#hes so!!! there's so much wrong with him!!!

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Three

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Azriel’s attempts at an apology fall short, Cassian’s advice backfires, and confrontations force both you and Azriel to face uncomfortable truths—though not the same ones.

Warnings: angst. a heavy grudge, a male incapable of owning up to his mistakes, a well-meaning but wrong-steering best friend, verbal fighting, physical fighting, brief mentions of blood

Word Count: 8.5k

this was going to be two parts but... for the drama, ive decided to offer a feast and not just a meal

Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel hadn’t meant to let it sit for this long. 

His shadows had been needling him for days, hissing reminders at the edge of his mind: Fix this. He intended to. He just didn’t know how. There were too many eyes on him now, too many people that expected his great, grand apology. 

It was hard to focus on anything else.  Even when he was with Selene, her words barely touched him. His mind was consumed by the unease that gnawed at him, the constant pull of you, somewhere, still angry over what had happened.

Azriel wanted to ask Selene about her words. Why they’d taken root in his mind, why he’d echoed them back to you. But he didn’t. He let Selene talk, smiled when she asked for his opinion, and tried to let the softness of her lips on his drown out the unease.

He didn’t know exactly why it felt so much harder with you— felt harder to argue, felt even harder to apologize. Everything else in his life, every delicate situation, every broken, jagged thing, he could attempt to handle with steady hands. But you—every time he stepped near you lately, it felt like stepping onto unstable ground. One wrong move, and everything shifted beneath him.

His shadows had made sure to remind him, trailing after you through the house, feeding him fragments of your clipped words to Mor, the slam of a cabinet door when you thought no one was paying attention. They weren’t even subtle about it anymore, curling around his ears like smoke, whispering your whereabouts.

He’d tried small things—leaving you treats, a smoothie for breakfast, or a croissant on a plate with your name carefully written on a napkin. But every time he returned to check, they were untouched. Once, he found the croissant flattened and crumpled, as if you’d squeezed it with a tight fist before tossing it back onto the plate. His shadows confirmed you were angry that night, their murmurs suggesting no coincidence in your evening spent with Mor.

Since then, every instinct told him to stay away and retreat, to wait until he’d figured out the right thing to say instead of stumbling through this mess. But waiting had gotten him here, hadn’t it? And now he was scrambling to undo weeks of silence. He thought, maybe, he should have something written out. Something properly planned, so that he knew what he wanted to tell you. But every time he thought about what to say, his mind came up blank. After hours of failure, he’d convinced himself that, with you, it would come naturally. It always had.

Or, at least, that’s what he kept repeating as he made his way downstairs, finding you in the kitchen.

You didn’t look up right away, but you knew he was there. 

“Are you sure you want to be in here without a chaperone?” you said, slicing into an apple slowly. “What if something happens?”

Shadows swirled around his shoulders. Angry, they whispered. As if he didn’t already know.

“Stop,” Azriel said. “Can we just... stop with the comments. Please.”

“Why?” You said, finally tossing a glance his way. “Is it bothering you?”

The look on your face was nothing like he expected. It wasn’t just anger. It was exhaustion, too. He didn’t like it, the way the shadows under your eyes and the stiffness in your shoulders spoke louder than anything you’d said to him in days. Didn’t like that he’d probably been the one to put that exhaustion there.

“Yes,” Azriel finally responded. “It is bothering me.”

You let out a laugh, something low and humorless, and it twisted in his chest. Should he  apologize for making you lose sleep, too? He’d already failed at the rest of it—what was one more thing to add to the pile?

Azriel cleared his throat. “Can we talk?”

“Now you want to talk?”

His fists clenched at his sides. The familiar burn of frustration, the heat of guilt, rose up his throat.  “How was I supposed to talk to you before when you’d just ignore me or say something snarky and leave?”

You stilled at his words and Azriel was almost tempted to embrace the small flicker of relief he felt. He should have apologized sooner, yes, but you had been avoiding him fervently. He convinced himself he wouldn’t have been able to apologize before now, anyways. 

“Okay,” you said, setting the knife down and leaning against the counter. “Well, I’m here now. So what do you want to say?”

Azriel’s eyes flicked to the knife instinctively. It was far enough from your hand that he probably didn’t need to worry. Probably. Not that he thought you’d do anything—though there was that one time Cassian had nearly stabbed him with a butter knife. He’d been significantly less angry than you were now. The memory did nothing to ease Azriel’s nerves. He pushed the image away.

This was it—his chance to fix things. To say all the things he’d been rehearsing in his head. But the words didn’t come. Instead, he found himself saying, “How was the meeting with Keir?”

The second the words left his mouth, he wanted to grab them out of the air and shove them back down his throat.  He could see it in the way your expression shifted—something sharp and disbelieving cutting across your face. Azriel didn’t need his shadows to tell him he’d screwed up again. The words had barely landed, and already he was bracing for the fallout.

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?”

Azriel froze. His shadows curled tighter around him. Stupid, stupid. He swallowed, desperately trying to correct it. There was no going back. “Rhys said I should expect some tension at the next meeting. I wanted the full picture.”

“The full picture?” You repeated darkly.  “Well the full picture wasn’t great, Azriel. Because you weren’t there. And because I was pissed—because of you.”

Azriel nodded, swallowing hard. Idiot. “Right. I shouldn’t have asked that. I should’ve—” He stopped himself. No, he couldn’t fix that now. He needed to focus on what mattered.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally, the words leaving his mouth like rocks tumbling down a hill. He hated the way it sounded—weak, like he didn’t mean it. But he did. He just didn’t know how to make you believe it. Azriel continued, the apology already unraveling in his head. “For how you feel.”

“Oh,” you said softly, but there was a thick sarcasm in your voice. “You’re sorry for how I feel?”

Azriel rushed to correct himself. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean?” You shook your head, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Do you even know what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you sorry for?”

Azriel cursed himself for the hundredth time. Why was this so hard?

Because it was you, he heard his own voice reply, because he couldn’t bear the thought of failing you again. He knew he was failing—knew it in the sharp edge of your voice and the way your eyes narrowed every time he opened his mouth. And still, the right thing to say stayed maddeningly out of reach.

“I’m sorry that your feelings got hurt.”

His shadows slowly loosened, trailing down his body like they didn’t want to be associated with him anymore. He didn’t blame them. You blinked slowly at him, that look of exhaustion softening your features.

“That’s not an apology, Azriel. That’s—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “You know what? Nevermind.”

Azriel was transported back to the night of the fight, remembering how you’d said similar words then, too. He tried to salvage it again, but you were already moving, wiping the cutting board with a hurried motion. You didn’t notice as your apple, barely sliced, rolled off the counter’s edge. His shadows were there almost instantly, catching the fruit before it fell.

You reached out, and for a brief moment, your shoulders softened as you grabbed it from their hold.

“Where are you going?” Azriel asked. He wondered if his voice sounded as desperate as he felt. As frustrated.

“To train with Cassian,” you replied, still not looking at him. Your hand paused on the counter, and you glanced over your shoulder. “Do you think I should stop by Nesta first? Make sure she’s okay with me being around her mate? I wouldn’t want to ruin their relationship too.”

Azriel’s chest tightened. “Can we stop this?”

“No,” you replied swiftly, and Az could have sworn he heard a crack in your voice. 

And then the silence stretched. You ate the small slices of apple as you put things away, the quiet dragging on as he stood there, still unable to speak. Finally, you stopped and looked at him. He tried to offer a smile, something to soften the weight in the air. But you just frowned.

“Did you expect to wait this out? Wait until I got over it?”

Azriel shook his head, his voice low. “No. I never thought that. I just—”

“Just what?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You stared at him for a long moment, like you were seeing him for the first time, and the disappointment in your gaze made his chest feel tight. He should have been able to find the right words. But it didn’t matter anymore, not in this moment, not as you let out a small, bitter laugh, nodding as if something inside you had finally broken. 

“Always so afraid of saying the wrong thing that you never say the right one.”

Azriel opened his mouth, desperate to correct himself, to make it right, but the words just wouldn’t come. He had never considered that before—at least, not with you. He’d never thought he needed to say the right things, never cared enough to learn how.

“I never realized how much of an asshole you could be,” you said, with a final, almost dismissive glance. “I guess some females are into that.”

And then you were gone.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Training couldn’t have come at a better time.

You needed to hit something—needed to feel that release. Not in a petty, frustrated way, like slamming your fist into a wall, but in the desperate, raw way that left you aching. It was the only way to escape your frustration and, maybe, remind yourself that you were still you, despite how Azriel made you feel.

And for a while, it worked.

Cassian had spent centuries mastering the language of battle, the unspoken rhythm of war. He could read the tension in a stance, spot when someone's body didn’t follow through with the mind’s intentions. He didn’t get enough credit for it, you thought, his ability to read someone without words. He was looking at you now, with that critical eye, head tilted slightly, like he was waiting for you to crack. 

“Alright,” Cassian grunted as he parried another strike. “What’s on your mind?”

You ducked beneath his swing. “Nothing,” you said, deflecting the question with a swipe of your sword. Too fast, too aggressive.

Cassian dodged it easily, raising a brow. “Right. Because ‘nothing’ is exactly what makes you swing like you’re trying to decapitate me.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but you didn’t laugh. You weren’t in the mood for his teasing, no matter how good-natured it was.

“It’s nothing. Seriously.”

He rested the flat of his blade against his shoulder.  “Come on, spit it out before you take my head off for real. I’ll pester you all day.”

You sighed, pacing a few steps away. He’d wait. He definitely would. And there wasn’t much point in pretending anymore—he clearly knew you weren’t fine. Continuing to train like this was useless when your head was so unfocused. Avoiding the topic wasn’t helping either. At this point, everyone knew what was going on. Hell, they all seemed more bothered by it than Azriel.

Still, you’d been dodging these conversations. Talking about it felt...stupid. Saying it out loud would make it real—all the messy, painful feelings you’d been shoving down would be out there, staring back at you like some pitiful mirror. Your conversation with Azriel this morning had only made your bitterness stronger.

But Cassian was watching you, expecting, and it was nice, in a way. Having someone care this much. Maybe it would be easier to talk to him. Mor had helped, sure, but her comfort recently came in the form of dragging Azriel through the dirt. It didn’t actually solve anything.

"It’s this stupid thing with Az," you muttered finally. "I’m starting to feel like he doesn’t actually care about me." 

Cassian leaned on the hilt of his sword. “Well, that’s not true.”

You leveled him with a stare, your body tensing as a surge of frustration ran through you, hot and heavy. “It isn’t? He talked to me for the first time today and didn’t even apologize. Not properly. Just asked about Keir.”

Cassian’s expression softened. “He gets wrapped up in his own head about things. Probably just embarrassed, you know? Doesn’t know how to approach the situation.”

You’d run that possibility through your mind a hundred times. Mor had even said it herself. But it didn’t help with the ache, the anger. It was hard to believe your spymaster—so fearless, so eager to throw himself into the fire—was struggling to talk to a friend. Out of all the hard things Azriel had done, surely a simple apology wasn’t beyond him. You’d forgiven him for so much, had let things go because he was your friend. But you were tired of letting it go. He had the perfect opportunity to apologize, to properly acknowledge how he’d hurt you, and he hadn’t taken it.

“Embarrassed by what? Accusing his friend of something so absurd?”

Cassian tilted his head in subtle agreement, like he too thought the word absurd was right for the situation. “I think Az doesn’t want to be seen as...whatever he thinks people see him as. Like he’s incompetent in love. Or that he can’t handle his shit.” He rolled his shoulders, sighing. “He’s defensive. When he’s cornered, he reacts badly. It’s not about you, Y/n. You know that, right?”

You knew that. Of course you did. But it didn’t feel like a proper explanation this time. It didn’t feel like enough.

“But it feels like it is about me. He listened to her. He took her word, over mine." Your fists clenched involuntarily. "And the way he acted—like I wasn’t worth considering, like my opinion doesn’t matter. I’ve known him for centuries. She—" You paused, taking a breath, "She’s barely been in his life. And he immediately assumes that my care for him is because I just want something from him. That it’s some selfish, self-serving thing. His whole job is to see through lies, Cass. He didn’t even second-guess her.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t actually see it like that. He probably just reacted out of instinct. It’s Azriel, Y/n, he’s complicated. "

“Shit, Cass, way to play sides.”

Cassian sighed, stepping closer. “I’m not playing sides. I’m trying to help. Az makes stupid decisions. Half the time, I don’t think he even understands why. I don’t want you driving yourself crazy trying to figure it out. It’s not worth it.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” you snapped. “Just wait it out? Move on? That’s not happening.”

The words came out sharper than you intended, and guilt pricked at the edges of your conscience. This wasn’t Cassian’s fault—he didn’t have to ask, didn’t have to care. But lately, your anger over everything—over Az—felt like a thorn lodged so deeply under your skin that the irritation seeped into everything. You were struggling to control it.

It was a small blessing there weren’t any court matters to handle for the time being. Rhys was likely still preoccupied with Keir’s incessant whining about your last outburst.

Still, it felt like acid rising in your throat, a bitter burn you couldn’t swallow down, even as Cassian opened his mouth to respond. The words were spilling out of you before he could say anything.

“I’m not even mad about this one fight anymore,” you started, the grip on your sword slipping as your fingers unfurled. The blade clattered to the ground, the sound loud enough to make Cassian flinch. “It’s everything. All of it. He never apologizes for anything—have you noticed that? Like, ever. And I’ve let it slide because that’s just Azriel, right? Quiet, brooding Azriel, who’s somehow above—”

Cassian raised a palm out. “Alright, alright, stop,” he said. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy. It’s not worth it.”

You exhaled sharply, realizing you were halfway to a full-blown rant.

He stepped closer, giving you a knowing look. “Listen, you can’t force him to apologize properly. You just...can’t. You have to let him come to it on his own.”

Your teeth clenched. “I shouldn’t have to.”

Cassian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I agree. Believe me, I agree. But until he figures his shit out, maybe we focus on what you can change.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. What else is bothering you?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “It would be easier to list what isn’t bothering me right now.”

Cassian tilted his head again, considering. “Does it bother you that Selene sees you as competition?”

You blew a strand of hair out of your face. Did it bother you?

Azriel had believed her instantly—disregarded you with a swiftness that stung. He’d accused you of selfishness, of something you’d never been with him. But Selene’s opinion of you, the thoughts she’d planted in his mind, those bothered you too. You hadn’t realized it until now.

She didn’t know you.

And yet, her words had curled under your skin, sitting heavy and raw, making you ache in a quiet, tired way. Worse, they’d made you overthink every interaction with Azriel since. You’d spent so much of your life trying to be the diplomat, choosing empathy even when it sucked—when it drained you. You wanted to like Selene—gods, you wanted to like the people Azriel cared for, even when it felt impossible. But she hadn’t even given you the time of day.

“I don’t like that I’ve been vilified somehow,” you admitted with a frown. “I don’t want to feel like I’m fighting for his attention or validation. It’s not like that.”

Cassian gave a small, knowing smile. “I know it’s not.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.” 

He paused, clearly mulling something over, then asked, “Do you want to hear what I think?”

You gave him a wary look. “I feel like you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Correct,” he said, grinning. Then he sobered. “Az aside...I think Selene’s reaction makes sense.”

You blinked at him, incredulous. Was he serious right now? A sharp heat rose in your chest. “Okay, well, that’s clearly choosing sides—”

“Hear me out,” Cassian said quickly. “I mean, look at you, Y/n. I’d be jealous of you too if I were her. You’re beautiful, smart, someone Azriel deeply cares for. Hell, I’d probably be a mess.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “So, because I’m so wonderful, I’m responsible for her insecurities?” you asked dryly, arching a brow.

Cassian shook his head. “No. What I’m saying is that this might be the one aspect of the situation you can change. The one thing you have control over. Maybe talking to her would help. Clear the air.”

You mulled over his suggestion. Maybe he had a point. Maybe talking to Selene would help. Not just to ease the tension, but to give Azriel room to come to you—to clear the air between you both. If you did this—if you took the first step—maybe he’d finally take you seriously. Apologize for dismissing you so easily, so carelessly. You could find a way to move on, comfortably, with Selene in his life. Right?

It wasn’t like the situation could get any worse.

"Okay," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. "Yeah. Maybe I’ll talk to her."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Cassian was waiting for Azriel as he stepped out of the townhome, his massive frame leaning against the railing. One glance at the general was enough to confirm it: Cassian wasn’t there to exchange pleasantries. No—Cassian stood with his arms crossed, his wings partially flared, exuding the barely-contained anger Azriel recognized all too well.

“We need to talk,” Cassian said.

Azriel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He tightened his fists, shadows curling around them instinctively, obscuring his hands from view. Not now. Not tonight. He had no energy for this—not for Cassian’s righteousness or whatever lecture he’d come prepared to deliver.

“I’m not in the mood, Cass,” he said flatly, brushing past him.

“Too bad.” Cassian stepped into his path, blocking him with ease. “I didn’t endure an hour of Mor yelling at me for you to decide you can’t have a conversation.”

Azriel paused, his brow furrowing. “Why was Mor yelling at you?”

Cassian crossed his arms. “Because of you.”

“Great,” Az muttered. “What have I done now?”

“I gave Y/n some advice that, in hindsight, wasn’t great. Mor made the situation a lot clearer for me. Now I’m here to make sure you clean up your mess before anyone else slips.”

The mention of your name made Azriel’s chest ache in a way that felt too raw. He’d told himself he wouldn’t think about you tonight—not your voice, not your expression when he’d spoken to you this morning. But here was Cassian, dragging it all to the surface like a wound being forced open.

“I don’t think this is any of your concern,” Azriel said coldly, stepping around Cassian in a last-ditch effort to leave.

Cassian didn’t budge, spinning on his heel and following. “It is my concern because you’re my friend. And Y/n is my friend.”

Azriel could feel his shadows tighten their hold, whispering, urging him to end this. He wasn’t sure if they meant the conversation with Cassian or the situation entirely. Azriel could only control one of those.

“Cass, leave it alone,” he said, his voice low, barely masking the warning there.

“No,” Cassian responded immediately. “You did something shitty and you need to own up to it, Az.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened. “Sometimes friends fight,” he ground out. “Sometimes we get on each other’s nerves, like you’re getting on mine now. It’ll settle.”

“This isn’t going to ‘settle.’” Cassian’s voice rose. “You didn’t just get on her nerves—you offended her.”

The words hit harder than Azriel had anticipated.

“Because the idea of having feelings for me is so offensive? Am I that repulsive?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, the question jagged, biting. He hadn’t meant to say that. He wasn’t sure where it had come from. 

Cassian blinked, his anger giving way to confusion for a moment before his brow furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about? Don’t twist this into something it isn’t.”

Azriel’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of heat creeping up his neck. His outburst had come from nowhere, and now, Cassian’s eyes were full of confusion and something else—something close to pity. Azriel felt small under it, a flush of embarrassment prickling down his body. He wanted to look away, to escape.

He needed to leave.

Think later. Process later. Just get out of here.

Azriel squared his shoulders, forcing himself to meet Cassian’s gaze with as much indifference as he could muster. “Are you done now? Selene is waiting for me.”

Cassian stepped closer, his wings flaring in frustration. “Selene can deal with a few lost minutes of Azriel time. We’re talking.”

“No,” Azriel said, voice flat, his gaze turning icy. “You’re talking. I’m leaving.”

He moved to step past Cassian, but the larger male blocked him again.

“Is this some weird self-pity thing?” Cassian demanded, his tone growing sharper. “Thinking you’re not worth being forgiven so you don’t even try?”

Those words hit a nerve. 

Azriel’s anger sparked instantly, snapping through his ribs like a whip. He couldn’t decide if it was directed at Cassian or himself. But Cassian didn’t understand. None of them did.

“Cass, just let it go.”

“No,” Cassian shot back. “You always do this. You make decisions that are selfish. You push people away because you think it’s easier, and it’s not. It’s bullshit.”

It wasn’t easier—it was never easier. But what was Azriel supposed to say? That it was better than risking more damage? That every decision he made, no matter how distant or cold, was the only way he knew how to protect the people he cared about?

“Cassian—”

The slap came out of nowhere.

Azriel’s head snapped to the side, his shadows scattering in shock before reforming around him. Slowly, he turned back to Cassian, his eyes blazing.

“What the hell was that?”

“Sorry,” Cassian said flatly. “Must’ve been the wind.”

Azriel’s lip curled. He opened his mouth to respond, but a second slap landed, harder this time.

“Would you stop that?” Azriel growled, his wings flaring slightly, the shadows around him vibrating with his tone. “Don’t touch me.”

Cassian stepped closer. “Why?” he asked, mockingly. “This is what you deserve, right? If you’re so terrible.”

The third slap was the breaking point.

Azriel’s fist flew, connecting with Cassian’s jaw in a blur of movement. The force sent Cassian stumbling back a step, but he recovered quickly, his retaliation swift—a sharp uppercut to Azriel’s ribs.

They fought like brothers—wild, messy. Not about technique, but about something else. Azriel wasn’t sure why Cassian needed this release, but he could feel it—the desperate need behind every punch. And Azriel… Azriel didn’t realize it at first, but he needed it too.

He was an Illyrian, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise. Fighting cleared his mind. Whatever Cassian was trying to achieve, whatever he needed to prove, it was working.

Azriel barely registered the sting of each hit. The ache in his ribs, the burn in his muscles—it all blurred into the same tight, unrelenting pressure in his chest. Like there was no room left for air, for thought, for the gnawing guilt that had dug its claws into him and refused to let go. Cassian tackled him to the ground, pinning him, both of them struggling for breath.

“This is stupid!”

“I agree,” Azriel spat, shoving him off. “Get off me.”

“No, you!” Cassian said, pushing himself to his feet. “You’re stupid.”

Azriel sat up slowly, chest heaving as his shadows curled protectively around him. 

Cassian shook his head, wiping blood from his lip. “You’re better than this, Az. So be better and properly fuckin’ apologize. If not for you, for me—so my mate will stop glaring at me every time I say your name.”

Azriel’s gaze dropped to the ground, the weight of Cassian’s words sinking into him like a slow burn. His fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing. Offered nothing. 

Cassian didn’t stop. “Gods know Y/n has done enough for you. Put up with enough. We’ve all done shitty things. But you know what? You take the hit, you own it, and you try to be better. You can’t lead with self-loathing forever.”

Azriel sat there longer than necessary, long after Cassian had walked away. People passed by—some casting glances his way, most not bothering to look at all—but he didn’t move. Didn’t feel the flicker of shame he might’ve once felt at sitting there, bloodied and bruised, shadows curling restlessly around him.

The sting in his cheekbone from Cassian’s knuckles pulsed dully, but it wasn’t enough to distract him from the gnawing thoughts taking root.

Maybe it wasn’t the fear of you rejecting his apology that held him back. Maybe it was the fear that you wouldn’t.

That you’d accept it. 

That somehow, he’d manage to make it up to you. That things would settle for a while, until he inevitably did something worse. Something irreparable.

He was terrified of succeeding—of pulling you back in, of you continuing to see something in him that he wasn’t. That you’d keep believing in this illusion, this version of him he’d somehow convinced you existed.

For centuries, it felt like he’d been holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable—waiting for you to see him as he truly was. And if he made this right, if you forgave him, it would only give him more time to fail you again.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You were walking without a proper destination in mind.

