#but he feels like he doesn’t fit anymore and the only place he belongs is in the wild adventuring

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSWEET BUNNYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would They Be With A Timid And Shy Darling?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ NOTES : Request by anon ♡ English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

Bruce never saw himself as possessive. He saw himself as cautious, reasonable, and responsible. But when it came to you, it was different. You’re the softest thing in his life, a delicate presence that soothes the storm within him. Your shy nature makes you easy to shelter, easy to protect. You don’t argue when he keeps you close, don’t push when he subtly alters your life to fit his vision of safety.

You needed him. It was obvious.

How easy it is for you to let him take care of everything. How naturally you let him lead you through crowds, shielding you from eyes that linger too long. How your voice wavers when you say his name, like you’re unsure you’re allowed to. You are. You’re allowed to do anything with him. But no one else. And that’s the problem. Because he notices the way people don’t hesitate to approach you, knowing you won’t push them away. That man at the gala who leaned too close. The colleague who placed a hand on your shoulder. The waiter who smiled too much. He finds your timidity utterly enchanting. The way you hesitate before speaking, the way your gaze flits downward when he holds your chin, how you stammer under his scrutiny—it feeds something deep inside him. You need him, even if you don’t realize it yet. Bruce never gets frustrated with your shyness. If anything, he finds it ideal. You aren’t reckless. You aren’t difficult. You’re perfectly moldable. His perfect little doll. You don’t have to worry about the outside world anymore. Gotham is dangerous. Men look at you too long, the world is too harsh, and Bruce knows what’s best for you. He’s a provider by nature, and now you belong to him, his fragile little thing. You won’t even notice when your life shrinks—how he’s always there, subtly guiding you into dependency. He’s a master at making his control feel natural. It’s for your own good, sweetheart.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

Dick is obsessive in the purest sense. He’s everywhere—hovering, smothering, watching. He doesn’t just want to own you; he wants to drown in you, breathe you. You’re so shy, so quiet—and it drives him crazy. Every time you flinch under his overwhelming affection, every time your voice dies in your throat because he’s just too much, he melts. "Aw, sweetheart, don’t be shy. It’s just me." But he loves it. He loves how you tremble when he hugs you too tight, how your voice wavers when you try to refuse him. It makes him feel powerful—knowing he’s the only one who gets to see these pieces of you. At first, he tries to ease you into his intensity. But the longer he’s around you, the more agitated he becomes. Why are you still flinching? Why do you shy away when he’s the safest place you could ever be? The frustration isn’t with you. It’s with the world. Did someone teach you to be afraid? Who hurt you? He wants to rip them apart. He wants to keep you forever. So, he keeps pushing. The cuddles become longer. The touches linger. The kisses are too frequent, too intimate, but he brushes off your hesitance. "Come on, angel, don’t be like that. I just wanna be close." And when you still shy away? When you still look uncertain even after everything? He just pulls you tighter, cooing into your ear. "You’ll get used to me, baby. You’ll see."

— JASON TODD ⋆

At first, your timid nature makes him incredibly soft with you. You’re so meek, so gentle—and that means you need someone to keep you safe, right? You need someone who won’t let the world chew you up. Jason adores your shyness. The way you shrink under his gaze, the way you hesitate before speaking—it makes him feel needed. But as time passes, his patience wears thin. Why won’t you trust him? Why do you still tense when he holds you? He’s here to protect you, damn it. He’d kill for you. The worst part? You’re so sweet that you don’t even fight back. Your soft apologies, your nervous glances—they’re infuriating. He doesn’t want your fear, he wants your adoration. But Jason is impatient. And when you keep shying away, keep hesitating—he starts getting rougher. Not in a way that hurts, never that. But his hands linger longer, his grip tightens, his voice drops into something more desperate. "Stop bein’ so scared of me, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you." He doesn’t realize how terrifying he can be. How his sheer size, his intensity, can make your heart race in a way that isn’t just flustered affection. But he doesn’t want you to be afraid. He just wants you to be his, to love him. So he softens again. He makes up for his outbursts. He coaxes you into his arms, murmuring apologies against your skin. "I just want you to feel safe, doll. You are safe. Just let me take care of you." He’ll never let go.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

Damian sees your shyness as a flaw—a weakness in need of fixing. You’re too soft for this world, too easily pushed aside, and he simply cannot allow it. At first, he tolerates it. He even finds it charming. The way you lower your gaze, the way your voice barely rises above a whisper—it’s a novelty. He enjoys watching you struggle for words, enjoys the way you shrink in his presence. But soon, it frustrates him. "You must learn to speak when addressed, beloved. Do not make me repeat myself." He doesn’t understand why you hesitate, why you fear expressing yourself. And it makes him mad. Not at you, never at you—but at the world that made you this way. So, he takes control. He begins teaching you. He holds your chin between gloved fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. He corrects you when you stammer, urges you to speak up when your voice wavers. "Again. Say it again—this time, with confidence." But he adores how pliant you are. The way you listen, the way you try to please him—it soothes something primal inside him. He’s training you, molding you into something worthy of standing beside him. And yet… there’s a part of him that likes the way you tremble when he raises his voice. The way your breath catches when he leans in too close. The way your small hands clutch at his sleeves when he pulls you in. Perhaps… you don’t need fixing after all. Perhaps you just need him to be the voice you lack. "Very well, my love. If you refuse to speak, I will simply do it for you." And from then on, Damian owns every decision you make.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— PART 2 ☆ Terry McGinnis · Male Barbara Gordon · Male Cassandra Cain · Male Stephanie Brown

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[rafesplaymate]

Dirty Little Secret 𐙚₊˚⊹

Paramour!Rafe Cameron x Married!Reader

warnings: smut. spit-play. impact play. choking. degradation. dumbification? infidelity (not on reader). slight age gap (reader is early 20s / rafe is mid 20s). slight angst on rafe’s end.

a/n: im sorry but Rafe would def be my side piece, don’t lie you know you get it.

········ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆ ········

She should feel guilty.

She should be swearing to never see him again. To be a faithful wife to her husband and give him the loyalty he deserves. He’s truly a good man — she should feel so many disgusting emotions that leave her wrecked.

But the only thing she feels inside her, is the brain-numbing pleasure and intoxicating desire that being around her lover brings.

What he gives to her, over and over again without any hesitation.

Rafe Cameron is everything she desires in a man.

Powerful, affluent, domineering — intoxicatingly handsome.

A menacing air of influence constantly swirling around him as he swaggers through life with an unmatched aura of assertiveness. And she knew that the moment they locked eyes that first night, her whole world, everything she knew — would be set ablaze.

She’d settled down too young. Too quickly. Too blinded by the idea of love and stability her husband was quick to offer her. Too enticed by the idea of living in luxury and getting far away from a place she felt was a dead-end.

Her husband was a good guy. Handsome, fit, in her age range. A trust fund, baby who fell in love with the dancer he met on vacation. Completely infatuated with her captivating beauty and the need to give her a life away from the club scene.

So he promised her a life of grandeur, mumbling sweet nothings of ‘you don’t need this anymore. I’ll give you whatever you want, just come back home with me. Marry me.’ He’d murmured to her— too wrapped up in her, in the sheets of the hotel room he was staying in.

And she did marry him.

It was a ticket out. A ticket to the taste of a lifestyle she desired for herself. So, she let herself fall for him and she went with him. All the way from home and settled into Kildare. The perfect trophy wife with the perfect life.

He gave her everything she wanted, whatever she needed. All to easily with a bat of her lashes and a pout on those lush lips. Whatever she wanted, her husband provided.

Until that wasn’t enough anymore. He wasn’t enough.

Because when she met Rafe, she’d realized the heavy weight of the opulent diamond ring on her finger. Feeling like a shackle tying her to a man and a life she doesn’t know she wants anymore. At least not with the man she calls her husband.

Rafe Cameron had swept her off her feet with ease. Catching her in his line of sight during a gathering, at the island club on Figure 8. Watching the sweet, little trophy wife getting tugged around like a show pony and hanging off the arm of his long-time friend.

Brandon’s pride and joy. His perfect wife, who he catered the world to.

All tight-fitting clothing, stratospheric heels, sultry smiles and gazes — behind sensually done up, lips and eyes. Decadent glitz and glamour that he knows doesn’t belong to this island.

She stood out like a sore thumb. Nothing like the Figure 8 Divas’ or the Pogue Princesses’ he’d been accustomed too. No.

He wanted her, wanted a taste.

Like a child envious of their friend getting a better toy.

A ring on her finger he could easily replace and a weak display of ownership wasn’t going to stop him. And when they caught each other’s gazes for the first time— he knew then and there. They’d end up tangled within each other, one way or another.

He’d make sure of it.

It didn’t take much to he corner her in an empty hall at the gathering; trapping her against the wall and his brick of a body. His darkened gaze staring into her flustered eyes. His lips twisted in a sick, smirk as he dominated her presence with ease. He’d known his hook had sunk in when her faux-lashes fluttered at his lips grazing lightly against her jaw, landing against her ear with a whispered ‘you ever need anything — come find me, minx.’ Slipping his business card in her hand.

He bit the lobe of her ear softly next to her diamond stud, before pulling back and excusing himself with a quick pinch to her chin. A soft threat of ‘don’t make me come find you’ falling from his lips before he excused himself with a triumphant smirk. Leaving her trembling and confused against the wall, inner thighs soaked through her lace panties as she struggled to catch her breath.

It didn’t take long for her to seek him out. Thoughts twisting in her mind at how terrible it’d be. Being unfaithful to a man so good to her. But her desire to uncover the enigma that Rafe was, overweighed everything.

She felt weak, he made her feel weak.

Because after that fateful night she found herself calling him, listening to him when he told her over the line he’d known she would call him. Telling her to come to him. She’d ended up at the front doors of Tannyhill and being welcomed into a whole new world.

One she never wanted to leave, and he doesn’t think he’ll let her.

That’s why she finds herself tangled in his sheets whenever her husband’s gone. Or giving excuses to her absence with small lies of ‘meeting up some girls at the island club’ or ‘going to the beach.’ Making herself scarce in her husband’s life as she fell hard, and deep into Rafe Cameron’s world.

She doesn’t think she’d have it any other way. Especially not with the way he leaves her legs shaking, body quivering and head fucked out — every moment he gets his hands on her.

Tonight is no different.

“He doesn’t know, huh?” Rafe said with twisted, glee layered in his voice. His large hands running up the smooth expanse of her damp back. Taking in her beautiful complexion that he yearns to mark up.

She never lets him.

Only giving him small pieces of herself before she leaves him and goes back to her happy life. The one he’s determined to wreck. Anguished every time he finds her wrapped up in her husband, leaving him wounded and lonely every time she leaves him.

“Doesn’t know that his wife is my stupid, little fucktoy, huh? That she begs me to ruin this sloppy, little cunt any chance she gets?” He mocked, his weight pressing against. Hips flush against her ass as she whines and moans into his ruined sheets.

Gripping them and almost tearing into them with her manicured nails. Her makeup ruined and staining them along with arousal. Whining at his words as she feels the guilt settle in her chest. “Oh, don’t start whining,” he started, bringing his large palm and landing it on her ass with a sickening smack. Watching the skin jiggle under his movements as he grinds his soaked dick into her messier cunt.

His paradise is right in between her plush thighs.

He’s feeling mean tonight. He wants her to understand. Wants her to feel the affliction she cast upon him with the way she disregards him. Leaves him yearning for her.

“You know it, you fucking know you belong to me.” He said with conviction in his voice, leaning his body over her arched one as he lands a hand next to her face and the other wrestles her arm to lay right against her back. “You know that, you’ll always come back to me. I’m the only one who knows how to shut that little brain off and get this pussy fucking, right.” His voice was gruff, desire and hurt etched in every syllable that dripped from his lips.

Like stings of passion that burn her and scar her. Marking her as his and less as her husband’s with everyday that passes.

“That fucking bitch —doesn’t know you like I do, alright? The only thing he did right was getting to you first and bringing you right to me.” He sneered, moving his hips once more and starting up the rhythm that left her ruining his expensive sheets. “Doesn’t matter, I’m going to make sure you end up right where you belong.” His hips were digging into her now, loud squelches filling the room as their bodies met once in that beautiful dance of pleasure —only they seem to know how to offer each other.

“One day,” Rafe started up again after a long, drawn groan. Bringing his hand to grip her hair at the base of her skull. Tugging harshly till she was looking up at him, watching with satisfaction as her tear-filled eyes landed on him. Pretty face contorted in ecstasy at the way he was plowing into her. Their mixed arousal dripping beneath and puddling in a sloppy mess on the sheets.

“One, fucking day —m’gonna make sure he catches us. Gonna show him who’s bitch, you are.” He was so mean. So ready to use that guilt she had built inside her to his advantage, knowing she would argue and fight back against him. Whines of refusal falling from her swollen lips as her brows furrowed at him.

“Shut up,” his voice was gruff, bringing his free hand to grip her jaw as his torso stood up straight. Her hand coming to lay flat against the headboard, nails scratching as her other hand reached back and gripped into his strong thigh, digging her nails in as she struggled to maintain any semblance of stability from his harsh thrust.

“Open,” his voice was full of command. Watching as her gorgeous lips parted and tongue stuck out like his dumb, little puppy. Faux-lashed clumped with tears and makeup falling down her face in messy streaks. Eyes looking up at him like he owned the world. And to her — her did. Her owned her world.

But she wouldn’t let him know that.

Rafe gathered the wetness in his mouth, bringing the hand that was gripping her jaw and wrapping it around her neck harshly. His hand tangled at the base of skull — tugging her harder and forcing her body to bend back deeper. He leaned over, letting the string of spit fall from his lip and land directly onto her waiting tongue. Watching as it dripped down onto her chin.

Spitting harshly against her mouth once more, before bending down and consuming her lips with his own. His tongue dominating her as her nails dug harsher into his thigh and her knees struggled to keep her upright with the way her body was shaking. The only thing keeping her in place, being him. Physically and metaphorically.

When he pulled back, a string of their combined saliva kept them connected, only breaking with he smacked her cheek harshly with the hand that was around her throat and dug his hips harder into her. She could feel him breaking her in, molding himself into her. Pressing against her g-spot and cervix.

Claiming her from the inside.

Rafe wondered how his ‘friend’ would feel knowing his cum burns the woman he calls his wife, from the inside almost everyday. Wonders if Brandon knows he’s licking it out of her when he buries his face inbetween her thighs.

He’s determined to ruin them, ruin what they have.

He’s selfish. A selfish, selfish man. But it’s not like she stops him any way — she’s just as selfish as he is.

He knows eventually this will blow up, they’re getting too comfortable. Too messy. But they don’t care. Because when it all eventually blows up, and Rafe will ensure it does.

He’ll sweep her away and lock her down with a rock of his own. Bigger, better, more expensive. More definitive.

But for now, he bids his time. He can wait.

After all,

He loves being her dirty little secret.

········ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆ ········

a/n: listen … i might even write an alternate sad one where she leaves Rafe all heartbroken and whiny .. we’ll see

taglist: @littlelamy @slut-4-gojo @nemesyaaa @rafesangelita

[monicfever]

the weight of watching. 𝜗𝜚 matt murdock.

something bitter coils in his chest, tightening with every glance she gives to someone else.

dedicated to s ♡

cw ᝰ .ᐟ fem!reader (she/her) ,, jealous!matt ,, established relationship ,, drinking/partying

matt murdock doesn’t belong in the corner.

not tonight. but here he is, leaning against the brick wall of some too-loud apartment, fingers wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling lazily in the low light. the music pulses through him, familiar but not quite the same as it was years ago — too loud, too fast. too many people, too many bodies swarming around like they're all chasing something they can't catch.

he’s different now. older. quieter. a little more broken. but the party still calls to him in the same way it always has — that same reckless energy, that need to get lost for just a little while. his days of binge-drinking and endless nights of dancing on tables feel like they belong to someone else. someone he used to be, but no longer is.

he’s dressed in dark jeans and a black shirt that’s too tight around the chest, but it’s the kind of outfit that speaks to a version of himself he doesn’t like to think about — the version that used to have an easy smile, a quick laugh, a reputation for showing up at every party, every weekend, and leaving with nothing but a few phone numbers he’d forget by morning.

he used to like the noise. the lights. the smell of cheap cologne and the stench of spilled beer. he used to like it because it made him feel alive in a way nothing else could. it doesn’t pull him in like it once did. now, it’s just background noise, like everything else in his life. a blur.

there’s something about the way the room feels tonight — almost suffocating, but in a way he can’t quite place. the air is thick with bodies pressed close together, their voices rising and falling in laughter, shouts, and the deep thrum of a bass that seems to get under his skin. he can feel it in his chest, the vibrations rattling his ribs, the music turning everything into a dull pulse that doesn’t even make him want to move anymore. it used to.

it feels like he’s watching them from behind glass. he’s here because she asked him to be, because it’s her friends' party, and that’s what you do when you’re with someone — show up when they need you to, even if it’s not what you want. maybe at one point he’d thought this was what life was supposed to be. these loud, carefree nights spent in the company of people who barely know each other but act like they do.

now, standing at the edge of the crowd, he feels... apart. disconnected. he’s not sure if it’s because he’s tired of pretending, or if it’s the way the alcohol mingles in the air, or maybe it’s the way the smiles here feel a little too rehearsed, like everyone’s trying too hard to convince themselves that they belong. he’s lost in a sea of people whose names he doesn’t know, whose conversations bounce off his ears without ever landing. someone clinks a glass near him, their laughter a sharp burst of sound that cuts through the room, but it doesn’t mean anything. it doesn’t even feel like it belongs here, in this space. the walls are decorated with string lights that flicker in and out, the dim yellow glow only serving to make the air feel heavier. it’s supposed to be fun, he guesses. everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves, losing themselves in the moment. but all he feels is this strange sense of dissonance, like something’s off-key.

his girlfriend is somewhere in the house. he can hear her laugh — light, easy, the way she always does, as if she’s still in the honeymoon phase of a friendship he’ll never understand. the way she’s laughing with her friends, the way she belongs in this moment while he’s standing still, unmoving. he’s not sure if he’s jealous of how effortless it is for her to be here, or if he’s just exhausted from trying to make it fit.

the music shifts into something older — a throwback track meant to pull out nostalgia and glittered memories from college parties and summer road trips. it works. the room seems to glow with recognition, people singing along like they’ve all agreed to pretend they’re seventeen again. someone knocks over a red solo cup nearby, and the splash of beer spreads like a dark stain across the hardwood, but no one notices. no one cares. it’s that kind of night.

the kitchen is brighter than the rest of the apartment — too bright, honestly. overhead fluorescents humming, reflecting off the slick marble counter that’s cluttered with mismatched liquor bottles and half-cut limes that have dried out around the edges. someone’s spilled something sticky near the sink, and it clings to matt’s shoes as he shifts his weight, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed, half-listening to a conversation that doesn’t involve him.

she’s maybe ten feet away, standing near the fridge with a drink in her hand — rum and something citrusy, judging by the way she barely sips it. she’s laughing again. that soft, unbothered kind of laugh that spills easily from her when she’s comfortable. he loves that sound. or used to. it feels further away tonight. there’s a guy standing next to her, taller than her by a few inches, clean cut, hair too neat for this kind of party. one of her friend’s boyfriends — matt doesn’t remember his name. doesn’t really care to. he’s talking with his whole body, loud and animated, using his hands in ways that don’t feel entirely necessary. matt hears the shift in his tone — the slight drop in his voice when he leans closer, the way he elongates his vowels like he’s trying to stretch time, trying to keep her attention a second longer than he should.

his girlfriend doesn’t notice. she’s nodding, smiling politely, maybe a little amused. she’s always been good at making people feel like she’s listening. like she sees them. and matt knows her well enough to know it’s not flirtation. not from her. but the guy? matt can hear it. the way his breath hitches slightly when she laughs. the way his heartbeat skips when her shoulder accidentally brushes his. it’s not obvious. not enough to raise flags for anyone else. but matt’s not anyone else. his radar is sharper than that, more precise. the guy’s too into her — not in a dangerous way. just in that annoying, lazy sort of way some men get when they think no one’s watching.

matt shifts again, slow. his drink untouched in his hand. “matt!” her voice floats across the kitchen. “come here!” he looks up, neutral expression in place. that’s the thing — he’s always careful with his face. always unreadable. he’s already walking over before she’s finished the sentence, weaving through a small crowd of half-drunk twenty-somethings gathered around a bowl of punch that looks radioactive.

she smiles when he gets there, places a hand lightly on his chest, like a gesture to prove something. or maybe just because she likes touching him. he doesn’t know anymore. “this is evan,” she says, motioning toward the guy. “he’s dating maya — i told you about her, remember?”

matt extends a hand automatically. “hello.” he greets. evan’s handshake is just a touch too firm, like he’s making a point. “yeah, nice to meet you, man. your girl’s hilarious. we were just talking about that time she got locked out of her own apartment and—”

“i know.” matt cuts in, still smiling, but it's sort of strained. “she tells that story a lot.”

she laughs beside him, like she doesn’t notice the shift, and maybe she doesn’t. maybe she’s too caught up in the hum of the party and the buzz of alcohol and the comfort of knowing she’s liked — adored, even. maybe she doesn’t notice the way evan looks at her just a second too long. the way he stands a little too close. matt notices.

the angle of evan’s stance — open, angled in, just slightly — like he’s subconsciously making space for her, not out of politeness, but expectation. it’s all micro. easy to miss if you weren’t trained to catch every flicker, every breath. matt knows interest when he hears it. knows the way attraction hums low and easy under casual conversation. and more than that, he knows the way men like evan test boundaries. she’s glowing in that way she gets at parties, when she’s had just enough to drink to forget how sharp she can be. softened at the edges. loose. laughing without checking the room first. she tosses her hair over her shoulder like it’s nothing, like she has no idea how that movement lands, but evan watches it fall.

matt’s hand lingers at her waist now, just resting. just there. no pressure. “so how long have you two been together?” evan asks, like he doesn’t already know.

“little over a year,” matt jumps in before you can. he doesn’t look at her, but he feels her smile. “depending who you ask.”

“she said you’re a lawyer?”

“something like that.”

evan laughs — a bit too forced — like he doesn’t know what to do with vague answers. he turns to her again. “you didn’t say he was mysterious.”

she grins. “you didn’t ask.” her voice is light, teasing — the kind of tone she slips into when she’s comfortable, when the room feels safe and her drink’s just strong enough to make everything a little softer. she doesn’t notice how evan’s watching her now.

matt notices.

he doesn’t move. doesn’t change his expression. just shifts the weight of his stance slightly. his fingers flex once at his side. he’s quiet — still wearing that same faint smile like it’s stitched into place. but the air feels different to him now. taut, almost.

evan keeps going. “i mean, she talks about you. but it’s always kind of vague. like, ‘matt did this’ or ‘matt said that,’ and we’re all sitting around like — who is this guy?” he laughs again, and it’s easy, familiar. like he thinks he’s funny. like he thinks this is harmless.

she laughs too, elbow resting on the counter behind her now, posture loose. “he’s not vague. he’s just private.”

“that so?” evan glances at matt, but it’s brief — just a flick of attention before his eyes drift back to her. “you ever think he’s a little too good at keeping secrets?” and it’s not a flirtation, not outright. it’s wrapped in a joke, casual and playful — meant to make her laugh, not think. but it lands wrong in matt’s chest. heavy.

matt finally speaks. voice low, smooth, measured. “well,” he says, “people tend to assume a lot when you don’t perform for them.”

evan raises a brow, like he’s just been handed a challenge. “is that what I’m doing?”

“you tell me.” matt’s voice never shifts. it stays calm, the kind of quiet that makes people lean in closer without realizing why. she looks between them now — not worried, not reading into it, just amused. “okay, you two need a drink or a game or something. this is starting to feel like a chess match.”

matt softens just enough to glance down at her, like he’s remembering himself. “you’re right,” then to evan, “you play?”

“what, chess?”

matt shrugs, almost too casually. “sure. anything with rules.”

evan laughs, but it’s tight now — like it got caught somewhere in his throat on the way out. his eyes flick to her for reassurance, like maybe she’ll laugh too, diffuse whatever subtle thing just passed between them. she does — softly, not quite getting the edge of it, but sensing something shift. “you guys competitive?” evan asks, taking a sip of his drink like he’s trying to buy time.

“not really,” then he pauses, gaze fixed on him, eyes calm. “i just think it’s easier when everyone knows where the lines are.” — his words are intentionally vague, intentionally leave room for interpretation.

“yeah, that’s fair.” evan’s a beat too quick. “boundaries, right?”

matt’s smile returns, softer this time. “exactly.”

she nudges matt lightly with her hip, trying to cut the tension she half-senses but doesn’t name. “okay, now you’re just intimidating people.”

“he’s not intimidating,” evan jumps in, and it’s almost a challenge — not quite, but close. “just intense.”

matt hums. “i only get told that from people who don’t like being read.” evan opens his mouth, then closes it, choosing instead to lift his drink again. she gives matt a look — playful, exasperated, the kind she gives him when he’s being like this and he knows it.

“right,” evan clears his throat, brushing his fingers through his hair, glancing around like he’s suddenly aware of just how many people are standing nearby. “well, i should, uh — maya’s waiting for me.”

“you should.” matt says, voice even. not unfriendly — just... done. “she’s been looking for you the past five minutes. you probably missed it. little distracted.”

evan blinks, then smiles — the kind of smile people wear when they don’t know if they’re being insulted or not. “yeah, guess i was.” he nods, hesitates, then turns to her. “it was really good talking to you. again.”

she smiles. “you too.”

matt listens for evan to leave. doesn’t look away until he’s fully disappeared into the crowd. the second he’s gone, the atmosphere lifts — just barely. “you okay?” she asks, studying his face.

“me?” he looks down at her, all innocence. “i’m great. i love parties.”

“you were being so weird just now.” then she’s laughing, brushing her fingers against his arm as if she can shake the mood off him.

“mm.” he leans slightly against the counter. “he was being something.” she laughs, but she doesn’t press it. doesn’t ask what he means. just reaches out and straightens the edge of his collar, like it’s second nature.

“you didn’t have to go all serious lawyer mode.”

“i didn’t,” matt responds, turning toward her, tone still level. “that was just party matt.”

she hums, narrowing her eyes. “party matt’s kind of an asshole.”

he smiles, finally, tired. “you say that like you didn’t like it.” she laughs again, light and easy, still looking at him like she doesn’t notice. doesn’t see how quiet he’s gone beneath the surface, how his hand is still resting lightly against the edge of the counter, fingers drumming against the tile like he needs something to hold onto.

she’s still looking at him like she always does, with that soft unbothered expression. maybe she’s still tipsy. maybe she really didn’t notice the way evan looked at her. the way he smiled too slow, stood too close.

maybe that should be comforting. that she’s so untouched by it, that she trusts him enough not to see anything worth worrying about. but it isn’t. not right now. because she still hasn’t moved — still leaning against the counter like she’s waiting for something else to happen. she’s glowing in that way she gets when she’s been surrounded by people who adore her. when she’s been laughing too much and talking too fast. like she’s full of warmth she doesn’t even know she’s radiating.

matt’s fingers drum against the counter again — soft, steady. a metronome for the thoughts circling too fast in his head. he doesn’t realize he’s doing it until she places her hand over his.

“seriously. you okay?”

he lifts his gaze to her slowly. offers a toothless smile and nods. “yeah. just thinking.”

“about?”

he shrugs, because what is he supposed to say? that he’s jealous in the quiet, ugly way he promised himself he wouldn’t be? that he’s still hearing evan’s voice wrapped around her name like it belonged there?

“it’s loud in here.” he says instead.

she smiles faintly, fingers still over his. “you hate parties.”

“i used to like them.”

she leans her head slightly, curious. “and now?”

“now,” he says, swiveling his head around — at the red cups, the glitter-stained floor, the echo of laughter that feels too sharp. “it’s just noise.”

she watches him for a second longer than usual, not quite reading him, but something in her softens. “we can leave,” she says, thumb brushing lightly against his knuckles. “just say the word.”

he nods. doesn’t say anything right away. the truth is, he doesn’t want to leave because of evan. not really. he wants to leave because this version of her — glowing, adored, golden under someone else’s gaze — doesn’t belong to him. not in this room.

maybe he’s not jealous of evan.

maybe he’s just jealous of how effortless it is for her to shine without even trying.

“five more minutes.” he murmurs, and she squeezes his hand once before turning back toward the crowd.

and he lets her. stays behind in the kitchen light, fingers still pressed to the counter like he’s afraid it might let him go.

started 4.26.2025. finished 4.26.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[lampridius]

hihii!! may i request anaxa and sunday with a reader who likes putting up fronts? like they would constantly play these roles with vast personalities, put on masks, copy/mirror other’s mannerisms, till the point they don’t even know who they are anymore or their “true self” is? sorry if this doesn’t make sense >_<

🎭 anon

𝙃𝙎𝙍 𝙈𝙀𝙉 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝘼 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙋𝙐𝙏𝙎 𝙊𝙉 𝘼 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙆 ᯓ★ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀: anaxa, sunday ᯓ★ rules | masterlist | 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 ᯓ★ 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ᯓ★ 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀:

#𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗫𝗔

he picks up on it pretty fast - not because he’s offended, but because he knows the game.

you're a different person around everyone. loud and dramatic with one group, quiet and perceptive with another. even around him, you shift. sometimes you're flirty, sometimes aloof, sometimes overly agreeable in ways that feel just a bit too practiced. it’s like you’ve memorized entire personas and swap them in depending on who you’re speaking to.

most people wouldn’t notice. anaxa does.

he doesn’t call you out right away. he watches. listens. and when you’re quiet - when you finally let the performance drop for even a second - he slips beside you with this low, thoughtful hum.

