#i think i was just expecting people to love me as well

[pikahlua]

Oh? Please, Madam

What Izuku rejects is the opportunity to be Katsuki's SIDEKICK. He doesn't reject being a hero or competing with Katsuki. He rejects working FOR/UNDER Katsuki. Which is hilarious because Katsuki accepts (apparently multiple times) showing up as a guest lecturer to help out Izuku's class. Katsuki tells Izuku that "If everyone is special, no one is special," which has the potential for SO MUCH DOUBLE MEANING. But what there is no ambiguity about to me is he's basically telling Izuku "Hey, notice this. I'm treating you special. You're special to me. NOTICE."

It's also implied that Izuku sees Katsuki more regularly than he sees most others from their class, which is emphasized by the previous chapter when Aizawa complains to him about Katsuki's behavior in public affecting his ranking. Katsuki basically tells Izuku he needs to start thinking about himself more, and he also ends their final interaction with a "See ya [later]." Katsuki is NOT talking about Ochako, but Izuku takes some of his advice as the impetus for going to talk to Ochako (specifically they just wanna talk more after the dinner since the dinner is now over and they didn't get to talk). So what was Katsuki thinking of? I personally read his "See ya later" as "You'll figure it out, just go handle what you gotta right now and you can catch up to me later."

Hilariously, Izuku calls Katsuki out for being the one to say "If you don't start thinking a little more highly of yourself, you won't notice the things you should." Izuku's response is basically, "Look who's talking." Again, the potential for double meaning here is painfully obvious. He could be referring to SO MANY THINGS and we're meant to infer what that is. WE GET TO GUESS. Izuku could be saying "You did stuff just as bad as what you're saying," or "You're STILL not noticing something, Kacchan."

And Izuku taking inspiration from Katsuki's words to go talk to Ochako is meaningful in another way--IT MEANS IZUKU LISTENED TO HIM. Katsuki is having an influence on Izuku in a way to improve who he is just like Izuku did for him in high school. Izuku takes Katsuki's advice seriously. NO ONE HAS EVER GOTTEN HIM TO UNDERSTAND THIS LESSON BEFORE NOW. It ends with Izuku and Ochako deciding to talk more, but what it shows us is the beginning of Izuku considering himself more. If Izuku follows Katsuki's advice long enough, he'll end up back in the competition with Katsuki just like Katsuki expects him to. That is just as easy of a conclusion to make from the theme of "inevitability" that Shouto gives us (and that Izuku also takes to heart).

This ending implies that inevitably Izuku's gonna catch up again, basically. Things will continue to change. So yeah, we get a beginning where he and Ochako meet up to talk, but it's just a beginning. It's one night of chatting. They're seeing if something's there now (which kind of implies that there wasn't much there before), but it's left open-ended. And I think it's left open-ended what happens with Ochako on purpose because anyone can read how that ends up however they like. You just have to decide as a reader what's "inevitable" for Izuku Midoriya from this point on. Me? I've decided Izuku is taking Katsuki's advice to treat people who mean more to him better. Ochako is just the beginning. Izuku has other people in his life he needs to show love to as well (because that's what this is, Izuku is learning to show people that they're important to him, that he loves them, because saving people doesn't do that--he saves EVERYONE). And then maybe he'll start to see how the people who love him treat him special too, like guest SPECIAL (same kanji) LECTURER KATSUKI BAKUGOU.

tl;dr there is a lot left open to interpretation and it's probably on purpose, read the chapter however you like, just like we did with the last chapter.

...and my interpretation which is the correct one is that Katsuki tells Izuku, "Here let me show you how to love people, damnit!" to give him the character development everyone has been begging for him to have for years, to realize that saving people doesn't mean they're special to him if he's known for saving everyone ever, so like, maybe go show them you care in OTHER ways, Izuku, and also I'll be waiting right here for you to come show you love me you jackass (and he does, he does come show him that)

[authorhjk1]

Public punishment

(Yujin X Wonyoung X Male Reader)

Your face remains expressionless as you pause the video.

"See, daddy? I told you she is such a slut."

You ignore Wonyoung as you stare at the woman on the screen.

Yujin really is a slut. Which you already knew from the first time you met her. Same as Wonyoung. The difference between those two is, that Wonyoung isn't as slutty as the older girl. Yujin shows off her body way more.

The three of you are all in a purely sexual relationship. But it seems like Yujin forgets that from time to time.

"You need to punish her."

You finally take a look at Wonyoung, who is sitting next to you. She's sitting straight, her hands resting on her thighs. You catch the small smile around her lips. She's loving this. She'd gladly throw Yujin under the bus, just so you can see her as the better of the two.

"I really should."

You think out loud, making Wonyoung scoot closer.

"She will be home in two hours."

"And?"

Wonyoung's eyes look up at you.

"Don't I get a reward?"

"For what?"

She pouts.

"Come on, daddy."

You sigh, knowing it'll be hard to resist her. But you try to keep your head clear. You need to find a fitting punishment for Yujin.

"At-At least let me suck it."

She looks up at you with those big eyes of hers, her lips still sporting that cute pout.

"Fine."

"Yes!"

Wonyoung exclaims. But before she can unbuckle your belt, you grap her wrists.

"But not like this."

You gesture at the oversized hoodie and sweatpants she is wearing.

"I'll go change. Just a minute."

Like an excited little bunny, Wonyoung runs towards her room in record speed.

You unpause the video of Yujin dancing in that little skimpy outfit of hers. She winks at the camera, plays with her pigtails...

All the fans seem to love her. Of course they do. Who wouldn't?

An idea slowly blossoms inside your mind. So many people. And all of them love her. Not just for her music, but her body and face as well.

You hear the door to Wonyoung's room open. You're not being paid badly, being one of Ive's managers and all. But you could certainly make a few extra bucks, if you play your cards right. A mischievous smirk plays around your lips as you finally plan out Yujin's proper punishment.

Wonyoung wordlessly kneels down in front of you, a satisfied smile on her face. She knows you like it when you can hold onto something. That's why she often wears pigtails or a ponytail.

While you keep watching Yujin's performance, Wonyoung finally gets her reward. You feel her lips close around your shaft. Her head begins to bob soon after, her lips gliding along your length.

While you watch the older woman dance on screen, you reach down and hold onto Wonyoung's pigtails with both hands. She gladly gives up control as you wrap her hair around your hands. You start to pull her back and forth, using her mouth like a fleshlight.

The young woman in front of you stays silent, expect for a couple of gags here and there. She tries to look up at you, although your eyes are glued to the screen. Wonyoung is wondering what you're thinking about. And even more importantly, why aren't you thinking about her?

She'd be completely satisfied with giving you head, if you were focused on her. But that's not the case right now. Wonyoung craves your attention. After all, that's why she told you about Yujin. You've been on vacation for the last two weeks, so you didn't even meet the two of them often during that time. And now that Wonyoung finally has you to herself, you can't stop thinking about Yujin.

But she can't complain either, because her mouth is completely stuffed with your cock. Unable to say a word, Wonyoung lets you use her mouth in what ever way you see fit. Even if you aren't even looking at her.

"What exactly are we doing here?"

Despite her annoying questions, Yujin still follows you into the mall.

"Wait and see."

You say, almost to yourself, as you look around.

"Are you just returning something? What's in there?"

For the nth time, Yujin is trying to sneak a peak inside the big bag you brought with you.

You take her hand and lead her towards a Chinese restaurant inside the mall. Right next to it is a sign that shows the way to a public restroom. The left one for women, the right one for men.

"Isn't it too early for lunch?"

Rolling your eyes at her questions, you drag her inside the men's room.

"Oppa, I shouldn't-"

Yujin finally stops talking when the two of you almost run into a guy who is just putting his pants back on.

"What the-"

"Relax, mate."

You pat his shoulder and lead Yujin towards the stall that is the furthest away from the door.

"What are you doing here?"

The guy, who seems to be a little older than you, is washing his hands while watching the two of you.

"Don't get any funny ideas. The two of you can go have fun at home."

He shakes his head as he dries off his hands.

"Young people theses days..."

You catch him taking a good look at Yujin.

"Although it's not like I can't blame you. If my wife was this pretty..."

Yujin feels a little uncomfortable as she feels him looking her up and down.

You told her to wear the same outfit, which she wore during her last performance. She thought you did so, because you liked it.

Small denim shorts, a white and black top with blue letters on it, a necklace, a choker and her hair in pigtails.

"You wanna have a go?"

Your question makes Yujin look at you, her mouth open. The guy raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Well, I didn't put the butt plug in yet, so her ass might be too tight right now. But her mouth and her pussy are amazing."

Yujin gasped when you first mentioned a butt plug. And now she stares at you in horror. How could you just offer her body, her holes, to someone the both of you don't even know?

"Oppa-"

"I do have a wife..."

She gets interrupted by the guy thinking aloud.

"But I guess a blowjob isn't cheating."

"Of course it's not."

You assure him, while Yujin just stands there, flabbergasted.

What the hell is going on? Why are you doing this? You were always a little possessive, wanting to make sure you're the only one Yujin and Wonyoung sleep with. So why are you offering her up to someone else? Especially without asking her first?

"Oppa, coud we maybe talk for a second?"

She's about to give you a death stare, but you ignore her, while pulling out something from your bag. A collar. With a chain on it.

"What is that?"

An unnecessary question. Yujin has worn this collar a lot of times before.

She leans away, but knows she won't be able to stop you from putting it on her. A moment later, the leather is secure around her neck.

"Would you at least tell me the reason?"

"Because of this."

You gesture at her clothes.

Yujin rolls her eyes.

"This is part of my job, you know? Being an idol?"

"Did you choose the outfit, or did the stylist choose it?"

Your question makes Yujin look down.

"I-I did."

"Thought so."

You pull at her chain, making Yujin stumble into the stall. Before she can react, you tie the chain around the hook that is attached to the wall. Usually people would hang their jackets there. Now it's a way for you to keep Yujin in place. She watches with big eyes as you take out a lock and secure the chain with it. She sees the key disappearing in your pocket.

"Stop this prank, you made your point."

Yujin tries to think positively. There's no way you'd actually do this, right? Letting another man use her mouth?

"We can go home and you can punish me there."

"This fic is called public punishment for a reason."

You walk out of the stall.

"Have fun."

The man looks at Yujin.

"Oppa?"

Yujin calls for you again, while her eyes are focused on the man's crotch. She watches how he pulls down his pants. The young woman can see the outlines of his cock underneath his boxers. She can't help but swallow hard.

He might be a stranger, but that doesn't mean she can't give him head just once, right? She might be an idol, but the guy doesn't seem to know her. And obviously there aren't any cameras here. So why not? You set this up, so Yujin might as well use this opportunity.

She closes her eyes when the man pulls his underwear off. Yujin licks her lips, wanting to get surprised. She smiles, before opening her mouth wide. How many people are you gonna send in here anyway? Three? Not much of a punishment, is it?

Her eyes shoot open when the man fills her whole mouth with one thrust. She didn't expect him to go all in from the beginning. Yujin quickly becomes a toy for this stranger as he uses her pigtails as handlebars. He's fucking her face, while also pulling her head onto his cock.

Yujin was prepared for a couple of lazy blowjobs. The butt plug stuff you mentioned seemed exaggerated to her at that time. Not anymore though. Are you really gonna let random guys have their way with her?

Yujin closes her eyes, letting the man use her mouth however he sees fit.

You feel a little weird as the first guy gives you 5000₩. You put the bill in your wallet and gesture towards the door next to you. He seems to be as old as you. When he opens the door, you hear Yujin gag inside the men's room.

You set up a chair, which people usually use for camping, next to the door. A cardboard sign is standing next to it.

"Mouth 5000₩"

"Pussy 10000₩"

"Ass 20000₩"

As you watch a guy, who barely looks like he is twenty, walk in your direction, you wonder how much money you might be able to make with Yujin today. If only 20 people pay for a blowjob, you'd make 100 000₩ in one day.

As he takes out his wallet to pay you, you hear the door open. The man, whom you met when you went inside with Yujin, is now stepping out of the restroom.

"That was amazing. She is perfect."

"Thanks."

You smile as you receive more money from the younger guy.

Yujin uses her finger to scoop up the rest of the man's cum. He shot his load all over her face and in her mouth without even asking. She was surprised, almost mad, at first. But for some reason Yujin is really starting to get off on this. The idea of more men walking in and just using her like a whore makes her feel warm and fuzzy. She could've sworn the door opened and closed a moment ago, while he was about to cum on her. Does that mean....?

Yujin can barely contain her excitement. Who comes next? When the next man steps into the stall, Yujin smiles up at him. She's aware that the first man probably messed up her face a little bit already. But the guy in front of her now is already taking off his belt. Seems like she doesn't look too bad yet. Yujin's mouth opens as she watches him undress. She doesn't close her eyes this time, wanting to have the full experience.

When he puts his cock in her mouth, Yujin immediately starts to suck him off. It didn't take her long to accept her new role fully. Her lips move along his shaft, making sure not to miss an inch.

"Damn, you're a whore."

Yujin's cheeks turn red as she hears him groan. Was that a compliment? Is she doing a good job?

She decides to do her best, not wanting to disappoint. Soon, the man's hands hold onto her pigtails too. Just like the first man, he begins to fuck her face as well. Yujin looks up at him, giving him her sexiest look, wanting to feel his load down her throat as soon as possible.

It still feels a little awkward to her. Twenty minutes ago, she never thought this would ever happen. Of course she has fantasies. And some of them include more than just one man, no doubt. But now being able to experience this is something different.

As the second man keeps fucking her face, Yujin hears the door open and close again. Her pussy gets even wetter at the thought of more men coming in to use her mouth. She does her best to use her tongue as much as possible, trying to meet the new guy quickly.

"Gosh, you're amazing."

The man, who's cock is in her mouth, groans once more. Yujin feels him throb and just two thrusts later, he buries himself as deep in her as possible. His cum shoots into her mouth and throat, almost leaving her gagging as he pulls out.

"Might come back later again."

"Yes,...."

Yujin coughs due to the cum in her throat.

"Please come again."

She waves after him as he leaves her stall, eager to see who's next. Her eyes widen in surprise when she sees you.

"Oppa?"

"Having fun?"

Your mischievous smile makes her carefully nod her head. Once more shame colours her cheeks red. She shouldn't be enjoying this, it's a punishment after all. But she can't help it.

"Now that more people seem to be interested, I'm afraid we'll have to raise the stakes."

You walk closer and help Yujin to her feet.

"What do you mean?"

"Turn around."

You ignore her question and make her lean face first against the wall of the stall. Yujin feels how you reach around her and unbutton her shorts.

"Wait, oppa. You're not going to let strangers fuck me, right? Right?"

When you don't answer, a shiver runs through Yujin's body. Giving blowjobs to strangers in a random restroom is one thing. But offering her pussy too? Should she really go this far?

Yujin hesitates, thinking about telling you to stop. The sound of someone stepping closer makes her turn her head. She sees another man, who's now looking into the stall. Is he the one who gets to fuck her? Yujin can't help but notice that he is definitely younger than the other two men. Around her age. And undeniably handsome. Maybe just this once is okay?

The man watches as you start to pull down Yujin's shorts. The way she looks at him at the same time, even slowly biting her lip, makes him reach for his crotch. He slowly cups it through his jeans as you let Yujin's shorts drop to the floor.

The young woman is wearing a light blue lace thong. She's naturally arching her back a little, showing off her plump ass. You reach into your pocket and take out the butt plug and a small bottle of lube. After pulling down her panties as well, you coat the metal with the transparent liquid.

"Oppa, what are you doing?"

Yujin expected you to leave again as soon as you took off her panties. Wasn't that what you're here for? Yujin is quickly proven wrong when she feels the slightly cold metal poke at her rear entrance. You free hand pushes one of her cheeks to the side, making it easier for you to slowly work the plug inside of her.

"Just relax."

You whisper into her ear, giving Yujin goosebumps.

This isn't the first time she's wearing a butt plug. You and her have already experimented a couple of times. But quickly it dawns on her, why you're doing this. So you're not just offering her mouth and pussy to strangers, but also her ass?

Yujin expects fear or anger to bubble up inside of her. Instead, she's surprised when she catches herself thinking about someone, who's not you, taking her ass. In the end, it doesn't matter who fucks her as long as she feels good.

Yujin gasps as you finally push the butt plug completely inside of her. You give her ass a playful slap.

"Have fun."

As you place the bottle of lube on the sink before leaving the restroom, you hear Yujin moan.

"Oh, god..."

Yujin sighs as she feels another man shoot his load deep inside her pussy. How many guys have already used her by now? Yujin tries to count. Two came in her mouth, one on her face and three inside her pussy. Makes six. A dumb smile plays around Yujin's lips at that realization. Six guys within what? An hour? Two hours? She doesn't know what time it is.

When she hears the next guy unzip his pants behind her, Yujin feels her pussy getting wet at the sound. The last three guys all fucked her, so she is still standing the way you left her. Body against the wall of the stall. Cheek pressed up against the surface. She is holding onto the wall and the chain that keeps her in place for support. Yujin's legs are growing weak with every pounding she is taking.

"Fuck, you're tight."

The man behind her groans as he slowly pushes into Yujin's cum filled pussy. She lets out a moan herself, not prepared for his size. He lets her get accustomed to it, once he is fully inside of her.

But soon he fucks Yujin hard against the wall, making her eyes roll to the back of her head. Her moans echo through the restroom with every one of his thrusts. She felt his hands on her waist at the beginning. But now he is holding onto and pulling at her pigtails.

Yujin's back arches further, separating her a little from the wall. Which only means the man behind her fucks her harder. Her ass looks way better when she's slightly bent over. Her cheeks clap loudly against his body. Her own moans grow louder.

"Your cheap pussy feels amazing."

He growls into Yujin's ear as he fucks her as hard as he can. The young woman feels a wave of shame and arousal rush through her. Are you charging theses guys money so they can fuck her? And how much is her pussy worth?

Her deepest fantasies come to light once more as Yujin thinks about that. This whole situation is slowly turning her into a pleasure craving whore. Yujin can feel what a slut she's become. Getting used by strangers again and again in the men's bathroom. And you even take money for it as if she is some cheap play thing.

"Please breed my cheap pussy."

Yujin moans when she finally accepts her place. It's the first time she's said something to one of these men.

The man behind her was about to climax anyway. Yujin cries out as she gets cream pied for the fourth thime today. The man behind her groans into her ear, pressing her against the wall as he leans against her.

When he finally recovers from his orgasm, he pulls out of Yujin and gets dressed. She can feel how his cum slowly starts to leak out of her freshly fucked pussy. He slaps one of her ass cheeks one last time and then leaves the stall. Yujin is left alone, cum now running down her legs.

"Just go inside. She's in the last stall."

You collect the money from the 13th man, who is now entering the restroom. You're surprised that it's going so well. It's been barely two hours and you already made more money than you thought you would. Although you did notice that no one has tried Yujin's ass yet. You wonder if most guys are just not into anal, or if you set the price too high.

"Hi, daddy."

Wonyoung's familiar voice makes you look up. She is standing in front of you in a cute white dress, holding a matching purse. Her left hand is holding onto something that looks like a stick, wrapped in a plastic bag.

"I have a present for Yujin unnie. You don't mind if I bring it to her, do you?"

You shake your head, not without noticing how good Wonyoung looks in that dress.

As the younger girl steps into the men's room, she hears Yujin's moans echo off the walls. She hesitates, thinking about waiting for the man to leave. She saw him go inside as she walked towards you. But to her surprise, she hears him groaning already.

"Oh yes, fill that slutty pussy up."

Wonyoung almost laughs at Yujin's words. She did the right thing by telling you what Yujin did during their last performance. She's a cheap slut after all. The complete opposite of Wonyoung. If she can finally make you see that, Wonyoung will have you all to herself. It's just a matter of time.

"That was amazing."

The man praises Yujin, still catching his breath as he pulls his pants back up. Yujin is slightly disappointed that he didn't last long, but she decides to take it as a compliment. It seems like there will be more than enough dicks for her today anyway.

But when the next person steps into the stall, Yujin's eyes become big.

"W-Wonyoung?"

"Hi, unnie."

"What are you doing here?"

Her shakey voice reveals how embarrassed she feels right now. She was completely fine with being used like a slut while she was alone. But now that Wonyoung can see her, she feels ashamed.

And Wonyoung examines Yujin closely. By now, Yujin doesn't look as put together as before. Her pigtails are a little loose and her clothes are lying in a pile in one of the corners of the stall. Her face is mostly clean. There's still some makeup on it, but most has been washed away by now.

"I have an early Christmas present for you."

Yujin narrows her eyes in suspicion at Wonyoung's cheeky smile. She bites her lip when she sees the younger girl holding something that looks like a rod in her hand.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Wonyoung nods.

"Just for you, unnie."

Yujin holds her breath as Wonyoung takes out the mysterious object. It's almost as long as Yujin's entire torso. One end has a hook on it, the other ends in the same shape as the plug inside her ass.

"I don't think this is a good idea, I-"

"But daddy is okay with it."

Wonyoung steps closer. Yujin feels shame rush through her system once more. She is still feeling a little uncomfortable thinking about strangers being inside her most intimate place. So she was glad to some degree that no one seemed to be massively interested in her ass yet. But the anal hook, might have some men change their mind.

"Why are you even doing this? Did I do something wrong?"

Wonyoung chuckles as she stands behind Yujin.

"You know daddy is a little possessive. And acting like that on stage was a little too desperate, if you ask me. He would've found out at some point anyway."

"Wait."

Yujin can feel anger bubbling up inside of her.

"Did you tell on me?"

A sharp hiss escapes her mouth, when she feels Wonyoung carefully pull at the butt plug. She feels the ring of her muscles stretch around the widest part of it, until she is finally left empty.

"Of course I did. I'm a good girl after all."

The younger girl's triumphant tone makes Yujin curse her silently. Of course she did.

Wonyoung looks down on Yujin's gaping hole. She places the anal hook at her leader's rear entrance and starts to push it inside of her.

The older girl's eyes roll to the back of her head as she gets filled once more. She could swear that this one feels bigger than the one before. She's almost left breathless. As she tries to get accustomed to her asshole being stretched out even further, Wonyoung is already using the other end to secure it on Yujin's collar.

"There you go, unnie. You look so beautiful."

"Oh, please. Stop mocking me and leave."

Wonyoung laughs.

"You think I'm done already?"

She shakes her head.

"I'm already here, so why don't I make this visit a special memory for the both of us?"

Her mischievous tone has Yujin sweating. What else is this brat up to?

Wonyoung takes out her phone.

"Smile, unnie."

"What?"

Wonyoung makes a peace sign with her fingers, smiles into the camera and a flash lights up the stall.

"What the hell, Wonyoung? Delete that."

"Oh, unnie. You still think you can order me around?"

The younger girl looks straight at her.

"Now I'm the one in control."

A smile plays around her lips.

"Why don't you kneel down? I'll get a better picture that way."

Yunin rolls her eyes. She could put up a fight if she wanted to. But would you punish her for that as well? Probably. Wonyoung is right. In this moment, Wonyoung is the good girl. But Yujin has still some fight left in her. She just doesn't move.

Wonyoung waits for a couple of moments, but then tugs at Yujin's collar. It's enough for the object inside her ass to move. Yujin gasps. Then bites her lip. The younger girl does it again, a smile still on her lips.

"Come on, unnie. Just one more picture, hmm?"

After hesitating, Yujin finally gives up. She is convinced it's better to let Wonyoung take a picture of her, instead of letting her watch Yujin getting used.

"There you go. You look amazing."

Wonyoung takes the picture and shows it to her.

"See?"

Yujin's cheeks burn red.

There she is. Kneeling on the floor of some restroom stall. A collar around her neck, a chain keeping her in place. The anal hook is visible as well, making the fact that she is naked even worse. Her face doesn't look as good as she has hoped. One can definitely tell that she took a couple of facials today.

"Oh, we got company."

Wonyoung remarks excitedly as the door to the restroom opens.

"Don't be shy, come over here."

She motions the man to walk over to her.

"Hello."

He gives her a quick bow and then his eyes meet Yujin's. She can tell he's hesitating, not having expected to see someone else here.

"Oh, don't mind me. Just enjoy yourself."

The man glances at Wonyoung, before looking back at Yujin. His eyes roam her body for a couple of seconds. Eventually, he undoes the button and the zipper of his jeans.

Yujin's eyes are fixated on his cock as he pulls it out. Definitely one of the biggest she's had so far today.

"Is it okay if I... If I put it in your mouth?"

His words are dirty, but he looks almost innocent. Yujin nods, a small smile playing around her lips. He's cute.

When the man steps closer, Yujin opens her mouth. She wraps her lips around his cock, sucking on his tip. The guy instinctively puts his hand on the back of her head and slowly pushes his length inside of her further.

"Yes, that's it. Make her take it all."

Yujin almost forgot Wonyoung was still there. But now her eyes stare right at Wonyoung's phone, which is obviously recording. Yujin closes her eyes. It's not like Wonyoung will stop if she asks nicely.

"Try to fuck her face. It feels amazing, trust me."

