#i was so confused why he was in this chapter at first and the fucking ‘what i did’ FLOORED ME

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 34 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

CW: Blowjob, cum consumption, how many words can I stretch out a blowjob?, Alastor being confused about his feelings about sex

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“Kneel then,” Alastor said softly, “Between my knees.” 

“Will you teach me?” you ask, timidly looking up at Alastor from between his still clothed knees as he lifted his hips, shuffling the seat of his pants and the waistband lower, before he sent them to the ground in front of you.

“I will,” Alastor ran his hand over your hair as he took in the sight of you. It baffled his mind that he was here, loving you enough to allow this to happen, to want it to happen- though he’d loath to admit it. 

You were naked, legs folded under you as you looked up at him from between his legs. Alastor wasn’t one who found many things that stirred anything resembling sexual desire, but the sight of you was as close as it had ever come. 

He couldn’t explain what it was about the sight that did it for him. You were not the first he had seen kneel between his knees, intending to take his most sensitive part into their mouth. You were the first he wasn’t dreading it from, though. 

Oh, he was very much not dreading the feeling of your mouth stretched around his cock and that confused him. From you, he wanted it. He had nearly let you slip your core over him before you caught a grip on his sanity. 

He wouldn’t indulge in that until he solved the issue of your marriage, but this? This he could allow. Hell, he almost looked forward to it. Perhaps his Ma had been right all those years ago and all he needed was to find the right person. Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong or different about him.

Reaching out, your hands came to rest on his shins as you scooted yourself between his knees. The contact drew him out of his thoughts. His eyes met yours as you shuffled, unsure how to navigate his pants pooled around his ankles. 

“Oh,” you pulled back from him as he worked a foot out of his pants, allowing him to scoot the fabric out of your way. With a clearer path, you inched closer, slotting your body between his knees. 

Alastor looked down at you, hair ruffled and eyes wide as you looked back at him. The desire to possess you burned in his chest with such fierce heat that he couldn’t fathom how he hadn’t felt even the embers of it a month ago. He was keen on examining why that changed, why it had snuck up on him. 

Now wasn’t the time, though. Now was the time to give you what you wanted, the one thing you had asked of him. He watched as you leaned forward, fingers trembling slightly as they ghosted the inside of his thighs. 

It was clear as day you did not know what you were doing, how to move forward as you looked up at him with those big, doe-like eyes. He loved how you submitted to him. You took whatever pleasure he gave you, learning to hunger for what only he could give you. 

The fire in his abdomen burned brighter, knowing that you hadn’t done this for anyone else. This was a first he was stealing out from under your fucking husband’s nose, just like every orgasm he had given you. Oh, what would the pig of a man think if he knew how you looked up at another man? 

“Take my shaft in your hand,” Alastor urged softly. “Remember, you can stop whenever you want.” 

Big eyes blinked up at him before falling from his face down to the rest of him, standing in front of your face. Nimble fingers wrap around him, encircling his shaft in a light grip. He fought to slow his breathing as it tried to spike, excitement coursing through him. He wanted to ensure this would last so you could find out if you would enjoy this. If you didn’t, he could put the silly notion to bed and not slave to his physical urges for you. 

You stroked up his shaft slowly, taking in the sight of him from a new angle. Never had you been this close to a man’s tool before, at least not face to… member before. It was a strange moment of examination as you took in the veins running up his length and the flair of the smooth head. The sack that hung from him was wrinkled and strange but soft to the touch as you braved stroking lower. 

“You can touch there too,” Alastor said reassuringly. “It’s sensitive, too.” 

“Do you like it when it’s touched?” You whispered. 

“A fair bit,” Alastor said in a tone that made you question the truth of that statement. “Do you still want to…?”

“I do,” you whispered as you scooted closer, “I just don’t know-” 

“Why don’t we start small?” Alastor said as he wrapped his forefinger and thumb around his base and pointed the head of his cock more toward your face. “Why don’t you just try licking along the underside of the shaft or at the tip?” 

You licked your lips as your eyes flicked up from his cock to his eyes before focusing on the sight in front of you. Your heart pounded in your chest. All you wanted was to do good for Alastor, to please him. 

“If you find it distasteful, you can stop.” 

With one last nod of your head, you leaned in. Bracing yourself against his inner thighs, you closed your eyes and stuck your tongue out, preparing for the worst. The skin was soft and smoothe over hot iron. He was salty and musky as you took a deep breath into your lungs. 

Neither the taste nor the scent was unpleasant, just… strange. You had expected far worse, considering your face was nearly nestled in his crotch and your wet slick had dripped onto him. As you reached the tip and your tongue retreated, dry now, into your mouth again, Alastor purred praise. 

“How did you find that?” Alastor asked as he ran his hand over the side of your head. 

“Not bad,” you whispered as you opened your eyes again, looking up at him. “But you didn’t-”

“All in good time,” Alastor said, “We’re only dipping your toes in before you try more. Why don’t you try that a few more times, get used to the feeling and taste and then you can decide if you wish to go further.” 

“Okay.” Small fingers wrapped around his base, overtop his as you braved holding him yourself. 

Swallowing thickly, you leaned forward and ran your tongue over him, getting more and more comfortable with the salty taste of him. Each time you finished a pass, you grew bolder. Your mouth watered as you wetted your tongue and repeated the process. The heavy shafted bobbed, bumping your nose and cheek as you worked your tongue over the length of him.

Lips brushed against the soft skin of his cock as you tried to wet your tongue. The action turned into a wet, open-mouthed kiss on his shaft that earned you the sound of him taking a deep, slow breath. One turned into another and then the muscle of Alastor’s thigh jumped under your hand. 

“Good,” Alastor murmured as you came closer to the head of his cock. “There’s more of your slick on the head and some of mine. It’ll taste different as you get more of it.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, lips moving against him. You had noticed the difference in salty taste of him and the heady taste of your dried slick. 

“There’s some of my essence at the tip,” Alastor directed as he caressed the wrist of the hand holding his base. “It leaks out when I’m aroused. If you’re feeling brave-”

Alastor’s sentence ended with a gasp as you pointed his head down and placed a wide lick over his head, gathering the fluid over your tongue and swallowing it. You didn’t know if it was the right thing to do or not but the way Alastor’s sentence ended; you thought maybe it was.

Alastor watched as you placed an open-mouthed kiss on his head before you ran your tongue around the ridge of his head, exploring every part of him. With each pass of your tongue, you grew bolder and bolder the longer you worked him. 

“When you’re ready,” Alastor waited for your eyes to meet his before he continued speaking. “Remember how you circled your hand around me, running it up and down?” 

“Yes?” You showed how you remembered by doing that very thing. He was wet, covered in your saliva. It wasn’t a feeling you thought you’d like, but it felt dirty in a delightful way. 

Women should be pure. They were vessels of goodness that were only good for caring for others and producing life. They were not for being dirty. You shouldn’t have been dirty. 

“Good, yes.” Alastor breathed. “If you want to do more, put the tip in your mouth. Only if you want to.” 

You hesitated for a moment before opening your mouth and licking up the length of him. One last deep breath filled your lungs as you open your mouth wide. 

“Stick your tongue out,” Alastor said, “Just over your bottom teeth then go slow.” 

You did as he said and then set the tip of his member on your tongue. Sliding it in, you wrapped your lips around him. 

“Good, suck on it. Take more in as you’re ready. Only as much as you-” You ran your tongue around his shaft as you pull him deeper into your mouth. He was thick, and it was a strain to wrap your lips around him, but you were determined to manage. 

The way his thigh twitched and jumped under your hand made you want to try all the harder. You pushed lower, taking him deeper into your mouth as you bobbed slowly. He felt good on your tongue, or did it just feel good to know you were doing something to make him feel good? 

Alastor watched as you worked down his shaft, saliva collecting around your lips as you sank down on him. You made a sight you he never thought he would enjoy, and he was sure you had no idea how men would kill for the view he had. It was something he only was beginning to understand himself. 

Your breasts were perky, moving with you. Big eyes glanced up at him for approval that he was freely giving. Oh, how he understood it now as you worked him closer. The needy coil in him wound more and more each time you bobbed. Reaching down, he softly grabbed your shoulder and pulled you off him. 

“Did I do something wrong?” You were quick to ask, licking your slightly swollen lips. 

“Not at all,” Alastor said, “I just wanted to check that you’re enjoying yourself.” 

You flushed and stammered, not sure how to answer. You were not sure of the answer, in truth. You were not not enjoying yourself. What you felt was something different, though. You felt powerful each time you pulled a sigh or groan from him. It was those sounds you were enjoying and wanted to hear more of. 

Was this what he felt when he gave you pleasure? 

“Can you lean up on your knees?”

“Like this?” You asked as you changed position, rising over his lap slightly, holding your knees tightly together. 

“Spread your knees,” Alastor directed, absently stroking his shaft as he watched you open yourself. “Very good. Do you want to continue?” 

“Is it feeling good for you?” You felt so timid about asking. 

“It is,” Alastor said as he curled in on himself as he pulled you higher on your knees. He kissed the lips you had just had wrapped around his cock hungerly, without the slightest hesitation, stoking his length as he did so. “But I want you to be enjoying yourself. Can I help you make sure you do?” 