“do you ever wonder who you'd be if you weren’t trying to be so many things at once?”

you tense up. a mask almost clicks into place, but he lifts a hand - easy, no pressure - and adds, “don’t give me a rehearsed answer. i'd prefer if you give me nothing at all, if that’s easier.”

he isn’t pushing. he’s just there. he doesn’t need a grand confession, or for you to tear yourself apart trying to be honest when even you aren’t sure what that means anymore. he just wants to see the version of you that’s not trying so hard.

sometimes, when you’re tired, when your face hurts from smiling and your voice doesn’t sound like your own anymore, you sit with him in silence.

he likes that version. the one that slouches a little, whose hands fidget with fabric threads, who sighs without having to explain why.

and he’ll keep showing up for that person, over and over. even if they don’t know who they are yet.

#𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬

he’s soft in ways most people don’t expect - cerebral, almost dreamy, but sharp enough to see through the cracks.

when he watches you shift and adjust in every room you walk into - your voice morphing, your body language echoing whoever you’re with - he doesn’t see dishonesty.

he sees someone exhausted.

you joke about it sometimes. how good you are at fitting in. how people always seem to like you. but there’s a hollowness behind it. sunday hears that too.

and one day, when the two of you are walking quietly through a garden or a hallway or some quiet, glass-and-gold room filled with nothing but sun and dust motes, he finally says:

“you don’t have to prove you belong to anyone. not with me.”

you blink. the words hit something raw.

he tilts his head gently toward you. “and you don’t have to disappear into everyone you meet, either. you’re allowed to just be. even if you don’t know what that is right now.”

his tone isn’t pitying. it’s inviting. not trying to strip your masks away, but offering a space where you might set one down - just for a minute.

when you ask, quietly, “what if there’s nothing underneath?”, he only smiles. small and certain.

“then we’ll build it together.”

he doesn’t flinch when you’re inconsistent. doesn’t correct you when your personality slides from one edge to the next. he just keeps showing up, offering softness without condition.

and maybe - just maybe - being seen like that is the first real thing you’ve felt in a while.

©𝗖𝗢𝗣𝗬𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 ● @lampridius 2025

[bitchinbarzal]

Secret Drawer | B Faber

summary: you’re broken up and now you’re roommates.

-

Brock is exhausted when he steps off the plane. A four-game road trip, back-to-backs, and a brutal loss in overtime have drained every ounce of energy from his body. He just wants to get home, throw his bag on the floor, and collapse into his bed for about sixteen hours.

Except, when he gets to his apartment complex, his key doesn’t work.

He frowns, trying again. Still locked.

“What the hell,” he mutters, tugging his phone out of his pocket. His notifications are a mess, mostly texts from teammates about bad calls, group chat chaos, and random NHL updates he doesn’t care about.

Then he sees a missed call from his landlord.

His stomach sinks as he calls back immediately, pacing outside his apartment building.

“Faber! Good, I was hoping you’d call,” the landlord greets. “Listen, man, your place got flooded while you were gone.”

Brock’s brain short-circuits. “Flooded? What—how?!”

“Pipe burst. Maintenance is already working on it, but your stuff had to be moved. Don’t worry, I had the movers take it to the address you had listed as your emergency contact.”

A cold chill washes over him.

No. No way.

“What address did you send it to?” he asks, voice tense.

The landlord rattles off an address, and Brock physically winces.

Because that’s not just any address.

It’s yours.

His ex-girlfriend’s apartment.

“Shit,” Brock mutters under his breath.

The landlord keeps talking, but Brock is already tuning him out, mind racing. He had meant to take you off the emergency contact list when you broke up, but between travel, training, and pretending he was totally fine without you, it never happened.

And now all his stuff—his clothes, his hockey gear, his entire life—is sitting in your apartment.

This is a disaster.

When Brock finally makes it to your apartment, his stomach is a tight knot of anxiety.

The moment you open the door, the air shifts.

You don’t look surprised to see him. If anything, you look like you’ve been preparing for this exact moment.

His eyes dart past you, and sure enough—his stuff is everywhere.

Boxes stacked in the hallway. His old jerseys draped over the couch. His gear bag tossed to the side, sticking out like an ugly reminder that he doesn’t belong here anymore.

Brock runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “So, uh… I guess you got my stuff.”

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorway. “Yep. Shocking surprise, by the way. Really made my week.”

The sarcasm stings.

He shifts on his feet, feeling like an intruder in a place he once called home. “Look, I didn’t plan this. My landlord screwed up.”

Your expression stays neutral, but there’s something in your eyes—a flicker of old history, of memories you both left unresolved.

“Yeah, well,” you sigh. “It’s not like I can kick you out. Turns out, the lease is still in both our names.”

Brock’s head snaps up. “What?”

“I tried to fix it months ago,” you say, rolling your eyes. “But apparently, you never signed the paperwork, so now, legally, this is still your place too.”

He stares at you.

So not only is his stuff here, but now there’s no easy way to leave.

“Great,” he mutters under his breath.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I don’t want this either, Brock. But I don’t have the energy to figure it out tonight, and clearly, you don’t either. So for now? Just—stay out of my way.”

And with that, you turn on your heel and walk toward your room, leaving Brock standing there, surrounded by everything he thought he had left behind.

The next few days are pure hell.

Every interaction is painfully awkward—like two people who used to fit together perfectly but now can’t even exist in the same space without stepping on landmines.

The first morning, you walk into the kitchen to find Brock standing there, shirtless, drinking coffee like this is totally normal.

It is not normal.

You freeze. “You can’t just—be here.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I live here.”

You groan, grabbing your own coffee mug and avoiding eye contact at all costs.

Then there are the accidental run-ins—like when you’re both trying to leave at the same time and nearly collide in the hallway.

Or the one time you walked into the bathroom only to find Brock hadn’t locked the door.

“Jesus, Brock!” you yelped, slamming the door shut.

“You could’ve knocked!” he shot back, voice muffled.

“You could’ve locked the damn door!”

Neither of you spoke for an hour after that.

The tension only builds.

There are moments when you almost talk—when he looks at you like he wants to say something, like there’s something unspoken between you.

But neither of you take that step.

Until the night you go looking for a pen in your nightstand.

And you find the drawer.

It’s filled with your stuff.

A necklace you thought you lost. An old hoodie of his that you used to steal. A handwritten note—the one you gave him on your anniversary.

Your breath catches.

Because Brock never threw it away.

And suddenly, everything you’ve been pretending doesn’t hurt—hurts all over again.

You hear footsteps behind you.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Brock says quietly.

You turn, clutching the note in your hand. “Why do you still have this?”

His jaw tightens. “Because I couldn’t let it go.”

You shake your head. “You broke up with me, Brock.”

His face twists. “Yeah, and I’ve regretted it every damn day since.”

Silence.

Raw. Unfiltered.

For the first time in months, you’re looking at each other without the walls up.

“I thought about reaching out,” Brock says, voice rough. “But I figured you didn’t want to hear from me.”

“I waited for you to,” you admit softly.

His expression crumbles.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says, shaking his head. “I thought I was giving you space, letting you move on. But I never did. And now I’m standing here, and all I want to do is tell you that I was an idiot for ever thinking I could let you go.”

Your heart pounds.

You could walk away—tell him it’s too late, that you’ve healed and moved on. Maybe it wouldn’t even be a lie.

You could try.

Slowly, you inhale. “If we do this again…”

Brock’s breath catches. “Yeah?”

“It has to be different,” you say firmly. “No half-measures. No leaving.”

His eyes darken with something determined. “I won’t mess it up this time.”

You search his face, looking for doubt, hesitation, anything that makes you think he’s saying this just because it’s easy.

But you don’t find it.

You find Brock. The same one who never stopped holding onto the past, even when he thought it was too late.

Maybe this time—it’s not.

You exhale.

Then, finally, you let go of the note.

And instead, you reach for him.

Brock doesn’t hesitate.

His arms wrap around you, holding you tight, like he’s terrified to let go again.

And this time, He won’t.

[gladiatorcunt]

- LIFE OF THE PARTY | IX.

take a breath, you’re the

cw: kinktober prompt (non con-ish, more of the aftermath), past non con threesome (between 18 year olds) w/ suguru, coercion, mentions of blood and virginity loss, past bully-ish satory, frat boy!satoru + nanami, toji (who’s the same age), sukuna, choso, & suguru, goth & tatted reader who has a vagina, non con voyeurism (?) and video sharing, implied the rest of the boys x reader (choso a little more implied), being attracted to the man who assaulted you and making poor decisions out of a need for survival, ooc!satoru, non linear moments, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

TWO YEARS AGO | ????’s Dorm Bathroom

“I’m the one that stuck around after I got my dick wet.”

He should’ve told you that he loved you, he should’ve shoved Suguru off of you when he had his turn and bashed his head into the tile. He should've cleaned you up and cuddled you in a bubble bath back at his apartment. What he did was wipe up the copious amounts cum and saliva up with your underwear and it wasn’t until he turned around so you could get dressed that he noticed the blood. On the floor, on your panties, dripping off his still hard cock. Satoru didn’t get to care about his heart falling out of his ass and straight into hell, because how absurd is it that this is the moment when he finally understands that his actions have consequences. Toy trains don’t run anymore when you play with them so roughly that their wheels fall off.

“I didn’t go in raw with her, ‘s not like you, I couldn't even stay hard until I looked at the pic of you I have by my bed. I brought it over.”

So why did he look at your limp body and still expect you to move? Didn’t you notice that you weren’t alone? Do you not care? His brain hadn’t caught up with his body when he ruined everything, and he wishes he had your first time in a bed, filled with only him. You weren’t paying attention to him anymore and he couldn’t understand why that made him so angry. He didn’t need you, Gojo Satoru doesn’t need anybody. He made no effort to stop the mean whispers about you from his friend group and he didn’t apologize for the way he “bullied” you in high school for having a stalker-y crush on him when you saw each other at orientation. But you looked so beautiful then, you still did when you were shaking on the cold floor in front of him. Staring all bug eyed up at the flickering artificial light, he wanted to scream when he hovered over you and your eyes didn’t focus on him.

In hindsight, that was a lot of words to use when he only needed three.

Satoru has to belong to everybody, but nothing ever has to belong to him. He has privileges that he earns by simply existing, but it can all be taken away from him with a single order. Is it so bad that he held you so tightly your bones broke and your guts spilled in between his fingers? That he wanted to stick your cells under a microscope so he could know you more intimately than anyone ever could? From the very moment he met you, he could tell that you truly understood him, and who would ever want to give that up?

If being irresponsible with money means splurging on a tattoo to make yourself feel better when you should really be buying groceries? Then you’ll put the shoe on and won’t whine when it fits. You’ve been in a god awful slump lately. Your assignments barely get turned in on time and you go weeks without brushing your teeth because you can’t be bothered to get off your ass for two minutes. So when Choso updated his tattoo shops instagram saying that they’re available for bookings, you jumped on the opportunity.

It’s your favorite place anyway, and you wouldn’t feel as comfortable getting a tattoo from someone that wasn’t working there. Even Sukuna, who makes a big show of acting all tough but will let you get pieces done for free if they’re from him. He’ll drive you home on his bike when a session runs a little late and you’re worried about walking home alone.

You have a lot of fondness for the place and its people, except for a certain gage wearing individual, but you’re trying to repress all that. He definitely doesn’t make it easy for you, he’s somehow always able to know when you’re coming and gets himself in the receptionist’s chair so you have to talk to him. He stares you down with his empty black orbs the entire time during an appointment, and the veins in his arms bulge when you inhale as the needle pierces your skin. He makes “jokes” that he'd be so gentle with you if you let him, and you don’t have the heart to speak up over a stern “Suguru.” He raises his hands in surrender and backs off, because he knows there’s always next time.

You fumble through your bag as you prepare to leave your dorm, making sure you’ve got everything. Sunscreen to re apply over your makeup later? Check. Your phone (with several texts from an unknown number flashing on the screen)? Check. Your wallet stuffed to the brim with old receipts and cards that you probably keep at home? Check.

You get almost five steps out the door before you crash into a solid chest. Your ‘oof’ is muffled by the stranger’s shirt, and when you take a step back you recognize it as a compression shirt that's gotten popular with a lot of the guys on campus. That’s why the muscle you collided with felt particularly…. firm.

“Hi, cutie! Fancy seeing you here.” Satoru chuckles, like he isn’t literally outside your dorm.

And just like that, all the good vibes and hopes you had for your day shrivel up and die.

It’s a shame that Satoru does look good in the shirt, the black sleeves cut off at the perfect point on his arms and he’s been good at knowing which trends will suit him better than the millions of other people buying into them. His eyes stand out in the dark fabric, as blue as you remember them and as terrifying. You gape at him for what must be a solid minute before your features twist up into a scowl and you’re darting around him to walk away.

“I live here, now fuck off or kill yourself, I don’t care.” You shout over your shoulder, praying that he doesn’t take off after you.

“Aw, that’s mean, babe! But I know you’d miss me too much, so I won’t do either of those. Have a good day!” You don’t hear him leave as he responds, but you’re past the point of obsessively cataloging Satoru Gojo’s every movement.

Your roommate let him in, in more ways than one.

“Alright, there we go. You’re all set, i’ll meet you at the counter and we’ll get you out of here.” Choso touch is light as a feather as he does the cleaning on your freshly tattooed skin.

A skeletal pattern over your hand, knuckles and all.

The sound of him snapping his black glove against his wrist makes you jump but he smiles, doing it again with a tender look in his eyes. He wipes down your finished tattoo and you grab your bag, heading to the counter to pay.

“You took it really well, I should've known you would when you told me you came in for a tattoo on one of the most painful areas of your body on purpose.” Choso teases, punching in your card details at the front.

They run a small parlor and are usually short staffed since most of the employees are also in the biggest frat at school and end up doing most of their appointments in whatever room’s available at a party. The shop’s not the most legal operation in general, but Choso and the others all did their apprenticeships right at 18 so they could have a place of their own as soon as possible. And so they could do their own ink and jewelry for free. Sukuna, Toji, Suguru, all of them got their piercing licenses too. Nanami’s their accountant. Satoru’s really the only one who isn't directly involved with the place.

It’s bad enough that one of your attackers always has a chance of being here, but it’s cheap and you feel a sense of comfort with Choso. That familiarity might be why you end up paying a lot less than you should, but it gives you butterflies to consider that as a possibility.

“Yeah, is it bad that I just thought it was cool? I don’t have any symbolic connection to it or anything.” You joke, thinking about how your mom would always say she’d prefer a tiny one, a flower on your shoulder or something like that for your first tattoo.

You’re a free pieces deep, each one nothing like she would have picked for yourself. You started getting them after the… incident, and it’s incredible how freeing it can be to explore your style and have everything on your body be 100% your decision.

Sukuna, the one with the closest workstation to the counter snorts, “Choso did some nice work on you, kitty.”

You roll your eyes, Choso’s younger brother never fails to hit on you whenever you find your way back into their shop.

Toji, done with his tongue piercing appointment, steadies a hand on his woozy client’s shoulder and looks over to you. “Sure did, must be why Suguru can’t keep his beady orbs off of ya. Not that I blame him.”