Yujin is cursing Wonyoung silently once more. The man hesitates, but eventually takes a hold of both her pigtails. His first thrust is shallow, almost weak. The next one barely makes her take half his shaft. Yujin opens her eyes to look up at him. She winks playfully and then forces herself further down his cock. If Wonyoung wants a show, so be it. It's not like Yujin will ever recover from this anyway. Might as well make the best out of it.

"Oh, there you go. My unnie is such a cock drunk slut."

Under Wonyoung's dirty commentary, Yujin continues the combination of blowjob and face fuck. The man in front of her has gained a little more confidence and has started thrusting into her mouth a little harder and faster. His grip on her pigtails has tightened. Committed to delivering Wonyoung the most dirtiest video possible, Yujin decides to become sloppy.

She leaves her mouth open a little wider, stops swallowing her own spit and just starts to let it naturally escape her mouth. Soon the man's whole cock is drenched in her saliva. Her knees and the already wet tiles underneath her get hit as well.

Wonyoung bites her lip when she sees Yujin look directly into the camera. She just looks so sexy while getting her face fucked. The younger girl can't help but rub her thighs together. How much she is now longing for your cock using her mouth just like that. She keeps recording as she continues to think about exactly that. How you used her mouth like a toy last night, barely even looking at her, while your eyes were glued to Yujin on screen.

"I-I think I'm gonna finish."

The man who's fucking Yujin's face clearly hesitates, his grip on her pigtails softening. But Yujin just shakes her head and lets her tongue roam his cock.

"Give her your cum, she wants it."

Wonyoung catches the man's red cheeks, but her focus is on making sure that the camera is capturing Yujin, who's doing her best to make him climax.

With a loud groan from the man, she finally achieves her goal. She quickly moves back, letting his cock pop out of her mouth. With closed eyes, Yujin takes his cum like a pro. He paints her face, coating her cheeks, nose and lips in his semen.

"You look amazing, unnie."

Wonyoung has to hold back a laugh after stopping the recording. She takes one last picture of her leader covered in cum for good measure, before deciding to head out.

"Have fun in here. Daddy promised to buy me lunch."

With a provocative wave of her hand, Wonyoung strides towards the exit.

Yujin lets out a weak groan as the man behind her closes his pants again. She's bent over the closed toilet, her ass at the perfect height for anyone who would come in.

The man who just came inside her ass is now putting the anal hook back into place. Yujin grimaces as she feels his cum getting pushed deeper into her guts and the cold metal stretches her out again.

Her assumption was right. After Wonyoung came by, a lot of people started to use her ass. By now, Yujin can't even count anymore how many men have used her throughout the day. Definitely more than twenty. Maybe fifty? Or more than that?

Her weak body has made her feel tired and exhausted. As she hears the door open again, just after the last man closed it, she just sighs in defeat. It's not like she didn't enjoy her punishment. In fact, she's still enjoying it. But a break once in a while would've been nice.

As you walk past the sink, you grab the almost empty bottle of lube. You hold your sign in the other hand, smiling as you check the back. You made a mark for every guy who paid you. You almost earned a month's salary within a day.

"Oppa?"

Yujin looks at you when you walk inside her stall.

"It's time to go home, the mall closes in half an hour."

"Is-Is my punishment over?"

Yujin has slid off the toilet seat and is now kneeling on the floor again.

"Almost."

"Are there still more people, who want to use me?"

She looks tired and worn out, but you catch the small glint in her eyes, when she think there are more men yet to come.

"Well, one to be exact."

Realization hits her immediately.

"You're going to use me too, oppa?"

A grateful smile makes its way onto her lips.

"Yeah."

You put down the sign and undo your belt.

"Why don't you get my cock wet first?"

"Yes, oppa."

Yujin quickly takes her place right in front of you. As soon as your pants hit the floor, her mouth closes around your length. Just like the dozens of times before today, Yujin's head bobs up and down on your cock. Her tongue pressed flat against your shaft, her lips forming an airtight seal.

"That's right."

You encourage her as you take a hold of her pigtails.

"This is all you're good for. Offering up your holes like a public slut."

Yujin moans with your cock in her mouth, sending vibrations through your body.

You soon take over, fucking her face like so many men before you today. The young woman's makeup is completely gone and there are still dried up drops of cum here and there.

Wanting to ruin her face even further, you eventually pull out. Yujin looks up at you, mouth still open. You use your cock to smear her own spit all over her face, making her close her eyes.

"Now you look perfect."

"Thank you, oppa."

Her voice sounds a little dry after getting her throat used so often today.

You reach for her collar and pull Yujin to her feet. She moans loudly, feeling the anal hook move inside her ass, stretching her out even more.

"You like it when people use your ass, don't you?"

Yujin weakly nods.

You finally unlock the lock that kept her in place. Pulling at her chain, you guide Yujin towards the sink.

"There we go. It's time for you to enjoy your reward."

Your calm voice had it's desired effect on Yujin. She looks at you through the mirror at the prospect of a reward.

"Which is my cock in your ass."

Yujin doesn't have time to protest. You start to pull the anal hook out of her hole, making her moan and groan once again.

She doesn't stay empty for long. It only takes you a moment to use up the rest of the remaining lube.

"Oh, god."

She sighs weakly as you fill her up completely with only one stroke. Burying yourself deep inside of her, you lean over her body, whispering in her ear.

"I hope you learned your lesson. If not, this will be the new way of spending your free weekends."

"Yes, oppa. I did."

Her reply is cut short as Yujin feels you moving inside of her.

You're amazed at how tight she still is. For how long was her ass totally filled? Probably longer than five hours or something. It still feels as good as if you just pushed into her for the very first time. The tight ring of her muscles grips onto your cock as you thrust into her again and again.

Yujin can't do anything but look at herself through the mirror as her ass takes one last pounding. She's relieved that the day is finally over, that she can rest soon. And yet, she can't help but beg you to fuck her harder.

"Please, oppa. Give it to me hard. One last time."

You hold onto her waist, increasing your pace as you start to properly ruin Yujin's asshole.

She can feel your cock drag along her walls. How your tip reaches the deepest of places, how your hands dig into her flesh.

"Oppa..."

A small, almost lazy, orgasm washes over her.

Yujin doesn't even have enough energy to support her upper body anymore. She's is just lying on top of the sink, enjoying how you use her body for your own pleasure.

"Fuck, Yujin. I'm gonna fill you up."

"Yes, oppa."

Yujin looks at you through the mirror.

"Cum in my ass."

Her weak voice almost tempts you to grab her pigtails and properly ruin her one last time. But you acknowledge that she must be completely dead inside.

You enjoy her tight warmth for a little longer, until you can't hold it back anymore. Leaning over her again, you rest your head on her shoulder. Being buried deep inside her ass, you finally cum, filling her completely.

"Damn, your body is amazing, Yujin."

You don't get answer. Looking through the mirror, you make sure she didn't just fall asleep.

"How many?"

Her voice is barely above a whisper, when she finally speaks up.

"What?"

"How many men used me today?"

You plant a kiss on the back of her head.

"63."

---------

Hi, everyone!

The first story of December is here. I hope you enjoyed the read, there are four more fics to come. The length and quality of the next stories will increase (I hope) so that we have one big final for the last story.

Stay healthy!

[spooky-cryptid-friend]

doing this for ruin!

kinda manipulated a bunch of children into thinking they were gonna get out of there. she had no clue what she was going to do for them. kinda just expected most of them to die before they would get the chance to. why not give them hope?

yuppers. she killed ness yippee

killed ness! friend or loved one idk dont ask me about the dynamics between my own characters

ness stands up after being killed and does the same thing to her. over and over. it doesnt stop until she wakes up

do it for them. she will do whatever she thinks is best for the team. sometimes its being really supportive and loving and sometimes its murder. after she dies though, she defaults to helping people, especially ness (he has ghost amnesia). its the least she can do

no

not so much about what sh wants than what others want, which would be however far it takes her

yeah

not really

nope. she can handle gore very well but doesnt want people to be in pain

nuh uh

murder

herself and the stupid king who decided the best way to win a war was to make a ton of hybrid soldiers in his basement and then lost the war

im not sure but general sone is Icicles by The Scary Jokes

i can draw but not now

Dark OC Asks

Excluding murder, what is the worst thing your OC has ever done?

Has your OC ever killed someone?

Has your OC killed a friend/family member/loved one?

What appears in your OC's darkest nightmares?

What is your OC's moral code?

Would your OC make a deal with the devil?

How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

Would your OC consider themself evil?

Would you consider your OC evil?

Does your OC enjoy watching others suffer?

Has your OC ever tortured someone?

If your OC was arrested, what would the charges be?

Who does your OC hate the most?

What is your OC's "villain song"?

If you draw: draw your OC's darkest moment or reimagine your OC as a demon. If you don't draw: find a picrew or write a description instead!

[creamflix]

ONCE MORE TO SEE YOU — toji fushiguro x female reader [oneshot]

summary: you’re a single mom with a schedule that leaves little room for anything but work and longing. twice a week, you get to hold your daughter close, pouring all your love into moments that always feel too short. across the hallway, there’s toji — a single dad who watches from a distance, arms crossed, jaw tight, as he wonders how you juggle work and parenting and still manage to make your kid so happy. at first, he’s envious. envious of your composure, your warmth, the way your daughter looks at you like you’re her whole world. but slowly, that envy shifts. what happens when two broken hearts start to lean on each other, finding strength in the spaces they thought would stay empty? can you let someone in without fear of breaking again? can he?

content warnings: fluff, slight angst with comfort. strangers to friends to lovers. slow burn. single parent/divorced (female) reader. single parent toji. reader has a girl [aged 8-9] no name specified, megumi is the same age as well. reader has a toxic/manipulative ex husband. happy ending. lot of feels. very personally penned </3 mentions of other characters: nanami, yuuji, nobara, gojo & sukuna

read on ao3!

toji didn’t usually care much about other people’s business, but you? you were impossible to ignore. 

it wasn’t just because your door slammed too loud when your kid came running out, or because you always seemed to be lugging some heavy-ass groceries up the stairs with that determined scowl of yours. it was how you did it all like some damn perfectionist. 

toji hated it. 

hated the way it made him feel like he should be trying harder too, especially when his kid, megumi, was busy leaving trails of destruction like a little tornado.

“megumi, stop throwing the damn ball against the wall!” he bellowed one evening, slumping further into his couch. the kid ignored him, of course. 

then, as if the universe hated him, your door creaked open, and there you were, strolling into the hallway like you had nothing better to do. arms crossed, brows raised, you peered down at him with that no-nonsense air of yours.

“maybe he’s bored?” you suggested, leaning casually against your doorframe.

toji snorted. “maybe he’s just an asshole.”

your face scrunched in disapproval, the kind he’d seen a million times from the PTA moms who used to glare at him when he showed up late to pick up megumi. but you didn’t launch into a lecture like he expected. instead, you glanced at megumi, who had paused mid-throw to stare at you, and crouched down to his level.

“hey, buddy,” you said, voice softening in a way that made toji’s stomach twist. “why don’t you try aiming for that spot over there?” you pointed to a section of the wall that wouldn’t drive everyone insane. megumi actually listened, and toji couldn’t decide if he was impressed or pissed off.

“what, you think you’re some kind of kid whisperer?” he muttered, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket.

you stood, brushing off your knees, and looked him dead in the eye. “no, but i know how to talk to them.”

toji scowled. “yeah, must be nice, being born with that magic ‘mom gene.’”

you blinked, then burst out laughing, and for some reason, that annoyed him even more. 

“mom gene? toji, i only have my kid on weekends. the rest of the time, it’s just me and a bottle of wine trying not to lose my mind.”

he frowned, caught off guard. “wait, what?”

“yeah, divorce does that to you.” your voice was breezy, but your eyes flickered with something darker for a split second. “not that it’s any of your business.”

toji chewed on that revelation, something prickling at the edges of his brain. you weren’t some perfect supermom after all. you were just...getting by, same as him. 

the realization didn’t sit well — it made you seem less annoying and more...real. vulnerable, even.

“huh,” he grunted, looking away, suddenly too aware of how quiet the hallway had gotten. megumi was still tossing the ball, but it was softer now, more controlled. “guess you’re not as put together as you seem.”

“and you’re not as big of a jerk as you seem,” you shot back, giving him a pointed look before retreating to your apartment.

toji stared after you, jaw tight, until the door clicked shut. something about you made him itch, made him feel like he needed to either punch a wall or figure out why he couldn’t stop thinking about how you smiled at his kid. 

damn it.

toji sat at the edge of his couch, one hand wrapped around a cold beer and the other flipping through a stack of bills. the TV was on, low volume, playing some mindless sports recap he wasn’t even watching. megumi was somewhere in his room, the faint clatter of toys filtering down the hall. the kid had been sulking since this morning, muttering about how “nobody does anything fun.”

he grunted, rubbing a hand down his face. it wasn’t like he didn’t want to take the kid out, but hell, it was hard enough keeping the lights on. trips to the park felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford — time or energy.

and then he heard it. your laugh, loud and unapologetic, echoing in the hallway like it owned the place. toji tilted his head back against the couch, scowling at the ceiling as if that would make the sound go away. it didn’t. instead, it was followed by the high-pitched giggle of your kid, shrieking with joy as the two of you stomped down the stairs.

“hold on, mama needs her shoes!” your voice floated up through the doorframe, playful but firm.

“hurry! we’re gonna miss the swings!” your daughter yelled back, her excitement enough to make toji wince. he could practically see the image of you two — hand in hand, all smiles, making your way to the park like you didn’t have a care in the world.

his jaw tightened. perfect. just another reminder of how much he sucked at this parenting thing.

he took a long swig of his beer and stared at the stack of bills like it was their fault he couldn’t be the kind of dad who made his kid laugh like that. no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t just...be you. he didn’t know how to make life look that easy.

“megumi,” he called, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

there was a pause, the kind that made him think the kid wasn’t going to answer, before a small, reluctant “yeah?” drifted back.

toji sighed, setting the beer down. “you wanna...go outside or somethin’?”

another pause. then: “what for?”

the response hit harder than he cared to admit. what for? shouldn’t his kid want to? shouldn’t he be the one excited to spend time with his old man? but megumi sounded skeptical, like he’d already decided it wouldn’t be fun.

“never mind,” toji muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “forget it.”

the sound of the door to megumi’s room clicking shut made toji’s shoulders sag further.

outside, your laughter faded, replaced by the echo of your footsteps retreating into the distance. he leaned back on the couch, staring at the flickering TV screen, feeling something in his chest tighten and pull.

toji didn’t know when exactly it had started bothering him — this stupid, begrudging little alliance the two of you had. you’d come over when megumi refused his medicine, talking to the kid with that low, steady voice of yours until he opened his mouth like it was no big deal. and toji would come over when your sink started leaking, muttering under his breath the whole time about how you should’ve called a damn plumber.

but this? this was different. it wasn’t about fixing a sink or calming a tantrum. it was about the fact that you always seemed to do better — better at this whole parenting thing, better at making life fun, better at...everything. 

and he hated that. hated how it made him feel like he was doing it all wrong.

maybe tomorrow would be different. maybe tomorrow he’d try harder. but for tonight, toji sat in the dim light of his living room, beer in hand, listening to the muffled sounds of megumi’s toys clattering in the other room, and let himself wonder — just for a second — what it’d be like to get it right.

your neighbors thought you had it all figured out — the strict yet cool mom who always had her shit together. you weren’t the one scrambling for groceries or apologizing to the pharmacist because you forgot to refill a prescription. no, your pantry was always stocked, the fridge had every snack your daughter loved, and there was always a pack of pads tucked in the bathroom cabinet, just in case. because if there was one thing you were going to do, it was prepare. even if it was only for two days a week.

but those two days weren’t enough. not for you, anyway. 

your daughter was happy, blissfully unaware of how unnatural this arrangement felt to you. she was too young to see what you saw, to feel the cracks in your chest every time sunday evening rolled around and your ex-husband came to pick her up. you watched her climb into the car without a second thought, giggling about whatever they had planned for the week ahead, and you stood on the curb with a smile that felt like it might crack your face in half.

because this wasn’t the norm. at least, it shouldn’t have been.

but she didn’t know that, and how could you tell her? how could you explain that the only reason the divorce had been so clean and quick was because you’d made sure it was? no yelling, no lawyers, no drawn-out battles over custody. you wanted it over before she could develop memories sharp enough to stick. 

and it worked — she was happy. unbothered. as if this was just how life was supposed to be.

you hated it. 

you hated it almost as much as you hated sitting alone in your too-quiet apartment for the other five days of the week, waiting. hoping. praying for something, anything, that would keep her with you longer.

sometimes, you’d stare at your phone, willing it to light up with a text from your ex. something like hey, last-minute work trip, can you take her this week? or she’s asking to stay with you, is that okay? 

but those texts never came. and your little girl never asked. she loved you, you knew that, but she didn’t need you in the way you wished she did. not yet. 

not like you needed her.

so, you waited. and in the waiting, you heard everything else. 

the muffled shouts of toji and his kid through the walls. the occasional crash of what was probably a wrestling match in their living room. the bark of laughter when megumi said something funny. the kind of noise that used to fill your own apartment, before the silence settled in like an unwelcome guest.

you missed that noise. you missed the mess of it, the chaos, the constant reminder that there was life happening right in front of you.

some nights, you’d hear megumi’s voice drift into the hallway, arguing with his dad about bedtime, and you’d feel a pang in your chest so sharp it made you suck in a breath. you didn’t even know what you were hoping for anymore — a reason to knock on toji’s door? an excuse to borrow sugar or offer some unsolicited parenting advice? maybe it was just the idea of not being alone that called to you, the longing for that noise to become a permanent fixture in your home.

but the door stayed closed, and you stayed on your side, waiting.

thanksgiving wasn’t something you cared much for anymore. your daughter was off with your ex, being doted on by her grandparents, and you were left standing in the middle of your apartment wondering what the hell you were supposed to do with yourself. the thought of spending the day bouncing from bar to bar, pretending like you didn’t care that you were alone, felt more pathetic than liberating.

you had just grabbed your coat, keys jangling in hand, when the knock came. not a gentle knock, either — a heavy, impatient pounding. opening the door, you found megumi standing there, arms crossed and wearing a scowl that was all too familiar.

“you need to come help my dad,” he said bluntly.

you blinked. “uh, what?”

“the turkey,” he clarified, rolling his eyes like you should’ve already known. “he’s gonna burn it. again.”

you almost said no. you really did. it wasn’t your problem if toji fushiguro couldn’t figure out how to roast a turkey. but then megumi fixed you with a look — stubborn, determined, his little fists clenching at his sides — and you saw your daughter in him. that same unyielding resolve she’d inherited from you. 

before you could stop yourself, you sighed and grabbed your shoes.

“fine,” you muttered. “but only because i don’t wanna smell burnt turkey through the walls for the next week.”

megumi led the way, not bothering to wait for you to catch up, and by the time you stepped into toji’s apartment, the chaos was already underway. toji was in the kitchen, glaring at the bird like it had personally insulted him, sleeves rolled up and hair a mess. megumi darted off to the living room, immediately digging through his toys, leaving you standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“you planning to just stand there, or are you gonna help?” toji barked without looking up.

“oh, i’m sorry,” you shot back, shrugging off your coat and stepping into the kitchen. “i didn’t realize i was signing up to save thanksgiving.”

“yeah, yeah, just don’t touch the knives,” he grumbled, handing you a bowl of stuffing. “last thing i need is you slicing a finger off.”

“cute,” you deadpanned, elbowing him out of the way to check the turkey. “you’re supposed to baste it, you know. not drown it in oil.”

toji huffed but stepped aside, muttering something under his breath about know-it-alls. for the next hour, the two of you worked in tandem — him grumbling every time you corrected him, you rolling your eyes every time he ignored your advice only to realize you were right. it was messy and loud, and megumi kept wandering into the kitchen to ask if he could “decorate the turkey” with his action figures.

“no,” you and toji said in unison, making megumi pout and stomp back to his toys.

you hated to admit it, but it felt...nice. domestic, even. like the kind of thanksgiving you used to dream about before everything fell apart.

when the turkey was finally done, golden and steaming, toji leaned against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel. “well, guess that’s not a total disaster,” he said, nodding toward the bird.

“you’re welcome,” you replied, smirking.

toji glanced at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. then, in a tone that was almost shy — almost — he added, “you, uh...you should stay. for dinner, i mean. since you helped.”

you hesitated, the instinct to say no already on your tongue. but then megumi poked his head around the corner, grinning as he asked if it was time to eat yet, and something in your chest softened.

“yeah,” you said, surprising even yourself. “yeah, i guess i could stay.”

for once, you didn’t worry about whether it was selfish to want this — to sit at a table with someone else’s kid, someone else’s dad, and pretend, just for a little while, that it was your own family.

you barely had time to put your keys down when your daughter bolted out the door, still wearing her ballet costume — tutu, tights, and all. 

“where are you going?” you called after her, already regretting the question as you hurried to follow.

by the time you reached the hallway, she was standing in front of megumi, who looked as though he had just rolled out of bed. his hair stuck up in every direction, and he was clutching a carton of milk he’d clearly just retrieved from the grocery bag hanging outside his door. the poor kid froze like a deer caught in headlights as your daughter crossed her arms and declared, “you’re the same height as me. you have to practice with me.”

megumi blinked at her, then at you, then back at her. “what?”

“pirouettes,” she said matter-of-factly, pointing to her little satin shoes. “you just have to stand there and twirl, like this.” she spun in place, her tutu flaring out as she executed a clumsy turn.

“uh...” megumi glanced at the milk in his hand, clearly weighing his options. then, with a defeated grumble that sounded eerily like his dad, he said, “fine. but only for five minutes.”

you were about to step in, to scold her for bothering someone she didn’t know, but then megumi set the milk down and mimicked her spin, his movements stiff and awkward but surprisingly cooperative. the sight of the two of them twirling in the hallway — her with all the determination of a drill sergeant, him with the resigned patience of a kid who had long since accepted the absurdity of his life — made you pause.

“no, no, your arm’s supposed to go here,” she corrected, pulling his hand up into what you assumed was a ballet pose. megumi didn’t protest, just followed her instructions with a tiny scowl on his face.

you leaned against the doorframe, half-amused, half-stunned. the hallway was hardly the place for this — the flickering overhead light and slightly dingy carpet hardly screamed “dance studio” — but neither of them seemed to care. they were kids, after all. they didn’t need permission or a proper setting to make something fun out of nothing.

toji’s door creaked open, and he stepped out, rubbing the back of his neck. his eyes landed on the two kids, and his brows shot up. “what the hell’s goin’ on here?”

you smirked. “your kid’s being recruited as a dance partner.”

toji snorted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “looks like he’s takin’ it seriously.”

“he’s a good sport,” you admitted, watching as your daughter adjusted megumi’s stance like a tiny ballet instructor.

“yeah, well, don’t let him hear you say that. he’s already got enough of an attitude,” toji muttered, though there was a trace of pride in his voice.

you laughed softly, watching as the two kids twirled down the hallway like it was the most natural thing in the world. for a moment, you felt that familiar pang in your chest — the one that came from watching your daughter interact with someone so freely, so innocently. it reminded you of something you’d almost forgotten: kids didn’t care about the social rules adults imposed on them. they didn’t worry about boundaries or appearances. they just...were.

and maybe, just maybe, you could learn something from that.

you had rules. hard, fast rules you swore by, especially when it came to relationships. your daughter was your priority, and anything — or anyone — that complicated the fragile arrangement of custody and weekend visits was a hard no. 

you’d learned that the hard way.

it was supposed to be just another date. nothing serious, nothing special. just someone you’d met through a friend of a friend, someone who seemed decent enough at first glance. 

but “decent enough” didn’t cut it when he started poking around your home like it was his, asking invasive questions about your parenting and making himself far too comfortable in the space you shared with your daughter.

the final straw came when your girl, barely out of her toddler years, tugged on your sleeve and whispered, “i don’t like him.”

you snapped. you didn’t care about niceties or keeping things civil. your voice was sharp and unrelenting as you told him to leave, not sparing a second thought for his protests or excuses. when he didn’t take the hint, standing there like he had every right to argue with you in your own home, the commotion must have reached the hallway because toji showed up.

he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his eyes hard and unwavering. “you heard her,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge that could slice through steel. “get the hell out.”

the man hesitated, glancing between you and toji, before finally storming out with a string of muttered curses. the door slammed behind him, and you exhaled, your shoulders sagging under the weight of your anger.

toji didn’t say anything, just gave you a curt nod before disappearing back into his apartment. but his presence lingered, a silent reminder that someone else got it. someone else understood that when it came to your kids, there were no compromises. if they didn’t like someone, that was the end of it. no debate, no second chances.

because the truth was, kids had a steadfast sense of people. they could see what adults often ignored or rationalized away. and if your little girl didn’t like someone, then that was reason enough to show them the door.

it wasn’t about being strict or overprotective. it was about being selfless in the way only a parent could be — putting your child’s comfort and safety above your own needs, no matter how lonely or frustrating it could be. 

and as much as you hated that night, as much as it left you raw and questioning your own choices, it also reaffirmed something you already knew: your girl came first. always.

toji didn’t see the point of relationships. not when all he needed was a night of sex and no strings attached. a quick call, a casual meet-up, and back to their place or the backseat of his car — it was simple, clean, and didn’t involve his son. 

rules were rules. no bringing anyone home, ever. it wasn’t just about protecting megumi’s innocence; it was about maintaining some semblance of order in the chaos of their lives.

megumi wasn’t clueless, though. he’d catch on when his dad had a “special lady friend,” his young mind putting two and two together. but he never lingered on it — he was too preoccupied with his toys or his own little world to ask questions. still, toji made it a point to keep those two parts of his life separate. or at least, he tried to.

then there was that night. the one he wished he could erase entirely.

it started with a hookup — someone he barely knew, someone who got a flat tire on the way to meet him. she called him in a panic, and toji, feeling half-responsible, told her to wait downstairs while he scrounged up some cash to help her out. it was supposed to be quick, a simple transaction before he sent her on her way.

but when he opened his apartment door to check on megumi, there she was, standing in the hallway, looking between him and his son like she’d just uncovered some dirty secret.

