirk tugging at his cheek. 

“Really? And why should I? Thought you didn’t like me.” 

“Oh my, ah, god, Toru, I ask for one nice thing. Just,” you reach for him, gripping onto his flexing biceps and pulling him down, “just do it, for me.”

He was always going to oblige you. He hates admitting it, but he’d kiss you all the time, if you’d let him. 

Satoru’s lips meet yours with a bruising fervor. 

Your hand tugs in his snowy hair, drags him closer. Your mouth moves against his, eyes closed, suddenly greedy and hungry; for what, neither of you really know. All he does know is that you still taste the same, like home, and he wants your breath in his lungs.

He is a snake, wrapping around you, suffocating, crushing until you can’t breathe anything but the poison he spits.

Your mouth slants for him, a hum resounding from both your throats as your stomach starts to get tight, tell-tell pulls and sucks like you’re begging him to keep stroking the flames.

“You’re so spoiled, aren’t you,” he groans into your mouth, lips messy with spit, “you gonna cum just from my cock? Do I fuck you that good?”

“God, sh-shove that fat cock deep and cum inside me—”

Your demand makes his blood run hot. 

Satoru throws his head back and laughs, maniacal and oh so satisfied. “You’re spoiled fucking rotten. That’s what mommy and daddy did to you, spoiled you so fucking much you think you deserve everything. Even me.”

Because you started this, didn’t you? When you got old enough to be so fucking tempting in your twenties, started flirting with his friends and batting your pretty eyes at all the higher-ups. When you got strong enough to match him, to take up space in his light.

“Fuck you,” you purr like you’re trying to mean it, like you’re trying to deny him. “Hate you so fucking, ah, god–shit—” he’s got your clit pinched between his fingers now, pressing until he knows it hurts, “make me cum and let me go.”

White hair spreads into the sweat of your skin as he buries his face in your neck. He’s so close to losing it, to being done with this.

“I’ll do one of those things. Let you figure out which one.”

Satoru grinds his cock into your gummy walls, cock strangled in your suction. His pelvis is rolling against your clit, coarse curls making your legs twitch. 

The moment he gets his thumb over your clit, it’s like dropping a match into gasoline. You both burn so hot, melting into one another as he explodes and you convulse. No matter how many times he feels you cum, hears you whisper his name and choke on the three little words you never say, he will never get used to it. 

So familiar and foreign and fucked up, the kind of drug that scratches at his brain and begs from more. 

He empties his balls into you, creaming into a cunt he should never touch let alone fill to the brim. 

You’ve never told him he can’t, that he shouldn’t. You both know it’s abhorrent, disgusting, but maybe that’s why you keep letting him do it. 

He’ll still watch you take your morning pill, though, just to make sure.

Your bodies lie panting in a forgotten corner of the home you both hate, the scent of sex rolling in the air like smoke.

“Get off me and go.” 

Shame is wavering in your voice, it always does. He can understand why you feel it—he does too, he just morphs it into some kind of wicked hatred so he can still sleep at night. 

“One last ~kiss~?” He mocks your voice and revels in how you claw your way out from under him, trying to pull yourself back together and catch the cum dribbling down your thigh. 

“Fuck you. Fuck this. It won’t happen again.” 

And it shouldn’t. But it does. It always happens again. 

Because he wants to hurt you, shame you, make you feel weak in his arms when you shatter and cum. Because he hates how much he loves you. So he wants to crush you, wrap around you like a viper and pop you out of existence. 

His life would be so much easier if he didn’t have a spoiled brat of a sister. 

You make him want to eat his fist when you swipe his cum from between your legs and put your fingers in your mouth, smiling because you know he’ll return to dinner with a tent in his pants. 

You live to torture him, he’s sure of it. 

[kingkaisen]

“LET’S HAVE ANOTHER BABY.”

♡ — SUMMARY: After getting adopted by you & Satoru, Yuji & Megumi are both adjusting to their new lives differently. Meanwhile, you & Satoru decide to have another baby.

♡ — CONTENT: 18+ ONLY // MINORS DNI — smut (penetration, unprotected sex, finishing inside, oral fem receiving), fem reader, fluff, slight angst (megumi and yuji aren’t used to feeling loved, megumi worries a lot). you & Satoru have a biological daughter.

♡ — WC: 5K

♡ — A/N: this is part 4 to my dad!gojo series. I’d really recommend reading the previous part, but it isn’t necessary.

“ . . . and my brother’s room is next to mine, and my sister’s room is down the hall! Mom and Dad’s room is upstairs too. Do you have any of those? A mom and dad? I have both now!”

Standing in line at a family-owned restaurant known as Happy Crepes — where the employees, young and old, happily made sweet or savory crepes in front of you, and everything was decorated in a soft yellow color, too — Yuji Itadori grinned, placing the clear straw belonging to his cup of soda in between his teeth.

As he stood there, chatting with the twenty-something-year-old employee behind the counter who took a scoop of crepe batter and spread it in a circular motion on the pan, his curious eyes watched the crepe start to form.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” the employee paused, “but most teenagers are sick of their parents and siblings. Why are you so . . . Ya know . . .”

“Why do I keep talking about them?” Yuji tilted his head a bit, raising his eyebrows, one hand in his pocket as the other one held on to his cup.

“Yeah.”

“Oh!” With a bright smile, Yuji said, “Well, they adopted me!”

“Oh, really?” This time, the man raised his eyebrows, but in surprise. He stepped to the right, grabbing the handle of a large spoon sitting inside of the bowl of chopped strawberries, and he gave it a little stir. “Congratulations, dude. I heard it’s rare for teenagers to get adopted.”

“Thanks,” Yuji’s smile never faltered. “The crepes are for my mom and dad, actually. They do a lot for me, so I try to do what I can for them, ya know? I wasn’t alone for my entire life, I had my grandpa until he passed away, but . . . having a mom? It’s the greatest thing ever. Kinda weird having someone wait for you to come home, or worry about whether or not your clothes are warm enough. The other day — when it was really cold for some reason — we all went to a baseball game, and she got upset with me for not remembering to bring a jacket.”

“And you were happy about that? Your mom being mad at you?” The employee flipped the crepe.

“Yeah, I was. She was only upset with me because she cared about me. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have minded if I froze my butt off. Anyway, she got me a hotdog afterward.”

As the employee prepared two crepes with chocolate syrup, chopped strawberries, and whipped cream, he listened to the younger boy continue to ramble on and on about his family.

It was fascinating, truly.

Most teenagers his age wouldn’t have thought twice about their parents buying them concession stand food or would have been annoyed if their mothers fussed about them forgetting to bring a jacket. But Yuji cherished every single memory.

Yuji grabbed the paper bag with crepes inside, paid for the sweet treats, and made his way out of the glass door as he said to the employee, “I’ll see you later! Thanks!”

—

MEANWHILE . . .

“Satoru,” with a small grin, you grabbed a little black dress off of the rack, pressing it against your body as you turned to face your husband. “What do you think? Should I get this?”

Gojo smirked, his blue eyes scanning the dress from behind his sunglasses.

“I think it looks great,” leaning down, he pressed a kiss against your cheek, and when he pulled away, he whispered in your ear, “Buy whatever you want. I’m just happy I’ll get to take it off of you later.”

“Hush!” You couldn’t fight off the grin that decorated your beautiful face. “We’re in public, have some decorum. It’s a very nice store, and I’d hate to get kicked out because of your dirty mouth.”

“Really?” He pressed a gentle kiss against your ear. “Quicker we get kicked out, quicker we can go home, and I can finally-”

“Mommy?” your biological daughter, Maya, suddenly appeared at your side and tugged on your clothes, looking up at you with eyes glistening with worry and concern. “I’m hungry.”

“We will get some lunch as soon as Yuji comes back, okay, honey? Let’s go check out so we’ll be ready.” Pulling away from your lovingly frustrating husband, you smile down at your little girl as you spoke. Then, you tossed the black dress in your cart, which was packed with clothes for your entire family.

It was a rather beautiful Saturday and the perfect day to go shopping with everyone.

While walking along the plaza, packed with amazing stores and restaurants, Yuji broke away from you all momentarily as he eagerly wanted to go into Happy Crepes.

Meanwhile, the rest of you made your way around the high-priced clothing store.

Making your way toward the checkout area, you glanced around, frowning a bit as you said, “Where’s Megumi?”

“Meg-mi’s over there,” your daughter pointed at the quiet teenager behind you — a short distance away — who lingered around, holding two outfits and a pair of shoes in his arms.

She ran up to him, grabbed ahold of his clothes — one habit your little girl hadn’t been able to break yet, grabbing at people’s clothes and whatnot — and she pulled him along until they both caught up with you and Satoru.

“Are you alright?” You questioned Megumi, taking the clothes he picked out and putting them into your cart. “What’s wrong? Are you hungry too? We’re about to have lunch.”

“It’s not that,” Megumi mumbled. “I’m fine.”

You shared a look with Satoru. It was obvious Megumi was lying.

Being that your biological daughter was still young, you didn’t start reading the “Raising a Teenager” book series until you adopted Megumi and Yuji, and needed to learn as much as you could as soon as possible.

And — according to Chapter 6 — teenagers would often lie to hide their feelings from their parents out of embarrassment, shyness, or simply because they think their parents don’t understand them.

And for an adopted teenager, one who had their fair share of trauma as well, it was all the more true.

“Are you sure?” You asked once again, giving him a look of caring concern.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Hey,” Satoru looked over at you as he suddenly spoke up. “Why don’t you go ahead and check out? I wanna have a little chat with Megumi.”

“Alright,” a wave of relief washed over you, and you looked down at your little girl. “Come on, honey.”

After all, Satoru was more than just a new parent. He had been Megumi’s teacher for a decade as well, and if anyone could figure out what was wrong, it was him.

Satoru looked down at the grumpy teenager.

“Let me guess,” he paused. “You didn’t wanna buy any new clothes, did you?”

“It just feels weird.” Megumi’s response — which came out rushed and in a brutally honest tone, caught Satoru by surprise a bit. He didn’t expect him to open up so quickly, much less while standing in the middle of a store.

“How?”

“She asked me to pick out some clothes, but I didn’t know if I was getting too much, or not enough. I also didn’t know if I was supposed to ask if what I picked was okay or not, or if I was just supposed to put it in the cart.”

“Oh, I see,” Satoru said. “You’re used to buying your own clothes, and not thinking much about it.”

“Yeah,” Megumi looked down at his shoes. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but it’s just odd for me. I’ll get used to it, though.”

As the dark-haired boy spoke, Satoru realized something — an unspoken truth that Megumi had revealed with his words.

“I’m grateful . . . I’ll get used to it . . .”

Those little phrases were shoved in as Megumi spoke about his feelings, almost as if he didn’t want to offend Satoru, but the older man knew that it was something deeper than that.

“Megumi,” Satoru lowered his voice a bit, pausing as his student and son looked up at him. “We’re not going to change our minds about wanting you to be a part of this family just because you’re not adjusting as fast as Yuji.”

Megumi was silent. Shocked.

“I know it’s a lot,” Satoru smiled softly. “Family dinners, movie nights, chores, constant hugging . . . and I went from being your teacher to being your dad. I get it, kid. But you don’t have to call us mom and dad anytime soon, alright? And it’s okay if it takes you a while to settle in. Just know that we care about you.”

As Megumi gave a small nod, the white-haired man reached over and ruffled his hair. And, like clockwork, Megumi told him to cut it out while fighting off a smile.

Truth be told, Megumi wasn’t completely unfamiliar with being loved and cared for by you and Gojo.

After all, he had known both of you for years, long before you officially adopted him, and while it wasn’t as constant as it was now, he always received some form of affection from you both — be it clothes, a warm meal every now and then, or a place to stay when being on campus wasn’t preferred.

But officially being your son now meant that he had a family, and the amount of affection and caring acts he received had doubled. Tripled, even.

He loved it, truly. Despite everything that he had been through, he was still a kid, and he naturally dreamed of having a loving family. He was no different than Yuji when it came to that.

But he was also scared. Terrified. He’d lie awake at night in his new bed in his new bedroom, unable to close his eyes and rest.

What if you changed your mind about wanting him? He wasn’t as hyper and affectionate as Yuji, and you only decided to adopt Megumi — despite having known him for years — once Yuji appeared in your life fairly recently.

Perhaps, you only adopted Megumi as well simply so he wouldn’t feel left out. That would make sense, right? Why else would you want to call a grumpy, overly independent teenager your son?

He’d always try to shake off those negative thoughts. Part of him knew that you and Gojo truly cared for him. Part of him knew that — despite what his anxiety led him to believe — he could rest comfortably in his new bed, because it belonged to him, and you would never take it from him.

But he was scared of something else, too.

Being loved.

He truly didn’t grasp the concept of it — it, being love — until he came home one day, later than planned, and found that you were wide awake in the middle of the night, waiting for him, worry written all over your face.

It was the same look from that one night when you all went to the baseball game, and you realized that Yuji didn’t have a jacket.

What frightened him about being loved was the fact that if something happened to you or anyone else in his new family, it would break his heart. He had already lost enough.

What if you died? Or, what if he died? Then your heart would be broken. You’d grieve the loss of your son.

In his eyes, love meant loss. Especially with a family of sorcerers.

So, now, he had a goal: to always protect his family, and try not to die doing it.

—

An hour had passed.