You stiffen, feeling said man’s eyes slither up and down your body, leaving a trail of tar and molasses that keeps you from immediately bolting. A fly preserved in amber, encrusted in gnarled old tree bark.

You don’t look back over your shoulder at him but you hear him chuckle and swat Toji upside the head, “Nah, just got a lot on my mind is all. I’m double booked. Your tat’s cool though, wish i could’ve done it in my style.”

The ‘It probably would’ve looked better’ is left unsaid.

Choso raises an eyebrow and reaches out to grab your wrist as he hands back your card, he strokes a line down your pulse point

“I think I did just fine, I'm the one you keep coming back to anyway, no matter how painful it gets.”

He ducks his head down when your heart skips a beat, wrestling with his smug grin.

A stormy look comes over Suguru’s expression but it’s gone in a flash of purple lightning when his client walks in through the door.

It’s when you say a reluctant goodbye to Choso and leave the parlor to head towards the nearest grocery store that your phone goes off.

It’s from an unknown number but you know exactly who it is, you’ve blocked Satoru multiple times and he keeps coming back with a different number.

The message is a single video without an accompanying taunt, and you really shouldn’t, but your morbid curiosity wins out.

You notice your roommate's ankle bracelet slung over his shoulder very quickly, you also see more of her stretched out pussy than you ever wanted to.

Satoru chuckles behind the camera, zooming in on where their bodies are joined, he’s fucking her raw and her folds look startlingly red. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t bullshit through any bad dirty talk or narration for the audience (of one). A blessing, all things considered, he loved to yap your ears off when he took you. Satoru Gojo is rarely ever silent, even when deep down he doesn’t feel much like talking.

But he’s gone quiet as a church mouse, the only sounds coming from your phone are sticky smacks of bare flesh against bare flesh and your roommate’s muffled moans. Anytime she tries to scream, Satoru tightens his grip on her mouth and slaps her tits, which becomes a vicious cycle.

The video shows his torso at an angle, fat pecs and chiseled abs glistening as they clench. He has a fucking smoking hot body, one that you wish you weren’t forced to know more intimately than the girl who in that moment is currently all up on it.

You watch when she cums around him, a car running into a tree, but you click out of the video when Satoru cums inside her, a cargo train crashing through the car AND the tree.

Your mind is as scattered as those bits of debri and human flesh, welded to the tracks but you can feel movement above and around you.

Nanami’s hand cups your shoulder when you’re distracted during your study session later that day, he’s tutoring you in french for free and you’ve taken absolute advantage of the opportunity. It’s just one of those fuzzy days for you, especially since you can’t stop thinking of the video.

“Everything okay?” He murmurs, leaning closer with worry flickering in his warm eyes.

You nod and shrug your shoulders, “Yeah, just a little tired. Been really stressed lately.”

He wishes you would let him help with that.

Sometimes Satoru plops down on his ten thousand dollar leather couch and imagines what it would be like to kill Suguru. It’s what he should’ve done, years ago back in that dingy bathroom with a singular lightbulb that you could never quite tell if it was going to stay lit. He could’ve charged into the other man’s body and smashed his skull into the mirror until clumps of his black hair fell on the floor and blended in with shoddy tile work. All he’d be able to hear is your pitiful hiccups, his blood would be rushing to and fro in his ears. He would’ve

Other times, Satoru imagines what it would be like to kill himself. In front of you of course, because even if he’s doing it as a sacrifice to your shrine, you’d never forget him. Trauma can do funny things to your brain, if he left you alone you might hide him under several layers of heavy fog. If you won’t love him, at least let him be remembered by the only person he thinks he’s ever cared about. You’d be happy if he stayed away, but you wouldn’t be safe with anyone else but him, so he’ll take all the screaming and throwing shit at him that’s to come.

As long as the tiffany blue box tucked away in his nightstand isn’t one of those things.

It’s why he calls his usual people and pays a good chunk of cash to throw your roommate off their shoulders like a sack of potatoes and kill her somewhere private. He has a chemistry class in fifteen minutes, and a fraternity meeting right after. Satoru’s annoyed at having to make that long trek between buildings, but it’d probably be a good way to work the energy off. What’s-her-face was really starting to piss him off, snoring as loud as a vacuum cleaner on the pillow next to him. She couldn’t even make him cum, but that’s to be expected, she’s just not you.

He didn’t hit it raw though, that’s a privilege reserved solely for his (future) baby.

When he graduates, goes to dental school, and becomes a dentist, he thinks it’d be so romantic to be the one you went to. Cleaning your teeth, praising you for how well you’ve been brushing and flossing, leaning down for an upside down spider man kind of kiss when the appointment’s over. If you’re sporting a cute little rounded belly and an angelic glow during one of those appointments, well, don’t tell anybody what he needs to imagine to fall asleep with anything resembling a genuine smile.

Shit, he hopes Choso remembers to re-stock the orange juice and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Nanami’s been pissed ever since Satoru finished them without asking, now they have to share the Captain Crunch Berries. Hiroguma doesn’t mind the turn of events. All Satoru can do is wonder which one you’d like more if you stayed over at the house.

“Shh, shh, shh. You’re alright, cutie. Just a little longer, this pussy’s so tight I'm gonna cream it in no time, ‘kay?” He whispers into your hair, his dick pistoning in and out of your sopping cunt, hunting you down even as he’s currently inside you.

He tells you these things, because of course Satoru Gojo knows you and your own body better than you do. The only time he’s ever touched it and it’s like this, violating you for his own pleasure and accidentally discovering what fuels yours along the way.

You’re crying, because he’s learned that despite your prickly personality you like soft touches and sweet words, but don’t hold it against him. He’s a horny teenage boy, it’s all trial and error. It could be a lot worse for you, he couldn’t not eaten you out first and just plowed your ass like he was gonna die tomorrow.

You feel like you might, watching your blood drip down onto the dirty bathroom tile, you’re a leaky faucet now. Rusted and having so little left to give but you keep on giving (and taking) because there’s nothing else you can do.

Satoru spills into your guts with no warning, fucking down into you like you’re nothing but a pocket pussy. You’re just so pretty, sobbing and clawing at his shoulders. He’ll wear the red scratch marks with pride, maybe ask Suguru to lick them and tell him what they taste like, share it with him to get the little remnants of your bitten nails down his throat.

He climbs off of you and picks up his phone, his fingers sticky with your juices make the device slip and slide in his grip but he manages to not drop it. You may as well be dead on the floor but Satoru’s too busy texting the video of what you just did to Suguru. He smirks and his cock twitches, imagining the look on his best friend’s face, the envy.

He never tells you if the goal was to make Suguru want to join, you never want to know.

When you come back, black and red rose petals poke out under your door.

You snap, slamming your door open and gawking at the audacity of Satoru Gojo, nestled on the covers of your bed like he was waiting for his baby to get home from a stressful day out in this big scary city.

You don’t remember the questions you ask even as you’re asking them, all you’re retaining is the blush on his face and how pretty his blue eyes are when he’s about to get everything under the sun because it might as well have a ‘Paid for by the Gojo Family’ plague on it.

You’re so fucking tired, and you put up a fight but that’s all out of you now. There are multiple ways to make something go away, like absorbing into your body so at least you’re partially in control.

“I’ll forgive you if you’re good and keep your filthy hands to yourself until I tell you otherwise, okay?”

He obeys and sits perched on the edge of the bed, watching as you hover above a glass dildo purposefully smaller than he is. You bite your lip, lubing it up until your hand is slippery and you keep losing your grip.

Satoru imagines this it at a frat party instead, and the music is pouring from the open windows as people fuck around outside and inside the house, drinking from cheap plastic cups and novelty shot glasses. He’d take your hand and lace his fingers through yours, taking you upstairs to his room.

Your rum and coke would loosen you up, and you’d grind in his bed to the beat bumping through the floor. Satoru would bury his face in your neck and beg you to let him touch you like he really wants to. You’d sigh and he’d grin, skirting his long fingers under the edge of your lace panties and fingering you right there before picking you up and throwing you flat on your back.

He’d promise he’d pull out, he thought he had more condoms in his nightstand, you wouldn’t care and would beg to stay inside no matter what. You’d have a little Toru Jr. a couple semesters later.

But that universe doesn’t exist. You’re riding a small toy to an unsatisfying orgasm and Satoru just has to sit there and watch you, leaving your clit neglected and your mouth unoccupied by his eager kisses. You spit at him that you should just pull the dildo out of you and ram it up his ass without warning, but he’s so desperate to chain you up and tie you down that he’d probably like it. You only want to do something he wouldn’t like right now, a swan song for your dignity and self respect. It’s been a few years since those things were once part of you too.

Your breath hitches and your eyes get teary, Satoru can’t help but to shuffle over to where you’re kneeling on the bed. You moan as his fingertips come into contact with your swollen clit, and laugh deliriously when he perks up like his dad just surprised with a new car to have someone else drive for him.

“So fucking typical.” You whine, bouncing on the dildo and wordlessly begging him to keep playing with your bud. “Can’t ever do something you don’t wanna do, always to be someone else’s job.”

The blinking light in the corner of your bookshelf will come in handy when Satoru’s fast asleep in your bed and you’re sending a video of your own to Suguru.

You’ll both wake up to someone furiously pounding on your door, the world will spin round and round only to end up at the same place.

A frown flickers across his face at the pure death in your tone. He wants to know your favorite colors and what you love to eat and what makes every stressor in life fade away, but all he knows is what you look like when you cry yourself to smithereens while you cum.

“You’re the best at everything, honey.” He softly chuckles, water laps at his hairline, he’s almost drowning.

That isn’t quite true clearly, you’re not the best at stopping yourself from being assaulted, like that’s something you be and therapy’s something you can win.

“Thank you, Toru. so are you.”

That is true, for better or for worse as the saying goes.

[seenoversundown]

I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

Warnings: Smut (Oral F receiving, sex sex sex)

Word Count: 1.3k

Andrew x Reader (y/n)

The laughter of our friends echoes down the hall as he guides me further and further away from them. We’re hosting the annual holiday party this year for the first time. It was our third holiday season together but the first one in our new home. 

“They’re going to notice we’re gone, we’re going to get caught,” I say while tugging his hand. I can’t help the fit of giggles that follow. 

“Love, we’re only going to get caught if you’re loud,” Andrew replies, and the heat building in my stomach drops. We continue down the long hallway until we hit the staircase. I’m ready to start tiptoeing up them, trying to remind myself to avoid the squeaky stair halfway up, when Andrew pulls us into the small closet built under the stairs instead, causing me to gasp. 

“This is way too close to everyone else!” I hiss under my breath. 

He laughs while tugging me in further. “We have about ten minutes before Marlow comes looking for me; better make them count.” 

 My protests quickly fail as he attaches his lips to my throat, my ultimate weakness. He pulls me against him as he pushes the door shut with a soft click. I’m holding on to his arms as though they’re life preservers keeping me from drowning in all of him. I feel the low rumble of his laugh as he peppers soft kisses trailing up to my lips. 

As soon as Andrew’s lips touch mine, I feel myself drown. It’s intoxicating as I spiral from our kiss. I let my hands roam over his arms, chest, anything I can touch. It seems as though he feels the same way with the way his hands are pulling my dress up over my thighs. I can feel his fingers slip over the outside of my thong, looping into each side. With one quick movement, he pulls them down and falls to his knees simultaneously. He looks up through his lashes at me, and god, is it a beautiful sight. His pupils are so blown out that I can barely make out the green of his eyes I love so much. I’m breathless looking at how gorgeous this man is. I feel lucky. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, love. I need to taste you.” Andrew sounds desperate as he plants kisses on my thighs, almost like he’s waiting for me to permit him.

“Please,” my voice comes out breathless, almost inaudible, but it’s all he needs. He takes his fingers and separates my folds to give me one long swipe of his tongue. I forget our rules, where we are, for a moment, and moan in relief. Finally, my man is where he belongs. 

“You have to stay quiet, love, or I can’t let you finish.” 

My hands instantly go to the back of Andrew’s head. “Sorry, sorry, don’t stop.”

“My needy girl, what am I going to do with you?” He doesn’t give me time to respond as he expertly finds my clit. I’m focusing hard on not making a sound, but I can’t help the whimper that comes out of me when he inserts a single finger. The scrape of his beard on the inside of my thighs is deliciously painful. 

“More, please give me more.” I’m close, something that always happens fast with him. I feel him chuckle, which just makes my clit hum in pleasure, but he complies. I feel the second finger enter me, and I slowly become untethered. My hands are lost in his unruly curls as I hold him against me, chasing my release. His fingers curl inside of me, and I come entirely undone. It’s hard to remember to stay quiet when he makes me feel this good. When he’s sure I’ve come down, he rises from his place on his knees. 

“I need to feel you,” Andrew whispers against my ear as he turns me around. I hear the zipper of his pants before he shrugs them down his thighs. He places the crown of his cock against my entrance, and I can’t help but push up against it; the anticipation is unbearable. 

“My desperate girl can’t wait for me, can she?” My head shakes in response as I hear him tsk behind me. “You know the rules, babe. Use your words.” He slowly removes his cock so he isn’t touching me anymore. 

“Please, please. I need you. I can’t wait.” He’s right, I am desperate for him. 

I hear Andrew’s low chuckle behind me as he repositions himself at my entrance. He doesn’t give me any warning at all before he’s bottoming out inside of me. The mix of our moans fills the tiny closeted space while he brings up a hand to my neck. With his hand slightly tightening on my throat and the other gripped onto my hip, he starts to thrust. 

“You’re so wet for me. Just for me. God, I love being inside you.” Andrew murmurs in my ear. I feel myself melting for him. I press my ass back and spread my legs even more, trying to get as much of him as I can. 

“You need this too, don’t you, babe? My naughty girl, I love when she comes out to play.” I lightly moan in response to his words when his hand gives a warning squeeze around my throat. 

“My naughty girl still needs to be quiet. Wouldn’t want to be found, would we?” 

“No, sorry, please.” My breath hitches in my throat as Andrew thrusts into me at a steady pace. His hand slowly travels up my side as his languid thrusts continue until he reaches the peak of my breast. My nipple is hard, and I need more from him. I don’t have to say anything as he pinches my nipple and gives me the pressure I am desperately searching for. 

“You feel so good, pleasedon’tstop.” I barely recognize my own voice anymore. I love when sex with Andrew sends me into another dimension. 

“Let me feel you come, love, come undone for me.” My orgasm is right on the surface as I listen to his words, but once his hand deserts my breast and makes its way to my clit I am entirely done for. 

It’s hard not to whimper as I come on Andrew’s cock, and it’s hard not to moan when I feel him release inside of me. It feels as though there’s no more air in this closet, just Andrew and I. He stays behind me for a moment, maybe two, just holding me in our post-coital bliss. When he’s ready, he finally pulls out of me, and I can’t help but whimper at the empty feeling. 

Andrew moves around me and cleans me up with my discarded panties. After  he puts them on the shelf out of view, “I’ll come back for these when everyone leaves.” He says as he presses a kiss to my temple. 