“seriously?” she snapped, her voice rising. “you have a kid, and you didn’t tell me? what kinda man are you?”

toji froze, his jaw tightening. “it’s not like that,” he started, already regretting everything about this situation. “he’s my son, yeah, but —”

“oh my god,” she interrupted, her voice dripping with something he couldn’t quite place. 

“you’re a single dad? that’s so...hot. like, wow, you’re doing all this on your own? it’s inspiring.”

toji stared at her, horrified. was this some kind of joke? how the hell did she jump from being pissed to romanticizing his life? did she think being a single parent was some kind of aesthetic?

before he could say anything, you appeared from your apartment, drawn out by the commotion. one look at the scene and you put the pieces together — the woman’s flirtatious tone, toji’s visible irritation, megumi standing awkwardly behind his dad.

“are you serious right now?” you said, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “do you even hear yourself? you don’t just barge into someone’s home and start fantasizing about their struggles like it’s some rom-com plot.”

the woman blinked, clearly taken aback, but you didn’t stop. “being a single parent isn’t some cute little quirk, okay? it’s hard work. it’s messy and exhausting, and you don’t get to stand there and act like it’s sexy or whatever weird thing you’re doing right now. you’re embarrassing yourself.”

toji folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you with something close to amusement. “yeah,” he added, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “what she said.”

the woman huffed, muttered something about how she “didn’t mean it like that,” and stormed off, leaving behind a cloud of awkward silence.

you turned to toji, your arms crossed. “seriously, fushiguro? what the hell was that?”

“don’t look at me,” he grunted. “i told her to wait downstairs. didn’t think she’d take it as an invitation to meet my kid.”

“well, maybe next time, screen your hookups better,” you shot back before glancing at megumi. “you okay, honey?”

megumi shrugged, holding his pillow like it was a shield. “she was weird.”

toji sighed, running a hand through his hair. “tell me about it.”

as you headed back to your apartment, you muttered loud enough for him to hear, “unbelievable.”

toji couldn’t argue with that.

pta meetings were never on your radar — your ex had made sure of that. "you don’t need to stress about these things," he’d said, his tone dismissive, as if your role as a parent didn’t extend to showing up for your own kid. but the moment he insisted one too many times, you knew it was less about easing your workload and more about him basking in the spotlight of being the ever-dedicated single dad.

you weren’t having it anymore.

so, there you were, shuffling awkwardly through the school halls, feeling like a stranger in your own child’s life. asking for directions to the third-grade pta made you feel ridiculous, but not nearly as much as the sight that greeted you when you finally found the room.

your daughter sat next to her father, the picture of poise and politeness. her hands folded neatly in her lap, her back straight, nodding along as if she’d been practicing for a commercial. for a moment, you wondered if you’d walked into the wrong classroom.

but then her eyes flicked to the door, and the facade crumbled. she leaped out of her chair, her tiny legs carrying her toward you as she yelled, “mama!” loud enough to turn heads. the force of her hug nearly knocked the wind out of you, but you didn’t care. this — her joy, her excitement — was worth every awkward second of wandering the school halls.

your ex, however, looked less than thrilled. his jaw tightened, his smile turned brittle, and you swore his ears went red. 

“you’re not supposed to be here,” he hissed, his voice low but venomous. “we agreed —”

“you decided,” you cut him off, your voice calm but firm. “i have just as much right to be here as you do.”

your daughter, oblivious to the tension, looked up at both of you with wide, curious eyes. “but daddy said you don’t like school stuff,” she said, her little brow furrowed. “is that true?”

you knelt down, brushing a stray hair from her face. “of course not, sweetheart. i love being here for you. don’t ever think otherwise, okay?”

her face lit up again, but the moment was short-lived. your ex scoffed, muttering something under his breath about boundaries and making a scene. you felt the familiar heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck, the weight of the other parents’ stares pressing down on you.

and then, as if on cue, toji strolled in with megumi trailing behind him, looking as uninterested as ever.

toji’s eyes scanned the room, landing on the little drama unfolding between you and your ex. a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “looks like i’m not the only one dreading this circus,” he drawled, loud enough for everyone to hear.

megumi, clutching a slightly crumpled report card, muttered, “dad, can we just sit down?”

toji ignored him, stepping closer to where you were standing. “need backup?” he asked, his tone teasing but with a glint of seriousness in his eyes.

your ex bristled, standing a little straighter. “this isn’t any of your business.”

“maybe not,” toji said, crossing his arms, “but if you’re gonna start a scene in front of your kid, might as well make it entertaining for the rest of us.”

you bit back a laugh, your shoulders relaxing for the first time since you’d walked into the room. your ex muttered something incoherent before storming back to his seat, clearly deciding he’d rather sulk than argue with toji.

“thanks,” you said quietly, glancing at him.

“don’t mention it,” he replied, waving a hand. “besides, i could use the distraction. these meetings are the worst.”

megumi sighed dramatically, dragging his dad toward the nearest empty seats. your daughter tugged on your hand, pulling you toward her spot. “sit next to me, mommy!” she insisted, her voice brimming with excitement.

and just like that, the weight of embarrassment lifted. maybe the pta wasn’t so dreadful after all.

stationery shopping ranked high on toji’s list of things he’d rather not do. it wasn’t just the hassle of navigating cramped aisles and overly enthusiastic sales clerks — it was the quiet longing he saw in megumi’s eyes. his kid had always been practical, never asking for much. a pencil and eraser were all he ever said he needed. 

but toji wasn’t blind. he noticed the way megumi’s gaze lingered on superhero-themed pouches, colorful erasers, or fancy gel pens that clicked in three different colors.

today, however, megumi wasn’t eyeing superheroes. he stood rooted in front of the store’s most ridiculously pink setup — hello kitty galore. pink pouches, glittery pens, stickers with cartoon bows and sparkles. “what’re ya staring at, brat?” toji grumbled, leaning against the cart.

“nothing,” megumi mumbled, looking down at his sneakers.

toji raised a brow. “yeah, sure. ‘nothing’ has you glued there like a statue.”

“it’s for...her,” megumi muttered, barely loud enough to hear.

“her?” for a second, toji wondered if his kid had cooked up another imaginary friend. but then it clicked. “her” wasn’t imaginary — it was your daughter. ever since she had dragged megumi into practicing her ballet routine in the hallway, she’d been on his radar. toji had caught him talking about her in passing, dropping little comments about her sparkly shoes or how good she was at balancing on her toes.

toji scratched the back of his head, sighing. “alright, pick something out.”

megumi’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “really?”

“yeah, really. just don’t make me regret it.”

a few minutes later, toji was standing in line with a glittery-pen set, the kind of thing he never thought he’d buy in his lifetime. at checkout, he stared at the receipt longer than necessary, grumbling about how overpriced stationery had gotten. still, he couldn’t shake the thought of megumi’s sheepish little smile when he picked out the pen set.

later that day, toji knocked on your door, the pen set in hand. when you opened it, he held the package out awkwardly. “here,” he said gruffly. “megs wanted to give this to your girl.”

you blinked in surprise, looking between him and the gift. “oh, uh, thank you. that’s sweet of him.”

“yeah, well, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he muttered, already turning to leave.

“wait.” you disappeared into the apartment for a moment before coming back with a box in hand. “give this to megumi. my daughter won it in a raffle at school and insisted it was for him.”

toji frowned, taking the box. when he opened it, his jaw nearly dropped. inside was a limited-edition action figure of megumi’s favorite superhero, still in its pristine packaging. “seriously?” he asked, glancing up at you.

you shrugged, smiling. “she said he deserves it for helping her with ballet.”

when toji handed the box to megumi later, the boy’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “this is for me?” he asked, his voice almost disbelieving.

“yep,” toji said, leaning against the doorframe, a smirk tugging at his lips. “from her.”

megumi cradled the box like it was made of glass, his face lighting up in a way toji hadn’t seen in a while. “she’s...cool,” he mumbled, his ears turning red.

toji snorted, ruffling his son’s hair. “yeah, kid. guess she is.”

it started with the clatter of plastic pots and pans echoing in the hallway. toji peeked out, ready to bark at whoever was making the ruckus, only to see your kid — a whirlwind in a frilly dress — dragging megumi out of the apartment by his wrist. toji frowned, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “what’s she up to now?” he muttered to himself.

your girl had plopped her miniature kitchen set right in the middle of the hallway, setting it up with an authority that would make a professional chef jealous. “okay, megumi,” she declared, hands on her hips. “we’re playing house-house.”

megumi shuffled awkwardly, glancing at the scattered pink cookware. “uh...i don’t know how to play,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head.

your daughter waved off his hesitation with a dramatic flourish. “it’s easy! you’re the dad, and i’m the mom, and we make dinner together.”

toji suppressed a snort. the dad, huh? poor kid.

but then megumi, shifting uncomfortably, mumbled, “what’s...a dad supposed to do?”

your daughter blinked at him, pausing her bustling activity. “you don’t know?”

he shook his head, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“well,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact, “my dad doesn’t play house-house much. but it’s okay! we’ll just figure it out.”

toji’s chest tightened at her words, his grip on the doorframe unconsciously tightening. he didn’t think a kid’s game could hit so close to home, but there it was. she said it so simply, so innocently, like it was a fact of life. and megumi just nodded, kneeling down next to her and fumbling with a tiny plastic frying pan, like he was trying to make sense of a concept he couldn’t quite grasp.

when he glanced across the hall, he saw you standing there. you weren’t smiling. the look in your eyes was a mirror of his own — quiet, pained recognition. you knew. how could you not? this was your life too, wasn’t it? this strange, fragmented version of what a “home” was supposed to be.

and for once, toji didn’t have a quip or a grumble. he just stood there, watching his kid try to figure out what “playing house” meant, wondering if maybe the real problem wasn’t the game at all.

there were days when the weight of work pressed so heavily on your shoulders, you didn’t know if you’d make it to bedtime without breaking. days when you stared at your laptop screen, the relentless deadlines pounding in your head, and wondered if anyone cared enough to ask how you were holding up. 

your daughter? what could you even tell an eight-year-old? that mamma’s work feels like it’s swallowing her whole? your ex? let’s not kid anyone — he didn’t give a damn.

so when you heard the faint knock on your door, you sighed, ready to dismiss whatever delivery or inconvenience had shown up at your doorstep. but it wasn’t a courier. it was megumi, standing there awkwardly, holding a casserole dish that looked far too heavy for him.

“uh, hi,” he mumbled, not meeting your eyes. “my dad said you should eat this. and, um...are you okay?”

you blinked, caught completely off guard. “i — yeah, i’m fine. why are you —”

“dad said you looked ‘off.’” he shifted his weight, staring at the floor like the words were a script he was forced to read. “so he made food. and, uh...he said you should eat it. or something.”

you stared at the casserole, the steam fogging up the glass lid, before your gaze moved back to megumi. “your dad sent you?”

megumi nodded, still not looking up. “yeah. but also...uh, you shouldn’t be sad. ’cause my teacher says work is like a big test. and you can’t cry during tests.”

you let out a soft laugh despite yourself. “is that so?”

“yeah,” he said, more confidently now. “and also...you should have cookies after tests. or...or, like, cake. something sweet.”

you crouched down so you were eye level with him, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “thank you, megumi. you’re very thoughtful.”

he shrugged, his ears turning red. “it’s just what people do, right?”

“you’re absolutely right,” you said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “tell your dad thank you for the food, okay?”

megumi nodded, suddenly eager to escape, and darted back toward his apartment. as you stood, watching him go, you caught a glimpse of toji leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed, pretending like he wasn’t paying attention. your eyes met, and he gave a half-smirk, a silent acknowledgment that, yeah, he sent his kid over to do the emotional heavy lifting.

you didn’t know whether to laugh or roll your eyes, but as you brought the casserole inside and inhaled the warm, comforting aroma, you realized it didn’t matter. the gesture had worked. 

and for the first time that day, you felt a little less alone.

toji leaned against the garbage chute, the crumpled bag dangling from his grip like the weight of his entire day had been stuffed inside it. his head was pounding, his nerves frayed, and the sheer mental load of keeping everything together made his chest feel tight. 

just one drink, he thought. one drink to take the edge off. 

but the thought of megumi catching even a whiff of whiskey on his breath, of being the kind of dad who needed an escape like that, stopped him cold.

that’s when you showed up, bag in hand, hair disheveled from a long day. you gave him a quick glance, your usual mixture of mild irritation and casual acknowledgment, before tossing your garbage into the chute.

“you look like hell,” you said bluntly, folding your arms.

“gee, thanks,” toji shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “needed that.”

you didn’t flinch. instead, you just leaned against the wall beside him, watching as he seemed to wrestle with something internally. you weren’t dumb — you could tell when someone was running on fumes.

“you ever feel like you’re drowning?” he asked suddenly, surprising even himself with the admission.

you blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. “constantly,” you replied, your tone softer than usual. “but i’m guessing you mean with the whole...single parent thing.”

toji chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “ding, ding. i don’t know how you do it. you make it look...effortless.”

“effortless?” you raised an eyebrow, almost laughing at the absurdity. “you think i have it together? newsflash, toji: my kid’s with me two days a week. that’s not parenting perfection. that’s a weekend babysitting gig.”

“still,” he muttered. “you make those two days count. i see it. i hear it.”

you exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “look, i don’t have all the answers. but what i’ve learned? you can’t do it all. not perfectly. no one can. and pretending you can is just setting yourself up to fail. so...cut yourself some slack. you’re not screwing up as bad as you think.”

he stared at you for a moment, the words sinking in like drops of water on parched earth. it wasn’t a grand revelation, but coming from you — iron mom of the year — it hit different.

“you really believe that?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

you shrugged. “not always. but it’s what i tell myself when i feel like i’m about to lose it. sometimes it helps. sometimes it doesn’t. but it’s better than drinking yourself stupid.”

toji’s eyes flicked to you, his brow furrowing. “how’d you —”

“please,” you cut him off. “you think i don’t know that look? seen it in the mirror too many times.”

he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “you’re something else, you know that?”

“so are you,” you countered, nudging his arm lightly. “whether you believe it or not. and whether you’ll admit it or not.”

he didn’t respond, just stood there for a moment, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. and as you turned to head back to your apartment, he found himself standing a little taller, the crushing weight of the day feeling just a little lighter.he still wouldn’t call it respect. but maybe, just maybe, he didn’t hate you as much as he thought.

your ex’s text had felt like a sucker punch, the kind that knocked the wind right out of you. you’d stared at the message for far too long, rereading his smug little declaration: “taking her on a trip she’ll never forget. don’t worry about the details.” 

no invite for you, no mention of her asking for you — just a cruel reminder that he still had ways to hurt you. and for her birthday, of all things.

you spent the next two weeks in a fog. the silence in your apartment was deafening without her, no shrieks of laughter, no tiny footsteps running to show you her latest masterpiece. it felt like someone had pressed pause on your life, leaving you stuck in this unbearable limbo. every day you’d get up, go to work, and come home to the same aching emptiness. you even avoided the hallway, unwilling to face anyone — not even toji and megumi.

but then, one evening, as you were sorting through yet another pile of takeout containers, you heard a soft knock on your door. when you opened it, there stood megumi, clutching a piece of paper in his small hands. he shoved it toward you without a word, his face unreadable, before bolting back down the hall.

you closed the door, confused, and unfolded the note. it was written in uneven, colorful crayon strokes, the kind only a kid could produce:

dear y/n, pls come to my bithday party. we having cake and maybe pizza dad said okay i want you to come :) from megumi

your breath caught in your throat, and before you knew it, hot tears were streaming down your face. it was the kind of pure, innocent gesture that knocked down every wall you’d tried to build over the past two weeks. megumi didn’t know the weight of what he’d just done — how he’d given you a reason to get out of bed, to care about something again.

you clutched the note to your chest, letting out a shaky laugh through your tears. for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of warmth. maybe you couldn’t be there for your own daughter’s birthday this year, but for megumi? you’d show up.

and maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t feel so alone.

toji swore he hadn’t stopped pacing since he woke up that morning. 

megumi’s birthday. 

the kid had been talking about it for weeks, dropping subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints about what he wanted. toji had done his best — got the decorations, ordered the cake, and even splurged on superhero-themed plates and napkins. but standing in the middle of his living room, now transformed into a battlefield of action figure balloons and capes, he couldn’t help but feel like a superhero himself — one on the verge of a breakdown.

megumi had insisted on handling the invites, which in hindsight might’ve been a mistake. the first arrivals were fine enough: yuuji and nobara, two of megumi’s classmates. yuuji was all boundless energy and chaos, while nobara strutted in like she was already running the place. “where’s the cake?” she demanded, hands on her hips. toji grunted and pointed toward the kitchen.

then came the wild card. the bane of his existence.

“tooojjjji!” gojo’s voice echoed through the apartment, loud and grating as ever. “heard there’s a party! didn’t wanna miss out.” he waltzed in, sunglasses perched on his stupidly perfect nose, a massive gift bag in hand that screamed overcompensating. toji pinched the bridge of his nose. why me?

and then, you. you stepped in, looking a little hesitant, holding a neatly wrapped present in one hand. megumi practically lit up when he saw you, rushing over to tug you inside. “you came!” he exclaimed, grinning ear to ear. toji froze for a moment, then scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“didn’t think you’d actually show,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes.

“megumi invited me,” you said simply, smiling down at the boy. “couldn’t say no to the birthday boy, now could i?”

toji grunted in response, but deep down, he was relieved. somehow, having you there made the chaos of the day feel a little more manageable.

the party was... chaotic, to say the least. yuuji inhaled pizza like it was a sport and promptly threw up in the kitchen sink, much to nobara’s disgust. “ewwwww, you’re so groooossss!” she shrieked, dodging as yuuji stumbled past her. toji was already on the phone with yuuji’s older brother, sukuna, who arrived not long after, looking pissed as hell.

“i told him not to eat like a damn vacuum,” sukuna growled, hauling yuuji out the door.

megumi, meanwhile, didn’t seem fazed by any of it. he was too busy showing off his new action figures to your daughter, who somehow managed to make it to the party just a few hours before her flight. you and toji exchanged a glance — a silent acknowledgment that, despite the chaos, the kids were happy.

and somehow, so were you.

with your daughter off on her dad's two-and-a-half-week escapade, you found yourself with something rare and unsettling: free time. the emptiness of your apartment felt heavier without her laughter filling the corners, so you did what any sane, lonely adult would do — you forced yourself to go out. and somehow, somehow, you ended up on a date with nanami kento.

god, he was perfect. the kind of perfect that made your chest ache. polite, well-mannered, and respectful, with a quiet intensity that felt... safe. he opened doors, listened like you were the only person in the world, and didn’t even bat an eye when you cried mid-dessert about how surreal it felt to be treated so kindly. nanami kento was a unicorn in human form. you left the date with a full heart and a nervous little hope tucked away in the corner of your mind.

but with that came distance. maybe you didn’t mean to pull back from the chaotic warmth of your hallway interactions with megumi and toji, but it happened all the same. when megumi called out a soft “hi” as you passed him by the mailboxes, you offered a quick smile but kept walking. the sink had been dripping for days, but instead of knocking on toji’s door, you’d booked a plumber. you weren’t doing anything wrong, you told yourself — they were just neighbors. neighbors.

not friends. not anything more than the people across the hall. right?

toji, though, noticed. the absence of your knock, the way megumi seemed a little more sullen, staring at the hall like he was waiting for someone. “you think she’s mad at us?” megumi asked one evening, poking at his rice.

toji’s response was a noncommittal grunt, but the truth was, he didn’t know. for some stupid reason, the distance stung. not that he’d ever admit it. not that he had any right to care.

you were just neighbors, after all.

when your girl came bounding through the door, her face glowing from the trip, the first thing she asked wasn’t about you or the gifts she’d brought back. no, it was, “how’s gumi? how’s uncle toji?”

the question hit harder than it should’ve. you realized with a pang of guilt how much distance you’d put between yourself and the fushiguros. brushing it off with a casual, “they’re fine,” didn’t sit well either. so, when your daughter insisted on running over to their apartment to see megumi, you didn’t stop her.

watching her skip down the hall, you thought it’d all smooth over naturally. kids were resilient like that, weren’t they? but then she came back. and she was crying.

between her sobs and hiccups, you managed to piece together the story. megumi, sweet, awkward megumi, had exploded in a torrent of childish frustration. how your daughter hadn’t been around. how you hadn’t been around. how he thought you both didn’t care anymore.

you felt your heart shatter as your girl bawled into your arms, her small hands clutching at your shirt. “why’s he mad at me, mama? i didn’t do anything!”

meanwhile, across the hall, megumi was in tears too, angrily wiping at his face as he sat cross-legged on the couch. “i hate her!” he shouted, voice wobbling. “she didn’t even say hi! she just left like everyone does!”

toji sat there, looking at his son, the beer he’d been nursing now warm and forgotten. the kid’s words were like a punch to the gut. he realized, with sinking clarity, that megumi wasn’t just upset with your daughter. the boy was lashing out because he felt abandoned.

when the knock came at the door, it was no surprise. you stood there, your girl clutching your hand, both of you looking just as frazzled as toji and megumi.

“we need to talk,” you said.

“yeah,” toji muttered, stepping aside to let you in.

the conversation wasn’t easy, with both kids sniffling, glaring at each other, and clutching onto their respective parents like lifelines. but as you and toji sat there, stumbling through apologies and promises to do better, you realized how much you’d hurt them by pulling away.

“friends don’t do this,” your girl said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

“yeah,” megumi added, glaring at his lap. “friends don’t just leave.”

and in that moment, you and toji exchanged a look. it was one of understanding, of shared guilt and resolution. you weren’t just neighbors anymore, were you? whether you liked it or not, you’d become something more — something messier, but ultimately worth fighting for.

the fight left behind a new set of rules — some spoken, others understood. your daughter would spend one hour with megumi every weekend, no negotiations. an additional hour was set aside for assisted ballet practice, with megumi reluctantly twirling around like an uncoordinated giraffe under her direction. and then, as if her creative pursuits weren’t already ambitious, she insisted on an hour of practicing makeup.

on a very, very unwilling toji.

the first time she smeared blush across his cheekbones, a bright pink mess, toji grumbled the entire time. “this is ridiculous. i look like a clown.”

“no, you don’t,” your girl countered with all the confidence in the world. “you look beauuuutiful.”

megumi snickered behind her, holding up a hand mirror so his dad could see the finished product. toji groaned, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him with the faintest twitch of amusement.

you leaned against the doorway, watching the scene unfold. the shared giggles, the clumsy but earnest teamwork — it was loud, chaotic, and beautiful in its own way. this was right. this was what you hadn’t even realized you were missing.

and kento? well, the date you thought could be something turned into a friendship you didn’t know you needed. he became a quiet presence, someone who checked in, who made you laugh when work got overwhelming, and who offered sage advice about life when you needed it most.

“you’re doing great,” he told you once over coffee, his calm reassurance soothing the doubts that often crept in.

between the budding chaos in your hallway ballet classes, the makeup artistry sessions that somehow always ended with toji pouting in pink lipstick, and the quiet stability kento offered, you realized that life had settled into something messy, imperfect, but undeniably nice.

maybe it wasn’t what you’d planned. maybe it wasn’t ideal. but as your daughter twirled around the room, megumi trailing after her with hesitant steps, and toji scowled half-heartedly at his reflection, you couldn’t imagine wanting anything else.

exam season brought chaos, but not the kind you'd expected. with your daughter spending extra time at her dad's house to focus on studying, the silence in your apartment felt foreign. that is, until megumi started showing up more often, knocking on your door with his usual grumbles.

