#he regrets it like five seconds later after he realized How Fucked Up That Was but still ... charles ... im going to chokeslam you...

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Can we talk about how fcked up Charles can be sometimes? Can we talk about how Charles can sometimes be actually scary as a person? Like he can legit be nefarious sometimes, but those moments are not as talked about as Erik's warcrimes (aside from the holocaust visions from TAS)

girlfriend i promise we're all very aware about how wack charles xavier can be and i assure you his nefarious moments are talked plenty from what i run into. like outside of this inbox most times you breathe charles' name to someone they'll be prepared to start swinging

[coffee-and-geto]

“HOW CAN I LOVE WHEN I’M AFRAID TO FALL?”

“I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you, as soon as you covered me from my father, as soon as I heard your laugh, saw the amazing mother you are, and realized I never wanted you to leave this house.”

pairing: CEO! satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: to your almost regret, your life as a single mother seems to be weighing more and more heavily on your worn-out shoulders. so what could be better than pretending to be the CEO’s girlfriend of the business you work for, knowing that his father is the general manager?

warnings: +18 only, smut, nsfw, her daughter is called hinata, fake dating/single mom tropes, angst, mother insecurities, fluff, reader’s ex is a jerk, unprotected sex, sex (p in v), overstimulation, pussy drunk (satoru), nipple play, fingering (f!receiving), oral (m), this fic is (really slightly) inspired from the french book ‘un printemps pour te succomber’ by morgane moncomble, including therefore small similar dialogues, (pls guys learn french only to read this masterpiece!!), fanart by @/ilameys on twt.

wc: 10,154

“Can I taste the frosting?”

Your lips curve into a smile. “Of course, angel.” You crouch down and hand the spatula coated in pastel pink frosting to your five-year-old daughter. Her little fist wraps around the handle, and joy spreads across her angelic face like rays of sunshine. “So? How is it?”

“It’s so good!” she exclaims, and you chuckle.

“I’m glad you like it.” You glance at the clock in your kitchen. “I’ll put the frosting in the fridge. While the cake bakes, go back to playing, and I’ll call you to help decorate the cake as soon as it’s ready, okay?”

Hinata nods, blowing you a kiss that you return after a moment of surprised hesitation, your lips forming an “O”. Amid delighted laughter, she skips away, and you turn back to face the bowl of cake batter.

Why does it have to be so hard?

Every birthday, you hold back tears because who said ‘single mom’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘baking your own birthday cake so your daughter can sing to you’? But what hurts more — this, or seeing your flesh and blood envy her female friends who have their dads in their arms and their mothers content with their families?

The silence of loneliness can sometimes be louder than company.

“Happy birthday! Happy birthday, mama!” your daughter sings, clapping her hands as you blow out your candles in the warm, yet dimly lit, living room. “Come on, come on! Let’s eat the cake!”

With a knife, you cut two slices, one for each of you, and it only takes a few more minutes for both your mouths to be covered in pink frosting, with laughter echoing in the room. The heartache, briefly chased away by the short-lived joy, returns later that night when your daughter snuggles up in your arms in your double bed, which seems to be missing something.

Fuck, being a single mom is tough, you think as you wipe away the tears flooding your cheeks with the back of your hand. No one to support you, all the responsibilities fall on your shoulders, and now doubts about your daughter start invading your mind: “What if she blames you later for not having a father?”, “What if she thinks you’re a bad mom?”, “Do her friends at school say anything about you being the only unmarried woman among all the parents in her class?”

These thoughts have never stopped, not even during your pregnancy, whether about the weight gained or lost, or the changes in your body. Are these regrets? But how could you regret bringing such an angel into the world? Maybe it’s more about the lousy partner who left you the second he found out you were pregnant.

Probably the second option.

°°°

“WHERE IS MY SON?!”

A male voice thunders across the entire floor of the company. You jump, turning to one of your colleagues over the small partition set up for employee privacy. “Who’s yelling like that?” you whisper, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I heard it’s the new general manager…”

Your frown deepens. “Is that why they handed me the summary of our sales figures to drop off at the office upstairs?” To prove your point, you lift the massive stack of documents.

Your colleague presses his lips together, his eyes widening in a way that already gives you the answer. “Oh God, you’re the one in charge of that? Good luck. It’s to be delivered to the new director.”

A sigh escapes your lips.

For a start to the workweek, it seems you’re about to face the stormy mood of the new boss, who apparently brought his kid to the office. What a perfect beginning.

As usual, the upper floor is deserted, as it’s generally reserved for executives with direct ties to the company’s CEO. Few people take the elevator to reach the top floor of the skyscraper. Arriving in the lonely hallway, it should be a simple task to knock on the boss’s office door, drop off the elephant-weight stack of documents, and leave.

So why does the sound of running footsteps seem to be getting closer and closer behind you?

In a flash, a man dressed in a navy blue suit rushes past you, bumping your shoulder. He nearly topples the threatening stack of papers, but you manage, at the last second, to catch everything before you lose your balance. The young man opens the door to the women’s restroom, and before entering, he glances over his shoulder.

Never in your life have eyes made such an impression on you.

Two cerulean blue orbs lock onto yours with a mischievous aura. A smirk tugs at the corner of his thin, pink lips. From his pale skin to his albino hair, the man exudes charm and beauty from every pore. The sheer allure of his appearance leaves your brain too stunned to react, numbing it. How can someone be this handsome?

“SATORU!”

His serene and amused expression vanishes instantly, and you jump in response. Replaced by an exaggerated look of fear, he addresses you, “Cover for me. If he asks you, you never saw me!” And his tall, slender body disappears into the women’s restroom.

More footsteps echo down the hallway, this time from a second man, just as tall and physically similar to the young man you just encountered — though slightly older, with wrinkles lining his face and a mix of albino hair and silver from age. You have no time to react except to straighten up against the wall.

His blue eyes, more gray and stern, settle on you as he approaches. “Did you see a man? A tall idiot running around and flirting with any woman he sees,” he grumbles the last part, his eyes thoughtfully fixed on the light carpet.

You shake your head robotically. “No… I—”

“Never mind,” he cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand — as if your answer is irrelevant and he’s heard it at least twenty times before. He sighs and scratches at the stubble on his chin. “Who are you, anyway?”

“An employee, sir.” You gesture to the stack of documents that’s beginning to make its weight known in your arms. “I was asked to drop this off in your office.” The tone of your voice almost pleads with him to let you in and relieve you of the annoying burden.

“The report? Ah yes, of course.” You sigh in relief as he unlocks the door with his keys. “I suppose you’re wondering who I am?”

“The new general manager, I guess?” you reply, raising an eyebrow. You drop the heavy stack onto the desk and exhale deeply. “We heard you on every floor.” You can’t help but chuckle at your own remark, offering the director an apologetic smile.

He rolls his eyes, but a light chuckle still rumbles in his chest. “You’re right. It’s because of my son.”

His son?

You repeat the word aloud, confused, and he clarifies. “My son is the new CEO of this company, and I almost regret my decision to give him that position.” He shakes his head, his gaze drifting toward the blue sky visible through the large window, then refocuses on you. “I apologize in advance. He’s going to be a real handful.”

“I understand. I think we’ll manage to put up with him,” you add with a smile.

In the end, this new boss doesn’t seem as strict as your colleagues have been saying, and his story about his son is more amusing than anything. You cough slightly into your elbow and clear your throat, murmuring an apology.

“Are you sick?” the director inquires.

“A little,” you admit reluctantly, feeling embarrassed as you adjust the mask on your face. “Sorry. I couldn’t stay home.”

“No problem.” He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. “Well, I think I have some work to do. See you later, I suppose.”

You don’t hesitate to leave the boss’s office and quietly step into the women’s restroom. “Is… someone here?” you murmur in a hoarse voice.

The creaking of a door answers you, and the general manager’s son emerges from a stall, looking cautious. He looks like a little boy checking to see if his hiding spot in a game of hide-and-seek has been discovered, which makes you stifle a discreet giggle. He turns to you and offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t hurt you, did I, sweetheart?”

The nickname catches you off guard, and warmth floods your face. “N-No, I’m fine. You’re the new CEO, right?”

“Satoru Gojo, at your service, pretty girl.” He winks, a reminder that he’s quite the flirt.

You introduce yourself in return, running out of things to say, your hands nervously clasped by your sides.

“Pretty name,” Satoru murmurs. He closes the stall door behind him and exhales, shaking his head. “Phew! That was a close one! Thanks again!” He strides toward the exit with one last charming smile in your direction, leaving the restroom and a lingering scent of cologne behind him.

°°°°

“Why aren’t you answering?”

“Damn it, you’re so annoying with this!”

“There’s no point in moving every few months, I’m going to find you.”

“For fuck’s sake, answer my messages! I told you I need you! I swear I’ll help you raise Hinata this time.”

“I made a mistake, so let me fix it by answering my fucking messages! I know you’re reading them!”

You swallow hard, your throat tight, and press the “block this contact” button on your phone. It’s the fourth time this month. He’s been harassing you with messages and finding a way to contact you no matter how many numbers he uses, even when you change yours. The same goes for your address, as apparently changing apartments is no longer enough to escape him.

You know he’s in debt — one of the many consequences of his excessive gambling, even when you were still in a relationship with him. Smoking, drinking, and of course, downing tobacco like it was water, only to charm you while hiding this lifestyle to get you into his bed, then fleeing the moment you were pregnant.

So now that he needs a woman and a child to escape his debts, he’s reaching out to you — the woman he abandoned after promising marriage (without a ring, of course), got pregnant, and deserted, only to come crawling back to you.

“Mama? You okay?”

Your daughter’s concerned little voice pulls you out of your daze. The cartoons playing on the TV haven’t had the desired effect — they’re not distracting her from the anxiety that’s been gnawing at you day by day. Maybe today, it’s showing enough for people to notice?

“I’m fine, angel,” you reassure her with a perfect smile — perfectly fake, because that’s something you’ve learned to anchor over time.

You pat the empty spot on the couch next to you, and she nestles under your arm. “If you say so…” Hina murmurs, clutching her worn-out bunny plush.

The state of the plush catches your attention, and a pang of guilt stabs at your heart. What kind of mother lets her daughter carry around a stuffed toy in such poor condition? Maybe you are a bad mother? Otherwise, why would Hina deserve such a pitiful situation? She deserves so much better than you…

“Little angel?” you murmur as she wraps her tiny arms around your waist and nuzzles into your belly. “Are you okay?”

“I love you.”

And the three little words sound… unreal.

Hot tears blur your vision, and it takes every bit of strength you have to whisper back, “I love you too, Hina.”

°°°°

3:00 PM.

In less than an hour, you’ll need to pick up Hinata from school.

Normally, you avoid lingering at work. You go through your usual routine as an employee, nothing special or fun — a hello, goodbye, see you tomorrow to colleagues without worrying about what’s happening around you or the gossip, even when it involves coworkers getting together.

The only change: now it’s you who gets stuck with the task of delivering all the documents to the general manager. According to one of your peers, he doesn’t seem to be strict or threatening when it comes to you. So this time, you’re tasked with delivering an additional file about the production of a new product on the market to both the CEO and the general manager. For the second time, you head up to the highest floors of the company headquarters to knock on the CEO’s door — it’s the closest. But no one answers.

No surprise, since the director’s son spends his time running through the hallways to avoid his father and shirk his responsibilities, right?

You’re about to knock on the Director’s door, but a familiar gust of wind brushes your face with a soft, fresh breeze. Satoru Gojo appears beside you with a charming smile and glances at what you’re holding.

“H-Hello, sweetheart. How are… you?” he greets, slightly out of breath from yet another chase with his father.

“I’m fine. Here.” You hand him one of the folders, and he takes it, pretending to read it. “The next meeting—” But he grabs the second document and, before you can react, opens the door to his office and casually tosses them inside before shutting the door.

“SATORU GOJO! KEEP IT UP, AND I’LL DISOWN YOU!” The boss’s voice echoes through the entire floor as he appears from behind the emergency exit door. “YOU!” He points a finger at you, standing right next to him. “Still bothering our employees?” He grumbles, his jaw clenched so tightly that you can hear his teeth grinding.

“That’s not true, father!” Satoru protests, feigning outrage. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. “You’re chasing me while I’m just saying hello to my girlfriend?”

You freeze, turning your head toward him, as lost as the Director, who squints his eyes. “Your girlfriend? Since when—”

“I was going to tell you,” Satoru continues, shaking his head, his fingers squeezing your waist while you remain paralyzed. “Here’s my new girlfriend.”

“Are you lying to me and dragging some poor woman into your childish games?”

In the back of your mind, you note that he doesn’t seem to recognize you despite the last time you saw each other.

“What? I’m telling the truth! Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” And he leans in to plant an affectionate kiss on your cheek.

Your heart almost stops for a second. But you quickly snap back to reality under the insistent embrace of his arm and his hand around you. “Y-Yes…”

What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?

“Well, if you’ll excuse us, father, my darling and I are in a hurry.” He leads you away before you have time to protest and heads toward the elevator with you.

Once the doors close, Satoru takes your hands in his and leans toward you. “I can explain everything.”

If his cerulean blue eyes hadn’t been so persuasive, you would have exploded right there and then to yell at him.

You, the girlfriend of the CEO of the company you work for? Did this really have to happen to you? You can already picture your termination letter under your nose as you exit the back of the building. A glance at your watch tells you that if you don’t hurry, you’ll be late to pick up your daughter.

“You’re in a rush?”

“I have to pick up my daughter before I’m late,” you reply curtly, “and look at the mess I’m in now!”

“I know, I know…” Satoru rubs the back of his head, right where his immaculate undercut is. “Maybe I can explain on the way? Where’s your car?” He looks around the parking lot, his eyes searching.

The question — however mundane — makes you blush with embarrassment. “I… take public transportation…” you mumble, pouting.

He furrows his brow, as if you just admitted to showering with maggot-infested soap. “Excuse me? I don’t take public transportation.”

“Well, I do.” A hint of defiance returns to protect your pride.

How could he possibly understand when he lives like a rich man, without worrying about grocery shopping, paying bills, and of course, taking public transportation during the week to avoid wasting gas because it costs an arm and a leg! But for him, that must not be part of his daily life, especially since he’s one of society’s privileged.

“Let’s take my car then.” He says this without waiting for you, as you remain standing there. He pulls out his keys and opens the passenger door. “What are you waiting for?”

“But— I— Are you out of your mind?” you burst out. “I’m not getting in that car! I’m supposed to pick up my daughter, and now I’m pretending to be your girlfriend! In front of your father!” You emphasize your words with wild, energetic gestures.

He bursts out laughing.

Cute.

“No chance. We’re going to pick up your daughter and clear this all up. And please, stop refusing to get into a car that’s way better than those buses that reek of sweat.” He rolls his eyes, and you note how much he resembles his father when he does that.

“I have an errand to run anyway,” you persist.

“And that doesn’t change the fact that I want you to get in this car,” Satoru chuckles.

Taking a closer look, the car is as luxurious as the ones you dream about at night — yours, by comparison, looks like a junk heap ready for the scrapyard. Reluctantly, you climb in, Satoru’s chivalrous demeanor not going unnoticed as he snickers at your surrender. He quickly gets in, asks for the address of the school, and sets off after starting his car, which smells just as good as he does. You feel like a piece of trash in the middle of this little universe he inhabits.

“My father bugs me every day to find a woman,” Satoru murmurs at first, one hand resting on his thigh, clad in business suit trousers, his eyes fixed on the road over his round sunglasses. “That’s one of the reasons I avoid him.”

“And why involve me?” you snap back.

“Well, to be honest, it was partly impulsive. I met you the other day, and then, in the moment, I just wanted my father to leave me alone.” He has a half-smile that makes you swallow hard, and he gives you a knowing look before returning to a serious expression. “I’m sorry for dragging you into all this.” A pause. “I just hope you’re not married, otherwise—”

“No, I— No.” You close your eyes for a moment, the innocent question burning like a fiery arrow piercing your already aching heart. Did you just hear a sigh of relief? “And your father doesn’t seem to have recognized me since the other day,” you can’t help but point out.

“The mask.” Satoru grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. “He didn’t recognize you because of that. He’s always had a bad memory and poor eyesight.”

“But you recognized me.” You focus on the road’s scenery to avoid confronting his mesmerizing eyes. “I’m not going to wear my mask forever, you know? And I don’t want to keep pretending—”

“Please,” Satoru whispers, placing a hand on yours, sending a shiver down your spine. “Just until he and my family get off my back.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“How much do you want?” He asks immediately, as if he just remembered something.

“What? No! I don’t want your money!” you protest as quickly as he did. “No, I…” And you groan, sinking into your seat.

Holy shit!

“What have I gotten myself into, seriously…” you moan, crossing your arms over your chest, a grimace distorting your features.

“Please. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ll do everything to make it just a minor detail… I’m only asking you to change your name in front of my father when you pass as my girlfriend, wear a mask, and change your hairstyle at work — if we want to avoid suspicion. He won’t suspect a thing, I swear.” He pulls into the school parking lot and parks quietly.

Thoughts bombard your already exhausted mind, and you massage your temples. Why does this have to happen to you and no one else?

Satoru murmurs your name, making you lift your head. “It will only be a few family events, just for appearances, nothing more. I won’t bother you any further.”

You sigh, and the sound of the bell signaling the end of classes rings out. “I need to think about it. Thanks for the ride. Have a nice—”

“Come back. I’ll take you home,” Satoru suggests, pressing the button to unlock your door.

What’s the point of refusing?

You nod, finally getting out of the car to go pick up your daughter, who runs toward you as soon as you reach the gate.

"Mama!" She jumps into your arms.

You return her embrace, heading towards Satoru’s car. “Did you have a good day?”

“So much fun! I made you a drawing!” She’s practically bouncing as you reach the car.

Noticing your daughter’s confused look, you clear your throat. “Uh… A-A friend of mine is giving us a ride home, okay?” She blinks innocently and waits for you to open the car door, which is almost as tall as she is. Hinata gets in as you do, and you cough slightly. “This is Gojo. My friend.”

“Hello, princess.” Satoru turns his head over his shoulder with a big smile. “What’s your name?”

“Hinata,” she replies, her legs gently swinging.

“Very pretty.”

“Thank you.” She blushes and tries to hide a smile.

On the way, you try to fill the awkward silences with small talk until you arrive at the supermarket.

You had promised to buy Hinata a new stuffed animal since last night after spending hours worrying that you weren’t being a good mother. Again.

“That one!” Hinata almost runs towards a bunny plushie that’s twice the size of her head. She grabs it with her little arms and gives it a hug.

Satoru and you reach the aisle, and out of habit, you check the price under the albino’s watchful eye. Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when you see the amount, and you place a trembling hand on Hina’s shoulder. “Angel, I think it’s—”

“…Perfect,” Satoru finishes, his large hands taking the plushie from your daughter’s tight embrace to check the price tag with its shocking number. “Do you like it, little one?” he asks, looking down at her.

Hina nods energetically. “Yeah!”

“Then we’ll take it.” Satoru hands the plushie back to her and turns towards the checkout lane, already reaching into one of his pockets for what looks like… a wallet.

You react immediately, your hands finding their way around his arm. He doesn’t push you away at all and even smiles at the contact. “Gojo… No.”

“It’s Satoru to you, sweetheart,” he whispers gently. “And why not? It’s just a stuffed animal,” he scoffs. He takes Hinata’s hand so she can place the plushie on the conveyor belt.

“No, it’s not nothing to me,” you persist through clenched teeth, embarrassed that the cashier might be paying attention to your conversation.

Satoru shrugs. The cashier scans the plushie, and he uses contactless payment to pay for it. With your hands still around his arm, he places one of his on top, an intimate closeness.

“I could get used to this,” he murmurs near your ear, making you turn beet red. But he can’t continue as your daughter clings to Satoru’s leg like a koala, showering him with a thousand thank-yous for the gift. “You’re welcome, little one.” His hand gently ruffles her hair. He grins, now turning back to you. “It’s on me. You don’t owe me anything.”

Your discreet protests, so Hinata doesn’t suspect anything, come to an end when he drops both of you off in front of your home. Hinata commented that Satoru’s car looked like the one from the movie Barbie: Princess Charm School she had seen recently. He unlocks the doors as you get out of the car. Satoru’s hand catches yours, slipping a piece of cardstock into it. His contact details are on it.

“Just in case,” he mouths silently.

Nevertheless, you slip the business card into your pocket and respond just before closing the door, “I accept.”

°°°°

“And no funny business, okay? Never run in the hallways, if he tells you to wait, don’t move an inch, and—” You stop yourself as you notice your daughter is more interested in admiring the elegant decorations of the office hallways with wide, doe-like eyes and an adorable, slightly open mouth.

To your great misfortune, Hinata’s preschool is on strike for a while — which means almost all the teachers are absent. So how do you take care of your daughter when you can’t afford to miss work? By bringing her to your fake boyfriend’s office, of course! You quickly make your way toward Satoru’s office, Hinata following with her hand in yours. But just as you raise your fist to knock on his door, two large hands land on your shoulders, nearly scaring the life out of you.

“Hey, hey!” You whip around abruptly, a new mask on your face — just as the plan intended.

“Satoru…” you grit through your teeth. Hinata looks up at him and grins. You sigh.

“What do I owe the pleasure of all this lovely company?” Satoru asks, not taking his eyes off yours while giving Hinata a high-five.

As usual, he’s dressed in a luxurious suit — probably worth the rent of the apartment you live in — his slightly tousled albino hair and the familiar scent of cologne filling your nostrils. You catch yourself staring a little too long, and mentally kick yourself when his curious gaze turns mischievous.

He just realized you were checking him out, damn it!

“Hinata’s school is on strike. I need you to watch her for the day, if that’s not a problem, and since you seemed so insistent on returning the favor I’m doing for you…” you mumble, avoiding his gaze. “I see you’re spending your day roaming the offices rather than staying in yours…”

“No problem at all,” Satoru replies automatically, a pleased smile on his lips. “Ready to go to the CEO’s office?” He picks up Hina, who giggles and clings to him like a koala.

It’s your turn to smile in relief. “Thank you so much. I have a meeting with your father in an hour, and I’ll come get her at noon and again at the end of the day.” The sight of the two of them close together makes your heart melt — and for once, you don’t blame yourself for seeing Hinata happy to be with someone else.

°°°°

5:00 PM.

You’ve sent a message to Satoru asking where he was, since knocking on his perpetually empty office seems to be pointless. The meeting with the other company members about organizing the launch of a new product was particularly painful, but one thing is certain: the general manager didn’t recognize you with your more subdued hairstyle and the mask plastered on your face.

“Come to the parking lot like last time.”

And that’s the last message from Satoru (you gave him your number during lunch).

In the empty parking lot, only Satoru’s car is present, and you cast a curious glance through the windows. The two troublemakers give you a grimace — tongues sticking out and faces scrunched up. You sigh as the passenger door opens automatically.

“Satoru, you don’t have to—”

“Hina said yes and that she wants to come to my place,” Satoru cuts in with a mocking expression.

Reluctantly, you get in, your heart pounding in your chest with all sorts of panicked thoughts. However, Satoru doesn’t seem to share your reservations and starts driving as soon as you’re settled.

“So, this means you’re coming to my place,” he says, hands on the wheel and a quick glance in the rearview mirror, “and I’m inviting you to dinner.”

“No—”

“Mom! Please, Satoru is being too nice.” Hinata complains. You glance back, and she looks at you with wounded, pleading puppy eyes, arms crossed over her chest.

You grumble, slumping back against your seat as they both cheer in victory.

“By the way, I’m stopping by your place so you can pack. We’re invited to a family wedding, and my father invited us.”

“WHAT?”

°°°°

You place a box with your gift on the designated table for presents, and an arm wraps around your waist. “You look stunning,” Satoru murmurs against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, which breaks out in goosebumps.

With a flushed face, you turn your head. “Satoru…”

“What? Just because we’re pretending to be a couple and barely know each other doesn’t mean I can’t speak the truth.” He pauses. “Well, actually, we do know each other a bit, don’t we? We’ve had dinner together.” He chuckles at your half-grimacing, half-deadpan expression, pulling you closer as music fills the wedding reception hall.

You turn your head along with him toward the back of the room, where the bride’s bouquet is about to be thrown. A tight smile curves your lips — this is one thing you’ve dreamed of. Dreams have always been just that — dreams in your life, and even when love comes knocking at your door, it’s only passing through, just like your situation with Satoru.

His father didn’t notice anything, and since Satoru lives alone in a villa, it’s hard to say no when he offered for you to stay with him until he’s settled, with your own room and a staff available 24/7. He even had a tailor make a custom dress for the wedding you were both invited to. Hinata is looked after by a lovely nurse, and you’re enjoying a life you’ve always dreamed of. So why not make the most of it despite your past?

A Satoru who’s too comfortable with you isn’t so bothersome given the time you’ve spent together lately — both at the office, acting as a couple in front of certain people, and sometimes showing affection to each other to appear believable, even though they haven’t asked for kisses yet, so—

A fluffy and soft object lands right in the middle of your face and falls into your arms. You search for what seems to be a petal in your mouth and suck in your breath at what you realize it is.

The bride’s bouquet.