“I- okay.”

“All you have to do is keep doing what you were doing and do what I say, alright?” Alastor asked as he kissed you again. “Can you do that for me?” 

You nodded and sank down. A soft, open-mouthed kiss burned the head of him. Before he caught himself, Alastor’s hips twitched up, and he thrust his head between your parted lips. Control. You were taking all his control from him, but he couldn’t manage to be angry with how you looked up at him. 

“So beautiful,” Alastor said as he ran his fingers along your cheek. “The hand you have on my thigh? I want you to take it and feel your chest.” 

Your already flushed face grew hotter as you tentatively touched the swell of your breast. 

“Good girl.”You felt his hips twitch with the praise. The head of his cock hit the back of your throat softly as you tried to take him as much as you can. You stroked what you couldn’t fit in your mouth while you watched every shift and twitch of his face and torso. 

Your breast was soft under your touch. Shame and something else burned in you as you mimicked how Alastor had touched you. You gasped in through your nose when you pinched at your nipple lightly. Never had you touched yourself as he would touch you. 

“Good,” Alastor breathed, “Run your hand down now, take your hand all the way down between your legs. Touch yourself where I touch you.” 

It felt good. You were slick and wet, dripping as you had been while you were on his lap. Alastor kept watching you as he directed you through running your fingers through your folds. 

Never had you felt yourself in such a way before, but each stroke of your fingers left sparks of pleasure through you. They were the same sweet sparks of pleasure that you felt when he would touch you.

“Very good,” Alastor’s voice was thick as he spoke. “Put a finger inside, like I would.” You moaned around his length as a finger sank down into your core. 

“Feel how you clench?” Alastor said as his hips twitched up, cock hitting the back of your throat again, this time harder. You coughed and gagged, swallowing around him. “How you squeeze around your fingers?” 

You moaned around his cock as he kept talking, instructing you through working the coil in you tighter and tighter. Each moan was met with praise and oh, how good you were doing for him. His voice washed away any shame you had, the way he gasped as you worked yourself as far down his shaft as you could and the way his body twitched and stuttered. 

Alastor couldn’t take his eyes off you. He didn’t want to miss a second of the show you were putting on for him. Did you know how good you were doing for him? He tried to tell you, but a moan stole the words from him. 

“I want you to come for me,” Alastor said, “Take yourself over that edge. I know you’re close. I can see it in your face.” 

You moaned deeply around his cock; the vibrations running through him as his balls pulled tighter. He was close now. Oh, how he didn’t want this moment to end. 

You choked as you leaned forward, the power of your orgasm washing over you and upsetting your balance, pushing his cock deeper into your throat before you caught yourself. 

“Ah!” Alastor cried out as he struggled to wind his fingers into your hair, pushing against your head as his hips bucked. He had intended to pull you back, but the situation had crept up on him. “I’m going to-” 

You gasped for breath as his cock fell from your lips, white hot cream shooting up from it as you did so. He bucked his hips, biting his lips and groaning as his cock thrust into the air, pumping his white seed out in pulses. 

Tired and spent, your head rested on his spasming thigh. Your hands never stopped, one working lazily through your sensitive folds as you felt the muscles under twitch with the aftershocks. 

Your other hand continued up and down his shaft, quickly covered by his as he guided you in a much tighter grip. The pace was faster as he exploded into the air, spilling sputtering cords of cream down his shafted and across his abdomen. 

Never had you seen what happened when a man finished and deposited his seed. You knew the general idea;, it came from their member and it was creamy but the force of it shocked you. It was a full body event.

“Are you pleased?” Alastor asked as he slowed his hand over yours, squeezing out a few last drops from his tip. “Now that you’ve gotten to see me like this?” 

He was flushed, breathing hard. Sweat dotted his brow as his seed glistened in the light. It was a beautiful sight. Vulnerable. Relaxed. Spent. 

“I am,” you whispered as your hand stilled, slipping from your folds.

You took your hand from his softening member and looked at the seed that covered it. He had tasted every part of you. 

“I’ll get you a wet towel to clean that up with,” Alastor said, not moving yet to get up. 

He watched instead, as you took your hand closer to your face. Your tongue darted out from between your lips. The salty taste of his essence filled your tongue along with something you couldn’t explain. It wasn’t pleasant, nor was it unpleasant. It was a taste you would learn to love if it pleased Alastor. 

“You don’t have to,” he said. 

You had grown tired of Alastor telling you what you didn’t have to do. Alastor never forced you to do anything, you knew that. Everything with him was your choice, though you saw how he would encourage you to step just a little further when you were too scared to take another step. 

For him, you would do anything because he never made you do anything.

He had eagerly devoured everything your body had to give him and yet every time he spoke, he was almost telling you to not do the same to him. Not even because he didn’t want it, but by his words, because he didn’t want you to feel forced. 

Don’t force yourself. Don’t force yourself. Being forced, having to do something wasn’t something you wanted to think about when you were with Alastor and yet he kept saying it. He would never, you knew that. 

It was time you put that idea to bed. 

Raising up on your knees, you grabbed his cock, currently somewhere between flaccid and hard, and ran your tongue over the slick seed that had run down his skin. Not breaking eye contact with him, you greedily licked up everything he had spilled over his head and shaft before cleaning what had run down his balls.

Alastor watched, smile twisted and mouth agape as you worked. Each pass of your tongue had him growing harder. Your nose tickled the skin at the base of his cock as you cleaned his balls. Every time your stomach turned, or you thought about the way you were behaving, like a dirty, loose woman, you reminded yourself of how he eagerly worked his mouth over you with no hesitation. 

You worked your way up his abdomen, cleaning him of his seed as your eyes fluttered closed, unable to focus on your task while looking into his intense eyes. The scattering of hairs on his stomach, the path that lead to his member. 

He watched you as you kissed and licked up his seed as you held his hardening cock to the side. The way you took in all he had spilled mesmerized Alastor, though you didn’t need to, and he hadn’t asked for it. It hadn’t been something he particularly found attractive, but with you, with the way you hummed at the taste of him on your tongue, he struggled to breathe and calm his body. 

Alastor fought the jerk of his hips and failed as you leaned up, running your tongue around his naval. You hadn’t intended to, but your hand had run up his shafted and you had brushed against his sensitive head. 

“Ah, wait.” Alastor panted, pulling you up, ensuring your hands were far from his cock and tucking you into his side. “It’s- I’m too sensitive.” 

That wasn’t exactly it but Alastor knew it was close enough to the truth for you. What he really needed was time to figure out what was going on in his head and why he was enjoying your touch so much right now. He needed a minute to get his head on straight. 

Alastor needed to prove to himself that whatever change you had triggered within him, he could still control his body, regardless of the way you looked at him with those big eyes. He would not have his control undone by the woman who already had to gall to steal his heart out from under his nose.

He could feel your body tremble while you were standing. Your legs struggled to support your weight, but you did little more than smile at him until he pulled you down to join him on the couch. 

With a hand under your chin to direct you, Alastor turned and kissed you deeply. His tongue brushed against your lower lip, asking for entry into a place you seemed determined to keep him from. Sharp teeth nipped at your lips, bringing a gasp out from between your lips. As they parted, Alastor wasted no time tasting his seed on your lips, on your tongue. 

It felt dirty, to be kissed by him so deeply after what you had done. It stole the air from your lungs and had your head spinning. When had your arms wound around his shoulders? The hot skin of his body pressed into your chilled chest as he held you tightly to him. Who had been groaning, moaning into the kiss? Was it you? Was it him? Neither of you could be sure. 

“Ma cherie,” Alastor whispers as he pulls away, breathing hard. “We need to clean up and sleep. We’ve got a long day of travel tomorrow.” 

“I don’t want to sleep,” you whisper, tears threatening to gather in your eyes. The last thing you wanted to do was cry again, not on your last night with him. “I don’t want it to be over. I’m not ready for this to be over.” 

“This,” Alastor squeezed your hand as he ran his other hand over your thigh. “This will never be over.”

“But it will,” you whimpered, catching the sound in your throat before it gave way to a sob. “I’ll have to go back to him and-” 

“And we’ll still have this.” Alastor reached up, cradling the back of your neck in his hand. “We’ll have to be careful until we can find a way to get you out of your marriage, but I will love you after tonight. I will love you after tomorrow. I will love you after a month, a year. I will love you for a lifetime and then some.” 

“Alastor,” you sighed, melting into his touch. He said such sweet words, but could you believe them? “You deserve more.”

“I will get you away from him,” Alastor promised, “and then I’ll have what I deserve, what belongs to me already.” 

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[sugary-daydreams3]

Grief trapped in blue sunglass lens [Gojo's funeral fanfiction]

Summary: Now that the students and Jujutsu associates healed their physical wounds, they have no choice but to face the elephant in the room. Satoru Gojo is gone and everyone deals with the void in their own way before the funeral begins.

Word count: 6.4k

Series: Lost chapters I wish Gege wrote about

A/N: Made this because me and many other people didn't get to see a Gojo funeral nor the character's feelings on him being gone. This is one of my biggest gripes with the ending of JJK. I had no problems with Gojo dying but I feel that how he was handled physically post Yujo fight left much to be desired.