"why isn't the test about superheroes or football?" he'd complain, dragging his workbook into your living room as though it carried the weight of the world.

you’d chuckle softly, pulling up a chair next to him. “if multiplication was about superheroes, what would the question even look like?”

megumi furrowed his brow, considering. “uh... like, if spider-man saved five people every day for a week, how many people would he save?”

you smiled, leaning in. “exactly. now, how would you solve that?”

somehow, tailoring the lessons to his interests worked wonders. before long, megumi wasn’t just tolerating study time — he was coming over more and more, plopping onto your couch like he lived there.

toji, on the other hand, didn’t know what to make of it. sure, he appreciated that you were helping the kid, but every time he walked past your door and heard megumi's laughter ringing out, he felt... off.

he chalked it up to jealousy at first. not the bitter kind, but the kind that made him wonder why megumi could so easily open up to you, share his frustrations and laugh like the world wasn’t on his tiny shoulders.

then there was the other feeling, the one he buried as quickly as it surfaced. it was... comfort. relief, even. seeing megumi so at ease with you, so happy, made something in his chest tighten.

it didn’t help that when megumi came home, he’d mention you in passing, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. “she said i’d ace the test if i think about it like superheroes. she’s kinda cool.”

toji would grunt, pretending not to care. “yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable over there.”

but the truth was, toji couldn’t decide if he envied you for being able to connect with his son so easily or if he was just... glad. glad that someone like you existed in megumi’s world.

he wouldn’t admit it, though. not even to himself. instead, he shut the feelings down, brushing them off like they were nothing. because, after all, you were just the neighbor who helped out when needed.

right?

toji had every intention of marching into your apartment to retrieve megumi with a grumble about bedtime. the kid was always strict about his sleep schedule — how the hell had he fallen asleep at your place?

but when he stepped inside, the sight stopped him dead in his tracks.

there you were, sprawled on the couch with megumi curled up next to you, both of you out cold. the TV flickered softly, playing megumi’s favorite superhero show. the coffee table was a chaotic mess of open textbooks, scattered pencils, and hastily scribbled notes.

toji stood there for a moment, unsure what to do with the weird tug in his chest. the scene was... domestic. 

painfully so.

megumi’s head was resting on your shoulder, your hand loosely draped over his back like you’d done this a thousand times before. the way you were both nestled together was too natural for something that should’ve felt foreign. it made something warm and uncomfortable rise in toji’s chest, a feeling he wasn’t ready to name.

he took a step closer, leaning against the doorframe. his frown deepened, not out of anger but out of frustration — mostly at himself.

this wasn’t anything, right? this was just you being nice to his kid. helping him out with schoolwork and keeping him company because you were a good person.

but then why did his heart feel like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest? why did seeing you with megumi like that make his throat tighten?

toji ran a hand through his hair, sighing quietly.

“dammit,” he muttered under his breath.

he knew he should’ve woken the both of you up, taken megumi home, and gone about his night like this didn’t mean anything. but instead, he found himself lingering, watching the two of you for a moment longer.

did neighbors really do this? take care of someone else’s kid like they were their own?

and did neighbors treat each other with such quiet, subtle affection? the kind that slipped into actions rather than words — the casseroles when someone was too tired to cook, the soft smiles exchanged in passing, the way you’d text him about the latest sale on megumi’s favorite snacks?

toji shook his head, trying to shove the thought away. god forbid, he might actually like you.

it was supposed to be a normal monday morning. drop your girl off at her ballet studio, exchange a quick goodbye, and then head to work like it wasn’t eating you alive that she was growing up too fast.

but then toji came out, coffee in one hand and his other scratching the back of his neck as he leaned against the doorframe, clearly still waking up. “hey, kid,” he called to your daughter, motioning her over with a lazy wave.

what happened next made you freeze mid-turn, your keys jangling awkwardly in your hand.

toji knelt to her level, his gruff voice taking on an edge of sincerity. “listen up, girlie. when you’re up there, you give ‘em hell, alright? don’t let anyone tell you you’re not good enough. and don’t worry about messin’ up — just keep goin’ like it never happened.”

your daughter nodded with wide eyes, hanging on to every word, her little face lit with admiration.

and god, he was trying so hard to keep it clean. but every so often, a “shit” or “hell yeah” would slip out, sending her into a fit of giggles. she tried so hard to be serious, biting her lip to stifle her laughter, but the sheer ridiculousness of him attempting to be PG while still being him was too much for a nine-year-old.

megumi, standing nearby with his arms crossed, was clearly torn. his little scowl was stuck somewhere between annoyance at your daughter for monopolizing his dad’s attention and longing to be spoken to like that himself.

and your daughter? she latched onto toji like he was some kind of life coach, her arms around his neck, thanking him in that sweet, sing-song voice she always used when she was truly happy.

your fingers tightened around your keys as your chest did a stupid thing.

because here was toji, your grumpy neighbor who could barely keep it together when megumi so much as sneezed during homework time, and yet here he was giving your girl the kind of pep talk that should’ve come from her own dad.

and worse? she listened. eagerly.

you fidgeted with your keys like that’d distract you from the warmth creeping into your chest, from the realization that maybe, just maybe, this tough, foul-mouthed, perpetually tired man wasn’t just good with kids. he was good for you. god forbid, you might actually be falling for toji fushiguro.

it wasn’t your finest moment — double-booking a work meeting during your daughter's pickup. you were already spiraling into guilt, pacing the room while trying to find a way to make it work, when toji grumbled his way into volunteering.

“don’t make a big deal outta it,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “she’s comin’ over for megumi anyway. might as well save you the trouble.”

you barely had time to thank him before he was out the door, keys jingling in his hand.

but what toji walked into at your ex’s house was far from what he expected.

your ex was already on some power trip, standing in the doorway like he owned the world. the smugness on his face was palpable, and it only got worse when he saw toji, a man who didn’t give a damn about puffed-up egos.

“oh, so you’re her chauffeur now?” your ex sneered, leaning lazily against the doorframe.

toji ignored him at first, his sharp eyes scanning past him to find your babygirl. she was standing behind her dad, clutching her little backpack like it was a shield, her lips trembling as she peeked at toji with wide eyes.

“c’mon, kid,” toji said, his voice softer than you’d expect from a man like him. he extended a hand, but your ex stepped in the way.

“you got a lotta nerve coming here,” your ex spat, crossing his arms. “what, you think playing house makes you her dad?”

toji’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he took a deliberate step forward. “nah,” he said coolly, his voice dripping with menace. “but i’m a helluva lot better at it than you.”

that set your ex off, his voice rising with insults and accusations, not even caring that his daughter was right there, watching the whole thing unfold.

and toji? he had it. his patience snapped like a brittle twig.

“y’know what’s funny?” toji growled, stepping so close your ex had to tilt his head back to meet his glare. “you’re standin’ here flappin’ your gums about bein’ her dad, but you’re too busy bein’ a selfish prick to realize what you’re doin’ to her.”

before your ex could stammer out another insult, toji hoisted your girl into one of his arms like she weighed nothing, shielding her with his broad shoulders as he glared down at your ex.

“don’t bother callin’. she’s got enough on her plate without dealin’ with your crap,” he bit out before turning on his heel and walking away, your girl clutching his shirt like it was her lifeline.

the ride back was quiet, your girl’s sniffles filling the air as toji’s hand rested protectively on the wheel. he didn’t say much — just an occasional grunt to reassure her. when they arrived, he handed her off to you without a word, but the fire in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

and you? you were floored. because for all of toji’s grumbling and rough edges, he wasn’t just stepping up when you couldn’t — he was fighting for your girl like she was his own.

evening walks were supposed to be your moment of calm, a chance to clear your head after a long day. but calm went out the window the moment you saw megumi in the park, his usual quiet confidence missing as a group of older kids cornered him.

his small frame was tense, shoulders squared, but you could see the way his hands trembled as he balled them into fists at his sides. it wasn’t like megumi to let himself be pushed around, but whatever the bullies were saying had struck a nerve.

you didn’t even have to get close to catch the cruel words that slipped out of their mouths.

“no wonder your mom didn’t stick around.”

“bet she took one look at you and ran.”

“you’re just some charity case with a deadbeat dad.”

your heart twisted at the look on megumi’s face — his jaw clenched, eyes glassy with tears he refused to let fall. you weren’t his mom, but you felt the instinctive flare of protectiveness that made you forget every rule of decorum.

marching over, you didn’t bark at the kids or shoo them off like some passerby might. no, you planted yourself right beside megumi, crossing your arms with a look so sharp it could cut steel.

“is there a problem here?” you asked, voice calm but carrying a weight that made the kids shrink back.

they glanced between each other, suddenly unsure. “we were just talking —”

“talking?” you cut in, your tone sharp enough to make them flinch. “sounds to me like you’re all just jealous.”

the kids froze, confusion written all over their faces. “jealous of what?” one of them finally asked, voice cracking slightly.

you placed a hand on megumi’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “jealous that you’ll never have the heart or the strength this kid has. it’s easy to gang up on someone when you’ve got a pack behind you. try standing on your own for once. but then again, maybe that’s asking too much.”

megumi didn’t say a word, but you felt him lean into your touch, his small hand brushing against yours as if testing its solidity.

the bullies sputtered, trying to save face, but one by one, they slunk away, muttering excuses as they disappeared into the distance.

the moment they were gone, megumi’s tough facade crumbled. his shoulders sagged, his head dropping as the tears he had been holding back finally spilled over.

you crouched down to his level, wrapping your arms around him as much as his wiry frame would allow. “it’s okay, sweetheart,” you murmured, brushing a hand through his unruly hair. “you’re okay now.”

and just like that, this tough, guarded nine-year-old melted into your embrace, his small sobs muffled against your shoulder.

you stayed there, holding him as the evening light faded, your heart breaking and swelling all at once. you weren’t his mom, but in that moment, you might as well have been.

toji wasn’t the type to lose his composure, not even when megumi brought home bruised knees or a bad grade. he was a man of steady hands and a guarded heart, but tonight? tonight was different.

he was sitting on the couch, beer in hand, when megumi hesitated in front of him, nervously fiddling with his sleeve. “dad, something happened today,” he mumbled, voice low.

toji raised an eyebrow, setting his drink on the table. “what kind of something?”

and then megumi started talking — about the bullies, about their cruel words, and then about you stepping in. how you stood there, firm and unyielding, pretending to be his mom without hesitation. megumi’s voice cracked when he got to the part where he cried in your arms, and toji swore he felt something shatter in him.

he didn’t know if it was anger, gratitude, or guilt — maybe all three twisting together into a storm that made his chest ache.

"you didn’t say anything stupid to her, did you?" toji asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

megumi shook his head quickly. "no, but... she was really nice. it felt... it felt okay."

toji sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back into the couch. he should’ve been mad. should’ve been upset at megumi for dragging you into their lives like that, but instead, all he could think about was the way his chest tightened at the thought of you.

he needed to see you. not because he owed you, not because of some sense of duty, but because the idea of you stepping up for his kid like that made him feel something he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

he stood abruptly, grabbing his coat. megumi looked up at him, startled. “where are you going?”

toji paused for a moment. “i’ll be back. don’t stay up too late.”

megumi didn’t ask questions, just nodded and watched his dad leave the apartment.

when toji knocked on your door, he didn’t even know what he was going to say. a simple “thank you” didn’t feel like enough, but what else could he offer? the way his hands flexed at his sides and the way his heart pounded in his chest betrayed the calm exterior he was trying to maintain.

when you opened the door, he saw the surprise flash in your eyes. “toji?”

he rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish — a sight you never thought you’d see. “can i come in?”

and that’s when you felt it too — something bubbling between you both, something that had been building for a while, but neither of you had been ready to face. until now.

toji stood there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his eyes flicking between you and the floor like the words he was searching for might be scrawled on the ground. he wasn’t the kind of man who talked about his feelings, let alone spilled them out like this.

but he had to say something.

“look,” he started, voice low and gruff, “i’m not great with... this kind of thing.”

you tilted your head, waiting patiently, and that just made it harder for him.

he huffed out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “megumi told me what happened today. how you... stepped in. and, uh —” he paused, almost wincing at how clumsy his words sounded, “ — just... thanks. for being there. for him.”

you smiled softly, opening your mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, cutting you off. “no, wait. i’m not done.”

he shifted, clearly uncomfortable but pushing through it anyway. “it’s not just today. it’s all of it. you’ve done more for that kid than most people ever have. hell, more than i probably have, and i’m his dad.” his laugh was bitter, self-deprecating. “you didn’t have to, but you did. and i —” he faltered, swallowing hard.

you could see it then, all of it — the gratitude, the guilt, the admiration, the something more he was too scared to name. it was all there, plain as day in the way he looked at you.

he sighed, shoulders slumping as if the weight of his words had exhausted him. “just... thanks. for him. for me. for... everything.”

and maybe you didn’t need to say anything. because as clumsy and awkward as his words were, you understood. you really did.

so you stepped forward, just close enough that he couldn’t avoid meeting your eyes anymore, and gave him a small, understanding smile. “you don’t need to thank me, toji. i care about him. about you both.”

something flickered in his expression — relief, maybe, or something even deeper. he nodded, just once, and it felt like enough. no confessions, no big speeches.

just this.

something had changed, though neither of you dared to put it into words. it was in the little things, the quiet moments that made your lives blur together in ways that felt natural, almost inevitable.

like how megumi, who usually kept his friends at arm’s length, started demanding your baby girl's presence at every outing, loudly justifying it as “she’ll get bored otherwise,” when really, he just liked having her around. and during those movie nights, when the kids were too engrossed in the screen, you and toji sat closer than necessary, your fingers brushing as you both reached for the popcorn. neither of you pulled away.

it was in how you became megumi’s loudest cheerleader at his little league matches, rivaling even toji’s booming encouragement. and the way he’d grin at you like you were the reason he hit that home run, his awkwardly mumbled, “did you see that?” enough to warm your heart.

toji wasn’t any different. no matter how busy he was, he showed up to every single one of your baby girl's ballet recitals, clapping so obnoxiously loud at the end that even the other parents gave him side-eyes. and after each recital, he’d crouch down, looking absurdly out of place with his towering frame, to tell her exactly how amazing she was — always with a teasing grin and a “guess megumi’ll have to step it up to keep up with you, huh?”

and then there were the practices. toji, of all people, trying to mimic ballet moves while your daughter giggled at how his long legs never quite landed in the right positions. megumi tried to feign disinterest but ended up joining too, his face as serious as ever as he attempted a plié.

you’d think the makeup thing would’ve been too much for him, but no. those butterfly-drawn cheeks and glittery nails stayed with toji for hours after your daughter left, and he never wiped them off — not until bedtime. megumi pretended not to notice, but you’d catch him smirking when toji forgot to scrub off a particularly bright streak of pink before heading out.

it all felt so... domestic. so easy. yet, neither of you dared to name it.

because neighbors helped neighbors, right? neighbors went to movies together. neighbors cheered for each other’s kids. neighbors shared popcorn and let their walls crumble, piece by piece.

this was okay. just neighbors looking out for each other. nothing more.

...right?

until it wasn’t.

you barely managed to get out of the cab, your heels clicking against the pavement, your dress clinging uncomfortably after hours of fake smiles and firm handshakes. all you could think about was peeling everything off, crashing into bed, and hoping the world would let you sleep in for once.

but then you saw him — toji, leaning against your apartment door, his broad frame tense, his head snapping up the moment he heard your footsteps.

"where the hell were you?" his voice was rough, low, but not angry. it was something else.

you froze, your bag slipping off your shoulder. “what are you doing here?”

his eyes, bloodshot and desperate, locked onto yours, scanning every inch of you like he was checking for injuries. “it’s one a.m., on a thursday,” he said, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. “your lights were off. you weren’t answering your phone.”

it hit you then — he’d been worried. toji fushiguro, the man who grumbled more than he talked, who deflected every feeling with a snarky comment, was pacing the hallway outside your apartment because he thought something had happened to you.

“i had a business meeting,” you said, the exhaustion seeping into your voice. “it ran late.”

but your explanation didn’t seem to matter. he took a step closer, his shoulders sagging in relief but still stiff with whatever storm had been brewing inside him.

“you could’ve told me,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “what if something happened? what if —”

“toji.” your voice was soft, cutting through his spiraling thoughts.

he stopped, his hand dropping to his side as he looked at you, his expression raw and unguarded. he wasn’t just worried. he was terrified. terrified that whatever this strange, fragile thing between you might be, it could slip away in an instant.

and before either of you could think better of it, you closed the distance. your arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him into a hug that felt as natural as breathing.

he stiffened at first, his body caught off guard, but then his arms came up around you, pulling you closer with a quiet exhale that sounded like he’d been holding it in all night.

neither of you said a word. you didn’t need to. whatever this was — this thing that had been building between you — it was no longer just neighbors helping neighbors.

it was so much more.

sure, the hug wasn’t something life-changing, but it definitely shifted something, like a tiny crack in the wall that neither of you were ready to knock down completely. there was this... tension now. not bad, not awkward, just there. like some invisible thread pulling you two closer, though never quite crossing a line — both of you too cautious, too unsure, to see what might happen if you did.

and damn those kids. they picked up on it almost immediately, their sharp little eyes catching every glance that lingered too long or every time toji grumbled just a little less around you.

megumi, of course, was the worst of the two, his quiet observations turning into pointed stares and a knowing smirk that made you want to sink into the floor.

“so,” he started one evening as he watched you and toji navigate an unspoken argument over whether you’d be the one to drive the kids to practice. “are you gonna be my dad’s special lady friend now or what?”

you nearly choked on air, and toji’s head snapped around so fast you were sure he’d pull a muscle.

“megumi,” toji growled, the warning clear in his voice.

megumi just shrugged, completely unbothered. “what? i like her. she’s nice. and you’re less grumpy when she’s around. that’s what matters, right?”

toji pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about smartass kids. but there was a faint flush on his face, one that made you glance away quickly before your own cheeks betrayed you.

megumi’s logic was simple, blunt, and so very megumi. but it stuck with you more than you wanted to admit. if he was okay with whatever this was between you and his dad, maybe... just maybe, that was enough.

you sat cross-legged on the couch, sorting through some old receipts and papers, while your babygirl sprawled on the floor with her coloring book. the soft scratch of her crayons filled the room, a soothing sound that made the evening feel warm and easy.

“mom?” she asked, her voice cutting through the quiet.

you glanced up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “yeah, baby?”

she didn’t look up from her coloring, her little fingers gripping the green crayon a bit too tightly as she focused on staying inside the lines. “i like him.”

you blinked, confused at first. “like who, sweetie?”

she paused, tilting her head as if the answer was obvious. “uncle jiji.”

the crayon stilled in her hand, and she finally looked up at you, her eyes wide and sincere. your breath hitched, a small wave of surprise washing over you.

“oh?” you tried to keep your tone light, your fingers fiddling with the papers in your lap. “why’s that?”

“he’s funny,” she said matter-of-factly, returning to her coloring. “and he’s nice. he always listens to megumi, even when megumi’s being bossy. and he told me i’m the best ballerina ever — even better than on tv!”

you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. of course, toji had said that.

“he’s just really cool,” she added, as if that sealed the deal.

you set the papers down, your chest tightening in a way that felt both overwhelming and oddly comforting. her words felt like a weight being lifted off your shoulders, one you hadn’t even realized you were carrying.

“you really like him, huh?” you asked softly.

she nodded vigorously, her pigtails bouncing with the motion. “yeah. and megumi’s cool too. he always shares his toys, even his superheroes. i think he’s my best friend.”

the corners of your mouth tugged upward as you leaned back against the couch. “well, i’m glad you think so, baby.”

“do you like him?” she asked suddenly, her eyes locking onto yours, filled with that unnerving, sharp perception only kids seemed to have.

your cheeks warmed, and you glanced down at the papers in your lap, pretending to shuffle them aimlessly. “well… yeah, i think he’s nice too.”

she studied you for a moment before shrugging and returning to her coloring. “good. because you’re happy when you talk to him. and he looks at you like daddy never does.”

your breath caught. her words were simple, innocent even, but they struck something deep. you reached out, smoothing a hand over her hair.

“you’re pretty wise for someone not even ten yet, you know that?” you murmured.

she giggled, leaning into your touch. “i know.”

as she went back to her coloring, you leaned back into the couch, letting the relief settle in. maybe she was right. maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. maybe… it was something good. something you both deserved.

toji sat on the worn couch in his living room, staring blankly at the muted television. the house was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle from megumi’s room. it should’ve been peaceful, but instead, it felt like the silence was screaming at him, pressing all those thoughts he’d been trying to ignore right to the surface.

what the hell was this?

he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand down his face as he let out a low sigh. you were in his house so often now that it was hard to tell where the line was anymore. your girl's kid-sized ballet slippers were right by the door next to megumi’s sneakers. a casserole dish you’d returned sat drying on the counter. you had this way of slotting into his life that felt so natural it scared him.

did he want to address it? maybe. 

maybe not.

you were busy as hell — a working mom with your own kid to think about. toji wasn’t stupid. he knew what he came with. a nine-year-old son, a messy history, and enough emotional baggage to sink a ship. did he really want to drag you into all that?

but then there were moments, like tonight, when the kids had dragged you into some elaborate roleplay involving superheroes and ballerinas. you’d sat cross-legged on the floor, a makeshift cape tied around your shoulders, pretending to be "supermom," and he hadn’t been able to look away.

when you’d caught him staring, you’d just laughed, “what? do i have pizza sauce on my face or something?”

he’d grunted something noncommittal, shaking his head, but his chest had felt tight in a way he couldn’t explain.

and now, here he was, thinking about it again.

his thoughts were interrupted by the soft click of the front door opening. you peeked your head in, a sheepish smile on your face. “hey. sorry, megs forgot his backpack at my place. figured i’d drop it off before i forgot, too.”

he stood, shoving his hands in his pockets as you walked in, setting the backpack down by the door. you were still in your work clothes, your shoulders looking a little more tired than usual.

“you could’ve waited till tomorrow,” he muttered, his voice low but not unkind.

“it’s no big deal,” you replied, brushing him off.

he watched as you straightened, lingering in the doorway, and something about the way you hesitated made him speak. “you eaten yet?”

you blinked, clearly surprised by the question. “uh, no, actually.”

he motioned toward the kitchen. “there’s leftovers. you want some?”

your smile softened as you stepped closer. “sure. thanks, toji.”

as you walked past him, his hand twitched at his side, like it wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

in the kitchen, you moved around like you belonged there, grabbing a plate and heating up the food. he leaned against the counter, watching you in silence, and for the first time, he let himself think about what it would mean to let this thing between you be more than unspoken.

“hey,” he said after a moment, his voice rougher than he intended.

you glanced at him over your shoulder. “yeah?”

he opened his mouth, then closed it, the words catching in his throat. instead, he just muttered, “nothing. never mind.”

you tilted your head, studying him for a second, before giving a small nod. “okay.”

but there was something in your eyes, like you knew what he wasn’t saying, and it made his chest ache.

he wasn’t sure if addressing whatever the hell this was would change anything, but seeing the way you fit into his life — into megumi’s life — made the idea of trying feel a little less terrifying.

it wasn’t like you and toji had made any grand declarations. it was all small things, gestures that felt normal but carried an undercurrent of something deeper. grocery runs were the easiest excuse. you’d bump into him on your way home, still in your blazer and heels, and he’d grumble about needing to pick up some snacks for megumi. before you knew it, you’d both be walking side by side, bickering over the best brand of chips.

“you’re seriously buying that brand?” you teased, holding up a bag of chips that toji had tossed into the cart.

“megumi likes ‘em,” he retorted, leaning on the cart with that stupidly casual confidence that annoyed you just enough to make your heart flutter. “and besides, it’s not like your kid’s picky when she raids our pantry.”

you rolled your eyes but smiled all the same, because he wasn’t wrong.

then there were the little fixes around your apartment that seemed to magically get done whenever toji was around. your leaky faucet, the busted door hinge, your temperamental car — he waved off every attempt you made to pay him. “mechanic perks,” he’d say with a shrug, wiping his hands on a rag and giving you a smirk that made you want to both thank him and punch him.

and those car rides? the ones where the kids didn’t even need to be there? yeah, those were starting to feel more like a habit. you’d offer to drop toji off after picking megumi up from practice, and somehow, the drive would extend into picking up your girl from ballet class.

“they gotta meet anyway,” toji would say, his tone so nonchalant it was almost believable. but the way his eyes softened when your babygirl came running out, arms wide open for both of you? that was something he couldn’t fake.

then there was the day your ex finally had enough of whatever this was. the two of you had shown up together, a united front, to pick up your daughter from his place. she’d lit up like a firework when she saw you and toji standing side by side, and you couldn’t help but revel in the sight of her running straight into toji’s waiting arms before hugging you just as tightly.

“this is the guy you’ve been parading around with?” your ex sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he leaned against the doorframe. “what, you think a deadbeat like him is an upgrade?”

toji’s posture stiffened, his grip on your daughter tightening just slightly as she clung to his neck. you opened your mouth to retort, but toji beat you to it, his voice calm but laced with steel.

“funny coming from you,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he stared your ex down. “least i actually show up for her.”

your ex faltered, his face contorting in anger, but he didn’t have a comeback. you didn’t stick around long enough for him to try.

as you buckled your daughter into the car, her voice piped up, innocent and bright. “jiji, are you coming over for dinner?”

toji glanced at you, and for a moment, something passed between you. a silent understanding, an acknowledgment of whatever the hell this was.