A gulp forces its way down your throat as the whole room applauds because… you’ve been hit in the face with the bouquet? Not to mention the lamentations of other female cousins who had jumped with all their hopes to catch it… But why you, who hadn’t asked for anything?

“Sweetheart?” Satoru mutters, his chest still pressed against your back. His tone is so sweet, nonchalant, as if you’ve been a couple for years. “My father is watching us, and I think he’s expecting me to do something.”

You swallow and nod, dreading what might happen next. Will your heart stop beating when Satoru says:

“May I kiss you?”

Never, ever, has anyone asked you that question. Not even your ex.

So, with a nervous nod, you allow him to capture your lips in a soft, languid kiss. His tender lips taste like the cotton candy children eat at the fair. They cherish yours with every movement (which you can’t help but return in kind). Each press sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

When the kiss ends, Satoru places one last kiss on the corner of your lips and clears his throat. “This is the first time I’ve wanted to marry my girlfriend.” His warm breath ignites your body.

Has your heart exploded?

If not, why can’t you breathe?

“Awww… How adorable you are with your pretty girlfriend, Satoru!”

An elderly woman approaches you both, supported by her old cane, and you note her albino hair, similar to Satoru’s.

“My dear aunt…” Satoru smiles widely without breaking away from you.

“You make a lovely couple,” Aunt Gojo continues, giving you a wise look.

“Oh, thank you.” You immediately bow and introduce yourself. Satoru’s hands squeeze your waist, and he chuckles at your manners.

“Take good care of her, you idiot,” the aunt finishes before drifting away, a tap of her cane on Satoru’s head making him sigh and rub his sore skull.

“Well, at least we look convincing, right?” he adds.

“Yes…”

Of course, he said that because he saw his aunt before you! Don’t think he said it because he meant it or—

“By the way,” Satoru takes your hand in his and leads you to the center of the dance floor, “I meant what I said before my aunt interrupted us.”

And you’re at a loss on how to interpret his playful wink.

°°°°

“WOW! Hinata, you’re so rich!”

“Is this your dad’s castle?”

Hinata takes Satoru’s hand and faces her friends in his chic living room. “It’s my daddy’s!” She nods proudly and runs off with them toward the games and festivities organized for her birthday. The children run everywhere, scream, and burst into laughter throughout the room. The perfect atmosphere.

It’s exactly what you’ve always dreamed of giving Hina.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you murmur to Satoru, who, despite your comment, shakes his head joyfully.

“I’m glad she likes it,” he replies.

“I wasn’t talking about the party.”

He freezes and turns his head toward you. “Didn’t you tell me you’d never been married?” he dares to whisper, possibly afraid of hurting you.

“That’s true. My ex left after learning I was pregnant with Hinata.” You exhale the breath you’ve been holding, the weight of the secret finally lifted.

Maybe he won’t want to keep pretending to be your boyfriend after this…

“You can still tell me his name, you know, sweetheart?” Satoru moves closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist, as if it’s completely natural for him, but there’s a tension in his touch. “I can take care of him and—”

You shake your head to dispel the tiny bit of resentment that’s urging you to say yes. “It’s okay. Thanks for agreeing to pretend to be her father. I know it’s going to be a bit of a hassle for a while, but she cares a lot—”

“Nuh-uh.” He places a kiss on your cheek, then another on the side of your neck, causing you to shiver. “She’s already talked about it in my office.”

You open your eyes wide. “What…?”

“Hinata likes you much more than you think… You’ve suffered too much,” His other hand glides over your stomach, and his thumb traces affectionate circles on your waist.

“Thank you,” you breathe, leaning into his touch. And for a moment, the weight on your shoulders completely lifts. “We haven’t had the best birthdays recently, so I’m happy to see Hinata get what she wants.” Your eyes rest on your daughter, dressed as a fairy, waving her glittery wand at one of her friends dressed as a witch. “So, thank you for everything.”

“No need to thank me, sweetheart. But which birthday are you talking about? Yours? When was it?”

Embarrassed, your mouth feels dry. “...A while ago.”

Satoru pulls you tightly against his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you, his nose buried in your hair. “You’re such a strong woman… I can take care of you if you want. You and Hina will live like princesses, and if you want to sleep with her or have your own room, that’s no problem for me.”

“What? No, Satoru, you’re joking…”

“I’m not joking,” he insists, his gaze diving into yours — and for a second, sincerity fills his cerulean eyes.

With your mouth slightly open, you whisper, “We barely know each other, and—”

“Mama! Papa! We need to break the piñata!” Hinata rushes over to you, not paying any attention to how close you are to Satoru, and grabs each of your hands.

“Yes, angel, we’re coming,” you respond to your daughter with a weary smile, before glancing at Satoru, who is no longer looking in your direction.

Why are his ears so red?

°°°°

You place the last birthday decoration box in a corner of the living room as Satoru asked and straighten up with a grimace from your aching back. “Geez…”

The upper floor of the huge house is strangely quiet, and you furrow your brows. Could they have gone downstairs?

“Hinata? Satoru?” you call out as you walk through the hallways.

The evening darkness makes it hard to see clearly, and only the faint beam of light escaping from the kitchen door guides you.

“Are you there?” you ask, gently pushing the door open, and what you find leaves you stunned.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” the two of them exclaim, holding an enormous cake between them.

A few candles illuminate the underside of their beaming faces, party hats perched on their heads. The kitchen is a huge mess, counters covered in flour and frosting, and dishes overflow from the sink, threatening to topple over.

You stand speechless as they continue to sing your birthday song. Your nostrils and eyes start to itch strangely. Why is your vision suddenly blurring? It looks like transparent waves just above your lower lashes, threatening to overflow if you dare to blink. Yet, you can’t escape it.

Not when they set the cake on the table and pull you into a hug while your nose runs, tears roll down your cheeks, and your choked-up throat is on the verge of bursting into sobs. Satoru keeps kissing your hair, never stopping for a second to comfort you with sweet and reassuring words, his hand drawing circles on your back. Hinata wipes your tears while her own roll down her little cheeks.

Seeing you cry has always been contagious for her.

The moment gives you a glimpse of what your life would be like if you had a complete family, and Satoru’s words echo in your mind. How could he be so perfect in just a few weeks of knowing him?

Once the emotion passes, a few minutes later, you eat your birthday cake with laughter and cheer, accompanied not just by the one person who now means everything to you, but by both.

°°°°

“Watch out, Hina. You have applesauce on your chin,” Satoru chuckles, his hand grabbing a napkin to wipe the excess food around the child’s mouth.

The heartwarming scene makes your heart swell. You definitely don’t regret going out with Satoru and Hinata to have a meal at a chic terrace in their company. The family atmosphere finally gives you a glimpse of the life you’ve always hoped to live. Hinata growing up with a loving father and mother, and you, loved and supported by an ideal partner. Why not reconsider Satoru’s proposal, then? He’s the first man to think of you, even after your birthday had passed some time ago.

“I’m going to the restroom,” you murmur to Satoru, who nods in response, a wry smile curling his pink lips.

But why did it have to be on this day that a man finally approaches the two people you care about just as you slip away? He clearly waited from afar for you to let your guard down around your daughter so he could show up right in the middle of the table, facing a little girl — his daughter, technically — next to a man who isn’t her father.

Satoru slowly raises his head toward him, brows furrowed and wary. “Can I help you?”

Your ex says your name. “Where is she?” he mimics asking as if he didn’t know.

“What do you want with her?”

“To talk to her. I have the right. And you’re with my daughter, just so you know.” He crosses his arms over his chest, trying to appear threatening, but Satoru remains stoic, more contemptuous than anything else in the face of such a scruffy, unshaven nuisance.

“She’s not here; you can leave,” Satoru responds. And out of protective instinct, he pulls Hinata’s chair closer to him, his eyes narrowed. Satoru understands perfectly that your ex is back to claim his rights over his daughter, just as he’s been harassing you with messages about it.

“Excuse me? When my daughter is in the arms of a stranger? I could call the police immediately and we’ll sort this out very quickly,” your ex retorts sharply. He takes a step toward a lost Hinata, her big doe eyes blinking innocently between the two men. Of course, she doesn’t recognize him.

An altercation begins between the two, which naturally attracts the attention of other diners around. And you walk into the middle of the scene, frozen in shock at the sight of your ex hurling threats at Satoru.

“She’s taking my daughter, so I’m taking her back! And it’s not a bastard like you who’s going to help her regain my rights!” your ex spits with venom. His icy eyes find yours, terrified, your hands trembling and your complexion as pale as a sheet. He’s about to address you with the same angry speech, his face flushed with rage and a vein ready to burst at his temple.

Do you get déjà vu?

“‘Your daughter’?” Satoru repeats with a deadly gaze and a jaw quivering with rage. “She’s been sitting next to me for over an hour, I’ve been feeding her for over an hour, she’s been calling me by my name for over an hour, and you’re talking about ‘your daughter’? At this point, whose daughter is she... yours or mine?”

Your ex, publicly humiliated, opens his eyes wide with hatred. “You little son of—”

“Sir, we ask that you leave the terrace; you’re disturbing our customers,” a security guard declares firmly. He’s accompanied by another colleague, and when your ex protests, they grab him by the arm and escort him away amidst his shouting and the murmurs of other customers who keep staring at the three of you.

You move closer to Satoru, who immediately stands up upon seeing you — having not realized you were there — and can only offer you an apologetic look. “Let’s go,” you silently mouth (your throat too tight to dare let a sound escape, fearing it might break before you say anything), taking the hand of a silent and lost Hinata. “I’ll pay the bill and—”

“It’s already taken care of; we can go,” Satoru gently interrupts, following you to his car.

And it’s on the silent drive back that you realize something.

You’ve officially fallen in love with Satoru Gojo.

°°°°

“Look, Mom, Dad and I made a drawing for you!” Hinata proudly holds up a colorful picture with three easily recognizable characters on it.

“Did you brush your teeth?” you ask as you take the drawing to admire it, just as much smiling as your daughter. She nods and then does a little twirl to show off her new pajamas that Satoru gave her earlier in the day. “It’s beautiful. You’re so talented,” you chuckle, leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek.

Satoru appears in the doorway of Hinata’s room, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, a perpetual playful smile curving his lips. “Ready to go to sleep?”

“Yes, and I showed our drawing to mama,” Hinata asserts, bouncing on her bed.

“Oh yeah? Did mama like it?” Satoru asks softly, his eyes now locked with yours.

“Mama loved it and thanks Daddy,” you whisper, your voice quivering with emotion that threatens to spill over.

Half an hour later, Satoru and you find yourselves in the hallway with a sleeping Hinata and her little lullaby snores.

Satoru wraps his arm around your waist as usual and buries his face in your neck. Your heart is already racing, and your breath catches when he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” The embrace is a simple hug but with unspoken words easily guessed.

“For everything.” Satoru sighs, and for a split second, you hope he’ll let you speak, but no. “I didn’t mean to make a scene and—”

“And you think I’m going to blame you for protecting us? That I wasn’t touched by what you said about Hina?” you mumble near his ear. The closeness gives you another chance to see his ears turn red. “Is Satoru shy?” you giggle, open to teasing. He hums, hiding his face so you don’t see his expression.

“I love you.”

You blink, because you must have heard wrong. “Huh?”

“Marry me.” And he’s already on his knees before you, eyes pleading. That usually confident cerulean blue is now so submissive, so close at hand… But the sudden turn of events leaves you stunned. “I want to be your husband, not just have you as my wife. I want to raise Hina with you and give you everything you need.” Not letting himself be distracted by your stunned expression, he continues, “Want my money? I’ll give it to you. My house? It will be in your name. Want my body? It belongs to you. My heart? It’s already yours.” And he starts kissing the backs of your hands desperately. “I love you, I love you… Please, marry me…”

“Satoru… You—” you stammer, backing away, your brow furrowed. Everything is a jumble in your head, both from his touching declaration but also because it’s all moving too fast for you. “You… love me?” you manage to whisper.

He crawls to you and wraps his large arms around your thighs, almost choking with desperation. “I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you, as soon as you covered me from my father, as soon as I heard your laugh, saw the amazing mother you are, and realized I never wanted you to leave this house.” He whispers your name like a divine invocation. “I’ve fallen in love with you more than just once.”

You don’t immediately respond, and that’s okay in his eyes. He doesn’t want to pressure you, just for you to know the truth and for him to be completely transparent with you.

“It’s okay if you don’t share my feelings; I just want you to know that—” But he’s cut off by your rush toward him on the floor as you press your lips to his, pulling him into the dance of your lips that one gives to the other in a long, passionate kiss. “God… I love you so much…”

“I love you too, Satoru,” you murmur against his mouth between kisses that turn into moans as he slides his warm, wet tongue between your lips to request access to your mouth.

Both of your breaths become ragged and heavy. Satoru takes the opportunity to lift you by the underside of your thighs and lead you to his bedroom, carefully closing the door behind him without breaking the contact of your swollen, desirous lips. He gently lays you on the king-size bed with silver satin and frost-blue sheets.

With a tenderness of loving slowness, Satoru breaks the kiss. “Do you want to continue?” he asks, his voice husky. You nod timidly, but he shakes his head with his mischievous smile — finally back. “Nuh-uh. Your words, sweetheart.”

“I want it, Satoru,” you reply after a sigh of exasperation so adorable in his eyes that it makes him laugh, then he places a light kiss on the corner of your lips.

“Alright… Gonna take care of my beautiful girl, the best, the most wonderful mother, and maybe future wife—” He places a finger on your lips. “Oh no, you’ll answer that later if you want, when I have something concrete for that occasion.”

You sigh in frustration because the answer is already on the tip of your tongue, but it soon turns into a moan as he kisses the side of your neck with such deliberate slowness that you really wonder if he’s going to tease you to the limit. His hands roam over your clothed chest, exploring your already hardened nipples. His lips find their way to your collarbone, marking it with love bites and hickeys that elicit muffled moans from you.

“If you knew how long I’ve dreamed of doing this…” Satoru comments with a touch of affection, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your shirt. “Exactly how I would act with my wife—”

“And your father?” And he chuckles again.

“We don’t care about him.” He casually tosses your top aside to tease your sensitive, erect nipples through the fabric with his thumbs. “Such humble underwear… Would you like me to buy you something more daring?” he purrs, pulling on a strap to snap it against your gooseflesh-covered skin.

“Would you do that?” You bring your lips to his, and he immediately responds to the kiss. You also remove his black turtleneck sweater to reveal his toned, muscular torso. An adventurous hand glides over his chest, making him groan slightly, and then stops at his lower abdomen where a vein runs lower down. You place a kiss there with a small, sly smile.

For the first time, you’re about to make love with someone.

“Hmm? Satoru? Have you ever thought of me in outfits like this?” Your nimble fingers unbutton his pants, revealing a prominent bulge in his fly.

“Sweetheart, don’t—” he hisses between his teeth from the sensation of the slight friction between his erection and your eager fingers as they pull down his pants to caress and rub his dick through the thin fabric of his boxer. “Your hands feel so good…” He breathes softly, his hands stroking your bare arms with a feather-light touch.

“Answer my question…” you purr, your nails pulling at the underwear to free his hard, twitching cock. The tip is perfectly reddened, with veins coursing along its pale length of 8 inches. Almost automatically, your mouth waters, and you waste no time kissing the slit of his already glistening tip with pre.

“Babe, don’t tease…” Satoru closes his eyes and lets your hand wrap around his length, begging to be touched. “F-fuck— Yes, yes, I’ve thought about it, about buying you the most expensive and luxurious lingerie— ah!” he almost whimpers. You take a little over 2 inches of him into your mouth to stroke the base. “But also in those maternity clothes— oh god… C-can you really blame me?” He rolls his eyes and can’t help but buck his hips toward you, his body pleading for your mouth to take care of him.

You withdraw his cock from your mouth to whisper, “So you’re a naughty boy, hmm?”

“I won’t last if you keep this up— hgnn…” he whimpers completely, his dick splitting your mouth in two as you take him all in. Your head starts to bob back and forth, and he is so close that he spills moans of your name. “G’nna cum, baby, don’t—”

You hollow your cheeks, and the next moment, he cums in your mouth, long, thick ropes of his release filling your already full mouth with his shaft. You hum under his orgasm and swallow slowly. You slide his dick out of your mouth with the same rhythm to smile at a Satoru with ears as red as his cheeks.

“F-fuck, sweetheart,” he pants, his calloused finger wiping away the mixed cord of your saliva and his cum with a swipe of his thumb.

“M-hmm… You taste so sweet…” He doesn’t let you continue and crushes his lips against yours, tasting himself on your mouth. “I want you, Satoru…”

“I’m yours, princess.” He helps you quickly remove your remaining underwear so that you’re completely naked in front of him, knees resting on the expensive mattress. He kneels at the foot of the bed, and his fingers explore your sensitive, already dripping cunt.

“So wet for me… Did I do this to you just with my cock?” His fingers spread your swollen folds to gather your fluids and rub your throbbing, needy clit.

Your nails dig into his arm as you lift your hips under the sharp pleasure. “Satoru, it feels good…” you gasp in a whimper. His forefinger and middle finger spread your wetness all around your intimacy. “Please don’t tease…”

“Not tease? Weren’t you doing it, sweetheart? What a nerve,” Satoru scoffs, tapping his finger at your entrance. “Can I?”

“Please…” You wince as you move your hips down for more. And that’s exactly what he does, immediately inserting his finger into you, cursing.

“You’re so fucking tight… and so wet,” he curses, his finger moving in and out of you with careful softness. “I can already fuck you without making you cum first.” He stops finger-fucking you and looks up at you. “Is that what you want, love?”

You nod before arching your back on the bed. Satoru climbs onto the mattress and helps you wrap your legs around him. “That’s it…” He takes his length in his hand and teases your responsive cunt with the tip to get it wetter.

“Don’t tease, Toru, I swear…” And he smirks.

“Toru?”

“Sorry, I—”

His tip presses against your tight, pulsing entrance, and he grins. “I want you to moan that nickname while I fuck you, ’kay?” He grips your hips to pull you closer to him, and with one swift movement, he slides into you, a groan escaping from behind his lips as your deliciously tight, warm, gummy walls wrap around him as if you were meant for him.

The stretch causes a slight discomfort at first, and you almost cry in relief when Satoru notices. He patiently waits for you to adjust before starting a slow, deep rhythm inside you.

You widen your lustful eyes, tears forming at their corners. “Ah! Toru… Jus’ like that…” Your eyes roll back as the tip of Satoru’s dick hits the back of your cervix, making you shiver and tighten around him. “Fuck… s’deep…”

“So fucking perfect, so fucking mine,” Satoru groans, his hips rocking into you without ceasing to swell between your gummy walls. His chest rises and falls in a breath as ragged as yours, asking for more every time you moan for him to go deeper. (He discreetly rolls his eyes and babbles incomprehensible words — completely pussy drunk.)

And that’s exactly what he does. He slams back in brutally, making you cry out his name with each thrust. “Shhh… You don’t want Hina to hear us, right? So keep quiet, baby…” He helps stifle your gasps and moans of pleasure by capturing your lips with his, alternating between fast, rough thrusts and slow, gentle ones in your hole that he fucks shamelessly.

Blood rushes to your ears, a rare sensation you haven’t truly felt the last time you were with someone. It wasn’t just about carnal pleasure between Satoru and you — but about love. The fusion of bodies loving each other and providing mutual pleasure, even as they burn for each other— physically and emotionally.

One of Satoru’s hands slowly slides to one of your breasts and teases a sensitive nipple. The arch in your back encourages him to detach his mouth from yours to capture the other nipple with his wet lips. The growl he lets out sends a wave of intense shivers through you, making your eyes roll in overstimulation.

“P-please, Toru, please, I’m already close,” you whimper against your trembling palm — a feeble attempt to contain your sweet sounds as he speeds up his hip movements in your sloppy cunt — the sound of his balls slapping your skin filling the room. Your words are punctuated by the tightening of your walls around him, swearing he could cum inside you just from hearing you beg.

“Cum on my cock, baby, cover it,” he coos, giving another kiss to your abused chest. The clenching of your jaw with your teeth dug into your lower lip forces you to groan. “Want me to fill you up?” And you nod, tears showing your imminent orgasm. “Anything for you, my beautiful girl.” His hips slam against yours, and his fingers continue to tease your breast, rubbing your puffy clit.

Satoru’s own breath becomes heavier, more labored as he keeps singing praises while you gasp, his lips pressed along the line of kisses he’s placing down your jaw. “T-Toru, Toru, cumming!” you cry out as your walls spasm around his cock while he reaches his peak and fills you with his hot, liquid release, warming your lower abdomen. You see blinding stars illuminating your vision.

He hisses almost gutturally, his nails digging into the flesh of your hips. “Oh god… S-Squeezing me while I’m cumming too…” He closes his eyes for a moment, letting his peak subside at the same rhythm as yours, his forehead damp with sweat resting against your chest. 

Only pants and groans escape your lips, each one accompanied by difficult swallows and the feeling of your sweaty bodies pressed against each other.

“How was it? Did I make you feel good?” Satoru asks immediately, once his breath has returned.

The concerned questions touch your heart so deeply that you lift tearful eyes to him. “Are you going to leave, after this?”

His expression falters, and he gently withdraws from you to envelop you in his embrace. “No, baby, of course not… I won’t, I swear on my life I won’t leave you… I’m not him. I’m the one who hopes you won’t leave…” he whispers hurriedly. “Don’t think about that. I’ll always be here, for you and for Hina…”

You sniffle, your eyes red. But Satoru smiles tenderly, wiping away your hot tears. “Save your tears for later, sweetheart.”

“Why?” You clear your throat.

He sighs, the aftermath of the effort from the activity settling on him, and places a chaste kiss on your sweaty temple. “Did I tell you that my father invited us to dinner tomorrow night?”

“No,” you shake your head, “but what’s the link?”

“Don’t you understand?” he murmurs in your ear, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll understand in time.”

°°°°

“I see. So it was an unexpected encounter.” Gojo’s father nods, shrugging his shoulders. “But I wonder how a woman like you can have feelings for such a fool…”

Satoru chokes on a piece of meat he’s chewing and takes a sip of his water. You stifle a giggle, with some steamed vegetables speared on your fork, just waiting for you to devour them. For a man who appears so stern and strict, Mr. Gojo is quite a wealthy man who spends his days reprimanding his son for not doing this or that.

Yet, there’s a certain paternal camaraderie between them — a father-son relationship, if you will.

“That’s not true,” Satoru retorts, his voice still gravelly. He has an adorable pout on his lips, like a child wrongly scolded.

“Yes, like you’re not a womanizer,” his father retorts, rolling his eyes.

“It was so you’d leave me alone,” with furrowed brows, he wears a mischievous smile at his father’s incredulous expression, “but sweetheart came into my life,” he continues, looking at you with a tenderness he has rarely shown.

“I hope you manage to put up with him until… well, until you decide to marry — if that’s what you choose,” his father sighs, turning his attention back to the dish in front of him.

“Satoru isn’t a bad person, you know,” you start gently. “He is certainly a thoughtless brat with grotesque immaturity,” Satoru almost spits out his water this time, and you continue with a wry smile, “but he has a great sense of attention and unmatched generosity. I believe he will be a good husband, I assure you.”

“I must admit,” he says with a wise smile, his wrinkles less pronounced.

Satoru casually says your name, “Yeah, yeah… By the way, could you pass me the salt, please?”

You freeze, while Satoru’s father suddenly looks up with an incredulous expression. “Who?”

And you smack your forehead with the palm of your hand.

°°°°

The cries of a newborn fill the room as, breathless and on the verge of fainting, the midwives congratulate you, bringing your second child wrapped in clean blankets at your request.

“He’s beautiful…” Satoru murmurs as he approaches you, leaning down to the tiny baby with his albino hair and blue eyes — his exact likeness. “Thank you, my love, thank you, thank you, thank you…” His voice breaks as you raise a weak, exhausted hand toward him, but with a serene smile on your lips as you whisper how much you love each other.

He immediately wraps his fingers around yours, your wedding rings sparkling as they brush together like stars sealed for eternity.

a/n: how i love desperate men, hihi! 🤭 hope you all enjoyed this one-shot!

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobees @drippymcdrippison

[f1goat]

his teammate + lando norris x part eight

In which you find yourself getting closer to your brothers new teammate who's a dick.

lando norris x fem!verstappen (sister) + cursewords + smut

masterlist x playlist

When Lando wakes up, he is quick to feel really satisfied. It wasn’t a dream or just drunken hallucinations. You’re actually here and still lying in his bed next to him. It’s insane how good that feels. Your head lies onto his torso. Lando can’t resist himself from softly taking a strand of your hair into his fingers. He plays a bit with it while he watches you. It amazes him that you’re really here. Here in his bed with him. Yesterday feels like some sort of dream, but he’s more then happy that it’s not.

You slowly open your eyes. The first seconds you almost panic. Why are you not in your own hotel room? Slowly you start to remember the events of last night. The way you were the one to initiate the first kiss between you and Lando, the way he made you all worked up into a small toilet stall and all the things he did to you later in his hotel room. Fuck. You’re in deep trouble, but maybe the most troubling part is that you don’t regret one tiny bit. You’d do it again in no time.

“Hi,” you whisper softly to Lando when you look at him. You notice that he is already looking at you. You feel your cheeks reddening for a bit while realizing that. 