So I decided to write about (mostly) everyone's coping with Gojo's death and a funeral service for him. Forgive me if the funeral may seem culturally inaccurate. Hopefully, no characters come across as too OOC, but some of these characters are hard to get right when they don't have much room to shine their personality in canon.

Glossy nails trail the white engraved letters and numbers above the matte black. She forgot to give back his credit card.  The last time she used it was Hallo-- 

Hall-- 

October 31st. 

October 31st. 

October. 

That fucking month with that fucking day. Like an alarm that keeps ringing and a clock that won’t move forward fused together. 

The month of horror, trick or treating, and bloody exploding eyeballs. The month were kids face real horror, not those stupid dumb skeletons, werewolves, and vampires. The kind of horror that will make someone either sample death or have it as their final meal. 

31st should have ended with her rocking the clothes she picked up eight hours before that fight. Gojo should have been eating endless candy and telling them “Job well done!” in that stupid annoying comforting voice of his. Not boxed away and expecting his students to come out on top in the chilly wild. 

She didn’t even see him die. She didn’t get to say her final words to him that just would have amounted to... 

“If you die your card is mine forever. So die, okay?” 

She couldn’t even say her fucked up, dark, cruel joke that was a mask of “Please don’t fucking die”. 

Why couldn’t I move? 

Why wasn’t I awake? 

Why wasn’t I present? 

Who wants to hear recollections of what happened between October 31st and December 24th? She wanted to help out with the Culling Games. She wanted to see the great battle of Sukuna vs. Gojo. She wanted to finally meet this Yuta kid and see everyone’s reaction to him coming back. She wanted to save Megumi when Yuji couldn’t. Picking up the pieces of Yuji’s mistakes. Being that deciding factor that could have prevented so much bullshit. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Why wasn’t I here? 

Her only eye stings, blinking two tears to fall on the muted black card. The heartache trails down to the 2754 of the four-part row of digits. Nobara quivers her lips as she tries to swallow down pills of regrets, exclusion, and despondency. 

Residing dust forces a couple of coughs out of Inumaki. He waves off the floating particles and goes for the next book off Gojo sensei’s shelve. He grabs the spine of the book and slowly pulls it out.  

He gave up being curious on the subject matter of these books once he cleared the first row. Just of bunch of thick, mind-numbing pieces on Jujutsu, Cursed Energy, or Autobiographies on retired sorcerers.  

Turning from the back cover, in red bold letters his purple eyes reads: Learning Sign Language for your students. Written by... sounds like a random Japanese woman with some fancy doctor degree. 

Narrow eyes widen as confusing experiences lingering in his memory begin to click and warp into sense.  

On the third day of his first year, he remembers cringing at Gojo’s attempt to speak random rice ball ingredients to him. That was his “way” of trying to connect with him. Offended, Inumaki wrote him off and ignored any potential conversation to have with him at that point. 

Around early June, he walked up to see Gojo silently greeting him with fluid movements of his hands and fingers. As fluent as someone who been signing JSL for several years. Was that the reason he stopped trying to conversate with him three weeks prior? 

Taken back, Inumaki slowly signed back, leading to having their first full conversation ever. It ended with Gojo patting him on the shoulder and Inumaki turning to watch his goofy sensei walk off in a cheerful mood.  

Inumaki caresses the book and notices the personal sticky notes poking out of many pages. He looks behind him to see Panda pre-occupied. Inumaki sets the book in his bag, setting it aside to read through later. He shakes his head and stares at the half empty shelve for a long moment before continuing his duty.  

Panda was busy distracting himself with Satoru’s doodads instead of effectively cleaning out his office. Throw in the fact that it was a journey to simply carry things that would have taken him a few seconds to put away had he been in his original big body. But the funeral starts in a few hours so he has to stop monkeying around soon.  

Panda frowned. There was barely any time to “monkey around” ever since Satoru died. It seems like when he died, he took the fun and security with him. Did most of his friends grow to be so powerful from the battle on Shinjuku? Sure, they’re practically monsters at this point.  

But for a long time, Satoru’s level of strength gave them breathing room to take off the sorcerer mask sometimes. Now that he’s gone, there was no room to be a kid anymore. His friends are teenagers cursed with adult responsibilities; the rest of their adolescence stripped away like a bloody band aid.  

He’s a panda so he doesn’t really understand that feeling. However, he sees it with the forced smiles he’s greeted one second with frowns pulling them down moments after. Desensitized responses they all show in public contrasted with the quiet weeping he hears going on late night campus walks. It will always give him emotional whiplash. 

Life after Satoru was a canvas board of still grey with overwhelming dark blue surrounding it.  

Panda opens a brown box to see a bunch of stuffing peeking out. Dropping down, he turns the box around to see in black marker: Spare stuffing for Panda. 

Panda releases a deep sigh. He feels his stitches ache all over. 

Loose blue strains spills over the wholesome photo of her and Gojo that day. A day where her biggest concern was not looking stupid in front of the cute, strong, funny teacher at the Tokyo campus of Jujutsu High. A day where her classmates bickered with coal still in their eyes. A day when Mai was cranky and alive. When Mechamaru... 

Miwa shuts her eyes as her tears soaks her eyelashes. Blurry eyes open to take in the photo that seem like centuries ago, when it was only since September. Gojo’s peace sign and shared chipper smiles fill the holes in Miwa’s heart for a moment. Her thumbs zoom in on Gojo and lingers over his tall figure dominating most of the selfie. 

A small smile forms behind the isolated blues. “Gojo...” 

Kusakabe groans, rubbing the back of his head whenever his mind wanders to that blue eyed trouble maker. There were days he enjoyed the consistent stillness without that loudmouth breaking it. Then there were others where the silence was drowning; his cheery, obnoxious voice completely void to lift up everyone’s spirits when needed. Today was one of those days. 

Twirling his toothpick, he remembers the countless times Gojo annoyed the hell out of him with his comments and pranks. There wasn't a day where he wouldn’t drag one of the Jujutsu faculty and staff in his shenanigans. So bad that one-time Gojo went too far and it ended with Kusakabe wishing he was dead. 

Be careful what you wish for, I guess. 

Kusakabe looks up at the passing clouds trailing through the blue. For such a day for Jujutsu High, the sky didn’t reflect the collective feeling. The man bats his eyes as the ambient nature lures him into a still mind. 

“Kusakabe!? Are we serious right now!?” One of the higher ups barked. 

Gojo shakes his head, “Is there ever a day you guys don’t bitch about--” 

“I agree that sending me would be a horrible idea.” Kusakabe interrupted. Gojo turns to see Kusakabe wearing a “Yes sir. No sir.” attitude. He knew he was lying.  

Kusakabe has been looking forward to a sorcerer mission like this ever since he met him. A mission where all you do is investigate and gather information, no risking your life, no fighting at all really. More like a trip out on Japan’s quiet grassy countryside with a side quest of being an undercover sorcerer representing Jujutsu High.  

Gojo steps forward. “Kusakabe is our best grade 1 sorcerer. He’s no fighter and a nice guy for the most part. He would be better to talk to lame country folk than I am...” 

The elders remain silent. Kusakabe can feel the tension rising. “Gojo, you don’t have to--” 

“I got too much other shit going on to do some boring mission in the countryside. If you send me instead of him then you guys are more senile than I thought.” 

“Gojo!” Kusakabe quickly turned to the many shoji screens hiding the higher up’s bodies. The fact that he had no idea how they were reacting put his worry in overdrive. 

One of the elders sighs, “We don’t feel like arguing with you on this. If you truly think Kusakabe of all people would fit this mission then so be it. But if he fails this, he will suffer the consequences. His mistakes are not on us.” 

“When is it ever on you?” Gojo bounced back. 

“Dismissed.” The other elder said. 

Once they left the room, Gojo wraps his arms around Kusakabe shoulders and bellowed out his carefree laugh. “Don’t forget to bring me back some gifts. You owe me afterall.” 

Kusakabe lowers his head away from the blue and moving white to face the cracked, washed solid grey.  

His heart didn’t ache for Gojo. Tears didn’t trail down for him either. But the crumbs of memories made him appreciate the little explosive highlights he gave his boring, uneventful life. Like those popping candies that felt like fireworks in your mouth.  

Yeah, Gojo was those popping rock candies. 

Hakari holds the stack of yen as the various fights go on the multiple T.V. screens. Licking his thumb, he counts through the overwhelming amounts of money from his lucky bets. Although he’s been hanging around Jujutsu High more as of recent, lately everything has been about Gojo, his death and preparing for his funeral. All of the mope and serious mumbo jumbo was getting to Hakari, so he retreated to his fight club. 

“When does it start?” Kirara asked, her pink french tips gently caressing his ashy blonde thick hair.  

Hakari shrugs, “Donno. Seems like everyone is too depressed to talk n’ shit.” 

Banding up the yen, Hakari montages the times Gojo left him feeling the fever he often seeks out of many.  

Training him so hard he puked the rest of that day. Pushing him to go after Kirara and teasing him about his crush. Giving him shitty relationship advice. That one time they did that silly pose where they flashed their teeth then flexed their muscles for the camera. Cheating Gojo out of thousands of yen over a wrong move during Blackjack. 