Yuji had returned with crepes for you and Satoru, which you decided to save for dessert, despite your sugar-loving husband’s complaints.

The restaurant was an unfamiliar setting, quite different from the typical cheap cafes Yuji and Megumi were used to going to by themselves.

Even so, it was undoubtedly a family restaurant despite the high-end nature of it.

The family of five took their seats around the table and opened their menus — most of them, at least, as Maya opened her coloring book instead.

When Megumi’s eyes scanned the high-priced items listed on the beige, foldable, laminated menu with a black leather binding, he immediately started to search for the cheapest item he could find.

“What are you gonna get, muffin?” Satoru gently pinched his daughter’s cheek, making the adorable girl giggle.

“Everything!” She kicked her feet in excitement.

“Really?” With a grin, Yuji said to his younger sister from across the table, “You think you can eat everything off of the menu?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Alright, alright,” you sighed happily. “We can worry about eating everything off of the menu later. What does everyone want to order?”

“Uh,” Yuji looked at the menu once again. He loved to eat everything. “I need another minute here.”

“Okay,” you darted your eyes over to Megumi. “What about you, Megumi?”

“I’ll get a plain bowl of ramen. I’ll just drink water too.”

“Plain?” A worried frown appeared across your face. “Are you sure? You don’t want any toppings? And the water is complimentary, so you can get something else to drink.”

“Are you sick?” Yuji questioned, tilting his head a bit, as he noticed that the other boy seemed more quiet than usual today.

“No, I’m fine,” Megumi responded plainly.

Suddenly, Maya started to push her coloring book and crayons toward Megumi, whom she insisted on sitting next to. He was the coolest person ever at the moment. Cooler than Barbie.

“It’s okay, I don’t need to color,” Megumi said to the young girl. “I’m feeling okay, I promise.”

Satoru tapped your thigh. When you looked over at him, he leaned in, whispering, “We need to talk.”

You nodded. Together, you both left the table and stepped outside after telling your children that you would both be right back.

“You know what he’s doing, right?” Satoru asked, putting his hands in his pocket.

“Yeah. He’s ordering the cheapest item so we don’t spend that much money on him,” you looked up at Satoru with a frown. “What should we do? Should we just order for him? If we tell him he can get whatever he wants, he’ll just lie and insist that he actually wants a plain bowl of noodles. And I know he’d really like the ginger chicken stir-fry thing. I just wish he knew how much we cared about him.”

“He knows we care, sweetheart. That isn’t the problem. He’s just not used to being spoiled like this, and he doesn’t want us to feel like we have to do things for him. We just need to give him some time, okay? Being adopted is a lot to take in. Come here.” Satoru pulled you closer and kissed your forehead. “We’ll figure it out. He knows we love him, and that’s the most important thing.”

“Okay,” you mumbled with a small pout. “Well, what are you gonna order? A steak? We could both get different things and just take stuff off of each other’s plate.”

“What I want isn’t on the menu,” Satoru smirked humorously, his hands around your waist, threatening to travel lower down your body. He truly didn’t care about being in public.

“You’re acting wild today,” you said in a warning, yet playful tone, wrapping your arms around your husband, despite your words. “What’s gotten into you?”

“The fact that I haven’t gotten into you in a while, that’s what,” Satoru grinned as he whispered his dirty words into your ear. “I was just thinking about how much I dislike odd numbers. I mean, three kids? A family of five?”

“What’s your point?” You said. “And make it quick. I’m starving.”

“Well, aside from the fact that I haven’t had the chance to fuck you in ages,” Satoru pulled away from you, looking into your eyes as he spoke. “I think we should have another baby.”

The look of surprise that appeared across your face was absolutely precious, and when it melted into a heartwarming smile, Satoru’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of it.

God, he just loved you so much.

Suddenly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him.

“Your timing is shitty — I mean, we’re standing outside of a restaurant wondering why our adopted teenage son wants to order a struggle meal, but I agree with you. I wanna have another baby too.”

Satoru kissed you quickly and softly — any longer, and he’d have to take you home immediately and get started on that baby-making process.

You both walked back into the restaurant and found that your daughter had given Megumi and Yuji a page of her coloring book and a few crayons, making her older brothers color with her. They couldn’t say no, of course. The little girl had them wrapped around her finger.

“Can someone pass me a red?” Yuji scratched his head as he looked at his plain, uncolored princess. “I can’t make her wear an orange dress.”

“I’ll switch with you,” Megumi offered, staring at his half-colored tiger. “Red for an orange?”

“Yeah.”

The two teenagers swapped crayons as you and Satoru returned to your seats.

“Everything alright?” Yuji blinked up at you.

“Yeah, we were just discussing something, don’t worry,” you smiled softly. “Did you figure out what you want?”

“Yeah! Wait, no. Come back to me.”

“Alright,” with a soft laugh, you glanced at Megumi and said, “And for you, Megumi, I was actually thinking that you might enjoy the ginger chicken stir-fry. I think a plain bowl of noodles wouldn’t be a good option.”

As you spoke, Satoru reached across Maya and discreetly grabbed the menu lying next to Megumi, preventing the boy from grabbing it and checking the price. To avoid drawing any suspicion, he grabbed everyone else’s menus as well — aside from Yuji’s, who still couldn’t decide what he wanted. Everything sounded so delicious.

“That’s fine with me,” Megumi agreed.

Your plan had worked.

Making it seem like it was entirely your idea, rather than something Megumi would have wanted, had paid off.

Later on, as the waiter sat a steaming plate of sauteed chicken, a variety of vegetables, and a side of rice down in front of him, he had to fight off the urge to smile.

And while he wouldn’t admit it, he was beyond happy.

—

Once Saturday night rolled around, the dark sky glistening with visible stars to compliment the perfect weather — not too hot, not too cold — Megumi and Yuji decided to hang out with their friends from school, while Maya spent the night at her aunt’s house, undoubtedly playing with her cousins.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you and Satoru were home alone.

Snuggled up together on the couch in your living room, Titanic was displayed on your T.V., and you and Satoru were underneath a big blanket.

His arm was resting around your shoulders, and a big bowl of untouched popcorn was leaning against his leg — dangerously close to falling over — as you and Satoru were too busy eating the crepes that Yuji had bought you both earlier during the day.

Or, at least, Satoru was too busy eating the crepes.

You were too busy staring at your phone.

With a sigh, Satoru grabbed the remote, pausing the depressing movie.

“We should watch Titanic,” Satoru said in a teasing, mocking tone as he imitated you, repeating your words from the conversation you both had earlier. “We haven’t seen it, and all of our friends have seen it.”

“I’m sorry,” You smiled sadly, “I’m about to put my phone down. Yuji just texted and said they were all going to the movies and then have a sleepover on campus, so I just . . .”

“They’re fine,” Satoru gently grabbed your phone, pressed the power button, and placed it on the coffee table in front of him. “They fight curses, you know. They can take care of themselves. Trust me.”

“Yeah, but this is also only Maya’s second time spending the night away from us, so I need to keep my phone with me.”

“You need to relax, baby. You’re so stressed out,” Satoru moved the popcorn bucket and put it on the floor, and he pulled you in closer. “You shouldn’t worry about things unless you have a reason to worry. Your phone’s still on, okay? So if it goes off, you can answer it, but until then, try to relax.”

“You’re right,” you said. “Alright, I’m ready. You can press play.”

“No, I don’t want to,” Satoru looked down at you with a playful frown. “This movie’s depressing and we already know what happens. The ship sinks.”

“You’re such an idiot,” changing your position just a bit, you rested your head in his lap and turned over onto your back to look up at his handsome face. “What do you wanna watch, then? There’s that new superhero movie, or we can watch one of the shows we’ve been meaning to catch up on.”

“We can watch something later,” Satoru sighed. “Right now, I just wanna fuck my wife.”

Suddenly, your husband scooped his hand underneath your head, and he lifted your head. Then, leaning over a bit, he connected his lips with yours.

It wasn’t a soft or gentle public-friendly kiss, either.

It was slow, deep, and passionate — his tongue instantly swirled around yours in a way that made you both moan into each other’s mouths.

When Satoru pulled away, a string of spit falling from his lips, he leaned in once again. He couldn’t help it — he missed being absolutely filthy with his wife.

Satoru alternated between kissing you as deeply as he could and sucking on your little tongue. As he did so, that large hand of his started to mess with the button of your pants.

Without interrupting the kiss — at this point, he would rather die than pull away — Satoru unbuttoned your pants, and placed his hand over your clothed cunt. Slowly, he rubbed your clit through the fabric of your panties, falling in love with your little moans.

Much to his dismay, and yours, Satoru ended the kiss. While he could have tasted your mouth and tongue forever and never get sick of it, not once needing to take a second to breathe, he was desperate to finally have you underneath him and he couldn’t wait any longer.

“I let you spend a ton of money because seeing you buy whatever you want makes my day. You know that, right?”

You nodded happily, thinking about the new and expensive outfits, shoes, and accessories that you purchased earlier.

“Well, I think it’s only fair that, in exchange, you let me fuck you all night long.” As Satoru spoke, he could feel your panties dampen a bit against his fingers, and he grinned. “Seems like you like the sound of that too, huh?”

“Let’s go to our room,” you said breathlessly, as his circulating fingers were driving you crazy, even through the cloth of your underwear.

But your wish was Gojo’s command.

Soon enough, Satoru was tossing you on the enormous bed, and taking off your clothes as quickly as his hands would allow him to.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Satoru said, his body hovering over yours.

Your faces were only inches away from each other, his gorgeous pale skin and blue eyes illuminated by the moonlight peeking in through the curtains of your big bedroom window.

He kissed your cheek.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered against your skin, warm breath patting against your face.

“What do you mean?” Looking up at him, you frowned a bit. “We’re always together aside from your work trips.”

“I mean that I miss being alone with you like this,” Satoru kissed your lips softly. “Making love with your husband hasn’t been on your to-do list in a long time. Don’t get me wrong, I know you’re busy keeping this family happy and healthy, and I love you for that, but I’ve missed having you under me like this. I’ve missed your body . . . you’re so goddamn beautiful, did you know that?”

“Yeah, you tell me every day.” you gave him a soft smile, one that held a hint of playfulness behind it, but admiration as well. “Are we going to keep wasting time talking or are you going to fuck me?”

You raised your knee in between Satoru’s legs, pressing it against the hard, clothed bulge belonging to the gorgeous man above you, and he groaned.

“Careful, Mrs. Gojo.”

With a smile of his own, Satoru leaned in and kissed your cheek. Then, he kissed your jaw and started making a trail of soft kisses across your beautiful skin. Your neck. Your collarbone. Your chest. Your stomach.

Nearly every part of your being was touched by his lips as he treasured the feeling of you — his perfect wife, a little detail he couldn’t seem to get over even years later; you were actually his wife — and he didn’t pause his kisses until his head was in between your soft thighs.

And only after he left kisses on them as well, of course.

Satoru pressed his buttery lips against your wet folds, kissing your pussy lips and treating himself to the scent of you before the taste.

But, your sweet smell nearly drove him crazy, and he couldn’t wait any longer. His tongue touched your clit. A pretty moan fell from between your lips, whereas a muffled one came from him, as he enjoyed licking your clit just as much as you cherished the feeling of his tongue against your button.

While he wanted to tease you, he couldn’t.

That tongue of his ran circles around your clit before darting down to your aching hole and pushing in a bit, and his moans only intensified the delicious warmth you felt swirling around in the pit of your stomach.

He wrapped his arm around your thigh, both to stop your squirming and use his fingers to hold your pussy lips open and give him better access to your clit.

“I want you to cum in my mouth, do you hear me?” His breath patted against your cunt as he spoke.

And when you nodded — speaking was just as difficult as staying still — Satoru reconnected his mouth to your clit.

As he stared at you, he rapidly licked at your button with his tongue, and — god, the way you moaned, squirmed, and gripped the thick sheets was a beautiful, unholy sight.

“Satoru,” you called out like a prayer.

“Cum in my mouth,” he ordered once again. “Be a good wife and cum in my mouth right now.”

With the hand that wasn’t holding your pussy lips open, Satoru palmed at his clothed cock. The bulge was becoming impossibly hard with every pretty moan that fell from your lips, and while he was certain he’d cum in his pants if you came in his mouth, he would have to stay strong.

He wanted to pour every bit of cum his body could produce inside of your body, not smear it on the inside of his underwear.

Finally, your sweet juices started to flood his mouth once he attached his lips to your clit, sucking it into his mouth. That was what made the pleasure slowly brewing inside of you overwhelm your senses, so much so that you couldn’t even properly warn your beloved that you were close to cumming all over his lips and tongue.

But he was ready.

He wouldn’t dare miss a single drop. He licked up every bit of it like a starving man and savored the taste of you — a flavor he so desperately missed. Jerking his cock in the shower while daydreaming about eating your cunt just wasn’t enough.

“Tastes so good,” he moaned breathlessly, pulling away from your pussy, although it pained him to do so. He could spend his entire life in between your legs and never complain.

Satoru sat up on the edge of the bed. First, he removed his shirt, exposing his perfect physique. Then, he slowly took off his belt, the click-clanks of the belt’s leather and buckle made you start squirming yet again.

“Hurry up,” you frowned.

“You’re so impatient,” Satoru pulled off his pants and underwear. “I’ve had to wait weeks for this, but you wanna rush me now?”