“Hey princess,” Lando replies to you. He scans your face to find out what you’re thinking right now. He knows for sure that you weren’t too drunk last night, but he’s still afraid that you regret it. He can’t find any signs of regret on your face, but he doesn’t know if he can trust himself on that. 

You let out a yawn. Lando laughs softly. You don’t know what to say to him, so you decide to press your face in his chest. it’s comfortable and warm. You could fall asleep like this again. Lando strokes your hair. 

“I could fall asleep all over again like this,” you tell Lando jokingly. 

“I won’t stop you,” he says, “but we do have a flight to catch in a couple hours.” 

Fuck. Of course. You still need to pack for the flight and after your outfit stress from yesterday, your hotel room is a big mess. You let out a sigh while you get up. Lando is quick to look at you questioning. 

“My room is a big mess,” you explain, “and I still need to pack my luggage.” 

Lando laughs. He pulls you back onto his chest. His arms are wrapped around your body. He presses a soft kiss against your forehead. “5 more minutes?” He asks sweetly. You can’t deny him and are quick to lay down again. 

A few minutes later you’re tangled in bed with Lando. Those five minutes already turned into ten minutes. Lando is drawing figures on your back, his hand keeps getting lower. You know that you need to get out of bed and pack your suitcase, but you don’t want to leave the warm bed and Lando. Certainly not when his hand suddenly grabs your ass. Surprised you let out a soft moan when he starts kneading it. 

“A few more minutes?” Lando asks you with a small smile. You can only nod as an answer. Lando smirks. He is quick to changes positions with you. In no time he’s hovering over you, while you’re lying on your back onto the bed. He presses a kiss against your forehead before bringing his lips to yours. 

While kissing Lando, you let your hands discover his body a bit more. Slowly you run them around his bare chest. He’s even more muscled then you already thought. You let out a soft whine when Lando stops kissing you. That whine is quickly forgotten when you feel his mouth sucking at your nipple. 

You move your hands a bit more downwards. Without warning Lando you take his member into your hands. Slowly you start to stroke him. Lando is quick to let out a soft moan. In the mean time his hand finds your pussy. He teases you a bit by softly touching your clit and making you wait for him to continue.

“Ever had slow morning sex?” He asks you. 

You shake your head. 

“Me neither,” Lando confesses. He takes his member out of your hands, slowly he lets himself slide into you. You let out a moan when he’s deeply inside of you. Lando continues to move slowly in and outside of you. 

+++

“I think we need to talk about everything what happened, right?”

Lando waited for this moment. You have said the words he has been dreading to say all morning. The five minutes turned into ten and ten into another make out session which eventually turned into soft, slow morning sex. He never had sex like that. Normally he’s always for the quick fuck, but with you he wants to take all the time of the world. After that he told you that he would help you pack, since it was a bit of his fault that you still were at his room. 

So he’s currently standing in the middle of your hotel room. You did tell him it was a mess, but it’s even a bigger mess then he thought. There are clothes everywhere. But that isn’t the mess he’s worried about, he’s more worried about what mess your question will cause. What kind of conversation will follow? 

“Uh yeah,” Lando eventually answers you, he can’t help himself and shoots you a question next. “Do you regret it?” He feels nervous while waiting for your answer. What if you do regret it? What if this was some sort of one time thing? Fuck that would be a karma action. He always uses girls for one time things, he would deserve it that you used him for that as well. But still. He feels how he’s getting a bit panicked while looking at you. 

You look at Lando with frowned eyebrows. You notice his panicked glaze at you. What’s going on? Is he really stressing this much because of it? You know you should answer Lando and stop his stressing, but you’re still thinking about how to tell him what’s on your mind. 

“Babygirl?” Lando questions you. 

You know it’s time to answer. But you’re still wondering what to say. Lando keeps looking at you. You notice how he seems even more stressed then before. Without saying anything, you walk towards Lando. You put your arms around your body and cuddle him. Lando instantly relaxes a bit in your arms. You feel how his tense body is slowly getting a bit more relaxed again. 

“Relax Lan,” you tell him slowly, “I don’t regret anything that happened between us.”

“But?” Lando is quick to question. 

“But I don’t know how to continue this,” you tell him honestly. Before Lando can ask a question, you continue to talk. “I don’t even want to know how Max will respond to this,” you explain, “and then you have the media and all the fans. You’re having a bad image you know, what if everyone thinks that you’re using me? What if it causes everyone to think bad about you?” 

“I don’t care about that,” Lando replies, “Let them think about me what they want.”

“And did you ever notice how much hate the girls get for dating drivers? I already get a lot of hate because I’m Max sister, but if anyone finds out they’ll hate me even more,” you add.

“What do you mean? Are people leaving hate comments to you?” Lando asks confused, “Why would they do that?”

You ignore his question. “I really like you Lan, but this will bring so much trouble.”

“So you don’t want to explore this feeling?” Lando asks you a bit down. 

You grab Lando his hand. Slowly you traces figures onto his skin. “Let me talk okay, let me explain,” you tell him, hinting that he needs to stop interrupting. “You need to know that I don’t regret anything Lan. If I’d regret yesterday night, then why would I have sex with you again this morning?” You wait a couple seconds before you continue, hoping your words will sink in with Lando.

“The thing is, we don’t know what will happen next. I mean we we’re fighting only a week or so ago. The thing I do know is how much trouble this will bring. Max is probably going to kill you when he finds out, media are going insane and RedBull will hate us for that and the fans are going to hate me,” you explain, “and I need to know if you think it’s worth all that trouble when we don’t even know ourselves which direction this is going.”

“I want everything you’re willing to give me,” Lando states, “I don’t care if it’s some sort of secret relationship or a public relationship.” 

“Maybe we can figure this out privately first?” You suggest. 

Lando gives you a surprised look. “What do you mean?” He asks, “Are you willing to try this? To try us?”

You show him a small smile and press a kiss against his cheek. “Yes,” you answer. Lando pulls you closer against himself and presses his lips against yours. “Thank god,” Lando mutters softly after pulling back, “thank fucking god.”

“But we need to make sure no one finds out,” you say, “except your friend Max of course, since he already knows.”

“What are you going to tell your brother, I mean he’ll figure out that you’re spending time with me eventually?” Lando asks you. 

“I don’t know yet, I’ll think of something,” you sigh, “but when we’re ready to tell people, Max is the first one to hear.”

Lando nods as an agreement. 

“And now you really need to help me pack, because otherwise we will miss this flight,” you tell Lando while laughing. He apparently disagrees with your words, because he takes your attention from packing away again by kissing you.

+++

“Why did you go home early last night?” Max asks you. He’s sitting in front of you in his private jet. Kelly is sleeping next to him. Since Max wanted to strengthen his bond with his new teammate, he invited Lando on the plane as well. Meaning that you’re sitting next to Lando currently. This is already awkward. 

“I wasn’t feeling it,” you tell Max, “I was tired and wanted to sleep.”

“What about Pierre?” Max asks you, “Wasn’t he nice?”

You see how Lando his body tenses next to you. It’s hard to miss, but Max doesn’t seem to notice it. You’re glad that Kelly is asleep, since she has a better eye for those things then your brother.

“He was so boring,” you state, “I’m sorry Max but you need to stop playing matchmaker when you’re drunk. You have no idea who to match with me.”

“What’s wrong with Pierre?” Max asks.

Lando can’t stop himself and let’s out a soft snort. If you ask him, there’s a lot wrong with Pierre. Max looks up at him but doesn’t question it. You look at him as well. Doesn’t Lando like Pierre as well?

“Come on Max,” you laugh, “Pierre only talks about himself and about how he still deserves the RedBull seat next to you. Maybe that he’s different with you because he needs you to manage that.”

“Is he that bad?” Max asks you with a soft laugh.

“He didn’t ask me one question,” you reply.

“Hm, I’ll find someone else next time,” Max tells you jokingly. You know by the tone of his voice that he’s joking, but Lando doesn’t realize that. You notice how he’s tensing up again. With a careful movement you lay your hand on his leg. Lando is quick to grab your hand with his own, holding it tightly. 

“Please don’t,” you tell Max.

Max laughs. “Sorry,” he says, “but I do think that Pierre is still interested. He texted me for your number.”

“Did you give it?” You ask.

“No, I told him he could ask you yourself.”

“Thank god,” you reply relieved.

When you feel your phone vibrate against your leg, you pull it out of your pocket surprised. You notice a new text message. When you unlock your phone a second one comes in. You take back the ‘thank god’ you said before. Who gave Pierre your number? Fuck. 

Unknown number: Hi! Let’s do something together this week. Maybe dinner?

Unknown number: It’s Pierre btw

You didn’t notice that Lando read along with you. He lets go of your hand while letting out an annoyed sigh. You look at him, he doesn’t look back at you. It’s kinda obvious that he’s annoyed, but it’s not like you can do anything about it.

“Who could have given my number to Pierre? He just texted me,” you ask your brother.

“I don’t know,” Max replies confused, “That’s weird.”

You typ back to Pierre.

Y/N: hey, how did you get my number?

Pierre is quick to respond again, you barely have time to tell Max that you asked Pierre how he got your number.

Pierre: Daniel

“Daniel apparently,” you tell Max. Lando feels annoyed by his previous teammate, but he’s even more annoyed by Pierre. He knew dating you wouldn’t be easy - certainly not when it’s a secret, but he didn’t expect to be confronted with another boy this fast. He tries to forget about his feelings for a bit, but he can’t stop negative thoughts from floating in his head. What if you’ll like Pierre more eventually? 

“What did Pierre text you?” Max asks further.

“He wants to take me out for dinner,” you answer.

“And?”

“And what?” You ask confused.

“Are you going to have dinner with him?” Max questions.

You stay silent. Of course you don’t want to go out for dinner with Pierre. You would rather do something like that with Lando, but you can’t tell your brother that. Lando is looking at you as well in the mean time, he waits for you to answer. What if you’re going to have a date with Pierre? He’s already afraid for what will happen then. Maybe Pierre will be a true gentleman, something Lando can’t be, or maybe you’ll realize that Pierre is well liked and a safe option instead of him. 

“I don’t think so,” you say eventually, “I don’t like him and I don’t want to give him hope that I do.”

“You can give him a chance?” Max offers. Lando lets out a scoff. He was happy with your answer, but now your brother is pushing you to date Pierre. Fucking hell. 

“No,” you tell Max, “I saw way too many red flags already yesterday, he isn’t worth another chance.”

Max chuckles. “You’ll stay single forever,” he tells you jokingly.

You should know, you think bitterly. It hurts you to keep a secret this big for Max. You don’t know how long you can manage this. Is it even worth it? When you feel Lando his hand grabbing yours again and see his relieved facial expression, you realize that he is worth it. Max can wait for a bit and you can manage this.

part nine

[deathbyathousandspiders]

“ cuddle bugs. ,,

(( REQUEST PART FOUR )).

mcu!peter parker x reader.

!!! read part one | two | three | five here. !!!

IN WHICH — you fell asleep on your best friend’s shoulder during movie night and now things aren’t going the way you anticipating. how far will things go before one of you confess your feelings?

✨masterlist✨.

3.2k.

Peter found it quite amusing how every single trip to the compound kitchen somehow involved Sam Wilson. He wasn’t sure how or why, but perhaps, Sam had been planning this strategically. Every time he went to grab a snack, or make a cup of cocoa, Sam happened to beat him there and lurk in the corner. He also happened to make it his goal to tease him about his feelings for you.

“You going to the holiday party tomorrow night?” Sam asked, a smirk coating his lips. “I heard there’s gonna be mistletoe.” His eyebrows wiggled as he went to sip from his drink. “You should take Y/N and go find it.”

Just the idea of kissing you made Peter’s legs turn to jelly. He’d tried to picture what such an intimate moment would be like with you, but he couldn’t fathom it. He especially couldn’t fathom it when he had to try and picture the rest of the team there, watching. Peter knew he had to make the moment extra special, and if the team was there ogling you both, that would make things extra awkward.

Taking a deep breath, Peter sighed to try and tame how big his grin had gotten. “I’m not gonna do that. I can’t.” He saw the way Sam’s eyes widened a bit, and Peter figured that it was because he’d gotten confused. “I just don’t want..” Peter trailed off, wanting to find a way to explain without getting extra cheesy. He wasn’t sure why Sam wasn’t holding eye contact anymore, leering behind Peter’s shoulder, or why he looked so shocked, but Peter knew he needed to find his words sooner than later.

“You don’t want to kiss me?”

Fuck.

Cold. Everything ran cold with panic. Panic and regret and sadness and desperation to fix this. Peter turned on his heels, meeting your eyes in the state they were; in a state he hadn’t been exposed to. You were hurt, and he could tell. What was so painful for Peter to realize was that he could read that you weren’t just hurt by his words, you were hurt by him and his actions. It sliced at his heart in a way that he didn’t think was possible. He couldn’t tell if the sound of shattered glass came from your heart, or his.

“Y/N, I–”

It absolutely crushed him to see you take distance when he got closer. Peter knew he didn’t set up his point well, but he hated that he couldn’t explain it to you. He hated every second that he couldn’t spend giving you the security that you needed.

“No, no. It’s fine.” You seemed to understand it. Or, you tried to make it seem like you got it. Like it registered the way he wanted it to, but it didn’t. It could never. Peter felt like the scum of the earth; unforgivable, and douchey unlike any other. He felt every single hurting syllable when you said: “But you don’t have to make kissing your best friend sound like such a chore.”

Your tone of voice when you snapped at him was almost as haunting as the sight of you walking away so quickly. Peter wanted nothing more than to rush after you and explain everything, but he also wanted to respect your boundaries. Luckily, Sam rushed after you so that he didn’t have to.

He turned back to face Peter, “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” And that was all he needed to say to give Peter some peace of mind. At least, a little peace of mind.

Peter didn’t know that Sam’s plan was to dupe him into a partnered stakeout with you. He didn’t know that the two of you would be stuck, in a car, alone, for hours. He didn’t know that it was an actual mission. A serious, dangerous, very important mission; and Peter had no idea that Sam and Bucky fully went out of their way to be your guys' backup for the stakeout if it started escalating.

Yet, there you were: alone, in a car, Peter in the driver’s seat, and you riding shotgun. The Prius was parked on a street corner, just as Peter was instructed to leave it by Fury himself. It had already been two hours. Two hours had gone by, and neither of you had spoken a word to the other. Silent, in superhero suits, listening to the wind rattling the windows and the car occasionally click and hum in the quiet.

It was awful.

It was the third longest period of radio silence between the two of you, right next to when you had laryngitis in the fifth grade and when you avoided him senseless three days ago. And Peter didn’t want the silent treatment to go on any longer.

He knew he had to say the first word. He needed to. He just didn’t know how to fix the mess he made, or get you to stop staring out the dashboard like you were mad at it. He knew that the anger you expressed to the sheet of glass was actually directed at him.

Peter tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, pulled at the spandex fabric covering his fingers, and tried to run through and rationalize any and every outcome that could occur once he opened his mouth. You were his best friend, and had been for as long as he could remember. He wasn’t going to let this be the rift that tore your friendship apart.

His eyes finally stuck to your figure for longer than a second’s glance. He saw the way your face was barren, relaxed. It was a look you had when you were lost in thought. Taking a deep breath, Peter tried to suck as much of the thickened tension as he could.

“Y/N, I’m sorry–”

Your eyes shut tight, and your face scrunched in a way that had regret immediately wash out Peter’s bloodstream. You didn’t even look in his direction when you said the word: “Don’t.” Your tone was sharp, trying to slice off any remnants of the conversation; a conversation that you were well trying to move past.

Peter’s lips pressed into a thin line, hiding how frantically he wracked his brain for the right words to say. “But I need to explain myself! Can’t you let me do that?” His body posture craned towards you. One leg tucked beneath the weight of his torso as he looked at you. His brows knit together in desperation, and his eyes sent you a leer that could break you into pieces.

But your walls were becoming too thick for his shattered stare.

You huffed out a breath of frustration. “Peter, I don’t see what’s there to explain.” Your tone was short, stiff, and stuffed with something you hoped sounded like a backbone. Lying to yourself wouldn’t stop the fact that you were hurting, silently grieving over the loss of your expectations. Grieving over the loss of what could’ve been between you and Peter Parker. “You don’t want to kiss me! What else is there to understand?”

“That’s not true!” Peter was quick to defend himself, his voice growing a bit in the process. “I do want to kiss you–”

Scoffing, you also raised your voice a little. “God, Peter! I don’t want your pity!” You couldn’t believe him. He was just pulling shit from his ass to try and make you feel better. “I don’t need your pity either!” You sunk deeper into your seat, a crossed expression staking claim in your eyes, and your arms folding over your chest to hold your ground.

Peter could physically feel the distance you were putting between the two of you. He studied you, how irritated you were, how much hurt he caused. “Y/N, it’s not pity–”

“Harley asked me out.” You cut him off, finally looking at him. It was the first time your eyes had met since yesterday. The first time you let your guard down a little. And the way his eyes widened at you, you could tell this was the first time he’d seen you in such a dimming light; perhaps you really were slipping through his fingers, out of his grasp.

His silence said millions of words, yet none of them were satisfying. It felt so much worse, quite frankly. What you really wanted from him was the reassurance that he felt the same way. It wasn’t just about a kiss, rather than wanting a romantic connection. It wasn’t about the misunderstanding, but the way he’d go about fixing it. And it wasn’t about Harley asking you out, you wanted to see how Peter would react.

The look in his eyes mirrored yours. It was a glisten of betrayal, and the lingering stare of denial. Peter looked at you like it would be the last time he was allowed to. He didn’t know where to go from here, and it was obvious.

You let out a sigh, irritated and remorseful and heartached. “Harley asked me out, and I–” Pausing, you looked straight ahead, unable to meet Peter’s eyes while the words muttered from your lips. “I think I’m going to change my answer.”

Peter’s breath caught, and you could hear his hushed thought process. He filtered through the words you said, and kept searching for the phrase or touch or look that would convince you to stay with him. To choose him.

“I–”

You couldn’t even stomach the sound of his voice. Your nerves spiked much higher than you’d anticipated. What were you even getting at? Making him jealous? All you felt was guilt. Embarrassment. Suddenly, you were nervous. “I need some air.” You choked abruptly, fleeing from the passenger’s seat and exiting the vehicle.

Peter sat in the driver’s side, frozen in his place as he watched you walk further from the car. He couldn’t deny how much of a gut punch your words were, but he also kept replaying the way you’d phrased it like a broken record.

‘I think I’m going to change my answer.’

Even you seemed uncertain about it, and if Peter had any chance with you, he knew he needed to act now. Just as went to get out of the car and follow you, he felt his spider sense heighten. Blood ran cold and the world moved slow as he watched the scene. From behind a bush merely fifteen feet from where Peter was, you were grabbed and pulled out of sight.

“Shit!” Peter panicked. He slipped his mask on, updating KAREN to alert Sam and Bucky. He was lucky that whoever had taken you didn’t spot him, but he felt every fiber of his being spiral about how to get you back. When Peter said he was afraid of losing you, this was not what he meant.

And he was going to do everything in his power to bring you back safely.

Shuttered and softened gasps fell from your lips as your eyes opened, and you watched your breath visibly leave your mouth. Was it below freezing in the room? It had to be. It was the middle of December, after all. Your skin ached as you gained consciousness, every inch of your body screaming for warmth by the time you’d finally come to.

Some scrawny white man with disheveled hair and a short–sleeved t-shirt stood in front of you, holding you in whatever darkened room you seemed to be in. He stood rather close to you, much closer than your comfort levels permitted. He didn’t seem any bit irked by your presence in the slightest.

Maybe that was because your wrists were tightly chained to exposed water–pipes spouting from the floor, or because he’d finally discovered your super–heroine identity. Either way, the light in his eyes was anything but frightened or angered or even confused.

In fact, his eyes scanned your body with marvel and awe. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Astonishing..” His accent was thick through his words, letting the statement fall heavy with the sigh it traveled through. “It’s working…”

Your blood ran even colder at the words, stilling your posture for a millisecond. What chilled your bones even more was when your body broke out into an intense fit of shivers, and the man laughed. A laugh that was maniacal, entertained, psychopathic. Psychopathic, and relieved.

Thick clouds of steam left your mouth as your breaths drew faster in panic, indicating just how below zero the temperature was. You could barely muster out the words that your throat shoved out: “Wha–what’s so funny?” You asked, clearly freezing.

Now, a bit more serious, the man leaned disarmingly close to your face, eying you in a way that sobered your mind, soul, and being.

“You’re cold.”

The muttered words only caused more confusion, until you finally noticed the two broken syringes on the ground to your left, and how the liquid oozing from the shattered glass had frozen over. It was ice. You became aware of the sweat caking the hairline of the man in front of you, and how disgustingly consuming the warmth of his breath was.

The room wasn’t cold, you were cold. And you were left to assume that it was only a matter of time before you froze to death.

Quite frankly, as much as the dude yapped your ear off with his “diabolical” plan, your brian was clouded with more pressing matters: how you left things with Peter. You didn’t know how long it would take for the team to find you, or if you’d even make it to see this guy get his ass kicked. Either way, you knew Peter was overthinking.

And so were you.

The wave of relief that cast over your body when Sam broke the door down was indescribable. You hadn’t known how long it had been, or how much time you had left, but pins and needles pricked every inch of your body and you’d spent however long shivering just to try and shake the feeling.

Peter immediately swooped down from the ceiling at Sam’s cue, webbed the guy to a wall, and rushed to your aid in the blink of an eye. Not a word was said until he unclasped the restraints and pulled you into a hug. It was the quickest hug he’d ever given you; record time of point–two seconds. “Jesus Christ! Y/N, you’re fucking freezing!!” It were though he hadn’t heard your teeth chattering this entire time.

You could only look at him with a concerned crinkle in your brow, unable to speak through the chill you kept continually catching.

“KAREN!” Peter called out, his mask still on over his face. “Turn on the thermal–heater–protocol thing!! Pronto!” Hearing his panicked demands almost brought you peace, yet nothing could compare to how nice it felt to finally come in contact with warmth.

It barely helped at all, but the contrast was enough to notice. All and every part of you melted into Peter, giving him unspoken permission to pick you up and carry you to the Quinjet. His touch didn’t waver as he sat down on the plane, and his jaw didn’t unclench until his response was requested. His protective demeanor provided a sense of safety, yet it felt tugged from beneath you with one quick statement.

“We should probably call Harley and tell him you’re alright.”

The disappointment tugging at his expression was enough to shatter your heart into a million pieces. You could tell that it broke his just the same, too.

Your head shook against his chest as he sat you down on a bench, seating himself closely beside you to keep you from whatever fridged feeling this kidnapping brought upon you.

“Harley doesn’t– He doesn’t need to know.” Confusion washed over Peter’s face so quickly, you nearly forgot the rut you dug yourself in. “Pe–Pete.. I owe you an apo–ology.” The words were almost impossible to mutter out. You were only getting colder by the second.

His attention was so fixated on you, eyes glued to yours, brows sewn together, and thoughts racing circles trying to grasp whatever you could mean. Peter’s eyes studied your face for the possible answers, but he was getting ahead of himself.

There was nothing left to do other than to come clean. The confession was yours to make, and the look Peter gave you only made that more apparent. His emotions pierced your soul, all his sincerity and curiosity and genuity and eagerness. It was almost like he knew what you were trying to choke out between shivers. Or as though it were his job to fix whatever you presented broken.

You couldn’t tell whether the rapid rhythmic heartbeat was your own, or Peter’s, but either way, you had to force these words out before they staled with the lump in your throat. “I–I–” You took a deep breath to still your chattering teeth, feeling Peter’s grip tighten reassuringly around you in the midst of it. “I was upset that you didn’t want to kiss me.”

The apology flashed in his eyes just as he went to open his mouth, but you weren’t finished. “I was upset, because I–” You nearly sped through the sentence, but halted. “I—” And it were though you froze in place, right then and there. You completely froze, stopped moving, stopped breathing.

Panic. It washed over you like panic, sheer uncontrollable unexpected panic. Your blood ran cold, and if it weren’t for the feeling of your body washing white, you would’ve thought you were dying.

Peter calling your name almost sounded fake. It was so distant and faint that you swore you were dreaming. However, with a small hitch of your breath, reality hit you a lot harder than necessary. Your entire being shook, spazzing in this cold and freezing state. So much so, it was painful.

You knew you were being hugged and blanketed by Peter’s protection much more intently. The press of his biceps communicated that he felt like he was to fault for this. The dazy holler of his voice told you that he felt responsible and sorry and nervous. There wasn’t anything in the world you wanted to do more than to fight against this and assure him that you were okay. You were going to be fine.

Bucky walked over with a sense of urgency, relaying to Peter a medical analysis that Bruce laid out. He stated things about your condition that the author was far too lazy to look up you couldn’t make out in this fridged trance.

Every inch of your body had stopped shouting for warmth and instead now screamed for it, for relief. It begged and pleaded and bruised its knees just for some sense of stillness from whatever blizzard was injected into your system.

So cold, too cold, everything blurred to white. Every sound was washed out, every sensation pricked in spears and spikes against you, and every thought felt too heavy to handle. You weren’t sure how or when, but at a certain point, you passed out. Consciousness suddenly became too overwhelming for your fragile limp little body.