You’d never been to it, but Azriel had once mentioned that Selene worked at a flower shop near the Palace of Thread and Jewels. He’d first run into her on one of his free days, when he’d stopped by a few of his favorite parts in the city.

This area made sense. It was near his usual route, tucked away in a cozy corner of the city. As the scent of flowers suddenly enveloped you, you heard Selene’s unmistakable voice. Relief surged through you; you’d found the right place. 

You thought back to your conversation with Cassian. You knew you weren’t in the wrong, that this current visit wasn’t expected of you. But it was something you could control. You’d wanted to get to know Selene better anyway. You prepared yourself, putting on a smile and stepping towards the door, but then—

“I mean, is he really worth all that effort?”

This was a voice you didn’t recognize. It curled around you, something about it making your stomach clench. 

A small sigh. “Azriel?”

This time, the voice belonged to Selene. You froze, rooted to the spot. Any inclination to quit eavesdropping washed away at the sound of his name. You felt a tightness in your chest—an almost primal urge to run in there, to stop the conversation before it even began. 

“Yeah,” the second voice pressed, “He’s a freak, Sel. Hot, sure, but a total freak. And so intense all the time.”

For a moment, there was silence. And then, Selene’s voice, almost reluctant, like she was holding back. “Well—”

Her friend interrupted. “And those shadows? Don’t they freak you out?”

A sound of disgust, maybe a shiver, followed her words. Something cold rushed through you, crawling beneath your skin, and for a moment, you didn’t know whether you wanted to shout or run. Or maybe both. Anger churned in your gut, and the calm, composed facade you’d been carefully maintaining on the walk here began to crack, slipping away piece by piece. 

“Hey, knock it off,” Selene replied, her voice soft.  “He surprises you. He’s sweet. He makes me happy.”

Her friend snorted. “Has it been an ego boost for you, then?”

“I mean, yeah,” Selene admitted quietly. “But that’s not all of it. Things with him actually aren’t… great right now. He canceled on me again tonight. I think it’s because he had some kind of fight with Y/n.”

The mention of your name stole the breath from your chest, and your body constricted almost involuntarily. 

Her friend’s voice was full of disbelief as she asked, “He actually told you?”

“No,” Selene said softly, “I—I heard them. I feel really bad, but…”

The next sound was unmistakable—the sharp intake of breath from her friend, a squeal of sorts.

“Did you actually use the listening charm I gave you? You little min—”

Something snapped in you as the words registered. A listening charm. A strange, gross invasion of privacy. And to think you had felt bad standing here, eavesdropping on their conversation in a public store, of all places. You’d been this close to giving her the benefit of the doubt.

You stormed into the shop, the door slamming behind you, and both voices froze. You barely registered Selene’s friend’s wide-eyed realization, the quiet “Oh shit” leaving her lips as she turned toward Selene.

Your focus was on Selene—on her and no one else. She stood there, an image of calm beauty that twisted something deep inside you—a type of beauty that felt somehow wrong, as if it were too polished, too perfect, for the situation. Her dark hair framed her face, her delicate features still and pale as she stared at you. The color drained from her face the moment your gaze locked with hers.

“Do you want to explain what I just heard?” you asked, your voice tight, sharp, biting. “Or should I just tell you what I’ve gathered?”

Silence. 

Her friend opened her mouth to protest, “I don’t think you have any right coming in here and—”

“I think this is a conversation for me and Selene,” you said coldly, not bothering to spare her a glance. 

Selene blinked a few times before she turned her head and offered her friend a small, almost reluctant nod.

“You should go,” she told her quietly. “And put the closed sign on the door, please.”

Her friend hesitated, but with a final glance in your direction, she walked out, the soft click of the door behind her leaving the two of you alone. You didn’t miss the way she’d muttered under her breath as she left, a quiet but very clear “Bitch.”

“Y/n,” Selene said after another moment of silence, her voice tentative, like she was trying to find the right words. “I didn’t know that you were here.”

“Clearly.”

Selene’s movements were stiff, awkward as she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands now that she was trapped in this uncomfortable moment.  “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t think that matters anymore,” you replied. “I asked you a question. I’d like to know what I just overheard.”

Selene’s ears flushed pink, a deep red that spread across her neck, as she took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You could feel your patience unraveling. Of course she didn’t know what to say. She’d been caught in the act. There was no excuse for this.

“You listened to us,” you snapped, the words bitter in your mouth. “You spied on Azriel. Do you just want to skip ahead to how you justify it?”

Her face paled, and for a moment, she looked younger—small, almost fragile. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Oh please.” The frustration boiled over, flooding your veins with anger you hadn’t realized was possible. Anything you’d felt before this moment paled in comparison. You shouldn’t have asked her to explain. You already knew whatever she said would only make things worse, would only add fuel to the fire that was your growing irritation.

This is stupid. This is ridiculous. How did you get roped into this?

“I know it was wrong!” she said quickly, the words tumbling out. “I know, okay? I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have let Runa convince me it was a good idea. But I didn’t know what else to do.”

That had to be the worst excuse you’d ever heard. It wasn’t just the stupidity of it that pissed you off—it was the weakness of it, the desperation in her voice that made you want to scream.  Azriel must be blind. Had he really been so wrapped up in whatever bubble he’d built around her that he couldn’t see the cracks? Was he so fucking love-blind that this—this—was what he was left with?

“What else to do? About what? Surely any other solution would have been better.”

She let out a deep sigh and her shoulders sagged with the motion. “I really like him,  Y/n.”

You snorted, a sound of genuine amusement—more out of sheer disbelief than anything else. You couldn’t help it. “Alright,” you said, dismissing her with a wave of your hand, not buying it for a second. “Don’t start.”

“I do,” Selene said, her voice more insistent now. “I think I might even love him. But it’s hard.”

You shot her an unimpressed look. 

Her voice was louder, more frantic, as she continued. “Azriel doesn’t talk about anything—anything real.”

You didn’t bother hiding the scoff. “Bullshit. Az talks. You just have to be patient. Communicate like a normal fucking partner.”

Her frustration flashed across her face, the defensive crossing of her arms only making her look more like a child. “Do you think I didn’t try that? He doesn’t tell me anything. Not really. He keeps everything locked up so tight—he barely even looks at me sometimes. What was I supposed to do?”

“Maybe not violate his privacy?” 

“You don’t get it.” Her hands trembled as she gestured at you. “He doesn’t talk to me like he talks to you. Do you know what it’s like to be the one he’s supposed to care about but feel like you’re always on the outside? Like there’s this wall between us that I can’t get through, but somehow you can?”

You should’ve walked away then. The urge to just let her talk herself into a hole was strong. But you didn’t.

“You’ve been dating him for a few months,” you said, crossing your arms, your stance slightly defensive. “We’ve been friends for centuries. You can’t expect him to open up to you completely overnight.”

“That’s not the point!” she snapped, her voice rising, a crack of desperation leaking through. For a fleeting second, you almost felt bad for her. A tug of sympathy.

“Then what the hell is the point?” you demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just looking for someone to blame. And for some reason, that someone is me. Are you seriously trying to imply I'm somehow responsible for you spying on him?”

Selene flinched, but she didn’t back down. You had to give her credit for that.  “No. I—I don’t know,” she mumbled, her hand tugging at her hair in jerky movements, like she was trying to yank the thoughts from her mind. “I panicked, okay? I didn’t think—I just… I didn’t want to lose him. I thought if I could figure out what was going on, maybe I could fix it. Maybe I could stop feeling like…”

“Like what?” 

“Like I’m always on the outside. Like I’m never going to be enough.”

A part of you wanted to snap back at her, to remind her that this wasn’t a justification, that none of this made it okay. But something about her voice—broken, raw, like a crack that had been growing for too long—slowed your response. Your anger faltered.

“I know it’s insane,” she added, “I know it was wrong, and I feel awful about it. But I didn’t know what else to do. It feels like i’m competing with someone who’s known him longer, who gets to see parts of him I never will. How am I supposed to make space for myself?”

“Still not a good enough excuse,” you bit out. “You can’t just violate his privacy because you’re insecure.”

Selene took a deep breath and met your gaze. There was no fight in them anymore. “Please, just go. Run off and tell Azriel everything. I know you’re probably excited to.”

Her words stung more than they should have.

“Why do you say it like that?” you asked, “Like I’m thrilled to ruin your relationship?”

Selene’s eyes flickered with something sharp. “Aren’t you?”

For a second, you almost wished you could be. Almost.

“No,” you said firmly. “I would never do that to Azriel. I’m not your competition. I’m his friend. I came here to give you the benefit of the doubt because I wanted you two to be happy. But this? This is…” You trailed off, unable to even finish the thought, because it was too much—everything about it felt wrong.

“Crazy?” Selene finished bitterly, shaking her head. “Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know how it looks. But like I said, you don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to care about someone so much that you start losing sight of yourself. I think about him, about how much I care about him, and all my instincts go out the window. ”

Selene had always existed a certain way in your mind.

Azriel had seemed lighter when he first mentioned her, a softness in his voice that you hadn’t heard in years. And you’d been happy for him—thrilled, even, at the idea of someone bringing him a bit of joy. You’d wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, wanted to believe that she could be good for him. You were excited to meet her.

But then Az started to change.

The more he changed, the more Selene shifted in your mind, too. She became untouchable, an image conjured more from your worry than from anything real. You imagined her as someone clingy, someone who demanded all of his attention and made him forget the people who loved him first. Someone full of herself, reveling in the power she had over him.

And then you’d met her.

She wasn’t what you’d expected—though not in the way that might have changed your mind. She wasn’t warm or open, wasn’t eager to charm or connect with Azriel’s family. Instead, she’d clung to him like a second skin, her hands always on his arm, her smile reserved only for him. And maybe it was unfair, but you hadn’t liked the way she’d looked at you, hadn’t liked the guarded, wary edge to her voice when she spoke.

You’d trusted your gut, let it guide you through the uncertainty. And when things fell apart—when the argument between you and Az finally erupted—Selene’s image had shifted again.

She became a villain in your mind, a figure painted in sharp, unforgiving lines. It was easier that way. Easier to picture her whispering in Azriel’s ear, twisting his thoughts, pulling him further away from you. You’d built her into someone cruel, someone who reveled in the divide she’d caused.

But now, standing before her, you saw something else entirely.

Selene didn’t look cruel. She didn’t look smug or victorious. If anything, she looked fragile. There was an unease in her posture, a vulnerability in the way her hands fidgeted at her sides. The guardedness was still there, but it felt more like armor than arrogance.

And for the first time, you questioned how much of the image you’d built of her was real—and how much of it was your own fear, your own concern for Azriel, projected onto her.

“Why did you tell Azriel that I had feelings for him?”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you weren’t sure where they came from—but somehow, they lifted a deep weight off your chest.

Her brows furrowed, genuine confusion crossing her face. "What?"

“Why did you tell him that you thought I had feelings for him?”

“I wanted to see what he’d do,” she admitted. 

Disbelief tightened in your chest.  “So you lied to him for fun?”

She shook her head. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes,” you said, the word bitten out, “You told him I had feelings for him.”

“Because you do,” she answered, as though it were the simplest thing in the world, like she understood your feelings better than you did. And for a second—a stupid, fleeting second—you almost believed her.

Selene’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know what a female in love with him looks like,” she said quietly,  her voice soft in a way it wasn’t before. “I see it every day when I look in the mirror.”

Something inside you twisted painfully, a knot of emotions you couldn’t untangle fast enough. You focused on the irritation. 

“Am I wrong?” she continued. “Is he the best part of your day? Do you look forward to talking to him? Can you tell him things you’d never tell anyone else? Do you save bits of good food just so he can try it?”

Your throat felt tight, the words stuck somewhere between anger and disbelief. How had this conversation managed to spin so completely?

The breath you took felt jagged, like your lungs couldn’t quite expand all the way. “That’s not true,” you said. “Azriel and I… We’re friends. That’s all. We’ve been friends for centuries. That’s just—what happens when you’ve known someone that long.”

For a moment, you thought she might apologize, or at least reconsider. Her expression faltered, but instead, she just stared at you.

“Do you really believe that?”

When you didn’t reply, Selene blinked, cleared her throat, and turned away from you, leaning against the counter with a sigh. “This is so pathetic,” she muttered, her voice tinged with bitter amusement. “I’m standing here, basically pushing you to him.”

A sigh slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You hesitated, torn between frustration and a strange sympathy. Against every instinct telling you to be petty, a part of you felt bad for her. She cared about Azriel. Deeply. You were certain of it— unsure of how you knew, but you were certain nonetheless. There was no malice in her voice, just insecurity and raw, unspoken fear.

You hated that you could sense it, but you couldn't ignore it either. You could almost hear Amren in your ear, urging you to walk away, and Mor's voice reminding you that Selene didn’t deserve your kindness. But somehow, you couldn't bring yourself to leave. If Azriel saw something worth loving in Selene, maybe you did too.

“Okay, well, don’t do that,” you muttered, taking a step closer. The urge to comfort her was almost overwhelming—to show her that maybe she could learn and grow from this. “You need to talk to Az, Selene. Just sit down, be open—”

“Stop. Don’t be nice to me,” she snapped, spinning to face you. Her voice was sharp.

She moved as if to push you away, but hadn’t realized how close you’d stepped. The edge of her bracelet caught your cheek, and the sharp sting of metal cut straight through it.

Selene froze, her eyes widening as she took in the line of blood blooming on your cheek. “Oh my gods,” she whispered, her hands hovering uselessly. “I—I didn’t mean—”

You stepped back further, your hand still on your cheek, blood warm against your fingertips. 

This seemed about right, you thought bitterly to yourself. This is what happens when you try to be the bigger person. You were gonna kill Cassian. You were going to wring his godsdamned neck.

Selene’s voice became a rush of apologies, each one more frantic than the last, but your attention was already slipping away. Your gaze fell to the bracelet on her wrist. The metal gleamed, twisting slightly with every motion of her hand. You recognized it instantly.

Azriel had a similar one in his room. On his dresser.

“Is that how you did it?” you asked, pointing to her wrist.

Selene’s face drained of color, guilt flooding her expression. She nodded slowly, her hands shaking as she removed the bracelet and held it out to you, eyes wide and full of regret.

You took it from her fingers and, just for a moment, you almost let yourself fall back into the anger, the hurt. But you didn’t. You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself before shaking your head.

“I’m sorry,” Selene whispered, voice breaking. “I really am. I was— I was just desperate. And Runa kept pushing, and—”

You cut her off with a sharp shake of your head, locking eyes with her. Her voice faded, but it didn’t matter anymore. “You’re not terrible, Selene. But you have terrible friends.”

You turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back over your shoulder. “I suggest you find new ones.”

You tried to steady yourself as you stepped into the bustling streets of Velaris. The bracelet in your hand was cold against your palm, and the sting of the cut on your cheek throbbed with each beat of your pulse. Everything inside you felt scrambled—emotions tangled, confusion still clouding your mind.

The shuffle of footsteps broke through your fog. You looked up, just in time to hear a sharp voice.

“Ouch, that looks like it stung.” A small chuckle. “Although I’m sure you’re excited to have a reason for the Shadowsinger to tend to you.”

You scanned her. “Runa, right?”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “Yeah, that's me.”

Without hesitation, you found yourself saying, “You gave your friend some hurtful advice.”

Runa shrugged nonchalantly, almost amused. “Oops.”

You held your tongue for a moment, your irritation intensifying the longer you looked at her. Unlike Selene, who had managed to evoke some sympathy, Runa didn’t even come close. She shifted, as if waiting for you to bite.

The silence stretched before she finally broke it with a snide laugh. “Honestly, Selene’s better off without that freak of a boyfriend. She doesn’t need to be wrapped up with shitty court politicians.”

Something in you snapped. Maybe it was the words, maybe it was the whirlwind of emotions from the last half hour, but your patience with her was gone. You inhaled sharply, trying to steady your temper, and placed the bracelet in your pocket.

“Do you know who I am?”

Runa raised an eyebrow, the slightest trace of mockery in her smile. “Uh, yeah. You're an emissary or something, right?” She waved her hand dismissively, as if it didn’t matter.

You closed the distance between you in a few long strides. “Good,” you said, letting the word settle in the air. “I want you to remember that when you report.”

Runa looked confused, her smug attitude faltering. “Report what?” 

You smiled. And then you punched her in the face. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: fun fact, this was the 6th draft of this!! and this felt like the way to go with the story....gives me some options to exploree. its also so long bc i wanted to keep all the fun scenes together tehehe sorry yall i got carried away

but selene....selene...selene... how i thought about her for a bit. i wanted to avoid making selene a caricature of a soulless mean jealous girl, i think it makes it somehow worse and even better to write knowing she was just incredibly insecure and misguided by people she trusted...doesn’t make anythinggg she did okay but

we out here rly testing our reader with a selene like villain rn. tehehe

also....time to imagine rhys holding nyx on his lap as he tells reader that shes in trouble for fighting a citizen in the open mf streets. rhys was so smug and now he’s like damn…wait a min… our public imagine SUCKSS

thank you for reading!!<3

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[synvil]

boyfriend duties // bf! soft! rafe cameron hcs

synopsis : your boyfriend showing his attention on you.

“the hell are you doing, stupid?”

rafe reaches over and takes a hold of your wrist, pulling you over towards the inner side of the sidewalk, making you stumble but balance yourself out and look to him. “what? what’s wrong?” you ask, confusion lacing your eyes and he rolls his own as he moves to hold your hand in his.

“Just shut up and stand over here.”

rafe cameron was by no means the perfect boyfriend, but once you two were together, he was always keeping an eye on you, being there for you when you least expected it.

after all, you were his. he didn’t and shouldn’t need to focus on anything or anyone else but you.

“you sure you don’t want the umbrella? it’s gonna rain, baby.” rafe warns and you dismiss him with a wave, rushing off to sarah’s car. “i’ll be fine, babe.”

if only you listened. and now an hour later, at the beach…

“shit, rain?” you bring a hand out to catch a rain droplet on your palm and frown as your friends begin to gather their things. “I thought you checked the weather, [name]!” sarah frowns as she looks up, using her purse as an umbrella and kie huffs. “so much for a beach day.”

“sorry, i thought it wasn’t going to rain.” you murmur and watch as the rainfall starts to pick up, your movements quickening further.

suddenly, you feel a shield above you which blocked the rainfall from pouring on you and look to see an umbrella. “huh?”

“next time you’ll listen to me.” rafe sighs, holding the umbrella between the two of you and you smile sheepishly, seeing your friends becoming soaked in the rain. “but what about them?”

rafe briefly shrugs, not caring. “not my problem. i only brought one for you.” and with that, he guides you over to his car, leaving kie and sarah alone.

you sigh, using a magazine off the table to act as a fan, cooling yourself off as you and rafe sit outside at the country club with some of his friends, relaxing and eating.

unfortunately it was quite hot and you constantly adjust your hair.

rafe notices from the corner of his eye, not saying anything when he sees you start to gather your hair up into a bundle. and when you reach for your wrists, notice the lack of a hair tie, he extends his wrist out to you.

“?” your brows are furrowed when he suddenly holds out his arm and he keeps his eyes down on his phone mindlessly. it was then you noticed a small black band on his wrist and you smile faintly, carefully pulling the hair tie off his wrist and use it to tie your hair up.

and when he sees your lips curling into a bigger smile and your body relaxing at the more cooling hairstyle, he smiles to himself a bit, returning his focus to his phone.

and when you accidentally knock something off the table, sitting on the end, you lean down to pick it up.

rafe, talking with topper, brings his hand down to cover the edge of the table to protect you from hitting your head as you return upright, setting your fallen napkin aside.

you realize what rafe just did and feel your heart fluttering again when he pulls his hand away and down to hold your hand while you shyly pick up your utensil to continue to eat, a soft smile lacing your lips.

all part of his boyfriend duties, because for you, he’s always there.

a/n : much needed comfort hcs <3 please don’t hesitate to reach out to me for thoughts or such! i’m always happy to talk :)

such an abrupt ending lol i’m in a mind fog.

synvil™️.

[magicpiano]

DCxDP AU with the typical cultists summon the ghost king stuff, except the spell is supposed to trap him in a mortal body till he agrees to do the cult's bidding.

Danny is obviously not going to just do what they say, he will find his own way out of this body he is trapped in, thank you very much.

After escaping he is found by the police and identified as Tim Drake, which okay didn't expect the human sacrifice to be a famous guy, but whatever. All he has to do is pretend to be Tim for a few days while he figures out how to break the spell. Easy, Bruce Wayne is famously stupid right?

Of course the bat family had been listening in to the cult's summoning the whole time from a communicator Tim activated right before he was captured, so they are very very aware this is not Tim.

They can't say anything though because they have no idea what powers the ghost king has or how to get him out of Tim's body. It is determined that the best solution is to play along till they have a plan so the ghost doesn't run off with Tim's body or hurt him in some way.

Thus begins a game of lies. Danny, fake it till you make it, Fenton, pretends to be Tim with only the info available on his Wikipedia page. The bats pretend to not notice anything is wrong.

Danny can't investigate how to break the spell because no one will leave him alone for any length of time. The bats are struggling to figure out how to get the ghost king out of Tim when all their magic users are saying the guy is basically all powerful.

No one is happy about any part of this.

Meanwhile Tim is playing a 5D chess version of psychological warfare on Danny while stuck inside his own head. Danny is just like, 'please have mercy I am trying to get us both out of this safely.' Tim is like, 'anyway here's wonderwall for the 40th time today.'

[tpwk-formula1]

Could you please write a story where lando x reader have basically 'adopted' keegan (even tho he's like 3 yrs younger than them) and she hates whenever they make him do dangerous stuff

AN: SPECIAL EXTRA FLUFF POST!!!! (I know I said I wasn't gonna post a fluff this week but this came in and I got too excited so I quickly wrote it before work! NOT proof read!

OMG stop I absolutely love this idea!! I stopped writing a fic to get this one started! I did switch timelines just a big to make the story work so pretend the video on Quadrant where Keegan tried Karting for the first time happened after summer break!

TW: NONE

WC: 1.1K

Y/N POV

"Keegs, have you eaten anything today?" I ask walking up to him with the sandwich I had made for him before we had left for the yacht day.

"I had breakfast," he says softly knowing we had eaten over 6 hours ago and he had been outside all day in the sun.

"Keegan, you're an athlete stop being stupid," I laugh while tossing him the sandwich which he great fully took and started eating it.

"He's a grown man, love. Let him live," Lando tells me softly while approaching me from behind and taking me into his hold.

"You too Norris, sit down and eat," I say while passing him the second sandwich which has him groaning but instantly sitting next to Keegan and starts eating his sandwich.

"Whipped," I hear Max Fewtrell say from somewhere else on the yacht making me shake my head and threaten him with the last sandwich in hand.

"You and P are such moms," Max rolls his eyes while taking the food from me and sitting next to his best friend.

Over the last year or so the friendship between Lando and Keegan had grown from more than just a sponsored athlete to a truth friendship. When the younger boy started coming around it was almost instant that my motherly instincts kicked in with him.

I mean hell when he called us after winning gold at the Paris Olympics I hadn't stopped crying from podium. He still laughs about it and even pokes fun but he has also on multiple occasions expressed how thankful he to have Lando and I in his life.