Satoru leaned over, kissing your pouty lips.

“I wanna be a little rougher with you tonight. Is that okay?”

“Yes, just hurry. Stop teasing me.”

A cocky smile appeared upon Satoru’s face, which hovered above yours.

“Just make sure you’re nice and loud for me, or I won’t let you cum. I wanna get sick of hearing my own name, do you understand me?”

Before an obedient response was given, Satoru started to slowly thrust into you.

Very few pleasurable experiences in life could compare to that of being inside of your warm pussy.

Your walls clenched around his cock, pulling him in as he sunk his big cock in deeper and deeper until he was fully inside of you.

He could barely stand it — the feeling you gave him. He leaned down further, his lips against your ear, and slowly, he started to move.

He fucked you calmly at first, treating you like a fragile piece of glass as he thrusted in and out of your hole.

But that didn’t last very long. He couldn’t help it.

Tucking his arm underneath your knee, Satoru raised your leg to fuck you as deeply as he could, and he picked up his pace, finding a nice rhythm that forced moans to fall out of his throat and pour into your ear.

“Fuck, baby, I could cum right now,” he moaned yet again. “You feel so good, I don’t think I can hold it for long.”

“Satoru,” you called out. Your nails started to dig into his back. Any red scratches that would appear across his skin in the morning would be his fault, as he was the one who started to fuck you faster and faster, drilling you into the mattress until you had no choice but to hold on to something — anything.

“Fuck, Satoru, oh my god-”

He bucked his hips wildly as you shouted his name. Filthy words were whispered into your ear, all of which were cut off by uncontrollable moans erupting from him. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum right inside of you, baby. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You want me to fill you up, right?”

“Y-Yes, please,” a pathetic moan followed your words.

“Then take it for me. Take my cock,” he ran his tongue across your ear.

Once your second orgasm started to approach, you were in too much of a daze to warn him properly.

After all, that big dick of his slammed in and out of you, fucking away every thought that wasn’t about him fucking you, driving away every emotion that wasn’t pure and utter pleasure, and taking away the ability to say anything other than shouts of his name.

Luckily, Satoru’s wealth had purchased a home where neighbors weren’t too close by. If they were, then they would surely complain about the noise.

The feeling of your cum gushing over Satoru’s cock is what pushed him over the edge. He moved away from your ear, taking in the pretty sight of your face as you came yet again.

“Satoru-” your moans were interrupted by him pressing his lips against yours, kissing you as deeply as he could. The pleasure of your pussy milking his cock and covering him in your juices started to overwhelm him as well.

Beads of sweat appeared across his forehead.

His rhythm grew sloppy, his quick pace making the mattress squeak.

Then, there it was. That sweet feeling.

As warm pleasure started to swirl around in his gut, he swirled his tongue around yours.

Satoru pulled away from the kiss, and warned, “I’m cumming. I’m cumming, baby, take it. Take all of it, baby — shit, I’m-”

He moaned loudly as he shut his eyes in pure bliss. And when he came, he continued to thrust, wanting to fuck every last drop of his semen inside of you, and keep it there.

Moving one of his hands in between you, he pressed it against your stomach, which only intensified both the feeling of his cock inside of you, and his cum filling up your insides.

“You feel that? Feel me stuffing you?” He questioned as he tried to catch his breath. Then, he pulled out of your messy hole. “Get some rest, because we’re gonna do it again. I gotta make sure you take every last drop of my cum if we’re gonna have another baby.”

“How long of a break?” You started to sit up, but truth be told, you didn’t want to move at all. You just wanted your husband’s cock back inside of you. “Thirty seconds?”

Satoru laughed a bit, and he reached forward, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Then, he ran his thumb over your lips. “You’re still so impatient, hm? I told you that I’m gonna fuck you all night long, and I meant it.”

Satoru kissed you once again.

Soon after, he switched positions with you, laying his back against the bed as you straddled him, his hands on your hips as he guided you toward his awaiting cock.

That very next day, a beautiful Sunday which typically served as a chore day for the entire family, your children couldn’t help but notice that you and Satoru were incredibly tired and rather insistent upon washing your bedroom sheets yourselves.

♡ — thanks for reading!

♡ — Next Part.

[rafesproperty]

Rafe Cameron x Reader GF <3

Rafe with a girlfriend that loves to read. He doesn’t get it. Really. But he’d do anything to make his girl happy. ❤️‍🩹

Just Rafe being disgustingly sweet and spoiling reader…

I wanna make a part 2 where he finds out about annotating cuz that scenario is just hillarious to me 😭 lmk if you want it!

» masterlist

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“Hey, baby,” Rafe mumbled as he walked into the kitchen, it was early in the morning and his voice was still rough, his hair messy and his eyes barely open as he reached for your coffee and took a sip. You were staying at Tannyhill for a while because his dad was on some family trip with Sarah and Rose.

You chuckled and reached for your coffee, snatching it from his hand. “Morning.”

He started to make coffee for himself as well, you’d normally admire his back in the white shirt he was wearing, but you were almost finished with your book so you kept reading, eyes glued to the page. Rafe noticed and looked over his shoulder at you. “Wheezie’s still sleeping?” His eyes trailed down to the table, one singular book laying there but a bunch of mini colorful papers and pens laying around it. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed there was no notebook tho. Weird.

“Mhm,” you gave a quick nod, clearly more focused on the text in your book than on him. “Made you some waffles.” You added and kept reading the page quickly. Suddenly you let out a gasp.

“What?” Rafe quickly turned around, his flight fight or fight mode on immediately. Then he let out a frustrated groan when he realised why you gasped and he leaned against the table, flexing his arms (not happy that you didn’t even look), and sneaking a glance at the page.

“Oh, my fucking God. I need to know the rest.” You let out a tortured moan and looked up at him, suddenly realising you were not alone and that your very much judgy boyfriend was staring at you. You felt your cheeks flush. “Sorry, um… it just… was intense is all.” You closed the book shut, avoiding eye contact with him.

Rafe grinned. “You’re so weird.” He mumbled and ran a hand through your hair. “So, so weird it actually makes you cute as fuck.” He whispered as he leaned down to you, you closed your eyes and purred softly at his touch. He smirked, satisfied that he finally got your attention.

You chuckled at his comment, looking up at him. You knew Rafe didn’t get it. He was very much reality-oriented and you were sure you wouldn’t be able to force him to read a book if his life depended on it. Yours maybe… but you’d probably die anyway. Plus there was no way he’d ever find the time in his schedule to read something. He was either taking care of business or spent all his free time with you and you only, and intended to keep it that way.

He went back to making coffee and you pulled out your phone, looking up the next book in the series you were currently reading. The thing is it was still a fresh release and everyone loved this series so it was sold out everywhere, hard to get and if a store had it they put an insane price on it, knowing some people would buy it anyway.

“30 fucking dollars for a paperback? Fucking assholes.” You slammed your phone down and Rafe turned around, giving you a look of genuine confusion.

“What’s wrong?” He had no idea what a paperback means, or how much books even cost. Thirty dollars sounded normal to him… cheap even.

“What’s wrong? Baby 30 bucks would be insane even for a hardcover.”

“A what?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s fucking ridiculous. They put a big price on it because they know people want it and some people will buy it but I-“

“I’ll get it for you.” Rafe stopped your rant and sat down next to you with his coffee and the waffles you made earlier.

“What? No, Rafey, no. It’s so fucking expensive.”

He genuinely grinned at your statement. “Baby, it’s 30 bucks.” He rested his hand on your knee, drawing little circles with his thumb, trying to ease your mood. He was still sleepy, normally you’d admire how pretty he looked with his hair all messy and eyes puffy.

“No. That’s not the point. It’s too much for a book. Baby a paperback is usually around 10 dollars.”

“So?”

You groaned. Oh how you wanted to rant to someone about how stupid it was, but of course Rafe didn’t understand. Where was Wheezie when you needed her?

Rafe grabbed your phone and checked the location of the bookstore. You both ate your waffles and chatted about some other things for a while. He eventually got up. “Get dressed, we’ll go get it.”

“Rafey it’s really okay-“

“Shut upppp,” it was his turn to groan in annoyance now and you chuckled at his expression. “Wanna make you happy baby, I don’t give a fuck if it costs a thousand. Get dressed.”

There was no arguing with Rafe once he made up his mind. You were on his bike within a few minutes, holding on to him as he parked in front of the bookstore. He grabbed your waist as he led you inside, holding you close to him — it was a thing he did whenever you went to public together.

You immediately knew where to look for the book you wanted, but your eyes lingered on some new releases on your way over to the fantasy isle anyway, remembering you wanted some of them.

Rafe followed closely behind, texting Barry back on his phone about something.

There were two girls standing next to the fantasy isle and you heard them rant about how overpriced this specific book is and how unfair it is. You really couldn’t agree more. You reached for it and sighed. “Oh God,” you mumbled to yourself when you saw the price. Not thirty, but thirty fucking two.

“Right?!” One of the girls looked at you, obviously also pissed off. “I mean, how greedy can they get.” She ranted.

“Yeah I threw a tantrum when I saw how much it is this morning.” You laughed and she laughed as well, the other girl adding in her own complaining and you were chatting about it for a while, talking about the events of the first book in the series. Rafe was behind you for a while but he got annoyed with Barrys shit over the phone so he found a chair to sit on and let you talk to the girls.

“Right, um, I’ll get going.” You eventually said to the girls when you noticed Rafe was now just scrolling on his phone. You didn’t really wanna keep him waiting.

“Wait you’re actually buying it?!”

“Um,” you let out a nervous laugh, “yeah, well, no… my um, boyfriend’s getting it for me.” You admitted, you didn’t want to brag but you also didn’t want to say you’re getting it and take the credit for something he’s paying for.

“Oh wow, lucky.” One of the girls smiled, sneaking a glance at him. You could tell just from the look in her eyes that she found Rafe scary. Most people did.

“I’m jealous,” the other whispered, whether about your boyfriend or the book was not clear. You smiled and said your goodbye, and went over to Rafe who was now on his feet, leaning against the wall.

He furrowed his eyebrows when he saw you only came back with that one book. “Did you fucking read the whole thing already?”

“What do you mean?” You grinned, ignoring his grumpiness.

“I thought you were picking shit. What were you doing?”

“Oh no, I was chatting with some girls. Sorry. They also had a lot to say about the pricing.” You smiled at him apologetically.

“Well yeah, but go pick more books.” He said annoyed. He didn’t really mind waiting for you but he didn’t understand why you only grabbed one.

“No, baby, this one’s already overpriced as fuck I don’t wanna-“

“For Gods sake Y/N, we’re already here. Get more. Wanna spoil you baby.” He brushed his finger against your cheek and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. You smiled at him and tried to hide your blush.

“Okay, alright. Can you—“

“Mhm,” he knew what you were asking immediately and grabbed the one you already had so you can go look at some more.

You were walking around the isles, checking out a bunch of books. You’d lie if you said you didn’t want almost every single one. As you were reading the back of some modern romance Rafe appeared behind you, he came closer to you and put one hand next to your head, leaning against you. You could feel his breath at the back of your neck and a shiver ran down your spine.

“Isn’t that just about sex?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, not noticing that the girls you were chatting to earlier were standing next to you and Rafe.

He seemed genuinely confused. “Why’d you read about it when we can do it?”

“Rafe,” you laughed again and turned around to face him, giving him a look, blushing when you noticed there were other people too.

“What? I’m serious. Bet I can make you feel better than some words on paper.” He brushed his hand against your back and you felt your whole body tense up… that is until you heard the girls next to you giggle.

“Shut the fuck up,” you mumbled, embarassment evident in your face. But Rafe just smirked, always eager to make you flustered.

“Besides,” you added, putting the book back, “you’d be surprised what a few words on paper can do to you.”

He gave you a susprised look, “Seriously?”

“Yeah where do you think I learned all my tricks?” You said jokingly and he grinned as well.

“Dunno, you were pretty innocent before I corrupted your pretty mind.” He mumbled next to your ear and nibbled at the skin of your exposed neck, softly kissing a mark. His mark.

Rafe smirked when he noticed the way your body reacted by leaning closer to him, and reached over you to grab the book you placed back. “So we’re buying it?”

“No.”

“Why not?” He raised an eyebrow. You were obviously intrigued by it, he thought.

“It doesn’t sound that interesting,” obvious lie, “’m gonna look for something else.”

“Get something else and this as well?”

“No, Rafey, books can get-“ but he just rolled his eyes and held it next to the first book you picked. Already made up his mind.

You knew he’d just get it no matter what you said. “Wait, it’s a sequel, can you—“ You looked up, not only was this store overpriced as fuck but they obviously also had zero respect for small people.

“Hm, here,” he leaned even closer, brushing his lips against your ear, trapping you a little, your back pressed against the bookshelf. “Which one?” He teased you with a smirk, his fingers brushing your hair aside to make the marks he left there the other day visible, his breath brushing over them.

Then he got the book you pointed at, leaving you shivering just a bit more. “Needing me so bad for everything…” he murmured happily.

Rafe figured quickly that you’d act all humble the whole time. You always picked up a book, read the back, smiled at it… and put it back. Every. Damn. Time. And after an hour of him waiting you had the audacity to come to him with only two books. He didn’t say anything, just got up, grabbed them from your hands and made his way to the cashier.