Part of you wasn’t sure whether this was better than feeling the sting of Peter’s rejection, but you knew that was a demon you’d have to face sooner than later. You made a promise to yourself right then and there that regardless of what and when, the next time you saw Peter Parker, you’d tell him how you’d really felt.

You were going to tell your best friend that you’d been in love with him. And still very much so were.

tag–list : @helen-on-earth @ellebutnotwoods @hufflepuff-n-fluff @petersparkerss @tommysfrog @zelzablues @mavex @thatmarvelchick19 @parkersmaterialgirl @justtuesdays @coralineyouareinterribledanger @abucketofweird @cayleejx16 @thievin-stealing

[respectthepetty]

Pride Petty Watch (The Untamed) 2/?

The crowd picked two blacklisted shows for me to watch during Pride, so even though the first series took me only three days to get through, the second one is taking some time since I went out this past week and touched some grass for Pride. However, I did watch an episode a day AND spotted something on sale while out and about.

Fun Fact: These are 200 pages EACH, and they only cover what has been shown up until episode five. I teach English, not math, but doing some simple addition, dividing over A, carrying the Y, and solving for X, I have guessed that this series is going to be 20 books long! TWENTY! AT LEAST! Basically, it's going to be as long as this long-ass series.

*presses play on episode six*

These idiots are drunk, loud, and fighting. They are breaking rule #36, #265, and #1. Even I know that!

When you realize you're in love with a virgin who is a light-weight and can't even drive after talking about intimacy while touching his headband. I take back everything I said about this show. It's gay. Like real gay. Gay gay.

Fuddy Duddy is better than me because I would not have taken that beating, but that's probably why he is an elite Cloud Cunt or whatever, and also why he has now been blessed with Wei Wuxian trying to cuddle in this freezing water while talking about his "extremities" shivering. Note: In the comics, we see that Fuddy Duddy is BRANDED (like as in marked by burning the flesh) and has A SHIT TON OF SLASHES ON HIS BACK (like as in whipped . . . BY A FUCKING WHIP). Basically, this Cloud Cult is batshit crazy.

These two are fighting literal demons. But also the demons are homosexuality.

THEY TIED THEMSELVES TOGETHER WITH THE INTIMACY BAND! If it was red, it'd be game over for China!

Y'all cute but your kid is still an asshole, and there is a queer plot brewing. GET OUT OF MY FACE!

They were lesbian lovers, and I will not be entertaining any other reason for all of this because only a lesbian would tie her soul for eternity to a musical instrument just so she doesn't have to admit she was wrong to her wife, while her wife goes on to train the most elite squad of wizards just to one day help her wife because she already predicated her wife would fuck up. This is love.

Correction since my boy asked AGAIN if he could harness evil power for good - One of them is fighting demons, the literal and homosexual kind, and one is embracing them both, openly, with no fucks given.

And she knows! Not about the homosexual part, but about the "finding the stone hidden in the rock" part (but probably the homo part too)

Wei Wuxian lied for you when you got out of the rock. He touched your headband. And now he has touched your soul. Stop fighting it. Embrace this. It's Pride Month.

Wei Wuxian drinks, parties, talks shits, and backs it up. I'm getting flashbacks to Spring Break in South Padre. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. But the hands were always ready to hit their mark.

My boy is Catholic. Fuddy Duddy took 300 hits earlier to uphold the integrity of his Cloud Cult or whatever, but my boy was told his punishment and is merely going through the motions since he doesn't regret laying hands on his future in-law. He said "tell me how many Hail Marias I need to say, so I can go play with the ants and get a tan." Same.

First, your best friend brought the bird into the class and now you took the bunnies to remind Fuddy Duddy of "those four amazing hours you spent in the hot tub together after Winter Formal." Y'all are schemers, and this will cause problems later. I've taught too many freshmen. Y'all need to be separated before you plot the end of the world and animals have to be sacrificed. I see the signs.

Who is going to kill this man? WHO?! Let it be a woman because he needs to be reminded he is insignificant and useless.

Oh my God, they found each other! I knew my boy would go after his boy, but for his Bird Bestie to spot them too?! These two idiots are going to cause havoc and hijinks.

Y'all are so Romeo and Juliet coded, it hurts my feelings. Girl, you're going to die and he is going to be sad about it. But can you kill that red asshole first? Please.

Sir, now you and I both know some shit is about to go down because that florist's house was crispy fried burnt, that woman outside was creepy as hell, and these two are over there chatting about soul snatchers. GET OUT OF THERE, FD, AND TAKE THE ANIMAL BROS WITH YOU!

FD might have the brains and the silencing charm, but my boy got the moves. He has that Spider Man magic string thing, he has the Shrek gingerbread men, and he keeps making spells out of thin air. Maury, who is his daddy? God?! THE DEVIL?!

SHE CAN PLAY A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT TOO! Hold up. HOLD UP! Fuddy Duddy's brother played it to calm everyone down. FD played his to subdue the zombies. And now she did too, but my boy's flute playing skills not only calmed the zombie, but controlled him. Did he learn it from her?!

Girl, what are you doing at the devil's sacrament?

Wen Qing has been holding off this fucking bird and these zombies all night, and these boys have been doing what at their slumber party? Braiding each other's hair? She better be the one to kill that red asshole. She deserves the body count. *wink, Jiang Cheng*

The bird needed to go, but this is what I'm talking about with him and his bird bestie. Homie closed his eyes and felt his feelings because FD told him to, then pretended to be dead just so he could kill that bird. It's smart as well as scary because how much power does he really possess? A shit ton. That's how much. But also, why didn't they take the dead bird with them? Don't leave behind magical creatures to be brought back to life!

Smart to have the others chase after a chicken, so the color-coded boys in love could get more details, but these two are a hetero version of the mains. She is not bad. She is trying to do good with what she has, which is a pile of shit, and he wants to do right by her but his principles are going to get in the way. I anticipate no happy endings for anyone. Not Romeo and Juliet or Romeo and Julio.

Bird Bestie was smart to stay behind because it was obvious there would be dead bodies, but WHO THE FUCK ARE THESE TWO?! This show is color-coded within an inch of its life, and everyone is a pair because they both have the other's color in their robes, so the fact that the white one showed up first and claimed evil guy was his enemy makes me think they have history (exes), but the new black guy replaced him. Black dude, I'd watch my back because Evil Dude is coming for you.

It also worries me that these two have a similar . . . something. Wei Wuxian, buddy, homie, ho-migo. You're getting darker. You were dark blue, but now, you're black. Why is no one else concerned that the call is about to come from within the house?

So much shit is going down on this mountain! White No Name dude just said he knows and was trained by the OG lesbian, so we know she is still alive and well waiting for her wife, and my boy is sad since his mama was trained by her therefore he was trained by her, which makes her his grandma or something (I DON'T KNOW!). And now the illegitimate brother I want to be with FD's brother is in charge of watching the evil dude, but he is wearing white/blue and evil dude is wearing black/gold, and if they become an item, I'm gonna be pissed!

Y'all, he is gonna fuck up. He is going to let the bad guy go isn't he? I don't understand why they couldn't kill the bad guy, but my illegitimate son has been disrespected in this house too many times in the past ten minutes to let this shit slide. He is going to make a deal with the devil. I feel it.

"I'll sleep on your roof" - That was a declaration of love because y'all fought on a roof over liquor, and now he wants to just chill on your roof while drinking even though you are leaving. He is sprung and does not care who knows.

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?! THIS IS A FUCKING SHIT SHOW! The oldest kids are being called away which means Fuddy Duddy's cult is probably losing it and branding everyone. They are being attacked by the Evil Reds even though their evil dude admitted to killing that whole damn family! My illegitimate son DEFINITELY killed that guy and let the evil dude go. He did that. I know he did. And my boy's outfit looks so similar to that evil red swordsmen who is fighting on behalf of that weak ass red bitch because he can't fight himself, it's ridiculous (Someone needs to slash that evil red dude's face and his tires).

Everyone is going to die, and there is no hope.

*eats some naan*

Okay, maybe there is some hope in the other FORTY EPISODES! FD's brother could take in the illegitimate son, and they could live happily ever after. Right? RIGHT?!

[eclipsedrgn]

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑬𝒍𝒔𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔

5 years later, you are living your best life in california but you didn't realize you were never going to get that happy ending.

TW🔞 mature content, suicide, depression

California had become your sanctuary, a far cry from the shadows of Gotham that had once consumed your life. You had spent the last five years building something new—something simple and pure, far removed from the chaos that had torn you apart. Your daughter, Amara, was your light, and your days were filled with moments that reminded you of just how far you had come. The boys still visited regularly—too often for you to catch your breath at times, but you didn’t mind. You loved them, and seeing them happy and healthy filled the holes that Gotham had left in your heart.

You had even managed to put the past behind you, at least mostly. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell Amara the full truth about her father. Instead, you offered her a softened version of Bruce Wayne—the protective, loving, and kind man he had been before everything fell apart. She was too young to carry the burden of the real story, too innocent to understand the pain that had consumed both of you after Jason’s death. And for now, that was enough.

It was a Monday morning like any other. Amara was at school, and you were working your usual shift at the nearby café, smiling at regulars and enjoying the quiet rhythm of life you had built. The bell above the door chimed softly, signaling a new customer, and you looked up from behind the counter, ready to greet them with the usual warmth.

But the words died in your throat as soon as your eyes locked onto the familiar, piercing blue ones staring back at you.

Bruce.

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. You blinked, your mind struggling to process what you were seeing. You hadn’t seen him in five years—not since you left Gotham behind, not since you promised yourself you’d never face him again. But there he was, standing in front of you like a ghost from the past, his face etched with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret? Sorrow? It didn’t matter. He didn’t belong here. Not in your new life.

“(Y/N),” he mumbled, his voice low and rough, as if the sound of your name caused him pain.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. The sight of him, the sound of his voice, brought everything flooding back—the years of betrayal, the pain, the abandonment. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, didn’t trust yourself to keep the anger and hurt in check.

Without a word, you turned to your boss, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned in. “My ex is here,” you said, your tone trembling. “I need to go.”

Your boss, a kind woman who knew your story—at least parts of it—nodded quickly, her eyes filled with understanding. “Go out the back. Take your time. I’ve got this.”

You gave her a shaky smile, grateful for her kindness, and hurried out the back door, your hands shaking as you fumbled for your phone. The second you were outside, you dialed Jason’s number, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts as you waited for him to answer.

“Ma?” Jason’s voice came through, sharp and filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Jason,” you whispered, glancing over your shoulder as if Bruce might be following you. “He’s here. Bruce is at the café.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Jason cursed under his breath. “Fuck. Okay, stay where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

“I’m heading to my car,” you said, your voice still trembling as you started walking quickly across the parking lot. “I don’t want to be here when he—”

You didn’t finish the sentence. A strong hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Your heart leapt into your throat as you spun around, coming face to face with Bruce. He stared down at you, his eyes filled with something dark and unreadable, and your breath hitched as you tried to yank your wrist free from his grip.

“Let me go,” you hissed, your voice low and full of anger.

But Bruce didn’t release you. He just stood there, staring at you, as if he couldn’t believe you were real.

You glared up at him, your anger boiling over. “What, Bruce? Are you here to drag me back to Arkham? Is that what this is about? Because if it is, I’m not going quietly.”

For a moment, Bruce’s expression didn’t change. He just stood there, his grip on your wrist firm but not painful, his eyes locked on yours. You could see the storm brewing behind them, the way his jaw clenched as if he was holding something back.

“I’m not here to take you anywhere,” he finally said, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion.

“Then what do you want?” you snapped, your chest tight with anxiety. “Because I don’t have anything to say to you.”

You tried to pull your wrist free again, but he still wouldn’t let go. His gaze softened ever so slightly, but there was something desperate in the way he was holding onto you, like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d vanish. And maybe, in a way, you had. You had built a life without him, without Gotham, without the pain that came with it.

“I just want to talk,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head, anger bubbling up inside you. “Talk? What could we possibly have to talk about, Bruce? You made your choice years ago. You left me in that hellhole, and I’m not going back. Not to Gotham, and certainly not to you.”

His jaw tightened at your words, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he just looked at you with those same sad eyes, the weight of everything between you hanging in the air like a suffocating fog.

“You need to let me go,” you said, your voice shaking with emotion. “I have a life here, Bruce. I moved on.”

Bruce’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something—pain, regret, maybe even fear. But then he spoke again, his voice steady but soft. “I… I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” you snapped, frustration mounting.

He hesitated, his grip on your wrist finally loosening. “That you were pregnant.”

Your blood ran cold, your heart stopping in your chest as the words sank in. He knew. He knew. Somehow, despite all your efforts to keep Amara a secret, Bruce had found out. Your mind raced as you tried to figure out how, when, but none of it mattered now. What mattered was keeping Amara safe.

"How did you know?" You whispered, "How did you know about her?!"

"Harley slipped up..."

You yanked your wrist free from his grasp, stepping back quickly as you glared up at him. “You don’t get to know her, Bruce.”

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened, the sadness in them deepening. “She’s my daughter.”

“She’s my daughter,” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger. “And you don’t get to walk back into my life after all this time and just claim her. You lost that right when you left me to rot in Arkham.”

Bruce flinched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took a deep breath, his gaze lowering to the ground. “I didn’t know what they were doing to you. If I had—”

“Save it,” you interrupted, your voice cold. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You didn’t care then, and I don’t need you to care now.”

He looked up at you again, his eyes filled with something close to desperation. “I do care.”

You shook your head, backing away from him. “It’s too late, Bruce. I don’t need you, and neither does Amara. We’re fine on our own.”

Before Bruce could respond, you turned and walked quickly toward your car, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel his gaze on your back, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t let him back into your life. Not after everything you had been through. Not after what he had done.

As soon as you reached your car, you climbed inside, locking the doors behind you. Your hands were shaking as you dialed Jason’s number again, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

“Ma?” Jason answered immediately, his voice tense. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the car,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “He knows, Jason. He knows about Amara.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Jason cursed softly. “Fuck. Okay, stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you glanced in the rearview mirror. Bruce was still standing in the parking lot, his hands in his pockets, watching you from a distance.

“I just want to go home,” you whispered, your heart breaking all over again.

The roar of the engine filled your ears as Bruce’s firm grip on you didn’t relent, even as you screamed, fought, and kicked against him. Your mind was racing, panic taking over as you were hoisted into the Batplane like a prisoner. You were desperate, your thoughts only on Amara. She was waiting for you, expecting you to pick her up from school like any normal day. You couldn’t let Bruce drag you back to Gotham, back to the nightmare you had barely escaped from. Not again.

“Bruce, stop!” you shouted, your voice hoarse from screaming. “I need to go back! Amara’s waiting for me!”

Bruce’s face remained as unreadable as ever, though his grip tightened slightly as he sat down in the cockpit. With a calmness that only further infuriated you, he lifted his phone, dialing quickly.

Your heart sank as you heard him speak into the device. “Jason,” Bruce said, his voice rough but composed, “I have her. Bring Amara to the manor.”

“No!” you screamed, struggling harder against his hold. “You can’t take her! You can’t bring her there!”

But Bruce’s gaze didn’t waver. His jaw clenched, and he didn’t even look at you as the Batplane took off, soaring into the skies above California. “It’s the only way,” he muttered quietly, more to himself than to you.

The cold, metallic walls of the Batplane only deepened your sense of dread. You knew this feeling too well—the feeling of being trapped, of having no control over your own life. You tried to reach for the controls, but Bruce’s hand shot out to stop you, his grip still firm but not painful. His silence cut deeper than any words ever could.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Why now, after all this time?"

Bruce remained silent, his blue eyes focused on the horizon ahead. You wanted to hate him, to scream at him for doing this to you. But beneath all the anger, there was something else—something that hurt more than anything.

Fear.

You were terrified. Not of Bruce, but of the possibility that this would all unravel. You had built a new life with Amara, and now everything was being torn apart. If Bruce knew about her, what else could he take from you?

Minutes passed like hours as the Batplane crossed the distance between California and Gotham. You had stopped screaming, though your heart was still racing, your mind spinning. And when the Batplane finally landed in the familiar shadows of the Batcave, your stomach twisted with anxiety.

Bruce unbuckled his seatbelt and, without a word, lifted you into his arms again. You didn’t fight this time. The shock and exhaustion had left you numb, your thoughts jumbled as he carried you out of the plane and into the dimly lit expanse of the cave.

The moment you stepped onto the Batcave floor, you heard voices. Familiar voices.

“Mom? Bruce, what the hell are you doing?” Dick’s voice rang out, his footsteps hurried as he rushed over.

Tim followed closely behind, his expression a mix of confusion and alarm. “Bruce, stop—what’s going on?”

But before either of them could intervene, Bruce was already moving, carrying you toward the mansion’s inner halls with grim determination. He didn’t respond to his sons, didn’t look back as they trailed behind him, their voices growing more frantic.

“Bruce, stop! Let her go!” Dick shouted, his voice desperate.

Tim’s voice was filled with disbelief. “You can’t do this! What are you thinking?”

Damian, however, stood in the background, his arms crossed, a scowl plastered on his face. His cold, calculating eyes watched the scene with thinly veiled contempt. “Who is this woman?” he muttered, his voice laced with disdain. “Another one of Father’s… harlots?”

You barely registered Damian’s words as Bruce carried you through the manor and up the stairs, your heart pounding in your chest as you realized where he was taking you.

The master bedroom.

Your pulse quickened as Bruce reached the door, his grip still firm but not harsh. Without a word, he opened the door and threw you inside, locking it behind you before you could even react. The heavy door slammed shut with a finality that made your stomach churn.

“No!” you screamed, pounding against the door with all the strength you had left. “Bruce, let me out! I don’t belong here! Let me go!”

But the door didn’t budge. From the other side, you could hear Bruce’s voice, low and full of regret. “I’m sorry. But this is the only way to get you home.”

Home.

You pressed your forehead against the door, tears burning in your eyes as you pounded your fists weakly against the wood. This wasn’t home. It hadn’t been for years. Not since the day Bruce had sent you to Arkham, not since everything had fallen apart.

“Bruce, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Please don’t do this.”

But the only response was silence.

Meanwhile, back in the Batcave, chaos was unfolding.

Jason had arrived using the Zeta Tube, his expression dark and his steps hurried. And with him was Amara, her small hand wrapped tightly around his as they emerged from the glowing portal. Jason’s face was set in a hard line, his jaw clenched as he scanned the cave for Bruce.

“Where is he?” Jason demanded, his voice rough with barely restrained anger.

But before anyone could answer, Amara spotted her older brother. Her face lit up, her bright eyes sparkling as she let go of Jason’s hand and rushed forward. “Dickie!”

Dick smiled through the tension, dropping to one knee to catch her in his arms. But before Amara could reach him, a flash of steel cut through the air, and suddenly, a katana was pointed directly at her throat.

Damian.

The youngest Wayne’s face was set in a deep scowl, his eyes sharp and distrustful as he held his blade steady. “Who is this child?” he asked coldly, his gaze never leaving Amara’s terrified face. “And why is she in the Batcave?”

“Damian, no!” Dick shouted, his voice filled with panic as he rushed forward, his heart stopping as he saw the fear in Amara’s wide eyes. “Put the sword down!”

Jason’s entire body tensed, his eyes flashing with fury as he stepped forward, his hand already reaching for his gun. “You little shit, if you don’t move that sword right now—”

Tim’s voice cracked with urgency. “Damian, stop! She’s just a kid!”

But Damian didn’t move, his grip on the katana unwavering. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Amara, his voice dripping with contempt. “A kid? Father brought this child here, but she’s no family of ours.”

Amara’s lip trembled, her small body frozen in place as she looked up at Damian, tears welling in her eyes. “Jayjay…” she whimpered, her voice trembling with fear.

Jason took another step forward, his hand still hovering over his gun. “Damian,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Put the fucking sword down. Now.”

For a moment, it seemed like Damian might refuse. His eyes flicked from Amara to Jason, his scowl deepening. But then, after what felt like an eternity, he slowly lowered the katana, the blade clinking softly as it hit the stone floor of the Batcave.

Amara let out a shaky breath, her tiny body trembling as she rushed into Dick’s arms, burying her face in his shoulder. Dick held her tightly, his own heart pounding as he shot Damian a furious glare.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dick snapped, his voice trembling with anger. “She’s your sister!”

Damian scoffed, sheathing his sword with a dismissive wave. “Sister? Father never mentioned any child. She’s just another stranger.”

Jason, who had been seconds away from pulling the trigger, let out a low growl, his body still tense with barely restrained rage. “You touch her again, and I swear—”

Tim quickly stepped in, placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder to stop him from escalating things any further. “Jason, don’t. Not here.”

Jason clenched his jaw, his eyes still locked on Damian, but he nodded reluctantly, stepping back as he ran a hand through his hair. He looked down at Amara, who was still clinging to Dick, her small body shaking with fear.

“We need to get her out of here,” Jason muttered, his voice rough with emotion. “She doesn’t belong in this fucking circus.”

Tim nodded in agreement, his face filled with concern as he glanced toward the stairs leading to the manor. “We need to talk to Bruce. Figure out what the hell he’s thinking.”

Jason glanced at Amara, his heart breaking at the sight of her scared, tear-streaked face. “I’m going to get her out of here,” he said quietly, his voice softening as he knelt down beside her. “Hey, kiddo. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Amara sniffled, wiping her eyes as she looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “I want to go home, Jayjay.”

Jason’s heart clenched, and he nodded, scooping her up into his arms as he held her close. “I know, sweetheart. I’m going to take you home.”

But as he turned to leave, the sound of footsteps echoed through the cave, and a familiar figure appeared at the top of the stairs.

Bruce.

His eyes swept over the scene in front of him—Dick holding Amara protectively, Jason’s tense, angry stance, and Damian’s cold, calculating expression. For a moment, his face softened, his gaze landing on Amara, but it quickly hardened again as he looked at his sons.

“Amara stays,” Bruce said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Jason’s eyes darkened, his grip on Amara tightening as he took a step toward Bruce. “Like hell she does.”

But Bruce didn’t back down. His gaze flickered to Amara, who was clutching Jason’s jacket tightly, her tear-streaked face peeking out from behind her brother’s shoulder.

“She’s my daughter too,” Bruce said quietly, his voice filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

Jason’s eyes narrowed, his body trembling with rage as he glared at Bruce. “You don’t get to decide that. Not after everything.”

The tension in the Batcave was suffocating, the air thick with unspoken anger and unresolved grief. Jason’s fury had been building since the moment Bruce dragged you back here—back to the city that had chewed you up and spit you out, leaving you to fend for yourself in Arkham. For years, Jason had kept the truth of what happened to you a secret, only revealing bits and pieces to his brothers when necessary. But now, standing face to face with the man who had abandoned you, with Bruce demanding to be part of Amara’s life, Jason couldn’t hold it in any longer.

The words exploded out of him like bullets from a gun, each one laced with venom. "You don’t get to decide shit about Amara, Bruce. Do you even know what you put her mother through? Do you know what she went through in Arkham?"

Bruce’s face paled at the accusation, his expression shifting from firm resolve to uncertainty. His blue eyes flickered with confusion, as if he couldn’t understand what Jason was getting at. "Jason—"

"Do you know what they did to her in that hellhole you left her in?" Jason spat, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "They fucking raped her, Bruce. The guards, the inmates—they took turns with her like she was some kind of goddamn toy. You left her there to rot, and they broke her."

Bruce froze, his eyes widening in shock. For a moment, the words seemed to hang in the air, too horrific, too painful to fully comprehend. Bruce's entire body stiffened as the weight of Jason’s accusation settled on him like a heavy blanket.

Dick’s face drained of color as he stood holding Amara, his arms tightening around her protectively. His jaw clenched, his heart breaking at the image Jason’s words conjured in his mind. He glanced down at Amara, her innocent face nestled against his chest, oblivious to the horrors being discussed. He needed to get her out of here.

"Tim," Dick called out, his voice trembling with the effort of keeping himself together, "take Amara upstairs. Now."

Tim’s eyes filled with tears, but he quickly nodded, rushing over to take Amara from Dick’s arms. "Come on, kiddo," Tim whispered, his voice breaking as he gently lifted her into his arms. "Let’s go see Alfred. He’s making cookies."

Amara blinked up at him, her small face full of confusion, but she didn’t protest. She didn’t understand why the grown-ups were acting so strange, why her big brothers seemed so upset. She clung to Tim, her little hands grasping at his shirt as he carried her up the stairs, her bright smile slowly fading as she sensed the tension in the air.

As soon as Tim disappeared with Amara, Dick’s composure shattered. He turned to Bruce, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and fury. "Is that true? Is that what happened to her in Arkham?"

Bruce didn’t answer, his throat tightening as he struggled to process what Jason had just revealed. His mind was racing, images of you flashing before his eyes—the way you had looked at him when he locked you in that room, the way you had screamed for him to let you go. He had thought he was doing the right thing, sending you to Arkham to keep you contained, to keep you from spiraling out of control after killing the Joker. But now, hearing what had happened to you, knowing that he had left you to suffer through something so horrific, the weight of his decision crushed him.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Bruce whispered, his voice hollow.

"Why didn’t I tell you?" Jason’s voice cracked with disbelief. "You didn’t care. You didn’t care enough to check on her. You left her there, and now you want to waltz back into her life and play happy family with Amara? Fuck you, Bruce."