Once the yacht day has come to an end we make our way back to the house we had rented for the week.

"We're going cliff jumping tomorrow, do you guys want to come?" Martin's friends asked the rest of us when we had made it back to the house.

"No," I instantly say a long with P while all the boys instantly say "yes" making me look directly at them.

"Have you all lost your damn mind? 1 of you is in contract for racing which mind you comes back in just a few weeks and the other just came off of Olympic gold, you need to be fucking careful," I start ranting while Martin starts laughing at the group dynamic not expecting anything less from us.

"It's fine, we'll be fine," Lando reassures me making me me shake my head.

"Get Zak's approval and then it's fine," I say with a smirk and a little shoulder shrug knowing his boss would lose his ever living mind if he found out his young driver is trying to do something so dangerous.

"Please! I promise we wont get hurt," Lando begs giving me his puppy dog eyes I have never been able to say no to, a long with Keegan behind him giving me the same look.

"Okay fine, but I swear to God if you get hurt," I say while pointing a finger before the two boys.

With that the broke out in bright smiles and Lando instantly took me into his arms and places a few kisses on my lips.

We're now coming to the end of our trip when Lando and I are relaxing in bed having some much needed downtime when a knock rings out through our room.

"Come in," I call out grabbing my bookmark and putting the book I was reading to the side.

When Keegan walks in he has a nervous expression written all over his face.

"What's wrong?" I ask sitting up a bit taller making Lando sit up a bit more noticing the serious expression written across the younger man's face.

"Can I ask for some advice?" Keegan says while walking into the room and closing the door behind him.

"Of course, you can sit on the bed," I say laughing a little when I noticed him awkwardly standing near the end of the bed.

"So I've been talking to this girl," Keegan starts while sitting on the bed.

"Aye! My man," Lando says excitedly while dapping Keegan up making his cheeks grow even redder.

"Well anyways, her name is Ella and we've been talking for awhile and I want to make it official but I'm nervous she might say no and I also need ideas on how to plan the perfect date to ask," Keegan admits making me smile. While it might have been Lando's first time hearing about about Ella, Keegan had already come to me about her and from what I had gathered he really liked her and she seemed really sweet.

After about an hour of planning the most perfect date for Keegan to take Ella on he thanked up both before leaving the room with a bright smile on his face.

"That's my son for real," Lando says laughing making me shake my head with a laugh falling from my lips.

"He's such an awesome kid," I reply back before cuddling closer into Lando's side.

"Did you pull the same move on Carlos when you where asking me out," I tease with a smirk on my face.

"Maybe," Lando admits with his cheeks reddening.

It's been a few weeks since summer break and we already have a week off from racing which means it's time to film for Quadrant and as we pull up to the track both Lando and Max have been suspiciously quiet about what we will be filming.

When we pull up to the track I see Keegan almost instantly making everything click for me.

"No! He is not about to hope in a kart without any training!" I say sternly making Max laugh and Lando turn and give me a reassuring smile.

"He's fine, he can drive a car, he can drive in a few circles on a kart," Lando says but it just makes me groan and throw my head back.

Lando did end up giving Keegan a small run down before filming and once he was in the first Kart I could already feel my stomach drop. He was going as fast as his car will allow him to go but you can see the difference between Lando's control of the Kart and his control but after the first lap he was able to adjust and already looked more comfortable.

As the karts got faster the more I go stressed. Keegan was clearly having an amazing time in the karts but my anxiety is going through the roof.

By the end of the video it is clear to all of us that Keegan loved every moment of it and even asked the next time he could drive one.

When the video was posted fan instantly clung to the fact that I was like a mom to Keegan. I mean an entire compilation was made where it was every moment I made a comment, face, or gasp throughout the short video making fans across F1 laugh at the endearing moments between friends.

------

Sorry it feels a bit rushed I just loved the idea and might even circle back around in the future and add to the story

[player042]

A DEBT TO THE HEART | kang dae-ho

pairing: kang dae-ho (player 388) x reader

summary: you thought you'd left dae-ho behind for his own good, but fate has a cruel way of bringing the past back to life; now, in the deadly arena of the games, avoiding him is no longer an option, even as old feelings threaten to overwhelm you.

warning: hurt/comfort, some tears here and there, a bit angsty, established relationship and breakup mentioned, loving someone so much it hurts, other players mentioned, also mention of bloody and deadly squid game themes, lovers to strangers to lovers again? please enjoy ♥️

word count: 5k (oopsi, but you'll love it, promise <3)

You loved Dae-ho. You loved him with a depth that words could scarcely capture, and he, in turn, made sure you could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, and feel it in every touch just how deeply he loved you. But sometimes, even love was not enough, for love could not fill an empty stomach or silence the relentless ticking of overdue clocks. With each passing day, the small apartment you shared with Dae-ho felt colder and emptier, despite him always being there. The weight of your mutual debts loomed over every conversation, every glance, every touch.

You noticed how he'd come home later and later, his shoulders hunched as if the world rested entirely on them. He stopped smiling as much, and when he did, it didn't reach his eyes. You were no better. Your sleepless nights had you pacing, worrying over bills, debt collectors, and the way his kind heart made him try to fix everything for you, even at his own expense. You made the decision after a particularly brutal encounter with a debt collector. They'd come to your apartment, banging on the door, shouting threats. Dae-ho had stood between you and the door, his body rigid with tension as he told them to leave. That night, as he slept fitfully beside you, you stared at the ceiling, your heart breaking. You couldn't let him do this anymore, couldn't let him sacrifice himself for you, he deserved better.

That's why you found yourself remembering those exact thoughts while you were having dinner late at night. The small kitchen felt stifling, the hum of the fridge and the faint ticking of the wall clock amplifying the silence. You'd spent days rehearsing this moment, but now, as Dae-ho sat across from you, his familiar features etched with exhaustion and quiet hope, the words felt impossible.

But you had to say them. You had to let him go.

"We need to talk," your voice was firmer than you felt. Your heart raced, but your face remained a mask of composure.

He looked up from his bowl of rice, chopsticks hovered mid-air, his brows furrowing. "What's wrong?"

"I think..." You paused, the words catching in your throat. "I think we need to end this."

The chopsticks clattered onto the table, the sound startling in the quiet room. He stared at you, disbelief etched into every line of his face. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying this isn't working anymore," you said, gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles turned white. "We're holding each other back, Dae-ho. I can't do this anymore."

His eyes darkened, his voice low and trembling, "Holding each other back? Is that what you think this is? After everything we've been through?"

"You're drowning because of me," your voice cracking. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn't let them fall. "I can't let you destroy yourself trying to fix things for me."

"You think this is about you?" he asked, his tone rising. "You think my problems magically go away if you're not here? That's not true, and you know it. Don't do this. Don't push me away."

You couldn't meet his gaze, your fingers trembling as they dug into the table. "I'm doing this for you," you whispered, barely audible.

"No," his chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood abruptly, his voice breaking, "You're doing this to me."

Frustrated, you stood up too, "I've watched you work yourself to death for me," your voice rising to meet his, "Every time something goes wrong, you're there, trying to fix it, trying to shoulder everything! I can't let you do that anymore!"

"You think I care about that?" he shouted, his hands slamming onto the table. His voice cracked as he added, "I want to carry it! I'd do anything for you, because you're- you're everything to me!"

Your chest tightened, his words hitting like a punch to the gut. "And what about you? What happens when you break under the weight of it all? Then what? I can't stand the thought of being the reason you-"

"You're not the reason for anything!" he yelled, his voice raw. "The debt, the stress, it's all mine. Don't you dare blame yourself for this."

"But it's not just yours anymore!" you shouted, tears finally streaming down your face. "It became mine the moment we decided to do this together. And that's why I have to leave. Because I'm holding you back, and you're holding me back, and we'll destroy each other if this keeps going!"

He stepped back as if you'd struck him, his hands falling limply to his sides. His voice, once so loud, now came out as a whisper. "You don't mean that."

"I do," you lied, your heart breaking with every word. "I don't see a future for us anymore, Dae-ho."

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of your words sinking into the space between you. His jaw clenched, his eyes glistening as he struggled to keep his composure.

"If this is what you want," he said finally, his voice shaking, "then fine. But don't pretend this is for me. This is your choice. Own it."

You turned away, biting your lip to keep from sobbing. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

And with that, you just left in the middle of the night, bags already prepared beforehand, your heart shattering with every step. The sound of the door closing behind you was louder than it should have been, echoing in your chest like the final nail in a coffin.

Alone in the now-silent kitchen, Dae-ho sank into his chair, his hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the table. He stared at your empty seat, the half-eaten bowl of rice in front of him a stark reminder of your presence just minutes ago.

The tears he'd held back began to fall, silent and unrelenting, as he whispered into the empty room, "You're wrong. You're not holding me back... you're everything I need."

Years passed, three, to be exact, and you hadn't heard from Dae-ho since the day you parted ways. Sometimes, especially in those first months after the breakup, you found yourself longing for him with an intensity that felt unbearable. So many times, you wanted to call him, just to hear his voice, to tell him about your day, to ask how work had been, or even something as simple as what he wanted for dinner. Too often, you'd thought about taking a detour just to walk past his neighborhood, unannounced, clinging to the faint hope of catching a fleeting glimpse of him. But you knew it was for the best, his best. 

People always said time heals all wounds, but that wasn't true. Time doesn't heal anything, it doesn't mend, it doesn't fix. All time does is teach you how to live with the weight of what's broken. And despite the years that had passed, you still yearned for him in the quiet moments, still missed him like a phantom ache. You'd come to accept the sheer vastness of Seoul, its endless streets and countless faces, and resigned yourself to the thought that you'd probably never cross paths with Dae-ho again, not by chance, not by fate, not ever.

That's why you were utterly stunned when you found yourself standing in the expansive arena looking straight at him, surrounded by strangers in identical green tracksuits in the midst of a nightmare. The doll's haunting song, the sound of gunfire, and the smell of blood filling the air, it was pure chaos. Some of them were already lying lifeless on the ground, their blood pooling beneath them. Your heart pounded violently in your chest, fear coursing through your veins as you tried to process what you'd gotten yourself into. And even more importantly—

He was here.

Dae-ho stood to your right, a few feet diagonally in front of you. His broad shoulders were tense, his stance alert as his eyes scanned the room with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His hair was slightly longer now, tied in a half-up, half-down style, and his face carried a weariness that hadn't been there before, a hard edge born of time and struggle. But there was no mistaking him. It was him. Dae-ho.

During the whole cursed red light, green light game, you couldn't stop glancing at him. He was strong and steady, helping a few others stay calm and focused as the horror doll's eerie song echoed through the air. Among the chaos and panic, Player 456 stood out. His voice rang out over the trembling murmurs of the other players, guiding them on when to move and when to freeze.

You barely survived, your legs trembling as you crossed the finish line. Relief washed over you, not just from the sheer fact that you were still alive, but also because 456's instructions had kind of anchored you when panic threatened to take over. And even then, your eyes sought him out. Dae-ho. Relief flooded you again when you saw he'd made it too, his chest heaving, his gaze scanning the crowd as if looking for someone. As if looking for you. 

You were certain, however, that he hadn't seen you, and you made sure it stayed that way for as long as possible. 

It surprised you later when he pressed O during the voting. Your chest tightened. Because after witnessing the pure horror of the first game, you had immediately pressed X to quit and leave this place. The idea of staying in a place like this was unthinkable. That's why you had assumed Dae-ho would have done the same.

Why would he want to stay? Did he care so little about his life now?

And the worst part? With just one single vote tipping the majority, the games continued.

You made yourself invisible. First, to keep all the unpleasant people at bay, and second, because you simply weren't ready to face him. For now, you stuck close to an older woman and her son, Player 149 and Player 007. At the same time, you watched Dae-ho from a distance as he spoke with Player 456, the former winner of the games, as you had just learned. You owed him your second reprieve, too, his speech during the voting had drawn all the attention to himself. Dae-ho spent his time with him, as well as with Player 001 and Player 390. It seemed he had already found his group.

Watching him from afar, you couldn't help but notice how he still carried that same kindness, that same strength that had made you fall in love with him. But the game of hide-and-seek came to an end the next day when the second game forced you to split into groups. Before you even realized it, your group was already at the front of the line. You were all bound together, each of you tasked with completing a series of mini-games and needing to cross the finish line within five minutes. Otherwise, you would be mercilessly shot in front of the other players, as had happened with the group before yours.

Just seconds earlier, you had been watching Dae-ho as he practiced his Gonggi part, stretching his wrist. Despite the grotesque circumstances, it brought a fleeting smile to your face. For a brief moment, you saw the carefree, boyish Dae-ho you used to know. The one who tirelessly worked with his group, lifting their spirits and even helping a young woman with the number 222 (according to Geum-ja, she was pregnant, and you could see it). It somehow hurt to see him like this, still trying to be a savior even when he had nothing left to give.

When his eyes finally found yours, he froze. For a moment, the noise and chaos around you faded, and it was just the two of you, staring at each other across the room as the guards bound your leg to that of your teammate.

By some miracle, your team won the second game. If that wasn't a sign from the heavens, you didn't know what else could be. You had been the clear underdogs from the start. Even while preparing, you'd overheard some of the men muttering amongst themselves, convinced your team was doomed. "They'll definitely bite the dust," one of them had sneered.

But when the red tape of the finish line snapped, the room erupted into cheers. Not because they liked you so much, but because they thought, If they can survive this, we'll surely survive as well. It was obvious they'd written your group off; a fragile old woman, her aimless son, a timid girl who barely spoke, a trans player still finding her footing, and you. Yet somehow, against all odds, you had crossed that finish line together.

Your heart raced as your eyes instinctively searched for Dae-ho. Across the room, he stood among his team, his gaze locked on you. For a moment, it looked like he was about to rush toward you, arms open, ready to pull you into a celebratory embrace. Your chest tightened, and you quickly turned back to your team, reminding yourself to keep your distance.

You threw yourself into the moment instead, hugging your teammates as the guards ushered you five out of the room.

Back in the dormitory, time stretched unbearably. With every passing minute, your nerves grew more frayed. Dae-ho hadn't returned.

At first, you rationalized it. The early groups were expected to be back sooner. But as the tenth, eleventh, twentieth, and even fortieth group arrived without him, dread started to creep in. What if he hadn't made it? What if someone in his group had messed up? What if, God forbid, his body was already being wheeled away, zipped into one of those cold black coffins with a mocking pink bow?

The thought sent a shudder through you, and you shook your head, forcing it away. You couldn't let yourself go there. Not yet.

Just as you felt the edges of panic begin to take hold, the doors finally opened one last time. There he was, walking in with the final group, his face glowing with triumph. That familiar grin spread across his face, and he looked as though the weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

A breath you hadn't realized you were holding escaped in a rush, leaving you lightheaded with relief. For a moment, everything else faded, your fear, your doubts, the shadows of this hellish game. All that mattered was that he was safe, still standing, still him.

Of course, the games continued the next day. This time, the vote wasn't even close, over a dozen more people chose to keep playing. You were doomed to continue these death games. And yet, a small part of you was relieved to see an X on Dae-ho's chest. That didn't mean you stopped avoiding him, oh no, you were still committed to that strategy. Every time you felt he might be getting close, you darted in the opposite direction, struck up a quick conversation with someone nearby, rushed toward the bathroom, or climbed into your top bunk and pulled the blanket over yourself, determined to make it clear he shouldn't approach you. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake the way your chest ached every time you saw him.

Was it childish? Most definitely. Was it foolish? Probably. Did it accomplish anything? You didn't even know. All you knew was that you weren't ready to face him, not yet. You weren't ready to confront the flood of emotions, the pain, and the memories that his presence would bring. What good would it do to talk to him now?

And so, the third game arrived. You prayed silently that it would finally be the last.

The circular room you stood in was overwhelming. The massive, spinning platform in the center loomed ominously, while the 50 numbered rooms along the walls felt impossibly distant. The air was thick with tension, players murmuring nervously as the female voice explained the rules.

Your heart pounded as you stepped onto the platform, your eyes scanning the crowd instinctively, and landing on him. Dae-ho was standing on the opposite end, his arms crossed as he took in the rules. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable, but you knew him well enough to sense the tension radiating from him.

You tore your eyes away, trying to focus. Stay sharp. Survive.

The platform began to spin, a hauntingly cheerful tune playing as you stood rigidly in place. When it stopped, the display above flashed a number: 10.

Panic erupted as players scrambled to form groups. You grabbed Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Young-mi, holding onto them tightly as the timer began ticking down, and you only vaguely noticed as your group joined another group of five. Together, you pushed your way into a room, barely making it inside before the doors sealed shut.

Breathing heavily, you looked up only to see that across the room, Dae-ho stood with his group. 456, 390, 001, 222. No way. Dae-ho's eyes locked onto yours almost instantly, the proximity between you both the closest it had been in years.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, stepping toward you. His voice carried that familiar warmth, even undercut by tension. 

The words froze you for a moment. You hadn't expected him to speak to you directly, and certainly not with such concern. "I'm fine," you managed, your voice steady even as your hands tightened into fists at your sides. "We made it."

Before he could say more, Hyun-ju intervened, and you inwardly thanked her for that. "We're all fine," she said sharply, though not unkindly. Her eyes flicked between you and Dae-ho, clearly assessing the unspoken tension. "Let's focus on staying that way."

The room settled into an uneasy silence as the timer reset. You kept your distance, stealing occasional glances at Dae-ho as he conferred not only with his group, but also with your group. He still had that same steady energy, guiding Player 222 to sit down on the ground with a reassuring tone and helpful hand. It sent a pang through you, a strange mix of admiration, longing, jealousy, and bitterness.

Once the doors opened, you couldn't wait to leave it as soon as possible and be back on the platform. You exhaled, ignoring the bloodbath on the ground and waiting for the next round to begin.

"Still avoiding me, huh?" Dae-ho's low voice came from behind you, startling you slightly. You turned your head just enough to see him standing there, his gaze unreadable.

"I'm not avoiding you," you lied, crossing your arms defensively. "There are just... a lot of people here."

"Right," he said, his tone carrying the faintest trace of sarcasm. He stepped closer, lowering his voice even further to avoid drawing attention. "You didn't even look at me back in there. I'm not stupid."

You glanced quickly toward the others slowly and exhaustedly taking their places on the platform. No one was paying attention to you.

"What do you want, Dae-ho?" you asked quietly, keeping your voice even.

"I just want to know how you're doing," he said, his tone softening. "You're here, in this mess, and... it's not like I don't care."

The sincerity in his voice made your stomach twist. You turned fully to face him, your arms still crossed. "Why does it matter? You should focus on your group. They need you."

He studied you for a moment, his expression still unreadable. "And you don't?"

"I didn't say that," you said quickly, then shook your head, frustrated at yourself for engaging. "I'm fine, Dae-ho. I can take care of myself."

He exhaled softly, his eyes searching yours. "You don't have to."

The words hung between you, heavy and unspoken. For a moment, the room felt smaller, quieter. Just then, the platform beneath your feet began to rumble softly, the motion sudden and disorienting as it started to spin again. The unexpected movement threw you off balance, and you instinctively reached out, your hand brushing against his chest before you could steady yourself again. Dae-ho's hand moved as well out of reflex, hovering near you, but he hesitated, his fingers curling back before he touched you.

Everyone focused on regaining their footing, the air heavy with anticipation. No one spoke now. All eyes turned to the display above, waiting for the next number to be announced. The tension thickened, each second dragging as the platform continued to spin, the haunting melody playing once again.

Your pulse quickened, the unease growing. You stole one last glance at Dae-ho, but his attention was already on the display, his jaw set, his posture steady despite the shifting ground beneath him.

And then, the platform stopped, the number flashing ominously on the screen. 4.

Your heart sank as you realized you'd have to split off from your current group. Geum-ja and Yong-sik clung to each other immediately, and Hyun-ju put a protective hand on Young-mi's shoulder. Before anyone could ask what you'd do, you took a step back.

"I'll find another group," you said quickly, avoiding their gazes.

Hyun-ju frowned but nodded. "Be careful," she said, her tone laced with suspicion.

You didn't wait for anyone to say more, darting into the fray, hurrying to put as much distance between Dae-ho and yourself. You managed to gather three strangers, players who looked just desperate enough not to question you, as you secured a room in time. The door sealed shut behind you, and for a brief moment, you let out a shaky breath, pretending that the tightness in your chest wasn't from leaving him behind again.

By the final round, only 126 players remained. The platform spun for what felt like an eternity before stopping abruptly. The number on the display flashed: 2.

The room erupted into chaos. People sprinted, shoving and clawing at each other in desperation. You froze, your mind blank as you scanned the crowd. Panic blurred your thoughts, the timer ticking down far too fast.

Until you saw him.

Dae-ho was weaving through the throng of people, his movements sharp and precise. Before you could think twice, he turned, his eyes meeting yours. For a second, everything else faded, the noise, the chaos, the rising panic. It was just him, standing there, staring at you as though time had stopped.

But then he moved, closing the distance between you in two quick strides. Before you could react, his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, and he pulled you toward the nearest room.

"Come on!" he barked, his tone urgent but unyielding.

The two of you ran, weaving through the crowd as the timer ticked dangerously close to zero. You barely registered the other players anymore, your entire focus on the warmth of his hand and the steady pull of his grip.

The door slammed shut behind you just as the timer hit zero. You collapsed against the wall, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Dae-ho stood across from you, his gaze burning into yours as the silence stretched between you.

"We need to talk," he said finally, his voice low but firm.

You stared at him, your mind racing, unsure of whether to run again or finally face the storm you had spent so long avoiding.

The silence felt heavier than the air in the room, pressing down on your chest as if daring you to speak first. You remained frozen, your back against the cold wall, your mind racing with every reason to avoid this conversation. But Dae-ho didn't move. His gaze was unwavering, cutting through your defenses like a blade.

"You've been running from me since the moment I saw you," he said, his voice quiet but laced with frustration. "And I'm tired of pretending I don't notice."

You opened your mouth to argue, to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, you dropped your gaze, focusing on the floor beneath you, the slight tremor in your legs a reminder of just how close you'd come to death moments ago.

"You don't understand," you muttered finally, your voice barely audible.

"Then make me understand," he shot back, his tone sharper now. He stepped closer, the weight of his presence making it impossible to look anywhere else but at him. "You think I'm just going to ignore you? Pretend like you're not here? Like I don't-" He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as if he were physically restraining the words.

He sighed, his tone softening. "Seeing you here, in this place… Do you have any idea what that's been like for me?"

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as his words sank in. "I didn't ask you to follow me here," you whispered, the words cutting even as you said them.

"I didn't follow you," he replied, the intensity in his voice making you flinch. "I didn't even know you were here until I saw you during that second game. And if I had-" He stopped again, running a hand through his hair. "If I had, I would've never pressed O. We would've walked out right then. Only one vote decided to quit or continue the games. My vote."

The rawness in his voice made your stomach twist. You forced yourself to look at him, and for the first time, you saw the exhaustion etched into his features, the weight he'd been carrying, the same weight you'd been trying to run from.

"Then why didn't you quit when you had the chance? Why do you blame me for your own vote?" you asked, your tone sharper than you intended.

"I don't blame you. It's just… if you weren't here, I'd have nothing to lose," he admitted, his voice dropping. "I thought if I won, I could fix what I broke. What we broke."