“You better not forget them, I swear, Andrew.” 

“Swear what?” He presses a kiss to my lips. “I know how to get on your good side, love. I’m not worried.” He laughs that glorious laugh; it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. He unlocks the closet door and looks back at me, “ready to go back?” 

“Do I look okay?” I ask as I smooth my dress back out, trying to look as normal as possible. Andrew takes my wrists and stops my movements. 

“You, my love, are ethereal.” A single kiss to my forehead. “Let’s go.” 

As we walk back down the hallway , the voices get louder and louder, seemingly right on time; a small pair of footsteps is running towards us. 

“Uncle Annndreeeewww!!” Marlow bellows. “I’ve been looking for you! Have you been playing hide and seek?” She erupts into a fit of giggles as Andrew lifts her above his head. 

“Absolutely was, Mar. Good job! You found us.” 

I can’t help but laugh behind them as we walk into our living room to be greeted by everyone else. 

“You two were gone for quite some time.” Our friend calls from the other side of the room. 

Andrew’s quick to cover Marlow’s ears before he responds. “You know me, I would never worship and tell.”

[thursdayinspace]

ficlet: a long time and no time at all

So, @laurencem asked what Mulder and Scully were doing at the unremarkable house at midnight for the anniversary of the millennium kiss. I could imagine their night having been something like this. tagging @today-in-fic

It’s been a long time and no time at all. She’s looking out the window, three minutes to midnight, lost in thought; it’s dark outside, but the room is filled with the soft light of a single lamp and a few candles. She sees little but her own reflection looking back at her, a contemplative look on her face.

His reflection joins hers as he steps up behind her, placing his hands on her hips and leaning his chin on the top of her head. He fits against her as if their bodies were made to slot together. She’s never felt small in his arms. She feels invincible.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” she answers.

“What are you thinking about?”

She takes a second to answer. It’s been such a long time and no time at all. “Us. You and me.”

“Funny,” he says. “I’ve just been thinking about the same thing.”

It doesn’t surprise her. They don’t celebrate many holidays, but they celebrate this one. There aren’t many New Year’s Eves they’ve spent apart. The few she hasn’t spent with him, she’s spent alone. She knows he’s done the same. This night belongs to the two of them. There’s no room for anyone else.

His eyes are fixed on her reflection. Hers are fixed on his. If she squints, she can see their younger selves in the window standing slotted together like puzzle pieces, and it seems right. Such a long time. She leans back against him and sighs. No time at all, really. She takes his arm and lifts it to look at the watch on his wrist. One more minute. She links her fingers with his before letting their hands drop back to their sides. It seems like yesterday that she touched him for the first time, shook his hand and changed her life.

It seems like yesterday that he leaned towards her in a hospital hallway and touched his lips to hers for the first time.

“Twenty-five years,” he says. Of course he’s thinking about it too.

“A quarter of a century.” It sounds like forever when she puts it into words. It has been forever. It is forever.

He sways back and she turns in his arms, looks up at him, wonders how the sight of him can still take her breath away. In the small space between them he lifts his arm so they can both see the face of his watch, the seconds ticking down. They don’t speak. Time passes without words. They’ve never needed many.

Ten seconds. She hears the countdown from the TV twenty-five years ago, feels the quiet calm she’d felt as she watched the world stay the same.

Five, four, three.

She looks up at him, his gaze meeting hers, and the look in his eyes is the same it was then. It’s always been the same.

Two. One.

He leans in.

Midnight: a moment’s pause, close enough they’re sharing breath, and even if she can’t remember the number of seconds it took for his lips to meet hers back then, she thinks it must have been exactly this long before they closed the final inch of distance for the first time.

A soft, lingering kiss, so familiar it makes her heart flutter in her chest. She knows his lips so well. They’ve touched every part of her body. They’ve formed words that have healed her and hurt her and made her feel like the luckiest person in the world. The new year wouldn’t start without his kiss, the hands of the watch frozen in the half second before midnight. She doesn’t know how time moved on when they weren’t together. Maybe it only did because she closed her eyes and wished him to be with her until the universe believed that he was.

The smile on her face is different than the one from twenty-five years ago. His is too.

She’d never thought she was all that special until he’d looked at her.

“Happy new year, Scully,” he says.

“Happy new year, Mulder,” she answers.

A quarter of a century ago, so much had happened to them that she’d believed nothing could surprise her anymore. These days, so much has happened to them that she expects new surprises every day.

This is the only thing that will never change: she loves him. Utterly and completely. It’s been so long and no time at all since she let that knowledge out its cage in her heart, shared it with him, and learned what the look in his eyes had been telling her all along. To be loved like this is more than she can comprehend.

“When you kissed me back then,” she starts.

“Twenty-five years ago?”

“Yeah. When you kissed me then…” She puts her hands on his chest to feel the steady beating of his heart. “I never asked. Was it supposed to be a New Year’s kiss? Or the start of something?”

He runs his fingertips gently along her temple. “Neither,” he says. “I think I was admitting something that had been true for a long time.”

“Okay.”

“Did you understand?”

“I think I did,” she says. “Did you understand my answer?”

He nods. “I think I did. Either way, it worked out alright, didn’t it?”

It’s been a long time and no time at all since she kissed him for the second time. In the car as she dropped him off at his apartment. A long time and no time at all since she asked him if he needed help with anything with his arm in a sling, a long time and no time at all since he said yes and asked her if she’d come up for a while. A long time and no time at all since they kissed for the third time and then more times than she can count.

She kisses him again. She kisses him like it’s twenty-five years ago, she kisses him like they’ve been kissing for a quarter of a century, she kisses him like time has no meaning at all.

He’s the same and he is different. She’s the same and she is different. What they’re saying to each other is the same. That time passes, and they’ll face it together. Always.

[seeingivy]

blessing

megumi fushiguro x gn!reader

you and fushiguro talk about names

content: nothing, light mentions of blood

an: your consolation prize - a megumi draft while I edit you belong with me gojo. if your name has a meaning, im sorry it doesn't anymore.

--

“Do you think names are important, Megumi?” 

Megumi flutters his eyes open and squints in the dark to direct his gaze to you. You’re splayed right against his bare chest, nimble fingers drawing indiscernible shapes onto his skin. He knows you can’t sleep after missions, which is the only reason he allows your needless rambling at four in the morning. 

“Is this another of those angel sign things Nobara taught you?” he groans, lifting a hand to place it in your hair, the smell of your strawberry shampoo wafting into his space. 

“It’s angel numbers and astrology signs.” you respond, lightly nudging him with your elbow.

“That stuff isn’t real.” 

“Maybe not Megs, but it’s fun to think about.” 

You look over at him and Megumi can feel his heart thumping in his chest, your expectant eyes staring at him as you wait for a response. And he hates that your stupid eyes always make him give in. 

“Okay, fine. Tell me.” 

You grin and readjust yourself so you’re propped up on his chest, so you can get the perfect vantage point of the grumpy face he’s going to make at you. 

“Some people think names have power. Like, depending on what the meaning of your name is, that can affect how you act and who you are and stuff.” 

He frowns, reaching forward to flick you on the forehead, before grabbing your hand and resting your knuckles against his lips. 

“So you’re saying, if we named our kid asshole, he’d be an asshole?” 

“Our kid would be an asshole because you have an attitude problem. Not because we named him asshole.” 

He rolls his eyes, reaching forward to pinch your cheeks. 

“But think about it, Megs. For example, Yuu’s name means relaxed and caring. Don’t you think that fits him?” 

“Itadori is anything but relaxed, Y/N.” 

“Okay, well. It’s half true. Nobara means thorny. Doesn’t that compliment her cursed technique?” 

“Uh huh. I still don’t buy it.” 

“Or Gojo-sensei. Satoru means understanding, like enlightenment. He’s literally the strongest sorcerer.” 

Megumi wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you up closer to burrow his face into your neck. He loves the smell of your shampoo, of your flowery perfume - but loves it even more when he can smell it on himself the next day. 

“You talk too much, Y/N.” 

“Do you know what your name means Megumi?” 

“No. I’ve never really thought about it.” 

“Your name means blessing.” 

Megumi has never wondered about his name or what it means. All he knows is that when he was younger his dad and Tsumiki’s mom disappeared one day, leaving the two of them alone. That is until Gojo showed up. 

And unlike you, he’s never really thought about these things. Star signs, Enneagram personality types, birth charts, angel numbers. According to you, they’re little signs - from the celestials, the universe, something out there bigger than you two. 

Granted, he knows you’re being silly. That you don’t really believe it. But he can’t help but wonder. If his parents saw him and picked out the perfect name. Or if they saw a baby book and closed their eyes and pointed till they found one they liked. If they named him blessing, because they thought he was one. 

If they were intentional in their love for him, like you have been for the past year, the two of you have been dating. You leave a glass of water on his nightstand, so he makes sure to drink water in the morning. Pick up his drycleaning when you’re on your way home, insisting that it’s no trouble and you’re already there. Tell him to throw pennies in fountains and make a wish just because. 

“I think it fits perfectly, Megs.” you whisper, tracing a little star onto the side of his arm. 

He doesn’t respond, his blue eyes focused on the ceiling above you too. 

“I just mean. Gojo-sensei was probably really lonely after everything that happened with Getou. But you were around and he had you with him, so he wasn’t really lonely. And-and I know Yuuji appreciates being here with you and that he really admires you. Nobara too and-” 

“Y/N.” 

You think back to the mission, earlier today. And it keeps replaying through your mind, every time it’s quiet enough to think about it. 

You let your guard down for a few seconds. A few seconds too many because when you and Yuuji turned around, he was on the floor - thick, red blood spilling out of his forehead. And really, if you weren’t busy discussing what souvenirs to buy on the way out, if you were paying attention, maybe you wouldn’t be the one dragging him back to Shoko’s and watching from a distance with such an intense guilt that it made your stomach burn. 

“I think you’re a blessing too, y’know? Maybe I don’t say it all the time, but I do. I guess it’s just hard to say how you feel sometimes when…I don’t know, we could die tomorrow Megs and-”

Megumi brings his hand back up to your hair, brushing through the tangles at the back as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You know Megumi. His hand in your hair - to drop it, to let it go. The kiss on your head - that he’s already looked past what happened. 

“What does your name mean, Y/N?” 

“Dunno. Couldn’t really find it in the books or anything.” 

--

You wake up to the left side of the bed empty, the mattress cold and missing a Megumi shaped space. His glass has been drained on the nightstand, meaning he’d probably left already for breakfast. You quickly pad back to your own dorm and pull your uniform on, before joining them all for breakfast. 

You join the three of them at the desk - already loudly arguing about god knows what. You place a hand on Megumi’s shoulder as you slide into the seat next to him, granting you a small smile from him. He places a hand on your thigh and squeezes, another one of Megumi’s silent messages. 

You’re okay. 

Nobara and Yuuji are holding up the name book you had looked at the day prior, Nobara pinching the end of his ear as they argue. 

“This name thing isn’t true. You’re full of shit.” Yuuji complains, pushing the book towards you and Megumi. 

You open up the book, already open to Yuuji’s name at the end of the book. 

“Who the fuck said I thought it was true? It’s just fun to look at.” Nobara responds.

“Well, why did you bring it up? You’re acting like you’re connected with some celestial body shit but you’re just making stuff up.” Yuji responds, standing up. 

The three of them stand up, packing up their things as they get ready to head to training on the field with the second years. You’re still stuck on the book - flipping through to check everyone’s names. Gojo, Shoko, Toge, Maki. 

As you flip through the pages, you note a dark indentation on one of the pages in the middle, and quickly try to flip through to find it again. 

“You coming?” Megumi asks, bag slung over his shoulder at the door. 

“Yeah. I’m coming, give me a second.” 

The three of them shrug as they walk out, their incessant chattering still heard from the window outdoors. You finally find the page and the dark blotches of writing at the bottom. 

Someone’s written in the book, with a black marker. You recognize the handwriting immediately, Megumi’s freakishly neat handwriting inscribed in the book. 

Y/N. Meaning: love or warmth. 

You quickly shut the book and run out, where the three of them are already walking to class. Nobara and Yuuji are now peering over her phone, looking at god knows what, which you take as your opportunity to grab Megumi and lightly drag him back. 

“Megs.” 

“Hm?” 

“Did you write in the book?” 

He rolls his eyes, lightly nudging you with his elbows, as you guys keep walking on. 

“No. I didn’t.” 

“Yes. You did. I know your handwriting, idiot.” 

“No. I didn’t. And even if I did, so what? The book was missing your name.” he responds, pinching his eyebrows as he looks at you.

“Okay. So you did write in it. But you can’t just give my name a meaning, we don’t even know if that’s true.” 

“All words have made up meanings. If someone came up to us and told us that trees are actually called birds, we’d start calling them birds.” 

“Okay but-” 

“I decided. That’s what your name means. Because that’s what you are. Now, be quiet and focus on training.” he responds.

He drops your hand and walks past, stretching in between Nobara and Maki as the group of them start stretching out. He looks over and gives you a soft smile, the one he only reserves for you, and you can only think that you truly are blessed, to be loved by someone like him.

--

taglist: @porridgesblog @platrom @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoott @itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

[angelickks]

sam winchester's playlist

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: a playlist curated by the quiet thinker, the scholar, the man who bears the burden of the world on his shoulders - finds solace in soft melodies and a few chosen words. songs that play when sam’s alone in the library, when he’s on the road with his brother, when he’s quietly grieving something too painful to speak.

supernatural mlist!

───

I. “fortunate son” – creedence clearwater revival Sam listens to this when he’s feeling the weight of the family legacy. It’s a reminder that he didn’t ask for this life, but here he is. Sometimes the fight feels like it was chosen for him.

II. “bad moon rising” – creedence clearwater revival a warning. sam plays it on the road when things are about to get messy, when he knows the calm is only temporary. it always feels like the storm’s just around the corner.

III. “the sound of silence” – simon & garfunkel plays in the quiet moments when sam’s alone. no noise. no distractions. just him and the silence. sometimes, it’s the only thing that keeps him from breaking down.

IV. “the night we met” – lord huron a soft, bittersweet song that makes sam think about the what-ifs—the moments before everything went sideways. He listens to it when the weight of the past feels just too heavy.

V. “home” – michael bublé played when sam’s far from home, thinking about what it might feel like to have a normal life again. it’s a reminder that despite everything, he’s still looking for that place where he belongs.

VI. “brothers in arms” – dire straits a track that speaks to the bond he shares with his siblings. no matter what happens, Sam’s always there, and this song encapsulates the unspoken understanding they have, even when they don’t agree.

VII. “slow dancing in a burning room” – john mayer sam listens to this when he’s reflecting on the delicate nature of love, relationships, and the slow destruction of everything he holds dear. a reminder that some things just can’t be saved.

VIII. “all I want” – kodaline a song that reflects Sam’s desire for something more—something simple. The constant fight wears him down, and every now and then, he wonders if he’ll ever find peace.