Bruce’s fists clenched at his sides, guilt and regret crashing down on him like a tidal wave. But before he could respond, a loud, sharp sound rang through the manor—a gunshot.

The sound reverberated through the halls, echoing in the cavernous space of the Batcave.

Everything stopped.

Dick and Jason’s eyes widened in horror, their bodies freezing for a split second before the weight of what had just happened hit them like a sledgehammer.

"No," Dick breathed, his voice barely a whisper as he turned toward the stairs. "No, no, no."

Jason was already moving, his heart pounding in his chest as he sprinted toward the stairs, his boots slamming against the cold stone. "Mom!"

Bruce’s face drained of color, his entire body going numb as the realization settled in. His legs moved on their own, following after Jason and Dick, the panic seizing him in a way that left him breathless.

Damian, who had been standing off to the side, scowled as his brothers ran past him. "What now?" he muttered, irritation lining his voice.

But when he caught sight of Bruce’s expression—the way his father’s face had gone pale, the terror in his eyes—Damian’s scowl faltered. He hesitated for a moment before following the others, his confusion growing with each step.

In the kitchen, Alfred had been preparing tea when the gunshot rang out. His hands trembled, the teacup slipping from his grasp and shattering against the floor.

"Dear God…" Alfred whispered, his heart hammering in his chest. He could hear the hurried footsteps from the Batcave, the frantic voices of the boys as they raced up the stairs.

Upstairs, in one of the manor’s hallways, Tim had been gently carrying Amara, trying to distract her with stories about Alfred’s famous cookies. But the moment the gunshot echoed through the manor, Tim’s heart dropped into his stomach. He stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat as Amara looked up at him with wide, confused eyes.

"What was that?" Amara asked, her voice small and scared.

Tim’s eyes welled with tears, his throat tightening as he held her closer. "It’s okay," he whispered, his voice shaking. "It’s okay, sweetheart. Let’s go see Alfred."

But even as he said the words, the truth hit him like a freight train. He knew, deep down, what that sound meant. And it tore him apart.

Jason reached the door to the master bedroom first, his heart slamming against his ribs as he threw himself against it, his voice breaking with desperation. "Mom! Mom, open the door!"

Dick was right behind him, his eyes wide and frantic as he pounded against the door. "Mom, please! Let us in!"

Bruce arrived next, his face pale and his breathing shallow as he grabbed the handle, trying to open the door. But it wouldn’t budge. The lock held firm, keeping them out—keeping you in.

"Mom!" Jason screamed, his voice hoarse as he slammed his fist against the door, his strength failing him for the first time in years. "Please, don’t do this!"

But there was no response. Only silence.

The gunshot still echoed in his mind, loud and deafening, and Jason’s chest tightened with a fear he hadn’t felt since the day he had lost you the first time. The day he had come back from the dead, only to find that you were gone, locked away in Arkham, lost to him.

And now, it was happening all over again.

Bruce’s hands shook as he fumbled for the key, his fingers trembling as he unlocked the door with a loud click. The door swung open, and Jason was the first to rush inside, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes landed on you.

You were sitting by the door, slumped against the wall, your hand still holding the gun that had been pressed to your temple just moments ago. Blood pooled around you, staining the floor, and your eyes—those eyes that had once been so full of life—were now closed, your face pale.

Jason let out a guttural scream, the sound tearing from his throat as he fell to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached for you. "No… No, no, no… Mom…"

Dick followed close behind, his face contorting with grief as he took in the sight of you lying there, lifeless. His heart shattered into a million pieces, and he collapsed to the floor beside Jason, his hands shaking as he tried to reach out, but couldn’t.

"Mom, please…" Dick sobbed, his voice broken. "Please don’t leave us…"

Bruce stood frozen in the doorway, his entire body numb as he stared at the scene in front of him. He had failed you. Again. The weight of it crushed him, the realization that he had pushed you too far—that he had been the cause of your suffering. His legs buckled, and he sank to his knees, his face buried in his hands as the sobs overtook him.

Damian stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock and confusion as he watched his brothers fall apart. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say, what to do. He had never seen his father like this, had never seen his brothers so broken. And he didn’t understand why this woman—this stranger—had caused them so much pain.

In the kitchen, Tim held Amara tightly, his own sobs muffled as he rocked her gently, trying to keep her from hearing the anguished screams coming from upstairs.

The room was deathly silent save for the heart-wrenching sobs that echoed through the walls of Wayne Manor. Jason sat on the floor, cradling your lifeless body in his arms, rocking you gently as if it could somehow bring you back. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his chest tight with the overwhelming grief that crushed him from every side. Your blood soaked through his clothes, but he didn’t care. He held onto you as if letting go would make the reality of your death even more unbearable.

Dick knelt beside him, his hands trembling as he stroked a lock of your hair, his eyes red and swollen from the tears that hadn’t stopped falling since they had found you. His heart shattered as he looked into your eyes—eyes that once held so much love and life—but now were dull and lifeless. The realization hit him like a freight train: they were too late. He had lost you.

Jason’s sobs grew louder, more desperate, as he rocked back and forth, his face buried in your neck. "Mom… please…" he whispered, his voice thick with grief. "Please come back… don’t leave us…"

But you were gone. And nothing—no amount of pleading, no amount of tears—could bring you back.

Dick’s sorrow turned to rage, his blood boiling as he turned his gaze toward Bruce, who stood frozen in the doorway. Bruce’s face was pale, his eyes wide with disbelief, his breath shallow as he stared at your body. The weight of what he had done—what his choices had caused—was crushing him, but it was too late. He had failed you in the most unforgivable way.

"This is your fault," Dick growled, his voice low and dangerous. He stood slowly, his hands clenched into fists as he glared at Bruce, his eyes filled with fury. "You did this."

Bruce didn’t respond, his throat tightening as the words cut through him like a knife. He couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t argue. Deep down, he knew Dick was right. He had put you in Arkham, had abandoned you to that nightmare, and now… now you were gone because of him.

"You left her," Dick continued, his voice shaking with anger. "You left her in Arkham to suffer, and now she’s dead. Our mom is dead because of you."

Jason’s body shook with silent sobs, his grip on your body tightening as Dick’s words echoed in the room. "We lost her," Jason whispered, his voice barely audible. "We lost her…"

Bruce’s heart shattered as he took a hesitant step forward, his eyes locked on your lifeless form. "I… I didn’t know," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I didn’t know what they were doing to her…"

Dick’s eyes blazed with fury as he stepped forward, his finger jabbing toward Bruce’s chest. "You should have known! You should have been there! But you weren’t! You weren’t there when she needed you, and now she’s gone."

Bruce recoiled at the accusation, guilt and regret tearing at him from the inside. His legs felt weak, his breath shallow, as he took a step back, his entire world crumbling around him. He had failed you in the worst possible way, and now, there was no way to make it right.

Dick wiped the tears from his face, his voice trembling with emotion as he spoke again. "Amara will be under my care from now on. Kori and I will raise her. We’ll give her the life Mom wanted for her—a normal life. Away from all of this."

Jason’s breath hitched, his sobs subsiding slightly as he slowly stood, still holding your body in his arms. His eyes were red, swollen, and filled with an emotion that Bruce couldn’t quite place—grief, yes, but something deeper, something darker. Jason met Dick’s gaze and gave a small, shaky nod, as if silently agreeing to Dick’s decision.

Dick turned to Bruce one last time, his voice full of venom. "You don’t get to have her, Bruce. You don’t get to be her father. You lost that right the day you left Mom to rot."

Without another word, Dick turned and walked toward the door, his heart heavy with the weight of everything that had just happened. Jason followed closely behind, carrying you gently in his arms, his face pale and drawn with grief.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, the tension was palpable. Tim sat on the floor, his back against the wall, holding Amara tightly in his arms. Tears streamed down his face as he clung to her, his chest heaving with quiet sobs. He had tried to keep her distracted, tried to pretend like nothing was wrong, but the gunshot had shattered that illusion. He knew what had happened. He knew you were gone.

Amara squirmed in his lap, her innocent voice cutting through the silence. "Timmy… what was that sound?"

Tim’s throat tightened, the lump in his chest making it difficult to breathe. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, couldn’t bring himself to tell her that her mother was gone. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he whispered, "It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay."

But even as he said the words, he knew they were a lie.

Damian entered the kitchen, his face as cold and emotionless as ever. He glanced at Tim, his eyes narrowing slightly before he let out a sigh. "She’s dead."

Tim’s heart clenched, and he let out a choked sob, his arms tightening around Amara as if holding her close could somehow protect her from the truth. "Don’t say that," Tim snapped, his voice breaking. "Don’t say that in front of her."

But Amara had already heard. She had heard Damian’s words, and though she didn’t fully understand them, she could sense the weight of the news. Her tiny hands gripped Tim’s shirt tightly, her small voice trembling as she whispered, "Where’s Mommy?"

Tim’s chest tightened, his sobs muffled as he buried his face in Amara’s hair, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to consume him. He couldn’t answer her. He couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet.

Damian, for once, remained silent. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his face set in a deep frown. He hadn’t understood what his brothers were so worked up about—why they cared so much about this woman. But seeing the way Tim clung to Amara, the way his brothers had fallen apart upstairs, a small part of Damian—one he would never admit out loud—felt… something. Something he couldn’t quite place.

But he didn’t know how to respond. So, he said nothing.

Back in the master bedroom, Bruce stood alone. The sound of the door closing behind Jason and Dick echoed in his mind, but he didn’t move. His eyes were locked on the spot where you had been, where Jason had cradled your body, where Dick had delivered his damning words.

His knees buckled, and Bruce fell to the floor, his hands trembling as he buried his face in them. The weight of his choices, the consequences of his actions, crushed him.

He had lost you. And in doing so, he had lost everything.

The silence of the room was suffocating, the only sound the faint echo of his own ragged breathing. The world seemed to close in on him, the guilt, the grief, the overwhelming sense of failure consuming him whole.

He had failed you.

He had failed his family.

And now, there was no way to make it right.

[thewritingmagician2022]

Midnights - Taylor Swift - Brothers and Dateables

Lucifer: Maroon

The mark they saw on my collarbone

The rust that grew between telephones

The lips I used to call home

So scarlet, it was maroon

This sound is very Lucifer and, despite the navy color the game assigns to him, I will always associate red with Lucifer - especially a deep, dark red. This song is about a relationship ending and it makes me think of MC returning back to the human world and while they keep in touch with everyone at first, the contact between them and Lucifer fades quickly as they both return to v their normal lives. Especially now with the lyric video released and we know it says “it’s a real fucking legacy, to leave”. MC leaving is what really lingers and Lucifer is the one who is stuck with that. 

Mammon: Sweet Nothing

And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more"

To you, I can admit that I’m just too soft for all of it

-

They said the end is comin'

Everyone's up to somethin'

I find myself runnin' home to your sweet nothings

Mammon, my sweet man, who wants everything that the worlds have to offer but he can never find anything better than MC. There is nothing sweeter to him than the praise they give him or their declarations of love. Mammon deals with a lot of criticism and pressure, not just from his brothers but from the Devildom in general. He’s a very high ranking demon and that comes with certain expectations; if he’s being honest, Mammon thinks he may be a little too soft for all of it but the only person he’s willing to be so honest and vulnerable around is MC - the one person who doesn’t expect anything from him but his love. 

Levi:  Glitch

We were supposed to be just friends

- 

I think there’s been a glitch

Five seconds later, I'm fastening myself to you with a stitch

And I'm not even sorry, nights are so starry

This song is so Levi. He goes into this thing with MC thinking he’s just found a new friend and he’s sure this little crush of his will just pass by. The more time he spends with them, the faster he’ll realize that there’s nothing special about them, right? Wrong. The more time they spend together, the more attached Levi grows and the more he wants to see them. Something has shifted in their dynamic and Levi is forced to realize how much he cares about them and in exactly what way. 

Satan: Snow on the Beach

Flying in a dream

Stars by the pocketful

You wanting me tonight, feels impossible

But it's comin' down, no sound, it's all around

Like snow on the beach

Snow on the Beach is very ethereal sounding and I always associate that with Satan. I’m the very beginning of the game Satan is described as looking like a regular Prince Charming and we quickly learn that’s not quite true. Satan is pretty reticent, especially in the beginning, and MC doesn’t seem very interested in him. But, over time, they get closer and closer and MC is shocked to realize that Satan cares about them. Satan is just as surprised that MC feels the same way. Together they navigate a romance that’s very fairytale-esque and unexpected but wonderful. 

Asmo: Question

'Cause I don't remember who I was

Before you painted all my nights

A color I've searched for since

-

Does it feel like everything's just like

Second best after that meteor strike?

I think this is the way everyone would feel after a break up with Asmo. How are you supposed to find another lover, another partner, after they’ve been with the Avatar of Lust? The crown jewel of the three realms? You don’t. Nothing else will ever compare to that kind of love. But what MC doesn’t realize is that Asmo feels the same way. He’s been with so many people he could never try to keep track but he’s never had anyone quite like you again and, as he’s realizing, he can’t find anyone else who colored his world quite like MC did. So they’re both left wondering ‘does the other person feel the same way? Do they regret this like I do?’. 

Belphie: Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve

And if you never saved me from boredom

I could've gone on as I was

But, lord, you made me feel important

And then you tried to erase us

Oh, you're a crisis of my faith

Would've, could've, should've

If I'd only played it safe

I was so tempted to use The Great War instead because things end up okay with Belphie but I just can’t because MC wasn’t imagining wrongdoings that never happened. Belphie literally killed them after spending weeks befriending/seducing them, making them feel so important because of the role they were going to play in freeing him and bringing the family back together even though they knew Belphie was supposedly a risk. Everything was going well and MC was on the “right” path until they met Belphie, the Devil in disguise, and that meeting changed everything.

Beel: Paris

Privacy sign on the door

And on my page and on the whole world

Romance is not dead if you keep it just yours

I think Beel would be very private in a relationship and it’s not because he doesn’t love MC or is ashamed of them but because he’s so fiercely protective. All he wants is to keep MC safe and keep them to himself seems like the best way to do that. And that’s just fine with MC because in a realm where they are constantly being scrutinized it’s so nice to have something that’s just theirs. No one can touch that love with their judgment or opinions or jealousy. It’s a perfect little bubble around them and they wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Diavolo: Lavendar Haze

Talk your talk and go viral

I just need this love spiral

Get it off your chest

Get it off my desk

-

I feel the lavender haze creeping up on me

Surreal

I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say

Diavolo is 100% Taylor in this song. He is always in the spotlight of the Devildom, obviously, and that means everyone there has an opinion on everything he does. That applies to his relationships; in fact, it’s even worse for romantic connections. It drives him crazy sometimes, especially when it affects MC. But MC is always there to comfort him and reminds him that people can say whatever they want - the only thing that matters is how they feel about each other. It because Diavolo’s mantra whenever he gets frustrated and he knows that he can deal with whatever people have to say as long as he has MC. 

Barbatos: Mastermind

What if I told you none of it was accidental?

And the first night that you saw me

Nothing was gonna stop me

I laid the groundwork, and then

Just like clockwork

The dominoes cascaded in a line

The demon who can see through time and all of its possibilities using his powers to gather information on MC? It’s more likely than you think. Barbatos is efficient, thorough, and dedicated. There is no chance that he would stumble along blindly while trying to win MC over. He knows the exact role he needs to play, knows how to interest them and make them like him, make them trust him. To anyone looking at their relationship from the outside, it would seem like a cute little love story where the MC just happens to fall for the butler that’s always there behind the scenes and that’s how Barbatos likes it. Little does he know that MC is not nearly as oblivious as he thinks he is and, luckily, they find it endearing. 

Simeon: Hits Different

Dreams of your hair and your

Stare and sense of belief

In the good in the world, you once

Believed in me

And I felt you and I held you

For a while

Taylor, can you please release this as a single? I am so tired of finding bootleg versions to listen to. Back to the point, I absolutely hate the idea of MC and Simeon being separated but I fully believe that MC would be an absolute wreck without their angel around to love them and encourage them to make good choices. So MC is back home in the human realm and they’re heartbroken and their friends don’t understand the name they’re slurring at the bar and crying over. All MC wants is to be back with Simeon - the one person (angel) who loved them so fully. The one person who always believed in them and encouraged them and made them feel like they could truly be as good as he thinks they are. MC has known heartbreak before but nothing could ever compare to the pain of losing someone so perfect; it just hits different. 

Solomon: Labyrinth

Uh-oh, I'm fallin' in love

Oh no, I'm fallin' in love again

Oh, I'm fallin' in love

I thought the plane was goin' down

How'd you turn it right around?

If you don’t think that this song is Solomon’s, you’re absolutely wrong. We don’t know much about this shady sorcerers past but we do know that he’s been married before and we can assume that he’s been in love multiple times over the thousands of years. Based on his typically guarded or nonchalant behavior, I have to assume that his heart has been broken enough times to make him very wary of love. Then along comes MC and slowly, so slowly he almost doesn’t realize it’s happening, Solomon falls in love. It’s terrifying at first and he’s angry with himself for letting it happen but MC makes him so happy and once they admit their feelings, Solomon can’t help but give into his own and he finds he doesn’t mind quite as much as he thought he did.

[scaryscarecrows]

Welcome to Camp Kill Batman

When the first batch of recruits come, it’s going to rain any minute. The skies are black, the humidity is unbearable, and the jungle is silent.

It’s no wonder the Knight’s nowhere in sight when the APC pulls into the compound.

Antoine’s the one who went to collect them. He won’t scare them, and he’s not busy; Frank, the other Good Choice, had had a breakthrough on some drone thing and had left firm instructions that unless the compound was actively going to self-destruct in two minutes, Do Not Disturb. Riley had tagged along, which maybe wasn’t a great idea, but really, Trent figures, how bad can it possibly have gone?

What he should figure, he realizes later, is how bad can it possibly go. The men pile out, already bitching about the heat. They’re professionals, though, and they get lined up fast enough despite their obvious confusion.

“These the new recruits?”

Trent doesn’t jump. He just shudders a little, that’s all. The Knight is way, way too stealthy for a guy dressed like…well…that. Antoine, who probably saw him coming, just drawls, “Yessir,” in a tone that screams, no shit these’re the new recruits.

There’s another movement, small and fast like a bug, on his left. A second later Riley’s nudging him in the ribs and going, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT. He grunts an acknowledgement. He doesn’t have to be here, but he’s a little curious, really, as to how this is gonna go.

“I want to know what I’m working with,” the boss says suddenly. He steps back, cocks his head, and Trent has just enough time to think, oh for fuck’s sake when he continues with, “Attack me.”

There’s a beat. Two. Then one of them, with a long scar down the back of his head, asks, “All of us? Together?”

“Mm-hm.”

“But that’s–”

“What you’ll be doing in Gotham. I’m giving you all an order. Follow it, or leave.”

They follow it.

About four and half minutes later, Antoine lights a cigarette, gives Trent and Riley a very, very tired Look, and gets back in the APC.

Yeah. Mark’s probably not gonna be very happy.

* * *

Honestly, Trent chalks that one up to needing to make an impression. This whole thing sounds crazy on paper. And it worked: the second and third batches are swiftly pulled aside with, “He kicked our asses like five minutes after we got here, this guy means business.”

So when batch five rolls around, Trent’s not expecting to be called over.

“Some of you are probably thinking that this is overkill,” he says. “Ages here is going to show you why it’s not.”

What.

“Sir,” he starts, but the Knight just turns to him and spreads his hands.

“Shoot at me.”

“What.”

“Your last physical said your hearing was fine.” Little shit. “Shoot at me.”

He regrets not being busy today. Oh, well. Look, this is on camera. If this goes badly, it’s on camera that he was literally just following orders.

He hefts his minigun up. Wonders, a few seconds later, why he was worried; he gets a few rounds off, sure, but the Knight just does that annoying-ass sproing, bounces off the gun like it’s a damn diving board, and probably only doesn’t use gravity to drag Trent to the ground after because that’s not the point. The recruits are suitably awed. Trent’s just annoyed. There were a thousand ways that could have gone horribly wrong and also, what the fuck.

“You owe me a fight later,” he gripes. “No guns. No holds barred.”

The Knight just laughs.

“Sure,” he says easily. “Why the hell not.”

* * *

Twice is coincidence. The third time, when the Knight opens with some absolute bullshit line about, ‘whoever kills me gets to command–and profit from–this entire operation’, Trent just sits back to watch the fun.

He didn’t know this was going to happen. Hell, the boss just got back from Gotham. Showed up a few minutes after they did, actually, roaring into base on a bike Trent doesn’t recognize.* But he hopped off, collared one of the mechanics and told them to take it to Frank, and came over to investigate. And, well, he led with that.

“There’s no way he can take on that many guys,” one of the newbies whispers. And. It’s just, well, look. Nobody is stupid enough to accuse Trent of being a fine, upstanding gentleman.

He heads over, relishing a little in the path that gets cleared for him immediately, and rumbles, “Wanna bet?” The man blanches and he clarifies, grinning, “Twenty bucks.”

Newbie looks very much like he does not wanna bet, but he also doesn’t wanna risk losing face.

“You’re on. Twenty bucks this guy gets his ass kicked.”

“Anyone else?”

There’s a few takers that agree, there’s no way this nutcase can come out of this. Trent suddenly has a wonderful, awful idea and twists over to go, “Hey, Antoine.”

That causes a ripple of worry. Apparently, they didn’t realize they were betting with one of the Top. Oh, well. Antoine shakes a cigarette out and looks over.

“What.”

“We got a bet going over here that the boss is gonna get clobbered. Wanna pick a side?”

He shrugs, flicks his lighter open.

“Twenty that one of ‘em insists they need medical.”

Good point.

“Yeah, I’m changing mine to that, actually. All right. Anyone else?”

No.

They walk away with roughly ten new mortal enemies. Better than the one insisting that he had a broken arm; it was a sprain, and Mark was not happy to have to explain this.

Still, Trent figures, rifling through his cash, he’ll be around for newbies every time. This isn’t a bad haul.

THE END

*It’s Dick’s. Jason steals two bikes from him (that we know of), presumably for use with his own tech, though he’s also such a little fucker about it. :p

[roadkillxd]

okay okay no ale but alex keller… 😮‍💨🤌🏽

alex keller w a m!reader who is his husband and alex is just totally absolutely smitten 🤭 a hard mission brings him home pent up and frustrated and reader picks up on it and offers himself up for stress relief? but it’s soft and tender loving sex not hard fucking… please? 🙏🏽 bottom reader if you don’t mind 🫡 thank you <3

The movements themself are a little rough but the actions are tender. Can you tell I love him the most? Please send more Alex (begging).

Alex x M!Reader ↪ 1504 words — 18+ / SMUT & ANGST.

Content tags — cis male submissive reader, cis male dominant/service top Alex, anxiety, mention of claiming, unsafe sex, mildly dubious consent, mention of chemical warfare, mild overstimulation, Alex being a little out of it, established relationship, penetrative sex, anal sex, fingering, desperation, reunion sex, biting, and cock warming. 

Alex moans softly against your mouth, long eyelashes tickling your cheekbones and the ungroomed beard scratching pleasantly against your face. 

The usual careful grooming—the nice, straight lines in his fade and the perfect curl to his mustache—has faded into something gruffer and overgrown. Something that had you pausing when he came through the door of your shared apartment. 

He looked tired, and the usual puppy-like excitement of seeing you again was replaced with something more like breathless relief, his shoulders visibly drooping—almost as if he was worried you wouldn’t be there—smiling but not quite reaching his eyes, not like the ones that make the corners crinkle with little crow’s feet like they usually do.

You approached him slowly, cupping his cheek and running your thumb along the new scabbed over cut across the jut of cheekbone. His eyes had fluttered shut, breath coming out in a shaky exhale as he pressed into the touch, starved. He’d dropped his bag and pulled you into a tight hug. It took almost five minutes for him to let you go so you could guide him down to sit on the couch, the dinner you’d made for the both of you forgotten in the kitchen. He didn’t usually have much of an appetite when he came home like this, anyway.

You’d straddled his lap, cradling his head against your chest and running your fingers through his disheveled hair in an attempt to straighten it out a bit. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You’d asked, tone indifferent.

He’d thought about it for a long moment, and for a second you thought maybe he’d fallen asleep against you.

“Maybe. Later,” he concludes, lifting his chin to look up at you. You smile gently down at him, and he returns it, strong arms tightening around you, “could you…?”

There’s a moment's pause, when you realize he’s not going to finish his sentence.

“Make you feel alive?” You murmur, a chuckle and then a wince at the bit of sadness to your tone.

He’d told you once, after a nightmare—memories of ULF, and Hadir, his brother, he’d said, as chlorine gas threatened to choke the life out of him—he’d told you that you reminded him he’s alive. That he’s still alive.

Despite your slight initial regret at your own word choice, Alex chuckled and nodded. 

“Yeah,” he’d murmured.

That’s how you’d ended up with his pretty lips against yours, soft little noises of pleasure and contentment slipping past them, never one to hide his own arousal. 

He keeps kissing you, licking into your mouth as he blindly grasps for the lube shoved somewhere between the cushions. You swear he stockpiles the shit in every crevice of the apartment, always so prepared.