Hakari traces the numbers of the yen, smirking over the fun times that crazy man with the blindfold gave him. 

Two streaks of damp wet are noticed when the wind sway past Ijichi’s jawline. Another dam of woe threatens to burst until he quickly wipes his sore undereye. He doesn’t even know why he’s getting so emotional over someone who and still-- 

Not sill. Damnit brain, get with the program. 

Someone who used to bully him relentlessly ever since they were kids up until just a few weeks ago. To him, Gojo was nothing but... 

Why are you still here? Need me to punch you to get the message? 

You failed you’re driving test again? You can’t even do that? Go join a local circus at this point. 

Shoko is out of your league, man. You don’t even have the balls to talk to her. How can you expect her to like you. 

Ijichi, don’t piss me off.  

A guy like that doesn’t deserve his tears. Nope, not at all... 

The only person I trust to catch me if I fall is me and, um, Ijichi I think. 

Wanna go out for some hot cocoa? It’s freezing today. 

Well, well, well. You finally took Shoko out for dinner, huh? I guess the world is ending soon. So, how did it go? 

Look, Ijichi may be a wet doormat but he’ll get things done for us and the students. C’mon guys, give him more credit than that. 

Ijichi huffs a stuttered breath. Nope. Nope. No. No. No-- 

You’re the man I trust the most. That’s the only reason I need. 

Ijichi breaks down. A new coat of tears staining his dry skin. His wrung heart soaked again with a grief too complex to explain. 

Cigarette smoke brush past Shoko’s dry, dull brown hair. No tears had nor will shed for her childhood friend. She wasn’t a crier, even when she was little. When her father died a long time ago, not one tear dropped.  

Instead, there was heavy rocks that magically weighed in her chest. A weight too heavy for her slim body to carry. A weight she dismisses publicly but can’t ignore in private. So, in true Shoko fashion, she grabs a pack of ciggies and breaks her 11th vow to never smoke again. Looking out on the campus field, her eyes strain with stress and lack of sleep. Her heavy heart was to blame this time. 

“Can’t believe I’m being peer pressured right now.” Gojo says in a jokingly nervous tone. 

Shoko lifts up the cigarette, unlit and waiting. “I’m tired of being “The Smoker Chick” of our school. It’s always so lonely smoking by myself.” 

“Regardless if I smoke this or not, you’ll always be “The Smoker Chick”.” 

“Gojo please.”  

Gojo sighs and contemplates the nicotine stick itching to ruin someone’s lungs. He was far from being a goody too shoes but smoking wasn’t his thing. 

“You’ll look so cool doing it. It’ll just be between us.” Shoko persisted. 

Gojo rolled his eyes and snatched the cig from her. He placed it between his perfect, straight whites and waited a moment before turning to Shoko. Shoko stood in disbelief until Gojo snapped his fingers in front of her. 

“Well hurry up and light it!” Shoko quickly digs in her pocket and lights the white end. It takes a few seconds for the cigarette to burn before smoke waves out of the tip. Gojo inhales then blows out a line of smoke effortlessly. Shoko gasps, “How did you not cough?” 

“Duh! Look who you’re talking to.” 

“Oh...yeah. Right.”  

The juxtaposition of Gojo’s divine-like aura and angelic appearance partaking in the trashy, commoner act of smoking was a sight to behold. Almost like he gave a middle finger to his reputation as the strongest sorcerer and decided to be a normal dude for once. Shoko remembers judging Gojo’s bougie attitude during freshman year. She saw his snobbish nature a mile away before he even introduced himself to the class. One thing about Gojo though, he never failed to surprise her with his willingness to bring himself down from heaven. 

Shoko is dazed by Gojo puffing out a few quick smokes before she is presented a hit. 

“This shit tastes awful. How do you smoke these every thirty minutes?” Gojo barfed his tongue out. 

Shoko giggles and breathes in the loud smoke that always hugs her brain. “Helps me stay numb to the bad stuff in the world.” 

Although that was Gojo’s first and last time ever smoking, their budding friendship springs tenfold. 

Shoko was back at that same spot they wasted their youth a decade and so ago. Only there was no arrogant, annoying but funny classmate to secretly cast her judgement on anymore. What only remains is a cigarette and a woman who had an uneventful life outside of being a sidekick to Gojo’s adventures. 

She takes another hit, her tongue recoils at the cigarette taste. Now she gets what he meant back then. 

The drizzling rain show no signs of giving nature a break from the drab, cold atmosphere. Megumi lays against his cushioned but firm mattress, his brain refusing to move his body. Tears quietly drip down to damp the grey sheets, adding to the collection of wet dots on his bed. The air condition overpowered the pitter-patter behind the window. The dull sound clearing his head to reflect his whirlwind called life these past couple months. 

Countless memories punched his mind. There was so many foggy, forgettable memories of Gojo growing up. His attempt to give them meaning and higher resolution gave him a slight headache. 

First his sister then-- 

Gojo.  

He saw it while being a few feet away; Gojo’s blood forming small puddles, leaving his body with his life tagging along. The tired whisper of “My bad, Megumi.” a few moments before his eyes went still. He couldn’t even respond due to that curse going on about some dumb speech after almost getting both of them killed. 

Sukuna.  

Heat overwhelmed his body as soon as the name rung. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Red and blue hatred evolves into purple flames the longer it sits, burns, and melds. Never has he felt so much rage off a name alone. 

Blood on his hands without the purpose and maliciousness to back it up. Sukuna was gone but the damage will never fade away. It’s here to overstay it’s welcome and haunt him forever.  

“Good riddance.” Maki lets the intrusive thoughts travel to whispers.  

Alone in the tidy bathroom, she struggles to create grief over someone that just annoyed her most of the time. The only one she believes deserved her grief was her sister, Mai. 

Don’t get her wrong, she respected the hell out of Gojo’s strength. But the only solid memories she has of him is sending her favorite junky snacks whenever it was her time of the month and excused her from class that week.  

Other than that, he was like a gnat that wouldn’t get out of your face. Loud for no reason. Failed to read the room. Teased her about Yuta, even during the time he went to Africa. Pestering her about dumb school shit. Yeah, that’s the Gojo she knows. Not this revisionist history almost everyone on campus is crafting for him now that the bastard is gone gone.  

Yuta and Gojo had a closer relationship than others students, which unfortunately, makes him stricken with the depressing “Gojo is gone” epidemic too. But compared to him and the Jujutsu High students and staff, he actually has good reason to grieve.  

It’s just too overwhelming to deal with for more than an hour. She had to get a breather from seeing someone she cares about so defeated emotionally. She seen Yuta cry before but not to this extent, not this long either. 

Another round of sobs scolds her indifference to Gojo as they breakthrough the thick bathroom door. Maki looks down and moves her toes against the maroon bathroom rug to build back her patience and tolerance. Letting out a short breath, she pushes herself off the sink and keeps her stoic disposition.  

A blank, emotionally collected expression that means well beneath the surface.  

Yuta cries drag out as he lays on the floor. Maki shifts when she places a palm against his back, not sure how to handle his anguish and piercing sobs. 

Thankfully, Yuta’s dorm was positioned to be isolated at the end of the hall. The other male student's dorms are spaced out from each other so he didn’t have any direct neighbors. But still, his mourning was loud enough to hear muffles across his front door. 

“Yuta.” Maki said.  

She didn’t know what to say exactly. She, like many other Zenins, weren’t the best when it came to nurturing. Even though she feels nothing about Gojo dying, she feels everything seeing her best friend so ...devastated. 

Yuta looks up at her for a long moment, tears trailing by the second, lips quivering, throat tight with words he can no longer say to his sensei. He hugs her waist and cries into her chest.  

“I used him, Maki. He’s gone and the first thing I did was use him. It should have been--” 

“Stop. Don’t finish that. It shouldn’t have been anyone else instead. He did what he had to do for us to win.” Maki comforted. Yuta shakes his head, unable to accept logical reasoning. 

“I-I-I...” He sucks in his breath after every attempt to speak. "I didn’t even get to say--”  

Yuta hurls, his mouth seconds away from bursting open. Maki quickly goes for the bucket and puts it under his head. He pukes for the third time today, projecting out yesterday's lunch and dinner that he ate too little of. Maki sighs and pats his back to get him to vomit it all out. Ever since he returned back to his original body, Yuta has been puking whenever he thinks about the most fucked-up stunt he ever pulled. 

Once Yuta was done, he sobs tamed down to a string of lingering cries. He didn’t bother to change his shirt or wipe the corners of his mouth. Maki grabbed a tissue and cleaned up the small bits of vomit around his mouth. She heads back into the bathroom to clean out the half-filled blue bucket yet again. 

Looking up, he sees a framed picture of him and Gojo during his time in Africa. Gojo had him in a headlock whilst making him laugh about something he hates that he can’t remember. Yuta heart swells, the picture clearly being taken off guard by Miguel. Another wave of sorrow drowns him the longer he stares at Gojo in his white dress shirt, sunglasses, alive and well... 

Yuta face scrunches, a fresh sting of tears falling down. He lays down on the cold floor, allowing the grief to lure him to sleep. 