IX. “don’t let me down” – the chainsmokers feat. daya Sam plays this one when he's having a laugh. It's lighter, more fun. He knows it’s a bit of a guilty pleasure, but hey, who doesn’t need something to break the tension now and then?

X. “wait it out” – imogen heap Sam plays this when the answers aren’t coming, and he’s just... waiting. Waiting for the right moment, for a break in the storm, or for something to change. Patience isn’t easy for him, but he’s learned.

XI. “your best american girl” – mitski Max added this one to his playlist, and he doesn’t question it. It’s a song about trying to fit into a mold you weren’t meant for. Sam finds himself relating to it more than he wants to admit.

XII. “i will follow you into the dark” – death cab for cutie Sam would follow Dean anywhere. And when things go south, he reminds himself that it’s the right choice. This is about family, the promise that no matter where they go, they’ll stay together.

XIII. “be still” – the kills played when Sam’s trying to clear his mind after a particularly bad hunt, or when everything’s just too much. Sometimes, he needs the reminder to stop and breathe before everything breaks.

XIV. “a thousand years” – christina perri When Sam’s feeling the weight of his own heartache, this one plays. It’s a quiet song that speaks to long waits, impossible love, and the aching sense of loss he feels all too often.

XV. “carry on” – fun. Sam hums this when he’s trying to pick himself back up after a particularly bad hunt or the aftermath of a loss. It’s his anthem for survival, even when he’s feeling like he can’t go on anymore.

XVI. “clocks” – coldplay This one gets played when Sam’s working through research, trying to find the next clue. Time is always against him, and this song reflects that pressure.

XVII. “let her go” – passenger Sam can’t help but play this after a difficult goodbye. He’s learned that sometimes, letting go is the only option. This song serves as a reminder that not every love can be saved.

XVIII. “go your own way” – fleetwood mac Sam puts this on when he’s contemplating his own future. He’s always in Dean’s shadow, but sometimes, he wonders if it’s time for him to break away and follow his own path.

XIX. “blue ain’t your color” – keith urban A bit of lightness for when Sam needs it most. It’s a small distraction when he’s feeling the weight of everything—something to remind him to smile, even if just for a minute.

XX. “the river” – bruce springsteen Played during his darker moments. It’s a reflection on everything Sam’s given up in the name of family, the sacrifices made, and the idea that there’s a price to pay for every decision.

bonus track!

XXI. “Father Figure” – George Michael The song comes on out of nowhere—soft, sultry, and unexpectedly emotional. Max immediately raises an eyebrow and grins. “Okay, Sam. This is an interesting choice.”

Sam’s face goes a little pink, but he brushes it off, trying to look cool. “It’s not like that, okay? Just... it came on. I didn’t choose it.”

Max’s smirk widens. “Sure, Sammy. Sure.”

Dean, sensing an opportunity for trouble, leans back in his seat and looks over at Cas. “You know, Cas, this song's got layers. It’s all about... emotional dependence. And someone needing someone to lean on. Which, I mean—Sammy’s basically everyone’s father figure, right?”

Sam shoots him a glare. “I’m not a father figure!” Dean just smirks. “Yeah, sure, pal. Totally not. Got any weird kinks to air out or something?"

Cas, taking Dean's words literally as usual, furrows his brow. “So Sam is the... protector? The... father to everyone?” Dean and Max both start laughing at Cas's innocence. Max, with a devilish grin, adds, “Yeah, Cas. Sam’s the father figure for us all. You know, guiding us, protecting us, showing us the way." She winks at Sam. "In the most awkward possible way.”

Sam is not amused. "I'm not anyone's 'father figure,' alright?" He leans forward and grabs the radio dial. Dean and Max start singing the chorus at the top of their lungs: "I will be your father figure! Put your tiny hand in mine!"

Cas looks at Sam curiously, not understanding the full context, but still intrigued. "I don't... understand. What does it mean to be a 'father figure' in this context?" Dean shrugs dramatically. "It’s the whole package, Cas—the protector, the guide, the one who has to fix everything." Max chimes in, “And Sam is really good at making things weird in a dad-like way. You should see him with the Impala.”

Sam, now fully embarrassed, shakes his head. “Can we just get through one road trip without making me the butt of every joke?”Dean pats him on the back. “After all these years...thought you'd be used to it Sammy."

Cas nods solemnly. “I too admire you, Sam. In a very... platonic father-figure way.”

Sam looks at him like he's about to implode from embarrassment. “Oh my god, please stop."

[jinns-arcane-feverdream]

Love Without Words

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Chapter Two

Chapter One

The sound of funeral bells rings in my head as I button up my jacket. Dark colors adorn my body as I look in the mirror. My hair doesn’t quite cooperate, but it doesn’t matter; my hood will be up, at least until I get inside. Then? Well, I’ve changed. I don’t fit that respectable image anymore - I never did. That’s part of the reason why I left, the main reason. When you live somewhere you don’t belong for too long, you get desperate and flee. You cut ties, throw away all you know, for a life you hope fits you better. And I was lucky enough that my new life did.

As I adjust my jewelry, I think back to the times where I would do this for weekly events. My mother - no, abandoner - would stand behind me as I used the mirror to perfect my look. It was never to her liking, though, and she always ended up shoving earrings into my lobes in places where there were no holes, scarring me over time. Now, I go to a piercer to get new earrings shoved through needle holes in my ears. It’s cleaner, healthier, and better. 

I find earrings that fit well enough with my dark attire and quickly slip them through my piercings. I use my finger to straighten out my septum before I turn to leave the bathroom. My apartment isn’t much, but it’s good enough for me. No one in the undercity has much, unless you’re a Chem Baron. My boots aren’t shiny or new, and there’s plenty of scuffs in them, but they’re the most comfortable shoes I have - and they go with my outfit.

“I’ll be back later, don’t get up to any trouble while I’m gone.” I lean over to look at my little betta fish swimming over to the glass to look at me. “I know, I haven’t spent enough time with you lately. But I promise that I will make it up to you,” I tell him. After reaching for his food, I drop a single pellet in for him to eat. “No more until I get back, I don’t want you to get dropsy.” Huy, my fish, stares at me with his beady black eyes. His mouth opens and a bubble comes out, signaling that he probably burped. 

A laugh slips from me before I stand and head to the front door, and my smile slips as I sigh. It’s not fun going to Piltover, but this time, it feels necessary. An old friend’s mother has died; someone who used to occasionally provide for me. The least I owe is my condolences to my friend and her father, and a brief respect given to her mother. Though, she is part of the reason I fled - I’d become a burden to her and her family. I was an orphan who took too much from her. I was needy, and she was rich. I was wild, she was proper.

The door closes firmly behind me and I quickly lock it. A few whistles ring through the air as friendly neighbors bid me goodbye. I offer a brief wave behind my back before beginning on my trek. No one knows what I’m up to, not even my closest friend - well, he’s more like a brother. My actual closest friend had been in Stillwater for the last 7 years, and as soon as she got out, Vi began running around with some random chick, trying to find her sister and save her. We only knew each other for a small amount of time before she was thrown in prison, but I managed to visit her often due to my connection with the guard - it helps to be an orphan in need of guidance, and he was kind enough, or maybe dumb enough, to take me under his wing. I have another friend as well, Ekko, who brought me into the Firelights group. We met one night while I was walking back to my apartment after visiting Vi. I’d gotten surprised by one of the firelight creatures when it landed on my arm. Ekko had been chasing it, and coincidentally ran into me. After that, he’d let me into the group and their home; a beautiful place with a real tree at the center.

Back to my ‘brother’. His name is Thieram, and he works at The Last Drop—my first stop on the way to Topside. Coincidentally, due to me visiting him often at work, I became sort-of friends with Jinx and Sevika, mainly due to the fact that Silco’s office was above the bar. I only ever saw the man in brief passing because when Thieram would see him come in, he’d make sure I looked anywhere but at his boss. He always warned me that one wrong glance would earn me Sevika’s knee in my jaw.

“Where are you off to wearing such a gloomy outfit,” Thieram asks as I walk into the building. 

I take my normal seat at the bar and take that shot he offers me. “Piltover.”

“Topside? How come?” he questions while preparing me another shot—he knows how much I hate going up there, even if it’s for business. He’s heard plenty of drunken rants to know exactly what I would say to any question he’d ask after I returned Underground.

“Friend’s mother died, felt like I should at least show up for once. Haven’t seen her in years anyway, it might surprise me to see what she’s become,” I explain before throwing back the second shot. “Thanks.”

“‘Course. You sure you wanna do this, though? No one’s forcing you to go up there.”

“I should go,” I sigh, taking the glass of water he offers. “I kinda miss my friends up there, ya know? Sure they weren’t the best and didn’t really understand me, but they did their best. I think.”

“You have friends?” he jokes, and I crack a smile. “There it is, I missed those crooked teeth.”

“My teeth are not crooked, thank you very much. Although your nose still is from the last time I broke it.” The snark comes naturally, and of course, he has a quick retort.

“I’m not gonna bother fixing it, knowing how dirty you like to spar,” he laughs, and I join in with him. 

I slip off my bar stool and stretch, a groan coming from me as I do. “I better be off now, Thier,” I say with a crack of my neck, “Sorry I can’t stay more than a minute, I don’t wanna be Topside when it gets dark. They’ll probably think I’m some filthy Zaunite robber,” I snicker.

“Wait, you aren’t?” he asks, faking exasperation.

“I mean, they don’t need to know I am,” I laugh before reaching over the bar and trying to slap him playfully.

“Hey! Knock it off! You don’t slap the guy who gives you drinks,” he says while glaring at me. “Now, go on and git.” He sticks his tongue out at me, an action that I playfully copy.

“See ya later, Thiery,” I say while waving as I walk out. He smiles and waves back, offering me the same salutations. As soon as the door closes behind me, my mood drops again. I’m not glum about her mom being dead, as bad as that sounds. I’m upset about having forced myself back up there, a place that never fails to push me back out each time I venture across the bridge.

Nobody seems to notice me as I walk through the lanes, but the second I step onto the bridge, the eyes of multiple enforcers are glued to me. I keep my head down, trying not to draw any attention, but some young, probably new, enforcer bee-lines to me and blocks me from walking any further.

“State your business,” he says while glaring at me. “And take off your jacket, you’re getting a search.”

“A search?” I ask bewildered, “What did I do to be searched?”

“You came from the Undercity. Now answer my question before I detain you for being difficult.”

I open my mouth to protest before biting my tongue. I pull my jacket off and forcefully shove it into his hands while he signals someone to come over and pat me down. “I’m going to pay respects to an old friend whose mother died recently,” I explain, “hence the dark clothes.”

“And what is the name of this friend?” he asks as the other nods to signify that I’m clear.

“Does that really matter? You won’t believe me, anyway,” I huff. He opens his mouth to object before a superior officer comes over and tells him to let me pass as I had cleared the search. He scoffs before throwing my jacket back at me, but not hard enough, causing me to have to move forward to catch it before it hits the ground. I spit next to his shoe before slipping my jacket back on and pulling the hood back up. I don’t look to see who the other enforcer is, not caring about who came to my ‘rescue’.

As I walked along the bridge, I glanced at the water to my side. I’d never been good at swimming, but there was always the urge to jump in and let the slow current carry me along. The River Zaun looks peaceful, despite being disgustingly polluted and full of who knows what kind of creatures. The rays of sun reflect off of it, catching my eye and causing me to look away. A dot is in my vision now from the brightness, but it’s a welcome change compared to the constant darkness and glow of the Undercity.

I cringe at the sound of my boots on the tiled street of Piltover. My heels seem to produce an echo that reverberates down the row of buildings, and I feel as though it’s a summoning, an alarm that a Zaunite has wandered up to Piltover. Enforcers pass by as I walk the familiar route to my friend’s house; they tend to be more prominent in the rich neighborhoods, probably due to wanting to protect the wealthy more than anyone else. How else would Piltover fund their excessive police force and academy?

I stop at the end of the street to gaze at the gates before me. The metal glints in the sun, and I feel small as I watch them rise into the sky. They don’t send an inviting message, but I force myself to walk over anyway. To my surprise, they’re open, and I walk through them and up to the door. I knock once, softly, before knocking harder, twice. I take a few steps back before putting my head down and waiting. After a few moments, Mr. Kiramman answers the door.

His eyes are wide as I look up at him. It takes only a second for him to recognize me, and once he does, he immediately moves to the side to let me in. “We’ve wondered about you,” he admits to me, shattering the awkward silence. 

“I’ve been alright,” I respond simply, “is Caitlyn here?”

“Yes, I can let her know that she has a guest. Would you like me to tell her it’s you?”

I think for a moment, considering the options. “No, I think I would like to surprise her. Maybe it could be…something to bring a bit of joy to her, in this hard time.”

Mr. Kiramman nods before leading me to a sitting area. “I’ll go let her know, then,” he says before turning and taking a few steps.

“Wait,” I say, stopping him in his tracks. He turns back and looks at me, and I give him a small smile. “I never thanked you guys before. I know it’s probably far too late, but I appreciated everything you did for me, no matter how big or small.”

He smiles briefly before looking down as the smile fades. “We could’ve done more. But Cassandra-”

“I give my condolences for your loss. She was a strong woman. May you find peace in her honor.” I cut him off, not needing to know any more of how Cassandra Kiramman had always thought of me as lesser, an orphan mooch. Mr. Kiramman nods before turning again and heading to find Caitlyn, understanding my tone as one indicating our conversation is over.

After a minute, I hear steps ringing through the house. I stand and face away from the stairs I knew she’d be coming from. I can’t bear to face her yet, not after so long, and not after her mother’s recent death.

“I was told you were here to see me?” Her voice sounds hollow, and I can sense the emotional drain she has gone through. “Well? Are you going to turn around?”

I take a deep breath before speaking as I turn. “I…should have visited sooner,” I say before looking up. Her eyes widen, and she takes a step back, resting a hand on the arm of a chair for support.

A mumble of my name leaves her lips before she lunges forward and wraps me in a hug. “I thought you were dead, or in jail!” she cried into my neck. “I…I didn’t think I’d ever see you again! Where have you been? What have you been doing?”

I slowly pull away and glance into her eyes, seeing a mix of excitement, relief, and hurt. “I…well, it’s a long story,” I admit with a sigh. “It’s not why I’m here. I wanted to offer my condolences—”

“I don’t need any more of those,” she cuts in with a sigh. “Please, sit. Can you tell me anything about these past 6 years?”

I sit and think for a second before nodding softly. I fidget with my hands for a second, deciding how much to spill. “I fled to the Undercity. I realized that I’d fit in better down there, being a poor orphan and all. Topside…well, you know I never fit in here. You and Jayce were the only ones who gave me a chance, but even then…” My words trailed off. I didn’t want to make her feel bad about her past actions, or those of her mother. “I eventually joined a…morale raising group. We embrace the possibility of a better Zaun.” Caitlyn stiffens up in her seat as I speak, and I stop when I can tell she has something to say. 

“A morale raising group? You’re not a part of Silco’s crew, are you?”