You don’t realize how bad he’s shaking until he’s struggling to get the tube open, having to pull away from the kiss to look at what he’s doing. You gently set your hands on his inked forearms, trying to steady him.

“Alex…” you whisper, voice laced with the slightest worry.

“I’m okay,” he breathes out in a rush, finally getting enough of a grip to pop the cap open with a click. He squeezes a generous amount onto his fingers, wrapping his arms around you to ruck up your shirt and slip a hand into your boxers, teasing. He rests his forehead against your chest again, breathing you in, “I love you,” he sighs.

His hands still shake, skating across your skin, breath stuttering and occasionally rattling from his damaged lungs, but he knows he’s safe. 

It’s the pent up nerves, a tight coil in his chest present whenever he has to leave you, pressurizing more and more the longer he stays away, away from your touch, your body. So long without the intimacy he craves so deeply. It’s almost overwhelming once that coil can finally spring free, hence the shaking and shortened breaths. 

You rub his shoulders and back as he teases against your hole, slipping two thick fingers into you with ease. You let out a moan at the filling sensation, nails scraping gently up his spine and making him shiver as your fingers tangle tight in the short strands at the base of his skull. 

He uses the movement of his fingers pumping in and out of you to rock you forward and back on his thigh, encouraging you to grind your hard cock against him, straining against the fabric of your boxers and darkening the already dark fabric. 

His freehand winds itself up your side, under your arm to cradle the back of your head, holding you close as he leans up to suck bruises against your throat, desperate to mark you—leave something of him behind, brandished into your skin like belonging. 

“I missed you,” he ushers, strained and gravelly, hot breath fanning across your neck followed by the wet heat of his tongue chasing a droplet of salty-sweet sweat, “so fuckin’ much.”

“Me too, baby, I know,” you breathe, a third finger pushing into you, splaying out to test how stretched you are, making you whine. You can hear the guilt—or not quite guilt, the neglect of his own desires—in his voice, in his gentle, throaty groans and borderline whimpers. 

You shush him as he continues to mouth miserably at your throat, pulling his head back with a gentle tug in his hair, making him strain to look up at you kneeled over him. His pupils are blown so wide, the inky black darkening the sky blue fading around them. 

“C’mon, love,” you urge, trailing your hands down to work his belt open, unbuttoning his pants to free his cock, the hard flesh bobbing out and slapping against his stomach, making him groan, “I want you.”

“Fuck,” he groans again, low and guttural, shoving at the hem of your boxers, doing his best to help you out of them. He wraps his slick hand around your prick, making you gasp as he strokes you slow and sweet, twisting on the upstroke and running his thumb over the sensitive slit. 

You grab his dick in turn, shifting into position until it teases against your fluttering hole, leaking warm lube onto his swollen cockhead. He’s chewing through his lip, and you have to use your freehand to swipe a thumb along the taut skin before he rips it open, sinking down onto him just as he releases the flesh.

He gives a hearty moan, head thrown back against the couch cushions as you take him to the hilt in one swift movement. He’s so, so pent up. You can feel the clear outline of the thick vein that travels up the side of his cock, his flesh pulsing and twitching inside you. 

He moves his hands from your lower half to wrap around your torso instead, pulling you flush to him in a tight hug. You can feel him shift, his legs spreading further apart and forcing your thighs to go as well before he plants his feet, nibbling gently at your shoulder as he starts to rock up into you, his cock perfectly grinding over your prostate on each drag in and out.

You’re both moaning into each other’s ears, Alex rambling as he thrusts, hips straining but desperate to please you, feeling how your prick pushes his own t-shirt up and ruts between the divot of his abdomen, getting his already sweaty skin sticky with precum.

“So goddamn good,” he chokes, and you can tell he’s not going to last long, not like this. You rock your hips back and forth in order to meet his thrusts, simultaneously grinding your cock harder against his flexing stomach, chasing your own pleasure. You can feel his nails digging into your shoulder blades, crooked and slightly jagged from being peeled away at the tips. An anxious habit. The feeling, the sting, steals your breath away, makes you see stars.

Alex suddenly pushes you back with one hand on your shoulder, arching his hips and spine further to keep fucking up into you, his free hand reaching for your cock to stroke it hard and fast as he lets out a string of deep grunts. 

His prick grinds perfectly over your prostate and you're crying out, just as he does, heads thrown back as you ride through the aftershocks, milking each other for all your worth. His hips stop moving relatively quickly, but you have to grip his fist to stop him from mindlessly stroking you to an early, overstimulated grave.

You gently move forward, his gradually softening cock beginning to slip out of you before he grabs your hips bruisingly fast, eyes snapping open.

“Don’t leave,” he rasps, so vulnerable you freeze in your tracks, searching his wide, almost frantic eyes. You nod slowly and settle back down, taking his length back in, watching him visibly slacken as he pulls you into cuddle against him.

You haven’t quite gotten your Alex back just yet, but that’s okay. You’re willing to wait for him however long it takes.

[tallulah477]

waaa thinking of loak and the princess sneaking out of the castle to visit neteyam after a year or smth since he (and neteyam personal butler who stayed behind in the castle to give info and the mail man know his location)

princess who basicslly forced loak to bring her with him otherwise she would snitch but later regrets it when she realizes she wont be in a carriage and has to sleep in dingy barns because theyre undercover and she has to be super close to loak because its cold as fuck and she doesnt have her expensive custom made fur blanket but after being so close to him and hearing his heartbeat and how arm just perfectly fits around her shes contemplating just freezing if it means not dealing with her feelings

— 🤍

Catch up on the story:

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Extra: One

CW:// None, I think

Awwww! I imagine this would happen just a little while after Neteyam and his maid have their baby. Lo'ak would want to meet his niece or nephew so badly and would come up with some kind of excuse to be able to get out of the castle/duties for a few days to go visit them.

Naturally Princess is suspicious about where he's going, and when she overhears him telling Kiri that he's going to visit Neteyam, she blackmails him into taking her with him. She wants to confront Neteyam, see exactly the kind of life he's living that he's sooooo happy with that he left her all high and dry by herself. Well . . . with his brother, but same thing.

Maybe they frame it as a "to get to know one another better" retreat? It's usually not accepted for unmarried couples to go off on their own for overnight trips, but Jake thinks it might be wise for them to get to know each other without the added pressure of being at the castle so he okays it on the condition that Lo'ak's butler and Princess's maid go with them "to keep them out of trouble."

So the four of them travel to a nice inn about a days ride from the castle. The butler and maid stay at the inn to hold down appearances, but when night falls, Lo'ak and Princess travel on foot and Lo'ak is immediately annoyed when Princess whines about not taking the carriage.

"We can't take the carriage. We are supposed to be undercover, remember?"

"So you want me to walk the entire way? In these shoes?"

"No, we'll find horses when we get to the next town,"

"You want me to ride on horseback?"

They have sleep in barns, up in the rafters while their horses are put up on the main floor. It stinks, it's dusty, and it's waayyy too fucking cold out and Princess feels like she's dying. All she's got is a single blanket (that smells like horse) to keep her warm and she can feel Lo'ak's body heat radiating from him from where their backs are nearly touching.

She tries to ignore it, but it's so cold and she's shivering and he feels like he would be so warm, so she subtly scoots back further, inching closer and closer until her back is pressed up directly against his. She nearly gets the crap scared out of her when he suddenly groans and turns over, muscular arm encircling her waist and pulling her against his front. She thinks at first he must be awake, but the even rhythm of his breathing and steadiness of his heartbeat on her back say otherwise.

She doesn't know what to do and doesn't know what she's feeling. The weight of his arm feels so nice against her side, she feels safe - but her heart is pounding like she's in danger. She has half a mind to push him off of her and scoot to the far corner of the rafter just so she can feel like she can breathe. But . . . she's warm now, so she doesn't.

Also, I definitely think that when they reach Neteyam and Maid's cottage, Princess is cranky (and pissed off about her confused emotions) enough to fight with Neteyam, but the second she lays eyes on that adorable baby, all her anger and malice towards him goes out the window.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Stay (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 30 Alt Prompt 10.  “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...” Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick, Hangman, Bob, FloydSin, Jake's POV Summary: Jake thought he died in that alley after he was mugged. But thanks to a special someone, he pulled through. And when Bob brings him a gift more precious than his own life, Jake does what he should have done a long time ago. Word Count: 3575 TW: College AU, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confession, Hospital, Amputation, Language, Hopeful Ending Notes: Thank you to @green-socks for beta reading this for me! For @ailesswhumptober's whumptober event.

Part 1

Jake had fucked up big this time. He had realized that fact a while ago as he shoved his tongue into that random girl’s mouth while they were still in the club, but he ignored that feeling and just tried to shut his mind off for the night. Something just felt off about the way this girl had come on to him and lured him onto the dance floor, but he didn’t question it.

Twenty minutes later as he found himself laying in the back alley broken, bruised, bloody, and fucking stabbed, Jake regretted that decision.

Once he had realized what was happening, he hadn’t even tried fighting back that much. He was outnumbered and it was better to just let the five muggers and the girl he had been flirting with take what they wanted and leave him be. But all that changed the moment one of the men reached for Ty’s ring.

Jake would give them everything else he owned in this world, but they couldn’t take his brother’s ring. He wouldn’t let them. Yet there was little he could do as one of his attackers drove his fist into the fresh stab wound on Jake’s back and Jake collapsed to the ground like a ragdoll. 

At that point, he began to sob. He begged with everything he had left in him for them to leave the ring but it made no difference. One of the men stood on his wrist—his boot crunching the bones and skinning Jake’s palm against the pavement—while another ripped Tyler’s ring off his finger. Jake felt as if his finger had been ripped off, the pain so intense he nearly blacked out. And as he watched his attackers gloat to his buddy and slide the ring onto his own finger, it felt like Jake had lost his brother for a second time. 

He didn’t remember what happened next. Between the pain in his hand, the pain in his back, the pain in practically all of him, and the blood loss, Jake was barely able to cling to consciousness. And even if he could, the muggers had smashed his phone and he was in no condition to get to his feet to find help. What was the point of hanging on only to prolong the inevitable? 

So, Jake Seresin had done something he had never once in his life done before: he gave up.

“Jake? Is that you?” 

There were maybe only two or three voices in the world that could have drawn Jake back from the inky black abyss he was letting himself sink into but Bob Floyd was at the top of that list. 

Forcing open his one good—well, decent—eye, Jake swallowed a few times before he managed to croak out, “B-Bob?”

From the darkness, he saw a shadowy figure walking towards him. As he got closer, Jake swore Bob looked like a goddamn angel as he approached, a soft glowing halo of light outlining his body from the light of the street. And for a moment, Jake wasn’t sure if Bob was really standing there or if this really was an angel coming to ferry him to whatever came next.

Part of him didn’t care. At least he was able to see Bob one last time, real or not. If only he had gotten the chance to tell him the truth about how he felt about him…

When Jake first met Bob, he hadn’t given him more than a cursory glance. And even once Bob began to become a constant presence in their friend group, he still remained little more than set dressing for the evening. He was so quiet and withdrawn that Jake forgot he was there half the time as he blended into the background. But he was Natasha’s roommate who she had been best friends with since their first day of college three years ago, so wherever she went, Bob tended to follow—most of the time seemingly against his will. However, he never complained or objected to the group’s plans so Jake figured he would just continue to ignore him and things would continue like normal.

But all that changed when Javy and Natasha began hooking up late last year. Soon, “Jake and Javy’s Boys Night Extravaganzas” turned into “Jake and Javy plus Natasha and Bob’s Time Together”. And Jake hated every minute of it. 

As soon as they got to a club or popped in a movie at their apartment, Javy and Natasha would be all over each other leaving Jake awkwardly hanging with Bob, neither quite sure what to do. The first few times this happened, Jake either left to find some fun on his own or sat in silence as he scrolled through the apps on his phone. And Bob…Bob would just sit or stand in the same spot with his hands folded in his lap as he tried to stare anywhere but at his best friend going at it with Jake’s best friend. 

Finally, one day when they all went to a bar and Javy and Natasha had already disappeared into the bathrooms, Jake’s phone died. The decision to go out that night had been a spur-of-the-moment one and he hadn’t had time to charge it or grab his power bank from the drawer on the way out. Tossing his phone onto the table with a huff, Jake glanced around the room to see what else could keep him occupied. But, unfortunately, it was early in the night and only a handful of people mulled around the space. So, Jake did the only thing he could think to do: He started a conversation with Bob.

By the end of the night, Jake was captivated by the other man.

It turned out that Bob was nothing like he had assumed. He was sweet and he was smart but, most surprising of all, once he started letting his guard down, he could snap back with barbed comments that could put Jake to shame. And Jake realized that there was so much more depth behind those wire-frame glasses than he ever imagined. When Javy and Nat returned to say they were ready to head out, Jake found he was actually sad to say goodnight to Bob.

Soon, Jake began dropping hints to Javy about inviting Natasha (and by extension, Bob) to hang out more often or to come with them when they went out. He could tell Javy was suspicious of the 180° change in attitude, but since it allowed him to spend time with Natasha without Jake throwing a fit, Javy didn’t question it. Which left Jake free to see Bob pretty much as often as he wanted without making a big deal about it. And as time went on, he found he was developing real feelings for the other man.

Jake had been with his share of men over the years. He might not advertise the fact he was pansexual, but he also didn’t try to hide it. However, he was fairly certain Bob wasn’t interested in men. In fact, Jake sometimes wondered if Bob was interested in anyone.  

Which was why he was so taken aback when Bob suddenly kissed him at the big end of Spring Break party. They had been sitting together by one of the bonfires on the beach. Everyone else had either gone back into the bar or were getting busy in one of the secluded areas just over the dunes leaving the two of them completely alone. Jake turned to ask Bob something when, suddenly, his lips smashed against Jake’s. 

Jake startled slightly at the unexpected kiss. But as soon as the shock wore off, he smiled against Bob’s lips and leaned into him. The kiss was clumsy and a little awkward, but it was exactly the kind of kiss he’d expect from Bob, and that made it feel perfect. Jake raised his hand to wrap around the back of Bob’s neck and draw him in—

Then Javy yelled from behind one of the dunes, asking if Jake had a condom, and the spell was broken. Bob jumped up from his seat, his face a deep red and his eyes like saucers behind his glasses. He tried to stutter out some sort of apology or explanation but before Jake could reassure him it was alright, Bob ran into the bar without another glance in Jake’s direction. 

Ever since then, it felt like Bob had been avoiding him and Jake tried to give him space to figure things out. He just hoped that even if Bob realized he wasn’t interested in him in that way, they could still find a way to be friends—even if Jake desperately wanted them to be more.

But now it didn’t matter. Jake had tried to use the last of his strength as he bled out to tell Bob the truth, but he only managed a few words and a soft caress of Bob’s cheek before he finally succumbed to the darkness. Now, it was all over, he was dead, and he never got the chance to talk to Bob about the kiss or what it meant to either of them. If only—

Jake opened his eyes to find himself in a hospital bed.

There was a knock at the door, so soft that Jake wasn’t sure he really heard it at first. But when the person knocked again with slightly more force, Jake called out, “Yeah, come in.”

The door creaked open and out of his good eye Jake saw a pair of wire framed glasses peering at him through the crack in the door. Jake’s heart leaped in his chest and he prayed his visitor hadn’t noticed the increased beep of his heart monitor. With a wide closed-lip smile (he was still self-conscious about his missing teeth), he said, “Hey, there’s my hero. I was hoping you’d stop by.”

Pushing the door open a little further, Bob stepped into the room, a backpack thrown over his shoulder. “T-They said you’ve been awake for a few days but were just now allowed visitors. I hope it’s okay—”

“Are you kidding me?” Jake said, cutting him off. “Bobby, you saved my life. If you weren’t around that night, I’d be long dead by now. You can come visit me anytime. Hell, I’ll even give you a key to my fucking apartment if you want and you can have free reign there too. What’s mine is yours.”

A pink hue crept up Bob’s neck. “That’s not necessary. I just wanted to see how you’re feeling.”

“Like shit,” Jake chuckled, trying to brush off the worst of what he was dealing with so as to not upset Bob. “The pain meds are doing wonders though. Now if I can just charm my nurse into upping them slightly, we’d be in business.”

“I would think you’d be good at that. I don’t know many people who can resist your charm.” Bob’s face suddenly paled as he realized what he said and he quickly changed the subject. “They, uh, they weren’t allowed to tell me any details about your condition, doctor-patient confidentiality and all that. But I heard you had to have a few operations?”

Jake shifted in the bed, the smile on his face becoming even more difficult to force as he said, “Uh, yeah. Most of the damage was just stuff that has to heal on its own like bruises, cuts, my swollen eye. Plus, I’m going to have to go to a dentist about my teeth once I’m released. But, um, apparently I had some internal bleeding from the stab wound they had to patch up and, uh, then there’s this.” Jake held up his left hand to reveal the thick gauze wrapping around his hand and the gap between his middle and pinky fingers.

Bob’s face somehow went even whiter as he stared at Jake’s hand. “Oh my god, Jake. I’m so sorry.”

Jake lowered his hand with a shrug. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t your fault, was it? I guess the doctors said when those guys pulled Tyler’s ring off my finger, it caused something called—” Jake paused as he tried to remember the term the surgeon had told him “—ring avulsion? Basically, it severely internally damaged the nerves and bones and stuff to the point there was nothing they could do to save it. So snip, snip, and I guess I’ll have to figure out a new way of doing math since I can’t count to ten anymore.”

Despite Jake’s ill attempt at humor, Bob’s face was still mournful. “Jake, I-I don’t know what to say. I–Will you still be able to play football?”

“They think so,” Jake shrugged. “It’ll take a little bit of practice maybe to get used to it, but at least it wasn’t my right hand. All in all, it could have been a lot worse.” 

Jake swallowed sharply as he felt a lump growing in his throat. He had already discussed all of this with the doctors, his parents, his coaches, and a few of his teammates, including Javy. They had all been supportive and encouraging and Jake had forced his smile then too. However, there was another aspect to losing his finger that he was struggling with yet hadn’t felt comfortable sharing with anyone. 

However, as he looked at Bob, he found the words finally tumbling from his mouth. “I don’t even really care about the finger, you know? I’ve got nine more and it’s not like I lost a thumb or anything really important. But it’s just that much more of a reminder that Ty’s ring’s gone too.”

“I remember you telling me about Tyler and what his ring meant to you.” Bob set his backpack down on the floor. “Jake, I—”

But Jake cut him off. Now that he had finally opened the dam, he couldn’t stop the words from flooding out. “My brother was the best man I’ve ever known, and it’s been almost a decade but I still can’t believe he’s gone. He had all these plans and goals for his future and just like that, they were gone…and so was he.” 

He sniffed and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. “So every day, I try to be the man he never got the chance to be. I know I can never be him and that I let him down a lot but I do try. And that ring was the only thing I had left of Tyler. But now it’s been ripped from me and I…I feel like any connection I still had with him is gone too.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Bob said, his eyes bright behind his glasses. “It’s not gone.”

Jake blinked several times in quick succession. “W-what do you mean?”

Bob reached into his backpack and pulled out a small jewelry box. With a smile that stretched across his entire face, he popped open the box and Jake gasped.

The ring inside was unmistakable. After all, Jake had spent every single day of his adult life staring at the yellow gem set in the center of the gold engraved base as it sat on his finger. 

Tears sprung to Jake’s eyes as he gazed at his most prized possession, the one he never imagined he’d ever see again. His voice caught in his throat, but after a few shuddering breaths, he managed to whisper, “Where did you…?”

“I knew what it meant to you, so I made sure the police knew it was one of the items stolen. Between Javy’s memory and a few pictures we found of you where it was visible, we were able to give them a pretty good idea of what it looked like. Last night, they tracked it at a pawn shop just outside LA and used footage on the security cameras to identify the muggers. They got ‘em, Jake. They got all six of them. ” Bob walked forward until he was right next to Jake and he placed the ring box on the tray in front of him. “And it’s all because of Tyler’s ring. So, see, your brother’s still looking out for you.”

Tears streamed silently down Jake’s face as he stared at the ring. He couldn’t believe he had actually gotten it back. But as much as he loved the sentiment behind Bob’s words and would treasure that thought forever, Jake knew that Tyler wasn’t the reason it was returned, that the muggers were captured, or that Jake was even still alive.

Wrapping his fingers into Bob’s t-shirt, Jake ignored the pain radiating from his stitched-up stab wound and yanked on the material. The other man was caught by surprise and fell to his knees. Before he could catch his bearings, Jake leaned forward and pressed his lips to Bob’s. 

Kissing with three missing teeth was a strange experience, but Jake ignored this new sensation as he tried to make Bob feel comfortable with the kiss. He could feel how tense he was and, for a moment, Jake thought he might have misinterpreted everything between them. But then, Bob began kissing him back. Hesitantly at first, then more forcefully until Jake swore he felt some real heat in the exchange. It was just a glimpse of the Bob he knew hid beneath the shy, quiet outer shell, but the prospect of discovering more of this heated side made Jake’s heart race (a fact that his heart monitor picked up on).

Fearing this excitement may alert his nurses and lead to some unwanted visitors, Jake reluctantly pulled back. Bob’s lips seemed to chase after his for a moment, and Jake smiled.

With his face still hovering in front of Bob’s, he whispered, “I know exactly who saved me that night and got me my ring back. And I’ll never forget it.” 

Releasing Bob’s shirt, Jake winced as he leaned back against his bed. In a more normal tone, he added, “But I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve just been wanting to kiss you again since that night during Spring Break and I thought I’d lost my chance when I was dying in that alley.”

Bob straightened his glasses, his face an adorable shade of pink as he caught his breath. “Wait, you…you wanted to…?”

“‘Course I did. I have for a long time but I wasn’t sure if you were interested in guys or not. Then, you ran off so quickly after the kiss that I thought maybe you had changed your mind or something. If that was the case, I didn’t want to push it. I figured if you were interested, you’d come back eventually.”

“I didn’t think you were interested in guys,” Bob mumbled, his head down and gaze trained on the floor. “You’re always picking up some gorgeous girl at the club—”

“Or guy. Or however they want to identify themselves. I don’t really care. I just like being with people who I have a good time with.” Jake smiled, “And I always have a good time when I’m with you, Bob.”

“Bobby.”

Jake blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Raising his head, Bob stared at Jake. “I-I like it when you call me Bobby.”

A natural, unforced smile spread across Jake’s face and he didn’t even mind it showed off the gaps in his teeth. “Good. I like it too.” He reached over and took Bob’s hand. “So, Bobby, does this mean you have a good time when you’re with me too?”

“Yeah, it does,” Bob muttered. Then, scoffing, he added, “Did you really think I was always volunteering to help you with geometry because I enjoy the Pythagorean theorem that much?”

Jake laughed. “Well…you’re full of surprises so who knows.”

“No, I might be good at it, but I hate geometry. Always have. But it meant getting to spend time with you so it was worth it.” Bob squeezed Jake’s hand gently and gave him a small smile.

“You could have just told me, you know.”

Bob rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like I thought Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin— the school’s football quarterback god who is being scouted for the pro leagues and could have anyone he ever wanted—could ever possibly like me back. People like you don’t normally give people like me a second glance, and even when you did, I thought you were just doing it for Nat and Javy’s sake.”

“I admit, I was at first.” Bob’s hand began to slip from his, but Jake held firmly onto it. “However, once I got to know you, I wanted to spend every minute I could with you, even if you never liked me the same way I liked you.”

Bob leaned across the bed, his face only a few inches from Jake’s as he whispered, “And how do you like me, Jake?”

Jake licked his lips, flinching slightly as his tongue dragged across his split bottom lip, and he stared directly into Bob’s big, blue eyes. “I think you know.”

“I’m starting to figure it out.” A small smile flickered on Bob’s lips. “So, what happens now?”

Jake shrugged. “What do you want to happen now?”

“I think…” Bob’s cheeks grew pink again as his eyes dropped to Jake’s lips. But when he looked back up into Jake’s eyes, his gaze was strong and determined. “I think I’d like to kiss you again.”

Leaning forward to close the distance between them, Jake murmured, “Anything for my hero.”

[dojimakaichou]

SENT FROM @akiiyamashun​​​​​​ ―     ( from here / accepting )

five times kissed + verse of your choice :)

★. ―

The first time. Daigo wasn’t ready for it : the press of lips to his when he turned around. As the sound of his name faded, the brawler’s eyes widened. He should have pulled away immediately, but something stopped him. Daigo couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t  .    .    .  wondered about it. Akiyama was attractive, as much as his host tried to ignore that fact  ―  and, well, the older man was frankly too tipsy to stop his body from reacting to the shocking embrace. Daigo’s hands twitched and inevitably came up to rest on the ex - banker’s waist.

          It was then that he realized it. The taste of alcohol between their shared mouths was not just from the belly full of cheap beer that Daigo boasted. Fuck, that was liquor, and a lot of it.

          With a muffled exclamation, the brawler squirmed away from Akiyama. He shoved him back firmly in an effort to put distance between them. Daigo’s cheeks were flushed, and he felt hot. The brawler barely saw the mix of fear and panic in Akiyama’s face. 