Yuji rubs over his face, a stubborn migraine pinching his thoughts. Snot leaking to tease the tip of his tongue. Eyes in desperate need of a bottle of eyedrops to make up for the tiny streams it released the past few hours. His mind was active but his body was lazy, lying on his bed through the whole morning. But he had to get this eulogy done, if nothing else. 

“He was unserious when things were tense. He trolled...whether you were a man, woman, or child. He’d... He’d... He-- dammit!” 

He turns on his stomach and picks up the paper again. He reads over the line again, then two more times to write it on his memory. 

“Hell, he’d even walk in your dorm to check on you only to leave with your house slippers moments later.”  

Again. 

“Hell, he’d even walk in your dorm to check on you only to leave with your house slippers moments later.” Yuji groans. 

“Don’t say hell, that might not fly well.” He scolded himself. 

Yuji sets the paper on his nightstand so his brain can have a break. He read over his eulogy so many times that his mind is starting to slip with the constructed presentation he went over since last night. It doesn’t help that throughout this practicing, he’s been crying whenever he gets lost in thought about Gojo-sensei. Maybe he needs to cool down a bit. 

On the edge of his window sits one of Gojo’s many blindfolds. Yuji reaches over with minimal effort and caress the fabric. Black cotton comforts his fingertips while Yuji gives this simple thing a soft gaze. The very first thing he noticed about that strange looking man on that life changing night. 

Scenes of warm and fun premiere from his memory bank, each starring Gojo sensei. Smiles to laughter with jokes, ease, and good food in between. 

Sensei steals a fry from Nobara’s-- 

Sliced open. Blood dripping down white baggy pants and black combat slippers. Torso on the ground. Harsh ice blue still yet soft. Live and unskippable. Live with no rewinds. Sukuna’s joy celebrated in the wrong body. No more rough ruffles on the head. No more boring lessons elevated by high-energy humor and multiple tangents of his glory days. 

Yuji winces and attempts to rub out the migraine and horrible memories intruding the good. There is a knock on the door. “You’re not naked are you?” Nobara voice is heard from behind the door. 

Yuji shakes his head as if Nobara could see. “No.”  

Nobara walks in, remnants of rain dripping from her raincoat. She had a blank face, her usual energy turned down a few notches. “Hey.” 

Yuji barely lifts up a wave, still smoothing out his nerves. “Hi.”  

“So everyone is either busy or depressed so you’re my last hope around here.” Nobara confessed. Yuji lifted up the eulogy, “Can’t. Too busy.” 

Nobara sucks her teeth then observes Yuji’s face. “You look like you’re more in the too depressed camp than the too busy one.” 

“Yeah, that too.” 

Nobara walks over and grabs the eulogy. Yuji lays back down, “Since you’re here, I need to clarify one last thing for my speech. Did sensei buy you those tampon things or those purple diapers?” 

Nobara stops reading and shoots him a look. “Why are you broadcasting my period for the whole Jujutsu High to hear?” 

“It’s supposed to be one of the many things Gojo did for us as students. I couldn’t think of anything else, cut me some slack.” 

Nobara sighs, “He used to get me pain meds and a bunch of tampons whenever my cramps would go into overdrive. And it’s called pads, not purple diapers.” 

Yuji nodded and formed a curve of a smile. “Thanks, Kugisaki.” 

“I could go and hang out with some girls I know from other schools but it looks like the rain is getting worse. What time is the funeral anyway?” 

“It’s in four hours, around two I think.” 

Nobara nodded, “Guess I’ll just go back to my dorm and sulk like everyone else. See you later.” She gets off to leave. “Oh, save me a seat too.” 

Yuji nodded with a frown, not having enough optimism left to give fake smiles. “Sure, see you.” 

Alone again, Yuji picks up the worn white sheet with creases and wrinkles. Headache tamed, he decides to recite again. You can never be too polished. 

“Gojo-sensei was a...” 

Todo sheds single strings of tears while many games of ping pong against Gojo replays in his mind. Besides Mei Mei, Gojo was his common partner in his favorite sport. Now that he’s gone, he had no one to slam “cheating” allegations to in an intense game during the humid, long summer afternoons. 

Ui Ui sniffles as he looks down, avoiding the blunt reality of the casket up ahead. He wasn’t the biggest acquaintance of Gojo but a few moments of the past built a friendly nature between them. His briberies of fried bananas to get direct access to Mei Mei. Being a one-man audience (he slept through his blindfold) for spoken word poetry he wrote about his sister when no one else bothered to hear. Gojo never failed to match his childish energy when other adults or big kids were “too busy” to entertain him. The boy’s quiet sniffles prompted a head rub from his older sibling. 

The pointy ends of Mei Mei’s red nails pierce through her left palm. Her right palm comforts the juvenile emotions of her baby brother. Her face remains calm but blue fire bursts in her heart.  

1.5 Million yen. All that rich fuck had to do is pay me 1.5 million yen back and what does he do? Fuck around and die. Hmph! He probably died to cheap his way out of his debt. Damn you Satoru Gojo. Damn him. 

Ino stood with his ski-mask firm against his chest, looking forward with respect. Gojo was more like an older brother than a co-worker. Despite the pain he feels, he refuses to look away from the body. 

Momo stands next to Miwa, people watching the many guests standing in line to pay their personal respects to the body. As soon as she came, she made sure to grab the nearest seat and keep her head down. Dead bodies always freaked her out. People always assumed she be fine with that kind of stuff since she gives “witchy” vibes but no way. It was the way the body just sat there, all sense of spark or fire vanished. Also, that silly fear that a dead body will raise and walk towards her. God, she hopes they close the casket soon.  

Kirara hugs on to Hakari’s arm as she quietly weeps to herself. Hakari wasn’t the “comforting” type but all she needs from him was his arm and shoulder for support. During the time it was her vs. the conservative Jujutsu World when she decided to transition, Gojo was one of the few who had her back. She has his support from the moment she began dressing feminine all the way to the moment she began going by Kirara. It wasn’t a problem for Gojo to call her by her true name right away since he thought her dead name was forgettable as hell. 

Sure, Gojo wasn’t perfect and had his moments where his views were a bit dated, but he was willing to own up to his mistakes and learn for the better. She’ll never forget the stereotypical girly shit he would buy her because he didn’t know her personal taste that well, not that she even knew at the time either. Corny gifts and unconditional support are why her mascara and eyeliner were messy all around her under eye.  

Most attendees dressed in purple while others sulked in black. Ages from teen to end of the road mingled together within a pot of grief, visible respect, and reservation. Some felt internal relief that the bastard was gone. Some cried harder than they would if their actual father died.  

Gojo lied still in a polished classic black casket, wearing a blank emotion that he would hate everyone to see. His cut, pieced back by Shoko, was barely noticeable. If you weren’t given the details of his death, you’d probably would question how he died. The line to view his body was beginning to reach its end, preparing everyone to mentally checkout for an hour and a half. 

A collected Megumi stared at Gojo in a distracted haze. It was stupid, but he felt like Gojo was playing some sick prank and he’s going to pop out and yell some stupid shit any second now. The longer he stares at the body’s lack of movement, the confirmation rings hollow in his mind. Thankfully Nobara and Yuji kept to themselves, because he’s not in the mood to make idle small talk to take their mind off the obvious.  

Yuta’s sorrow could be heard faintly throughout the large quiet space but not loud enough to distract from the ceremony. His tears took all of the moisture from his face, leaving him paler than usual. Messy black hair clashed with his neat tux that took forever to fit him in. It was a miracle for Maki to get him in that, let alone bring him here. 

 It was a tough sight to see as Yuta was now regarded as the strongest sorcerer of the upcoming generation. Yuta usually had a friendly, shy demeanor around his peers while being focused and stoic during battle. It was rare to see such a rock morph into glass, his pieces laid for the whole institution to see.  

Yuta could care less, the repercussions of his public image being in an awkward, pitiful state wasn’t even a thought in the thick of his pain. He could repair that with time and his rapid growing reputation. This is the last time he’ll ever see Gojo-sensei and his heart can’t take it. 

Throughout most of the service, Yuji idly stares at Gojo-sensei’s memorial card. A portrait of him wearing a bright, goofy smile placed above the December 7th, 1989 - December 25th, 2018 felt like visual whiplash. Yet, he kept staring at it until a microphoned call of his name lifts his head up. 

“Itadori-kun, are you still going to read your eulogy for us today?” Ijichi directs, slightly confused of Yuji’s zoned out state. 

“Oh, yeah, for sure. Just...” Yuji grabs the piece of paper from Nobara’s lap and scoots through the aisle. He walks up to the podium, feeling stares and invisible opinions hover over his back. He gently grabs the mic from Ijichi and sets his eulogy across his face.  

Looking up, the stares feel more intense as the rows and rows of straight-faces set social anxiety in his stomach. It was weird, he usually had no problem speaking publicly to an audience, he was a social butterfly after all. Funerals love throwing everyone’s vibe off, even a generally confident one like his, he assumes. 

“Um, hi guys—hi everyone.” 

He quickly goes over the first line to trigger his trained memory to make the speech sound fluent and genuine. He prays to whoever is listening to not let his mind go blank at a time like this. 

“Gojo sensei was a goofball.”  