“Hey, princess, hold this for me.” He handed you the four books as he wanted to reach into his pocket for his wallet on the way. You took the books without questioning him, and he quickly grabbed most of the books he noticed you were checking earlier. He also grabbed the better ones, the ones that were more expensive… hardbacks? That’s what you called it, right? So quickly you didn’t even really get the chance to protest.

“Rafe-“

“Shut it,” he growled and this was the first time today he didn’t say that in a joking manner.

So you did.

“Everything alright, sir?” The cashier asked. Rafe gave her a quick nod and noticed they had some snacks — mostly chocolates — there. So he grabbed a few and added that to the pile of books.

He waited for the cashier to finish her job when you suddenly realised something.

“Rafe, wait.” You mumbled and ran off. He didn’t really understand but you came back with one more book a second later. He didn’t mind at all. Tho it didn’t really seem like your style, compared to all the other books… this one was colorful and seemed like some rom-com high school bullshit, but he didn’t question you.

“Your total’s $273, sir…”

You felt your body freeze. “Rafe you don’t-“

But he already pulled out his card without blinking an eye. “Told you to shut it.” He whispered and grabbed the bags with your books and threw his free arm around you, leading you out of the store.

He let out a sigh when you both exited the store and you were afraid for a second that it was because it really was too expensive.

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

Fuck.

“The worst sugar baby ever.” He added and gave you a relaxed smile.

Oh… that’s what he meant. You felt relief as you smiled at him as well, laughing at his nickname for you.

“Thank you, baby.” You mumbled and wrapped your arms around his waist as you both made your way to his bike.

“Mhm, anything for you. Anytime.” He kissed the top of your head and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

Wheezie was already up when you both returned to Tannyhill. She was excited to see all the books you got so you sat down on a couch with her and showed her everything, telling her about each one. Rafe didn’t really care… plus all the fantasy terms started to give him a headache so he minded his own business, dealing with something on his phone again, occasionally resting his hand on your thigh.

“Oh yeah, this one’s for you. I knew you wanted it.”

That caught his attention. He looked up from his phone and saw Wheezies eyes sparkle as she flipped through the book you picked for her. He felt his heart warm up. You really were thinking of his little sister too… He’s so going you wife you up one day. Probably soon.

He sneaked his arm around your waist and squeezed you gently, thanking you.

[cherienymphe]

A Caged Bird (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, blackmail, stalking, abuse of power, hints of dacryphilia, slightly spoiler-esque

summary: Birds are best kept in a cage where one can see them...and where you know where they are at all times.

~

You thought that it was over when you won.

That’s what winning The Hunger Games meant, right? The psychological torture, the grueling conditions, and the fear that wouldn’t leave you until you finally left the arena was supposed to be over. You made it out through blood, sweat, and tears, and so your reward was to go home and reunite with your family and try your best to put the memories behind you.

Try your best to put him behind you.

So, why were you still being tormented?

When you first locked eyes with Coriolanus Snow, your first thought was how strikingly blue his were. Almost as if they weren’t real and had been specially manufactured in The Capitol for him, somehow. His hair, too, was just so much blonder than anything you’d seen in District 12, and again, you noted how so much about him seemed…artificial.

…but then he spoke…and the effect his voice had on you was very real.

“You don’t seem like you’re supposed to be here,” you’d said to him after stepping off of that train.

His response was expected, a charming chuckle leaving his pink lips, blond curls the perfect addition to his features.

“I’m not,” he slowly admitted.

The intensity behind his gaze whenever he so much as glanced at you was enough to make any girl’s heart race, and despite what you wished, you weren’t immune. He was beautiful—gorgeous as some of the other tributes and mentors liked to call him—and despite the initial intimidation, there was something about him that made you want to let your guard down.

…but he was your mentor…and a capitol citizen…and you were nothing more than his ticket to notoriety.

“Don’t you know who his dad was?” another tribute, one from one of the better districts, had said to you in a tone like you were stupid.

That was all the confirmation you needed, really.

…but he’d hopped onto the truck with you and gotten into that cage with you and brought you and your district mate food. He gave you poison to use against the other tributes. He wanted you to appeal to the audience so he’d have the funds to send you supplies. It was hard to decipher what was purely for show and what was just because he wanted you—and him by extension—to win. Perhaps, they were one in the same though, and it was impossible to have one without the other. Maybe it didn’t matter his reasons behind his desire to have his tribute win.

Maybe all that mattered was that you’d win.

…but that was when you thought winning meant you’d be free.

Coriolanus Snow was your best chance at winning, and so when the rebels rigged the arena, you didn’t hesitate to stay behind and save him. It wasn’t even a question in your mind because mentor or not, he was hurt, and you had to believe that that one fluke was not your only fighting chance. You couldn’t allow yourself to believe that in saving him, you’d allowed freedom to pass you by.

“You saved me,” he told you, a gentle brush of his handkerchief under your eye to catch your tears. “You saved me, and I am going to get you out of here.”

You had no idea then that he meant out of the games…and to him.

It was that flickering moment of doubt where you wondered if you could actually win, and you recalled what you’d said to him earlier about believing you could, how much you needed him to actually believe it. Now, you were the one doubting, and he could see it, blue gaze flicking over your face and soaking in the fear and uncertainty, because if you couldn’t win…

You’d die.

A lingering gaze and a tense atmosphere, and you felt yourself pulling back, realization hitting you as to just what you were about to let happen. It was hard to decipher who overstepped first, but you couldn’t allow yourself to get wrapped up in something that was only ever meant to be strictly professional. Coriolanus was your mentor, and you were his tribute.

That was all.

You didn’t know then the full lengths he went to just to ensure your victory. How could you? You were too busy trying to survive, trying to fight off rabid tributes and teenagers driven mad with the sole desire to just live. It was all so unfair and angering, and you were sure that with less focus, you might’ve gone insane too. You didn’t have the luxury to worry about your eerily handsome mentor and whatever ulterior motives he might’ve had to see you beat this thing.

So, when you did win, all you could feel was relief. All you could focus on was your family and their faces when you’d ultimately reunite with them. All you could even entertain were thoughts of pushing this very real nightmare to the back of your mind for as long as you possibly could. Initially, you didn’t even notice that you weren’t immediately reunited with your mentor when they crowned you as the winner and got you out of there.

At least, not until you came face to face with him in your own district.

“I thought they’d killed you. I didn’t know if my actions had come back on you too,” Coriolanus told you in a secluded corner, the loud music drowning out his words and the cover of darkness hiding your faces.

Those beautiful pale curls were gone, and any thought that so much of his beauty relied on his golden locks was gone too with one drink of him. He was still the same handsome boy that mentored you, the same one who’d garnered the nickname ‘gorgeous’ among the other tributes. Up on that stage, you’d been thrown to meet a familiar gaze, your harmonious tune pausing for half a second as he met your shocked stare with an expression of his own you couldn’t place, pink lips curved upwards ever so slightly.

Any question of how and why he was here had disappeared as you registered his words. Confusion filled you as you stared at him, a slight frown between your brows as you wracked your brain for how that could possibly make sense.

“Why would they kill me…?” you slowly asked him, and you and the shadows were all that was privy to his confession.

The water bottles, the handkerchief, and the snakes—even the poison. Coriolanus had cheated to secure your victory, broken rules that plucked him out of The Capitol and dropped him here in your very own district as a Peacekeeper. The shock you felt that your victory was far from a fair one warred with the confusion you felt as to why he’d risk everything just for you to win.

If you’d lost fair and square—as you probably should have—there was no doubt in your mind that he’d be safely tucked away in the lavishness of The Capitol instead of lingering about in some rundown excuse for a bar in lowly District 12. If he knew what awaited him should his treachery be discovered…then why chance it? Nothing about your brief tutelage with him could justify what he’d risked and ultimately lost.

You wanted to ask him why, but something in you was afraid of the answer.

That almost kiss—a kiss you hadn’t thought about in months—suddenly came to mind, and even though you didn’t ask him why, something in you knew why even if you wanted to deny it. It was there in the dim lighting and rowdy atmosphere of some rundown building that every minor interaction didn’t start to feel so minor.

Every brush of his hand against yours as he reached for you, the unsettling way he seemed to watch you in that short time that you’d simply written off as concern for his tribute, and the ruthless desire to see you out on the other side of the arena. The kiss that never was only seemed like a lapse in judgement to you then, but in this moment, you had suspicions that it was very much intentional.

You swallowed, realizing that in that brief internal introspection, Coriolanus hadn’t taken his eyes off of you once.

“Did they send you to District 12?” you finally asked him.

You didn’t know what gave you away. Perhaps your tone, maybe your face, or maybe your eyes weren’t as secretive as you’d like to believe. Either way, something about your visage and demeanor gave the blond man pause, head tilting just a tad as those baby blues glinted with something you didn’t recognize but you know you didn’t like. He studied your face before coming up with the answer he probably thought you wanted.

“Of course.”

You didn’t know if you believed him.

…and Coriolanus could tell.

You’d played enough cat and mouse games in the arena—you never thought you’d have to play them in your own home too.

Starving off the affections of some boy in your district wasn’t hard or uncharted territory. Even spurning the forbidden advances of a Peacekeeper or two wasn’t unheard of, but Coriolanus was different. He wasn’t some average Joe turned cop. He was born and raised in The Capitol with a powerful father, and even though the man had been taken before his time, your former mentor still had been brought up with the kind of influence and reach and mindset that surpassed the average Peacekeeper.

They were followers—controlled by The Capitol and tasked with maintaining order. Most were no more than dumb brutes, mindlessly following orders without question, simple enough to be bribed and swayed. If Coriolanus’ actions had shown you anything, it was that he was not a follower. He did what he wanted and played by his own rules, and it was how you found yourself hunted by a gaze you thought you’d left behind in the arena.

Since the discovery of your former mentor’s presence in your district, you never felt alone.

Every walk to trade for food felt shadowed, every footstep home was accompanied with an echo, and a sweep of your eye over the crowd as you played an instrument or sang a tune was rewarded with a familiar blue one that made your heart freeze. You were forced to ignore it no longer when a single rose was left for you on the doorstep, your ma’s gaze questioning as she held it out to you.

You didn’t know where or how he got it, but you only cared about giving it back.

“I can’t accept this,” you told him, gaze steady but fingers trembling as you held it out to him.

It was raining, and the cover over your heads sheltered you from the downpour, but it did little to drown out the sound of it. Coriolanus simply stared at the flower for what felt like too long, making no moves to take it from you, and you swallowed. His blue gaze zeroed in on the action before it lifted to your face.

“…and why not?”

“Because I think it means something different to you than it does to me.”

Your response was swift, and you watched him sigh, eventually reaching out to finger the flower like he did that day before he’d proceeded to put it behind your ear. He finally took it, and just like that day before the games, it found its way behind your ear once again. The only change this time was the shudder that traveled down your spine, and the apprehension you felt when his gaze met yours.

For the longest time, the only sound was that of the rain, a few stray drops making it’s way onto your face and clothes due to the wind. If the man before you still had the locks you’d met him with, they would’ve been rustling with the breeze, right now. Both of you were very still, or maybe it was just you—nervous and fearful of how he’d respond. He briefly looked past you, eyes glinting briefly before they hardened once again, his pink lips pressed together as he regarded you.

“…and if it does?”

He continued when you frowned.

“Mean something different to me than it does to you,” he elaborated, and you blinked.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to gather your thoughts.

“I know…that I’m only standing here, now, because of you,” you slowly started, watching him push his shoulders back. “I won because of you, I know that, but-.”

“Exactly,” he cut you off, making your lips part. “You won because of me…and everything I sacrificed was to make sure you won.”

“…but I didn’t ask you to do that!”

You felt…cornered, somehow, because on the one hand, yes. You did owe so much to the man before you, but at the same time, what did you owe specifically? Your attention? Your affection? Whatever he deemed an appropriate compensation? When you saved his life in the arena that day, and he vowed to save yours in return, you didn’t understand the full ramifications of the deal you were agreeing to.

“I saved your life, and you saved mine, and I’m sorry for the things you felt the need to risk, but that’s where it ends.”

The cold from the rain didn’t faze you nearly as much as the heat from his gaze boring into your back.

You wanted to believe that your lack of confrontation was what led you to the predicament you found yourself in. After all, things between you two had held too many ‘what ifs’ and lingering feelings and questions. You liked to hope that telling the man in no uncertain terms that your relationship should never and would never progress beyond anything professional would fix things.

You never would’ve guessed that your bout of confidence would only prove to make things worse.

“My ma doesn’t even know any rebels, and you know that.”

You’d whispered the words so quietly, throat too choked up to speak any louder as you tearfully stared Coriolanus down, your words only intended for the two of you. Your back was pressed to the doorway as he stood before you, a foot or two of space between you as other Peacekeepers did their duty to search your house as thoroughly as possible. The reason you’d been given was suspicion of treason—to the shock of your ma—but both you and the handsome man before you knew the truth.

“One can never be too sure. It’s always those you least expect.”

His cool response only made you look away, a few tears escaping.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You won, you were free, so why did it still feel like you were in the game…except a much more dangerous one this time? You could feel his eyes on you as you watched man after man rifle through you and your ma’s things, your younger sister not home to witness this. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him take a step towards you—just one, but one was enough to make you flinch.

You still didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him though.