“yeah, kid,” he said, ruffling her hair with a small grin. “i’m coming over.”

and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were walking this road alone.

the house was warm with the kind of peace that only came after a long, chaotic day. your babygirl and megumi were a tangled heap on the couch, her tiny head resting on his shoulder while he leaned back with his mouth slightly open, fast asleep. the tv played muted scenes of superheroes saving the world, but the real action was in the kitchen, where you and toji stood shoulder to shoulder by the sink.

"you sure you’re not just washing that same plate for the third time?” you teased softly, nudging him with your elbow as he scrubbed with more focus than seemed necessary.

toji smirked but didn’t look up, his voice low and gravelly. “just making sure it’s clean. you don’t want megumi whining about leftover crumbs, trust me.”

you chuckled, rinsing another dish under the warm water, and for a moment, it was just the soft clink of plates, the jazz playing quietly from your speaker, and the faint sound of your daughter’s steady breathing in the living room.

but something was different tonight. the air felt heavier, charged, like it was holding its breath. you could feel it in the way toji’s arm brushed against yours as he passed a dish to you, in the way his fingers lingered a second too long when he handed you the towel.

“you really didn’t have to stay and help with this,” you said, glancing at him.

he shrugged, still not meeting your gaze. “figured i owed you. besides, you cooked. least i can do is clean up.”

his voice was quieter than usual, almost shy, and that wasn’t a word you’d ever thought you’d associate with toji fushiguro. it made something in your chest tighten.

you turned off the faucet, drying your hands as you looked over at him. he was still focused on the plate in his hands, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was set like he was bracing himself.

“toji?”

he finally looked at you, and there it was — that softness in his eyes that he didn’t let show often. it made your breath catch, made the world feel like it had shrunk down to just the two of you standing in this little kitchen.

he set the plate down slowly, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to face you fully. for a moment, neither of you said anything. the jazz filled the silence, but the air between you was louder than words.

his hand came up hesitantly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his calloused fingers grazing your cheek. “you’ve been good to him, y’know,” he murmured, his voice rough but soft in the way he said it. “to us.”

you didn’t know what to say to that. all you could do was nod, your throat tight as you looked up at him. his face was closer now, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips like he was searching for something — permission, maybe, or courage.

you didn’t even realize you’d moved until your hand rested lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

and then it happened.

he leaned in, slowly, almost cautiously, and your eyes fluttered shut just as his lips brushed against yours. it was tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull away — when you leaned into him instead — it deepened.

toji kissed like he did everything else: fully, unapologetically, with an intensity that left you breathless. his hands found your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and you slid yours up to rest on his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the way he held you like you were something fragile and precious all at once.

the kiss wasn’t hurried or frantic; it was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every second of it. it was the kind of kiss that left your knees weak, your head spinning, and your heart pounding in your chest.

when you finally pulled back, both of you a little breathless, his forehead rested against yours.

“damn,” he muttered, his voice low and a little shaky.

you couldn’t help but laugh softly, your fingers still curled in the fabric of his shirt. “yeah,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper.

the moment stretched between you, warm and heavy and perfect. and for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

megumi stirred awake first, his sharp eyes blinking groggily as he took in the scene. your baby girl was still curled up against him, her face smushed against his shoulder, and he wrinkled his nose, trying to shake her off gently without waking her. it was only when he looked over to the kitchen that he paused, his brain catching up with what he was seeing.

his dad. toji. standing ridiculously close to you by the sink, both of you talking in low voices like the world outside didn’t exist. toji’s hand brushed your arm lightly as he reached for a towel, and you laughed softly, a sound that felt too intimate for megumi to process this early in his half-asleep state.

“ugh, gross,” he mumbled under his breath, sitting up straighter and inadvertently jostling your babygirl awake.

she yawned, rubbing her eyes and giving him a confused look. “what’s gross?”

“nothing,” megumi said quickly, his face heating up as he avoided looking at her — or at the scene in the kitchen that was playing out like the ending of one of those superhero movies he loved but would never admit made him feel things.

by the time you and toji noticed the kids were awake, megumi had already schooled his expression into something neutral, though his sharp eyes flicked between the two of you as you made your way over.

“sorry for waking you up, sweetheart,” you said softly to your kid, crouching down to smooth her hair.

toji, ever the blunt one, crossed his arms and grunted, “time to get going, brats.”

megumi shot him a look, one that said you’re not fooling me, old man, but he didn’t say anything. instead, he stood up and stretched, deliberately not looking at how his dad’s gaze lingered on you for just a second too long.

at the door, the kids exchanged their goodbyes in their usual awkward but affectionate way — your baby girl giving megumi a quick hug that he tolerated with a huff.

toji ruffled megumi’s hair roughly, earning an annoyed grunt. “come on, kid. say thank you.”

megumi rolled his eyes but muttered a grudging, “thanks for dinner,” before looking up at you.

and then, because megumi was too perceptive for his own good, he added, “and for putting up with him.”

toji frowned, his brows knitting together. “watch it, smartass.”

but the way you laughed — soft and warm and filled with something megumi couldn’t quite name — made toji’s expression soften.

as you leaned down to hug your babygirl goodnight, megumi caught his dad watching you again, his face doing that weird thing it did when he was proud of a home run or secretly enjoying one of megumi’s superhero tangents.

“dad,” megumi said as they stepped into the hallway.

“what?” toji grunted, avoiding his son’s gaze.

megumi smirked, the kind that made him look way older than his nine years. “you’re doing that thing.”

toji frowned, feigning ignorance. “what thing?”

“you know. that thing my favorite superhero does when he saves his secret girlfriend,” megumi said with a dramatic air, glancing back at your door before looking at his dad again.

toji snorted, trying — and failing — not to look flustered. “quit it, kid.”

but megumi didn’t miss the way his dad’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. he knew exactly what was going on.

love? probably.

yeah, megumi was pretty sure his dad loved you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

it was funny, really, how quickly time had flown. one moment, you were corralling a tutu-clad, glitter-faced babygirl to ballet class, and the next, you were breaking up arguments between her and megumi over whose superhero knowledge was superior. 

"they’re literally fake, megumi!" she'd shriek. 

"so are ballerinas in space!" he’d yell back. 

and there you and toji would be, slumped at the dining table, each nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee as you exchanged weary, knowing looks.

“how do ten-year-olds even have this much energy?” you’d mutter, pressing your fingertips into your temples.

toji, half-laughing, half-grumbling, would reply, “they don’t. they’re siphoning it off us.”

it had been a year and a half of this — this weird, beautiful, chaotic thing you’d built. the kids, their shared antics, and the way they declared every single dinner a sleepover had woven your lives together so seamlessly that it felt like you’d never been apart in the first place.

but the truth? the sleepover excuse wasn’t just for the kids anymore. you and toji had grown so comfortable in this rhythm, this routine, that it felt like breathing. and yet, there was still this unspoken thing between you, hanging in the air like a question neither of you wanted to ask.

it was easy to ignore, easier still to pretend that this was just how things were. you’d watch as toji threw his head back in laughter at one of megumi’s sarcastic comments, his broad shoulders shaking, or when he’d lean in to help your girl tie her ballet shoes — his fingers oddly gentle for someone so rough around the edges. those moments made your heart ache in ways you didn’t want to name.

and then there was the way he looked at you when the kids weren’t paying attention. like when megumi would drag your babygirl out into the yard to “train” her in superhero moves, and you’d catch toji’s eyes lingering on you just a second too long.

“what?” you’d ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

“nothin’,” he’d say, but the way his lips twitched into a small smile betrayed him.

but you knew it wasn’t nothing. it hadn’t been nothing for a while now. and maybe it was time to stop pretending.

your ex hadn’t made it easy, of course. every time he paraded some new flavor of the month in front of your girl, you’d see the disappointment in her eyes, and it made your chest tighten. but then there’d be toji — steady, dependable, his quiet reassurances and the way he always managed to make her smile again.

“he’s better than dad,” she’d told you once, out of the blue, her voice small but firm.

and maybe that was the final nudge you needed.

the night felt heavier than usual, the quiet hum of the dishwasher and the occasional creak of the floorboards the only sounds accompanying you as you stood side by side in the kitchen. toji rinsed the last plate, handing it to you with a quick glance that lingered a little too long.

“they’re getting wilder,” he muttered, nodding toward the living room where your girl and megumi were sprawled on the sofa, limbs tangled as if they'd fought sleep until it finally won.

you chuckled softly, drying the plate and setting it aside. “they’re ten. this is the warm-up for what’s coming in a few years.”

he let out a low groan, running a hand through his hair. “don’t remind me. thought i’d have more time before the hormones kicked in.”

you smirked, leaning against the counter as he dried his hands on a dishtowel. it was domestic in a way that felt almost too intimate, like crossing an invisible line. and yet, neither of you had stepped back.

“toji,” you said, your voice breaking the comfortable silence.

he looked up, the weight in your tone pulling his full attention. “yeah?”

you hesitated, biting your lip as you fidgeted with the edge of the dish towel. how do you even start this? you thought about the past year and a half, the shared laughter, the quiet moments, the way his presence had become a constant in your life. the way your girl lit up when he was around. the way you lit up.

“this,” you finally said, gesturing between the two of you, your words coming out softer than you intended. “whatever this is... do you think we should talk about it?”

his brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, your heart sank. but then he nodded, setting the towel down on the counter.

“i’ve been thinkin’ about it,” he admitted, his voice low.

“and?” you prompted, your heart pounding in your chest.

he sighed, leaning against the counter beside you, his gaze fixed on the floor. “look, i’m not great at this kinda thing,” he began, his fingers tapping absently against the edge of the counter. “but... you’ve been good for me. for megumi. hell, for both of us.”

your breath caught, and you turned to face him fully. “toji...”

he held up a hand, cutting you off gently. “lemme finish,” he said, his voice a little rough. he looked at you then, really looked at you, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to figure out how to say something he’d been holding onto for too long.

“i didn’t think this was gonna happen,” he said finally. “not for me. not again.” he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “but you... you made it so easy. like it’s not somethin’ to be scared of. like it’s just... there. y’know?”

you nodded, your throat tight as you listened.

“and it’s not just about me,” he continued, his voice softening. “it’s about them. megumi... he’s happier than i’ve seen him in years. and your girl? she’s somethin’ special, and the way you’ve raised her... damn.” he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “you’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

you felt your cheeks heat, and you looked down, trying to compose yourself.

“so yeah,” he said, his voice steady now. “i don’t know what this is, but if you’re askin’ me if i want more of it... then yeah. i do.”

your breath hitched, and when you looked up, the sincerity in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“toji,” you said again, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’ve wanted to say something for a while now, but I didn’t know how. you’ve been... everything we didn’t know we needed. me and my girl. you’ve been there in ways no one else ever has, and it’s just... it’s so easy with you. i want this too.”

his lips curved into a small, relieved smile, and for a moment, the weight of the unspoken words between you lifted.

“yeah?” he asked softly, his voice almost teasing.

you smiled back, nodding. “yeah.”

and then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he reached out and pulled you into a hug. it wasn’t rushed or desperate — it was steady, grounding, the kind of hug that felt like coming home. and when he whispered, “i’m all in if you are,” into your hair, you felt the last of your hesitation melt away.

because with toji, love wasn’t just a possibility — it was a promise.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

another two years later, and the kids were twelve. twelve. a big deal, according to them. suddenly they were "basically teenagers," and with that came a whole new level of attitude and pride. and you and toji? you were more than grateful for the chaos. or, as he liked to tease, “engaged to it.” yeah, engaged. took the man long enough — three and a half, maybe four years — but who’s counting?

your kids, of course, had taken the news with the kind of casual confidence only twelve-year-olds could muster. “about time,” megumi had muttered, earning an elbow in the ribs from your girl, who’d just grinned and said, “told you he liked her.”

and publicly? they carried themselves with the kind of poise that made you and toji bite back laughter more than once. “yeah, that’s my dad,” your girl would say with a shrug as toji dropped her off at ballet, towering over all the other dads and somehow looking both intimidating and incredibly proud as she disappeared into the studio.

megumi was just as bad. “that’s my mom,” he’d say to anyone within earshot at his little league games, pointing you out as you cheered the loudest from the stands, sometimes alongside toji who couldn’t help but smirk at your enthusiasm. “and yeah, that’s my sister,” he’d add, nonchalantly, as if it wasn’t a big deal that they’d practically become inseparable siblings over the years.

of course, behind closed doors, they were just kids. kids who still watched superhero movies while pretending not to, kids who choreographed ballet routines to superhero soundtracks because cool kids don’t watch superhero movies.

and you? you were still on that hustle, balancing work, motherhood, and planning a wedding with the kind of grace that made toji shake his head in awe every time.

“how do you do it?” he’d asked one night, watching you juggle your laptop and the kids’ school schedules.

“coffee and pure spite,” you’d replied, smirking over the rim of your mug.

toji, though? he’d built something solid too. his mechanic shop was finally open, a dream he’d quietly nurtured for years. seeing him in his element, sleeves rolled up, hands covered in grease, and that signature smirk plastered across his face, was enough to make your heart skip a beat every damn time.

life wasn’t perfect — there were still late nights, homework battles, and the occasional tantrum — but it was good. no, scratch that. it was damn good.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost. banners by cafekitsune — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[ghouljams]

Aphrodite!reader bringing Hephaestus!Nikto little scraps of metal or full on weapons/armor pieces she liked the metal that it used or thought he would find interesting to forge with.

Aphrodite!Reader asking Nikto if he would ever tell her what he was doing with specific steps in his forging because she just wants to hear his voice

Nikto building a different seat for reader to rest in but still having her little stool available for when she wants to come closer. Not that he understands why.

Reader bringing a drink or pitcher of some cold beverage for Nikto and him also being confused again as to why she’s doing these things. Obviously she’s sharing because she would feel bad if she didn’t and not because she knows that said beverage is his favorite or one that he enjoys.

you’ve definitely won me over (expected) (once again) (as usual) with this au. i am appreciative.

Someone on one of my posts about them mentioned it was fitting for the "god of passion to marry the god of invention." And it made me remember that quote that's like "I loved her to the point of invention" and yeah, good stuff.

It's not like you don't have things to do. You are a god, after all, you have duties to attend to, people to bless and all that. You have battlefields to walk through, soldiers that swear on their love's life, that beg to see them one more time, that take the rage of loss and channel it into power. You have weddings and births, deaths and funerals, first steps, reunions, first and last loves to look over. You have artists to watch, to stare entranced as they paint their muse, their passion seeping into every brushstroke, every strike of their hammed.

You pluck iron shavings off the floor and hum to yourself as you go. You pull arrowheads from broken ribcages. First teeth fall into your hands. Hair from a pet gone too soon. Lace from a wedding dress, notes off pages of music, stone chunks, paint chips, love letters half finished. You collect it all and shuffle through it as you sit outside your husband's forge. You don't have your stool out here, so you content yourself with standing. You shift your weight onto your other foot when one starts to ache.

You think he would like the nails, the arrowhead, the iron shavings, things he can melt down. He has better metal you're sure, but you don't know what to give your husband when you hardly know him. Does he even like his work? Is the forge something he's relegated to and not something he's passionate about. You love Love, you're the god of it, you find passion exhilarating, inspiring, transmogrifying. Nikto must feel the same about his work.

It's well into the night by the time the forge door swings open, your husband running a scarred hand through matted hair, tugging his mask off to reveal a crisp line of soot across his nose and cheeks. The black mark is matched only by the cacophony of white lines that strike like lightning over his skin, pulling his lips into a snarl and puckering his cheek. He freezes when he sees you. His eye twitches.

There's a large part of you that feels silly offering up your treasures. There's a small part of you that stares wide eyed at your husband, at the spectacular carnage that cuts his handsome features, and wishes he didn't slip his mask back on. So you offer him your metals, your scraps of love with nowhere to go.

"This is trash," He tells you, his voice muffled and distorted by the cylinders on either side of his mask, as he hands you a jewel, "we don't want it."

He turns, with your offering, and shuts the door to the forge behind him again. You can hear the heavy *thunk* of the lock sliding back into place.

Your bed is cold.

[rosemariiaa]

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 02, 𝘽𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

rosie’s note: hi :), sooo don’t yell at me y’all know i’m sensitive, but yes apologies this was supposed to come out wayyy sooner but i’ve had a lot going on with my personal life i barely had time to write but luckily i finished this up! ik almost people were confused on the cliffhanger so i hope i explained it well in this chapter :) happy reading lovelies 💌

pairing: Paige x Azzi

themes: hurt/comfort, guilt, angst

enjoy!!!

march 21, 2014

The cursor blinked at me, expectant. Judging.

Her name sat on the tip of my tongue. Not the one she introduced herself with, not the nickname she had tossed at me under the swing set like it was armor. Her real name. The one she’d trusted me with just days before everything shattered.

I hovered over the keyboard. How many times had I visited this account in the past two months? More than I could count. The anonymity she clung to should have been enough to keep me from connecting the dots. But the username—UnicornPuppy35—was a clue I couldn’t ignore, not after that rainy night, not after the slippers and the shirt that practically screamed it.

Azzi.

The realization should have made me stop, made me put down my phone and walk away. She didn’t know it was me. She didn’t know I was the one lurking, soaking up every word she wrote, piecing together her sadness, her anger, her loneliness. And she couldn’t find out—not like this.

If she did… God, if she ever found out, I wasn’t sure what would happen. She’d hate me more than she already did, and I couldn’t stand to see that look on her face again.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand over my face. The memory of her tears still burned, sharp as glass.

flashback ⤑ february 13, 2013

The rain came down hard that night, the kind of downpour that soaked through your skin and left you raw.

I didn’t know why I left the house. Maybe it was the yelling, or maybe it was the silence that followed. Either way, I ended up at the park. The swings creaked under the weight of the wind, and the only other person there was huddled on one, head bowed as rain dripped from her curls and onto her bright pink unicorn shirt.

I almost walked away. She looked like she wanted to be alone, and honestly, so did I. But something stopped me—a tilt of her head, maybe, or the way her shoulders shuddered even as she sat still.

“Hey,” I said, stepping closer. The ground squelched under my shoes.

She looked up, startled. Her eyes, wide and brown, met my baby blues for half a second before darting away. “What do you want?”

I hesitated, shrugging. “Nothing. Just… didn’t think anyone else would be out here.”

Her laugh was bitter, like she didn’t believe me. She didn’t say anything else, just looked back down at her feet, the tips of her sneakers brushing the muddy ground.

I should’ve walked away. Instead, I sat on the swing next to her.

Over the next two weeks, those nights at the park became a ritual. When the lights in our houses went out, we met under the cover of darkness, sharing pieces of ourselves with kind of fully unraveling almost everything.

She told me about the girl at school—the one who dunked her head in the toilet and called her the f-slur. Her voice cracked when she said it, and my chest ached with something I didn’t quite understand.

“She’s just a bitch,” I said, reaching out without thinking. My hand landed on her shoulder, the fabric of her hoodie rough and wet under my palm. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at me either. “It’s not just her,” she muttered. “It’s… everyone.”

The night Azzi told me about the girl at school, something in her broke. Her voice cracked, a sharp edge slicing through the usual monotone she used when talking about her day.

“I didn’t even do anything,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest. Her breath came out in shivers, her curls dripping rainwater down her back. “She just—she said I was looking at her skirt, and the next thing I know, I’m—”

Her voice wavered, and she stopped. She didn’t have to finish. I could picture it: the cold porcelain, the laughter, the humiliation.

“She has to be insecure or something,” I said quickly, fumbling for the right words. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Azzi. She’s just taking her misery out on you.”

Azzi didn’t look convinced. Her lip trembled, and she pressed her face into her knees, hiding the tears I knew were falling.

I sat there, helpless. I wasn’t good at this—comforting people, saying the right thing. But I didn’t want her to feel alone.

“You wanna egg her house?” I joked, my voice soft. “Or, I don’t know, slash her parents tires?”

She huffed a wet laugh, the sound muffled by her hoodie. “She’d probably call the cops.”

“She’s a snitch, too?” I gasped dramatically, hoping to coax another laugh out of her. “That’s it. We’re definitely egging her house.”

Azzi peeked up at me, her eyes red and puffy but lighter somehow. “You’re stupid,” she said, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face.

——-

A few nights later, that’s when things fell apart.

I was at the park first, waiting for Azzi, when a group of girls from my neighborhood showed up. I didn’t know them well, but they were loud and funny in that kind of way that made you want to laugh along just to fit in.

We were sitting on the picnic table, their chatter filling the silence, when one of them asked, “Hey, Paige, why do you always hang out with that girl?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Who?”

“You know, that Azzi girl,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Nobody hangs out with her.”

My stomach twisted. “Why not?”

The girl snorted. “Her mom’s, like, weird. Always with a new boyfriend or whatever. It’s embarrassing. She’s just a weirdo and looks weird.”

My jaw tightened. Before I could respond, another girl chimed in, laughing. “And her hair! It’s like, doesn’t she know what a brush is?”

The table erupted in laughter, but I couldn’t bring myself to join in. I glanced at the path leading to the swings, my heart sinking.

“Paige,” a voice said behind me.

I froze.

Azzi stood there, her face pale and her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her mouth opened, then closed, and she shook her head, stepping back as if I’d physically struck her.

“Azzi, wait—” I started, scrambling off the table, but she was already turning away.

“Don’t,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “Just… don’t.”

I ran after her, catching her arm as she reached the edge of the park. “Azzi, I wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” she snapped, whirling around. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her voice rising in anger. “Wasn’t laughing at me? Wasn’t sitting there while they trashed me?”

“I didn’t say anything!” I protested, my chest tight.

“That’s the problem!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “You just sat there, Paige. You didn’t even try to stop them, you let them say those things.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words stuck in my throat.

“Forget it,” she muttered, yanking her arm free. She wiped at her face angrily, her curls sticking to her cheeks. “I should’ve known better.”

“Azzi, come on,” I pleaded, my voice softer now. “It’s not like that—”

“What’s it like, then?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s pretty clear. I just don’t understand after all those nights I cried to you P.. how could you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. By the time I found the words, she was already gone.

present day 2014

It’s been weeks since Azzi and I started talking online, just the two of us, anonymously. We’ve gotten comfortable—well, as comfortable as we can with the fake names and hidden identities. I try not to think about the lies I’m keeping from her, but I know deep down it’s the only way I can stay connected to her. She has to trust me, or she’ll leave. And I can’t handle that. Not again.

It’s the last day of school, and I’m practically buzzing with excitement as I head to the bus. I can’t wait to get home, and send Azzi a message—anything really. I don’t care if it’s about her puppy or the weather or something ridiculous. I just want to talk to her.

I find a seat on the bus and pull out my phone. As the bus rumbles on, I open up Blogspot. I scroll through the messages Azzi and I exchanged earlier, just before school started. I can’t help but laugh at the part where she told me her dog, Stewie, peed in her shoe. That image—her tiny, brown wiener dog peeing in her brand new sneakers—was so perfectly her. Her humor, her frustration, her charm.

I giggle, but then it hits me. The guilt. It crashes over me, sudden and sharp, like a wave I didn’t see coming. My thumb freezes over the screen, hovering over the keyboard. I look at the conversation, at the funny banter we shared this morning, and my chest tightens. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her.

If she knew who I really was, if she knew the truth about why I was pretending to be someone else… she would never look at me the same way again. She’d leave me. She would never trust me again.

I feel the tightness in my chest grow, and I look out the window, trying to distract myself. But it’s no use. The guilt is like a weight on my shoulders, pressing down harder the longer I sit with it. Every word I’ve typed to Azzi, every moment I’ve shared with her—it’s all a lie. And I hate myself for it.

But I can’t stop. I can’t let her go again. It pained me the first time…it won’t happen again.

I stare at the phone in my hand, biting my lip. What if she finds out? What if she figures it out before I can come clean?

What if? What if? What if?

The thought is too much. I set the phone down on my lap, staring out the window, hoping the weight in my chest will ease.

A few minutes later, my phone vibrates in my lap. A new message.

unicornpuppy35: p, i just got home and stewie’s tryna eat my shoelace again. i swear this dog’s scheming.

I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. My thumb hovers over the screen again. I want to reply, want to send something funny, something comforting, but all I can think about is how this isn’t real. None of it is real.

boogers_p: obviously. stewie’s prolly like, “shoelaces are phase one. world domination’s next.”

unicornpuppy35: no fr, this little dude really thinks he runs the place.

boogers_p: i mean… does he not? u literally pay rent in shoelaces and snacks.

unicornpuppy35: and socks. don’t forget the socks. he got one of mine this morning smh.

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh too loud as I typed back.

boogers_p: rip to the sock. gone but not forgotten.

The typing bubble popped up and disappeared a few times before finally settling on:

unicornpuppy35: ur so ridiculous, p. u know that?

boogers_p: i’ve heard rumors.

I paused, smirking at the screen. Then, a thought hit me, and her fingers flew over the keyboard.

boogers_p: ok, real question. what’s stewie short for? or did u just look at him and go, “yup, that’s a stewie”?