The silence screams for a moment as the opening line registers in everyone’s minds. A few chuckle, most keep their solemn unimpressed looks, while others are not even on this planet. Yuji clears his throat. 

“He was unserious when things were tense. He trolled you whether you were a man, woman, or child. Hell, he’d even walk in your dorm to check on you, only to leave with your house slippers moments later.” Many students laughed at the last comment. Yuji looks up and chuckles along, a confidence block stacked. 

“He wasn’t a teacher who sugar-coated things, his words were more salt-coated. It stings from being so blunt, but it was needed in order for you to have more flavor.” Yuji takes a quick scan and sees that more people are in tuned with his words. Second block stacked. 

“Growing up, I only had my grandfather for family. So while I kinda knew what it was like to have a dad, I spent a good portion of my life taking care of him during his last years so I forgot what it felt like. Gojo reminded me of that feeling.” 

“He gave life advice outside of teaching. He would take us out for ice cream after missions. One time, he bought those weird tampon things and sea salt caramel ice cream for Nobara during her...y’know.” Nobara gives him a look after he shoots a nervous chuckle her way. 

“He would walk Megumi’s dogs on Saturday mornings. He’d crack a joke in sign that only Inumaki-senpai would understand. He was tough on me, Hakari-senpai, and Okkotsu-senpai during training because he wanted us to take advantage of the potential we couldn’t see. He was...” 

Yuji looks up to see Yuta staring at him with teary but curious eyes, desperate to know what he’s about to lay on the crowd next. Yuji directs a small, sympathetic smile at him then looks down. 

“He was our constant entertainment during the long, boring hours of our jobs. He unlocked the laughter and ease that we often hid to condition ourselves so we could endure the next mission. He made hell feel like home. He was our Gojo-sensei when the world just saw him as Gojo Satoru.” 

Tears don’t hold back on some folks faces. What they expected to be a generic but appropriate eulogy turned out to be an off-beat, heartfelt, kinda corny eulogy written by a dude who loved his teacher. A rare case of a dude who isn’t clever with words evoking more emotions out of a crowd more than any writer ever could. 

“I’m sure some of you struggle to move forward with this loss. Some of you may simply be here to pay respects and move on with their lives preferably without sensei. Or you may be like me, someone just going through the motions and may not know what to do, say, think, or feel. But Gojo-sensei is gone and all we can do is reflect on the echos of his existence.” 

Yuji lets out a deep breath, satisfied to have gotten through his eulogy, the weight off his shoulders. His eyes flickers to see many nodding at his last statement. He scans through his last sentence and nods to himself to bring it home. 

“Thank you, Gojo-sensei, for being the goofball with the blindfold and thank you all for listening.” Everyone except the elders clapped for Yuji, moved by his honest words and pure approach. Yuji didn’t register the applause nor Ijichi’s transition to the next segment since his heart was pounding against his left chest. 

There was another wrinkle added to the eulogy when he goes to sits back down. He stares at his knees to contemplate his social triumph. Nobara looks at him and pats his upper back while Megumi simply gives him a blank look, jailing his “Good job.”. Yuji breathes deep through his nose and gives himself little nods, back in his own world to process those past few minutes. 

The rest of the service goes smoothly, time moving quicker due to Yuji black flashing through the seemingly unbreakable ice. After the main service, many students and staff agreed to meet at the school yard where the funeral bonfire repast will be held. 

While Gojo was being cremated, the bonfire turned out to be a lively celebration of life after so much grief wrung at the service. Snow trinkled down amongst the light conversations, coping dark humor, taste bud-rising food and drinks, and tear stains. Taking a break entertaining his peers, Yuji looked up to admire the floating ice. His irises went up and down, low right and high left, no different from when he saw snow as a kid. Laughter and smiles were behind Yuji, but all he can feel was the snow nurturing the child he locked away. 

Ashes leave out of the hands of many, gliding above the flowers revived by spring. Cherry blossom petals dance with Gojo in the gentle wind. The early days of April was always Gojo’s favorite time of the year, it was only fitting that his departure was during its peak.  

The new year of Jujutsu High begins without the blindfolded goofball to kick it off with overwhelming enthusiasm and junior high-level jokes. Second years, third years, and even the students that graduated are moving forward after months of mental detours. Now, there was a fresh set of first years oblivious to the horrors and traumas that awaits them. It’s a pity they won’t have that funny man in the sunglasses to help them endure their next twelve months of hell.  

[amxrany]

!! CHAPTER 7 / DIASOMNIA ARC SPOILERS !!

For those wondering why I'm posting so late, the update was released on my finals week 😭 I had to lock in yknow 😔. I also took some time off cuz I really wasn't feeling like myself after everything that's been going with my life, so I decided to take a break and focus on some self-healing. Now that I'm better, I decided to post the first update together with the second update as a way to say that I haven't abandoned this yet.

But anyways hope you guys are doing well! Let's not keep you waiting (Deuce's Dream):

We land in NRC and Leona's doing fine with the dream hopping, even mocking those who got sick/scared cuz of it 💀. That's when Grim smells food and runs off to the cafeteria, the others following after him. Turns out it's lunch time, and Grim's now in line to get food, but we then see 2 thugs with colored mohawks from Scarabia telling Grim that the cafeteria was their turf.

That's when Deuce shows up, except he's blonde just like when he was a delinquent back then.

He pretty much tells them to fuck off cuz the turf war that happened a few days ago placed Heartslabyul on top, but the thugs wouldn't listen cuz he's just a freshman. But the moment Dream!Trey and Dream!Cater show up, the thugs run away like cowards. Deuce apologizes to them for causing a ruckus, but Cater tells him that it's okay cuz he's protecting his "cute junior".

That's when the trio notice Leona. Dream!Cater and Dream!Trey both seem overprotective of the Ramshackle duo as Cater asks why Yuu is with him, thinking that Ramshackle got absorbed by Savanaclaw with the ongoing turf wars. Leona denies it, saying that Ramshackle isn't involved with them. Trey's relieved as it's better if someone got too close to Yuu. Because apparently in the dream, Ramshackle is (somewhat) protected by Heartslabyul.

Yuu and Grim are separated for awhile as they go and have lunch with Heartslabyul to play along with Deuce's dream while the others think of a plan and in the process Leona bullies Idia into making a device that can let them hear a conversation from far away.

When we reach the Heartslabyul table, we see Dream!Riddle who Deuce refers to as "boss" and asks him if we can sit at their tabe, which he grants. Then Dream!Ace appears, who greets Yuu and Grim first, then proceeds to tease about how loud he was during the confrontation. Normally, Deuce would be embarassed but in this dream he isn't ashamed at all.

Dream!Cater comes in with intel that Scarabia is planning to take the cafeteria back from Heartslabyul through a turf war, but they aren't backing either cuz Dream!Trey wants to use the ovens for the next Unbirthday Party and Deuce's ready to show them what they got. Of course, Yuu and Grim are so confused as to what's happening; then Ace mocks them for sleeping in Trein's class where they discussed about it.

So basically NRC is divided into 7 dorms that have designated spaces or turf. If a dorm wants to use a space, they have to fight another dorm to do so. Ramshackle is considered to be a neutral zone so no violence happens there but Yuu and Grim hang out with Ace and Deuce so they kinda get some Heartslabyul protection.

Ace and Deuce also explains the territories each dorm owns, which are the following:

Heartslabyul - The library; basically if you wanna borrow a book, you gotta get through them.

Savanaclaw - The Botanical Gardens; consider yourself fucked if you need something from Crewel there.

Octavinelle - Sam's Store which used to be a neutral zone until Azul struck a deal with Sam. You pay a toll in order to get in, but you can always resort to fists if you don't want to.

Scarabia - The cafeteria, windmill and chicken coop; normally they're nice but that all changes when food gets involved.

Pomefiore - The alchemy lab and courtyard; with the former being their main operations area.

Ignihyde - Auditorium and infirmary; they hardly confront people but you're screwed if Ortho's around cuz he'll just blast you.

Diasomnia - The coliseum and stables; they're hard to beat but they're pretty civil, it's better to stay on their good side unless you want to get lightning striked.

Everyone's shocked cuz what the hell is going on with Deuce's dream 😭. Sebek compares it to a small country at war while Idia and Ortho compare to a manga series that got adapted into a movie and TV drama.

That's when Silver's like "isn't Deuce an honor student tho?" that's when Ortho replies that Deuce isn't even on the Top 100 and has seen Riddle tutor him multiple times before, Sebek also adds that Deuce also had to stay behind classes a lot (cut the guy some slack ya'll he's trying 😔🤚).

The gang (minus Yuu and Grim) discuss ways on how to wake Deuce up, seeing that a fight may not be enough to wake him up. Then all of a sudden, another mohawked student shows up to tell Dream!Riddle that Octavinelle is secretly taking the library while they're having lunch (nah bruh they color-coded the mohawks).

Since it was only the first years who attacked, Riddle sends Dream!Ace and Deuce (along with other freshmen) to deal with them. So we follow them to the library, where Octavinelle declares that they'll be taking over the library to study for the exams next week, but Heartslabyul ain't backing down without a fight. While they're fighting, they're just screaming attack names while throwing books at one another.