“Unbearable,” he quietly said. “…not able to be endured…or tolerated.”

You swallowed.

“Not to be confused with hard—requiring a great deal of endurance or effort.”

Another step towards you.

“To find something unbearable means that you quite literally cannot stomach it any longer. It forces a change to come, forces something to…give,” he whispered.

Your gaze was still focused ahead, but his words made you blink, made your heart sink, and you swore that he knew that.

“I can make things incredibly unbearable for you…and your family.”

You straightened at that, finally looking at him with a venomous gaze and a heaving chest. Coriolanus reached up to pick at your shirt, removing a piece of grass from it, and you watched him inspect it before turning his blue eyes back onto you. They lingered on your own eyes before lowering to your lips, his own twitching so subtly you might’ve missed it if you were anyone else.

“Or I can make sure you’ll be taken care of, looked after as if you were my own…” his gaze met yours again. “It’s entirely your choice.”

You two stared at one another for an infuriating amount of time before he let out a sharp whistle, telling the other men that nothing seemed to be here and to move on. His wording was not lost on you, and you crossed your arms over your chest. Coriolanus was the last to walk out, and despite the feel of his heavy gaze, you didn’t look his way the entire time.

Your ma commented on the strangeness of the whole ordeal, but nothing about it was strange to you. It was all very calculating and sinister actually, and while you grew up hearing countless talk of running away and living off the grid, you were never more tempted than in this moment…but you were not alone. Your ma was sickly, and your sister was too young.

…and if you left, you could only guess what you’d be leaving your family susceptible to.

Your future seemed inevitable no matter how much you tried to find a way out of the path set for you.

The first night you slept with Coriolanus Snow, it was storming just like that day you’d attempted to give him back his flower. You’d cried for a good three hours before, feeling helpless in the aftermath of another so-called inspection from Peacekeepers—this one much more destructive. The only light that night came from the brief flashes of lightning, and the sound of the rain drowned out the reluctant gasps to leave your lips.

Hands much softer than you ever expected trailed down your frame, curving over your hips and dipping underneath your thighs. The blond man’s lips rarely left your skin, kissing whatever part of you that came to mind, nose gently grazing you as he did and pulling shudders from your frame. It was a foreign feeling to be so heated and afraid at the same time.

Under the cover of darkness, his fingers intertwined with your own and his hips were flush with yours. The feel of him inside of you was much more jarring than you thought it would be, choked deep breaths leaving your parted lips as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts were slow, the complete opposite of what you expected, and you didn’t know if you liked that better or worse.

Every kiss felt wrong, like you were betraying yourself, but in the same manner, they also reminded you of that first day you met. You thought about when you stepped off of that train, and that smooth voice escaped those pink lips, and your stomach flipped no matter how much you pretended it didn’t. The person you were that day wanted to throw your head back and welcome the little nips he left along your skin.

The person you were, now, wanted to crawl inside of your skin.

This man had stalked you to the highest degree, following you all the way from The Capitol just to collect on the young woman whose survival he ensured. The things he’d risked and ultimately lost, he placed the weight of on your shoulders as if you were responsible to compensate for that somehow. As if it was your duty to make his sacrifices worth it.

When he pulled you into his lap, resting on him with arms circled around your waist, it was your turn to press your face into the area where his neck and shoulder met. His fingers dancing along your skin made you shudder, and that just made the tears collect more because you didn’t want to enjoy this, but your body and your brain didn’t seem to be in alignment.

When you were forced to come around him, you saw stars, and you were positive your nails left marks on his back.

You didn’t really think that no more trouble from Peacekeepers was worth the figurative collar around your neck. The abundance of food and supplies might have been, if only to just see the smiles on your ma and sister’s faces, but even then, when you found your back pressed to Coriolanus’ chest as he drove his cock up into you, you wondered if it was actually worth it.

Your ma would say no, that you knew for sure, but you supposed it wasn’t her call to make.

After all, the alternative was psychological torment and worst-case scenarios you didn’t even want to entertain.

“Would you have had her arrested?” you quietly wondered one night.

The sheet was clutched to your chest, and you were facing the wall, still unable to look him in the eye directly afterwards. You’d never been able to, feeling used and low and indefensible. You tried not to dwell on the feel of his fingertips tracing patterns into your shoulder, his cool breath hitting your skin as he exhaled.

“I mean…would you have…framed her somehow? Found some justification for it?”

You didn’t know why you were asking, certain you wouldn’t like the answer, and as you predicted, you felt your throat tighten the longer the silence stretched. Against your will—like many things you’d been doing as of late—a few tears escaped, and even before he answered, you knew what you were going to hear.

“Yes,” he confessed, just as quietly.

You squeezed your eyes shut, subtly wiping your face.

“I sacrificed so much for you to win, and not just because your win was my win…but because I wanted to see you win,” he murmured, placing a kiss to your back. “…because I wanted you.”

You knew that, but having it confirmed so plainly was disturbing.

“…and when I eventually make my way back to The Capitol, as we both know I will, I’ll still want you.”

Your stomach sank at that, and for the first time, you turned to look at him while still trembling in the aftermath of what had quickly become a nightly occurrence. His gaze was still focused on where your back had been, and when his eyes flitted up to connect with yours, you didn’t have the words to convey how you felt about what he was insinuating.

“In The Capitol, you’ll have access to things you could never even imagine…and you could send those same things back to your family,” he told you, reaching up to touch your face.

When you moved to sit up, he stopped you, a firm grip on your arm. Coryo—as he liked for you to call him—fixed you with a look that you knew all too well. It was the look he gave you when you tried to come up with any excuse as to why you couldn’t meet with him. It was the look you received when you briefly forgot the power dynamics here, turning away from him and attempting to push him away.

It was a look that told you not to fight the inevitable.

“I want you there with me.”

His tone left no room for argument, and there was so much conviction in his voice that the thought of arguing seemed legitimately draining. You simply stared at him, eyes glassy, and he stared back, waiting for verbal confirmation of what you both knew was going to happen, anyway. You had no choice in the matter, you never did, and for a brief horrifying moment, you almost wished you were a lone orphan who didn’t have to look out for anybody but yourself.

That thought did make tears spill over.

It was a horrible thing to think, but your loved ones were being used against you, and you knew that your ma—and your sister if she were old enough to comprehend these things—would never want this for you. Coryo sat up with you, a hand resting on your cheek as he gazed at you, a thumb brushing the tears away. It wasn’t meant to be comforting.

Nothing he did was ever meant to be comforting.

“I want you there with me,” he repeated.

You wondered what someone like you would possibly do in The Capitol.

“I don’t belong there,” you whispered, a poor attempt to get him to change his mind.

His response was swift and clipped.

“You belong with me.”

When he pressed his lips to yours, it was expected that you would kiss him back. His thumb brushed along your skin as you did, a low hum sounding in the back of his throat that quickly escalated into a groan. His free arm snaked around you, and your last attempt at resisting proved futile, so you let him lay you down.

Sex with Coriolanus was a maddening experience.

You didn’t want it, and your brain didn’t want it, but it was as if your body was its own separate entity running on hormones and animal instinct.

When he rested his full weight on top of you, you shuddered for a multitude of reasons—one of which you didn’t want to acknowledge. When he slid his hand between your breasts and down to your stomach, your back arched, chest pressing up and into his. When he pushed into you all torturously slow as he always did, you involuntarily held your breath, shaking at the feel of his hips connecting with yours, the length of him fully sheathed in your warmth.

You were terrified of him, so that was why you opened up for him like those budding roses he used to carry around, but in doing so, you made yourself vulnerable beneath him. You made yourself more susceptible to his kisses and his touch and that maddening voice that knew just how to get its way. He wasn’t a very talkative man when he was inside of you, much more content with letting his actions speak for themselves, but tonight was different.

“Look at me,” he whispered, curving his hips into yours. “Look right at me.”

You did, and while you didn’t know the specifics of the psychology behind this, you knew that looking into the eyes of your tormentor while in the act couldn’t be good.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he breathlessly told you, nose brushing against yours with every thrust.

You could hear that it was starting to rain again, and you pressed your hands into the small of his back, trying to ground yourself in some way—trying to have control over something, anything. Tears kissed your eyes, and you swore—you swore—that something in those blues of his twinkled. It sparked something in his gaze, and in his psyche, his thrusts becoming more powerful and making you gasp, nails pressing into his skin.

He only looked especially satisfied when the tears spilled over.

When he came inside of you, and you around him, you swore you saw stars.

You even thought you saw snow.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗜𝗙 𝗜 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗚𝗘𝗧 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗘 max verstappen x  fem! lawyer! reader (angst) fic summary . . . when max meets with a lawyer to try and fight back against the FIA for getting community service fines, he discovers he might have accidentally swapped dreams with someone (704 words)

( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( requests )

The restaurant was dimly lit, the kind of place that was meant to look expensive without actually trying too hard. Max shifted in his seat, fingers drumming against the table as he watched you skim through the document in front of you, your brows slightly furrowed.

This was awkward.

He wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that he had been fined for swearing in a press conference again or the fact that the FIA had thrown in community service hours like he was some reckless teenager caught speeding in a school zone.

Lando had laughed when he found out. "You’re gonna need a lawyer if you wanna fight back, mate," he had grinned, not even trying to hide his amusement. "I know someone. She’s brilliant. I’ll send you her number."

And now here you were, sitting across from him in a restaurant in Monaco, having driven over from Nice to help him deal with his punishment.

"So," you finally said, flipping the page. "Two hundred thousand euros and twenty-five hours of FIA-approved community service before December 31st."

Max exhaled through his nose. "I only said one bad word."

You looked up, amusement flickering across your face. "As soon as I went into qualifying I knew the car was fucked . . .  Max, you swore at your own car."

"Because it was fucked." He reasoned, shrugging at the topic like it was the most obvious and normal thing.

You chuckled, shaking your head before jotting something down in your notes. Max watched, taking a sip of his gin toic, not quite sure what to say next. He wasn’t used to lawyers. He wasn’t used to needing lawyers.

"You know," he starts, voice low, almost swallowed by the hum of the piano in the background. "If my dad hadn't pushed me to stay in karting, I think I would've been a lawyer."

You huff a laugh, one that tastes like irony. "Yeah? If my parents hadn’t forced me to finish school and go into law, I think I would've been a driver."

Max blinked.

Your sour words made him look up from his glass. His blue eyes—fierce in every race replay you've ever forced yourself not to watch—are softer here, dimmed under the low lights of a restaurant that neither of you belong in. "Seriously?"

You nod, taking a sip. "Yeah. I wanted it. The speed, the competition, the whole thing. Wanted to move up into single-seaters, F1 eventually, you know? The dream. But my family . . .” You exhale. "They thought racing was a hobby. Law was the real future."

“I’m in Formula One,” Max stated, looking at you with his head tilted. He felt it was as if he stole your dream.

“I can see that, Max,” you chuckled, lifting the file the FiA had given him as proof.

Max leans back, shaking his head with a smirk that's more tired than amused. "Funny. My dad thought law was stupid. Racing was the real future."

The piano plays on, and neither of you say anything for a moment. It’s not awkward. Just . . . heavy. Like you're both listening to ghosts of the past, telling you how things should have been.

"You still watch?" he asks eventually, his voice careful.

You shrug. "Not really." A lie. You watched enough to know his career, his wins, the way he makes magic out of machinery. "You still read about law?"

His lips press together, considering. "Sometimes." A lie. You bet he still thinks about it when he reads contracts, when he argues with his team, when he wonders if he could've been just as ruthless in a courtroom as he is on a track.

"Do you ever think about it?" you ask. "If you'd had the choice?"

Max smiles then, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "All the time."

The music plays on. The waiter refills your glass. Outside, the world moves forward, fast as ever, like it never had to choose between two lives. But here, in this quiet little nowhere, you and Max sit with your what-ifs, sharing a quiet conversation about what to do moving forward and how to get rid of the fine and community service fine, the ghosts of who you could've been watch over your shoulders.

[harrysfolklore]

31st - hs

happy birthday to the one and only love of my life 🥹🥹 31 omg! i hope he has the best day ever <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

You woke up early on February 1st, carefully slipping out of bed without disturbing Harry, who was still peacefully sleeping. The morning sun was just beginning to peek through the curtains, reflecting light across his face. At 31, he was somehow even more beautiful than when you'd first met him - a few more laugh lines around his eyes, his curls slightly shorter now, but still undeniably your Harry.

Making your way to the kitchen, you began the birthday breakfast preparations you'd been planning for days. You started brewing his favorite coffee and pulled out the ingredients for the banana pancakes he loved so much.

As you worked, you couldn't help but smile, remembering his 30th birthday last year - the big party, all their friends and family gathered together. This year, though, Harry had asked for something quieter, more intimate. "Just us," he'd said, "maybe dinner with family later."

The sound of footsteps made you look up, and there he was, leaning against the doorframe in his pajama bottoms and that old Rolling Stones t-shirt you loved so much.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," you scolded playfully, whisking the pancake batter.

"Bed was cold without you," he mumbled, voice still rough with sleep. His hair was adorably mussed, and he had pillow creases on his cheek. "Besides, something smells amazing."

"Happy birthday, love," you said softly, abandoning your cooking to wrap your arms around him.

He hummed contentedly, pulling you closer and burying his face in your neck. "Thank you, baby."