“No,” I quickly deny, “they’re kinda our rivals down there. We fight for control, for influence. The group I’m in, we’re more about peace and bringing people together. Silco’s crew…they’re more about fear tactics, forcing people under their control.”

“I see,” Caitlyn says before relaxing again. “It was one of Silco’s people who killed my mother. I had to make sure you weren’t a part of it.”

I shake my head no before studying her outfit, realizing why it seemed familiar to me. It’s my turn to stiffen up in my seat, and I divert my eyes from her enforcer uniform.

“Is there something wrong?” Caitlyn asks, having noticed my sudden tension.

“You’re…an enforcer…” I comment, meeting her eyes again. “An enforcer.”

“Yes, it had always been my dream since I was little,” she explains. “Why? Is that a problem?”

“A problem? Do you understand what enforcers—no, nevermind. Don’t worry about it.”

“Not all enforcers are bad,” she counters me, “We have orders and directions we have to follow. Sometimes they’re more harsh than normal due to external factors.”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Cait,” I sigh, “I need to go soon anyway.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything bad about the Undercity. It’s just-”

“No, I get it. Your mother was killed by one of us. You’ve grown up and lived in Piltover your whole life. You don’t know what it’s like down there. You don’t know what it’s like for us to see an enforcer.”

“Us?” she questions, her brows furrowed in confusion. “You think you’re one of them now?”

“Yes, I am. I’ve been accepted into the world down there, unlike how I was tossed aside up here. It’s…refreshing, feeling like I belong somewhere. But, again, I need to leave. I don’t want to be stuck here when it’s dark.”

Caitlyn glances at the ground for a second before perking up again. “Have you visited Jayce?” she asks as we both stand. “I can give you an escort to his lab if you’d like.”

“I don’t need an escort, and I wasn’t planning on seeing him. I’m only up here to offer you my condolences,” I explain. “And…I don’t think Jayce would be happy to see me.”

“He misses you more than you know,” she counters. “Please, let me have someone take you there. Or I’ll write down the directions if you feel more comfortable. I’ll just have to give you a note with my official seal to show the guards. Please, just visit him for me.”

I roll my eyes before obliging, letting her quickly scrawl out a note for me, and directions on how to get to the lab. “Thanks,” I say while placing the note in my pocket. I’ll…see ya,” I say, a wave of sadness washing over me again. In a second, her arms are around me again, and I return the hug. “I miss you, Cait,” I whisper to her.

Her arms tighten around me before she responds. “I miss you too. Please visit.”

“Sure. I’ll try.” It’s a lie, and we both know it. She hates the Undercity, and I hate Topside. When we separate, we offer weak smiles to each other before I turn to walk out. As the door closes behind me, I let out a long breath. My heart is racing, and I feel it pick up as I see Vi walking past the gates. 

“Vi? What are you doing here?” I ask in bewilderment.

She says my name in surprise before running up the steps to be next to me. “I’m here to see Caitlyn. What are you doing up here?”

“Same thing. Caitlyn and I were friends before I fled to Zaun. How do you know her?”

“She’s the one who got me out of Stillwater and helped me look for Powder. We’re…dating, I think.”

“Dating? You’re dating an enforcer? What the hell, Vi? They’re the ones who killed your parents!”

Vi steps back, startled by my sudden anger. “Yeah, but Caitlyn wasn’t the one who did it! My sister killed her mother, how do you think that makes her feel seeing me?”

“Vi,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, “those people think we’re dirt. They don’t care about anything other than oppressing us and trying to scare us. How could you be with one?”

“You don’t understand,” she huffs, “you don’t know what she’s gone through, or what she’s like. She doesn’t just go down there to harass us. She does her job.”

“The job of enforcers is to harass us. I can’t believe you would just…switch up like that.” I throw my hands in the air in emphasis of my words. Vi holds eye contact with me for a second before scoffing.

“I don’t owe you an explanation. I gotta go, I’ll see you around.”

It’s my turn to scoff as I shake my head and begin walking away. Soon enough, I’m past the gates and back on the street. I walk quickly, wanting to get my day of reunions over with as fast as possible so I can go back to The Last Drop and have a drink with Thieram. 

The sun is just past midday when I see the building Jayce is supposed to be in. Of course, a guard of enforcers is stationed outside. I groan internally while walking up, and a young ginger girl stops me from going any further. A man that is possibly a Vastaya lingers back, watching the ginger enforcer carefully. I don’t pay attention to him, or how his frills seem to twitch up when he looks at me.

“Hello, do you have clearance to be here?” the ginger girl asks.

“Yeah, I have this note from Caitlyn Kiramman,” I say while handing it to her.

“Caitlyn? You know her?” the ginger asks excitedly. “She’s such an inspiration to me, I could listen to her for hours.”

“Uh, cool,” I say casually, not sure how else to respond. “I’m just here to see Jayce Talis.”

“Oh, I could escort you in, unless you know your way around,” she offers kindly. “Don’t need a good looking person like you getting lost in there,” she jokes casually. 

“If you just tell me the directions I’m sure I can find it.”

“Alright,” she says, a flush of slight embarrassment covering her face in her failed flirtation attempt. “I’ll write them down on the back of this note for you.”

“Thanks,” I say while shifting awkwardly. I spare another glance at the other enforcer, and catch him quickly looking away. His ears twitch but I don’t think anything of it, and turn back to take the directions from the ginger. “Thanks,” I say again before she steps aside to let me continue in.

The halls are large and empty, and I feel a chill roll through my body as my shoes once again echo as I walk. I check the note and make a turn, quickly coming up on the door I needed. I’m surprised at how easy and fast it is to get here, but I suppose it’s easier for Jayce to reach his work quickly when he makes a research breakthrough.

As I walk into the lab, it’s dark and cold. I pull my jacket tighter and cautiously step in. A tall thing catches my attention as it lights up the room. It looks like there’s a body inside it, but I can’t tell what it really is.

“I told you I need to be alone, Mel. I…I don’t want to see you right now.”

“I’m sorry then, I suppose, since I’m not this ‘Mel’ person,” I say slowly as I step into the light. 

Jayce sits up in his seat, snapping his head in my direction. He exclaims my name before standing and walking toward me. “Is…is it really you?” he asks, reaching out to touch my arm.

I resist the urge to move away from the contact and let him feel that I’m not a dream or a hallucination. “Yes, it is. Last time I checked, at least.” I crack the small joke, and his eyes fill with joy before he wraps his arms around me and lifts me up, spinning around with me in his arms. “Alright, alright, put me down!” I say firmly before he sets me back on my feet.

“I’m sorry. I just…it’s been so long! Me and Cait, we were so worried! You didn’t even leave us a note!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I thought it would be best to just disappear, though,” I explain. “I…I didn’t mean to hurt you guys.”

He smiles softly at me. “It’s okay. I…guess I could understand. Feeling like disappearing is the best option, I mean. My best friend…it’s my fault he’s like this,” he says while waving an arm toward the thing with the person in it. “If I would’ve done more to prevent the Undercity from getting Hextech, he wouldn’t be like this.”

I look at the floor, a wave of hurt washing over me. “It’s not the Undercity that’s the problem. It’s a certain individual. One of Silco’s people.”

Jayce glances at me for a second before nodding and looking away. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I should go,” I say, beginning to turn to leave.

“What? Already? Wait-” Jayce reaches out and grabs my arm, and I pull it out of his grip.

“I don’t want to ruin anything, since I’m from the Undercity,” I snap at him.

“I said I was sorry,” he counters, “please, let’s…let’s catch up!”

“No, Jayce. I need to get back before it’s dark. You don’t understand how dangerous it is for a Zaunite to be near enforcers at night, especially when we’re in Piltover.”

“I can escort you back. I’m a Councilor now,” he counters again. “Please, you’ve been gone for so long. I miss you.”

I shake my head without looking back at him. “I’m sorry, Jayce. It was a mistake coming here. I only came up to give Caitlyn my condolences then leave. She made me visit you. Goodbye, Jayce.”

I quickly leave the room and head for the doors, not wanting to waste another second up here with friends who don’t understand me. Guilt washes over me as I push open the front door. I ignore the sounds of Jayce calling for me as I descend the stairs, but when I step off and take a few steps down the street, Jayce catches up to me. The two enforcers from before perk up, but he signals to them that everything is okay.

“Please, just…keep in touch, or something,” he says. I look at the desperation in his eyes before shaking my head.

“I’m not the friend that you remember me as, or think that I am. I’ve changed, Jayce, and so have you and Cait. I don’t belong up here, I don’t belong around you guys. We’re from two different worlds, and I’m choosing to return to mine. I’m leaving yours behind.”

“What if we meet on the bridge, once a week? To…I don’t know, stay connected?”

I look in his eyes again, and shake my head while offering a sad smile. I grab his hands and squeeze them briefly. “Jayce, I will always have love for you and Caitlyn in my heart. But I cannot do as you wish. I have a life, responsibilities. I…I could send you mail, once a month, but that’s the extent of it.”

Jayce drops my hands and shakes his head, sadness covering each part of his expression. “Why? Why come up here just to leave us again? Why visit just to say goodbye?”

“Because, Jayce,” I explain softly, “it’s closure. For me. For you, for Cait. Our friendship can be laid to rest now, and we can save our memories for times of reflection.”

“I don’t want you to just be a memory, though,” he begs, “why does it have to be this way?”

“It’s what I need to move on in life,” I explain before taking a few steps back. “Goodbye, Jayce.”

With a final turn away, I leave behind my childhood friends, and make my way toward the bridge. As I cross over, the sun sets, causing a range of beautiful colors to dance across the sky. I take a moment to observe it, remembering how I used to come down here as a child to watch it whenever I didn’t have homework or chores. I lean over the railing to look at the water, feeling the soft breeze flowing around me. I step up onto the railing, feeling the urge to feel taller, to let the breeze carry me.

A sudden strong gust, and my heart drops as I feel myself fall forward. A quick reaction, and someone is pulling me down and to secure ground. My eyes are wide as I tremble from the jolt of fear. A hand rests on my arm, and I turn to look at who it was that helped me. The male enforcer from outside Jayce’s lab pulls his hand away, but I can see the unasked answer in his eyes. “I’m good,” I breathe out, “thanks.” He nods and gives a small smile before stepping back and giving me more room. I quickly get on my way again, making my way across the bridge before descending into the Undercity.

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@gffhjtui @toma-is-tired @dreamingbluerries

[elainsgirl]

hi! i saw some EL/GA post saying that Elain and Azriel would never go behing the inner circle’s back and be in a secret relationship. Ta it doesn’t add up to either Elains or Azriel personalities, that it would be a coward thing to do. I don’t know if I agree or not. It makes sense, but at the same time I don’t know if I view it as cowardice. wanted to know your thoughts!

Also, totally non related to the matter above, how would u feel about a scene where elain cuts her hair in a dire situation (mulan style or sakura from naruto style)? I’m a sucker for scenes like this

Hey 🫶

I only see it as being cowardly if Az prolongs their “secret” relationship in fear of Rhysand whilst Elain wants to come out about it but no elriel I’ve come across plans elriels’ sneaking around era to be that long in the first place.

Its either:

Option 1. Elriel get together and some events happen -> they don’t have the time to tell the IC right away, something happens to either Elain or Azriel and the other goes mad trying to save them and their secret relationship is out.

Option 2. Again, elriel get together but its not the right time to come out with their relationship due to political stress and war looming ahead - alliances needing to be made etc, so elriel keep themselves private but one by one - usually Feyre or Nesta is first, everyone finds out. And thats another way their relationship can be revealed.

I’d actually argue its very fitting for the two characters who are best at secret keeping, usually private anyways and sneaky to have a secret relationship. Doesn’t seem out of character to me and anyone who understands the personality of these two characters would agree.

“behind the inner circles back” lets not be too dramatic now. 1) Nesta already knows Az likes Elain and will support their relationship in elriel’s book 2) Same applies for Feyre 3) Cass would be suprised and a little hurt at first at the idea that Az felt the need to hide such an important relationship but once he understood why Az did it - He’d be more then happy for his brother. As for Mor - I think whenever she finds out, she will be supportive.

Amren and Rhys seem to be the ones that won’t be “hurt” but more like angry that 1) Az went against Rhys and 2) they’ll lose an important alliance but thats when Elain will have her,

“I belong to no one and will not be used anymore” moment,

In the end, Why does Az have to go behind the ICs back in the first place? Bcs of the order Rhysand made and once that comes to light - everyone would understand Azriels pov.

I’ve seen elriels more focused on the buildup to Az deciding he loves Elain and will pursue her regardless of his Hl then the actual “secret relationship” itself. Which will probs last for a portion of the book depending on how the plot goes. Also I think the IC have more pressing matters after HOFAS then the love lives of Elain or Azriel.

erm, YES! I would love that scene and I think it would be such a beautiful symbolic moment for Elain, representing her freedom of choice and freeing herself from who her mother wanted her to be, the perfect little socialite adhering to every one of society’s little rules. I actually think such a scene can be possible for Sjm to write, it suits Elain so much.

manifesting that its in the Elain book Mass currently has sitting on her desk 🤞✨

[ceilidho]

prompt: horror au where soap is dishonourably discharged/falls on hard times and he's forced to move into this really creepy apartment building because it's the only thing he can afford. and ghost is his weird neighbour and soap's not completely convinced that he's not a serial killer. (ghostsoap)

-

Misery takes him to a place covered in litter and dust, and old dirt. 

Maybe he thought it couldn’t happen to him. Famous last words. Anything can happen to anyone; lightning has to strike somewhere. Johnny makes the mistake of driving once under the influence and they throw the book at him when he’s caught—bad conduct discharge stamped on his record for the rest of his life. Through the investigation and trial and the subsequent stamp on his record, Johnny goes through the motions numb, head buzzing like there’s a fog that he just can’t get out. 

It takes a while for Johnny to admit that he might not have wanted this outcome in the slightest, but actions have consequences. In the first few weeks, the shame warps him into something unrecognisable. He sleeps on his sister’s couch until she all but begs him to get his own place. The month passes like he’s in a fugue, the bags under his eyes dark and his hair matted down, unwashed. 

The apartment building in North Barlanark is the best he can afford on his meagre savings—not much squirrelled away over the years, always the thought that the well would never dry up. Now it’s dry; now it’s standing on the embankment staring down into nothing. The bad conduct discharge stamped on his record also means that he isn’t entitled to VA benefits and it’ll show up on every background check going forward when he finally finds the energy to get off his ass and apply for jobs.

From the outside of the building, there are cracks in the stone walls, window panes red with rust. Black scorch marks climb up the walls like someone tried and failed to burn this place down. Stone chipping away in other places; there are air conditioners hanging from several windows that look dangerous close to falling out.

When he moves in, there’s no one to help carry his bags up the long flight of stairs up to the seventh floor. Johnny hadn’t bothered to ask either of his sisters, not too keen on being in this neighbourhood himself, never mind inviting them over. 