Sebek's upset that they're just throwing books all over the place but he gets real MAD when he notices that the pages are just blank. That's when Leona smirks, it turns out that Deuce can't fill up books he's never read. Sebek calls Deuce out on this shouting that he can't call himself an "honor student" if he treats books like this and challengeds him to a fight.

Sebek didn't waste any time and proceeded to launch himself at Deuce screaming that books are not meant to be weapons...while also whacking him with a book 💀. Grim managed to grab the Queen of Hearts rule book that they were using and points out that only some parts of the books were filled out cuz he doesn't remember that either.

Deuce is starting to wake up, then Dream!Ace turns into the darkness. It tries to sweet talk Deuce that he can be an honor student through strength, and Grim's like "Don't listen to him Deuce! Ace would never say something like that".

Grim tells Deuce to recall all the times Ace called him stupid and A WHOLE MONTAGE PLAYS I CAN'T 😭 it's that many times fr

(I can only include some screencaps but yeah you get the point)

But the memory that awakens Deuce was their time at the Dwarf Mines during the prologue (awwww 🥹). Deuce is now awake, and he attacks the darkness. After defeating it, the darkness calls out to Deuce in its last breath that "aren't they true friends?". But Deuce wasn't buying it, knowing that the real Ace was a bigger asshole than it.

The gang also shows Deuce the whole explanation in which Leona teases Idia that he's good if someone like Deuce managed to understand it (Leona really has the time to throw shade huh). Deuce's embarassed about his dream, but Ortho tells him not to too worry too much about it; since the dreams are just warped versions of a person's desires.

Sebek really isn't letting go of the empty books thing and scolds Deuce about it. But Ortho noticed that there's one book that's written properly, it's called "Story of the Card Soldiers". It's a popular story in the Queendom of Roses, but not so in other places. Deuce tells them that it talks about the cards that constantly follow the Queen of Hearts, and he liked the part where the cards chase the rule breaker through the maze. He also remembers how he used to beg his mom to read it to him as a bedtime story.

Silver also notes that the book is actually complete, and Sebek immediately gets invested in the story. He noticed Deuce smiling at him while reading, and asked if he liked reading; which he replies that reading is important to him. Deuce plans on reading more from now on, which leads to Silver asking Sebek to recommend a book that Deuce can read. Since Sebek recommended books that Silver can read with his condition. He agrees, but proceeds to call the other first years losers 😭. But Silver tells them not to take what Sebek said to heart, and that he's a good guy.

While they were making the clone for Deuce's dream, they noticed that Leona went missing. Turns out he just moved a bunch of chairs to sleep on them lmao

And that's it for Deuce's dream, he really did turn NRC into a turf war huh?

But anyways, hope you guys enjoyed!

Next: Cater's Dream

(Note: This post is a summarized version of the update, info and pics comes from @/LBucchie, @/YumeMay0, and @/acesuuu on x/twt, give them some support if you can)

[zanka-nijiku]

i’m fucking devastated but this might be my favorite looking chapter god DAMN

[lheesluv]

Back Seat Relief (l.hs)

Heeseung made you upset and had other plans to make it up to you… in the back seat…

PAIRINGS - big dick!heeseung x fem!reader

GENRE - smut

WARNINGS - smut (mdni), p in v, protected sex, riding, big dick heeseung, dirty talk, sex in the car… duh, Imk if i missed anything!

WC - 1k

A/N — another smut chapter of my wattpad series "My Secret Lover." if you wanna know what happens next, go check it out at lheesluv on wattpad. thank you for 100+ followers already ahhh !!!

© All rights reserved Iheesluv do not copy, repost, or translate.

He pulled you in a needy kiss and pulled you to sit on top of his lap. "What do you want, pretty," he asked, whispering against your lips. "Can I ride you?" You asked in a faint whisper. A smirk grew on his lip, "Is that what you want, darling?"

You nodded shyly, looking away from his stare. He tapped your thigh and you got off his lap for him to pull his pants down. He leaned forward to the front seats and pulled out a condom under a compartment. Saying you were flustered was an understatement. You pulled down your shorts and you suddenly felt embarrassed.

"Don't be shy, love. Come here."

You hovered over his lap, holding onto his shoulders for support. You lined yourself up with his tip and slowly sank down. You bit your lower lip to suppress yourself. His hands ran up and down the slides of your body to ease you.

"Fuck," you breathed out, feeling full. "You okay?" he asked you with concern. You nodded. "You're just..." your voice trailed off, making him confused. "What is it, darling? You can tell me." you were about to embarrass yourself. "You're just... b-big, so it's just—"

His laugh cut you off. You knitted your eyebrows together with a small frown. "Why are you laughing?" "It's just—" He couldn't finish his sentence because he kept on laughing. "Hee!" "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. You're doing great, love."

His pet name made your stomach twirl in so many different ways. After you felt yourself get used to this position, you slowly lifted yourself up and sank back down on his length. It was slow at first, but he kept whispering praises to you.

Eventually, you found your pace and slid up and down his cock at a rhythm. You noticed his eyes were glued to your pelvis. He watched as his cock would disappear inside of you every time you went up and down.

His grip on your ass tightened when you focused on thrusting up and down around the tip of his head. "Fuck, Y/n, you're so good," he mumbled with a breathy voice. You couldn't help but let out a moan when you felt the tip of his head hit your G-spot every now and then.

"Gonna use me to make you cum? Hm? Won't you, love?" "Heeseung," you moaned his name out in response, gripping his shoulders tightly. You got weak and he noticed it. His hands held your waist to help you glide up and down his length. His lips were parted, his sweaty forehead, and his head was thrown back against the seat of the car. He looked too good.

You gasped when you felt his tip stroke past your spot. "You're s-so deep," you cried out, your forehead dropping on his shoulder. "You're taking me so well, pretty. So fucking well." You felt your wet walls clench around him at his words. A strained moan fell out of his parted lips at the pleasure.

You found yourself riding him harder and faster. His hips thrust up from below, your hips meeting in the middle. The pleasure felt too good and you wanted to release so bad. The feeling was unbearable. It felt too good. This new deep angle had you weak to your knees. He had you feeling pleasure in every way possible.

"Fucking hell you feel so good, baby," He gasped out then bit his bottom lip. Several moans fell out of your lips as the pleasure built up inside of you. You wanted more and more of him. You lifted your hips just enough for his tip to still stay in you then you thrust back down on his length and repeated the movement.

"Fuck, Heeseung," you cried out his name, bouncing up and down on his cock. The pleasure was too overwhelming. You threw your head back, eyes squeezing shut at the intense feeling.

The tinted windows were foggy and the sound of us moaning and panting was audible. The car would shake and the smell of sex filled the car. Constant skin clapping fueled the fire inside of you.

"Please don't stop," Heeseung said in a breathless voice below you. You felt yourself get turned on even more. His moans made you want to make him cum faster.

You felt yourself getting closer and closer to your release. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," you desperately cried out, your legs giving up on you. Heeseung took over and thrust up into you from below, making you cry out in pleasure. "Cum for me, pretty girl."

As if it was on command, you came with a strained moan and dropped against his body. "I'm close, okay?" You tiredly nodded at his words and let him use you like a toy. "Shit, I'm so fucking close," Heeseung breathed out, holding you tightly as he pumped himself into you.

You had some energy left in you and decided to help him. You sat up straight and rode him with all the energy you had left. Your hips grinded back and forth on his cock to create friction. Heeseung relaxed his body underneath, warm hands holding your waist to guide you. You clenched yourself around him repeatedly, desperate for him to cum.

"Please, please, please," you whined in a whisper, pressing yourself down on him. "Fuck, I'm about to cum," he breathed out heavily, thrusting himself back up into you, chasing his release. "Oh, Y/n," he moaned out, gripping your waist tightly as he shot his hot load in his condom. That will surely leave a mark for the next few days.

Your breathing slowed down and found its normal pace. His grip around your waist loosened and so did your grip on his shoulders. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on his lips before hugging him. A small whimper escaped your lips when you felt him deeper in you. His arms wrapped around your sweaty body and kept you close.

"Are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm feeling better than okay," you breathed out and couldn't help but smile sheepishly. His hands softly massaged your waist. He pressed a few butterfly kisses on your shoulders before pulling you away to stare into his eyes. "You're so beautiful," he complimented you and tucked your loose strands of hair behind your ear.

His sudden compliment made your cheeks warm. "T-Thank you." He giggled at you and pulled you back into a hug.

[hottiesforhockey]

may the best brother win pt. 1 ⎜hughes brothers

pairings: quinn hughes x afab!reader ⎜luke hughes x afab!reader ⎜ jack hughes x afab!reader ⎜ genre: romance ⎜bachelorette-esque situations ⎜angst? ⎜friends - to - lovers warnings: mentions of lack of experience with dating ⎜mentions of a bet / competition⎜friendly love-hate relationship ⎜ synopsis: you have been friends with the hughes brothers for years - but why does this summer feel so different? word count: 4.2k authors note:  this is the first part in my new series on my new blog!! 🎉 I hope you all enjoy. this will be coming out in 3-4 parts so each brother will have his own chapter let me know what you think the other brother would do for their date. (p.s. i will be posting chapter aesthetic pics at the bottom so you can get an idea of what I was picturing :) ) pt 1 ⎜pt 2 ⎜ pt 3 ⎜

(unedited)

The Hughes brothers had made a name for themselves over the past few years. 