You blinked at him, your heart pounding. "You mean, what I broke."

"Stop saying that," he said, his voice rising slightly. "Stop taking the blame for something we both had a hand in. I made mistakes, too, and you leaving, it didn't fix anything. It just made it worse."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "You don't know what it was like," you said quietly. "Watching you work yourself to death, trying to fix everything for me. I couldn't stay and watch you destroy yourself."

"So you destroyed us instead?" he asked, the hurt evident in his voice.

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you felt the tears you'd been holding back finally spill over. "It was the only way I could save you."

"Save me?" he repeated, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You didn't save me. You just made me lose the only thing I cared about. And you know what's worse? I thought I deserved it. I thought I wasn't good enough for you, that I let you down."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your chest heaving as the weight of his pain settled over you like a suffocating blanket.

"I'm sorry," you whispered finally, your voice breaking. "I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing."

Dae-ho's expression softened, and he took another step closer, his voice quieter now. "The right thing would've been staying and letting me figure it out with you. That's all I ever wanted."

Tears welled in your eyes as you whispered, "I thought you hated me."

He kneeled in front of you, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. "I could never hate you. Not for a second. I loved you then, and I love you now."

The words broke something inside you, your tears spilling over as you finally let yourself feel the weight of it all. You shook your head, realizing the mistake you made, "I thought I was protecting you."

"And I thought I was protecting you," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. "But all we did was hurt each other."

Both his thumbs swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. "I don't care about the past. I don't care about anything except this. Right now. Tell me you don't love me, and I'll walk away. But if there's even a part of you that still-"

"I never stopped," you cut in, your voice barely audible.

His breath hitched, and he pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your hair and holding you as though afraid you might slip away again. His body was warm, solid, and for the first time in years, you felt like you could breathe.

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, clinging to each other as the weight of the world pressed down on you.

"We don't know what's going to happen," you said finally, your voice shaky. "These games... they're not going to let us both make it out alive."

His grip on you tightened, his jaw clenching. "We'll figure it out. We'll survive. Both of us."

"Dae-"

"Don't," he said firmly, pulling back to look at you. "I already lost you once. I'm not losing you again."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of the announcement system crackling to life cut you off. The same automated female voice filled the room, announcing the end of the game.

The moment shattered, the tension between you replaced by the cold reality of where you were. But as the words faded and doors unlocked again, Dae-ho didn't move away. His gaze remained fixed on yours, a silent promise lingering in his eyes.

This wasn't over. Not yet.

[reignpage]

Movie Night

Summary: in which alien!reader asks Gojo to teach her a little something Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: smut, not proofread

Day 7

“What’s wrong, E?”

All fresh from a shower, you and Satoru are sitting in the sofa, watching a movie. He’s finally bought you your own clothes and you’re dressed in a warm jumper and cosy pants. Satoru won’t lie; he’s grieving the pleasure of seeing you drown in his clothes. But you were ecstatic at the sight of the space themed pjs and so he was left with nothing to do but he happy. 

Wrapped under a thick blanket, you’re huddled by his side, clutching his shirt. As with every movie, every night, you ask questions, and he answers as best as he can. He’s insanely grateful that you can understand him when he explains things like what a car is (a moving vehicle) or who Gordon Ramsey is (a famous chef known for being very wrinkly and very angry). It seems that your biggest issue, however, is stringing a full sentence together. 

You’ve been getting much better, accelerating at a rate no human could manage. It’s both impressive and terrifying. 

Right now, you’re tilting your head at a particular scene. Satoru forgot the plot of the money and he really regrets not keeping an eye out for the age rating, because on the screen plays a steamy, kiss scene. 

In fact, ‘kiss’ isn’t even the right word; they’re making out. 

How you both managed to last a week of doing nothing but watch movies without coming across a kiss scene he’ll never know. But the moment’s finally arrived and he is not any more prepared than he was on the first night.

He winces at the sound lips smacking against each other, a blush on his cheeks. A kiss is nothing -- he’s done far more than that, and multiple times. But, for some reason, he’s feeling a little shy. It might have something to do with the fact that you’re staring up at him with your big, curious eyes. 

“What they doing?” You ask. 

Satoru gulps. He’s become painfully aware of how close you are — his arm is trapped between your breasts, just a thin layer separating him from your soft flesh, and, under the blanket, your leg is strung ever so slightly on his thigh. He can smell his shampoo emanating from you with something sweet coursing just under that masculine scent. 

Chuckling uncomfortably, he explains, “They’re kissing.”

“Why?”

He has half a mind to turn the TV off and declare an earlier bedtime, but you look so innocent he feels bad that he was thinking of something indecent. He’s your friend. He can’t prey on you and take advantage of your reliance on him. Plus, how would a kiss between two people from different intergalactic species even work?

Would it be the same? Or does it lead to pregnancy straight away? What if you lay eggs in his mouth? What if he lays eggs in your mouth?

Composing himself, he searches for the right words. “It’s something people do to express their love for each other, I guess. Well, not all the time, actually. Sometimes it’s just for pleasure.”

“Pleasure?”

Why, oh, why did you have to focus on that one word? 

And why on everything that is good in this world is this scene so long?

“It means to feel good.”

The hand clutching his shirt flattens out until it’s feeling the hard planes of his chest and absorbing the vibrations of his heartbeat. You drum your fingers at the same pace, smiling softly. The heat of your hand, of your entire body, is setting his skin alight. Suddenly, it’s too hot under the blanket, there isn’t enough room or air, and he needs to go but he can’t bear to. 

Batting your lashes, you inquire, “How to make pleasure, Toru? How kiss feel good?”

Brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, he corrects you, “It’s, ‘how does kissing make you feel good’, E. Try again for me?”

You taste the words, lips stretching to practice the movement before you parrot back perfectly, “Tell me how kissing makes you feel good, Toru.”

Oh, fuck. 

Why did he make you repeat it in perfect Japanese? Why did he have to use this very moment as a learning opportunity? 

Curse his perfect teaching instincts!

He’s about to shrug you off, using sleepiness as an excuse to retreat, but then you’re leaning even closer, licking your lips and eyeing his. Warmth is spreading through his body, circulating in one particular area and he’s hoping you don’t move your leg any higher otherwise this will turn into a completely different conversation and he’s not certain he could survive giving you an anatomy lesson without getting a nosebleed. 

Licking his own lips, he grazes your cheek with his fingers. The skin he touches glows the very faintest hint of blue. He’s reeling. Up till now, he thought that your skin glows when you’re sleeping, but apparently you also glow when you’re being touched. But this isn’t the first time he’s touched you. 

Was it because before he was trying very, very hard not to stare?

He doesn’t know, and regardless, he can’t stop touching you. Satoru presses on your adorable cheeks to watch it light up, the way his is flushing red. Whispering, he asserts, “I can’t tell you how kissing feels, E.” 

Your hand presses harder against his chest, fingers splaying across the expanse. Subconsciously, he juts it out just a little. And with the most seductive voice, you demand, “Show me then, Toru. Make me feel good?”

Oh, and when you ask like that, how could anyone ever resist you?

There’s a tantalising closeness between you, just a hairsbreadth away from touching. When he finally closes that minuscule gap, a purr like thrum echoes through you. He kisses you, sweet and gentle, simply pressing his lips against yours. There’s nothing human about this, not with the invigorating taste of you, the scalding feel of your skin, and impossible softness of your body on his. 

“This is a kiss?” You mumble.

Chuckling, he says, “No, E. This is.”

With one hand holding the back of your neck, he sucks your bottom lip, unable to help himself from deepening the kiss. You gasp into his mouth, and he dives his tongue in, meeting yours. He knows he should slow down, should let you adjust to a friendly peck before he takes more than you can give, but you taste so good and it’s like he’s drunk. 

There’s a force, a gravitation pull drawing him in. He can’t resist it, can’t fight it, he isn’t even trying. 

You pull back in shock. 

Satoru chases after you, dragging you back in. He kisses you again. Groaning into your mouth, he slides a hand down to your leg, rising up your thigh. You jolt, a shiver running through your body. That electrifying purring hums in the air again and he’s smiling, hand rising and rising until he’s curving against your ass and carrying you over his thighs.

“This feels... I feel...,” you whimper, at a loss for words. 

Squeezing your thighs, he coos, “It’s alright, sweet thing. I’ve got you. You wanted to learn pleasure, right? Who better to teach you than Toru, hmm?”

You shiver again when he whispers that against your neck, nose skimming your jaw and lips curling. He’s inhaling deeply, eyes fluttering close at the weight of your body pressing down on him and your addictive scent. 

He can’t tell if this is all you or if it’s an alien thing, but he doesn’t care. Not in this moment, not when your hips are churning as he sucks at your neck, laying burning kisses against your skin, and watching the blue light dance under your skin. 

“Oh, E,” he sighs. “Are you grinding on me, baby? You want more than just a kiss, is that it? My greedy, greedygirl.”

When your clothed core rubs just right against his throbbing length, you throw your head back, that purring noise a hiss and it vibrates against his cheek as he listens to your rapid heartbeat. He can feel how wet you are; you’re soaking through your panties and pyjama bottoms.

Satoru’s growing dizzy.

One hand guides your hips to gyrate on him whilst the other clutches your throat to pull your lips back to his. Satoru knows he should stop now that he’s already taught you what you asked for, but he can’t. He just can’t. The thrill of going further, of testing your, and his, limits is too much for one man to resist. Even if that man is the strongest sorcerer in the world, even if not a whole gaggle of curses could pose a threat to him. 

“Toru!”

He thrusts upwards the same time he tugs you down and the elongated moan that leaves you, hips stuttering and hands frantically searching for purchase on his broad shoulders, leaves him feeling lightheaded. “That’s it, E. Take what you need.”

Your eyes are flashing blue, a darker hue than his own, and he’s amazed. Everything about you is incredible, like you were created to be his temptation, to be his undoing. Whether aliens have souls or not, he doesn’t know, but he does know that if you did, his and yours would be the same, all blue and perfect. 

Laughing, he leans back, hands simply resting on your thighs as you ride out your orgasm, shocked eyes pleading for explanation, for reason but finding none in his. That purring gets louder and louder, the vibrations stronger now and they’re flowing straight from your soaked pussy and right onto his cock. 

“Oh shit!” Satoru groans, nails digging suddenly. Within seconds, he’s cumming in his boxers, hot cream flooding his underwear from inside at the same time your wetness seeps through on top. “Jesus, E! That’s fucking intense, what the hell.”

He’s panting, eyes shut tightly as he keeps grinding your hips on his cock. 

You slump onto him just as he falls back. You’re completely depleted of energy, and he knows exactly what you’re feeling. Rubbing your back, he presses a kiss to your hair, muttering ‘well done’ and ‘good job’. 

“How was that for pleasure?”

Smacking his chest, you mumble a complaint. “Toru mean.”

He laughs agains.

“Sorry, E. You were just too cute.”

You raise your head, eyes bleary and fluttering shut. You meet his gaze, shaky fingers reaching for his lips and tracing them, all sore and pink, like you’re amazed at him the way he is at you. “Thank you. Kissing is nice.”

“We did a little more than just kissing, E. But sure, you’re welcome,” he chuckles. 

Eventually, you both fall asleep in each other’s arms right there on the sofa, ‘Are You Still Watching’ filling the TV screen and not the movie he can’t even remember the name of, drying cum posing a problem he’ll have to deal with in the morning.

He dreams of sapphire streaks in the air, of giant balls of fire, and an angel descending with its arms outstretched. And he hopes he never wakes up.

[sloaneispunk]

“teacher’s pet”pt.2 (mdni 18+)

teacher!in-ho x you

getting involved with his student was risky, but how far was he willing to take it until he would be confronted?

༯ ──── ❤︎ ──── ༯

“you know, something’s up with you and mr in-ho… you’re like way friendlier than most students and teachers are.” you friend commented as you were walking out the school gate.

“what? no!” you glared at her, looking away.

to be fair, it was pretty obvious. you just didn’t want it to end, it felt good having a handsome man like mr in-house wrapped around your finger. but you didn’t know who you were trying to protect more, him or you.

the next day when you stepped into class, you gave him yet another wave, causing him to do the same.

if mr in-ho wasn’t so good-looking, you would say his lessons were mundane. but luckily for you, your interest had peaked miraculously ever since you started attending his class.

when the bell rang, you packed your bags, ready to leave. but just as you brushed past his table, you felt his hand grab onto yours.

“stay back.” he whispered, making you look back at your friends that had left.

“why? did i do something wrong?” you asked as he slowly but hesitantly released your hand.

“no, not at all… i just thought we could spend some time together.” he shrugged, seemingly with pure intentions.

but you saw right through.

bullshit.

“it is your lunch now right?” he asked.

he swiftly half sat on his desk, signalling for you to take his teacher’s seat instead.

“yea, it is. did you stalk my timetable?” you teased causing him to let out a chuckle.

“just happened to see it.”

“okay then. so, how are you liking this school?”

“oh, i’ve taught in this school before. i just haven’t been back into the teaching scheme in awhile.”

“oh, i didn’t know that.” you replied, hands rested on your hands as you stared at him, intrigued. “so i’m guessing you liked teaching him, or you would’ve found another school.”

“of course. there’s something in the air of this school, makes me keep wanting coming back.”

“maybe it’s the student… maybe a student.” you wiggled your eyebrows as you joked, testing waters.

“possibly.” he shook his head in disbelief.

“i’m assuming you don’t have a wife?” you questioned.

“well… i did, but she isn’t with us anymore.” he said, his tone changing, sounding much softer, much more vulnerable.

“oh…i’m sorry, i don’t mean to pry. i’m sure she must have been very beautiful… inside and out.” you offered him a smile as you placed your hand over him comfortingly.

in-house looked down to where your hands were meeting, breath suddenly caught in his throat.

“thank you.” he cleared his throat before gently pulling away. “so, are you doing anythung after school?”

“no, not really. alot of assignments are piling up, i should go home straight away.” you told him as he nodded sympathetically.

“so you’re a hard-working girl, huh?”

“of course, have you not seen me in your class?” you laughed.

“i have… alot.” the last word said almost in a whiser, barely able to hear if you weren’t fully paying attention to him.

you could feel a string of tension in the air, you breath quickened as he started to move away.

“i should go, should probably eat before my next class.” you made up an excuse, grabbing your stuff and dashing for the door.

before in-house could stop you, you were gone.

shit, did he take it too far?

for the rest of the periods, you couldn’t focus. it was so wrong. so, so wrong.

this was the moment you realised how bad you had it too. in-ho, the man you knew for barely a month had already had you in a chokehold.

when classes ended, you were going to head home. but then came a slight misfortune, it was pouring.

you stood at the gate with a huff as the rain grew heavier by the second. all your friends had took off, heading to a nearby diner together, leaving you behind.

fuck it, you thought. you walked in the pouring rain, feet dragging as you let out curses under your breath.

just then, there was a honk.

as you shielded your eyes from the rain you saw who it was, mr in-ho.

“what are you doing?!” he asked as he pulled up beside you, “get in before you get sick!”

with no other choice, you pulled open the car door, hopping into the passenger seat as you felt his eyes tearing into you.

“thank you.” you breathed out as you looked at yourself, you were soaked. “i’m sorry about the car seat, this looks like a really expensive car.”

“don’t worry about it… are you okay? is it still cold? i can turn off the air conditioning.” he replied, his eyes full of worry.

“no, i’m okay. thank you.”

“do you have an address where i can drop you off?”

in-ho gave you his phone, letting you put your address into his gps before he drove off.

at first, the car ride was silent. it wasn’t an awkward silence, it was a comfortable one. one where you could hear the humming of the engine and the water splashing onto the windshield.

“why did you take off just now?” in-ho suddenly asked, turning to you for a split second.

“i-i just… you- i don’t-”

“it’s okay, you don’t have to answer.”

“no. it’s just that i don’t want to misinterpret anything and end up regretting it for the rest of my life.” you vomitted out.

he stayed silent.

“and what would that be?” he asked after a bried moment of silence.

“that you were into me…” you said softly, “…like how i am to you.”

he only hummed in agreement.

shit, was this it? did you mess up?

before you could somehow salvage the situation, the car came to a stop.

“we’re here.”

“i’m sorry, i knew i shouldn’t have said that. i-i was just misinterpreting the whole thing a-an-”

but you were cut off with in-ho’s soft hands cupping your face, barely giving you any time before his lips met with yours.

you let out a muffled gasp before you melted into him.

at that moment, he was all you knew.

in-ho, in-ho, in-ho.

when he pulled away, you involuntarily let out a whine, causing him to smile.

“it’s our secret.” he said as you nodded frantically. “you know what? since you’re my favourite student, i’ll give you my number…”

he then took out a piece of paper, scribbling his number on it and placed it in the palm of your hand.

“don’t lose it.” he instructed as you were still caught up in what exactly just happened.

with that, you exited his car, giving him a small wave as per usual. he made sure that you got into your apartment before he took off, a stupid smile never leaving his face.

that night, you were on your bed, tossing in turning. you couldn’t sleep.

‘maybe this was the time to put his number to good use.’ you thought.

you crawled over to your nightstand, taking you phone as you typed in his number.

‘hey! i hope this is the right number.’ you texted.

within a minute, your phone had buzzed.

‘Y/n?’

‘yea. sorry i don’t mean to bother you.’

‘It’s alright, i was just grading papers. It’s late, why aren’t you asleep?’

‘couldn’t. but if you’re busy we can talk when you’re free. :) ’

‘Nonsense. Papers can wait. Did you catch a cold?’

‘no, i’m okay. thanks for the ride though!’

‘Anytime, Y/n. You have my number, call me if you ever need a ride home. :)’

you were kicking your feet like a pre-tesn texting their first crush.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow in class okay? Get some sleep, need you to be awake for my class.’

you giggled.

‘okay. goodnight mr in-ho!’

‘Goodnight, Sweetheart. Sweet dreams.’

yup. you were fucked.

༯ ──── ❤︎ ──── ༯

( bungee jumping of their own - 2001 )

[deansbeer]

★ mean streak // dean winchester.

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

synopsis. you're on top this time, chasing your release, but dean's being cruel—taunting, teasing, and making you work for every moment.

warning(s). smut | f!reader | moc!dean | penetration | power dynamics | riding | degradation | rough sex | overstimulation | begging | sub!reader | dom!dean | dean being mean | slight taunting.

kari yaps. i have to thank (so should u) my gorgeous wife for inspiring whatever this is <3 i love yapping away w her about spn & dean all the time. 🤍

you're straddling him, thighs burning as you struggle to keep the rhythm steady, but the look on his face makes it clear he's not about to help you. his hands rest lazily behind his head, biceps flexing just enough to make you clench around him involuntarily. he notices. of course, he notices. his lips curl into that cocky, infuriating smirk that makes your heart race and your body betray you every single time.

"what's the matter, sweetheart?" his voice drips with condescension, low and gravelly in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. "getting tired already? thought you said you could handle me."

he's testing you. he always does. the mark has made him sharper, meaner, but you can't deny how much it turns you on. the way he looks at you now—like you're his to take, to break—should infuriate you. instead, it makes you want to prove him wrong.

you plant your hands on his chest, your nails digging into his skin just enough to wipe that smug grin off his face. "i can handle you," you bite out, your voice breathy but firm.

"then prove it," he drawls, his hips staying maddeningly still beneath you. "come on, sweetheart. show me what you've got."

his cock stretches you perfectly, the thickness of him making every movement feel like an effort, but you refuse to let him see how much he's affecting you. you start to move again, rolling your hips slowly at first. the friction is delicious, but it's not enough—not yet.

his eyes darken as he watches you, his gaze dropping to where you're taking him in over and over again. he licks his lips, and the sight of his tongue makes you falter for a second, your movements stuttering.

"pathetic," he mutters, his voice like gravel. his hands finally leave their lazy perch behind his head, and for a moment, you think he's going to grab your hips, take over, give you what you need. but instead, he folds his hands behind his head again, smirking up at you like the devil himself.

"you're gonna have to work harder than that if you want to come," he says, his words cutting through you like a challenge. "unless you want to beg me to take over."

your jaw clenches, heat rising to your cheeks. you hate how much his words affect you, how much they make your body burn with need. you bite back a retort, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

you start to move faster, your thighs trembling as you bounce on his cock, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the room. his chest rises and falls steadily beneath your hands, and you can feel the way he's holding himself back. you know he wants to take control—he always does—but he's making you work for it tonight.

"that's it," he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours. "keep going. make yourself come on my cock."

his words send a jolt of electricity through you, your movements growing more desperate as you chase the pleasure building inside you. the angle is perfect, the head of his cock brushing against that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

but it's not enough. you need more.

"dean," you gasp, your voice cracking as you grind down harder, trying to get him deeper.

"what?" he asks, feigning innocence. "you need something, sweetheart? use your words."

you glare down at him, your nails digging into his chest hard enough to leave marks. "stop being an ass and help me," you snap.

his grin widens, and he lets out a low chuckle that sends a shiver down your spine. "not how this works, baby. you wanna come? you're gonna have to earn it."

you hate him. you love him. you hate how much you love him.

but you're not about to back down. not now.

you lean back, changing the angle, your hands sliding down to grip his thighs for support. the new position makes you cry out, the head of his cock hitting deeper, harder with every bounce.

"fuck, sweetheart," he groans, his composure slipping for just a second. his hands twitch, like he's fighting the urge to grab you, to flip you over and take control. but he doesn't. instead, he watches you with dark, hungry eyes, his jaw tight as he drinks in the sight of you falling apart on top of him.

"look at you," he mutters, his voice rough. "so fucking desperate. you love this, don't you? love making yourself come while i just sit here and watch."

you shake your head, but the whimper that escapes your lips betrays you.

"liar," he says, his tone almost teasing. "your pussy's dripping, sweetheart. she's soaking me all over."

you can feel it, the slickness making it easier to move, even as your thighs burn and your body trembles. you're so close, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, but you need just a little more.

"please," you whine, your pride cracking under the weight of your desperation.

his eyes narrow, and he tilts his head like he didn't quite hear you. "what was that?"

you swallow hard, your hands gripping his thighs tighter. "fuck, please, baby," you repeat, louder this time.

he smirks, clearly pleased with your surrender. "please what?"

"touch me," you beg, your voice shaking. "please, i need—"

his hands are on you in an instant, gripping your hips so tightly you know you'll have bruises tomorrow. he finally thrusts up into you, his cock slamming into you so hard and deep you see stars.

"that what you needed?" he growls, his grip on your hips guiding you as he starts to fuck up into you, his pace brutal.

you can't speak. you can barely breathe. all you can do is nod, your nails raking down his chest as he takes over, his hips snapping up to meet yours with every thrust.

"fucking knew you couldn't do it on your own," he mutters, his voice strained. "you need me, don't you? need me to make you come."

"yeah," you gasp, your head falling back as the pleasure builds to a fever pitch. "yes, yes, yes—"

he sits up suddenly, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you against him as his other hand slides between your bodies. his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles that send you hurtling toward the edge.

"come for me," he growls, his lips brushing against your ear. "come all over my cock, sweetheart. let me feel you."

his words are your undoing. you cry out his name as your orgasm crashes over you, your body shaking as waves of pleasure ripple through you. he doesn't stop, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release.