          Daigo was too busy wrangling with the disgust he felt for himself at the thought that he almost took advantage of his drunk, homeless guest. “No,” he spat, the word bubbling up out of him like the churning mixture in his stomach. “I won’t  ―  not until you have your own place.” His arms wrapped around his middle as if that desperate action could hold himself together.

          Before Daigo could really look Akiyama in the eye, the younger man was gone. Maybe it didn’t happen that fast ( he couldn’t remember later ), but it felt like it. The brawler’s head turned sluggishly to look over his shoulder as Akiyama’s back disappeared out the door. Regret welled up inside of him. Daigo was tempted to give chase ; however, he didn’t have the energy. 

          ( besides, Akiyama would be back in a few hours  .    .    .  right ?? )

The second time. Daigo opened his eyes. He saw a shadowy figure leaning over him. It took a few minutes before the ex - yakuza’s vision adjusted, but he heard Akiyama’s voice long before that. The loan shark’s hands still laid on Daigo’s side from where they had shaken him insistently.

          “Daigo-kun?” Akiyama asked as the former Chairman seemed to come back to the land of the living. Whatever hell tonight’s terror transported him to seemed to have its claws deep in the older man. “Hey ! Can you say something for me?” His words were soft in volume but said with a force that was almost alien in his usually easy - going tone. Akiyama brushed strands of gray - streaked hair away from Daigo’s features.

          “Did I wake you up?” finally came a hoarse whisper.

          Akiyama released his held breath. The moneylender’s stroking fingers grew more comforting. “It’s alright.” He smiled thinly and ducked down to kiss the curve of Daigo’s bare shoulder. Never mind that his heart was in his throat. After three years of sharing beds, he almost forgot how awful Daigo’s scream sounded. “You just  .    .    .  haven’t been that bad in a while.” Akiyama rubbed his lover’s back soothingly.

          Daigo’s words were slurred. His eyes glistened in the dim light. “I dreamed that you left,” he muttered, large figure curling into the covers. “For good.” 

          The loan shark exhaled slowly and kissed the same patch of skin for a second time. “I’m right here,” he assured him. 

The third time. The ex - yakuza drew his outer coat tighter to his body and sighed. He was quiet. Akiyama stole a glance at Daigo as they walked. It wasn’t hard to guess what was bothering the older man : the pair a few steps behind them had been following them for several blocks now. A post on an online forum last week leaked the news of their relationship. Daigo’s refusal to publicly deny it since meant that they were lately often the target of unwanted attention. Speculation about the former Chairman’s sexuality given his almost - celebrity status in Kamurocho sold gossip rags, and any pictures of Akiyama and Daigo together only added to the flames.

          Ignore it, Daigo insisted. It’ll go away its own. ( besides, there were larger fires to put out at Osamu. )

          At the door to the local bakery that Daigo asked to visit on this walk, they both stopped. The ex - yakuza shook his head in an effort to clear it. “Do you want anything, Shun?” he asked.

          “Mm, surprise me,” the moneylender replied. “I’m going to have another smoke. Take as long as you need.”

          Daigo looked over his shoulder. He opened his mouth, as if there was more he wanted to say, but evidently thought better of it. With that, he slipped inside. The smell of the pastries was comforting. Daigo breathed it in, glad for a break from their blatant tail. A small wave came from the young lady who ran the counter ; Daigo was one of the shop’s best customers. As the former Chairman approached, she was already reaching for his favorites to wrap. There was a lot of chocolate involved.

          “Any extras, sir?” she asked.

          “Something lighter, if you have any recommendations,” Daigo answered thoughtfully. 

           As she made her selections on his behalf, the ex - yakuza’s mind wandered. He almost missed her putting up the packaged collection of sweets. Daigo gave her an apologetic smile and passed over the right amount of yen. The rest of their exchange was almost dull ; it was difficult for the former Chairman to escape the feeling that he was constantly suffocating these days. His nerves were shot.

           Daigo stepped back out into the cool evening air. Immediately, he frowned. The ex - yakuza noticed the absence of the men who were stalking them at the same time he took note of Akiyama’s leisurely pose against the side of the building. His gaze narrowed. 

          “What is that for, Daigo - kun?” the moneylender questioned with a tone that was perfectly innocent. He grinned, pushed away from the wall, and put his hands into his trousers pockets. “Oh  ―  those two? Is that it? I asked them to stop, that’s all.” Akiyama laughed lightly and extracted a pair of cracked smart phones. “They were so eager to apologize that they stepped on these trying to back away.”

          “Shun  .    .    .  ” Daigo murmured the loan shark’s name. 

          Akiyama stowed the devices away again and leaned in. “Smells great.”

          Suddenly, Daigo closed the distance between them. His mouth brushed the younger man’s for a fleeting second, and he could only hope that his feelings came across in that instant. The ex - yakuza didn’t dare linger.

          “ Thank you. ”

The fourth time. Daigo murmured soothingly to the little bundle in his arms. Kisuke was only three days old, and it was the first night that his parents - to - be were able to have him alone. The ex - yakuza glanced around the residence he and his fiancé ( as he liked to tease ) had rented for this occasion. They would be here for two weeks while the paperwork was settled ; this window also gave Kisuke a bit of time to grow before he was whisked overseas.

          The baby cooed. His father chuckled. Daigo was exhausted, there was no doubt there, and he was sure the mysterious stain on the front of this shirt was formula Kisuke hadn’t kept down after his last feeding  ―  but he was happy. He held Kisuke very often ( in spite of how afraid he was that the baby would shatter at any moment ) and smiled easily while doing so.

          Really, he was a natural. Akiyama watched Daigo from the door with clear fondness in his face. As much as he wanted a turn with their son, the way the ex - yakuza pathed around the dimmed kitchen with the happiness of a carefree child was terribly sweet. If they ever harbored concerns about whether or not having a family was the right call as a couple, instances like this completely dismissed them.

          Suddenly, Kisuke coughed, and a font of white something poured down his front and dripped from Daigo’s forearm. The former Chairman froze. Akiyama stifled a laugh at the break in his lover’s expression and emerged from his place to offer assistance. He grabbed a handful of paper towels and wiped off what he could from both parties.

          “I’ll change him,” the loan shark said, accepting the baby carefully. “You have  ―  a lot on your shorts.”

          “ Ah. ” Daigo glanced down and laughed. He leaned in to kiss Akiyama as thanks. After they parted, the older man examined the added mess on his clothing. “You know, even with all of the vomit  .    .    .  he’s so fucking adorable.”

The fifth time. The ex - yakuza chuckled at the sight of Akiyama strolling into the kitchen. Those chocolate eyes looked blearily at the clock and then drifted back to the figure of his husband. Daigo was dressed in a full suit ( though the jacket was discarded ) with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows ; a white apron ; and his gray hair pulled back behind his head. It was obvious that he had been up for a few hours now judging by the bright gleam in his dark gaze. 

          “I have time before work, so I made you breakfast,” Daigo said. He served a helping of fluffy eggs and rice into a bowl. “I was about to write a note to say that it was in the fridge, but this is better.”

          Akiyama shook his head in disbelief and accepted the food. “Show - off,” came the barely - awake response. The meal was placed to the side as the loan shark opted to embrace his lover first instead. Akiyama kissed him in greeting. Daigo laughed at how much the younger man leaned into him ; he really was half - asleep still.

          “It’s a good thing our son left for school already,” came Daigo’s affectionate retort. His coarse hands knitted together behind Akiyama’s back. “Otherwise, the gagging would be nonstop.”

          The moneylender shamelessly cuddled into Daigo’s front. In their own home, there was no need to be discreet ; they were free to have each other as they liked ( one teenager’s commentary aside ). For Akiyama, that meant utilizing his husband’s spacious chest for an impromptu pillow.

          “Your food is going to get cold, Shun,” Daigo said matter - of - factly from above. 

          Akiyama laughed into the silky fabrics under his cheek. “As always, Daigo - kun, your sweet - talk is astounding.”

[percontaion-points]

Covet chapters 64-67

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 64

It’s difficult, though, especially with the specter of Cyrus breathing down Hudson’s and my necks. And why he wants us off the chessboard so badly.

I kind of have the same opinion about all adults in YA novels who are obsessed with teenage girls. Like… bro. Chris Hanson is here to see you. 

Heather still hasn’t texted me since I told her not to come to Katmere for a visit, and that hurts even more today. I thought maybe she would break her silence to wish me a happy birthday, but she hasn’t. She is really pissed. 

I know that Heather is barely a character… but still. It’s barely been a year since Grace’s parents died. Did it ever occur to Heather that her friend is going through a lot of shit?

It isn’t until much later, back in my own room with Macy, that I realize Hudson never gave me my second present.

Chapter 64 summary: Two days have passed since they escaped back to the school. In that time, in between cramming for finals, Grace worries about everything that’s going on recently. 

She goes down to another study group in Hudson’s room, only for them to throw her a surprise party for her 18th birthday. Most of the chapter is glossed-over party stuff, which I’m not going to get into. Jaxon gives her the Klimt that was hanging in his room in the first book, and Grace says that it’s way too much. 

Chapter 65

“This,” he snarls, right before he slams his mouth down on mine.

Chapter 65 summary: Grace aces two of her finals, but she still feels like she’s going to flunk her history test. Jaxon had promised to tutor her, but things have been feeling more and more weird between them recently. So she asks Hudson for help instead.

They meet up at the front doors, and he says that it’s so nice outside, they should go out and study instead. He gives her his jacket, so that she doesn’t have to go back to her room to get her own. 

They go outside where they talk about history for exactly two seconds before they start fighting again. I don’t give a shit about what they’re fighting about, because I don’t give a shit about them. 

Hudson goes to leave, but Grace stops him. He tells her that she’ll regret it if she doesn’t move out of his way. When she challenges him as to what he’d even do to her, he kisses her. 

Chapter 66

They send flames racing down my spine, burning through my body. They melt me from the inside, turn my blood to lava and my knees to ashes and still it’s not enough. 

Please let the record state that we got two goddamned pages about how kissing Hudson made her feel. 

TWO.

FULL.

PAGES.

After another minute of squeezing, he opens his hand and, where there once was a chunk of carbon, there is now a diamond—and not just any diamond. This one has to be at least five carats.

You know what? Fucking fine. Vampires can squeeze a rock so hard that a perfectly cut and polished diamond comes out? WHY THE FUCK NOT. 

“You’re very, very welcome.” His grin turns softer, more intimate, more…vulnerable than I’ve ever seen it. At least until he reaches for my backpack and says, “Now, about those Witch Trials…”

Chapter 66 summary: Anyway, after those aforementioned pages where they finally stop kissing each other, Grace says some stuff about wanting to get to know Hudson better. That she feels bad that he knows everything about her, but what little she does know is tied around his shitty father. 

He says that he has a second present for her, and invites her to pick out an ordinary rock. She does, and then he squeezes the rock so hard that a goddamned perfectly cut and polished diamond pops out. THAT MIGHT AS WELL HAPPEN, TOO.

Hudson then reminds her that they should get back to studying for her history final. 

Chapter 67

“I need to go home this weekend.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “And I want you to come with me.”

Chapter 67 summary: Grace finishes with her finals. Outside of her last classroom, she runs into Flint, who was waiting for her. He invites her to go flying with him, which she does. Most of this chapter is nothing but “Plot? What plot? We’re on page 361/874.” Then in the literal last line, he says that he needs to go home that weekend, and wants Grace to come with him. 

[gallusrostromegalus]

If you mean "Another" like the 2012 anime series (my beloved), then no. As much as I love that series, it's not what I wanted for Kanae Katagiri.

If feel like this woman would have an inkling of what Yhwach actually wants out of the Quincies (tasty tasty souls), and when Jugram and some of the elite guard show up nine years before Yhwach's return to collect her SON to fulfill his grand destiny as Yhwach's new flesh vessel, all her suspicions are confirmed and she decides on a drastic course of "Actually, fuck this."

I'm working on a presentation of how souls work in AEIWAM, but the short version of why Quincies have so much trouble with hollows is that Yhwach is artificially suppression what WOULD become their Zanpakuto spirits under different circumstances for Crappy Deal With The Devil reasons, and this means their natural defense against hollowfication is also suppressed. It's also true that the thing that takes over the spiritual body when someone hollowfied is ALSO the thing that would otherwise become a Zanpakuto spirit.

... But Kanae Katagiri-now-Ishida is so utterly consumed with maternal rage, she preforms a string of miracles that make Gerard Valkyrie's head spin and also put several large and very nearly fatal holes in his body.

(continued)

She starts blasting. Point blank between Jugram's eyes to start, and then keeps going. Maximum power, all feeds open- she will destroy her arm and burn her Quincy abilities right out of her soul doing this, and she does not care. She only cares about killing the threats to her family.

She burns with rage.

She burns her hands.

She burns her bow-arm.

She burns herself, body and soul.

She burns out her "Quincy abilities".

...and then keeps going.

The trick here is that Yhwach was only supplying extra power in exchange for being able to eat everyone's souls later. Her ability to form Reishi arrows is in her blood, handed down from her ancestor, the noble Quincy Freischutz, for whom the Quincies are named and whose soul Yhwach would really, really, really like to eat. But Quincy's ghost is a slippery bastard and has been jumping from descendant to descendant for the last 999 years. Yhwach thinks he's got Quincy cornered in Uryuu, and sent his best men to collect the boy.

Halfway across town, Quincy is regretting his decision to jump from mother to son so soon as he watches her fall to a hollow-

But back to Kanae.

She still has her Quincy abilities, and she'll keep them for as long as she has blood. What's she's actually burnt in her berserker rage is her connection to Yhwach. He can't reach her now- not to devour her, nor to supress her inner spirit any longer.

And it wakes up, enraged.

Jugram kills her.

It happens so fast that nobody present actually realizes what's happened for nearly a decade after, least of all, Kanae herself. Jugram doesn't sever her soul chain so much as wholesale disintegrate it and her torso behind it, leaving an enormous hole in her chest.

He steps over her body to collect the terrified child hiding at the top of the stairs, but before he can reach the first step, something grabs his leg, pulls itself off the floor and BITES.

Where all of five seconds ago was the mortal remains of low-level Quincy woman Kanae Katagiri-now-Ishida, there is now something awful. It's grappling him back against the door with things that only sort of look like hands, and biting into his throat with the maw of a too-large, inhuman, skull-like head.

And it's getting bigger.

Jugram tries to activate The Balance but the scales swing wildly and can't decide- something has happened and continues to happen, but the balance of good and ill fortune cannot be determined- there is no benefit in this situation, and yet, perhaps they might both be lucky beyond reckoning-

It takes an actual Miracle from Gerard to pull Jugram loose from The Hollow, and spirit him back to Silbern safely, leaving the boy behind.

The bite never quite heals right- the bright red blotches on his neck are covered by his high collars and long hair, but they itch and blister and need to be cleaned and bandages over and over again. Sometimes he stares out across the frozen city at night when Yhwach rests, and tries to ignore the itching in his throat and chest.

---

Back in Karakura, young Uryuu Ishida peeks out from behind the bannister now that the screams and explosions have stopped. His mother had suddenly looked up from lunch when the doorbell rang, dragged him up there, and told him if anyone but her came up the stairs, to run out to the balcony and jump into the bushes below, then RUN.

"-Just like we practiced if there's a fire, remember? I love you."

He sees the body of his mother on the floor in a pool of her own blood.

He sees a monster standing over her, muzzle dripping with blood.

It sees him.

For the briefest moment, Uryuu thinks it looks profoundly sad.

And then it runs out the front door and that's the last time Uryuu sees his mother for almost a decade.

---

It's not the last time she sees that boy though.

She's not sure what she is. Everything is confusing and too loud and bright and oh GOD she's so, so hungry...

But she does know that boy, and that she needs to kill anything that threatens him.

So she follows him- at a distance, she doesn't want him to see her like this. For some reason. She'd frighten him. She never wants to see him frightened.

She learns his habits and patterns- his route to and from school, when he goes to practice archery with his grandfather, or pick his father up from the hospital, or to the fabric store for the weekly stich n bitch. She learns the names and faces of his friends- that nice Inoue girl from crafts club, the loud Aikawa girl from the track and field team, and the quiet Yasutora boy from study hall. There's even a boy named Kurosaki who seems strangely familiar...

She also learns Karakura is FULL of monsters that want to eat the boy, and are constantly stalking him and the people close to him. She quickly learns she's very good at hunting and killing those monsters, and that their flesh is the only thing that comes close to satisfying the hunger within her. Some of the monsters are smart, and stay well clear of her path, like Grand Fisher. Most are not, and she clears the path like a starving man clears a plate.

And so it goes. The boy grows into a young man, something that inexplicably fills her with pride. She grows as well, into... She's not sure, actually. If anything her body seems to be shrinking but it feels like her soul is enormous, spreading out across the city, aware of every movement- it used to fill her with dread, but after all these years, she's becoming curious. She's becoming something. Something incredible, and she wants to see what.

Then, almost nine years later, the boy is feuding with his friend Kurosaki, and he crushes something that smells so good it makes her guts roar- and summons every monster from miles and miles around. She's killing left and right, not even bothering to take a bite there are so many- stupid boy! What did he go and do that for? What was he THINKING, he could get himself killed-!

A crack opens in the sky.

She's seen cracks like this before. The monsters sometimes vanish into them. But this one is enormous and-

Oh god.

Oh, GOD!

It is towering and grim and in her bones, she knows that if she doesn't keep her head on straight, she will become the same as it, and Will Not Hesitate to kill the boy.

The boy and his friend are doing something comical with Kurosaki 's sword and the boy's bow, but it does put a substantial hole in The Beast.

...not nearly big enough to actually kill it though. It screams, then starts to stoop, reaching for them.

She feels the rage again.

In her mouth and up her back and across her shoulders into her arms and hands and suddenly she's drawing back a beautiful, shimmering bow, trying to aim between its sunken eyes, hands shaking-

-she remembers.

She's done this before. She's stood between a monster reaching for her son and taken aim, because she needed to protect him.

Wait.

That's her SON.

She feels a surge of emotion- confusion, horror, denial, shame- and she loses track of how she's holding the arrow back, and lets it fly.

The beast falls back into the crack from whence it came, dead. The other monsters scatter in fear. Traffic has stopped in the streets because even the regular humans saw that light streak across the sky like a meteor. The birds are hushed in the presence of The Archer.

For a moment, it is silent.

"...Who are you?" The boy asks.

She turns, seeing the face of her son that looks so much like how her reflection used to, staring up at her-

Frightened.

Oh Fate, how it weaves its strings of ill and good into such complex designs!

She knows who she is now. She was Kanae Katagiri-then-Ishida, but now she's something else. She's now a strange accident of Fate.

"Kismet." She says, and then vanishes.

She owes him an explanation, of course. But she needs to find one first.

AEIWAM: Came Back Wrong

Great news! That's Uryuu's Mom's character arc!

[migwayne]

Man Next Door

Sam (Under The Silver Lake) x Male Reader

rating: mature

warning(s): description of throwing up, drinking, 1 (one) allusion to drug use, swearing

word count: 2642

summary: after an unfortunate encounter with a skunk late at night, your neighbor decides to help you out. he's so nice!

A/N: i really don't know how to feel about this 💀 reader is kind of just a silly little creacher in this! like just a pathetic kinda guy, you feel me?

this is for the 3 people out there who saw this movie and also happen to read male reader inserts, you guys are the real ones i think

if you don't hate it tell me lolol

Sam was too late to warn you about the overabundance of skunks in the neighborhood, proven by the sight of your hunched-over form in front of your locked door, heaving and coughing over what he assumed to be whatever you ate (or more likely drank) previously. He almost snickered, remembering how familiar the situation felt, but this time, he didn't want to look like an asshole and tried his best to hold back. He remembered the short interactions with you, helping you move some furniture into the home out of the kindness of his heart... he was very proud of himself for leaving the impression of a friendly neighbor, to say the least.

He wasn't entirely sure what to think about you just yet, but the appreciatory cold drinks for his assistance were very much welcome. It wouldn't be him if he also didn't catch sight of you in the pool from his balcony once or twice. He wasn't one to deny it when someone was attractive, and that was exactly the case when he saw you lazily floating on your back in the water, in a simple pair of swimming shorts. He had half a mind to join, cool off by your side as an excuse to spend some time with you but ultimately decided against it, not being sure if he'd be able to make adequate conversation and not make you feel awkward at the same time.

The memory quickly dissipated when the familiar stench of what mostly smelled like rotten eggs hit him from just a couple of meters away. Slightly drunk and now with an empty stomach, you finally managed to straighten up and lean back against the apartment door, coming to the conclusion that you were undeniably locked out of your residence. That's when Sam decided to make himself known to you.

"Uuh... hey, y'alright there buddy?" he asked, soft-spoken to not worsen what he presumed to be your slightly drunken state. The motion sensor light switched on when he took a step closer, slightly making you flinch with a throb in your head. How long has he been standing there?

"Oh shit, hey Sam... I'm sorry you had to see that, fuck... god that's fucking disgusting" dropping your head into your hands, you slowly slid down to sit on the doormat in shame.

"Hey hey hey, it's alright, don't worry about that okay? Would you believe it if I said the same thing happened to me just a week ago? The place is just crawling with these little fuckers..." he chuckled as he slowly inched closer to your dejected form. You wondered how he could subject himself to the horrible smell that now emanated from you.

"It really sucks but I'm used to it."

Shit, did I say that out loud?

Finally lifting your head to look at him, you prayed you wouldn't drunkenly act on your instincts and blurt out something you might regret later. He already had a mysterious vibe about him when you first met, now it was even more apparent with the weak lighting illuminating his shaggy hair and five o'clock shadow. It all just worked for him. Maybe he was kind of awkward at first, but it was still so easy to talk to him. It felt like it was all pulling you in. However, drunk or not, you didn't want to scare him away by making him uncomfortable around you with how blatantly you were attracted to him, just a mere few days after meeting him.

Suddenly realizing you had been ogling him for the last 10 seconds without a word, you attempted to stand up without hopefully falling flat on your face.

"Um, you wouldn't happen to know if the property manager could let me into my place? I think I might've lost my keys..." you turned to finally face him awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck in embarrassment.

He racked his mind for a few seconds, not being on best terms with the owner, or any of the authorities of the apartments for that matter. He'd rather not come face to face with the landlord anytime soon.

"I'm sorry man, I think their working hours are long over... the soonest they could come is probably in the morning."

Processing what Sam said to your best abilities, you slipped your phone (that you thankfully didn't lose) out of your pocket and checked the time.

3:18 AM

...Fuck!

Sam seemed to realize your silent mental suffering and managed to stop you before you could have banged your head into the very much locked door in front of you. He gently grabbed you by the shoulder and carefully started directing your body towards his own apartment before you would hurt yourself. He decided to be a good neighbor and that he wouldn't want to leave you to your drunk, locked-out self in the middle of the night. You missed the face he made once he was directly behind you, but even if you didn't you could kind of understand the reaction.

"Tell you what. I got a couple of cans of tomato juice left over from my last meeting with the little shit, you sober up a little bit and it'll be morning before you know it," he spoke softly as he felt your head leaning back onto his shoulder, slowly navigating the stairs up to his floor, then the hallway. To his pleasure, climbing up the steps went by without any difficulties. You swear you could hear him softly murmur a silent 'you're doing great' when you reached the top. He saw you slightly smile at that.

Soon he was sitting you down on the couch in his living room/kitchen area. He collected a few cans of tomato juice, (awkwardly trying to bring every single one of them to the bathroom in one trip) and you could hear him pouring them out one by one. In your hazy state, you noticed an issue of The Amazing Spider-Man on the table in front of you and excitedly reached for it. It's not like you could comprehend anything that happened in the comic book, but the drawings were admittedly cool though. Sam finally appeared again while you were in the middle of admiring the old-timey ads that were included in the comic. They weren't making much sense to you either.

"I, uh... prepared the tub for you, if you wanna go ahead, y'know, try to clean up..."

You slowly looked up back at him, nodding after finally processing what he said.

"You did that for me?" Sam stared back at you awkwardly, "Uh yeah, you know, the tomato juice? You gotta get rid of that smell, yeah?"

You seemed to have another one of those moments where you stared at him for a bit, before letting out a content sigh and rising from the couch. Sam turned back in the direction of the bathroom to give you some privacy and undress, but you seemingly had a different idea as you were already half shirtless in the living room (only half because taking the shirt off proved to be more difficult than originally planned).

Sam gave you an incredulous look once he realized you didn't follow him and managed to get stuck in the midst of undressing.

Reaching your stretched arms into his general direction, you wordlessly signaled him 'help me?' and after a few seconds of struggling, he finally managed to free you from the confines of your wretched shirt. (Not before his eyes roamed the visible expanse of skin down to your jeans)

"Okay, into the bathroom with you now. I'll lend you some shorts and a tee later, yeah?" he asked ever so softly, kind of sounding as if he was talking to a child. All you could manage was a nod in reply, but a feeling of appreciation blossomed inside you.

After a similarly exhausting struggle with taking off your pants, Sam helped lower you into the tub, not entirely sure if he should leave you to your own devices (he had to tell you to not drink the water mixed with tomato juice, and he didn't want to admit how he worried you might drown, in the state you were in. But then again he might just be a bit too worried. Just a little). He decided to fetch some aspirin and a glass of water while you were still awake, hopefully preventing the hangover you were inevitably heading towards.