"Thirty-one," you mused, running your fingers through his hair. "How does it feel?"

"Honestly?" He pulled back to look at you, his green eyes twinkling. "Pretty much the same as thirty. Though I did find another grey hair yesterday."

You laughed, reaching up to touch the single silver strand at his temple. "I think it makes you look distinguished."

"Distinguished?" He raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Mhmm," you nodded seriously. "Very sophisticated. Very George Clooney."

"Oi!" He tickled your sides, making you squeal. "I'm not that old yet!"

The pancakes were momentarily forgotten as you both dissolved into laughter, play-fighting in the kitchen like teenagers. Finally, Harry pulled you close again, pressing soft kisses along your jaw.

"You know," he murmured, "this is already my favorite birthday."

"It's barely started!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm here with you, in our kitchen, and you're making me breakfast. What could be better?"

Your heart swelled with love for this man who could find joy in the simplest moments. "Well, it might get even better when you see your presents."

His eyes lit up like a child's. "Presents? But you said we weren't doing big gifts this year!"

"And we're not," you assured him, turning back to the pancakes before they burned. "Just a few small things. Though..." you paused for dramatic effect, "there might be tickets to that vintage guitar show in Nashville you were talking about."

Harry's gasp of delight made you laugh. "Really? The one with the '59 Les Paul?"

"Maybe," you sang, flipping a pancake. "You'll have to wait and see."

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, watching you cook. "Have I told you lately that you're the best wife ever?"

You felt your cheeks flush at the word 'wife,' still not quite used to hearing it spoken aloud. After nearly a year of marriage, it was still your precious secret, shared only with family and closest friends. The ring on your finger was usually hidden away in public, and you'd both become experts at careful wording in interviews.

"Shh," you teased, though your heart fluttered at his words. "The walls might have ears."

Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "You know, I've been thinking about that actually."

"About what?" you asked, sliding the last pancake onto the plate.

He turned you around gently, his expression thoughtful. "About keeping it secret. Don't get me wrong, this past year has been incredible, having something that's just ours. But sometimes..." he paused, running a hand through his hair, "sometimes I just want to tell the whole world that I'm married to the most amazing woman."

You set down the spatula, studying his face. "Really? You want to go public?"

"Only if you're ready," he said quickly. "But yeah, I do. It's been almost a year, and honestly, I'm tired of not being able to call you my wife whenever I want to. Of having to take my ring off for appearances. Of watching you do the same."

Your heart raced at the possibility. "It would change things," you said softly. "The privacy we've had..."

"I know," he nodded, taking your hands in his. "But maybe... maybe it's time. And what better day than my birthday? We could post something simple, just us."

You thought about it for a moment. The past year had been magical, your private bubble of newlywed bliss protected from the public eye. But he was right - there was something exhausting about constantly hiding, about choosing your words so carefully, about slipping your rings off before stepping outside.

"Okay," you finally said, a smile spreading across your face. "Let's do it."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you laughed as he pulled you into a tight hug. "But after breakfast! These pancakes are getting cold."

Later, after breakfast and presents, you both sat on the couch, phones in hand. You'd chosen a simple photo from your wedding day - just your hands intertwined, both wearing your rings, nothing too revealing but unmistakably a wedding photo.

"Ready?" he asked, his thumb hovering over the 'post' button.

You took a deep breath, nodding. "Ready."

With a click, your secret was out in the world. You both turned your phones to silent, knowing they would explode with notifications any second.

"How does it feel?" Harry asked, pulling you close.

You twisted your ring, which for the first time wouldn't have to come off when you left the house later. "Liberating," you decided. "Scary, but good scary."

"No more hiding," he agreed, kissing your temple.

"No more hiding," you repeated, then laughed. "Your mum's going to be thrilled. She's been dying to post those wedding photos."

"Oh God," Harry groaned good-naturedly. "She's probably already sharing them as we speak."

You snuggled closer to him, enjoying this quiet moment before the world would inevitably explode with the news. "Happy birthday, H. Sorry I kind of hijacked it with our announcement."

"Are you kidding?" He grinned down at you. "This is the best gift you could have given me. Now everyone knows I'm the luckiest man alive."

"Charmer," you muttered, but you were smiling.

"Your charmer," he corrected, then added with obvious delight, "Your husband."

"My husband," you agreed, loving how it felt to say it out loud, knowing you wouldn't have to whisper it anymore.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by zayn, yourinstagram and 20,876,449 others

harrystyles Best birthday gift was marrying my soulmate almost a year ago. Thank you for keeping our secret. ❤️

February, 2024

view all comments

username1 WHAT THE HELL

username2 IS THIS A JOKE

taylorswift Finally!! 🥂 Keeping this secret was TORTURE. So happy for you both ♥️

gemmastyles Bbout time you two told everyone!! now i can finally post all the cute photos from the wedding 😭💕

lizzo YALL I WAS AT THE WEDDING AND HAD TO PRETEND I WASNT THIS WHOLE TIME 😭 CONGRATS AGAIN BESTIES

niallhoran The most beautiful day! Love you both!

yourinstagram Finally 🤍 Happy birthday to my husband (!!!) who makes every day feel like a love song. Thank you for choosing me, always.

username3 HUSBAND???????? MARRIED????????? IM SHAKING AND CRYING AND THROWING UP

username4 OH MY GOD THE SIGNS WERE THERE ALL ALONG. REMEMBER WHEN HE KEPT TOUCHING HIS RING FINGER IN THAT ONE INTERVIEW??

username5 not me zooming in on every detail of this photo 👀 THE RINGS ARE SO BEAUTIFUL IM SOBBING

username6 the way they kept this secret for a YEAR?? we love a private couple

username7 HARRY STYLES IS A MARRIED MAN. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I REPEAT. HARRY STYLES IS A MARRIED MAN

username8 im so happy for them but also crying in the club rn 😭

username9 THE WAY YN JUST CALLED HIM HUSBAND IM SCREAMING

username10 not me thinking about how they had a whole secret wedding and we had no idea 😭 they're so powerful

username11 "best birthday gift" STOP IM CRYING THIS IS SO ROMANTIC

[coldeforprez]

Is It The Way; 2003 • 01

Elias "Stack" Moore has "loved" and lost more than his fair share of women— and rarely thinks twice about it. But He can never seem to let go of her. There's only so much a man—alive or otherwise—can take. And he's been a gentleman long enough, right?

pairing: vampire!Stack x black!OC warnings: ORIGINAL CHARACTER (I love my bb Della Mae with my whole heart and will accept no slander - ty, mgmt. ) ANGST, this fic is VERY self-indulgent, suggestive themes, swearing, implied violence, established relationship, their relationship is kinda toxic but they're just two ppl who love each other okay?!, You get edged again cause no smut till part two :3 (this is a series we gotta do some world building besties) word count: 3.9k

dear reader 💌: hey pookie! I really appreciate the support and love that yall showed the teaser for the first installment of my new series To Have and To Hold ! I have been fighting for my life trying to get this out and honestly, I'm being super picky so I decided to just throw it out there :0 ! That and I can't focus on anything because it's taking up so much space in my head. Anyway ENJOY !

This story is told in a non-linear fashion. Like memories resurfacing.

winter of 1912.

Elias looks up from his spot leaning against the brick pillar—he and Smoke running their usual pickpocketing schemes down at the train station.

Feeling a stare on him, his eyes dart around the crowded platform looking for the source. His gaze skips over her at first—then returns.

She can’t be more than 16 years old; potentially making her only 2 years his junior. Her eyes twinkle with mischief like she’d been watching the twins longer than they knew. She stands next to an older woman and two younger boys, worn suitcases at their feet. Her hand-me-down dress fluttering softly in the winter breeze.

He tilts his head, confused—he’s never seen the girl or her people around town before. Turning to his twin brother, he taps him and asks, in a low voice, “Aye’, you ever seen lil’ mama in the brown dress ‘round here befoe’?”

The elder twin looks up from where he’s counting their earnings—it won’t be enough for a satisfying meal, but it’ll keep the hunger pains away for the night.

His eyes follow Stacks’ gaze to the retreating form of the young girl and her family. He cuts his eyes at his younger brother,

“Well, since I ain’t her maker, I’m not real capable of identifying ole’ girl from the back.”

Stack curls his lip, side-eyeing him. “What you always bein’ smart for? You know what—actually, I don’t give a damn. How much money we make?”

fall of 1914. The air smelled sweet—like honey, heat and the blossoms overhead. Della was leaning back on her palms in the grass, feet bare, Elias’ hat tossed aside beside her. The magnolia tree stretched wide above them like a crown, its branches heavy with blooms, thick petals littering the ground around her.

Elias stood a few feet away, trying to toss a pebble high enough to knock down one of the blossoms—she swore she could catch it mid-air.

“You gon’ miss again,” Del teased, grinning, “and I’ma laugh just as hard as I did the last five times.” he cut his eyes at her, squinting up at the branch, tongue peeking out in concentration. “I ain’t missin’. I’m doin’ warm-up tosses lil’ girl.”

“Ohhh okay! So that’s what you gone call it?” she laughed, tipping her head back until her coils brushed the grass.

He launched another pebble;hitting the branch just right. A magnolia bloom dropped—twirling slowly towards the ground—and Del leapt up with a gleam in her eye, catching it right against her chest. “Ha!” she beamed, spinning to show him. “I was right! Told you I’d catch it.”

He looked at her for a beat too long, he thinks her cheeks should be hurting from how hard she’s grinning. Her smile wide, singular dimple showing. “You always are.” he said softly, hands slipping into his pockets.

She slowed, watching him like she wasn’t used to that tone in his voice. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he said quickly, tugging at his collar anxiously. “Just… you somethin’ else, that’s all.”

Del tucked the magnolia bloom behind her ear and shrugged, but she was smiling too big to play it cool. “I guess you ain’t too bad yourself.”

summer of 1917. The sun was dipping low, casting amber light across the magnolia tree where they always met. Della was halfway through tying her braid when Elias flopped onto the grass beside her, arms folded behind his head, like it was just another Sunday.

“You ever think ‘bout what France smell like?” he asked, watching the clouds.

She side-eyed him. “France?”

He nodded, still staring skyward. “Yeah. I heard it smell like perfume and fresh bread. Kinda place folks write poems about.”

Della squinted at him, confused. “Why you talkin’ ‘bout France?”

He sat up slower this time, like his body felt heavier than usual. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at his hands, rubbing at his thumb—he was stalling.

“Got my papers.” ,he grumbled

She blinked. “For what?”

“…The war, Dove. I gotta go.”

Della’s hands dropped into her lap. “No you don’t. Ain’t nobody makin’ you—”

“They are,” he cut in gently, eyes still not quite meeting hers. “Draft notice came in yesterday. I—I ain’t wanna tell you like this, I just… I couldn’t figure out how.”

She stood sharply, fists clenched. “So that’s it? i’m just ‘sposed to sit around and wonder if you makin’ it back or not?”

He stood too, but slower, as if the words had knocked the wind out of him. “It’s not like I wanna go, Del. But if I don’t show up, they gone come lookin’. Maybe even worse.”

His voice cracked just a little on that last part, and he finally met her eyes. “I ain’t gone lie and say i’m not scared,” he admitted, quietly. “But I swear to you—I’m comin’ back. I ain’t dyin’ in no field—I don’t care what I gotta do.”

She stared at him, lip trembling. “You better,” she whispered.

fall of 1932. “You think I give a fuck what you want right now?” he growled in frustration. “I ain’t lettin’ you go. Not this time. You hear me? You mine. You always been, always gone be.”

She struck him—open palm across the face, hard. His head snapped sideways. He didn’t flinch. Just turned back slow, smiling crooked, eyes glowing like wildfire. His hands tightening on her shoulders voice thick with grief and possessive need.

“You all I got left,” he breathed. “I ain’t losin’ you too. I’ll drag you with me if I have to. I swear to God, I will.”

She scoffs trying to free herself from his grip to no avail,

“No self-righteous sacrifices for me huh? No bullshit speech about keeping me safe?” she spat, eyes burning with tears. “You always pulling me towards a burning building with you, but I bet you woulda’ lost your damn life to protect her from one! Hell—Mary the one made you this way! Go spend an eternity with her ole triflin’ bloodsuckin’ ass!”

She clawed at his chest, shoved, writhed—but his hands only steadied her, held her like something precious even as he stole her breath.

“I ain’t doin’ this life without you,” he said, voice thick, almost tender. “Ain’t no world I wanna be apart of if you not in it.”

And then—Stillness.

Her body limp in his arms. Blood on his lips. The river settled.

Above them, the magnolia tree stood silent. Watching.

spring of 52’. Their magnolia was in full bloom.

Del figured if they were gonna do this, it best be at a spot that held their most precious memories. Both the good ones—and the ones that still stung.

The wind brought in a soft breeze, just enough to ruffle the edges of her white dress. Her veil fluttered around her face like a whisper.

He wore a pressed suit—bloodstain still on the cuff she couldn’t scrub out. His grin was wide, wicked, sharp fangs flashing under gold slugs.

No preacher. No piano. No guests.

Just the river hummin’ nearby, and a jar of moonshine waitin’ in the grass.

She whispered her vows into the crook of his neck. He said his with his mouth pressed to her fingertips.

“You know this don’t fix everything,” she told him with a smirk.

“Ain’t tryna fix it,” he said. “Just tryna hold onto it.”