"fuck, fuck, fuck—" he groans, his grip on you tightening as he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spills into you.

you collapse against him, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. his arms stay wrapped around you, his lips brushing against your shoulder as the two of you come down together.

"good girl," he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost tender. "knew you could handle me."

you want to say something snarky in response, but you're too spent, too blissed out to care. instead, you let yourself sink into him, his warmth and his steady heartbeat grounding you as the world fades away.

[ditzydoe444]

MDNI 18+

panty stealing perv jason around puppy! reader ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

perv!jason x puppy!reader

smutty

a/n: this may possibly be part 1 bc i wanna have them FUCK but lmk

part 1 (currently) | part 2 |

jason todd didn’t have much of a social life, working away in the garage with nothing but his own thoughts was slowly driving him insane. one day, he came back from the garage and saw a moving truck outside the house next door. he knew new neighbors were coming, but he didn't expect it to happen so soon.

not that it mattered anyways, he didn’t even socialise with anyone.

next morning when he was making his early cup of coffee the doorbell rang, who could it possibly be? there was no one that cared enough about him to visit him at his own house. when he opened the front door he was met with a giant beaming smile. a younger girl, her eyes staring at him expectantly as she held out a tray of cookies.

“for my new neighbour,” she spoke happily, her smile as sweet as the scent of the cookies under his nostrils. “i don’t eat cookies,” jason grumbled, preparing to close the door on her until her foot stopped it.

“come on, it’s delicious, i baked it myself,” she grinned placing the tray even closer to him. it was very clear that she never heard the word ‘no’ through her actions of acting like a little pestering puppy. jason grabbed the tray before slamming the door in her face.

later that night jason was preparing to sleep early due to heavy work at the garage. the last thing he expected to see was you changing right in front of your window, curtains open. clearly, you were unaware of your current situation, stripping down from your mini dress where you were only in your tiny baby pink bra and panties. jason knew it was wrong to stare, god he probably looked like a pervert right now, and his thoughts further reinforced that.

he admired the soft delicate curves on your body, wondering how it would feel under his calloused hands. everything stopped the moment you removed your bra and panties before walking to the bathroom door. jason tried his best to not feel guilty about the whole situation, though the strain in his pants didn’t help the situation.

next day he left his house as early as he could to avoid you from knocking on his door again, despite his guilt his mind was constantly replying to what he saw from the window. though jason couldn’t even make it to the truck before he heard your voice calling out.

“hey!” you beamed skipping towards his truck in the driveway, wearing the tiniest two-piece pyjama set he as ever seen in his life. jason groaned, this was exactly what he didn’t want to happen.

“heard you are a mechanic and like to fix things,” she smiled, completely unaware of the effect she had on him. jason raised his brow, “what do you need that has to be fixed” his arms crossed around his chest and he swore he saw her checking his muscles out.

“my drawer broke during the moving process, so i got a new one but i don’t know how to build it.” it was a bad idea, a really really, bad idea. going to her house, let alone her bedroom after last night was something he shouldn’t do, but yet he couldn’t bring himself to say no.

“sure.”

**

it was going well, for the most part, building furniture was like child's play for jason, which was why he had finished the drawer pretty quickly. however, she insisted that she baked him something to eat as a ‘thank you’, despite jason’s protest it became pretty clear she always got what she wanted. trying to stay away from her jason offered to help build her other furniture after seeing all of the boxes in her room. he started to build her vanity, quickly working on placing it together.

however, one thing caught his attention. in the pile of clothes she had dumped he saw the same baby pink panties slightly hidden by the pile of other clothes, anyone else would’ve overlooked it but he couldn’t.

“jay! cookies are ready!” her voice breaking him out of his trance. he knew he shouldn’t, it was wrong, so goddamn wrong. before he could even think rationally he took the flimsy piece of fabric and shoved it into his back pocket.

he felt guilty, you were so blissfully unaware as you rambled on about the moving situation, jason’s mind clearly not listening as he thought about the fabric in his back pocket. “i should go,” he grumbled standing up, you pouted at how quickly he wanted to leave.

“you sure? you can stay for dinner,” you smiled in an attempt to brighten the mood. jason didn’t care, already making his way to the front door. “no, it’s all good. thanks for the cookies.”

you quickly followed him, your bare feet padding down the hallway. “wait! at least take the cookies with you,” you pouted as your hands held out the tray. “it’s fine, really.”

did he hate you that much?

**

answer is no. jason was currently jerking off with your panty, the fabric covering his dick as he strokes it with his hand. “f-fuck,” he groaned as his head falls back on the pillow, his eyes shut. the material was soft, he wondered what it would feel like to have him rubbing his cock against your clothed cunt, maybe you would be so soaked that he could basically see the whole damn thing.

he wasn’t a saint when he went to your house even after stealing your panty, the way his eyes focused on your ass when you pranced around shorts that were so short leaving your cheeks exposed. he watched as you squeezed the syrup sauce on your drink. the way you frowned when you squeezed it and nothing came out, so you decided you point the nuzzle toward you, as you inspected it and squeezed it. once it finally worked, the thick sugary syrup squirting on your cheek slightly he wondered how you would react if it was his come painting your pretty little face when you sucked him off.

would you have giggled as you did with the syrup? grabbing the sugary liquid off your face with your finger before sucking it off with a ‘pop’?

god he didn’t even want to talk about how your tits shook when you pumped the syrup out. the tight shirt with no bra meant he saw every little movement. the way they moved with your hands as you shook the bottle.

as much as he didn’t want to admit it, you following him around as a little lost puppy was adorable. you were so obedient when he had asked for extra syrup on his drink purely because he wanted to see your tits move as you shook the bottle you were eager to comply. he was pretty damn sure that if he asked you to ride his boot you would with no hesitation.

the moment he had returned to his room he sniffed the material that was shoved in his back pocket, it was wrong, so wrong but he couldn’t stop. maybe if he stole all of your panties you would just prance around with your bare cunt. if he went by to your house to help with the remaining furniture and you were so dutifully adorable by baking him something sweet, he might catch a glimpse of your bare cunt bent over the kitchen bench as you baked. he also didn’t miss the way your tits were pushed together when you squeezed the icing on the cupcake you were baking for a party, he wondered what it would be like to hold them in his hands.

it wasn’t long before he came on your panty, his thick liquid spilling out tainting the material. god he was done for.

[st7rnioioss]

࿐ ˚ ⋆ ֹ CHRIS DOESN'T KNOW

— based off the song "scotty doesn't know" by lustra

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... don't like, don't read! chratt fic!!, threesum (no incest shit), dom!matt, softdom!chris, cheating (don't do this in real life), unprotected sex (wrap it), slightly public sex (? in a car), minor angst (mentions of cheating + arguing), protected sex, oral (f + m receiving), praise kink, dumbification kink, slight dacryphilia.

𝒢𝜚 wc: 5.3k

𝜗𝜚˚࿔ notes: wow wow woooww.. first chratt fic i've ever written! i can't tell if i like or absolutely despise this, but here you are. i love u, freaks!!🤍

chris doesn’t know we do it in my van every sunday she tells him she’s in church but she doesn’t go still, she’s on her knees and chris doesn’t know

“o-oh, matt-“ you moaned, head thrown back against the window of matt’s car, one of your hands gripping onto his shoulders as he basically pounded his cock into you, the other one holding onto the hand grip on the door.

“fuuuckk… c-can’t believe chris gets to see this every day, huh? so pretty..” he ducked his head down to leave a trail of kisses down your neck and collarbone, his pace not halting one bit as his fingertips dug into your hips.

this had become sort of a routine.. every sunday you’d tell chris you were going to church when really you were doing something way more sinful. something that definitely didn’t belong in a church—far from it, even.

you had arranged a specific spot where matt would drive by every sunday, and he’d either have you on your knees in his car or, like right now, sprawled out in the backseat.

“matt! d-don’t stop, please!” you wailed, his thumb connecting to your bud making your back arch and eyes squeeze shut.

“oh, i don’t plan on it.. w-we have ‘til ten thirty-“ he groaned, throwing his head back when he felt your sticky walls clamp around him. “th-think you can keep going?”

oh, chris doesn’t know so don’t tell chris

you knew all this was very wrong.. cheating on your boyfriend, first of all. but with his brother? there was really no excuse.

restless nights were one way to describe the pit in your stomach. staring at the ceiling, asking yourself what drove you to do such a fucked up thing.

chris was perfect… he treated you like there was no other girl in the world, showering you with gifts, and receiving endless kisses from him, and the praise and sweet words he gave you whenever you had sex were more than enough of what you needed.

it left you wondering. couldn’t matt give you the same? they were so similar, yet different. whenever you were having sex with chris, you couldn’t deny you missed matt’s cruel effort to make you cry, rather than chris’s effort to make you smile. yet chris’s compliments is what kept you so flustered and shy around him.

it was complicated. you used to have this “friends with benefits” situation with matt before you got with chris.. and disturbingly enough, it lasted. but you still loved chris, very much.. you just also happened to have sex with matt?

“hey, um.. i don’t mean to be nosy, but like.. you’ve been kinda off lately. are you okay?” chris whispered from behind you, his arms wrapped securely around you.

you sighed, but not in annoyance, messily turning around under the sheets. you met his eyes that had a somewhat worryingly look to them.

“chris, i’m okay. i promise, i’ve just.. i’ve just been tired,” you whispered back, leaving a kiss on his forehead. “don’t worry about me.” sure, you were lying straight through your teeth, but you couldn’t tell him yet. he wasn’t ready to know.

he smiled back at you, nodding slowly as an answer, not wanting to take this thing further. he returned the kiss but to your lips.

oh, chris doesn’t know so don’t tell chris

you were sat in your bed, music playing softly in the background while you scrolled through whatever social media app was interesting at the moment until you were interrupted.

a sigh escaped your lips. you hated keeping this from chris.

even though you saw stars every time you were with matt, it felt so wrong—that pit in your stomach only grew time after time… but yet you craved more from him.

she says she’s out shopping but she’s under me and i’m not stopping

your phone was going off from your nightstand, chris sending messages about letting him see what you had gotten yourself—but that was the last thing you wanted to focus on right now.

chris had called you just earlier, asking if he could come over to hang out with you. but you were.. busy with some other stuff. stuff, as in, matt was over.

“what do i say? i can’t just tell him i’m having sex with his brother,” you groaned, staring down at the confused message from chris.

matt shrugged, taking a sip of his canned soda. “i dunno.. just say you’re out shopping or somethin’, he won’t bat an eye,”

“y-you’re so fucking wet.. listen to that,” matt groaned from on top of you, listening to the wet squelching his dick elicited from your pussy. “y’like it raw that much?”

ecstasy was all you could describe it as. as much as you liked all the positions matt could manhandle you into, this was easily your favorite—along with the raw feeling of his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

you had always kept a promise that no matter what, you’d never let matt fuck you raw. it was intimate to another level, even the thought of him finishing inside of you making your stomach churn weirdly. but this..?

“m-mm..” you babbled, eyes stuck to the back of your skull as he fucked his hips into the back of your thighs, your legs thrown over his shoulders.

he chuckled, reaching a thumb out to wipe the spit off the corner of your mouth. “so dumb.. you like being fucked stupid on my cock, don’t you?”

you weren’t even processing his words, nodding dumbly at the clouded words before you squeezed around him for the second time that evening. a loud moan of his name escaped your puffy lips, your release creating a ring around his cock.

oh, chris doesn’t know so don’t tell chris

a few months had passed since you got together with chris while keeping up this thing with matt, and honestly, you were surprised you first of all hadn’t told him yet, and second of all that he still hadn’t noticed. you were being quite risky with this after all.

“do you want anything?” chris whispers from next to you, nuzzling his nose into the side of your face making you chuckle.

“no, i’m okay.” you whispered back.

you, chris, nick, and matt had gotten together to watch a movie, though matt’s eyes were not on the screen in front of him.

the tension was in the air—and it was thick. at least between you and matt. it always left you nervous when both chris and mag were in the same room as you. thinking about what went on behind closed doors.

a sense of jealousy was bottled up inside of matt. he’d never gotten to be intimate with you like that. the secret whispers, cuddling, kissing, all that jazz was only something you’d ever do with chris and not him.

still, he pushed that feeling away, reminding himself to appreciate he even got to be close to you.

and though you’d never like to admit, the thought of both chris and matt being with you, touching you had crossed your mind.. more often than you’d like it to.

it was a simple solution, right? both matt and chris having to share you, rather than you being torn inside from lying to chris and cheating on chris with matt.

chris doesn’t know don’t tell chris

“no, i’m serious. something is up, y-you’re not acting like yourself!” chris raised his voice, reaching out to take your hands in his.

the poor boy was so afraid to lose you, his heart pounding in his chest. he’d do anything for you, anything to keep you as his.

“chris, i said i’m okay! nothing is wrong, i’m just stressed lately, stop being like that!” you yelled back, but you didn’t let go of his hands.

you wanted to cry, you really did. your love for chris was so overwhelming, yet you felt so terrible when thinking of letting him know about you and matt. how would he react? would he leave you for good? did you want.. the both of them?

all those bottled-up emotions only left you to push chris away from you.

“no, i’m not- i’m not accepting that excuse anymore. you’ve been telling me that for weeks now, you have to tell me the truth,” he clung to you, pulling you closer to him while a pleading look made it to his face.

you only stared up at him for a while, momentarily considering telling him about this whole situation.

“but.. but what if i am telling the truth?”

chris nearly couldn’t believe what he was hearing, letting out a scoff while letting go of you, shoving your hands off.

“fine. if you wanna be like that, then go ahead. but i can’t help you.”

the whole situation fucked up chris and matt too. every passing second, matt got more and more possessive over you, leading him to bicker with chris.

chris didn’t understand why he was suddenly being pushed away from the both of you, leaving him on edge at all times as well.

the powder and the fuse—chris and matt. whenever they walked into the same room, you could only bet on how long it’d take before the two were arguing. whether it was pointless stuff that pissed the two guys off, or there was a deeper meaning behind the arguments.

all this caused nick to get upset as well. he couldn’t stand his brothers fighting all the time, leaving him pissy too.

whether it was breaking up the arguments between the two brothers or joining in, there was always a building tension in their relationship.

was there any escape from this? all you knew was that your lies and secrets only tore all of you further apart from each other.

i can’t believe he’s so trusting while i’m right behind you thrusting she’s got him on the phone and she’s trying not to moan it’s a three-way call and he knows nothing

the next time you spoke with chris after your little disagreement was over the phone. you had matt behind you, thrusting his cock into your soaked walls while you tried your best to focus on what chris was saying.

“wha.. yeah. yes, that’s- that’s perfect..” you bit back a whimper, your hand tightening its grip on your phone, your eyes pinched shut while matt drove his dick in and out of you.

it was so nice of chris—after the argument you had just a few days prior, he decided he could at least make it up to you by taking you out for a nice dinner, talking stuff through instead of staying mad at each other, even treat you with some make-up sex. hell, he’d even gotten you a pretty dress to wear.

“are you okay? you sound a little off,” chris’s voice could be hear through the speakers, the confused tone to his voice making you wish you could just hang up already.

with a weak and somewhat faux laugh, you answered him. “no, no i’m good.. s-seven thirty is fine,” you mumbled, a whimper falling from your lips, momentarily making you panic. “sorry, my shoe won’t- won’t come on,”

chris shrugged off your explanation. “uh, okay. i’ll see you at seven-thirty then, baby. goodb-“

“bye! i’ll see you,” you interrupted, hanging up immediately.

finally, you let the moans fall from your parted lips, muffled from the pillow you buried your face into, clutching for the sheets. the phone fell from your grasp, matt’s hand grabbing a good handful of your hair, driving your face further down into the soft pillow.

“he doesn’t have a clue in the fucking world.. his pretty girl getting her brains fucked out, huh? on his brother's cock?” he chuckled dryly, lifting your head up.

he gradually picked up his pace, allowing weak and whiny moans to flow freely from your swollen lips, skin slapping against skin.

“i don’t think he’d be too pleased to see this.. drooling over my fucking dick. is it really that good?” he taunted, referring to the patch of spit soaked into the fabric of your pillow.

chris doesn’t know so don’t tell chris ‘cause chris doesn’t know

you should’ve seen it coming, really. all the sneaking around would eventually come to an end, whether you broke it off with matt, or chris somehow found out…

which he did.

“hey, do you want anything? i could grab some food for us,” chris suggested, gently nudging your side to catch your attention.

chris had invited you to sleep over, as if you didn’t basically live with them by now, deciding to starts a movie-marathon. chris’s idea.

you looked up at him from your position on the bed, your limbs entangled. “yeah, sure. i’ll stay here tho, i’m too tired to move,”

chris laughed lightly at your response, but he eventually got out of your complicated position, leaving a kiss to your forehead.

“i’ll be back in no time,” he smiled, before waving goodbye, not forgetting his keys and wallet.

you blew a kiss his way, and not long after you could hear the car running.

tiredly, you stood up, deciding to why not go talk to matt while chris was gone, since nick was at the movies with a couple friends.

softly, you knocked on his door, hearing a faint ‘come on in’ from behind the door, carefully pushing it open.

“oh. hi there,” matt smiled at you, sitting by his desk.

“hello,” you returned the smile, waving at him from his doorframe, taking a quick glance at his room. though you weren’t exactly here to do anything specific, your stomach started swirling, making you nervous.

the second matt stood up and made his way over to you with a twinkle in his eye, you regretted going upstairs to say hi in the first place.

looking at you, he reached out to tug a couple strands of hair behind your ear, leaving you speechless and flustered, gazing straight into his blue eyes.

“did you want anything?” he asked, cupping the side of your face while tilting his head to the side in a questioning manner, though he definitely knew.

you weren’t here to have sex, it wasn’t the time and situation for that.. but now it seemed much more than tempting with nick and chris out of the house. you were supposed to just chat, and keep you entertained until chris came back.

you met his eyes, taking your bottom lip between your teeth, and that was all matt needed as an answer, quickly getting his hands on you.

matt was sprawled out under you, his head and back resting on the mattress beneath him, while your nails clawed for his chest.

“ff-fuck.. we have t-to hurry..” you whimpered, your legs already aching from being spread out on either side of his hips.

matt was trying his best not to buck his hips up to meet yours, the restraint wearing thinner and thinner while you squeezed and grinded on top of him.

“you gotta pick your pace up then, baby..” he mumbled weakly, giving the side of your thigh a gentle pat, as if that would help you go faster.

you shook your head, feeling matt’s hands rub down your sides, one of them eventually reaching for your breast, brushing his thumb over your bud.

“i-i can’t, matt..” you whined, the ache in your inner thighs too evident to keep moving, only continuing your weak and slow rocking, your pussy drooling around his stretch.

“cone on.. y-you just gotta-“ matt went to say, but immediately cut himself off when he heard a creak from the doorframe.

“oh.”

chris stood there by the door, staring at the two of you. the second you heard a voice that definitely wasn’t matt’s and was a little too familiar, your eyes flickered to meet chris’s.

and just like that, your heart immediately dropped to your stomach, blood running cold.

“i-i’m sorry..” you whispered, your voice quiet and barely coherent, staring back up at chris, before looking away from him.

though chris was more than shocked to see you literally sit on his brother's dick, he didn’t feel sad or betrayed like any other person would. sure, confusion and shock were running through his whole body.. but it wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling.

quickly, you reached for a blanket, wrapping it around yourself before getting off matt, leaving him to scramble around with his own blanket.

there was silence. not a single word, except the music playing from matt’s computer, nearly drowned out from the thick tension.

chris felt torn. he wanted to be mad, no, he had to. you cheated, didn’t you? but yet he couldn’t get himself to yell at you, instead feeling a sense of arousal both the sight of you right there, and the thought of.. sharing you.

he kicked the door shut behind him, stepping forward to look down at you sitting on matt’s bed.

“are you mad at me?” you whispered with a hurt expression plastered all across your face, patiently waiting for any chance of explanation.

“no.. i don’t- i don't know why. i’m not,” he mumbled back, taking off his cap to run his hands through his messy hair, before looking at matt.

relief washed through your veins, letting out a sigh of reassurance, yet a perplexed expression made its way to your face.

“can i ask you something..?” chris questioned, his eyes flickering between the both of you.

swiftly, you shot a glance matt’s way, before you both nodded hesitantly, making chris wonder how exactly to word this without being too straightforward.

“could we.. i mean, it’s fine if you think it’s weird, but- i’ve been thinking about us, me and matt, both.. going down on you?”

chris’s words lingered in the air, your earlobes turning pink, as well as your cheeks, staring at him. matt seemed just as shocked, yet neither of the two of you seemed opposed to the idea.

you had no clue that chris would think of such a thing. whenever you had sex, it wasn’t like he initiated more. but from chris’s point of view, he would just get to see more angles of how you’d react to another person's touch, his touch.

matt looked at you, a shrug pulling at his shoulders with an expression that said he definitely didn’t mind.

“i-i don’t.. i don’t mind,” a red hue tinted your cheeks, almost too shy to say the words, to even thinking about what would happen.

and immediately, it was like a switch had been flipped inside chris and matt.

“a-are you guys sure about this?” the words came mumbled from your lips, feeling more exposed than ever, though both brothers had seen you completely vulnerable and naked numerous times.

you weren’t unsure about your own situation, more about theirs. since.. well, they’re brothers?

“shh, don’t worry. it’s okay, we’re okay. just relax f’me, will you?” chris’s breath fans against your inner thighs, making your squirm.

but matt holds you in place, his legs on either side of yours, arms wrapped around your middle from behind you. he rested his chin your shoulder, just to get a clearer look of what was going on, to see how you’d react.

“stop squirmin’..” he husked, feeling your lean further back into his chest, your head thrown back into his shoulder, mumbling a quiet ‘sorry’.

chris wastes no time, pressing deliberate kisses to your inner thighs as you whined in desperation, your eyes fluttering shut.

matt’s fingers make their way up your chest, carefully cupping your breasts in each hand, rolling your sensitive buds between his fingers.

“so, so pretty.. and so wet for me?” chris’s breath was hot against your folds, making another whimper tug at your lips.

“for us..” matt broke in, making chris roll his eyes in response.

not another second passes before he attaches his tongue to your folds, causing you to gasp, instinctively allowing your fingers to reach for chris’s hair to tug on.

you can hear matt chuckle faintly behind you, but it was washed out from the buzzing in your head. chris deliberately lapping kitty-licks to your folds, before pressing his tongue to your clit, hooking your thighs up over his shoulders.

at this rate you didn’t care about his fingers leaving marks to your thighs, the only thought going through your head was the absolute pleasure you were receiving from the two.

“oh gosh, chris.. please keep going,” your lips parted, puffy and glistening while your eyes pinched shut, your senses filled with the faint smell of matt’s cologne that still lingered on his skin.

chris continues to lazily lick stripes up your folds before he lets one of your legs rest on the bed to allow his thumb to attach to your clit. the sudden change made your back arch, but matt held you down once more.

moans and whimpers are being ripped from your mouth, only adding to the fuel inside of chris, working his pink tongue in and out of your leaking hole.