There was a pause before Azzi’s response came through.

unicornpuppy35: named him after breanna stewart.

I blinked at the screen, my smile softening. Of course she did.

boogers_p: oh damn, respect. stewie’s a legend fr but no surprise you chose her.

unicornpuppy35: p, language. and duhh, hence the name.

boogers_p: my bad my bad, but u really said, “lemme name my dog after greatness.” iconic move, puppy.

I knew the nickname would get to her. It always did. The reply came fast.

unicornpuppy35: stop calling me that!!!

boogers_p: nah. it fits too good. also, it’s cute. like u.

Shit. There was a long pause before I saw the typing bubble flicker again.

unicornpuppy35: u really know how to get on my nerves, huh?

boogers_p: talent, tbh.

Azzi’s response came slower this time:

unicornpuppy35: sometimes i wonder why i even talk to u.

Paige snorted, her thumbs moving fast.

boogers_p: cuz i’m funny. and charming. and u lowkey love me. just admit it.

The reply took a moment.

unicornpuppy35: …maybe stewie loves u. that’s as close as ur getting.

I barked out a laugh, the sound drawing a curious glance from the kid across the aisle.

boogers_p: i’ll take it. tell stewie i’m his #1 fan.

unicornpuppy35: he’ll probably steal another shoelace to celebrate.

boogers_p: a king. truly.

I stared at the screen for a second longer, my chest feeling warm and tight in a way I couldn’t even describe.

unicornpuppy35: u good, peanut? u seem kinda off lately.

My fingers hesitated over the keyboard, my mouth forming into a small smile at my nickname. Azzi always asked. I didn’t know how she managed to carry so much and still notice the little things about me. God.

boogers_p: yeah, i’m straight. just tired, you know?

unicornpuppy35: don’t let it get to u p. me and stewie got ur back.

Paige swallowed the lump in her throat, her reply coming slower this time.

boogers_p: thanks, puppy. u and stewie the real mvps fr.

Pup- I mean Azzi’s reply was just a string of eye-roll emojis, but I could picture the grin on her face. I wish I could just see it for myself.

boogers_p: love u too.

So much.

I send the message, knowing I can’t keep lying forever. But for now, I’ll hold on.

——-

Paige walked into her room, shutting the door with a quiet click, as if any louder might let her thoughts escape into the world. Tossing her bag into the corner, she kicked off her shoes and peeled off her clothes, leaving a trail toward the bathroom. The hot water scalded her pale skin, but she barely noticed, the familiar ache in her chest louder than the pounding spray.

When she came out, dressed in an oversized T-shirt, her damp hair sticking to her neck, she flopped onto her bed. She should sleep. She needed sleep. But instead, her hand reached for the scrapbook tucked under her nightstand.

Opening it, her heart clenched as she stared at the first photo—Azzi on the swing set, caught mid-laugh, her curls bouncing wildly as she leaned over, her dimple deepening with every giggle. Paige could still hear the sound of it, bright and free, almost as if Azzi were right there in the room with her.

The second photo wasn’t much better. Her and Azzi at the diner for her 15th birthday, Azzi’s arm slung around hers like it belonged there. Paige could almost feel the ghost of Azzi’s touch, the warmth of her hand on her arm, the way Azzi’s voice would soften when she scolded her for cussing too much.

She flipped the page closed before she started crying again. It didn’t help.

Her fingers brush over the closed scrapbook, tracing its edges. She knows it’s pathetic to feel this way, to let herself get so tangled up in someone who probably doesn’t even think about her anymore. It’s dumb, she knows that. But it doesn’t change the way her heart clenches at the thought of Azzi laughing somewhere else, with someone else, as if Paige never mattered.

Because the truth is, she’s never felt this way about anyone before. Not like this. Not about their friendship, or whatever it used to be. Friendship doesn’t even seem like the right word anymore. It feels too small, too simple for something that made her feel whole in a way nothing else ever has.

Will you miss me, Azzi? Paige swallows hard, her jaw tightening as tears blur her vision again. Will you miss what we had? Because I do. I miss you so much it hurts. It fucking hurts.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes closing as the words spilled from her heart. God I think I’d miss you even if we never met.

Paige dragged a hand over her face, trying to will the tears back, but they came anyway, hot and relentless. She clutched the scrapbook tighter to her chest. I miss you. Every day. Every second of every day. I miss you so much it’s pathetic.

She let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob halfway through. “It’s so dumb,” she muttered, shaking her head. But no matter how many times she said it, it didn’t make it any less true. It’s the realest thing she’s ever felt.

Because no one had ever made her feel like Azzi did. Not before, not since. She wasn’t sure anyone ever would.

She wipes at her face, but the tears won’t stop. Because no matter how much she misses Azzi, Paige knows it’s her fault she’s gone. She clings to the scrapbook, the pictures inside the only pieces of Azzi she has left. And as much as it hurts, she knows she deserves this. Every ache, every tear, every lonely second.

Because she let her go. And that’s something she can never take back.

——-

Azzi sat quietly in the backseat, her hands clammy as she rubbed them over her shorts, trying to calm the nerves that had been with her all morning. Her brothers had hyped her up about making the team, calling her the coach’s “princess,” but it didn’t help. She was still terrified. What if she didn’t make it? What if she wasn’t good enough?

She whispered to Stewie, who was in her lap, his small body a source of comfort. “What if I don’t make the team, huh? I know it’s stupid, but it keeps running through my mind… what if I mess up?”

Her mom glanced back at her from the front seat, a soft smile on her face. “You’ll do fine, Azzi. You always do.”

But Azzi couldn’t shake the unease, the thoughts spinning in her head as the car pulled into the gym parking lot. Her stomach twisted into knots, and her heart raced in anticipation. They arrived early, her mom wanting to meet the coaches first, so Azzi was the first one there.

She stepped out of the car, still trying to calm her breathing. As her mom led her inside, Azzi forced herself to smile and greet the coaches, though her mind was a hundred miles away. She excused herself once the introductions were made, eager to find the locker room and settle in before tryouts started.

The gym was empty when she walked in, the silence amplifying her every step. She meandered down the hall, her fingers grazing the walls as she took in the pictures of past players, their smiles frozen in time. She felt her nerves rise again, the pressure of what was to come weighing on her.

But as she rounded a corner, her body collided with something—or rather, someone.

“Sorry!” Azzi blurted, quickly stepping back. But when she looked up, her breath caught. There, standing in front of her, was Paige. She froze, heart pounding in her chest. Her mind screamed for her to move, to say something, anything, but her body just wouldn’t cooperate.

Paige stood there too, her mouth slightly open in disbelief, her eyes wide. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Then, almost as if the world had shifted, Paige finally spoke her name.

“Azzi?” she whispered.

Azzi’s stomach churned, but she couldn’t stop staring at her. How? How could she be here? How had she found her, of all places? This wasn’t supposed to happen, not here, not now. Not ever.

But Paige was looking at her like she hadn’t missed a beat, like the time apart hadn’t meant anything. Azzi could see the recognition in her eyes, the same as she felt in her chest.

It was instant. Her face was older now, sharper, but it was still her. Those blue eyes. The way she stood. Even the slight tilt of her head when she was unsure of herself. Azzi hadn’t expected it to hit her this hard.

A year ago, she swore she’d move on. Swore that she’d forget what Paige meant to her. But now, standing here, all she felt was the sharp twist of memory and the burn of anger.

How could she not recognize her? Paige had been the first person to make her feel seen, to make her feel like she mattered. But she had also been the first person to hurt her more than anyone else had. Azzi couldn’t forget that. Not the way she laughed with her, not the way she’d come after her with apologies she could never quite believe.

Azzi had convinced herself she was past it. Past Paige. But now, here she was, staring at her as if nothing had changed. It was too much, too fast. Does she really think I’ve forgotten?

Paige stepped forward, her movements tentative, unsure. Azzi almost wanted to take a step back, to run, but she couldn’t move. She stood there, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between them pressing in on her.

“Azzi,” Paige said softly, her voice almost hesitant.

Azzi blinked, her heart racing. She forced herself to act like she didn’t know her, even though everything inside her screamed that she did. “Sorry,” Azzi said, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. “Do I know you?”

——-

rosie’s note: well..yeah!

taglist ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

@thaatdigitaldiary @sierrale8ne @ohbueckers @imaginespazzi @pazzilover101 @makethemhoesmad @pboogerswbb @kmoneymartini @mrsarnold @absolutelydreadful @authentic-girl03 @melpthatsme @ashortyluvsports

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Hi.. don't know if you do part 2 but if you do.. can you like write a sequel to curling iron where fans are really eager to know why the girls call him "curling iron" so they lando during signing and meet and greet but he just shakes his head and diverts the topic till during one of quadrant video, max f asks lando what's the curling iron as everyone is asking so lando tells him (while they were recording) and when interview is released media goes crazy.. maybe little SMAU too.. thankyou and sorry if this is too complex.. xoxo

Curling Iron pt. 2 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

⌗ ln x reader 🦋⃟

⌗ fluff + humour (?) 🦋⃟

masterlist ☾☼

curling iron pt.1

lily and carmen's comment on her last instagram post blew up. while everyone in the inner circle only referred to lando as curling iron, none of the fans had any idea what it meant.

some speculated that lando doesn't actually have curly hair, and used a curling iron everyday. that became a joke amongst all of lando and y/n's friends. some speculated that lando just did something stupid, and it was a running joke between the 2019 rookies and their friends.

y/n did kind of agree with that, since she was the something stupid he did. when she'd said that out loud, not meaning for anyone else to hear her, lando had laughed and then pulled her to the bedroom to do her again.

the las vegas grad prix had organised a little meet and greet, where fans could come and meet the drivers, take pictures, just chat for a minute or two. lando loved doing such things. it always made him feel a lot closer to his fans, and he got to meet genuine people.

it was inevitable really that the question would come up. lando should have expected it, but he hadn't been prepared.

a group of girls were at his table, where he was seated, and signing all the things they gave him. one of them had the courage and finally asked him, "can we ask you something?"

"of course," lando was more than happy to answer any question.

"um, why is your nickname 'curling iron'? george and alex mentioned it in the compliments video too,"

george sitting at the next table burst out laughing, and lando muttered a small, "shut the fuck up," as he smiled and tried to answer.

"i just did some...thing. it was just like, a little joke between us." lando stammered.

"say it, say it, say it!" george was chanting from the table beside him.

lando threw a pen at his friend, "shut up!"

turning back to the girls, he quoted his girlfriend, "i just did something stupid, and that became a nickname. it's not anything important, really,"

he diverted the topic quickly, talking about the mini helmet that the girl had given him to sign.

the teasing hadn't stopped, on social media and otherwise. george, alex, lily, carmen, and his own girlfriend had officially renamed him as 'curling iron'.

during one of the williams video that alex participated in, the question of how close the 2019 rookies were, and how their relationship had changed over the years.

alex, the ever smiling man, said, "no no, i think we're all going really strong. like, we're amazing friends off track. we're hanging out all the time, and just sending each other memes and stuff. and, like, our girlfriends also get along really well."

"we take it george has a group chat for that as well?" the interviewer asked.

alex laughed, "we actually do! it's us three and our girlfriends. and, in the beginning, the girls sent in a lot of links to edits of like george and me, george and lando, or lando and me. i mean, they still do, but like, because of that, the group chat is called, um, 'curling iron's harem,"

the interviewer begged him to explain further, but alex laughed and diverted the topic, like they were all trained to do.

the fans went wild after williams posted that video on instagram. new edits of george, alex, and lando began trending, everyone leaning into the 'curling iron's harem' thing.

y/n, carmen, and lily had a field day with it, and sent in edits constantly. the boys had decided to then rate each edits that were sent in, because what else could they do.

the truth was revealed after the season got over though, when max and lando were streaming.

the chat was filled with people asking what 'curling iron' meant, and every time max read out the question, the two men couldn't stop laughing. they couldn't stop giggling.

"alright, alright. it was after one of the races, i made out with my girlfriend, left a hickey on her neck. carmen and lily noticed it, my girl said it was because of a curling iron-"

"very obvious lie, by the way,"

"yeah, and then i walked in after the interviews or something, and lily and carmen just started calling me 'curling iron' ever since,"

max was laughing, unable to stop.

"shut up, it's not that funny!" lando said, laughing as well.

"yeah, it is!" a distant voice was heard from lando.

"baby, you have to be on my side!" he whined to his girlfriend.

"aw, my poor curling iron," she cooed mockingly.

max only laughed harder.

"fuck off, all of you."

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

hi! sorry, this was kinda short. i never really planned to make a part 2 for this. but, i hope you enjoyed this! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou; @anamiad00msday

[idolomantises]

hi! I've followed you for a while on and off and I really wanted to ask, are you still working on creature of grey? I was super excited for it back in the day

Same anon, do you have any cog art left? I miss them

Creature of Grey has kind of been... put on hiatus indefinitely. It's a story I love but also a story I made when i was 13-17. If I ever want to return to it, I'd have to give it a massive overhaul and change a lot of things.

Unfortunately I don't have any new art, but while looking for any of my older art to repost I found some pages for any early draft, back when I originally planned to make this a published series (2019/2020 me had a lot of ambition lol) but i ended up scrapping it because I didn't want to go into making a big series without more writing experience (hence why I did a lot of shorter comics, which later developed into Bugtopia and Monsters and Girls). It also lacked a proper script and outline, so I was just kind of making things up as I wrote.

Looking back its kind of hilarious because everyone is having their quaint little sitcom storyline and Vern is going through absolute hell

(If you're wondering why the page/colors look nicer I believe I still had photoshop at the time so I was a lot more comfortable with the brushes and effects. I was also trying to make it look more "professional" since again, I was expecting to sell this as a physical book series)

This was my last COG drawing which was in 2021

I was testing the waters to see how people felt about these characters, unfortunately these drawings barely did well compared to my other works, so it told me everything i need to know.

Some of my old character designs were pretty rough (though im super biased towards Vern bc ive been drawing his ass since I was 11), but its really fun looking back at these old comics.

(crazy to think I was so dedicated to drawing old man yaoi)

[shorthaltsjester]

love (loath) this version of ‘empathy’ for characters that exists in fandoms that somehow means taking any articulation of the fact that x character is given responsibility and context by the story and that their poor choices lead to poor outcomes is actually a slight against the character (and implicitly somehow whatever oppressed group which they belong to or are alleged to belong to by sections of fandom)

to be clear this is something i’ve noticed in several fandoms which is why the beginning of this is general language but the pertinent example to my current frustration is liliana temult and the defence of her that lays on a claim that those who enjoy the narrative showing her poor actions leading to poor outcomes for her have somehow failed the empathy test is beyond incomprehensible to me. like even ignoring the very basic level understanding that fiction is a place to experience satisfaction in narratives that we cannot fulfil in non-narrative reality, it’s also like… holy fuck do I not want the kind of empathy that tells me it will all work out no matter what choice I make. it is actually imperative to human life that the choices we make have substance in the outcomes we arrive in, otherwise we would’ve long given up on the notion of free will. and to look at a narrative, particularly one built in the context of a ttrpg. a game notably influenced by the choices that players-as-characters make. and then see sections of an audience find it compelling and enjoyable that a character who has made categorically poor choices that have caused immeasurable harm to others is now dealing with the very obvious face-eating panthers consequences… idk man. if you see that as a lack of empathy i implore you to consider what role empathy is playing in your world.

like. if empathy to you is about comfort and stagnancy and not about growth and community, then sure i can understand how it might not be empathetic in your view to notice patterns and see their obvious outcome and acknowledge that . but as someone who has been in the position of making horrible choices with obvious outcomes, far more essential to my personhood was those who looked at me with careful but critical eyes than those who nearly babyed me into my grave. that’s actually why i love imogen’s choice to insist that liliana make her own choice and then quasi-encouraging her to stay, because it was a clear reminded to liliana that her choices have consequences, and one of those is that the terrible things she’s down in the name of her daughter have led to that daughter not being able to easily trust her.

and i think another thing that’s related that gets misconstrued with liliana (and as always unfortunately many such cases) is that the satisfaction of seeing her absorbed isn’t that it’s retributive harm done or some sort of punishment (at least not for me, skill issue if people in your fandom spaces are that cop-minded but, yknow, what can you expect from the thought-crimes capital of fandom spaces). the satisfaction is in the analogue (that i’ve seen well memed) to the face-eating panthers joke that liliana’s actions which have pushed an agenda that’s depended on the consumption and threat to her child and the children she specifically has aided in placing in danger via her choices, has led to situations where a) she’s ‘burdened’ by her care for imogen and the children (both of which she has played a hand in inviting into the context of danger) b) she is now the person in danger of being consumed after spending weeks simply shrugging off concerns about what might be consumed in the name of ludinus’ Just World™. like it’s not just ‘liliana does bad things, must be punished’ it’s ‘liliana has played a hand in creating a situation that is threatening to many including herself, it is narratively satisfying and engages in Common Narrative Tool: Irony to have that create situation negatively impact her directly.’

to that end that’s why the ‘if you’re like this about liliana you should also be like this about essek’ takes are beyond missing the point (without getting into the horribly built scarecrow that it is, understand that it’s actually undermining decades of feminist’s philosophical and political development to see a critique of a female character and go ‘well actually if she were a man you wouldn’t be saying that’ when it’s a provable fact that people Would be (and have been) saying that if she were a man. so not the feminist slay you think it is). like, as someone who Was just as interested in essek’s story having consequences as I am in liliana’s, there very much WERE consequences for essek that, just like liliana, were well contextualized and suited to the specific choices he made. they are ones that should be obvious even to the most surface read of the campaigns given that essek still appears in disguise years after the end of c2, should also probably be obvious in the rebuilding of relationships essek had to do with mn after they discovered his betrayal. like the notable difference between liliana and essek is not their gender, it’s that we’ve seen the end of essek’s story (in the sense of like. campaign containment, obviously his Story™ is ongoing) and have yet to see liliana’s— it’s entirely possible that liliana does get saved and goes on to repair her relationship with imogen (or goes on and is unable to repair it) or she just dies and part of imogen’s story is dealing with it; all of those are narratively satisfying. what wouldn’t have been satisfying, in the sense that would leave liliana feeling like a non-agent in a story dependent on her agency, is if her role was entirely dictated by imogen’s interest in reconciliation. because sure if you want to look very microscopically the current threat to liliana that exists is 1-to-1 caused by the fact that she’s been helping imogen, but taking seriously the story, the consequences bloom from all the choices that liliana has made leading to ludinus’ decision to trust her however far he does that made liliana’s choice a betrayal and affirmed ludinus’ strength and position so that he can do something like siphon someone’s life force away.

further the ‘why does liliana deserve to be funnelled and relvin gets off easy’ relvin doesn’t get off easy. once again the satisfaction of his narrative is that he did his best and it was insufficient and that cost him a relationship with imogen they both clearly wish for but neither can rectify. the consequence for relvin is that he’s in an empty house that is no longer home to the woman he loved or the daughter he was left to raise alone. surely i don’t need to unpack why i think someone who tried but wasn’t well equipped to raise a daughter with superpowers doesn’t need to evoke as ‘drastic’ consequences in their story as the stated right hand of the campaign’s bbeg for their story to feel complete.

and idk at least for me that’s the salient point; that the consequences that are happening feel like a plausible and suitable conclusion to the story we’ve seen of liliana even if she perishes at ludinus’ hand. it will be sad but it’ll be satisfying, and maybe i should have realized seeing the frequency with which parts of fandom have been campaigning to undo maybe the most weighty and narratively satisfying choices & consequence of vox machina’s story, but it’s truly confounding to me the amount of people treating the presence of any complex and non-traditional happy ending notion in a story set in a world defined by pyrrhic victories. like, empathy for vax isn’t saying he’s the puppet of a god that manipulated him into service, it’s acknowledging that he made a choice that he knew would have consequences and acknowledging that the consequences he demanded with that choice were pretty severe ones. that doesn’t mean i’m watching the end of cr1 seeing the characters destroyed by the loss of vax being like ‘dumbasses, they knew this was coming, vax chose this, these are his consequences’ it means that when i’m crying watching the end of cr1 it’s paired with my deep love for a story that takes seriously the weight of the character’s choices in the determination of their lives. idk man. maybe interrogate how much of your notion of empathy is dependent on individualism to the point of near complete alienation and get back to me on how empathetic it is to look at someone who has caused unarguable pain with their choices and say ‘no no it’s fine you didn’t mean to + you’re a woman :/‘ while the victims of those choices rot in their graves

[bullet-prooflove]

Three Shots: Ryan x Reader (Yellowstone)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @yousigned-upforthis @queenslandlover-93 @ladychaos1525

Companion piece to:

Kitty - Ryan knows something's not right when he seees you with another man.

Such A Good Girl - Ryan makes a realisation about your undercover op.

It’s the gun shots that change everything.

There’s three of them, each one a loud retort that echoes through the clear night air as Ryan sits behind the wheel of his truck, that casefile on his lap. He’s out of the vehicle in an instant, heart hammering in his chest as he races towards the house with his Glock in his hand.

This shit right here, this is his nightmare.

The door is unlocked when he reaches it, it’s the way of people who buy second homes in remote areas like this. They don’t think to lock the doors because whose around to open them anyway.

The stench of cordite hits him the moment he steps into the hall way, he can taste it on his tongue as he searches the house for you with a franticness he feels in the very depths of his soul. It’s in the study he finds you and the scene… it’s nothing like he expected.

You’re sitting in a leather chesterfield with Myer’s dead body at your feet and your gun in your hand, resting lightly on the arm of the chair. Blood blossoms across the expensive cream sweater the other man is wearing, saturating the fabric as crimson spreads underneath him. It’s the expression on his features that gets Ryan, the look of absolute surprise that his life had ended this way.

“Katalina.” Ryan says softly trying to understand what happened and you look up at him without so much as a hair out of place.

“I found that.” You tell him as you gesture to the laptop on the coffee table. “And I just couldn’t let him get away with it.”

Ryan folds his sleeve over his hand, careful not to leave a fingerprint as he presses the space bar. A video starts to play and it’s the worst fucking thing he’s seen in his entire life.

“There’s one for each of them.” You tell him, your voice completely devoid of emotion. “One for each of the girls he raped and then dumped on the reservation.”

It’s then that it dawns on Ryan, what happened here tonight. Myers hadn’t attacked you at all. You’d executed him.

Three to the chest, just like they taught you at the academy.

“You need to make the call.” You tell him, your eyes meeting his with a clarity he finds harrowing. “Tell them what you found when you walked into this room.”

“I’m not letting you go to prison for putting down a fucking animal.” Ryan tells you and he can tell your surprised by the expression on your features. “He doesn’t get to take you down with him.”

Already his mind is working damage control, the same way it does with every single mess he’s ever had to clean up for the Duttons.

“You found the video and he attacked you.” Ryan informs you as he starts to stage the scene in his head. “When you shot him, you were in fear for your life.”

“Ryan.” You say gently as you stand up and step towards him. “Nobody’s going to believe that, there’s not a mark on me.”

“Well baby.” He sighs as grasps your arms and rolls up your sleeves. “We’re gonna have to change that.”

The next couple of minutes are a true testament of love and Ryan hates every fucking second of it. He grips your arms so tightly, he leaves finger marks embedded in the flesh. He tears your shirt, sending the buttons careening in different directions. He fucks up your hair, yanking it out of that neat braid so it’s mused up and loose. When it comes to the crunch, to actually inflicting violence on you, he just can’t force himself to do it so he steps back, surveying the mess he’s made of you.

It’s not enough, he realises, his heart sinking and that’s when you take the intuitive.

“There’s a rolling pin in the kitchen.” You tell him, your voice resolute. “I need you to get it for me.”

Love Ryan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[sodavizz]

—(I can't think of a title)

W/C: Idk 1k+

Pairing: Daisuke x GN! Reader

Warnings: nune.

A/N: MY POOKIE GAVE ME A PROMPT SO I WROTE IT,, SAW @freakyydaisukee POST, LUCKY I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF WRITING THIS LOL.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Daisuke had always been one to find excitement in everything. Whether it was the smallest detail of a passing cloud or the newest trend everyone at school was trying to follow, he could always find something to be enthusiastic about. It was just who he was. And it was something that people admired about him—his unrelenting optimism, his constant enthusiasm for life.

But of all the things Daisuke had ever been excited about, there was one person who stood out from the rest.

You.

From the moment he first laid eyes on you in the hallway of their high school, he knew there was something special about you. You weren't like everyone else.. Daisuke admired everything about you. You were pretty smart, funny, made a few friends, and were pretty attractive too. It made Daisuke feel like he could conquer anything, just because he’d seen you smile.

As the years went by, Daisuke found himself drawn to you more and more. He would always try to sit near you in class, though he never had the courage to speak to you outside of group projects or class assignments. His friends always teased him about it, but he didn’t mind. They didn’t understand. His feelings for you weren’t something as simple as a crush—they were a quiet, constant thing that swelled within him each time he saw you.