Their old magnolia tree the only witness to their eternal union. summer of 75’. “C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it was 1951. “Let me hold you a minute.”

present day; 2003

He strolled in right at midnight, just as everything had gone quiet and the once raucous city streets were now eerily still.

She didn’t turn when the door opened. Didn’t flinch when his footsteps found her.

She’d known he would come eventually. Of course he would. Even when she didn’t want him to—he always did. The problem was that she’d never quite figured out which she preferred more: his absence or his presence.

She never had to question whether or not she still wanted him though. Hell, she spent more time than she’d like to admit reminiscing the countless ways he’d expressed his insatiable hunger for her in this almost century-old dance they’d been doing.

He doesn’t announce his presence. No smooth line. No performative charm. Doesn’t even breathe too loud.

His coat’s worn in random spots—like something time had toyed with endlessly and then tossed aside. For a quick moment, she wonders if he’s fallen on hard times since the last time he’d blessed suffocated her with his presence. That’s how she felt, too—every time they slipped outside each other’s orbit. Like she was just waiting breathlessly in the wings for the next act of their whirlwind—whatever it was they have.

On the exterior, she’s the picture of indifference. Takes the time to sip the drink clutched between her sharply manicured fingers. Letting the silence stretch—uncomfortable for most, but not for them.

Just as she’s worked up the nerve to acknowledge his presence—

“Del.”

A beat. The space between them has never seemed further.

“You still carryin’ the weight of the world like it belongs to you, baby.”

She breathes out a soft, humorless sound. Doesn’t smile. Refuses to turn her head to give him the satisfaction of seeing a glimpse of the mental spiral his sudden appearance has catapulted her into.

“And you still talk like a ghost that don’t know it’s dead.”

He inches closer. Slowly. Like if he moves too fast, she’ll vanish again.

“Maybe I am.”

She turns swiftly toward him—eyes sharp, expression unreadable. With a slight furrow in her brows and something cold yet vulnerable in her voice, she asks a question that likely won’t have a sufficient answer—

“Why now?”

A brief pause. His usual sly grin is noticeably missing—his mouth opens and shuts quickly, almost like he’s chewing on the words but they just don’t taste quite right. Yet he doesn’t blink when he says it:

“Ain’t know how much longer I could stay away.”

She doesn’t respond. Not right away. Just lets out a quiet chuckle and tips her glass toward him—dry, disbelieving.

“Even after all these years…” She shakes her head, almost smiling. “You still one smooth motherfucka. I’ll give ya that.”

He breaks into that infamous grin—just as intimidating as it is bright. Like he ain’t ever seen a bad day in his life. “Now you know better than anybody—I can’t contain all this pimpin’.”

She pauses mid-sip, nearly chokes. Side-eyes him, nostrils flaring, expression dry as hell. She waits a beat. Then hums a noise of indifference,

“Mmm—You dressed like a broke-ass pimp. Must be hard flyin’ with one wing, huh?”

The jab knocks him off guard. For a second, he forgets they aren’t back there—where jokes came easier, when everything felt like that rare but sweet moment when you realize you’re dreaming—and somehow, you get to keep dreaming, just to spite reality a little longer.

He smacks his lips, gaze blank, mouth cocked to the side, ignoring the subtle bite in her voice. “Aye, stop playin’ with me. You know ian ever hurtin’ for no bread. Who you think bought out half these pieces before the showcase tonight?”

That earns him her first real smile. Small. Shy. Like it slipped out before she could catch it. Like her body remembered something before her mind could lock it away. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted you to drop all that silent and mysterious shit. Came in here lookin’ like you auditionin’ for that vampire nigga movie.”

He squints. “You talkin’ ‘bout Blade?”

She nods, grinning. “Hell yea. You got this big-ass trench coat on like it ain’t 75 degrees outside.” He cuts her off with—“Aye shoutout Wesley Snipes, you know i’on fuck wit’ allat capitalism—taxes and shit.”

She shakes her head, earrings jingling softly—briefly catching his attention—before he hears her mutter under her breath, “Ole’ extra ass.”

He spins with a grin and a little flourish. “Owee—Don’t hate baby.” Smirking as he invades her space just enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“ You ain’t gotta lie to yourself—Daddy still make that pretty thang’ hum, hm?”

The echoes of his southern drawl still makes her knees feel weak. Pause. How does he even think to say shit like that?

He does kinda have a point though.

She steps back curling her lip at him in pure annoyance, rolling her eyes quickly, “Nigga, gone on somewhere.” Giving him a slow once-over, “And don’t think you slick with that ‘I ain’t know how long I could stay away’ shit.” She drops her voice into a mocking tone—deep and dramatic, face scrunched in fake sadness. “I know you,” she says, shaking her head. “You want somethin’. So gone and come out wit’ it.”

“Why you always assumin’ I got a hidden agenda or some shit?” he scoffs.

She fixes him with a stare.

He coughs, looks away, then back again—“Okay. Never mind. Ignore that.” He sighs deeply like he’s afraid she’s going to shut him down before he can pull his thoughts together.

“Been tryna love other people—swear I have.”

She purses her lips.

“Okay damn, maybe I was just fuckin’ some of ‘em—Anyway—tried humans, but you know I get a little nibbly when I’m excited—dated some vamps, kinda hard for ‘em to live up to my expectations there though,” He scratches his beard in frustration, “Shit I even went out with a witch for a minute—she was a lil freak, I’ll tell you that—still ain’t come close to nothin’ we used to—”

She briefly stares off into space dumbfounded; then turns back to cut him off before he can remind her of anything she might still want. “Hmm—if you came to update me on all the places your dick has been the last decade, you can spare me.” She rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath where he can’t hear, “Nigga goin’ on a world tour with my dick and tryna tell me all about it—fuck is he on?”

His eyes widen in realization at the implications of his words. “Hollon’, I ain’t mean it like that,” He sighs again. “What I’m tryna say is every time—every time—I start feelin’ like maybe I can build somethin’ new, your name start echoin’ in my head. Or I’d smell that stankin’ ass oil paint you used to use. Hear you narratin’ your day like somebody other than just us was around—Even started listenin’ to that white bread ass group you like so much.”

She scoffs and interrupts, “Aht Aht—not too much on Fleetwood Mac now—that might be one of the few things white folks got right.” She rolls her eyes muttering under her breath, “Surprised his ass ain’t go lookin’ for Stevie Nicks since he like witches so damn much—”

He quiets her with a blank stare. Grumbling under his breath before continuing, “Keep on rolling’ them damn eyes— hope they get stuck like that.” Clearing his throat he continues, “I kept tellin’ myself you might actually be better off without me. Maybe finally found a way to feel human again—then I heard ‘bout this place. Figured maybe you ain’t moved on neither.”

She’s suddenly busy surveying the contents of her glass—it’s been empty for the last 10 minutes.

“And that kinda fucked me up a lil’ bit, Cause if you still alone—and I’m still alone—then what the hell we been doin’ all this time, Del?”

She sighs quietly and meets his gaze with a resigned look in her eye, but before she can get the words out he interrupts,

“I ain’t come here looking for no second chances. We way past that anyway. But—you the only one who ever—survived me—Who know me better than maybe even Smoke did. And I’m not goin’ another decade wonderin’ if we could finally get it right.”

She scoffs, her eyes quickly becoming ablaze with an emotion he can only define as rage. “And that’s our problem right there—It’s all about what you want and when you’re ready to do it!”

All things considered, he’s propositioned her with worse. She’s not even sure why she’s fighting him now— aching inside to try again but too afraid to take the leap.

How much will they bleed this time around if they cut each other again?

She pauses breath catching in her throat, feeling her composure slipping. Can’t meet his eye when she opens her mouth to say, “Look, I don’t think—”

71 years and they still can’t get it right. He can feel her slipping away. She doesn’t think he’ll ever get another chance like this. He knows he won’t. She’ll make sure of it. His throat tightens—panic sets in. He’s about to be knocked out of her orbit forever.

“I’m sorry.”

He says the words like they were trying to burst from his lips. His eyes damn near projecting a short film filled with the echoes of his desperation and whispers of his guilt. It’s rushed, clumsy, boy-ish—such contrast from the way he would normally carry himself. Honestly, it’s pretty sucky as far as apologies go, especially given the tangled history the two of them share.

But somehow it works. Like most things involving the two, no reasonable explanation could be given for how two words—3 syllables—can atone for years of hurting and healing each other.

She blinks rapidly, shifting from foot to foot. She’d always considered herself the least prideful of the two. So she’s admittedly a bit irked that he gets to be the bigger person for saying what they’d always known they both desperately need to hear—

“I-I’m sorry, Elias. I’ve always let you take the blame for everything wrong in our relationship— and my life too, I guess” Her breath catches, looking down at her feet—arms instinctively wrapping around herself. Even to her own ears she sounds fragile. This might be the closest she’s been to feeling like herself since that night in 1932. “That wasn’t fair of me.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at her like she’s some rare thing he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch anymore. Then— “I could’ve fought harder. For you. For us.” His voice is low, steady. No theatrics this time. “I made peace with the blame—meant I still had somethin’ to carry around with your name on it.” He steps forward—slow, like the wrong move might undo it all. “I ain’t never wanted you to hurt like I did. But I- I didn’t know how to stop takin’ pieces of you with me every time I left.” He reaches for her—momentarily thinking twice about whether touching her will end in him being attacked ;or if she’ll submit to the current of the moment with him. Quickly coming to the conclusion that he’d be satisfied with either reaction, he finally closes the distance between them.

The feeling can only be described as that deeply seated joy you feel when coming home after a long time away. Almost like slipping back into a dream they’d been having every night for the last 71 years.

For a long moment, neither of the two spoke. Their silence saying everything they’d probably never be able to put to words—grief, guilt, passion. Their silence creating a picture that looks something like forgiveness, a bit like anger, and a lot like love. Whispers of a maybe. Promises of a forever.

Her face tucked near his neck, where she’d always felt safe she murmured a quiet, “Missed you.”

He looks down at her with a small smile, leaning in to get a taste of her lips for the first time in a decade.

She leans her head back and places two fingers over his lips with a smirk, “You know this means you lose right ?”

His arms tighten around her waist, one hand sneakily yanking her hand into his. Kissing the tips of her fingers with a smile in his voice, “Long as I lose to you, It ain’t really losin’, huh?”

He gives a crooked grin—and kisses her like no time has passed at all.

But time has passed. And it’s in the way his hand trembles just slightly when he touches her waist. In the way her breath hitches when their mouths finally meet, not rushed, not angry, but like they’re retracing old steps in a house long abandoned.

It starts slow. Mouths hovering, teasing. The tension’s all in the pause, the promise.

Then—He bites. A tiny nip at her bottom lip, soft and sharp all at once. A low, possessive growl vibrates from his chest, deep and involuntary. She tastes like something he lost in a dream. The air shifts. The room’s still, but they aren’t. The kind of stillness that only comes before a storm.

“Hey, daddy?” she whispers, lips grazing the skin just beneath his jaw—hot, deliberate.

“Yeah, Dove,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, voice soaked in want.

She smiles—slow, wicked. Her voice a sweet purr. “Wanna play a game?”

His hands slide lower on her waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of her shirt, just enough to make her heart skip.

“Only if I get to keep you after.”

She lets out a breathy scoff, laughing into his mouth, palms pressed flat against his chest like she might push him away—but doesn’t.

“No, seriously—how do you come up with this stuff?” she says, eyes dancing, even as her body leans closer. He just grins, lips brushing hers again.

"Been rehearsin' since 88'. "

summer of ‘75.

“You were my wife, my life, my hopes and dreams.”

Marvin Gaye’s voice curls through the room low, aching, full of a wisdom neither of them dare speak aloud. The record crackles faintly, wrapping them in a velvet cocoon, safe—for now—from the world, from the past, from the slow unraveling they’ve both felt coming.

Elias hums along, off-key. Della swaying absentmindedly in her silk robe, brush in hand, paint smudged on her cheek. He watches her from the couch, journal resting open in his lap, the morning sun painting their living room a gold hue through their sheer drapery.

“You set my soul on fire, my one desire was to love you and think of you with pride.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, standing with his arms open.

She laughs, not looking at him yet. “You ain’t even brushed your teeth.”

“C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it’s 1951 again. “Let me hold you a minute.”

“But if you ever need me, i’ll be by your side.“

She lets herself go. Not because it’s easy—but because it’s familiar. Because even with everything cracking underneath them, the shape of him still fits against her perfectly. They dance like they’ve got forever. The lyrics echo what their souls already know—a promise for what’s to come being made without words.

“Though the many happy times we had could really never outweigh the bad…” “I never loved nobody, like I loved you baby…” “Now it’s time for us to say farewell…” “Maybe we’ll meet, down the line…”

Elias presses his cheek to her temple, eyes shut. She grips the back of his shirt like she’s bracing for a fall.

Neither one says a word. But the record keeps playing. And the silence between them says everything.

@marley1773 @justhere2bhur @mea-bby @browngirldominion @kodakbesos @thickemadame @shinywrites @kindofaintrovert @mskirara @amethyst09 @kittikrusher (lol wtf) @sk1121-blog1 @jozigrrl @childishgambinaax

leave a 💲if you'd like to keep up with this series!