“y’taste.. so fuckin’ good, princess..” chris mumbled from between your legs, the soft vibration of his words going straight up your spine.

chris’s hair was already disheveled and messed up from when you played with it earlier, but when you reached and tugged gently on the strands it only messed it up even further. your reaction adds to chris’s desire, knowing he was doing well.

he let his tongue run down your pussy again, before starting to swirl and prod the muscle at your entrance, his only goal in mind being giving you as much pleasure as he could.

shameless moans continued spilling from your lips, leaning further into matt’s body behind you, your legs closing around chris’s head.

“fuck! i’m gonna come, please-“ you whined, accidentally bucking your hips up, but chris didn’t seem to mind.

his thumb circled your bud even tighter, the slight stubble on his face scratching across your inner thighs, surely leaving a faint burn later.

“shh, y’need to quiet down a tad,” matt’s words were whispered from behind you, his lips close to graze your ear.

one of matt’s hands sneaks from your breast to your neck, gently but firmly gripping you to hold your shuddering body back as you lean into him, trying to get you to stay in place as chris worked you through your orgasm, fucking you with his tongue.

you just about lose it when matt’s fingers add a soft pressure to your neck, your skin heating up and breathing getting heavier—all this leads to your mind fogging up completely.

shockwaves gripped your body, dissolving into pleasure when you came, letting out strangled moans of chris’s name.

“ohhh, just like that.. doin’ so good,” matt chuckled, his fingers slipping from your throat, returning to cup your soft skin

chris’s chin and lips were basically covered in a mix of your release and his own spit, before using the back of his hand to wipe it off.

you chuckled breathlessly, letting your hands fall from chris’s hair, your chest heaving with every breath.

“come on.. let us take care of you,” matt said from behind, clearly growing impatient and eager, gently nudging your back to signal for you to move.

chris quickly stole a kiss, leaning forward to connect your lips, before leaving more down the side of your face, causing you to let out a giggle. he laughed along, before getting settled on the bed.

a second later you’re on all fours, feeling chris crawl up behind you, one of his large hands smoothing down the spine of your back.

your look over at matt, a confused look settling on your face. “are you not joining?”

he shrugs, shaking his head for a moment. “i just wanna watch for a minute.. don’t worry.”

a smug smile made its way onto his lips. really, he just wanted to watch you, how you shuddered and reacted while positioned like that. it was like his own, personal third-person view of how you’d look while being fucked by him.

you just nodded it off, before your legs were spread further apart by his thighs, the tip of his cock prodding at your weeping pussy, smearing the precum over your folds. the icky feeling made you whine, digging your nails into the sheets in both desperation and aching need.

“so, so pretty.. i could look at you all day,” chris whispered from behind you, hand hand reaching the ends of your hair to push out of the way, smoothing his palm up your back.

you smiled to yourself at his sweet words, until you felt him press the head of his cock through your opening. a gasp slipped from your parted lips, the stretch leaving a twinge between your legs.

“christ.. you take me so well..” he groaned from behind you, watching his cock disappear inside of you, a whimper ripping from the back of your throat. “do you wish it was matt touching you right now? this isn’t enough, is it?”

your ears perked up at his question, all blood running from your face. matt was already staring at the two of you, carefully wrapping his hand around his aching dick. chris never talked to you like this, making your stomach swirl—it was only something matt ever did.

truthfully, you shook your head. it wasn’t like matt didn’t make you feel good, but this was really all you needed. “n-no..”

a yelp elicited from your lips when he pressed his cock further inside of your drooling walls, echoing with the whimper falling past matt’s.

you turn your head to look at him, met with the sight of him fisting his erection, eyes locked on yours.

“really? i think you’re lying.. too busy running around fucking my brother. come on, matt,” chris waved him over, his fingertips digging into the soft skin of your hips, pulling you back to take more of his cock.

you felt nervous, more vulnerable than ever under both their eyes and chris’s harsh words, though they weren’t linked with malice, more something to get you both going. matt shuffled closer in front of you, and you twisted your neck to look up at him.

“come on.. you know what to do,” chris murmured, his length throbbing inside of you—it was getting hard to hold back from pumping his cock inside of you, watching your puffy walls suck him in.

nervously, you reached out to wrap your hand around matt, watching the sticky substance already smear from his tip, purposely rub your thumb over his slit, earning a groan from him.

carefully, your lips parted to wrap around his cock, swirling your tongue around the head. matt let out a quiet moan, his hand entangling in your hair, guiding you to take more of him. it wasn’t until he hit the back of your throat he stopped, loosening his grip on you but not letting go.

“fuck, you look so hot with my dick down your throat,” his head lolled back, eyes shut while you desperately tried to adjust to the restraint of breathing, your own eyes pinched shut.

suddenly, chris thrusted his hips forward, his hand on your back pressing down to arch your back as much as possible, the sudden shove forward making your gag around matt, tears prickling in the corner of your eyes.

“o-oh my god..” chris groaned, starting to pick up a slow rhythm, keeping it gentle since he didn’t actually want to hurt you.

“shiiitt.. fucking drooling around my cock, sweetheart..”

spit pooled around matt’s girth, hollowing your cheeks in an attempt to bob your head on his hardness, feeling every vein and ridge under your tongue, causing matt to groan.

it didn’t take long for chris’s pace to pick up, as well as your own, moaning and sputtering around his dick. his hand gripped the back of your head, accidentally bucking his hips into your mouth.

“you feel so good, angel.. so, so good, you’re doing so well..” chris cooed from behind you, gently massaging your hips in a way of comforting you, though his pace was a stark contrast to his dreamy words.

chocked whines were let out around matt, trying your best to signal your climax was close, your head going empty as the bliss took over you. the feeling, the pure ecstasy that ran through your veins seemed irreplaceable in the moment. nothing could add up to this.

the vibrations from your pretty noises and attempted words sent a shock of electricity up matt’s spine, guttural groans flowing past his lips.

you were throbbing around chris, your walls fluttering with every erratic pound, heat pooling in your lower tummy. and chris could feel it all, feel how your soaked hole pulsed and squeezed around his cock.

“you’re close, aren’t you? it’s okay.. it’s okay,

you can come,” chris shushed you, his chest heaving while letting out pathetic whimpers between pants.

you were writhing beneath the two, your clit swollen and a sheen of sweat prickling across your forehead and back. you lost composure, seeing stars from how overwhelming the whole situation was, your body going numb and hot.

“come on, she’s doing so good.. why don’t you tell her?” chris spoke between gritted teeth, looking up at matt.

he looked almost puzzled, not used to being so sweet with his words, but that was exactly was chris was going for. you deserved the world, not derogatory praised though he knew you didn’t mind either.

“yeah.. he’s right, you take it so well, hm? y’like being stuffed full like this?” matt complied, feeling your lips loosen around his length, your bobbing turning sloppy and halting.

your gut tightened, knees buckling under you when you came around chris’s dick, waves crashing upon you as your slick smeared over his length, tears escaping your waterline to roll down your cheek.

the repeated shudder around matt’s length was becoming too much, before his grip tightened on your hair, spilling his cum down your throat when he was pushed over the edge, spit seeping from the corner of your mouth.

“fuck! take it all, i know you can,” matt’s words stung when he continued to rut his hips forward, before tears were staining your cheeks, milking him completely dry.

with a pop, he pulled back, allowing you to heave for air, messy moans being ripped from your throat from chris’s unrelenting thrusts.

“ch-chris.. i can’t take it, please. it’s too much,” you whimpered between a quiet sob, sobs of ecstasy, clamping down around him while the tip of his dick kissed your cervix with every roll of his hips.

“y-you really think you could handle the both of us? at the same time?” matt cooed with faux sympathy, leaning down to cup the side of your face, his thumb wiping the mix of his release and saliva off your lips, “of course, you couldn’t,”

he tsked, shaking his head while giving your cheek a pat. chris then broke in, his eyes stuck to where your two bodies connected, your slick release covering his length, “shh.. just a little bit more, m’almost there doll, you’re doing so good..”

another whine slipped from your glistening, swollen lips, dipping forward to bury your face into a pillow, allowing chris to hit way deeper inside your gummy walls.

you were basically clawing at the soft fabric, hot tears falling from your eyes like prior, the soft cries making his pace turn sloppy, indicating he was close.

with a final thrust, his movements stilled, before spurting the hot seed inside of you, the icky substance filling you up.

he groaned, basically collapsing on top of you, his fingertips trailing down your sides while mumbling mindless praise, “so, so pretty.. you did so well, don't cry. my girl,”

you wobbly made it onto your elbows, smiling dreamily to yourself at his words, completely fucked out and weak while his lips made their way down your back, “i love you too,”.

matt’s hand met the top of your head, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, leaving a gentle kiss to the side of your face.

“anyway.. pizza’s in the kitchen. go crazy,”

more of my work here!

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© ST7RNIOIOSS est. 2023

[captainadwen]

Damian Wayne vs the World

Sixteen year old Damian Wayne is on the hunt for a younger sibling. Being more discerning than Bruce 'child collector' Wayne, Damian's firm criteria for Batman's latest adoption problem includes but is not limited to: black haired, blue-eyed, tolerable humor, not evil, and most importantly - younger than Damian.

Lucky for him, fourteen year old newbie vigilante Danny Fenton is the perfect fit. Now, to fulfill his end of their deal, Damian must defeat the evil government organization hunting Danny in order to gain a baby brother.

Or, @livinghalfway your post made my brain go !! but in such a different way I figured it was better to make a separate post, hope you don't mind/enjoy still

~~

Damian Wayne re-entered Tim Drake's life like a gnat revealing itself in a closed bedroom space. Tim was in t-shirt and a boxers, maneuvering ramen into his mouth with one hand and scribbling out an epiphany on a murder case with another, when Damian's demonic dulcet voice echoed down from the ceiling. "Drake," said Damian, judgemental, "You live like this?"

Tim nearly choked on his ramen, because the day Damian doesn't attempt to murder him - however doubtfully accidental this incident might be - is the day Darkseid decides to be friends with the Justice League. "Fucking knock," Tim coughed out. "And get out. No one invited you in."

"Put better traps if you don't want me here," said Damian, dropping from the ceiling where he'd crawled in on wall-clamps.

"This is my apartment," said Tim. "It's called courtesy."

Damian sniffed. He padded around to Tim's desk and frowns at his cases, then said, with no further lead up, "I need your assistance."

"No," said Tim.

"You did not even listen to my request."

"Don't need to," said Tim. "Answer's still no. Door is that way. Bye."

"Father says mutually assisting each other is beneficial," said Damian.

"Father," said Tim sarcastically, "blamed me for you exploding a glitter bomb in the batcave two weeks ago."

"That is your fault for not being able to provide evidence to the contrary in an appropriately efficient manner," said Damian. He squinted down at Tim. "And he apologized. Eventually."

"I would not have glittered the batcomputer," said Tim. "Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is to backup those servers? No, because you don't like tech work, you just profit off it."

"Blaming me for Father's mistake," said Damian, "Most mature of you. But we must put our differences aside. I have selected a new family member and I need you to dismantle a government organization."

That drew Tim up short. He blinked down at his ramen as though it might explain Damian's words to him, but the ramen remained disappointingly uninformative. "Repeat that," said Tim, gesturing with his chopsticks. "Slower, and with more detail."

Damian pulled out his phone and sent him an email. Silence surrounded them in the brief moment it took Tim to set aside his chopsticks and open the email. The subject line was titled 'New Baby Brother', which birthed all sorts of horrifying nightmares of Damian Part 2: Demon Child Boogaloo. The teen in the inserted picture, however, was reassuringly not in possession of Damian's bone structure.

He did have black hair and blue eyes. "Who am I looking at?" asked Tim.

"Daniel Fenton," said Damian. "He is fourteen years old, enjoys puns, and has recently awakened 'ghost powers' that allow him to transform into the vigilante Phantom to fight other ghosts."

"Is he also an orphan with a tragic backstory?"

"No," said Damian, and Tim relaxed. "But that will not be an issue. We can share custody if they cannot be removed from the picture."

"Jesus H, kid."

"I am joking, of course," said Damian blandly. "Murder is wrong."

"Ha ha," said Tim. "If he has parents already he's not joining our menagerie."

"He will," said Damian, with a smug upwards tilt of his lips. "He and I have a deal."

"So you're coercing him in addition to stalking him. Anything else you want to share with the class?"

Damian considered this query with a serious frown, which was how Tim knew this was not a flight of fancy or a very early midlife crisis (although with their lifestyle and Damian already having died before...).

"He has," said Damian after a moment, "a rogue that calls himself 'The Master of all Technology' and is a technopath." This was clearly meant to be of interest to Tim, and not to be a stereotype, but it kind of was.

"Great." Tim turned his attention back to the email the demon child sent him. He scanned through it quickly. There was apparently a secret and evil government organization dedicated to the investigation and extermination of 'ghosts' and other paranormal creatures in the world. Their latest efforts were focused on the town of Amity Park, Illinois, which was 'infested with ectoplasmic pests'. Their words, not Damian's. (It was specified in the email.)

"Okay," Tim drummed his fingers against his desk. "Before I help you defeat this secret evil government organization so that," he opened the email attachment with a contract on it and squinted at the legalese, "this poor newbie teen you've harassed into signing this joins the family in exchange."

"I did not harass him," Damian huffed. "It was a gentleman's agreement."

"Does he know that?"

"I am not a politician, Drake. I thoroughly explained the terms and legalities before presenting any contract. Now ask your question."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because," said Damian, tone implying 'you are stupid and haven't noticed something obvious, idiot'. "Father has begun saying he misses the noise around the manor and looking wistfully at old pictures."

"We still live there though?" said Tim. Damian looked flatly at him. "Sometimes."

"If you lived there frequently enough," said Damian, "you would already know Father is having...empty nest syndrome." Damian sounded disgusted. "I refuse to tolerate whatever inadequate and incompetent child he will find."

"So instead you found an incompetent and inadequate child for him?"

"Don't be stupid, Drake," said Damian. "I would not have chosen someone inadequate. Daniel is merely lacking formal training. Father can rectify this. It will keep him occupied for at least the next two to four years, which gives me enough time to find another black-haired, blue-eyed, tolerable child I approve of to be his successor and my second younger sibling." Damian paused. "Or until one of you procreates and gives him a grandchild."

"You're really serious about this," Tim whispered in horrified awe.

"I am serious about everything I do," said Damian. "Now, you will help me defeat this evil government organization so that our new sibling joins us."

"Okay," said Tim, but his mind snagged on a minor, throwaway detail, so utterly in odds with Damian 'Demonic Jealous Child' Al Ghul it surely came from another person - "Did you just call this kid your successor?"

[callmeizukunotdeku]

Bruce comes back from the dead and wants to make things better. Bruce comes back from the dead and Tim was the one who brought him back, so it's obviously Tim who'll know best how to help him reconnect with everyone.

It's Tim who should give him advice on how to bond with Dick. Dick has always been his idol, after all. Tim would know best how to bring him back, and he does. He gives good advice and the two of them begin to get closer.

So Bruce asks about Jason, too. Asks about how to bring his son back into the fold and Tim wished for a brief and brutal moment that it weren't so obvious who the favorite was.

Tim told Bruce to give Jason his space, to loosen his rules, and make it clear that no matter what the Red Hood did, no matter what the Batman believed in, Jason was always welcome. Bruce would always want him.

It worked. Bruce wasn't surprised. Tim was a special sort of bitter.

Bruce asked again for Damian and Tim had to push down his anger. "That boy tried to kill me," Tim wanted to say. "I hate him and I want you to hate him too so that I can remember a time when we had something in common," Tim didn't say, but he got close.

He instead told Bruce how Damian liked art and animals and loved hearing stories of the wonders of Batman.

He told Bruce just how much Damian loved being Robin. Told Bruce to tell Damian what a good Robin he was.

God bless or maybe damn him, but he did and it worked and Tim wanted to start screaming and clawing at something because that would have never worked if Tim tried it and it wouldn't have stopped Damian from cutting his line--something Bruce did not and would never know about.

Bruce asked about Babs. How should he make sure she knew that she was a part of the family? That they loved her and not just for the work she did?

He asked about Steph. How should he make sure she knew that she was more important than his rules and that, if something else should go wrong, she didn't need to run away?

He asked about Duke. He never got the chance to get to know him before leaving--not as well as he wanted to, at least. How should he let him know that he was just as much a son as everyone else? That, whether or not his parents woke up, he'd always be welcome?

He asked about Cass. How should he show her that he loves her even though he has nothing to teach her? How can he convey how much he cares about her, his first daughter?

Bruce gets brought back from time and he makes things better. He brings his family back together by following Tim's advice.

And Tim?

Tim brings his dad back from the dead and Bruce changes, becomes a better father.

Bruce changes, but not everything can.

That, Tim thinks, is why Bruce never calls Tim his son.

[sonotpattismith]

but daddy I love him her!

pairing: billionaire's son!gojo x farmer's daughter!reader word count: 10.7k content: angst, fluff, romeo and juliet retelling, hurt w/ comfort, implications of abuse, smut, 18+

gojo fan-art by @3-aem

The grating sound of fake laughter would be ingrained in your mind for the remainder of the week, you were sure of it. In the midst of your zoned out staring and eavesdropping (though even that was becoming mind-numbing at this point), the tray of hordeurves balanced in your hands began to tip ever so slightly. It only caught your attention when one of the caviar topped… whatever it was started sliding to the right. With a strangled gasp, you quickly righted your posture, your spine now stiff as a board. 

You cast your gaze across the banquet hall of high profile, and thus high nose individuals, their glittering jewelery and lavish gowns nearly blinding you, and you assured that no one had seen your slip up. With a quiet sigh of relief, you mustered a polite smile for the goach woman before you, slipping off her glove to grab an appetizer from your tray. 

God, you needed this job, but for the love of all that is holy, you didn’t expect it to be this agonizing. In truth, it could have been worse. You could have found a temp job that really had you breaking your back as you were used to, so perhaps putting up with some horribly privileged elites for the few hours of their… gala or fundraising event or whatever excuse they used to justify such lavish get-togethers, wasn’t as bad as you were making it out to be. 

You didn’t get details of the event you’d be servicing until just an hour prior to its beginning when you were given a run down about the nature of the event as well as the importance of the clientele. Of course, you had already heard of the Gojo family long before your temporary manager explained them to you with sweat dripping anxiously down his forehead. They were the business tycoons of Tokyo, owning half the real estate that you’d likely ever stepped foot in in this city. 

There was a slight unease in your stomach at the thought of being entrusted to work at an event so… high profile, but your subtle irritation for the gall of it all trumped that anxiety tenfold. Not only had you had a good understanding of who the family was due to good ole’ word of mouth, but it also didn’t help that they had been singlehandedly making your father’s life a living hell for the past few years. 

Sure, they weren’t intentionally targeting the man, but as their franchises and real estate continued blossoming throughout the city, there were growing pressures for your father to sell his farmland with the intention of their company building more fucking skyscrapers filled with law firms or IV transfusion spas or whatever the hell it was that these rich people filled their pockets with. He had stayed resolute in his intention to keep the farm, but you knew the rising property taxes that came along with that Gojo family price tag popping up all around him was making it difficult for him to keep it afloat. 

Which is precisely why you were currently pretending not to be creeped out by the middle-aged man leering at you from your peripheral— you really needed this money. 

Clearing your throat, a wobbly smile graced your lips as you held out the tray to him in hopes that it was the caviar he was eyeing and not your… hordeurves. Perhaps that was the wrong move to make though, because he was taking one and staying with a look on his face that said he had an offer that you just wouldn’t be able to refuse. 

“You do private events, sweetheart?” 

You had half a mind to tell him that this was a private event, but the Rolex on his wrist told you that he had too much money to piss off. 

“I-I’m contracted by the catering company, sir.” You explained with your eyes facing forward, gulping down the heartbeat that had manifested in your throat at the way he chuckled patronizingly and leaned against the wall you were standing by. “I work the events that they send me to.”

“Alright then, better question,” He grinned connivingly as he absentmindedly straightened the gold cufflinks at his wrists. “Can I contract you for a private event?”

Any hope of rebuttal got stuck in your throat, caught between your burning desire to defend yourself and the even greater need for this job to go well. 

“I’m pretty sure your three ex-wives would agree that contracts aren’t really your strong suit, wouldn’t you say, Junto?” 

Disguising your near instantaneous chortle as a cough, you quickly turned your head away from Junto and your knight in… Prada? Lord knows you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. The sleezeball scoffed, but it seemed he too felt the waves of dominating energy coming from the younger man that dared challenge him, because that scoff quickly turned into a strictly rehearsed laugh.

“You always did have a mouth on you, didn’t you, kid?” He gritted through his fake smile as he patted said kid on the back, who only offered a mocking aw, shucks in return. “You stay outta trouble, huh?”

The man promptly removed himself from the situation lest he be torn apart anymore by someone who appeared less than half his age. Biting at your bottom lip, you weren’t sure if it would be appropriate to acknowledge what you had just witnessed, so you opted to face forward, trying to ignore the scent of the woodsy cologne that just wafted an air far too expensive for you to even be breathing in. Despite your careful composure, you could feel his eyes on the side of your head. 

“What a fuckin’ weirdo, amaright?” He broke the silence for you, a smug smile stretching across his lips when you failed to contain your laughter that time around. 

“Oh my god, I thought he would catch fire standing so close to the candles with so much gel in his hair.” You whisper-shouted, absolutely reeling to get it off your chest after standing in silence for so long. 

Your savior chortled next to you, hunching over himself ever-so-slightly as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his perfectly-tailored suit. Finally daring to look his way, you were almost knocked off your balance for the second time that night as you took in his striking, white hair and icy-blue eyes that seemed to twinkle supernaturally under the candlelight’s flicker. He looked to be your age, and you figured he was the son of one of these bigshots that was dragged here for the sake of networking.

“Maybe we should get him back over here then. We need something to liven this place up— a grease fire would do nicely.” He teased while straightening his posture once again to look out amongst the sea of people as you giggled along beside him. 

“Thank you, by the way.” You expressed sincerely once your laughter had died down. “It was kind of an awkward position he was putting me in.”

The man only hummed, observing you with a mischievous glint in his other-worldly eyes that had you thinking the creep was onto something when he told him to stay out of trouble. 

“Wanna know how you can thank me?” You felt a premature flush falling over your cheeks as he leaned down to be within your earshot. “Sneak me a piece of the cake that’s in the back, yeah?”

At once, the tension in your shoulders dissipated, and you smiled apologetically at him.

“I can’t cut the cake until the hosts give their speech.”

“Ah, see, therein lies my problem because that is assuming I would be staying for the entirety of this snoozefest.” He was promptly taking the tray from your arms and blindly handing it off to another unsuspecting worker who was passing by. “C’mon, I just want a little something sweet before I dip out of here. Please?”

Maybe it was the fact that you felt partially indebted to him, or maybe it was that irresistible pout he was directing your way, or, most likely, the fact that he was obscenely attractive. Whichever it was had you slipping into the kitchen where the lavish cake was waiting atop the counter, peeking around to assure the coast was clear before you grabbed a knife. With an unbelieving shake of your head, you turned it around so as to cut from the back and not make it so obvious. 

Your heart was thumping wildly against your white-button down-clad chest as you promptly maneuvered it back to its proper positioning, grabbing a spoon before you made a beeline toward the hallway where he said he’d be waiting. Sure enough, there he was, just barely illuminated by the candle-lit lanterns hanging in the grand hallway as he leaned against the wall. 