He would watch you interact with your friends, and he’d wonder if you noticed him at all. Did you know how much he admired you? Did you ever catch his gaze from across the room? Did you ever wonder why he always had that excited smile on his face whenever you were around?

But Daisuke was terrified. High school was the time when everyone was either figuring out who they were or hiding who they were, and Daisuke knew that his feelings for you were something he couldn’t quite put into words. What if he confessed and ruined everything? What if you didn’t feel the same?

So he kept quiet. For years.

And every time he saw you leave school with your friends, he felt his heart sink, knowing that his chance might be slipping away.

--

Graduation came faster than Daisuke had expected. It was a bittersweet moment for him. Everyone was so excited about what came next, about the future that awaited them. He’d felt the same way, once, but now it just felt hollow. The future was full of uncertainty for Daisuke. Sure, he was going to follow in his parents' footsteps and become a mechanic—just like they wanted. But it wasn’t the future that excited him. The future that excited him was the one where he could finally tell you how he felt.

But that opportunity never came. Graduation was a blur of ceremonies, farewell parties, and promises to stay in touch. And you—well, you were already gone. You had plans. Your future seemed set. And Daisuke was left wondering if he would ever get the chance to confess his feelings to you, or if you would just fade into the background of his life like so many people did.

He didn’t know what happened to you after graduation. You disappeared into the vast world, as far as he was concerned. And as time passed, Daisuke told himself that he needed to move on. He needed to focus on his job, on making his parents proud. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to have a grand love story, after all.

--

Two years later, Daisuke found himself on the Tulpar—a spaceship that was about to embark on a long-term mission to ship whatever was in the boxes they couldn't touch or see. His parents looked for a while to find a job that he could do, and when the opportunity to work on a high-end spaceship as a mechanic opened up, they nudged him toward it. He wasn’t exactly thrilled, but he figured it was the right thing to do. It wasn’t the adventure he’d hoped for, but it was steady work. And steady work meant stability.

--

The day of the ship's space launch. He was accepted last minute as an intern but he could care less. He was pretty nervous though, the thought of being in the middle of space for a year is kinda scary for him.

He was just minding his own business before someone crept up to him.

"O-M-G!!," The person exclaimed.

Daisuke froze mid-sentence as he turned toward the voice. His heart skipped a beat.

Standing there, in her flight suit with a clipboard in hand, was you.

It took him a second to process. You. You were standing right in front of him. His mind spun with disbelief and excitement.

"Wait—what?" he blurted out, still in shock.

You raised an eyebrow at him, half-smiling, but there was something about it that felt more genuine, more knowing. "Surprised? Anyways, how have you been... uh... Daisuke correct? We went to the same high school together!" you say excitedly.

"You—you're... you're planning on working on the Tulpar too?" Daisuke asked, the words tumbling out.

You nodded, your eyes scanning the room before they landed back on him. "Yeah. I didn’t know you were here too."

Daisuke's excitement was barely contained. After all these years of admiring you from afar, here you were. In the flesh. On the same ship. And now he had a chance to talk to you—really talk to you.

“I—yeah, I’ve been here for a while.” Daisuke couldn’t stop smiling. “It’s... kind of crazy that we’re both here. You know? I always wondered what happened to you after graduation. I didn’t expect to see you again.”

You smiled softly at that. “I guess we both ended up on the same path, huh?”

He nodded, though his brain was still struggling to keep up. You—here, on the Tulpar, working alongside him. It felt like a dream.

“I never thought I’d be working on a spaceship,” you continued, leaning against the wall as you casually chatted. “I didn’t even think you would, either. But... here we are.”

For the first time in years, Daisuke allowed himself to feel the weight of his excitement. There was a universe of possibilities in front of him now. You were here, and maybe—just maybe—he could find a way to confess the feelings he’d kept hidden for so long.

--

“So... what do you think of the ship so far?” he asked, trying to regain his composure.

You laughed lightly. "It's impressive. But I'm sure you've seen much more than I have. You've been here longer."

“Yeah,” Daisuke said, a gleam in his eye. “But if you want, we could look around together. Maybe help you an I get more comfortable?”

You smiled again, this time in that quiet way that always made Daisuke’s heart race. “I’d like that.”

As the days passed, Daisuke found himself spending more and more time with you. He was thrilled to just be near you, but this time, he didn’t have to hide behind the walls he’d built in high school. He could be himself, and you were there to see it. Slowly, Daisuke began to open up, sharing stories, laughing together, and finding joy in the little moments. And all the while, his feelings for you grew stronger, more real.

Maybe, just maybe, the universe had led him to this moment for a reason.

--

One evening, after a long shift, Daisuke found you just sitting in the couch, the dim lights of the ship casting a soft glow on your face.

"Hey," he said softly, walking up to you. His heart pounded. He didn’t know if he’d ever have the courage to say it, but right now, in this quiet moment, he felt like he could.

“Hey, Daisuke.” You smiled up at him, looking tired but content.

"Look... I don't know how to say this, but I've wanted to say it for a long time. I—" His voice cracked slightly as he struggled to find the words.

You watched him intently, your expression calm, understanding. "What is it?"

"I think... I think I’ve liked you for a long time. Ever since high school," Daisuke blurted out, his face turning red as he stumbled over the words. "I don’t know why I never told you, but... I think I just... really like you."

For a moment, there was silence. Daisuke’s heart raced, waiting for your response, unsure of what would come next.

You stepped closer, your smile widening. “Hehe... I’ve always known,” you said softly with a cheeky grin, and Daisuke’s heart nearly stopped.

“I’m glad you’re here, Daisuke,” you continued, taking his hand in yours. “I’m glad we’re both here.”

And with that, in the endless stretch of space, surrounded by stars, Daisuke realized that sometimes, life’s most beautiful surprises came when you least expected them.

--

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

How I would re-write Stella Goetia, Backstory + Season 1

Probably my most popular posts on this blog are about Stella from Helluva Boss. I like to talk about her because I think she had the potential to be a really nuanced character, and I really would’ve loved to see her and Stolas have a more complicated relationship.

So I’d like to talk about the direction I would’ve taken her characterization and story in.

I do need to stress that this is NOT a writing “fix-it” post. Canon Stella may be an evil bitch, but she’s MY evil bitch and I LOVE HER. I’ve already talked quite at length about how her character and conflict with Stolas being purely black and white is not a bad story decision, but to me is less interesting than having a grey or nuanced conflict.

I just want to go over a rough outline of what I would’ve done with her as a character. Just because it’s different, doesn’t mean it’s better or is “fixing” the canon story. I also am not trying to make Stella inherently more sympathetic/likable/or “woobify” her—this is just a ROUGH outline of what I’d do to flesh Stella out as a person, and ideas I’ve had for her character that would make her (and her relationships with Stolas and Via) more appealing to me personally.

I just really wish Stella had gotten more depth, and wanted to talk about it.

(LONG) Rewrite Summary below!!!

While I think there’s also an interesting re-write where Stella and Stolas are not in an arranged marriage, and may explore this idea as well, this time around I am going to be sticking with the canon background that their marriage was arranged.

Instead of having Stella be an evil heartless spoiled child who strangles puppies, I would give her a very strict upbringing where from birth she was groomed to be the “perfect noblewoman and wife”—I would base her upbringing and the expectations placed on her on what was expected of Regency noblewomen.

Basically, Stella would be raised to be able to run the house/estate when Stolas was away, be accomplished in the “domestic arts” (hosting events such as parties and balls, being able to do embroidery and other hobbies “befitting” of her class, and being involved in charitable efforts). She would be taught to be quiet, graceful, courteous, and to always anticipate the needs of her husband.

Stella’s “true” personality as a young child would be boisterous, loud, and precocious. Stella loved playing outside, singing loudly, and dancing.

She would have gotten in trouble with her parents often due to this (“Dancing for fun is what the poor do, Darling. You should only dance to find a suitable husband���) and would be punished by her Father by his ordering the rest of the family and their staff to ignore Stella completely and act like she didn’t exist. This would usually result in Stella acting out even more to try and MAKE everyone pay attention to her, until she’d get too tired to continue and start acting “proper” (I.e. quiet, not speaking too loud or speaking out of turn, being obedient, etc.)

Her relationship with Andrealphus would have been strained, as he would have been the “golden child” while Stella would be the scapegoat. I’d also like to give Stella magic fire powers. Because honestly why does Andre get Ice Magic and Stolas get space magic and Stella is the same type of demon as them apparently and gets nothing??? Boring.

Maybe this is basic, but honestly I love characters with fire powers who have to learn to control them. As child, Stella would have difficulty controlling her fire abilities, and would be not be taught how to use or maintain her powers, but would be taught to suppress them.

As an aside—again, I’m not giving Stella a traumatic childhood to make her more likable and more pitiable. I have two reasons I’m giving her this backstory—1) I believe that even people with great parents still end up with some childhood trauma, because being alive and growing up *is* traumatic. And 2) I think that there’s a lot of pretty good evidence that ROYAL upbringings, and the expectations and restrictions that come with them, are especially traumatic in a very particular and very intense way.

Doesn’t mean that they’re not extremely privileged, but that privilege also doesn’t take away that trauma.

I think it’s very realistic for both Stella AND Stolas, as children of royalty and nobility, to have a lot of childhood trauma surrounding their upbringings, and that’s something I really want to explore in my rewrite—how they cope with their traumas and how it impacts their relationship and their ability to raise their daughter and navigate conflict.

By an older teen to young adult, she would have learned how to behave as a “perfect noblewoman”. This is when she would meet Stolas for the first time (with a a Chaperone of course).

There would be a little bit of time shortly before and after their marriage where they would have their “honeymoon” period—both Stella and Stolas were very infatuated with each other and mistook that infatuation for “true love”.

This time where they were extremely infatuated with each other would last about a year, after which they would slowly begin to realize that the idealized images they had of one another was false. They would start to argue more, have a harder time compromising etc. until they finally realized they fell out of love, and maybe were never in love in the first place.

Even though the two of them would have come to this realization, it would be separately, and due to their upbringings (where you don’t really talk about your feelings and push them down) they would NOT talk to each other about it.

This would be the first big crack in their relationship, and they would both have a lot of guilt over it.

I like the idea of the two of them really, really want to stay in love with each other, but after they get to TRULY know each other they just…never fully “click”. They realize they don’t have the same interests, they can’t really find anything to talk about, and they just. They don’t stay in love.

Stella would be very in denial about her true feelings after this turning point, and would still try to convince herself that she really loves Stolas. She would have a lot of deeply buried guilt over not loving him, and see it as a failure of her “duties” as his wife.

After this, they would find a way to keep their relationship would be cordial and respectful, but it would always tinged by an unspoken awkwardness. It would be almost business-like in nature, and they would start spending more and more time apart.

To cope with this lackluster relationship that they were both now stuck in, Stolas would throw himself fully into his duties (which I would want to show a little more of…seriously what does…what does he do??? What does he use the grimoire for????) and Stella would do the same—throwing herself into her duties as the lady of the house and a Goetia Princess.

Stella would host parties and balls, she’d make sure manor was always clean and orderly, she’d become a patron of the arts.

The basis of their relationship would become one of them sticking to the roles that were thrust upon them since birth.

Things WOULD change for the better though after Octavia’s birth.

Because for a while, Stolas and Stella would have something, someone, that brought them together, that they both loved and cared for dearly.

Something that Stella and Stolas would have spoken about before having Octavia is that they did NOT, under any circumstance, want to raise Via like they were raised.

As I already went over, both Stella and Stolas would have dealt with abuse and neglect growing up—Stolas’ abuse stems from his parents being LARGELY absent in his life and him being very neglected as a child, while Stella’s stems from her parents being extremely controlling and giving her very little, if any, freedom.

They would firmly agree on letting Via be her own person, on making time for her, on not putting too many expectations on her.

And, in this rewrite, I would not have them be abusive or neglectful parents. But I would have them be very flawed parents, whose own traumatic upbringings negatively affect their ability to raise Via.

I would want to explore Stella and Stolas fighting to break the cycle of abuse they went through, but still struggling because they don’t have a good frame of reference for what being a good parent looks like.

Stolas doesn’t realize that he’s not always giving Octavia all the time with him she needs, because in his eyes he’s spending tons of time with her—it doesn’t occur to him that he’s actually being neglectful towards her, because to him, spending any long amount of time with her is more than he ever got from his father. He’ll spend time with her, and talk to her, but not really LISTEN to what she’s saying she needs, and doesn’t understand why she doesn’t like the things she used to, or is mad at him for not taking more time for her.

Stella doesn’t realize she’s still being controlling or pushing her expectations onto Octavia by making passive aggressive comments suggesting she wear more “appropriate” or “feminine” clothing, or take up a “nicer” hobby like needlepoint and drop taxidermy. She gives Via the freedom to choose what she wants to do, but doesn’t fully SUPPORT those choices, and doesn’t understand why that’s so important, since in the end Octavia is still enjoying freedoms that Stella only dreamed of as a child.

Still, they manage to be a fairly functional and loving family towards Octavia. And Stolas and Stella maintain their cordial and business like relationship for Octavia’s sake, and to keep up appearances.

During Octavia’s teen years, when she’s 14-17, is when more cracks begin to show—Stella and Stolas have been keeping their relationship together, but it’s stagnating more and more. Stolas throws himself even more into his duties with the stars (or whatever) and Stella begins to become gradually more and more concerned and anxious about making sure her family maintains a “perfect” reputation among the other royals of hell.

Stella begins to throw more balls and parties for Hell’s charities (if this version of hell has banks, and police and prisons, they can have charitable organizations, okay.) As her and Stolas’s anniversary starts to get closer, she begins planning a HUGE ball for Hell’s nobility to celebrate. It’s hugely important to her.

While she’s doing all of this, Stolas is beginning to have an early-to-mid-life crisis. His work and duties that used to be engaging and fun are feeling more and more like a chore, his relationship with Stella has stagnated and is purely for show, he’s getting more and more anxious about Octavia approaching adulthood, and his whole life is beginning to feel more and more claustrophobic.

So. Stolas decides to do something wild, spontaneous, and very selfish, before he loses it. On a night where Stella is attending an Opera, and Via is spending the night with friends from school*, Stolas dresses in clothes he assumes “the common folk” would wear, and goes to shady bar in IMP city, with the goal of meeting someone to hook up with.

This is where Stolas meets Blitzø. (Sorry, I’m. I’m not doing the whole “paid childhood friends for one day” background.)

They have what both assume will be a one night stand at Blitzø’s place. It goes. MUCH better than either of them would have expected sex-wise. The two start meeting up more and more when they’re able to. Stolas begins to open up more to Blitzø, but it stays VERY sexual—eventually Stolas comes clean about who he is and they start to hook up at Stolas’ place whenever Stella is out. Stolas is very much infatuated with Blitzø (and the sex they have). Blitzø thinks they’re having non-complicated fun.

During AAALLL of this is when Blitzø learns about the Grimoire, and asks if he can “borrow” it for I.M.P. Stolas is impressed with Blitzø’s confidence and drive, and agrees to let Blitzø use it anytime, with the one exception being the night of the full moon. There is no full moon “deal” beyond the agreement that Blitzø cannot accept clients on the full moon because Stolas needs the book back that night.

During all of this is ALSO when Stella begins to notice Stolas acting differently, he’s slightly more energetic, he’s spending less and less time in his study and the manor in general, he doesn’t look her in the eyes when they do have time to chat briefly. It’s odd, and she’s suspicious of SOMETHING going on but she’s not sure what.

Stolas DOES feel guilty about cheating on Stella, but justifies it by telling himself that they’re not in a “true” marriage, and it’s “just sex”, so he’s not really cheating on Stella.

The night of Stella and Stolas’s anniversary ball arrives. To Stella, everything goes as expected, and it’s a huge success.

During the ball, though, we get the same scene we get in the Circus—Blitzø gets caught trying to sneak into Stolas’ room. Instead of the guards bringing him into the party, they call Stolas outside privately to deal with it (because why would the disrupt the party by dragging a party-crasher through the middle of a fancy ball?? I didn’t really understand why they did that in the og episode)

Stolas dismisses the guards, and we learn that Blitzø has been sneaking in (with Stolas’ permission+ knowledge) to get the grimoire after the full moon when he and Stolas don’t have time to meet up in person. Like tonight.

Instead of just handing off the grimoire like usual, Stolas and Blitzø end up hooking up (mutually and wholly consensually). Stolas does not return to the party.

Stella is really concerned about how Stolas’ absence looks, especially at a ball she planned with so many high profile demon lords present, but she’s able to wave it off as Stolas feeling a little tired and retiring early, due to it being the day after his full moon duties and all.

Instead of returning to their room, that night, Stella sleeps in one of the many guest rooms. She doesn’t know where Stolas is, but she’s mad at him for leaving early without saying anything on such an important night, and is hoping not coming to their bed will send a message—she’s tired anyway and doesn’t want to get in a big fight before bed that will tire her out more.

The next morning she has tea in the garden with some close friends. And this is where we get the infamous “Sorry, I fucked your husband!” scene.

After this, well. Stella kinda loses her shit. She had been pushing down all of her negative feelings and thoughts and frustrations surrounding her life and relationship for YEARS, because in her mind, as long as she was able to maintain the facade of having a “perfect” life, it would be worth it.

And now in a moment she’s lost the thing that, after her daughter, mattered to her the most.

She essentially explodes in fury in a way Stolas has never seen before—they get in a huge argument—Stella’s fire powers come out and burn down the manor’s garden, things just really get out of hand.

So. What would follow would be most of what we see of Stella in season 1 of HB—now that that floodgate has been opened, she finds she’s struggling to control her feelings, she’s mad and sad ALL THE TIME, and she’s deeply deeply hurt in a way she didn’t know she could be.

She can’t show her face in society, she doesn’t know WHAT to say to Octavia, she can’t believe Stolas could be SO SELFISH after EVERYTHING she had done to make sure their family was in high standing—and she can’t push down her feelings anymore. She’s never been so furious in her entire life.

And so she contacts a hitman, Striker.

I really like the old fan theory that Stella hired Striker in a moment of irrationality and anger because of how hurt she was—obviously her hurt does not justify trying to have her husband MURDERED, but I like the idea that she called the hit because she was deeply hurt and unable to cope with those feelings—not because she just hates him to the core of his being and has for their entire marriage. Her anger would be a coping mechanism, if she’s so busy feeling furious she doesn’t have to actually sit with her feelings of betrayal and sadness and hurt.

From here, the rest of season one would play out like in canon, we don’t see Stella in person again, just the apparition of her in Ozzie’s.

I’m going to stop here because this post is already way too long, it it’ll help me to think more if I split it up.

If you read this far please tell me what you think! I think I’d like overall for Stella and Stolas’ relationship to mirror Blitzø and Verosika’s, or maybe become a foil to it. From here we could honestly go either way—either Stella becomes a true villain, or she becomes an antagonist turned hesitant ally like Fizz, Ozzie, and Verosika.

I can see both being interesting, so maybe I’ll do a rewrite for both. We’ll see I guess.

*it weirds me the FUCK out that we don’t know anything about what Hell’s kids do, like I assume schools exist but ???anyway in this rewrite Stella and Stolas send Octavia to a fancy private school—cause the thought of her having NO friends or social circle makes me so sad)

[nieceeee]

Can you do a story with ony about every time he buys her something she pays him back either in cash or getting him a gift just as expensive every time and he eventually catch’s on and asks her why to which she explains how at the end of her last relationship her ex was tryna to force her to pay him for “wasting his time” can it end in smut plz 🤭🤭😩

“ALL THE THINGS”

P/S: Most of your life your relationships have been transactional. You learned early on that nothing you get comes for free, especially with me. It was always a give and take. So when you got with Ony, you expected the same things. For every gift he got you, you made sure to double it because that's how the game goes right? Well Ony wasn't having that. He was going to get it through to you by any means necessary...

WC: 3.2k

A/N: DO NOT HATE ME! MNDI!! This took so much longer than I expected it to. But I hope you like it. It got me in my feelings a little bit ngl. Nicknames (pa, mamas, princess, babygirl) smutty, slight angst as well but there is smut and cute fluff, p in v, body worship, I think that’s all.

Life is about balance. The ebbs and flows are what makes the world go ‘round. Every action requires a reaction. It's a give and a take.

You took that literally.

Simply put, you have never known a love that wasn’t built on balance. And for as long as you could remember, every relationship you were involved in had been more of a checks and balances act that anything. It was all so…transactional.

See love has it's strings attached, no matter how the fairytales tries to spin it. It was an unwritten rule. In order to get what you wanted you had to give exactly that same thing or greater back. You needed to surpass expectations to have someone meet your own. You learned-- no, excelled at this. Now, could it have stemmed from deeper rooted insecurities of protecting yourself from being hurt. Sure.

I mean you were told at an early age from women in your life that nothing was truly free. Love, affections, kindness-- they all came with a cost. And you simply learned to play the game. Accept it with grace but never let them think they got one up on you. You remember the warning as clear as day. You kept your guard up, always matching every gesture, every gift, every ounce of attention you got from the people who mattered most. Because it had always been a give and take, and you’d be damned if you were ever the one left holding the bag.

Nonetheless this worked. It always worked. Until you met Ony.

Onyankopon came into your life like any other relationship would. He was sweet, charismatic, gentle. He was everything you could have ever asked for in a man. Patient, a rock when you needed him, and a safe space for you to just…be. When everything around you fell to chaos, he was the one thing that could lead you back into serenity. He quiet devotion to you was unmatched, making you feel seen and appreciated in every way a woman needed to be. Only was a simple gentleman who loved his lady. And he showed it even in the smallest of gestures--a hand-picked flower, a warm sweater on a cold day, a soft kiss on your forehead when you least expected it. It just felt right.

But with each gift, you felt a twinge of unease, a little tug in your chest. Those words repeating in your brain.

What was his endgame?

Ony loved you. Plain and simple. Anyone could see that. But yet you were so blinded by past hurt, you couldn’t step outside of your own head. Surely, he isn’t doing these things and expecting nothing back? No, it's just like before. So you did what you’ve always done. You matched him, made sure each gift was of equal or greater value. Yours needed to be more meaningful, more dramatic. You had to outdo him.

Every. Single. Time

It started early, a few weeks into your relationship--like when he bought you your favorite coffee from the cafe around the corner of your apartment that you loved so much. Of course you had to treat him to lunch the next day. “What’s this?” he asked when you walked in the house. He was working from home, headphones covering one of his ears. “I figured you were hungry so I wanted to bring you a treat.” you had replied. He smiled up at you, placing a gentle kiss against your temple. “Thank you baby girl.” his voice was soft with you, hands tracing gentle circles into your hips.

Further into your relationship, it continued. For you birthday, he bought you the beautiful tiffany princess cut diamond necklace that you were raving about one night as you scrolled on tiktok. “Omg, Pa look at this! It's gorgeous.” you had exclaimed. You saved it to your cart for you to buy later but he beat you to it. So what did you do? You bought him a Berluti Men’s leather jacket for his own birthday that you knew he had been eyeing for months.

But soon, the game escalated. You found yourself overthinking every little thing he did. Your mind wondering what you could give him in return. And no matter how hard you tried, you always felt like you had to top his gestures, matching him with something bigger, something better.

Ony had an inkling about your behavior for a while but he left it alone. Until your two year anniversary. That night, you sat together in his apartment, you hand him a gift--a black bag with two boxes inside. He smiles at you as he opens it up. Inside were two new grillz, one silver set and one gold set for his collection. His shocked expression morphed into a small smile of appreciation. “These are fire mamas, thank you so much.” he said before sitting them to the side. You smile bright at him “You deserve it baby.” you say to him.

Before you could even think, Ony placed the bag aside, reaching for a box from the table in front of him. You raised an eyebrow. "Hold up," Ony interrupted, his voice steady but serious. "I’ve got something for you too." He hands you the blue tiffany box with a bright white bow attached to the corner. “Wait,” you said, a little too quickly. “You didn’t get me anything else, did you? Because I just—"

He hands you the box, much smaller that the one you had given him. You hesitate for a moment as he opened it, revealing a stacked rose gold diamond ring. Your heart lurched in your chest. You blinked at the gift, unsure what to say. The ring was beautiful—perfect—but your immediate thought was that you needed to do better. Your mind raced, running through possible gifts you could return with, how you could top this beautiful piece of jewelry. Your instinct to outdo him kicked in, but then you saw the look on his face. He wasn’t waiting for you to match him.

“Ony…” you started, your voice wavering slightly. “I can’t just... take this. You know I—"

“Yeah, I know,” he said softly, cutting you off, his voice low. “That’s the problem.”

You blinked, confused. “The problem?” He sighed “I’ve been watching for a while and I didn’t know if I was for sure until now.” He lets you sit the box to the side and waits until you turn back towards him. “I noticed it a while back. The way your face contorts when you see me get you something. And before I know it you’ve repaid the favor.” he explains. “I mean we are in a relationship baby. That's what we do.” You attempt to laugh it off.