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

AkrhamKnight! Jason Todd

Sensitive Topics: descriptions of a toxic relationship and mentions of physical abuse (none actually written)

AK! Jason Todd who you're not even sure what you have with. Every time you try to refer to him as your boyfriend or yourselves as together like you did before his death, he pulls away and gets defensive.

"There isn't an 'us,' sweetheart. I ain't letting shit from before that fucking clown got to me matter now."

But if you try to walk away from the situation or start talking to somebody else, he gets so incredibly jealous.

"Oh so you really need two guys' attention now? What a fucking whore..."

AK! Jason Todd who, if you couldn't tell by now, is so incredibly toxic in whatever situation you have. He cant stand to see you walk away but it kills you inside every time you come back to him and his baggage.

"Come one, sweetheart... It was just a mistake. We all make 'em, right? Don't you go leaving me over some petty shit like that."

AK! Jason Todd who absolutely loathes you going out at night. Even when he's there with you, it still puts him on edge to see you walking the cold, dark Gotham sidewalks when you could be safe in his apartment or the base instead.

AK! Jason Todd who just gets so mean with you for no reason. Well, not for little things like forgetting to pick up plastic wrap at the store or something. More like walking alone in Gotham without him knowing you were even gone. He hates the thought of something happening to his precious little thing.

AK! Jason Todd who would never physically harm you. Are insults thrown around like confetti? Absolutely! Is there a scream fight almost every week? You bet! But has he ever raised a finger against you? No. And he would never even think of it.

AK! Jason Todd who's absolutely pissed whenever somebody even looks at you for too long, nevermind making comments. You'd be surprised just how many of his soldiers he's gotten rid of just for telling him to "put his bitch in her place," or for telling you to "cover up, slut."

AK! Jason Todd who can't open up. He knows what he's doing is horrible. He knows that everything he does affects you in one way or another. But what about the horrible things other people have done? What about what the Joker did to him? What about Bruce letting the Joker roam free afterwards and replacing him with another goody two shoes? Jason wants to talk to you, he really does. But he just doesn't see how you or anybody, for that matter, coyld ever understand him or what he's been through.

AK! Jason Todd who found himself crying in the dark shadows of your shared apartment when Bruce first came along to stop his ridiculous plan to take over Gotham with Scarecrow's fear toxin. Jason loved Bruce. Bruce was his only family. But family means that nobody gets left behind and Bruce sure as hell broke that rule.

(This is actually kinda cannon: in Akrham Knight, one of the conversations you can overhear between a few of the gaurds mentions Jason crying after encountering Bruce for one of the first times)

AK! Jason Todd who truly does love you, in some way. He doesn't think he can be in love with you, but that doesnt makw him care about you any less. You're his person, and you've been there for him whether he likes it or not.

AK! Jason Todd who would absolutely lose it if anything were to ever happen to you. He never wants to see even a hair on your damn head hurt if he can help it. If one of his guards were to be responsible for an injury you sustained, they'd be out the door and probably six feet under in a heartbeat.

AK! Jason Todd who, no matter what your situation or relationship is like, refuses to let you see his chest. Yeah, his entire body is covered in scars, both from the Joker and other things he's experienced. But the 'Y' shaped scar on his chest is strictly off limits. If you were to ever accidentally brush your hand across it while laying with him or something, he wouldn't lash out, but he'd certainly guide your hand away by gently grasping your wrist.

AK! Jason Todd who never wants to see you involved with anything he does or his plans. He thinks that his activities are far too dangerous for you, even if you do happen to be somebody who's capeable of holding your own in combat or other high-stress situations.

Masterlist

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes, Power Imbalance, Mind Control

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Yandere!Zhongli, despite his nature as the Archon of Geo, isn't as restrictive as one might think at first. Quite the opposite, actually. He'll say it himself, as he forces you to stay still in his strong arms, trapped inside his Adeptal Domain. He wishes he could give you more privileges, but he simply can't trust you.

Of course, you press him about this, you say he can trust you. With no other option but to fight for any scraps of freedom you can get, you're willing to grovel on your knees for anything, as much as you hate yourself for doing so.

At the sight of your desperation, Zhongli has to mask the way the corners of his lips twitch up, eyes predatory, draconic instinct seeping through a human facade. With the flick of a hand, a thick roll of paper pops into existence in front of your head. The very end of it unfurls, revealing what looks like a place where a signature is written.

For a contract.

Sign it, Zhongli says, and he will grant you multiple privileges listed in the contract: he'll allow you to leave his Adeptal Domain when possible, write to your family and friends, leave you alone for a set time if you so desire, and more listed in the contract.

Your hand itches for the crystalline, amber pen floating next to the contract, beckoning you to write your name, but you control the urge. You've already been played for a fool by a foe you once called a friend, and you won't fall for his foul ploys any longer.

So, you pull the contract to unfurl it. The paper flows like water, gushing across the floor like a wild stream down the bed to the floor, across the bedroom, through the door, into the kitchen, continuing on, and on, and on. It seems like days go by until finally, the contract is fully unscrolled.

Zhongli is less than pleased at your wariness, a disappointed sigh echoing through the still room. He had hoped you would be less uncooperative, but he will allow you a day to read the contents of the contract. After all, time is of the utmost importance, even for the immortal.

You glare at the god, but know that you cannot allow anger to cloud your mind. With only a day to read such a dense document, there's no time to spare.

When you look down to start reading the contract itself, though, your eyes widen in confusion.

The words on the paper are almost kaleidoscopic, warping and twisting and forming new phrases every second. One moment, you think you can read "the"; the next, those same letters have become "remain". Looking back up, Zhongli has a pitying smile on his face. "Dearest treasure, do you see now that this game is a fruitless endeavor?" He asks, a hand reaching to brush against your jaw, sliding tenderly across your skin. "I would not lie to you about these things. I have never lied to you," he says.

For a moment, you almost mistake his tone as kind, like you almost mistook everything about Zhongli—a polite, cultured gentleman who turned out to be a possessive, obsessed dragon—until you realize how patronizing his words are. You want to curse him to the Abyss and back, but hold back your hatred. "I'd prefer to read the contract." You look back down, and begin attempting to decipher the undulating paragraphs.

Hours pass by, and you've made no progress. Through it all, Zhongli has stayed by your side, whispering cloying words in an attempt at disarming your defenses. You've managed to stay strong in the face of his unending patience though.

But while you're smart, Zhongli is a god, with thousands of years of knowledge ingrained in his mind. And he knows eventually, one argument will break you down. So, he keeps trying.

"Time is running out, my sweet. But before this offer disappears, I will give you one last chance to sign," he says. "Besides, even if I am being dishonest about the contents of the contract, can things really get worse than this? At least by signing the contract, there's a chance your circumstances may improve."

His logic is sound, drowning out the dissonant thoughts scrambling your mind. You hate the idea of agreeing with Zhongli, but at this point, it's hard to see a reason not to sign it.

With trembling fingers, you pick up the pen. It's slightly warm in your hand, the way a rock in the afternoon sun would be. Smiling like he knew this would happen all along, Zhongli makes a motion with one hand, causing the contract to begin rolling up. After waiting several moments, all that's left unrolled is the space where you will sign your name.

The pen slashes against the paper, marring it with an ink-black scar that reads your name.

Then you feel it. The lightness in your chest, as though you're untethered to the world around you. Thoughts in your mind begin to pop like soap bubbles, fear dissipating into pure nothingness. You can hardly hear your spouse chuckling over the absolute blankness blanketing your mind.

Yes, Zhongli would allow you many more freedoms now. After all, you had sold your mind, body, and soul to him. Escape was impossible. You were clay in his hands, and he would mold you into a perfect, obedient lover.

[starneteyam]

Hii! This is my first time doing one of these so I’m not sure how it works but I love your works! If possible can you do fic where it’s neteyam x na’vi reader who always gets into fights cause she’s really headstrong and neteyam is like either backing her up or trying to break it up because he doesn’t want her to get hurt? Maybe she thinks he sees her as weak or something I don’t know 😭.

You obviously don’t have to if you don’t want to! Thank you!!😊

-🥮

HEADSTRONG ★

🖇️ char. Neteyam x Fem! Omaticayan! Reader

🖇️ warn. None, minor violence, fluff

🎥 In which your constant fights with Ao’nung helps prove just how protective Neteyam can be

A/N Erm hey guys 😅 Long time no see! Some of these requests are super old so sorry if you’ve been waiting for a while. Sorry if it’s a little different than what you requested!

𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐌 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

ONE THING THAT Neteyam really liked about you was how much pride you had. You never let anybody talk down to you, and you weren’t afraid to speak your mind. It was one thing that reminded him of his mother and Ronal, which were clear signs of a perfect Tsahik.

And though he absolutely loved those traits, it would get you in to trouble, especially when there were people who loved to provoke you like Ao’nung. The eldest son of Tonowari was immature, you knew that. He was just some teenage boy who loved getting under your skin. You tried to ignore it, for the most part, you swear.

But when he started talking about your mate’s family, talking about Kiri or Loak, that’s when you finally bit back. They never got physical, thankfully due to Ao’nung having a little sense, or Neteyam being by your side to stop anything from happening.

But today, he took it a little too far.

It was when you were doing some of your chores, carrying fishing nets from the market back to your hut. You were walking along the sand in shallow waters, a place where Kiri liked to come to marvel at the shadow patterns in the sand. You were alone, Neteyam off doing something for his father.

“If it isn’t the princess.” You heard that obnoxious voice, your eyes instantly rolling just by the sound of him. You stopped in your tracks, head hanging low as you sighed. “What now, Ao’nung?” You groaned, turning around to face him. He stalked towards you, a usual smirk on his lips.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that, forest girl. I’m surprised you’re not with your bodyguard.” He teased, obviously talking about Neteyam. You furrowed your brows, glaring at him. “He is not my bodyguard.” And it was true. You and Neteyam both knew you were well enough capable to protect yourself.

“It sure seems like it! You never leave your hut without him.” He laughed, his arms crossing in front of his chest. Your eyes narrowed.

Actually, this had been a thought in your mind for a while. Neteyam always stopped you during fights, and dragged you away before it could get worse. You had seem Ao’nung’s winning laughter too many times.

Neteyam did think you were capable of protecting yourself, right? A future Tsahik who can’t even protect herself was not acceptable. If you can’t protect even yourself, how would you protect your clan?

Ao’nung smirked, hands in the air as if saying ‘See?’ “So I am right. You are too weak. Maybe even weaker than Lo’ak.” He scoffed. You couldn’t help but bare your teeth at him. He knew you hated it when he brought them up. “Do not speak of Lo’ak. He is not weak, and neither am I.” You started, chest high in pride as you stepped into his personal space, shoving a finger into his chest.

“What you are is a disappointment, not only to your father, but to your people. You are so cruel, Ao’nung.” You said through gritted teeth, canines apparent. His smile dropped, a glare forming. “You are childish, and immature. That is why Neteyam has a mate and you do not.” He stumbled backwards when you pushed your fingers against his chest, resulting in his snarling at you.

“What is going on?” You heard the voice that had practically been engraved into your brain, turning over your shoulder to see Neteyam, who already had a nasty look on Ao’nung.

Ao’nung scoffed. “There’s the bodyguard. It seems you really are weak, princess.” He huffed, looking back to you. “Do not call her that.” Neteyam stepped forward to say something more, but you stopped him. “I can protect myself.” You said, the sentence more directed to your mate.

Ao’nung laughed. “Protect yourself? Like you protected your people? Maybe that is why your home tree is gone and your people are dying.” Something snapped inside of you, and you stepped forward to do something, anything, but was apparently beat to it. You were gently pushed to the side, Neteyam’s fist connecting with Ao’nung’s jaw. “Neteyam!” You had gasped, eyes wide in shock.

The punch was so hard that the boy fell to the ground, body slamming into the sand and water. He scrambled to get up, stepping forward to hit Neteyam back, but you quickly shielded him. Ao’nung stared at your with eyes of fury, and you mirrored his expression. He was breathing heavily, shocked from the hit.

“What, are you going to hit a woman?” You spat, holding Neteyam behind you. Everyone stood still for a heartbeat, Ao’nung’s hands opening and closing as if wanting to do something to regain his pride, but having no choice. He huffed, before turning on his heel and stomping away.

You didn’t move, keeping your eyes on his back until he was finally out of sight. You finally relaxed, but your anger was still there. You turned around, giving a knowing look to Neteyam. His ears flickered. “What?”

You closed your eyes, sighing. “I can protect myself, ma Neteyam.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “I know.” He said lightly, as he always did. You nibbled on your bottom lip, looking away. Did he, though?

As your mate, he noticed these subtle expressions immediately. That was one of the things you loved about him. He understood you with you having to say it, and he knew exactly what to say for you. He gently took your hands in his, rubbing the back of your hands with his thumbs.

“Trust me, I know. That is one of the reasons I chose you as my mate. You are strong, ma (name).” He gripped your hands firmly, reassuring you. Seeing as you weren’t 100 percent convinced, he let out a small huff through his nose. He leaned down, pressed a tender kiss to your cheek.

“I stop you because that is my role as your mate. I have to protect you, and I cannot stand seeing you get hurt in any way. It is me being selfish.” The last sentence forced a small laugh out of you, feeling the tiniest bit more confident. You had never thought about it that way.

“I see you.” He said, gripping your hands tightly. You smiled softly. Yes, this was the man you chose. “I see you too.”