“Hah! You’re a total badass!” He cackled shortly as he pushed himself off the wall. Surveying the plate in your hand, his brows furrowed suddenly. “Just one?”

You shifted nervously on your feet, the corners of your lips twitching in uncertainty. 

“You… wanted two?”

“No, where’s yours?” The question fell from his perfectly pink lips as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. With the reemergence of that incriminating pout, he presented the hand that had since been hiding behind his back. In it, was a bottle of champagne that looked like it cost more than what you were even getting paid for this stupid event. “Brought us some bubbly and everything— you know what, it’s fine. I can share just this once.”

At once, he was leading you by your free arm down the dim hallway until he reached an alcove that would be perfectly disguised to anyone looking straight down the hall. 

“Wait, wait, I can’t be here—” 

“Why not?”

“Why not?” You scoffed in bitter amusement at his oblivion as he sat crisscrossed against the wall. “Because I could lose my job, that’s why not.”

“Oh, please,” He waved you off as he nodded toward the spot beside him. Slowly, you begrudgingly took a seat next to him. “You’re not gonna lose your job.” 

With a resignated sigh, you set the plate down on the floor before him. 

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Oh the—” He flinched back as he popped the top off the champagne, the abrupt rupture making you squeal. “—surest. What are you doing working this dick-measuring competition anyway?”

You tried not to get distracted by the way his lips settled eagerly around the cake-filled spoon, the smallest of moans leaving him in the process before he passed the plate to you. 

“Need a new laptop for school.” You explained, though you knew it was only a fraction of the story, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t understand your financial struggles as he allowed drops of champagne to spill onto his freshly-pressed suit pants. Despite your better judgement, you took a bite from the cake as well. “Too many open coffee cups next to electronics got me too confident. So, I’m stuck as the Gojo family mule for the night.”

He huffed out a laugh through a mouthful of champagne. You two soon swapped, him taking the cake and you grabbing at the neck of the bottle. Leaning your head back against the wall, you tilted your head to look at him.

“You know, I heard this whole thing was actually a networking thing for their son.” You rambled, the slightest hint of alcohol clearly making you way too comfortable with this stranger. He only hummed beside you, the faintest of amused smiles on his handsome face. “Heard he’s a real disaster, too.”

“I heard he showed up an hour late.” 

“Of course he did.” You snorted softly with a shake of your head. “If I had half the opportunities that dude had—”

“What would you do?”

You fell silent for a moment, smushing some icing around the delicate, china plate. In your peripheral, you saw the small, shiny triangle shaped logo at the base of his black tie, and it once again reminded you that even this man, as relatable as he might appear to you hiding from the party to stuff his face with cake and champagne, wouldn’t understand the petty issues of the working class. 

“I wouldn’t be passing out caviar to a bunch of billionaires— that’s for sure.”

“Satoru!” 

At once, the man was snatching the plate from your hand, juggling it along with the champagne bottle between his long fingers. 

“That’d be my queue.” He quipped, glancing down at your name tag before testing how it sounded on his lips. You blinked owlishly at him, because you could have sworn that Satoru was the name of— “Sorry, you know me— real disaster.” He winked before swiping at the leftover icing at the edge of your parted lips and licking it from his thumb. “Try not to get propositioned while I’m gone!”

You watched with unreserved horror as he stumbled to his feet to race up the hall before anyone could come down to find you. In the quiet solitude of the secluded hallway, you could still just barely hear the host of the event introducing his son with some heartfelt speech about how proud he was of him that was most definitely written by someone else. A churning sense of mortification settled in your stomach as you looked up at the portrait on the wall behind you of the Gojos. 

The Gojos and their son.

The Gojos and their white-haired, blue-eyed son.

Oh, you were so losing your job.

It seemed as though you couldn’t get enough air into your lungs no matter how hard you tried as you stood with the rest of the contracted wait staff for a final rundown of how service went overall that night. 

Following Satoru’s abrupt departure, you begged a coworker to switch roles with you for the night— a change she was more than happy to oblige given she was on dishwashing duty, but you were just eager to be avoiding any possibile run-ins with the man you had just shit-talked right to his face. It was the only reason you made it through the night without vomiting, you were sure. Why had you opened your stupid mouth?

A call of your name pulled you from your self-depricating thoughts, and you lifted your head to meet the gaze of your manager. Through the blood rushing in your ears, his words sounded muffled to you as he handed you an envelope. Blinking a few times, you shook your head and called out to him just as he had moved onto the next worker. 

“Sorry— what did you say this was for?” 

“Long night, huh?” He chuckled at your supposed sluggishness. “One of the guests wanted to give you an additional tip. Guess you left an impression.”

You gulped, looking down at the envelope with the slightest of trembles in your fingers. It burned a hole in your pocket the entire drive home, and you were more so than usual frustrated at your run-down truck’s pathetic engine. It wasn’t until you had showered, cooled your nervous system even in the slightest, and gotten into your bed that you worked up the courage to open it. Flinching back as if it might explode in your face, you slowly tore it open. 

“Holy shit.” You breathed out, clutching the envelope closer to you to inspect the stack of bills glaring back at you. Frantically thumbing through them— your head started to spin after you hit five-hundred. “He’s insane. Oh my god, he’s insane.”

Pulling out the wad of money, a small napkin you recognized as one you were offering the guests with the horderves fell onto your mattress. You snatched it up, frenzied eyes quickly skimming the sloppy penmanship. 

Thanks again for the cake, and try to keep your coffee off of your new laptop. 

— Satoru ‘Real Disaster’ Gojo

The money, along with the note, sat untouched at the bottom of your bag for nearly a week. It felt so unbelievably wrong to use it, but you weren’t exactly sure what to do with the thousand dollars you’d received in exchange for a slice of cake and an insult. So, it remained there as you pretended to forget its existence, continuing to work your actual job in the meantime as though you didn’t already now have more than enough for a new laptop. 

It’s where you found yourself now, mindlessly reading over the notes from your previous class as you sat at the front desk of your campus library. Your days were typically slow like this, especially since it wasn’t anywhere near finals season, which is about the only time of semester you would see this place bustling with students. There were no complaints from you though, as you were able to study and get homework done so you’d be free to help your dad out around the farm when you were home.

The writer’s block you were suffering from was just on the cusp of escaping you as you finally began typing out an opening paragraph for the marketing paper you had been stuck on for nearly an hour. As if the universe was dead set on mocking your academic struggles, a student strolled up to your desk just as your fingers began moving across the keyboard on the library computer. With a barely disguised sigh of frustration, you looked up to offer your services, but your typical greeting died in your throat. 

He looked different than when you had last seen him— out of his Prada suit and instead donning a university crewneck as he scrolled purposefully through his phone with furrowed brows of concentration. Satoru Gojo; maybe it wasn’t such a shock that he attended the same university as you, given it was what some would call a ‘prestigious’ university that you were only lucky enough to attend due to the scholarship you grinded your ass off to qualify for each semester. 

There was a subtle hitch in your breath as he hummed triumphantly, zooming into something on his phone before leaning over the counter to show you. You hoped that perhaps he would have forgotten all about you, and you redirected your attention to the book he was showing you.

“Do you know if you carry this book? I ordered it for class, but it still hasn’t—” 

You felt your stomach practically drop through your ass and onto the floor below you when he abruptly cut himself off. Daring to glance up from his phone, you found those intensely stunning eyes wide and trained on you. A slow smile spread across his lips, and the shock in his eyes morphed into that wicked mischievousness that seemed to come so naturally to him.

“Well that dinosaur certainly doesn’t look like a new laptop to me.” He quipped, clicking his phone shut to lean against the counter on his elbows. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“That’s because I didn’t buy a new laptop.” You explained with burning cheeks, reaching for the bag you had stored under the desk. Fishing around at the bottom of it, you procured the envelope that had been lingering in your possession for a week. You slid it over to him. “Nevermind the fact that I could have gotten three laptops with that kind of money.”

Gojo backed away from the envelope as though it might burn him to touch it, raising his hands defensively. 

“So, I figured you could get a nice one. Sue me—”

“I’m not taking your money, Gojo.”

“Ouch— not the family name, princess! You wound me.” He clutched theatrically at his chest before letting his arms fall beside him with an aggravatingly charming smirk. Huffing out an indignant sigh, you moved to search the system for the book he had shown you. 

“We’re not friendly enough for the first name basis, and we’re certainly not friendly enough that I’d accept this kind of money from you.” You emphasized with a few pointed clicks of your mouse before turning to face him once again. “That book is in the third row to your left.” 

“Yeah?” He hummed, eyes assessing you pensively. The ever present smirk on his lips never faltered. “And what would you have done with it if you didn’t run into me?” 

Pursing your lips, you narrowed your eyes at him in challenge, but it was one he was more than prepared to take on as he tilted his head mockingly.

“Who knows, I’m partial to animals— maybe a local shelter would have needed it more than me.” 

“How very noble of you.”

“Well, you’re not the only one around here drawn to philanthropy.” Leaning in until he could feel your breath fanning against his nose, you smiled in feigned charm. “Of course, my efforts wouldn’t be contributing to a tax write-off, but giving is giving, right?”

But your biting accusations didn’t deter him, if anything, that fierce tongue of yours only intrigued him more after so long of everyone in his life blindly agreeing with him. You wondered if he could hear the way your heart was racing against your chest, because it was just your luck that the arrogant son of the family fucking your dad’s life over was breathtakingly handsome. He hummed softly, picking up the envelope from the counter to pat it teasingly onto your nose. 

“And that’s what you thought I was doing? Charity work?” 

“Well you certainly weren’t doing it because I left any sort of stellar impression.” The confidence in your tone faltered as you recalled that night, a flush falling over your cheeks. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

With a mockingly wistful sigh, he turned around, leaning back on his elbows against the counter as he tilted his head back to look at you. 

“Well, I could hardly blame you. You don’t know me, after all.” His anticipatory tone told you that he was plotting something in that pretty, privileged head of his. “And that’s our problem, isn’t it? You don’t know me, I don’t know you— you said it yourself, princess. Can’t accept this kind of money from a stranger.”

You didn’t respond, not wanting to encourage whatever nonsense he was currently conjuring up. Standing from your desk, you walked around the counter and headed down toward the rows of books. Gojo was hot on your heels though, trailing behind you as he leaned down to use his ‘inside voice’. 

“This is the part where you’re supposed to say, ‘Well what do you suggest then, Satoru?’.” His pitched impression of you almost made you smile, but, again, you didn’t want to egg him on. Instead, you headed down your intended row and began skimming the books as he leaned against the shelf. “Well, I’m so glad you asked, because I happen to be in need of a date for my lovely family’s… hah, whaddya’ know— charity gala this weekend.”

“And this concerns me how?”

“What better way to get to know one another than spending a few hours pretending to like each other, huh?” 

“You’re delusional, Gojo.” You shook your head with an incredulous smile. Finally spotting the book he had shown you, you pulled it from the shelf and shoved it toward his chest. “Not happening.”

“C’mon, it’s a win-win for both of us. I get a night without my parents on my ass introducing me to every poor girl they sink their claws into, and you can keep the money knowing it was a gift from a friend.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, a bemused smirk taking over your features as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Let me get this straight.” You began with a pop of your hip, leaning back on the shelf across from him. “Satoru Gojo is having to rent a girlfriend for the night. Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Weeell, if you put it that way, that would make you a—” He quickly shut his mouth upon seeing the icy glare you shot his way, daring him to finish that sentence. With a subtle fear hidden behind those striking eyes, he mustered a sweet smile. “—a fool to not take me up on such a kick-ass offer.”

“Nice save.” You muttered with a roll of your eyes, pushing off the wall to get back to work. He stepped forward though, placing his arms on either side of the shelves by your head and effectively trapping you in. That cologne that you remember driving you crazy all those nights ago was once again making your head spin, and you struggled to find the courage to look him in the eyes. 

“Live a little— it’ll be fun. Think of it as… as prom!” His eyes widened to emphasize his point. 

“I went to prom— could’ve gone without it.” You whispered with a challenging glare.

“That’s cause I wasn’t your date.” He shrugged obviously, and you were beginning to see how it was that Satoru Gojo always seemed to get his way. “I’ll even steal ya’ your own piece of cake this time.”

This had you turning your head to the side to hide your tickled smile, shaking your head as he laughed triumphantly at the sound.

“Atta girl! Now come on and put your number in my phone before I retract my offer.” 

“Don’t push it, Gojo.”

“Right— yes, ma’am.”

The two of you didn’t message much in the days leading up to the event. When you did, it was mainly Satoru not-so-subtly checking in to assure that you hadn’t changed your mind. He let you know that he’d pick you up, but a ride was the last thing you were worried about as you surveyed your appearance in the mirror. 

Formal events hadn’t ever exactly been your scene, given the more modest living conditions that you had grown up in. You could only pray that you weren’t embarrassing yourself as you smoothed your hands down your old prom dress that you had miraculously managed to squeeze yourself back into. It was the only formal dress you owned, the glittering stone details on the bodice contrasting nicely against the noir, silk fabric. While it looked nice enough, you were sure you’d have trouble breathing the rest of the night, already fantasizing about how exhilarating it’d be to take it off after everything was said and done. 

With an anxious sigh, you leaned forward to carefully color in your lips. You gave yourself one last look over in the mirror before leaving your bedroom. A subtle cringe shook your frame as your heels clacked noisily against the wood floor. The last thing you wanted was to be questioned anymore by your father than you had already been when he saw you poking through your mom’s old jewelery box. You had played it off as a fundraising event your university was hosting, but you weren’t sure that he was entirely convinced. 

There was a firm knock at the front door that had you rolling your eyes in exasperation, because you had told him to just text you when he got here. You were grateful that it seemed as though your dad was still out and not here to witness Satoru Gojo of all people picking his daughter up as a date. With a final huff of self-encouragement, you pulled the door open.

Now, he had had a line prepared about the hell of a place you got here, what with all the acres of land extending out the back of the property, but his lazy joke dissipated from his mind at the sight of you all done up for him. You looked so different than the last times that he’d seen you, and it wasn’t just that your eyes were shimmering with intricately placed shadows, or that your dress hugged your frame sinfully. 

No, it was the light in your eyes that had previously been overshadowed by the weight of your responsibilities each time you’d seen him. Gone was that lingering exhaustion that dared taint your features, and in its place was a hopeful glimmer that knocked the wind from him as you directed it up at him with fluttering lashes. 

He no longer felt like the young-adult he had grown to be, resembling more so a fumbling teenage boy picking up the homecoming date that was far out of his league. Anxiously, fiddling with the knot of his tie as if it was to blame for his sudden labored breathing, he chuckled half-heartedly.

“You clean up nice for someone who didn’t even want to come in the first place.” Gojo quipped as he bowed theatrically with an outstretched hand. 

“Well I sure hope I look the part with how much I’m charging you.” The wink you sent him as you placed your hand in his nearly had him falling to his knees, and he wondered how he would survive the remainder of the night without embarrassing himself. 

Nearly the entire drive was dedicated to him giving you the rundown of the event— who would be there, who he was pointedly trying to avoid, the sequence of events for the coming night. It all somehow snowballed into him babbling about the reality show worthy fueds and shambled love lives of the city's most elite names. You wanted to keep up, but Lord could this boy talk.

Even with all his rambling, nothing could have prepared you for the hundreds of scrutinizing eyes that fell upon you as soon as you entered on the arm of the hosts’ infamously single son. There were already a myriad of guests here, drinks in everyone’s hands and people on the dance floor. 

“Why do I get the vibe that we’re disgustingly late?” You muttered through a polite smile, your hand curling tighter around Satoru’s bicep as you two continued making your way in. 

“Pfft, if they want me to stay till it ends, I sure as hell ain’t coming right when it starts.” He retorted with a scoff before leaning down to your ear-shot. “Learn the ways of the disastrous prodigal son, princess.”

There wasn’t a chance in hell that he was ever going to let you live that one down. 

“Ooo, and there are those people I was avoiding. Remember the ones with the twin daughters— come dance with me.” You could barely keep up with his rapid fire, and you wouldn’t have the chance to ask him to reiterate because he was moving toward the center of the room like a man on a mission, because he was one, the mission being to get through this thing unscathed. 

“Wait, Gojo, I don’t know how to dance.” You whispered-shouted as you tried to desperately dig your heels into the ground, but he was stronger than you and a hell of a lot more determined.

“Just stand there and pretend to be in love with me— I’ll do the rest.” He winked, the arm you had yourself wrapped around swooping down to scoop you against him with an urging hand on the small of your back. “Hand on the shoulder— atta girl.” 

Through your flustered blush, you glared indignantly at his patronizing. He tutted softly, his other hand dancing down the silken skin of your arm to grasp at yours.

“That look isn’t screaming ‘love sick’.” Gojo informed through an amused smile. Before you could manage to huff out a response, he had spun around to dip you dramatically, the abrupt motion emitting a delighted squeal from you, much to his satisfaction. “There it is— keep looking at me like that. Talk to me— really sell it.”

You weren’t sure how he did it— how his effortless charm managed to break through even the strongest of resentments you held toward that last name of his. It was all around you though, enveloping you in his orbit and blanketing you in a warmth you were sure was radiating right off your incandescent cheeks. As you stared at the flickers of indigo that seemed to speckle throughout his otherwise icy irises, you nearly forgot what you were supposed to be doing.

“Right, um…” Your eyes fluttered dramatically as you racked your mind for anything to say to him. The dimple in his right cheek that winked at you with each of his ravishing smirks made it difficult for you to stay on track. “Physics.” 

“Physics?” He repeated with unconcealed mirth, and you nodded.

“The book you checked out the other day— it was a physics book.” He hummed affirmatively as if questioning where the hell you were going with this. Truthfully though, he was too lost in the flustered twitching of your plush lips to care if any of what you were saying actually made any real sense. From so close, he could see the sun-spots lining your nose and cheeks like the most breathtaking of constellations. “It just surprised me. It’s not a required class for business majors.” 

“It’s not, and I—” He paused his explanation to twirl you under his arm, reveling in the enraptured smile that graced your face as he pulled you back in. “—am not a business major.”

“Oh? The prodigal son dares not follow in his father’s footsteps? How scandalous.” There was an airy giggle lingering in your tone that fell upon his ears like the most harmonious of symphonies. “And what, pray tell, is the alternative that has led his little lamb astray?”

Those curved lips of his parted to indulge your curiosity, but the announcement that dinner would be served momentarily had a groan slipping past them instead. Just as he moved to guide you to the respective table with a hand on the small of your back, you tugged at his sleeve.

“Wait, I have to pee.” You whispered, hoping the guests bustling around you didn’t hear it. 

“Oh— yeah, there’s a bathroom to the right of the entrance.” 

He was about to walk away, leave you to do your business when you clutched tighter at his sleeve. Looking down at you with furrowed brows, you stared up at him with wide, pleading eyes that said please don’t leave me.

You heard Gojo’s head bumping impatiently against the door of the restroom as you managed to wrangle the zipper of your dress down. There was an embarrassingly long attempt of trying to simply lift the gown up as would have been far easier, but it was proven difficult with the stubbornly form fitting fabric. Now though, as the joints in your shoulders flexed painfully in an attempt to zip it back up, you realized you had an even bigger dilemma. 

Mortified beads of sweat began lining your forehead as you panted at your reflection in the mirror, your zipper still barely halfway up your back. 

“Did you fall in or something?” You heard him call out from outside the door, only making your heart pound more mercilessly against your chest.

“I-I’m fine! I’ll be right out.” But your voice was trembling ever so slightly in the midst of your subtle panic, and it made him push off the door, leaning in closer with furrowed brows. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Nothing!” You stammered breathlessly, but you were rapidly coming to the realization that you wouldn’t be getting out of this without some help. Fighting back tears of frustration, you leaned your forehead against the door. “I— I’m just kind of… stuck.”

“Stuck?” The doorknob jiggled with his attempt to get in. “Open the door.”

The already stuffy air of the restroom seemed to grow ten degrees warmer in tandem with your crippling embarrassment as you hyped yourself up. Holding up the front of your dress, you timidly cracked the door open. Gojo was quickly shoving his face in through the small opening, assessing the situation with an incredulous expression. He almost laughed, but it died in his throat upon seeing your panicked face.

“Okay, alright, calm down. Let me in.” You moved back as he slipped inside. 

“I-I can’t get it back up.”

“You’re fine. Turn around and let me try.” Gojo steadied his hands on your shoulders as you turned your back to face him. A brief sigh of relief fell from your lips at the sound of the zipper rolling up, but it halted midway. He paused, blinking a few times before attempting to tug it up again. “Okay— um…”

“Oh my god.”

“No, no, it’s—  it’s fine.” But the laughter he was previously suppressing began to boil over to the surface. It came out as a controlled choke in his attempt to push it down, but you still heard it.

“It’s not funny!” 

“I’m not laughing!”

“You’re laughing at me!”

His teeth were sinking mercilessly into his bottom lip to avoid pissing you off anymore, but the wolfish grin on his face was making it increasingly difficult. Falling forward until his forehead laid against your shoulder, he shook his head with a boyish cackle. 

“Ohhh, you’ve made this night so much more entertaining for me.” He sighed wistfully before pushing you forward to dramatically haul his foot onto the toilet seat as if to brace himself. “Alright, deeep breath for me, let’s go.”

In spite of your humiliation, you too couldn’t help but begin giggling nervously at the absurdity of the situation. Gulping in a deep breath, you straightened your posture as stiff as you could as a theatrical grunt bubbled in his chest with his firm tug. The blasted zipper finally slid up the remainder of your back, leaving you both hollering in relief. 

“See?” Satoru was clutching onto your arms lest you double over with the force of your belly laughs. “You just needed a big, strong— ”

“Satoru?” 

Both your heads shot up to look at the now open door, and the woman you recognized as his mother now stood at the entrance with a less than impressed expression on her stern face. You could have strangled him for not bothering to even close the door, let alone lock it. 

Mortified wouldn’t be a strong enough word. 

Your fingers dug anxiously into your thighs as you sat at the painstakingly quiet table, sat right across from the woman who had just witnessed her son wrangling you back into your dress in the event’s restroom. At the very least, it seemed Satoru wasn’t fairing any better, staring down at his place setting as he took an absentminded sip of his wine. You had never seen him so… serious before. Though you had only known him briefly, it felt like a completely different man sitting next to you.

“So, I assume you two met at university?” His father’s stoic voice was finally the one to break the tension that he wasn’t even sure the reason of in the first place. 

Glancing up with a fluttering gaze, you found the man’s familiarly striking blue eyes directed at you. 

“Um, yes. We attend the same university.” You thought it best to not specify that that wasn’t where you two met, already having made an ill impression on his mother as it was. 

“Oh? And what are you studying?” His mother opened her mouth for the first time since redirecting the both of you to the table. You looked up as the wait staff set a salad in front of you, though you felt far too anxious to eat right now. 

“My major is in business.” You informed, picking up your fork in an attempt to at least look like you weren’t internally short-circuiting. There was a soft nudge on your thigh as Satoru subtly bumped his knee against you to get your attention. Peering over, you noted with flushed cheeks that he was tapping at the smaller fork at your placement, praying his parents didn’t make a comment to embarrass you any further. Gulping harshly, you moved to correct your mistake. 

“Business, huh?” His father’s face seemed to light up marginally at your answer, and he looked toward his son pointedly. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into Satoru then. He’s been so stubborn about this… what is it again?”