The elevator’s broken, of course. Each step creaks under his weight as he lugs the garbage bags filled to the brim with his only earthly belongings up the stairs. An uneven, loosened tile nearly makes him brain himself on the stairs. It would be a depressing, but fitting end. 

The corridors are lit by an ambient yellow light, the walls at the far ends a dusky blue when they ebb into darkness. Johnny’s stared down gun barrels raised to his face plenty of times before and still he stands at the other end of the hall vaguely unsettled. Gut clenching over nothing. 

This whole endeavour feels inauspicious. Living, that is. He toys with the thought like a delicate glass bauble, staring at it indifferently as it rests in the palm of his hand. He might still break it. 

Some nights his heart feels so heavy that he thinks it’ll sink right out of his chest, through the mattress and onto the floor below. Melt through the floorboards until it trickles down into the bowels of the building, down into the entrails where the furnace roars and there’s a damp cold that pervades everything it touches. He hasn’t cried since he was a boy, but his eyes hurt when he blinks. 

Johnny doesn’t see a single other person in the building the day he moves in, nor any of the following days during his first week in the building. He doesn’t have it in him to grieve the loss of his former life anymore—he did that over the month that he lived on his sister’s couch and barely showered or shaved. There’s a factory within biking distance where he gets a job as a die cast operator and spends his days making carburetors and engine blocks. It’s not glamorous work, but it’s better than what he expected. 

There are signs of life in the building though. The sound of a door creaking open when he’s sitting on the couch in his flat, only to peek out through the peephole to an empty hallway. Passing a door on his way home from work and pausing at the sound of someone groaning from within. Trash bags out in the hall when there weren’t any earlier. 

It makes his skin crawl. The suggestion of occupancy that never materialises. People that live like rats in the walls. 

He hurries home with his head down in the evenings, walking straight past the other flats. No one needs to know his business just like he doesn’t need to know anyone else’s business. If he hears the rattling of dishes or feet shuffling along the floorboards, what’s it to him?

There’s only so many times he can tell himself that though. 

The coming of winter deepens the night, dragging it further into the day. The sky has long gone black by the time he leaves the factory after his shift, pulling his hood up to seem marginally less appealing to anyone wandering around at night. Hardly anyone wanders with good intentions. At least, that’s what Johnny’s taught himself. He’s still got all of the muscle mass from his years of service, but he’s not interested in fucking around and finding out, so he speedwalks to his bike and pedals home as fast as possible.

There’s something in the air. He sees only a single light on from outside when he reaches the front doors and it quickly shuts off when he dismounts the bike. A curtain rustles like someone was just there. It turns his blood to absolute ice; something in him is hissing at him to stay out, but there’s little else he can do. He rolls his bike in and up the seven flights of stairs. 

He rolls the bike down the hall as always, only the squeaky sounds of the wheels echoing down the length of the corridor. The exhaustion eats away at his bones; he’s so tired that it’ll be a dream even to collapse on the bed with the weird stain on it that he inherited from the previous tenant. 

Something makes him pause in the hall. 

There’s a scratching sound coming from the door to his left. The faintest rasp of a fingernail against steel. Johnny goes so quiet that even the sound of his blood disappears. Just staring at the door. 

It comes again like someone’s standing there on the other side of the door. Scratching softly with a single fingernail. When he glances down, there’s a slight shadow just under the doorframe, no wider than a person. 

His vision tunnels in on the shadow beneath the floor. 

“What are you doing crouched there?” a deep voice growls from behind him. 

“Steamin’ Jesus!”

When he whips around, his heart about jumps into his throat. A man in a skull balaclava stands not two feet from him, a wall of muscle and bone. The eyes that stare down at Johnny seem almost hostile in their hollowness at first, the darkest blue he’s ever seen. 

Johnny freezes for a second, old instincts taking over. Something feels deeply wrong. He’s never seen the man before and he takes up space like no one he’s ever met. Even in a black hoodie and jeans, Johnny can see the muscle definition just barely visible underneath. The mask makes it worse somehow, obscuring the only part of him that might’ve been comforting. 

“Sorry, mate,” he says with a grin, sheepish. Wary. “Lost my train of thought.”

The man stares at him. “Go back to your place.”

Johnny furrows his brows. “Excuse me?”

“Back home, puppy.”

There’s a second where Johnny thinks he might do something rash. The anger that rises up from his core is swift and sudden, furious at being ordered around like a dog. He pauses though. There’s something wrong here. The man angles himself towards Johnny like he expects a fight, and it’s there in his eyes for a split second, so fast that Johnny almost misses it. Anticipation.

He’s lived long enough to know his limits. He gives a brittle smile instead and nods, backing up a few paces before turning around, wheeling his bike home. He doesn’t hear anything from behind him, but the next time he looks around before stepping into his flat, the man is gone.

[birdiescanfly]

Jake Seresin: Self-Esteem

I've been thinking about Hangman lately, and I can't get the thought of him as being a bit insecure and traumatized by his childhood out of my head. So obviously I need to flesh it out more, but I’m thinking Jake grew up poor. In my experience, this can lead to a very disorderly life which is why he likes to keep things so perfect and clean (His styled hair, his crisp uniform). Being dirty all the time as a kid, living in a dirty place, or even just not having nice clothes is something that like really effects Jake and that’s why he tries so hard to present himself in a certain way. Not only that, but growing up being called trashy and dumb kind gives you a complex so I think Jake would likely push for a different view of himself, even if its asshole perfectionist. Thus the creation of ‘Hangman.’ People see him as uppity and/or finicky, a clean freak, and a loner who only thinks of himself but like, it all comes from a desire to NOT feel like he did as a child. To prove himself.

I imagine him growing up Deep South, Bible belt all the way. A trailer park kind of life. I think that the reason he leans so far away from his old life is because he got a lot of backlash during his academy days maybe?  His commanding officers and peers probably had preconceived notions about him, especially if his parents were laborers with no higher education. (Neither of my parents graduated high school, and you wouldn’t believe how many professors I’ve had that find out I’m a first generation college student, and immediately treat my like an idiot.) I think, for Jake, it would be made even worse if he had a really thick accent. Maybe Jake even tries to hide some of natural drawl and slang. I often see him proud of his accent in stories, but I bet that during those first academy years, he just wanted to fit in. He wanted to prove that he belonged with people outside of the hicks he grew up around. (Up for interpretation, maybe he adored his family but he leans away from them to distance himself from that life cause he doesn’t feel like he fits in anymore, or maybe his parents were shit stains, up to you), but nonetheless, there is a divide between Jake and them now. It’s a very much “you chose them” mentality. Makes him feel in between worlds and that he’s always trying to prove that he belongs to his two spheres of life.

So yeah, Jake hides his accent because people think he’s dumb when he uses southern phrases or slides words together. So Jake hates dirt and disorganization, and he cleans and clean and cleans, he takes two showers a day and maybe even still feels a little filthy.  Maybe he still feels like he’s not smart enough, or good enough. And yeah, Jake grew up trailer trash, he’s got to prove himself a little more, he’s got to push a little harder than everyone else.  He’s got to be number one, or he’s nothing, right?  But he’s got Hangman for that.  Hangman can be number one, he can be the perfect pilot and he can be clean, and he can prove that he’s worth more than anyone ever thought.

I am in fact projecting, but what are comfort characters for, right? And also, I just love reading about everyone’s theories about why Jake is such a loner who leaves people behind, and I adore even more the stories that dive into Jake’s self-esteem issues and childhood.

I’ve got more to this idea, (Hangster all the way), but this is too long as it is so I’ll just make another post.

[rhymeswithchronic]

Hello!!!!! I've been following the heirs of the divine series for a while now and I adore it so much!!!! I'm not sure if you've already discussed this, but what would a hypothetical crossover between mercy of the lamb and heirs look like? Like an au where boey landed in parkciv and polykour already had their kids? (or if boey appeared somewhere else along that timeline if youd like)

Ohhhhhhh that’s a really fun hypothetical! And one we can have several different ways to play with 🤔

Scenario One: Boey ends up in the Heirs timeline instead of the Mercy timeline. Kids are already there

The fact of the matter for this one is that it would be *much* more difficult for Boey to end up as really part of that family unit. He wouldn’t be neglected by any means but I imagine they would be much more likely to see about putting him with a foster family

This is namely because it took a *lot* of work for Boey to feel as comfortable as he is in the Mercy timeline. If they had to start from scratch, the Polykour trio would struggle a *lot* to juggle their kids AND Boey. It took a lot of one-on-one bonding with Boey originally and they just couldn’t pull that off while trying to care for Nebby, Cel, and Starry.

However, they would be very careful to make sure that whoever takes him in would be ready for the task of helping Boey acclimate to life not lived in terror, and they wouldn’t be entirely absent either, just not his parents. Most likely, he would end up in the care of someone that Evbo grew up with, since they would understand what it was like to grow up in a harsh environment and work their way out of it. Hell, maybe even Ryder

Conclusion: Boey still lives a good life, just not adopted by Evbo, EMF, and Seawatt

Scenario Two: Boey ends up in the Heirs timeline. Kids are *not* born yet

Things would go very similarly to Mercy, though with an added emphasis on Boey not feeling like he fits in.

Let’s place Boey two years before Nebby is born, so he is eighteen and already fully adopted by the trio. In this case, he would try to be a good big brother and it would definitely take some stress off of their parents’ shoulders, but there would always be a part of him that resents Nebby for having what he doesn’t.

He already worries about whether he deserves to be their kid, and now they have a child of their own so… surely that means they don’t really need him, right? He’s not their kid, not like Nebby, and it’s hard not to harbor just a little bit of resentment, even if he doesn’t show it.

He never admits to it and he never acts on it, but there’s a part of him that feels like he doesn’t belong anymore. They only adopted him because they couldn’t have kids of their own, and now…

(He’s wrong, of course. They love him as their first kid, even after Nebby, Cel, and Starry are born. It takes him awhile to come to terms with this and a lot of very emotional talks with his parents. It’s hard and it takes awhile for anyone to notice, but they get through it as a family)

Conclusion: Not much of a change but there’s some extra insecurity there that requires a little extra work to get past. Bonus child

Scenario Three: Boey ends up in the Heirs timeline AFTER having lived in the Mercy timeline

This honestly comes down to nothing but Boey wanting to go home. He’s done a lot of healing and he does get along very well with the kids, especially Nebby, but this isn’t his home and everyone knows it. These people look and sound and act like his parents but they’re not.

Evbo is more than willing to help him with this quest to the best of his ability. They do get along with him and he doesn’t hate it, but he won’t stop until he can make it home.

Conclusion: Boey wants to go home. Evbo does everything he can to help

[ridiasfangirlings]

If Fushimi ended up writing an anonymous Yahoo Answers/Reddit question about his relationship with Yata pre-betrayal, post-betrayal, and after they reconcile, what would it look like? I just saw a post doing this for another fandom and I thought it might be funny/interesting to see how Fushimi would describe his situation while either asking for advice or just plain venting.

r/amitheasshole

Would I be the asshole if I betrayed my best friend because he isn’t paying attention to me anymore?

There’s this idiot who’s been clinging to me since middle school, I’ll call him M. In middle school he used to call me amazing all the time and we had all these plans to take on the world and show everyone that we weren’t just powerless kids. M was always useless without me, I was the one always telling him what to do and he agreed that my plans were the best even though it’s not like I needed to hear that. Anyway we had this one big plan that got ruined and some other guy had to step in and save me (edit: us). We ended up joining this group that was supposed to give us power but everyone there is so useless and lazy, the guy in charge just sleeps all day and still M keeps calling him amazing. It’s obvious I don’t belong there with those morons but M can’t ever admit it, he just stares at our lazy leader all day long wagging his tail like some yappy dog. Even the only guy with any sense in the group keeps telling me stupid stuff like ‘I want you to always stay here,’ which he wouldn’t say if he thought I actually fit in, it’s clear no one wants me here but M can’t see it. He’s supposed to be looking at me and now it’s like I’m not even here, every time he asks me to go to do something I tell him no and he just shrugs like it’s nothing and asks some fatty to accompany him instead.

Anyway, I got a job offer the other day and I’m thinking of leaving and joining this other team. The thing is, the job I’m thinking of taking is at odds with the group I’m in now. I think our leader suspects but of course he doesn’t care at all, why would he. But I want to be sure M cares, so that he knows I had to leave because our friendship is obviously already over. I’ve been thinking of doing something big, so that he’ll really hate me. WIBTA if I burned something precious to him and tried to goad him into killing me? It feels like this is pretty much the only sensible course of action I can take right now to make him pay attention, it’s obviously his fault anyway. WIBTA? 

r/amioverreacting

Am I Overreacting by trying to get my ex best friend to fight with me?

A few months ago I had a bad breakup with a former childhood friend, we’ll call him Blossom. We used to be really close but he stopped caring about me and I took a new job, I’m not typing it all out again, check my post history if you care that much. Anyway, this new job is fine, my coworkers are morons and my boss is irritating but he gives me a lot of freedom. Sometimes my path crosses with Blossom just in the regular course of things. The other day I saw him walking around smiling and laughing, like I hadn’t even left. He hasn’t even made a single attempt to get a job at the same place as me either, it’s like he’s not even trying to chase me at all. It’s not a big deal to me but it’s annoying because he’s acting so stupid that it pisses me off and makes me want to do something drastic. 

I’m thinking of just following him around secretly and goading him into fights whenever possible. I don’t really want to hurt him — much, and anyway I want him to hurt me more — I just want to remind him how it’s all his fault that I’m gone and he doesn’t get to forget me that easily. If I don’t do this then I won’t be able to get him to hate me, and it’s important that I’m the guy he hates the most. AIO by trying to get him to notice me a little more? 

r/relationshipadvice

How do you know if someone actually likes you?

This is such a pain but I guess I need advice. I have this former childhood friend, we’ll call him Idiot Virgin. We had a falling out a few years ago but now we’re back together again. He said he was excited that we can be friends again but lately I’ve started to realize that I care about him in a way that’s more than friendship. I guess it’s something like love, who knows. I just want him to look at me more than anyone else and it makes my heart beat a little faster when he smiles. He’s a total moron and uselessly energetic and is so stupidly honest that he’s hard to handle. Everything he says is either zero or one hundred points and lately I keep feeling like every time he talks to me it’s one hundred.

Clearly I can’t tell Idiot Virgin this though, because if he doesn’t feel the same way we won’t ever be able to talk again. I’ve been trying to think of ways to get him to admit that he likes me, so that I know it’s safe to tell him that I like him. The problem is I already did something once that really hurt him and I don’t really want to do that again, because then he’ll really hate me and I don’t think I could handle that this time. Maybe I just won’t say anything, these stupid feelings will go away eventually right? If he wasn’t such a virgin it would be easier to know how he feels, but he keeps blushing every time I get too close and it’s impossible to say what that means. Does anyone have any suggestions that aren’t stupid for how to get someone else to confess first?

Comments

TheHatGuy Fushimi, everyone knows it’s you. 

BandoutheGreat lol it’s definitely Fushimi 

ShoHey I thought you guys were already together?

 LadiesManYo just tell him dude don’t make us deal with this shit again