He leaned forward, his gaze steady as he watched you, his dark eyes soft but intense. “You’re not getting it, are you?” he said quietly, shaking his head. “You think everything has to be a transaction. That if I give you something, you have to give me something back. But that’s not how it works with me. Not with us.” he says “Ony, I’m not…” you speak up but you’re cut off

“Even in our bedroom. It’s like I can’t even please you without you feeling as if you need to outperform me.” He says. Your chest tightens at that statement. You hadn’t realized how much this had affected your relationship. You could see it now the wear and tear it was causing him. “Like don't get me wrong baby I love when we fuck but…sometimes I just want to make love to you.” he says gently.

You looked down at the ring, your fingers nervously tracing the gold, feeling the weight of his words. Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to process them.

“I don’t want you to match me,” Ony continued, his voice gentle but firm. “I’m not giving you this because I expect something in return. I’m giving it to you because I want to. Because I love you. And I don’t need anything back. Not right now, not ever.”

You swallowed hard, his words sinking deep. A lump formed in your throat as you felt the sting of emotion build up inside you. Ony wasn’t playing the game. He was giving you something real. Something without strings attached. Yet you struggled to accept it.

“I...” You found it hard to speak, the words getting caught in your throat. “I don’t know how to accept that. I’ve always had to give something back. I’ve always had to prove...”

“You don’t need to prove anything to me,” he interrupted softly, reaching out to take your hands in his, his touch warm and grounding. “Look,” he said gently. “I don’t know who he is that made you feel like this. Or who they were that told you that this is the only way you can receive love. It’s not.” He says softly ”But you don’t understand. It not okay for you to do for me and I don’t do for you.” You attempt to explain tears burning your eyes. “You can do for me. But do for me because you love me and appreciate me. Not because you feel like you have something to prove.”

“You don’t have to keep playing that game, baby. You’re enough just as you are. I love you, and that’s not conditional. It’s not about what you give me. It’s about what we give each other. And if you can’t accept that, then we need to have a different conversation.”

Your heart ached, a flood of emotions threatening to spill over. You had spent so much of your life protecting yourself, hiding behind the walls of your own expectations, and here was Ony, asking you to tear them down. To let him love you without the conditions you had always set in place.

You took a shaky breath, feeling the warmth of his hands around yours. “I’m scared,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I know,” he replied, his voice tender, the understanding in his eyes never wavering. “But you don’t have to be anymore. You don’t have to do anything, or be anyone, to deserve my love. You’ve got me. No strings attached.”

And with those few words, you felt the walls inside you begin to crack. The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over as you let out a shaky breath, feeling the full weight of his words settle in your chest.

He caresses your head gently, kissing away your tears. You don’t move, allowing him to nurture you. Ony pulls you closer to him. Kissing down to your lips. After a few minutes, you pull back. “Your lips are salty.” you giggle. Laughter fills the air as tension leaves both your bodies. Ony picks the box up and opens it, the ring on full display. “Ony…” you start. “This is my vow to you. My vow to love you endlessly if you let me. To give you all of me and more. No questions asked. My promise that you have all of me.” he slips the ring onto your finger. “It's beautiful baby. Thank you.” you lean up and press a kiss against his lips. His kisses you gently, pulling your bottom lip into his mouth.

You whimper in his touch. “Ony.” you speak breathlessly. He hums before kissing you again. Heat rises in your body as his hands trail up your thighs. You whine, wiggling closer to him. Ony pulls back a bit from you. “Wha…” you startle. “I want you to allow me to love you and please you without conditions. Can you do that for me?” He asks. You look into his eyes burning with sincerity and a sense of newfound peace washes over you. “Yes” you answer and you feel yourself being lifted up. You smile as Ony carries you back into your bedroom and places you gently on the bed.

“Just let me worship you baby. Like you deserve.”

He speaks before gently removing your clothes. His eyes rake over your body, taking in the curves of every part of you. “Fuck, you're so fucking pretty.” he said, hands caressing every part of you. His fingertips trace your neck and down to your nipples, circling them gently. Your back lifts from the bed but he presses you back down carefully. “Relax mamas, let me take care of you.” he cooes, continuing his descent down your body. His feather light fingers move down your torso and to your thighs. He draws gentle shapes into your inner thighs, massaging your body to loosen you up. “Breathe deep for me mamas. In and out. Focus on your breathing.” he whispers before moving his head down to your pussy.

His nose grazes against your clit and your body jolts. Ony’s thick hands come back up and flatten you back against the mattress again. “Relax baby. Keep breathing for me.” You will your body to relax as he resumes his actions. Nose grazing against the meaty flesh, he begins to pepper soft kisses along your skin. Tantric breathing methods allow your body to release the tension you held in your muscles as Ony’s lips press against your already wet one. He makes out with your pussy, softly tugging your lips into his mouth and using his tongue to flick your clit ever so often.

“Fuck pa. Right there. Don’t stop.” you whine. Ony’s kisses are slow and deliberate. His pace is steady, tongue dragging from opening to clit, like a cat lapping at it's milk. “You so fucking sweet.” he growls into your pussy, warm breath blowing into your pussy. Your pussy clenches around nothing, causing more of your juice to pour out, landing right on his tongue. “Fuck.” You gasp for air. Your toes shape into ‘C’s as Ony explores your body. Mouth pleasuring you as his hands grip and knead at your flesh. Your juices drip down his chin as he slurps you down, soft moans release from his chest at the sight of your arousal. Ony’s dick hardens as he presses his hips into the mattress to relieve pressure while he honors your body. Your eyes roll back as your head presses back into the pillow, breathing doing little to keep shivers from racing through your body.

“Ony baby, please.” you whine, hips grinding against his face while his tongue fucks your center. Your pussy so wet, the sounds echoing through the room as she sings sweet music to him. Ony was in a trance, getting lost in your essence. The speed of his tongue increases causing sparks to sizzle underneath your skin, alerting your body of the pending release. Your moans get louder as your breathing gets heavy, Your hands reach down to grip the back of his head, hips stuttering against his face. “Ony, Fuck Pa, I’m gonna cum.” You’re borderline groveling as your body begins to convulse, saccharine secretions glaze his beard as you call out his name.

You struggle to catch your breath as Ony finally comes up for hair, lickign you from his lips. “You ready for me baby?” he asks, dick hardened beneath his boxers. “I-...” you breaths still trying to level themselves out, “Are you sure you don't need me to help you baby?” you manage to push out between breaths. “No mamas. Just let me praise you like the muse you are.” his deep praises caress the deepest parts of your heart, mending unspoken wounds with each word. He steps forward, pulling his dick from his boxers and gently slapping your swollen clit with his tip. “You’re my princess, yeah?” he asks softly looking down at the gold mine between your legs. “Y-yes.” you respond to him. “Remember that. Always.” he slips his tip through your entrance. “Onyyyy, fuck baby.” you body clenches, attempting to pull him in deeper. “Tell me you deserve it baby.” his eyes meet yours, brown irises burning with intensity. “I deserve iitttt…” your words drag as he sheaths himself all the way inside you.

“You deserve it all baby girl. You’re so fucking precious to me.” the sweet words contrast with the thickness of his voice as his hips jut forward, strokes deepening and increasing in speed. Only’s hands trail your body, one hand coming up to gentle press against your throat as the other locks your wrists above your head. His body leans closer, strokes shallowing as his hips grind into yours, words of praise whispered against your skin as he caters to every need that your body requests. Both bodies move in tandem as breaths deepen and arousals heighten. You feel your body teetering on the edge of another climax. Only can tell by the way your pussy grips him desperately, craving him.

“Ony, I’m..I’m c-close.” you cry out, body begging for him. “It's okay. Give it to me princess.” he commands. “Bless me with your essence baby. Release it all for me.”

You don't register the sounds being released are yours until your body starts to shake in his arms. Tears fall from the corners of your eyes slipping down your face and around your ears. Bed wet with your tears and your release as your aura explodes from inside of you. Ony’s breaths choppy as he requests, “Can I pour into you princess?” he whispers brokenly into your ear. Words don’t come so you feverishly nod your head in agreement. His growl follows his nut as you feel your pussy warm from his release coating your gummy walls. You both sit, holding each other as you come down from your high.

After a moment, Ony raises up. “All good or one more?” He asks using his thumb to swipe the tears from your eyes. “All good Pa. Thank you.” You let out. Ony rises up and goes into the bathroom. Your eyes flutter open and closed as you let yourself calm down. He returns with a warm towel and works on cleaning you up. He replaces your clothes with a warm t shirt of his and gets fresh blankets for the bed.

You sit and allow it. It feels good being on this side. Your heart feels light as you watch him move around the room getting everything comfortable for you. “Better?” He asks. “Better.” You repeat as a response. “Good. Now take your pretty ass down while I go get you something to eat.”

Ony didn’t ask for anything in return. He gave freely, unconditionally. And maybe, for the first time in your life, you realized you could do the same. He came back in the room with your food and slipped underneath the covers with you, pulling your body in his warmth. You pulled him into an embrace, wrapping your arms around him tightly, as if trying to hold onto the love he was offering you.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I love you too,” Ony murmured, holding you even tighter, as if he never wanted to let go.

In that moment, everything changed. You didn’t need to play the game anymore. You didn’t need to prove anything. You just needed to accept what was right in front of you: a love that was simple, pure, and free from the weight of expectations.

And for the first time in your life, it was enough.

[lizzybeeee]

Me watching my Inquisitor walk off with Solas at the end of the game like :) "aw cute ..hey if Mythal hadn't told you to stop would you have murdered her,," (I haven't played the other endings yet).

This!!!

(Obviously, not murdered her personally, but he absolutely had no qualms about doing the ritual once more - knowing the consequences of it.)

Let me preempt this by saying that I wanted there to be a happy/fulfilling ending to Solas and Lavellan. I'm not a blind hater! Just someone who finds it very hard to put my own Lavellan in the place of the 'Lavellan' provided to us in DATV.

The Solas/Lavellan relationship already was kind of iffy (power imbalance, constantly dragging her culture, removing her vallaslin/then dumping her, constantly lying to her, etc...) but DAI did a great job of making you feel sympathetic towards his plight - especially after Trespasser! He woke up in a world so divorced from his own that it was unrecognizable - the people he had done so much for were suffering from the consequences of his actions, justified as they may have been at the time (stopping the evanuris). His actions led to great suffering in the pursuit of preventing even greater suffering.

Even after we learned of his plans in Trespasser, it was very much: "cool motive, still murder."

I felt sympathetic towards Solas and the implication that we could change his mind, given to us in Trespasser, gave me hope that we would be able to convince him of another path. That he could find a place in Thedas as it is now and look to the future. That was why I chose the option to try and get through to Solas, despite knowing that his plan would lead to mass death/terror if it went ahead.

I always expected the Veil to fall at some point, but i was hoping there'd be some more nuance to it than: veil gone, demons everywhere, lots of people die. Well, I was very wrong lmao.

But, if anything, the game made me entirely unsympathetic towards Solas.

The moment he started his ritual he chose the old elven empire over Lavellan - over her family, friends, home, culture, and anything else she may have loved/valued.

And he did this twice.

He chose to pursue lowering the Veil - knowing that thousands would likely die. For all his insistence of 'minimizing the damage' he went in knowing that many more people would die because of his actions. There was no justification of stopping the evanuris this time either - no excuse of not knowing the potential consequences of his actions like the first time.

He chose to begin the ritual that ended up releasing the Elven Gods - knowing full well the risks it entailed.

He killed Varric - whether by accident or not, it was by his hand.

He chose to use blood magic to manipulate Rook into thinking that Varric was alive - puppeting his corpse around in Rook's eyes and putting his words into Varric's mouth.

He chose to manipulate, mold, and guilt Rook into the old 'switcheroo' in his mind palace/regret prison

He chose to 'free' the elven people by bringing down the Veil - regardless of their feelings about it (elven Rook can call him out on this!), never mind the consequences or ramifications of a bunch of people suddenly having their bodily autonomy overwritten by now being magic/having immortality.

He looked at the devastation caused the by the Gods and still went ahead with trying to bring down the veil again.

These are the thing he does in-game - not even mentioning making the dwarves/titans tranquil, creating the blight, started the chain of events that led to SOUTHERN THEDAS BEING DESTROYED, and taking my good gear from Inquisition!

Aside from the 'all lore leads to Solas' reveal just being really dull it also does nothing to help with making me sympathetic to him as a character. The audacity of this man to say: "it was like walking in a world of tranquil" when he fucking lobotomized the dwarves/titans is wild in retrospect.

If he didn't do the ritual at the beginning, if something else went wrong and that resulted in the God's being released, I could understand why a Lavellan would still want to get through to him. It would make sense - she could stop him from doing it again at the end too! You can still have him conflicted and torn between the restoring the past or pursuing the future - but this doesn't happen!

He never chose Lavellan in this game! Hell, it's Mythal who convinces him to stop?!! He owes her nothing! He's learned nothing from this!!! He's only stopped because Mythal 'pardoned/freed' him - once again showing that he values the ancient elves/mythal over her!!!

How impactful would it have been to have him choose Lavellan over Mythal! To show us this! Mythal, who 'crawled through the ages for a reckoning' (which was retconned to her being sad about the elves lmao) telling Solas to go through with the ritual and him touching grass and saying 'no'.

It's something I feel was wildly out of character for him as well - he never came across in DAI as being subservient to Mythal, if anything the ending cutscene gave me the impression they were equals?!

After everything he did in this game - after all we learn about what he did in the past - I had no interest in reasoning/appealing with his ass. None whatsoever. My inquisitor/Lavellan asking if Solas can be reasoned with only made me regret making that choice - perhaps other people's inquisitor's would say that, but mine would not, especially after everything that happened in game.

She came across as delusional: standing on the ruins of a blighted Minrathous, the south blighted to hell, dead all around them, blight tentacles everywhere, a gaping hole in the Fade right next to them:

Lavellan: "I forgive you! All you have to do is stop." Solas: "But I cannot."

Boom! There it is.

At this point it's not romantic, it's just sad! Sad that she's spent 10 years pining after a man who seemed to learn nothing at all from what happened in DAI.

------------------------

There should have been some sort of a dialogue option with Lavellan right before you go into the big fight - she can ask you what you think of Solas, if he's truly regretful for everything that happened, and then you can give her an answer that can 'change' her approach to Solas in the end - giving the player some agency as to how their Inquisitor would actually respond to this.

Ending One: Bye Bye Bye

Rook: "HE'S A GUY."

alternatively, "Look around you! Look at what Solas has done - what he's threatening to do even now after all of this! You gave him every chance to turn away from this path. So did Varric...and look at what he did!"

Lavellan is bitter/angry with Solas: "It seems we never were people to you after all."

Refers to him as 'Fen'harel' and not Solas - dig the knife in deeper, give us angst!

"Just go. You love the Fade, don't you? Enough to do all this - enough to kill Varric for your pride in a dead world that no longer exists. We were never 'real' to you, were we?"

Solas says his goodbyes, expresses his love, and Lavellan steps back.

Solas leaves voluntarily, his 'situation-ship very much over', to stew in his regrets for the rest of his life.

Ending Two: Bittersweet Goodbye

Rook: "Girl, it's been 10 years."

alternatively, "You loved him once, perhaps you still do even now - after all he's done - but love wasn't enough. Love does not excuse this."

Lavellan is firm with Solas, does not excuse his actions, but has a bitter sweet farewell: "I had hoped…it doesn't matter what I hoped. You made your choice - it wasn't me. It wasn't our friends. It wasn't this world. You can make a choice now - if I ever mattered you. If I, if our friends, were ever real to you."

They can have a final goodbye, a goodbye smooch, and then he can go off to the Fade.

Bittersweet ending - acknowledge what they had and then provide closure.

Ending Three: Happy Ending (?)

Rook: "He didn't mean it babe. He's tots sorry."

alternatively, "He seems to regret what's happened - I've seen his memories, his regrets. He believes this is the only path he has. Perhaps you can convince him to find another."

Default Lavellan ending basically

"There is no fate but the love we share" blah blah blah

As happy an ending as it can be when you have Lavellan fuck off to the Fade - leaving behind her life, friends, family, and whatever remains of the world for an eternity.

I'm being mean but I genuinely wanted a happy/fulfilling ending for them both too - despite the fact that this game seems to want that ending as well, it did little to convince me of that. :(

I genuinely liked Solas in DAI - despite his flaws, I thought his romance was compelling and I was hoping to be able to convince him to change/alter his path. I can see what they were trying to do with him in DATV but it's so hard to feel sympathy for him when we see/know the results of his actions. The story in this game is doing anything but convincing me to give him a 'happy ending'.

'Love' can't excuse what he did and neither would my Lavellan.

Also RIP Sandal's Prophecy about the Fade lmao

[f1amour]

Hiya!! Can I pretty please request a blurb that’s both angsty and a lil fluffy?

🍮 Lewis Hamilton - “I’m scared of losing you”

❝ i’m scared of losing you ❞ — lewis hamilton

pairing | lewis hamilton x reader

content warnings | angst, comfort, age gap mentioned (not specified)

★ navigation | main masterlist

─────────────────────────

“lewis is ready for this season to end” “lewis wants a fresh start and it’ll be with ferrari” “seems like hamilton just wants a a fresh start with life in general…does that include his girlfriend?”

the tweets did not stop rolling in and you couldn’t help but get lost in them. you couldn’t help but believe the words many were saying. maybe lewis was over this season, done with mercedes, and maybe he was over you too. he noticed the distance you had put up after the brazil gp. there was a two week break and you had spent it at home trying to relax but that was not possible with your constant checking in on twitter to see what people are saying about you.

you weren’t one to be on your phone so much at least when you had free time with lewis you guys tried your best to be in the moment. so when he came home from taking roscoe on a walk only to find you in the same spot you were in before he left almost two hours ago was concerning. it was concerning enough when you didn’t join them on the walk which you usually do, telling lewis you wanted to stay back and start on dinner. dinner was nowhere to be seen as you say on the barstool in the kitchen phone on in your hands with tears in your eyes.

lewis quickly lets roscoe off his leash and walks to you, “baby, what’s going?” his finger lifts your chin up to look him in the eyes but the tears in your eyes just make him frown. “please talk to me. i’m worried about you.” his soft voice fills your ears as you let him wrap his arms around you giving you a hug you didn’t know you needed until now.

your body shakes shading his as you let all your tears and frustrations out until you finally calm down his hands rub your back as you take deep breaths, “i…i’m scared, lewis. i’m scared of losing you,” you tell him what you’d been feeling for weeks now. lewis was not expecting those words to come out of your mouth. in fact, he felt that he was losing you due to this distance you’d been putting up.

his hands cup your face and gives you a smile that makes you believe your thoughts of losing him were just your imagination, “oh honey, now why would you think that? i can’t imagine my life without you. who told you something?” he asks, knowing damn well you’d never just start having these thoughts for no reason.

you look down at the countertop as you hand him your phone which had your twitter feed full of negativity, “lewis looks over this team and ready for a fresh start either ferrari he probably feels the same in his love life as well, lewis wants to focus on his 8th world championship not shopping for wedding rings for his young girlfriend who brings bad luck—,” lewis stops after the last tweet and looks over at you, your hands covering your face trying to avoid his gaze.

“look at me. plenty of people feel the opposite of these tweets. you got sucked into a thread that is all people who don’t actually support me. my fans, my true fans adore you. maybe even more than me. you’re only a few years younger than me and that isn’t an issue with me, love. i love you. you’ve brought the good luck for me. you bring faith every single race week especially this year where it’s been fucking hell most of the time. i can’t imaging my life without you, ever.” his words soothe your mind despite still feeling a bit anxious from those tweets you realize maybe listening to complete strangers rather than the love of your life wasn’t the best idea. however, lewis always validated your feelings and why you may have gotten lost in the dark side of the media where people aren’t always so accepting of your relationship.

“i’m sorry, lew. shouldn’t have listened to them i just…i don’t know how you deal with everything and still keep your head up. i’m exhausted,” you confess, you were never one to be on social media and read comments unless they were from friends or family. seeing how the last few races have been brutal for lewis you wanted to defend your boyfriend but ended up on the wrong side. “baby, you were with me for 2021. you are probably the only reason i didn’t quit and why i still haven’t. you’ve got faith in me, i hold that very dear to my heart. i’m with you till the end.” his last words make you cry some more but happy tears now as he chuckles at your smile, “there’s my girl. now, let’s take a break from the phone and cook some dinner together.”

he helps you off the stool and you grab his hand turning him back, “i love you too.” you pull him into a kiss and all lewis could think about is the engagement ring hiding under roscoe’s bed ready to make an appearance once the season is over.

[uselesseaweedbrain]

Supercorptober - 15. Scotch

A strong smell of scotch permeates the air, and the usually put together CEO is slumped over her tabletop, head falling on her shoulder from exhaustion, eyes damp, her flawless black mane falling in messy strands of jet around her face.

“Lena?!”

“Hey. What news from the front?” Lena asks in a disinterested tone that Kara has never heard her use with her.

“Nothing yet.”

Lena tips her glass once again, wetting her lips with alcohol before looking up at Kara despondently.

“You know- you’re terrible at hiding things from me.”

Guilt lodges into Kara’s throat, and her confession is so low that Lena doesn’t even pick up on it. 

“Heh”, she mutters. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Kara takes in a deep breath, her lungs tight as Lena stays silent. 

“I came to let you know that I’m not done. Not by a long shot. Until we know for sure, I will turn over every rock, and-“

Lena lifts a tired hand, her eyes welling with tears again. “Just- Just stop.”

Lena Luthor sounds miserable and defeated. Kara reels.

“You’re one of the strongest women I know, Lena! Why aren’t you fighting?”

“Because I did it! I did it.”

There’s finality in Lena’s tone, and Kara bristles.

Lena is so ready to believe in her own guilt, so ready to take the blame upon herself like a familiar blanket-

“There’s still a chance it wasn’t you.“

Lena is looking at her now, her blue-green dilated pupils fixed on Kara, and Kara can’t look away.  

“I know that you believe that everything is good, and kind, and that is one of the things that I love about you- but- that’s not the real world.”

Kara chuckles darkly - it’s funny that Lena thinks she knows her so well, when she couldn’t be further from the truth.

“You’re wrong.”

Lena scoffs.

“No- about- about me. You’re wrong. Believing in good, in kindness- it’s a fight, Lena, and if you think this comes naturally to me, you’re wrong, because-“

Lena’s gaze is still, on her, expectant, but Kara is frozen.

“Because I-“

Words burn like acid in her throat.

“Because I’m the one to blame”, she breathes out. 

Lena’s eyes widen even further. “No, Kara, I won’t let you do that. Stop. Just-”

Kara ignores the interruption, barreling on before she loses her nerve, before she goes back to being scared and silent and hiding while her friend bares her soul to her.

"When I pressed that button, and sent Mon El away- I didn't really hesitate. His life against countless others’, the decision was so clear-“

Kara pauses and fleers bitterly.

"Then Kal came, and said, full of awe and admiration" - Kara almost spits the last words out - " Kal said I was stronger than him."

A wet chuckle.

"He said if he'd been in my place, and it had been the woman he loved instead of Mon-El- he wouldn't have been able to do it."

“Kara, you- you didn't press the button. Supergirl did. I saw her."

An exhale. Then:

"Yeah."

Lena's face crumbles, and Kara buries her nails into her palm.

"That moment- that's when I realised how selfish I was. How self-important I could be, deluding myself into thinking I was a hero, while I had never had to wager what really mattered. Because, the truth is- the sole reason I could press that button was that it was only Mon-El. If it had been Alex- or if it had been-"

Kara cuts herself off.

"I wouldn't have been able to do it. And I don't think I deserve any praise for throwing Mon-El's life away, for scaling people's value in my head, or for playing God when I can barely decide my own fate."

"So, if anyone should be held accountable? It's me, Lena. And if we have to deal with the consequences of you saving everyone, again, and getting none of the credit and all of the blame- this time, we will shoulder that burden. Together.”

Tears are running freely over Lena's cheeks, and Kara reaches out hesitantly, Lena instinctively inclining her head towards Kara's extended palm.

Lena shivers when Kara's warm fingertips stroke her cheek, closes her eyes as Kara wipes her tears with her thumb and moves her hand to the mess of raven hair.

Lena's loose mane is smooth, like silk, and Kara's fingers scratch her scalp gently, rhythmically, erasing her frown and the downturn of her lips and a chunk of the guilt on her shoulders. 

Kara's other hand joins the first, massaging the crown of Lena's head, and Lena doesn't seem on the verge of breaking anymore.

Lena, who always holds all the power, Lena, who won't bow or beg even Supergirl, Lena, over-independent and self-assured, Lena, has surrendered to Kara's touch.

The veil has lifted, and Lena looks so young and so innocent and oh, has no one ever cared for her that way?

"Let me take you to bed", Kara whispers, gathering Lena in her arms gingerly, as if she's made of glass - solid and sturdy until it is hit too hard, and cracks and falls apart, all at once.

Lena's head lolls against her chest and presses against her clavicle, her loose strands tickling Kara's neck, and Kara breathes in a strange mix of scotch and Lena's perfume, hears the oh so familiar heartbeat, feels the feather-light weight of something precious in her arms, and- after all the destruction that they've wrought- is it unfair that Kara can suddenly breathe?