You watched from your peripheral as his hand clenched at his silverware in response to his father’s not-so-subtle jab.

“Quantum physics.” He responded bluntly, stabbing at the tomato on his plate a bit more aggressively than necessary. 

It was becoming clear to you the reason for his abrupt switch in temperament. You had only spent all of ten minutes sat with his parents, and it was evident how they seemed to drain that spark that was usually so easily present in his eyes. His response made your lips part slightly in astonishment. It’s not that you thought he was stupid, but you certainly had never pegged him as the type disciplined enough for such a rigorous field. 

“Quantum physics!” His dad held his hand out with a bitter laugh before looking back at you. “Now what do you suppose he is going to get out of studying quantum physics that will be more fruitful than if he stayed within the family business?”

You wanted to defend him, already preparing a curt but respectful response about how he’d get more out of studying something he was passionate about, but the older Gojo continued talking.

“Is that what you’re doing?” He asked you as he took a sip of his wine. “Studying to stay within a family business?”

The mention of your family spilling from the lips of the very man responsible for ninety percent of their struggles made your jaw clench. Perhaps it was the forlorn expression that had overtaken Satoru’s once lively face that gave you the courage to not simply brush it under the rug. 

“Actually, I’m studying business in hopes of buying my father’s farm from him in the future.” You clarified with your lips set in a firm line. Beside you, Satoru’s head slowly turned to face you as it seemed he had come to the realization faster than his parents were.

“A farm?” His dad scoffed with an amused smile. “That’s nonsense. No sense in wasting your efforts on a farm. You should hope to do better than your parents did, don’t you think? I certainly hope the same for my son.”

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks, cluching at the napkin in your lap. 

“Dad, that’s—”

“Better?” You laughed bitterly, cutting off whatever attempt Gojo was going to make to defend you. “Perhaps, sir, my father’s farm would be doing better if your company wasn’t driving him off his own land.”

It seemed that the man was finally putting two and two together, your last name falling from his lips in recognition. 

“I see what this is about.” He shook his head with a patronizing smile, wiping at his mouth with the stark white napkin. “Sweetheart, this is just the way society progresses. City’s grow, and—”

“As does your bank account, I’m assuming.” You bit back with a raised brow. “What progresses society is people who actually give a shit about that society.”

“A farmer’s mouth too to match her father’s. Boy, son, do you know how to pick them.”

“Dad! ” Satoru growled out in warning as his silverware clattered down onto his plate, and you weren’t sure if the flush in his cheeks was from anger or humiliation.

“Don’t bother.” You abruptly stood from your seat, hoping desperately that you could hold your mortified tears back long enough to not break down in front of everyone. “I think I’ve had my fill of playing dress up for one night.” 

As you stormed toward the exit, the bottom of your dress bundled up furiously in your hands, you could hear Satoru calling after you. You couldn’t bear to look back at him though, the tears falling in angry, stinging streams down your cheeks as the fresh air nipped at your face. His long legs seemed to carry him much faster than you anticipated though, and his hand was soon curling desperately around your arm.

“Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

“No, but I did, okay?” You cried, swiping furiously at the mascara you were sure was staining your face right now. “I knew better, and I still let myself be— be humiliated. So, please just spare me the pity and let me go home, Gojo.”

“I’ll drive you—”

“Alone. I want to go home alone.”

His movements faltered, a hushed guilt striking his handsome face. The moonlight’s illumination seemed to bounce off his incandescent eyes as his gaze fluttered. With a solemn nod, he strode toward the sleek, black car parked just out front and knocked on the window. When it rolled down, a black-haired man peeked out in question as he adjusted the square frames on his nose. 

“Take her home.” Satoru demanded simply before moving to open the back door for you. You kept your eyes focused on the ground as you ducked into the vehicle, but you could feel his solemn gaze burning a hole into the side of your head with every step. “I mean it— I’m sorry.”

After a pregnant pause with no response, he turned his head to the side, his Adam's apple bobbing with his strained gulp as he closed the door. 

For the first time in what seemed like years, you went home and allowed yourself to cry in your father’s arms. Of course, this entailed your explanation of what had actually been going on that night, but you were too beside yourself to care anymore. In truth, you wished you could have told him how much you hated it, how you were counting the seconds until you could leave and forget about whatever idiotic agreement you’d made with Gojo. You couldn’t though, and that made your bitter tears that much worse. 

Despite your rampant views on the lap of luxury these people draped themselves upon, it felt new and exciting to be at the front of it for the first time. As you desperately wracked your brain to explain your sudden change of heart, all clues pointed back to him, because it was exhilarating to waltz with him as though you had stumbled upon an ever gracious prince, and you could still feel the aching in your cheeks from the sheer force of the laughter he was able to pull from you even during perhaps one of the most embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions of your life.

You had come to the realization, and perhaps your father had as well, that it wasn’t the respect of the haughty company that had surrounded you two that night that made you feel so depraved as it was pulled from you— it was Satoru, and the way you couldn’t for the life of you find it in yourself to fault him for the impertinence of the masses, no matter how much easier it might have been if you did. 

A tear escaped you for every memory of each smirk, each lingering touch and longing gaze— because it was the brash reminder of your glaring differences that stung worst of all. It was the realization that at your very core, you and Satoru were one in the same— in a desperate pursuit against the expectations set before you, yet forcefully pulled into the sickening orbit of their consequences nonetheless. 

Satoru Gojo wasn’t at fault, you finally admitted to yourself as you stared up at your ceiling that night. You thought about the darkness that shrouded him with each insolent syllable that fell from his parent’s lips. You thought about how lonely it must feel in that grand house of his with no one around that didn’t have an agenda to push on him. 

You thought about how many times he must have hidden in that little alcove in his vast hallway— not because he was the Gojo family’s disaster, but because however grating the silence his seclusion provided mustn’t have compared to the gruelling disquietude of belonging to family who had everything in the world except an ounce of care for their only son. 

You had stopped crying for the shamed farmer’s daughter, and instead shed a tear for the forgotten prodigal son. 

In the midst of star-lit dreams of dance floors barren of self-righteousness, you were pulled from your slumber by the distinct, sharp thuds against your window. It was proven difficult to pry your eyes open, given the countless streams that had stung them to sleep. Rubbing sluggishly at them in hopes of waking up enough to assess the situation, you slowly sat up in your bed. You paused for a moment, wondering if perhaps you had just been dreaming the offending noise, but it soon sounded once again. 

Pulling yourself begrudgingly off your warmed sheets, you slowly made your way to the window, almost fearful of what you’d find as you peeked through the curtains. 

“Oh my god.” You rasped out at the sight before you. Ripping your curtains aside, you wrangled your window open with a soft grunt. “What in god’s name are you doing, Gojo?”

He looked up at you as if surprised that you’d actually appeared, and the stunned expression made you wonder how many of the windows in your house he had assaulted before finally finding yours. His neatly tailored, sleek black suit still sat proudly on his frame as he huffed out a sigh. 

“You were supposed to say ‘Romeo, oh Romeo—”

“Do you not remember what else Juliet tells Romeo in this scene?” You whispered furiously down at him, but he only blinked owlishly at you. “She tells him that he’s gonna get his ass beat if he gets caught. You’re not exactly my dad’s favorite person right now.”

“Then come down here.” He insisted pleadingly, holding up a bag for you to see. “I stole you a piece of cake.”

The two of you sat in the bed of your truck, shoulders slumped against one another as you passed a plate of cake back and forth. Neither of you were quite sure what to say, but you both knew it was comforting that the stars shining above you held nary an opinion about either of your paths. There was a blackening bruise lining his right undereye, the lid ever-so-slightly squinted shut. He didn’t mention anything about the way your eyes were still swollen from the tears you had shed, so you didn’t ask about his black eye or split knuckles.

“I’m sorry, Gojo.” It was the only thing you could think to say. Part of you was apologizing for the harsh manner in which you had prematurely critiqued him, the other part felt obligated to apologize for whatever had transpired between him and his father following your departure. 

“Don’t call me that.” He shook his head, that tired expression haunting his face once again. “That’s not who I want to be— not right now.”

Gulping down the lump in your throat, you corrected yourself. 

“I’m sorry, Satoru.”

It was silent for a few moments longer as you two finished your shared dessert. With a sigh, you leaned your head back to stare up at the myriad of stars shining down on you, and, from your peripheral, you saw Satoru do the same. 

“There’s a theory in quantum physics that says objects don’t exist independently.” He began, his good eye working to count each star that caught his attention— willing them into existence. “In other words, if no one is around to see it, it just… doesn’t exist.”

Your lashes fluttered as you soaked in his words, the implications weighing down on your chest as you cast a sidelong glance his way, but he was too busy assuring that each star was observed, acknowledged and therefore real. 

“I think it felt like that for me. Like the version of me I actually understood didn’t exist because no one was willing to acknowledge it.” He confessed, his head finally lolling to the side to observe you next. Each freckle and scar, each blink and trembling lip was confirmed under his watchful eye. “I don’t think anyone’s ever seen it.”

“I see it.” You reassured in a hushed whisper. A small smile finally curled at the corners of his mouth as he nodded softly. 

“You see it.” He confirmed.

You hummed pensively, a modest smile of your own lighting your features ablaze.

“So if you closed your eyes right now— I would just cease to exist then?” You challenged his theory teasingly, wondering when the last time it was that he had gotten to speak about his passion to anyone who actually cared. Although he knew the partially philosophical theory ran much deeper than the laden explanation you were giving, he couldn’t help but indulge your challenge.

“Science is science, princess.” Satoru shrugged with a beguiled smirk. 

“So, you’re saying— ” You leaned forward to tug on his already loosened tie until it came undone. The motion had a rushing heat swirling in his chest, taking note of the way the moonlight emphasized the mischievous glint hidden in your eyes. “If I tied this thing around your eyes— poof— I’m no longer here?”

“Well, a good scientist always tests his theories, of course.” He stammered breathlessly, his legs parting to accommodate your crawling between them. His lips parted as you slowly moved the tie over his fluttering eyes, your chests brushing together while you reached behind him to secure it around his head.

Moving away from him, you leaned back to observe your handiwork. Although blindfolded, you still tilted your head with a teasing smirk as though he’d be able to see it. 

“Well?” You whispered, watching the way his chest heaved with anticipatory pants. “Am I still here?”

The aged truck creaked ever-so-slightly as Satoru shifted onto his knees, his hands reaching out blindly until they met your ankle. Using it as a guide, he carefully crawled forward, hands snaking up your body until he was hovering above you. The ends of the tie that hung from the back of his head brushed against your cheek as he leaned down closer to you.

“Not sure yet.” His hushed tone sent shivers down your spine, and you laid back to stare up at him. 

Nimble fingers trailed up to search out your face, and a tickled smile fought its way onto his lips when he grazed your nose instead on his pursuit. Although it wasn’t his target, he still brushed a featherlight touch down the bridge of your nose before moving to cup your flushed cheeks.

“Your nose is still here, cheeks are still here.” Satoru murmured each checkpoint tenderly. Humming contentedly, he brushed a few lingering hairs behind your ears, thumbing against the delicate lobes in feigned assessment. “Hair, ears…”

His face was drawing closer with each confirmation, and soon the fingers that were still tucked behind your nape pulled your head up ever so slightly until his lips brushed against yours. It was barely a graze initially, a deliberate tease that he was quickly realizing he didn’t have the willpower to keep up, quickly abandoning it in favor of molding his mouth harmoniously against yours.

“Your lips,” He sighed wantonly against you, his voice almost falling into a soft whine. “Your lips are still here— thank god.”

You giggled against him, reaching up to run your fingernails down the short, velvety hairs of his neatly kept undercut. It made him shiver, a smirk curling into your frenzied kiss as he hummed appreciatively. 

“Your hands.” Satoru continued as you pushed at his suit jacket, making him pull away from you for a moment as he shrugged it off. The very hands that he’d just confirmed the existence of didn’t pull him back down right away, instead surprising him as they worked quickly to unbutton his dress shirt, and it was soon joining his jacket in a discarded pile beside you. He clutched at your wrists maneuvering them to run your tender hands down his chest. 

And so he disproved his own theory with the eager exploration of each heaven-sent inch of you, pulling your sweater over your head to confirm the way your breasts heaved against his chest, leaning down to brush his nose and lips across each one of good measure. You aided him with fumbling shuffles to pull down your sweatpants, his desolate moan nearly breaking the resolve of your patience as he carefully inched forward to lick a strip up your folds that glistened under the moonlight in a manner he wished he could see. 

“All here, princess.” Satoru murmured near drunkenly, pressing a few sloppy kisses against your throbbing heat to elicit a few more of those bewitching whimpers from you before making his way back up to press his lips bruisingly against yours.

“And if you leave would I still be here?” You panted against his lips, reaching down to fumble with the buckle of his belt before pulling his bottoms down past the lean curve of his ass. 

“I won’t leave— I’ll never leave.” He shook his head forlornly, glistening lips falling open as you grasped at his cock. Falling forward on his elbows, his clammy forehead pressed against yours.

“Swear it.” You gasped as his tip pushed blindly into you, your moans synchronizing in blissful tandem. Through his parted lips, you could still see the way his lips twitched up at your words.

“What shall I swear by?”

Your heels dug into the cool surface of the truck bed, driving your hips up, pushing him deeper into you as he ground down, the subtle impact sending his head reeling back up to face the stars.

“Not your parents, not your last name.” Your responses began to sound like mindless babbles, but he could swear he understood each syllable as he nodded desolately in raptured agreement. The blunt edges of your short nails dug into his nape to pull him closer to you, your lips brushing once again and sharing each exhale greedily into one another’s mouths. “By you, just you, Satoru.”

“I swear.” He gasped, his hips snapping up in a brutal pursuit of your mutual intoxication. Each of your saccharine moans sent tendrils of euphoric bliss twisting down his spine, and he clutched at your waist in an attempt to ground himself as he felt his own thrusts quickly losing their focus. “I swear— ah! I swear I’ll never leave, and you’ll— ” His rapturous moans cut rudely between his oath. “— and you’ll always be here.”

“I’ll always be here.” You confirmed, brows meshing up as you watched him fall apart with the reassurance of your promise. Reaching up, you pulled the tie down to fall around his neck, his eyes finding yours in an instant as though he would be able to pinpoint their warmth even blind, and he was sure he could— he was sure he could do anything as he spilled himself into you, riding out his high with slack-jawed, lanugid grinds.

“You’ll always be here.” 

And it was true even as you two woke beside one another that next morning after you’d snuck him up to your room. The bruise around his eye had spread substantially, the injured lid now swelled completely shut, but he swore even with just one eye to behold you that you were just as stunning as you had been beneath the moon’s gracious light last night underneath of him. Sitting up on his hands, he allowed the sheets to fall down his chest as he observed the way you seemed to still shiver even under the protective layers of your sweater and thick bottoms. 

Brushing the hair from your face, he leaned down to press his lips against your temple, each of his tender kisses pulling you farther and farther away from your slumber until you stirred beneath him. He smiled when you groaned in disapproval at his interruption of your coma-like state. 

“Sorry, I just don’t want your dad to catch—”

But, much like the theory he rambled on about the night prior, his acknowledgment of the man seemed to will him right into existence with a careful knock on your door. You shot up into a sitting position, eyes wide and frantic as you moved to push against Satoru’s shoulders, attempting with fleeting hope to wrangle his large frame into the closet or perhaps under the bed. 

No attempt would be fast enough though, not with your father’s burning desire to check on you following the state that you’d gone to sleep in the night prior, and the door creaked open.

“You doing okay, sweet—”

There in the cramped bed of his daughter was the very man you had cried against him for just mere hours ago— the son of the very family that had assured you’d never hope for your own aspirations in life, far too focused on fixing his that the Gojo’s had made their life mission to ruin. An unreadable mix of emotions swirled onto his stunned face in a way that had both of you holding your breath. 

His lips parted, but he took note of the swelled, gruellingly dark bruise that surrounded his eye and branched out subtly onto the bridge of his nose. He watched the way the Satoru still clung to your hand, and how your fingers curled in uncertainty into the fabric of his open, button down shirt. He thought about how despite all that you had told him last night—  you couldn’t find it in you to speak an ill word about him, only noting to your father how scared he’d looked at a dinner table with his own parents. 

Your father’s tired shoulders slowly deflated as he sighed. 

“Why don’t you two come down to get something to eat?” With that, he shut the door, leaving the two of you in stunned silence as his boots retreated down the stairs. 

“Is that—” Satoru licked his lips anxiously, his good eye flickering frantically around the room before falling on you. “Is that code for something?

You could only silently shake your head, your gaze still fixed upon the door he’d just left through. Although your heart was still pounding relentlessly against your ribcage, it was beginning to settle with the assurance that your father was a far more merciful man than you had ever given him credit for.

The two of you slowly creeped downstairs after having gotten yourselves together, Satoru’s white hair still disheveled from your pillow as he hesitantly poked his head out to peer toward the kitchen. Your father’s back was facing him, working to flip what looked to be a pancake on the griddle before him, but he turned around upon hearing the creaks in the stairs. 

You had to give him props, because even despite his nerves surrounding his life at the moment, he still stepped forward to bow to your father in greeting, a motion that had the smallest of smiles hinting at the man’s lips. With a hum, he turned back around to plate the pancake that had finished cooking.

“My daughter tells me you're a physicist, Gojo.” He commented, taking the plate of stacked pancakes to place them on the table. 

It took him aback, as he wasn’t sure anyone had ever called him that before— ever even acknowledged the path he had chosen for himself. You watched with a soft gaze as his good eye fluttered rapidly while he blinked away the misty haze that seemed to involuntarily cloud it. With a growing smile, he nodded slowly, taking a seat in the chair your dad had pulled out for him. 

“Trying to be, sir.” He explained breathlessly before looking up at you with a tender smile. “And it’s Satoru— just Satoru.”

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[wonderjanga]

Cell Phone

When Billy first got a cell phone, he didn’t really know what to do with it. But then Freddy got his own phone and started using it a lot. Then the boy started showing Billy the multiple uses of a cellular phone other than just calling people.

Marvel: *on his phone, playing Candy Crush*

Flash: “Whatcha playing?”

Marvel: “Candy Crush.”

Flash: “Really? Dude, that game’s for old ladies.”

Marvel: “What? No it isn’t.”

Flash: “Yeah, it is.” *snatches the phone away when Marvel completes the level* “What level are you on?”

Marvel: “Wait-”

Flash: *sees the Marvel’s on level 3783, stares for a long bit before slowly looks over to him* “Dude…” *sounds concerned*

Marvel: “Don’t look at me like that. I have a lot of free time!”

That wasn’t the only reason he was on that level. See, Solomon accidentally imposed the grandpa tendencies onto Billy. As a result, he gets the innate desire to play as much Candy Crush as he can.

or

Marvel: *playing Tetris*

Robin!Tim: *nearby, reading*

Marvel: *loses and literally throws his phone so hard it dents a wall*

Robin!Tim: *extremly concerned because he’s never seen Cap lose his temper* “Are you good??”

Marvel: *calms down and is now acting like he didn’t do anything wrong* “Yeah? Why?”

Robin!Tim: “You just threw your phone like it personally wronged you.”

Marvel: “It did wrong me.”

The reason the phone somehow didn’t break is that he enchanted it to make it stronger than titanium-coated diamonds.

or

Batman: “Captain, can I please see your phone?”

Marvel: “Sure, here.” *hands it to him*

Batman: *immediately goes to settings* “Why do you have seventeen hours of screentime? Why were 13 of those 17 spent on gardenscapes?”

Marvel: “It’s a fun game.”

Batman: “It cannot be that fun.”

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 7

It was a nice sunny day in Gotham, Alfred had set up a family picnic in the gardens of the manor. For the most part it was peaceful, Dick, Jason, and Tim had only gotten into five distinct arguments/fights in the last hour, Cass and Barbara were meditating under a tree, Steph was suntanning, Duke was enjoying the food Alfred made, Damian was giving Danny another lesson on swordsmanship.

As for Bruce, he was happy seeing his family get along and getting a chance to relax and have fun. He quietly wished that this day could continue without any unexpected surprises.

A green portal opened above them and a white and green blur came out of it and pounced on Danny. Danny stumbled to the floor with a white-haired, green-eyes girl on top of him.

Danny: Ellie!

Ellie: Danny!

They got up and hugged.

Ellie: I've missed you!

Danny: I've missed you too.

They got up.

Ellie: So this is your new family?

Danny looked around to see the rest of the batfam ready to fight.

Ellie: Jumpy aren't they?

Danny: Yeah they are. He looked at Ellie. Ellie if you don't mind can you detransforms? We're currently just together as civilians.

Ellie: Sure thing. Ellie detransformed.

Danny: Everyone this is Ellie, my clone/little sister. Ellie this is my family.

The Bats looked at Danny and Ellie back and forth.

Ellie: You didn't tell them about me did you?

Danny: I could have sworn that I did.

Jason: No Danny you did not!

Danny: Ellie this is my dad Jason.

Ellie (running up to Jason, giving him a hug): Hi! Danny's told me so much about you in his letters!

Jason: Hi, good to meet you too. Jason looked down at her. So... you're a clone?

Ellie: Yeah, I was created by Vlad back when he was still evil. We're all chill now.

Jason (looking at Danny): Kid, how could you not mention you have a sister?

Ellie: Well he doesn't have A sister.

Jason: Danny!?

Danny: I have another sister, an older one, her name is Jazz, she's 19 and lives in Metropolis. I sometimes fly over there to visit her.

Jason: Kid!

Danny: Sorry, Jazz doesn't want to be involved with this superhero stuff while she's in college unless she really needs to, and Ellie lives in the Infinite Realms full-time.

Jason: ...I can't even be mad, this is exactly the kind of thing I would pull.

Ellie: You're family is weird.

Danny: And I love them all the same.

Alfred: Miss Ellie would you like to join our picnic?

Ellie: Oh I wouldn't want to intrude.

Damian: You came out of a portal, and attacked my nephew and pupil, disrupting our lesson, you have intruded.

Ellie: Damian I presume?

Damian: Indeed.

Ellie (choosing chaos): Danny also writes about you, you're his favorite uncle.

Dick and Tim: WHAT!?

Damian: I am?

Ellie: Yes, he loves going on patrol with you and your swordsmanship lessons.

Damian: ...You are welcomed to stay as long as you like, niece.

Ellie: Thank you.

Ellie walked towards the picnic table and started eating some strawberries. Meanwhile Dick and Tim approached Danny.

Dick and Tim: Explain yourself!

Danny: She's lying I don't have a favorite! [Internally: Ellie's not wrong that Damian's my favorite, but I've never written that down!]

Dick: Good, because we all know I'm your favorite.

Tim: In your dreams Richard, I am.

Dick: No you're not Timothy.

Tim: Yes I am.

Dick: No you're not!

Dick rushed towards Tim and the two started fighting.

Damian: Let's continue our lesson Danny, we've wasted valuable time, we don't need to watch does two fight it out for the sixth time in the last hour.

Danny: Yes sir!

Alfred: Master Duke, thank you for not losing your composure.

Duke: Too busy eating right now to care.

Bruce (on the brink of tears): Why does the universe hate me? Why can't we have one normal day?

(Master Post)