"Heeeey, you're back!" you cheered as he kneeled next to you, with a cup in one hand and the painkiller in the other. "Whatcha got there?" He was slowly beginning to think alcohol might not be the only thing in your system.

"Aspirin. Open up now." Mouth opening without question, he gently dropped the pill on your tongue, then lifted the glass in front of you. A second later he realized you were waiting for him to assist with downing the water too. Sam decided to humor you and gently placed the glass to your lips. They were pretty dry and chapped, he noted slightly distracted. After making you drink the entire glass of water, Sam rose to his full height from next to you and decided to try and salvage your ruined clothes, dumping them in the empty washing machine in the bathroom. He could feel your eyes following him, but did not notice the momentary look of panic on your face at the sight of him leaving the side of the tub, then relief when he didn't completely leave the room.

"Um, I'll just uh, fetch you some clean clothes and be right back in a sec, alright?" he assured, already out of sight, hurrying to his room. You nodded and closed your eyes for (what felt like) a second. It felt weird being so relaxed in a tub full of tomato juice while simultaneously embarrassing yourself in front of your hot new neighbor, who let you into his home while drunk and smelling so.. not good. You seriously hoped you wouldn't remember this whole fiasco in the morning, because you weren't sure if you'd be able to look him in the eyes after this. And that would be a damn shame, honestly. Because you could stare at the entirety of him for hours. His lean muscles, his fuzzy hair, and his calculating gaze and handsomely awkward, shy smile, and fuck he's so fucking hot--

You had half a mind to inch your hand lower from your stomach under the red water, but before you could, thank god-- a sudden spray of cold water interrupted your befuddled thought process.

Sam seemingly reappeared out of thin air, with the showerhead in his hand, with an equally wide-eyed look on his face as yours.

"Shit, sorry, I was gonna just- help to get the stuff off, I didn't notice it was already on," he quickly shut off the water as quickly as it came, "You seemed like you were about to fall asleep, so I thought maybe you could get out now, not sleep in the water you know" he rambled in quick succession. Meanwhile, you were once again staring at him with the damn clueless expression that he actually noticed this time, but still wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. It started to intrigue him more and more each time he saw that look on your face... he needed to know why exactly.

Now broken out of your reverie, lifted both hands to signal to him "that's okay" with a toothy grin, feeling a bit soberer this time.

"Sam... you're too good to me. I really hope you won't think I'm a dumbass after this"

He simply chuckled as he watched you lean back into a comfortable position again. It was a charming sound. Finally, after a few seconds of laying back, you managed to stand up, not wanting to cause any more inconvenience than you already had to Sam. You were truly impressed by how much patience he had with your honestly embarrassing behavior, (even by your own standards) but the casual comfort of it was something you hadn't experienced in a long time. You wouldn't mind remembering some of it after all. If he kept being this gentle about it, you knew you'd have a hard time holding yourself back from jumping on him sooner or later.

After assuring him you could handle the showerhead by yourself, (it was kind of funny how long it took to convince him, you'd truly wanted nothing more, but the more time passed, the more effort it took to not to jump on him right then and there) you finally felt somewhat refreshed and clean enough to crash on his couch with a clear conscience. Picking up the shorts and baggy, faded tee he promised you, you pushed the shirt right in your face. You were too sleepy to feel like a total creep anymore, and anyway, it wasn't that weird, right? It was simply a comfort thing, you tell yourself. You could've done much worse is what you justified it with.

By the time you finally managed to dress yourself without needing help this time, you were ready to sleep for the next 16 hours... or at least until Sam didn't get tired of you. Which was approximately 4 hours. Whatever.

Sam caught the sight of you in the corner of his eye as you silently passed his room, seemingly focusing on the couch and nothing else. He wasn't sure if proposing the idea of you taking the bed seemed appropriate, or if the fuck me eyes you were giving him all night were really what he thought they were.

But it seemed by the time he caught up with you in the living room, you were out like a light, laid out on the length of the couch face down. He had to hold back another chuckle at the sight, but you were probably already too deep in sleep to hear it anyway (which is exactly why he couldn't resist taking at least a photo of your current state... for memory's sake).

The hangover you woke up with in the morning was definitely not worth doing whatever it was you were doing the previous night. It wouldn't have been such a rude awakening if it wasn't for your fall from the comfortable couch that woke you up with a loud thud. You had half a mind just attempting to fall back asleep on the floor with the headache you had, until the realization hit you that you were indeed not in your own apartment, but your hot neighbor's. Who witnessed you throwing up after being disgracefully sprayed by a skunk, nonetheless.

As if Sam could sense your state of distress, he appeared from behind the couch, looking down at you with surprise written all over his face, finding you on the floor like that. You were laying on your back, arms were thrown over your head to not let any light reach your tired eyes. Only receiving a muffled groan in reply, he caved and hoisted your upper body up against the couch. Now a bit more comfortable, you finally looked up at him with a questioning look, trying to communicate your confusion without actually speaking up. Sam just gave you a giddy look back before pulling out something from his pocket, reaching out in your direction. It took you a few moments to be finally able to focus on the object before he spoke up,

"So, good news... your keys were in your back pocket... I guess you don't need to call the landlord after all?"

"Fuck me...." if this wasn't the most embarrassing moment of your life so far, you didn't know what was. Whatever, fuck it.

"You wanna come over...?"

[thearvariblues]

The Mysterious Case of Jaskier's Immortality

Word count: 3601

*

“So nice to see you again, Yennefer,” Jaskier says, putting on one of his many fake smiles.

“Jaskier,” she replies with a smile that almost looks genuine but Jaskier is pretty sure that it’s not. Which she confirms a few seconds later by saying: “Shouldn’t you be dead already?”

“I see you’re as kind as always, my dear. But don’t you worry, Geralt is doing a very good job when it comes to protecting me.”

“Hm,” Geralt sighs resignedly, clearly regretting his decision to spend the night in an inn instead of the middle of a forest.

To be fair, it was Jaskier who suggested it, claiming that he refused to be eaten by angry drowners, no matter how many times Geralt tried to explain to him that the probability of finding a drowner in the middle of a very dry forest is extremely low.

If Jaskier knew they were going to run into Yennefer in the inn, he would have risked the drowners.

“I don’t doubt that,” Yennefer smirks. “But seriously, how old are you, bard?”

“No idea. I stopped counting after fifty, I think.”

“You know, you don’t look fifty,” she says.

“Oh, well, my mother had an elf lover before I was born, so there’s a fifty-fifty chance that I’m not gonna age anytime soon. Sorry,” Jaskier smiles again, sweetly – and this time, it’s genuine.

“As if,” Geralt grunts.

“I’m sorry, dear?” Jaskier blinks.

“Come on, Jaskier, it doesn’t work like that. You’re a viscount, that means your father must have been a viscount, too.”

“You don’t know much about nobility, do you, Geralt?” Yennefer snorts.

“Hm,” Geralt grunts. “Still, he’s not a half-elf.”

“Let me guess, you’re a Witcher, therefore you could smell it if I was? I hate to break it to you, dear heart, but you’re going to have your nose checked.”

“You’re not a half-elf, Jaskier,” Geralt repeats. “You’re not immortal, you just… look young.”

“Yeah, right, you got me,” Jaskier shrugs. “I just look good because I moisturize. Happier now?”

“Much,” Geralt nods. “See? You can be honest if you want.”

“Yup,” Jaskier nods. “Honesty personified. Now please excuse me, I need to go and moisturize some more. Internally. With ale.”

*

“I’m actually a mermaid, you know?” Jaskier grins the next time he’s asked, this time by a very confused and very old Valdo Marx.

“A siren, Jaskier. Not a mermaid,” Geralt sighs, praying to Melitele to give him strength. “And you’d know that, of course, if you actually were a siren.”

“Just so you know, the term siren is actually quite offensive to my people.”

“You mean idiots?” Geralt chuckles. “You’re not a siren, Jask.”

“Can you prove that I’m not?”

“Well, last week you tripped and fell into this creek that was like… knee-deep, and you nearly drowned.”

“I was in shock!” Jaskier proclaims dramatically. “But I have a proof that I am, or at least could be a siren.”

“What proof?”

“Well, my lovely voice, of course!”

“Not as lovely as you think it is,” Valdo Marx snorts.

“Come on, Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, ignoring the old troubadour. “You have much better voice that any siren I’ve ever heard.”

“Geralt of Rivia!” Jaskier gasps, clutching his chest. “Was that a compliment?!”

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters. “I didn’t mean…”

“Really though, Jaskier,” Valdo says. “How?”

“That’s a secret I’ll take to the grave, I’m afraid,” Jaskier grins. “Once I manage to reach it.”

“Keep on with the bullshit, Jaskier,” Geralt growls, “and you can reach it tonight.”

“Fifty years traveling with him, and he still thinks he can scare me. Cute, isn’t he?” Jaskier laughs. “Oh, Geralt you could never.”

“Try me.”

*

“All right, I’ll tell you my secret,” Jaskier winks at Ciri, who lifts an eyebrow. “I’ve got this neat… magic ring.”

“Hmmm,” Ciri observes. “Looks like a normal signet ring to me.”

“Well… Yeah, well, it looks like it, all right, but actually–”

“Jaskier, I was born a princess. This is clearly a Pankratz family signet ring.”

“Damn,” Jaskier groans. “Like father like daughter, eh?”

“Sorry,” Ciri shrugs.

*

“I got myself cursed.”

Triss Merigold lifts an eyebrow.

“Somebody cursed you to live forever, is that so?” she asks and her voice is almost dripping with disbelief.

“More like cursed me,” Geralt murmurs.

“Oh, shut up, Witcher, you know you couldn’t live without me,” Jaskier smiles brightly, and Geralt has to bite his cheek to stop himself from smiling back.

“Hm,” he says instead.

“Eloquent as ever,” Jaskier nods.

“Would you like me to...” Triss clears her throat. “You know, try to lift the curse?”

“No!” Geralt yells before he can stop himself.

“See?” Jaskier beams. “You could never live without me!”

*

“A bruxa,” Jaskier repeats to a young man who claims to be his son, but looks older than his supposed father.

“You’re not a bruxa, Jaskier!” Geralt whines.

“Excuse me, and how would you know?”

“Because I’m a fucking Witcher?!”

“Well, you’re clearly a fucking horrible Witcher if you haven’t noticed until now!”

“I think I’d notice if you tried to sneak out of the camp at nights to feed,” Geralt comments, crossing his hands. “You can’t even sneak out to take a piss, Jask.”

“Maybe I do that on purpose!”

“Besides, bruxae are mostly women.”

“Mostly being the important word here.”

“Fuck’s sake, Jaskier. You won’t even eat a piece of meat if it’s not so well-done that it’s almost cremated.”

“Do you know how disgusting the blood is, Geralt?!” Jaskier groans, and then immediately blinks when he realizes what he just said. “I meant…”

“Case closed,” Geralt nods, satisfied.

“Oh, dear,” Jaskier mutters. “I fucking hate you sometimes.”

“Uhm, my lords, if I may,” the young man says.

“Hate to break it to you, kid, but if you’re aging like a normal human, you’re probably not my son,” Jaskier shrugs. “Sorry. I get it why your mum might be confused, though. It was quite a night, with at least four–”

“And that’s enough,” Geralt says, grabbing Jaskier by the collar and pulling him away from the man. “You know, lifting the curse seems like a good idea now.”

“There isn’t really a curse, Geralt,” Jaskier laughs.

Geralt sighs, his lips curling into a tiny smile that Jaskier cannot see.

“Thank fuck.”

*

“You see, we were in a crazy mage’s tower and I saw this bottle and I thought it was slivovitz, so I drank it, but it seems that it actually was some sort of an immortality potion,” Jaskier explains to a lady at the ball, whose grandmother he’d apparently fucked once, when said grandmother was still a young, unmarried woman.

Geralt only blinks, because it’s the first truly plausible explanation for Jaskier’s mysterious immortality.

“Oh, that must be so horrible to watch everyone you love die!” the woman nods enthusiastically. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me about it in private?”

“Of course, my dear…” Jaskier smiles. “Just… wait a second. How old is your mother?”

“Forty-seven, why?”

Jaskier’s lips are moving silently for a few seconds while he counts, and then thy turn into a wide grin.

“No reason, dear,” he says, offering her his arms. “Shall we?”

When Jaskier and the lady flee the ball, Geralt pulls out his flask of White Gull and pours its contents into his empty tankard.

So, a potion…

*

“There is no such thing as an immortality potion, Geralt,” Yennefer shakes her head.

“How can you be so sure?” Geralt asks. “Maybe this mage really did find a way to at least make the human life longer!”

“And why would he do that?” Yennefer scoffs. She has been doing that a lot since she finally ended their relationship for good about twenty years ago. (He later found out that she had left him for none other than Triss Merigold, but Yennefer still doesn’t know that he knows, and he’s having way too much fun with it to break the fact to her. So right now, he is pretending he doesn’t notice that Triss is eavesdropping on their conversation behind the door leading to Yennefer’s bedroom, and that he absolutely believed Yen when she claimed that the loud thud a few minutes ago was caused by a cat.) “We are immortal, Geralt, unless killed. There is no reason for any of us to make a potion that would make a human live forever.”

“Well, perhaps this mage fell in love with a human and wanted them to stay with him!”

Yennefer pauses, inspecting Geralt from head to toe and back again, and then she sighs.

“Oh, Geralt. Really?”

“Really what?” Geralt blinks, genuinely confused.

“Oh,” Yennefer murmurs. “Oh, no. Really?”

“Really what, Yen?”

“You mean you don’t… Oh, dear gods. Really?”

“Yen, I swear that I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Geralt grunts, frowning.

Yennefer rolls her eyes and tries counting to ten to calm herself down. She doesn’t even get to three before Geralt’s eyes go wide.

“Oh,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed, Geralt,” she nods solemnly. “Fuck, indeed.”

*

“I found a djinn, he granted me a wish,” Jaskier says when Geralt asks him, about five minutes after his meeting with Yennefer. (He agreed to use a portal to get to the bard as soon as possible. A fucking portal!) The bard is sitting in a tavern and eating his dinner, utterly undisturbed by the sudden appearance of an angrier-than-usual Witcher.

“You never mentioned a djinn,” Geralt growls. “And after your last encounter with one, I sincerely doubt you’d engage with another.”

“You clearly don’t know me at all–”

“Besides, Valdo Marx, as far as I know, had an apoplexy while fucking a young student on his desk, and I don’t think you’d ever let him die like that if you had a choice.”

“You see, that was kind of a my mistake, since I didn’t specify the time and the circumstances of his apoplexy in my wish, so…”

“What was your third wish?”

“Pardon me?”

“Your immortality, Valdo Marx dropping dead, that’s two. What was the third one? And don’t even try to mention the Countess de Stael, since you’d have to dig her up first.”

“That was disgusting, even for you, you know that, Geralt?”

“How are you immortal, Jaskier?!”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Jaskier puts a piece of bread in his mouth and grins.

“Maybe some other time, Witcher.”

*

“I am a fae,” Jaskier replies a day later.

“You’re not a fucking fae, bard.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you fucking lie, Jaskier. All the time.”

“Fuck. Didn’t think of that.”

*

“You see, there was this artifact–”

Geralt closes his eyes, turning Roach around.

“Let’s consult Yennefer about this.”

“Oh, mother of…” Jaskier whines. “All right, no artifact, there was no artifact! Geralt, I’m telling you, there was no…”

*

“You’re not a succubus.”

“But it would be a perfect explanation, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re not succubus, because if you were, you’d know that a male one is called an incubus.”

“Oh, you and your stupid Witcher terms again.”

“You’re not an incubus, Jaskier, because if you were, I could never let you near Eskel.”

“All right… Explain, please?”

Geralt grunts.

“I’d really rather not.”

*

“A dragon,” Jaskier grins victoriously.

“No,” Geralt says, shaking his head.

“No,” Jaskier agrees with a sigh.

“You know you could just tell me the truth and be done with it, right?”

“Hm… No.”

*

“All right, enough is enough,” Jaskier growls that night in their rented room, tossing his doublet aside. “You’ve asked me three times today, Geralt. Why the sudden interest in my immortality?”

“As you said, enough is enough. You’ve been traveling with me for what, a hundred years?”

“A hundred and four.”

“Yes, and you still look the same as the day I met you in Posada!” Geralt growls. “And it drives me mad!”

“It wasn’t driving you insane for at least fifty years, so why the sudden change of heart?”

“Fuck off, bard. You don’t have to tell me. I don’t care.”

“But you do, Geralt,” Jaskier says, taking a step towards the Witcher. “Why?”

He’s standing in Geralt’s personal space, his chemise half undone, and he’s watching Geralt with those sincere blue eyes, and Geralt can’t fucking think…

“Because I love you, you idiot!” he snaps. “Because I fucking love you and I need to know if I can love you, or you’re gonna just drop dead one day without a warning!”

“Oh,” Jaskier whispers, his lips forming into a huge, happy smile. “Oh, fucking finally.”

“Fucking… what?” Geralt blinks, his arms suddenly full of an enthusiastic bard.

“I love you too, you silly Witcher,” Jaskier laughs. “I’ve loved you for a hundred years! Well, a hundred and four, but who’s counting?”

“You…” Geralt mutters.

“Silly, silly Witcher,” Jaskier repeats, pressing his lips against Geralt’s in a kiss that could be described as chaste, or at least the chastest Jaskier has ever been capable of. “We’re going to Lettenhove in the morning.”

“We are?”

“Oh, yes,” Jaskier whispers. “See, I’ve told you the truth about the source of my immortality once. But I think you need to see it to believe me.”

“Wait, you have? When?” Geralt asks. “Was it the artifact? Just tell me, I promise I won’t make you consult it with–”

“Shut up now,” Jaskier says, kissing Geralt again with way less chastity than before. “And in the meantime, believe me this – you can keep loving me, and I’m not planning on dropping dead anytime soon. Also, I’ve spent the last hundred years imagining fucking you senseless, so if you’re not opposed to the idea, perhaps we could, well…”

The kiss that this idea gets him is as far from chaste as one could possibly get.

And Jaskier definitely isn’t about to complain.

*

“You sure this is a good idea?” Geralt asks as they march towards the Lettenhove castle’s gates. He tugs at his doublet’s collar, way too tight for his liking. He’d much rather walk in there wearing his usual attire, but Jaskier insisted that Geralt must look presentable if he wants to meet his family.

It turns out that it only takes a single I love you to turn the bard into a manipulative bastard. Who would have guessed?

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Jaskier replies, grinning cheerfully. “And stop frowning, you’re gonna scare the servants, love.”

“How long it’s been since your last visit here, Jaskier?” Geralt says, his frown deepening. “Who rules Lettenhove now, hm? Aren’t you only going to be a distant relative, a great-great-uncle risen from the grave?”

“I sure hope not,” Jaskier chuckles, stopping in front of the guards by the gate. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Viscount Julian, here to see the Viscountess Madeleine.”

“How can you still be a viscount?” Geralt blinks when one of the guards promptly disappears inside.

“We kind of decided to, you know, share the title,” Jaskier shrugs. “Seemed fair. Besides, father, well, the former viscount, insisted that I inherit the title, but he never mentioned anything about Mads not inheriting it, so…”

“How could your father have known who the viscount is going to be in almost a hundred years?”

“He really didn’t,” Jaskier chuckles. “See, it will all start to make sense once you meet her.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping for.”

*

The guard returns a few minutes later, telling them that the Viscountess will meet them in the garden.

Geralt, knowing a thing or two about nobility, think it’s a little weird, but isn’t about to protest. He only thinks he could have left the fancy clothes at the tavern.

“Oh, shut up, you,” Jaskier chuckles when Geralt voices this thought. “You look gorgeous.”

“I know. You’ve mentioned it a few times. But I didn’t have to look like that, because we’re going to meet the ruler of this land in a fucking garden, and–”

“Julian!”

A woman in a long white dress throws herself at Jaskier, who happily catches her. Geralt’s first instinct is to reach for his sword, only to realize that he (luckily) left it in the tavern – because Jaskier insisted, of course.

“Madeleine,” Jaskier chuckles. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Oh, yes. Shocking, isn’t it?” she laughs, pulling away from him, and for the first time, Geralt truly looks at her.

The woman is shorter than Jaskier, slim, and her dress is much, much simpler than Geralt would have expected considering the fact that is supposed to be a viscountess. She has dark, long hair and her face is so beautiful that it almost – but only almost – takes the focus off her pointed ears.

“Lady Madeleine,” Jaskier grins, “may I introduce Geralt of Rivia, my Witcher. Geralt, this is Lady Madeleine, the current ruler of Lettenhove and my younger sister.”

“You’re…” Geralt blinks.

“A half-elf, yes,” she nods. “Julian! You haven’t told him?”

“Hardly my fault. I really tried,” Jaskier shrugs. “But he just wouldn’t believe me.”

“So you brought him here to prove it to him, rather than to visit your beloved sister? You are a horrible, horrible sibling, Julian!”

“Your… sister,” Geralt mutters, all his thoughts speeding through his head, colliding and falling down, one over another.

“Yes, we definitely share a mother,” Jaskier confirms. “Most likely a father, too, and trust me, it wasn’t the old viscount. Madeleine got the elvish looks, I only got the non-aging bit. Well, apparently.”

“But…” Geralt blinks. “Your father. The title.”

“Yen was right, dear heart, you really don’t know shit about nobility,” Jaskier snorts. “But I admit that even though our dear departed noble father knew that Mads wasn’t his daughter, obviously, it never occurred to him that I might not be his true son.”

“But you don’t age!”

“In his defense, that only became clear after his unfortunate passing.”

“And you aren’t going to start to age anytime soon,” Geralt mutters. “You really aren’t.”

“Told you so, didn’t I?” Jaskier winks, letting go of his sister and wrapping his arms around his lover instead.

“I… I…” Geralt stammers. “Fuck.”

“Maybe later, love,” Jaskier smiles. “Madeleine, my dear, wouldn’t you say that my return calls for a feast?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I have started the preparations the second my spies informed me that you have crossed the border.”

“Oh, so we have spies now?”

“It’s really only a net of nosy old ladies, but it works wonders,” Madeleine laughs. “I must admit, though, that I was only planning a feast to celebrate you coming home, but now I see we have a much better reason to party. Tell me, brother, did you finally get your stupid Witcher?”

Jaskier smiles brightly, turning his head to Geralt.

“Yes. I finally got my stupid Witcher.”

“Party,” the Witcher in question growls. “Is that why you made me dress like a pompous prick?”

“No, that was because while I find your usual self extremely attractive, you still look much better when your hair is properly combed and you’re not covered in monster blood.”

“Hm,” Geralt hums, but wraps his arm around the bard to hold him close.

“Oh, yes, about monsters,” Madeleine says with the most innocent expression Geralt has seen since Ciri broke Vesemir’s favorite vase at Kaer Morhen. “You see, we have a tiny problem with a cockatrice…”

“Right,” Geralt nods. “I’ll go grab my armor from the tavern.”

“That won’t be necessary. I have already arranged for your things to be brought to the castle. And your horse,” she adds before Geralt can even open his mouth. “You can leave for your quest as soon as the servants get here.”

“So much for you not being covered in monster blood,” Jaskier sighs.

“Hm,” Geralt grins. “Lady Madeleine, I suppose you happen to have a bathtub somewhere in the castle?”

“Of course. In fact, there is a private bathroom right next to Julian’s bedroom.”

“Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier purrs. “You know me so well.”

“Yes, and I expect to get to know you even better. In another hundred years or so.”

Jaskier laughs, pulls Geralt closer to him and kisses him.

“Another thousand years, I’d say.”

*

“What… the… fuck?!” Geralt croaks, staring at the smouldering remains of the cockatrice that would have surely killed him if Jaskier… If Jaskier…

The bard looks at his hands, then at the cockatrice, and then back at his hands again.

“Geralt? I have a feeling that I’m not really… A half-elf.”

“No shit.”

“I think I might be… Uhm…”

“Oh, shit,” Geralt whispers.

“I suppose, uhm, you know…” Jaskier stammers, wiping his palms on his trousers like he could wipe away the feeling of literal flames shooting out of them mere moments ago.

“Yeah. We’re gonna have to consult this with Yen.”

“Splendid,” Jaskier sighs. “Can it at least wait after the feast?”

“After more than a hundred years of you not even knowing, I think one feast will be fine.”

“Thank the gods. Madeleine would kill me if I tried to leave now,” Jaskier chuckles. “Let’s go, then. We need to get the fried monster remains out of your hair.”

“You’re… I was fucking right! You’re not a half-elf!”

“Yeah, you’re a great Witcher,” Jaskier nods, grabbing Geralt’s arm and dragging him away from the monster. “Didn’t notice I was secretly a fucking mage, but otherwise a great Witcher.”

“Explains a lot, though.”

“Does it now?”

“Yeah. I always had a thing for mages, you know.”

“Oh, Geralt. You’re such a fucking idiot,” Jaskier chuckles.

“Made you laugh,” Geralt shrugs, smiling.

Jaskier shakes his head.

“I’m so, so gonna drown you in that bathtub.”

“My love,” Geralt grins, “you’re more than welcome to try.”

***

Tagging @lottelorelei - I’m sorry I always forget to reply to your lovely comments, but believe me, they always put a big smile on my face! :)