Professional athletes. 

All top ten overall draft picks. 

Captain of the Vancouver Canucks. 

Hotshot forward for the New Jersey Devils.

And the rising star defensemen in the league. 

They had certainly found a way to make every parent look at their own kid and wonder where they went wrong. 

But no one really knew what absolute imbeciles the Hughes brothers truly were. 

“If you put down the pan, I’ll drop your phone.” Jack negotiates, his hands in the air, your phone swinging from the tips of his fingers. You glance down at your right hand, the cast iron pan gripped tightly before shooting your gaze back to Jack, whose face scrunches when he realises you’re not going to concede that easily. 

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. You got secrets to hide or something?” Jack continues flipping the phone into his hand as he tries another passcode for the fifteenth time. 

“None of your business, Jack.” You sneer, lunging for the phone again, only for the hockey player to slip just slightly out of reach, his steps backing him towards the staircase. 

Fuck, he’s gonna make a run for it. 

“Just tell me what you’re hiding from me, and I’ll give you the phone back.” He quips

“Or I could knock you on your ass with a metal pan.” You respond, your gaze shooting up as you look at the man approaching from behind him. The phone is expertly snatched from Jack’s hands as he lets out a long whine in protest, his lips dropping into a pout as he watches his younger brother gently hand you back your phone. 

“Maybe she’s got a boyfriend and doesn’t want you to ruin it for her.” Luke teases, giving you a smile as you mouth ‘thank you’ at him, holding your phone close to your chest. 

“If we weren’t forced to be friends, I wouldn’t think twice about dropping you.” You hiss, pointing an accusatory finger in the thief’s direction before following his younger brother into the kitchen. 

“You would tell me though, right?” Jack’s voice carries as he follows you and Luke into the room “like if you were seeing someone, you’d tell us?” He continues - sliding into one of the bar stools at the counter, dropping his chin into his hands. “You wouldn’t hide something like that?” You frown at Jack, tilting your head in confusion as Luke bustles about the kitchen pulling out the extra large party pack of chips and a freshly made container of salsa. 

“Why would I not hide something like that?” You question back, your words making Luke’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he shoves a chip in his mouth, “I mean you guys hide your relationships all the time - isn’t it normal at this age?” You add quickly noticing the way Jack’s face drops a little. 

“From the public.” Luke notes quickly, before dipping another chip into the salsa. 

“We don’t hide things from you.” Jack says softly, sliding off his seat and making his way out of the kitchen leaving your standing there in confusion. 

“Don’t look at me, I just want to eat my chips.” Luke huffs when you turn to glance up at him, his shoulders shrugging as the eldest of you walking in from the backyard, a towel wrapped around his waist, water already soaking through his t-shirt. 

“What did I miss?” Quinn questions, as you groan and reach over stealing a handful of chips from the bag. 

“Nothing.” You huff, drawing yourself in salty goodness. 

“She has a boyfriend.” Luke says, letting out a groan as you shove your elbow into his side. 

“And you didn’t tell us?” Quinn asks, his head tilted as your frown deepens. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend, it was a hypothetical.” You shoot a glare at Luke, pointing your finger up at him, “consider us enemies now, Warren.” 

“Anyway, she thinks it would be normal for her to hide a relationship from us if she was in one, and Jack got all pissy because we don’t keep secrets from each other.” Luke shakes his head at your warning, handing you the bag as you go to reach for more chips. 

“Well the point is moot, because I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

“Yeah but how can we trust you now, you’ve been suspected as a liar and essentially confirmed you would if you could.” Quinn argues, leaning forwards on the kitchen counter with a teasing grin. 

“I can one hundred percent confirm that I do not in any way shape or form have a boyfriend.” You swear, holding one hand against your chest and the other in the air, the two boys smiling as they watch your oath, “Besides I’ve never even been on a real date let alone had a relationship.” You sneer, shoving another chip in your mouth as the room falls silent. 

“What?’ Quinn is the one who breaks the silence, standing up straight as his brows furrow. 

“Huh?” You pause your motions. 

“You’ve never been on a date?” 

“You’ve never had a boyfriend?” The two brothers ask at the same time, both glancing at each other before looking back at you.  “But you’ve brought people home, I’ve seen you.” Quinn continues, the bag of chips forgotten on the counter as you look around for an escape route. 

“Firstly, don’t be a creeper and secondly I said I’m a dating virgin, Quinn, not a virgin virgin.” You snort, slowly side stepping the tallest brother as you beeline for the backdoor, hearing Quinn call out after you. 

“Luke go get Jack, it seems the four of us have some talking to do.” 

+

+

“So it’s in agreement.” Jack says as you all sit around the pool, your legs swishing the water as you grumble under your breath. “We are going to woo you, give you the real dating experience.” 

“I don’t understand why this has to happen at all.” 

“Because we will show you how you should be treated on date, and in turn you can tell us who is the best dater” Jack explains, his brothers nodding in agreement as you let out another long groan. 

“So you’re the ones actually using me, don’t think I can’t read between the lines, Rowden.” You huff, slipping your legs out of the pool and standing in your spot. “You are using me to settle a bet aren’t you?” 

“There may be something like that.” Luke admits softly, his own legs dipped into the water as he ignores the dirty glare Jack sends him. 

“Well now the cats out of the bag, may the best brother win.” The four of you are silent for a moment, each seeming to be deep in thought before Luke cuts in. 

“How do we decide who goes first?” 

“I suppose I should go first, considering it was my idea.” Jack responds, nodding his head in determination as he glances down at his watch before looking back towards you. 

“I’ll pick you up at six.” He says quickly ripping his phone out of his pocket and typing away quickly. 

“We live in the same house.” 

“Just be ready.” He yells as he presses his phone to his ear, talking softly into the device as he leaves the house, his keys pressed tightly in his hand. 

“I’m going to regret agreeing to this aren’t I?” You ask the other two, both of them just giving soft shrugs. 

“It might end up being fun.” Luke says, pulling his own phone out of his pocket pulling up google as he scrolls through his search results. You watch as Quinn stands from the deck chair rounding the pool behind you, his hands placed gently on your waist as he squeezes past, his lips pressed to your ear as he whispers, “we’re definitely going to have fun.” 

You shiver slightly as Quinn lets your waist go, the sudden rush of warm air behind you making goosebumps rise on your arms. 

“So, do you have anything you’re hoping for in particular?” Luke asks slowly, a sly smile on his face, as he waits expectedly for your answer. You let out a soft sigh, pushing some loose hair away from your face, “Honestly, I don’t really know, I just wanted a quiet summer, I wasn’t really expecting to be apart of a hometown bachelorette.” 

“Think of it more as a chance to see what you want from a date, besides competition can be fun sometimes.” Luke responds, quickly adding, “And you can’t complain you love the bachelor.” You roll your eyes at his words but can’t help to small smile tugging at your lips. 

“God I hate when you’re right.”

+

+

You flatten out your light green summer dress against your thighs as you look at the reflection in the mirror, jumping a little at a heavy knock on your bedroom door. “There’s someone here for you.” Luke says as he pops his head through the slightly opened door, his mouth dropping open a little as he looks at your reflection. 

“Do you think this is okay?” You start turning to face him, tucking your hair behind your ears as you chew on your bottom lip. “I don’t know where he’s taking me, and I thought something cute but function—” 

“It’s perfect.” Luke cuts you off straightening his posture before clearing his throat and adding, “You look perfect.” Luke looks away from you his neck burning a bright red as he clears his throat again. 

“Thanks, Lukey.” You coo as you pull your handbag off the bed patting his shoulder as you squeeze past him to leave your bedroom, quickly making your way downstairs skidding to a halt in front of the shoe bench by the front door - pulling on your black and white converse before making your way towards the voices in the kitchen. 

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going or not?” You mumble as you stop by the counter double checking that you had everything you might need in your purse. 

“No that would ruin the surprise and if I tell you then it’ll take away half the fu— holy shit.” Your head shoots up at Jack’s interruption of himself, his mouth open in surprise his brother watching amused as he sputters. 

“Yes?” You question, glancing over at Quinn who glances between you and his bewildered younger brother before sending you an entertained grin. 

“You’re wearing that?” Jack stumbles.

“What, you don’t like it?” You tease. 

“No, I do.” Jack rubs a hand down his face, his younger brother giving him a knowing pat on the back as he walks past him to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Should I change? I don’t want you to be distracted on our date.” You coo, slipping your purse higher on your shoulder as you glance down at your outfit again. 

Maybe it is a little too much.

 I mean it’s not like it’s a real date, and the low cut of the dress is going to make things difficult if he’s taking you to do an activity. 

Jack can see your mind start to spin, your teeth digging into your low lip as you adjust the dress a few times, your shoulder sinking as you suddenly become too aware of yourself. 

“Nope, nope. We don’t have time for you to change.” Jack interrupts your thought spiral, reaching forwards to clasp your hand in his, “I think I can make this work.” He says, taking one more long look down your body, working his hardest to hold in a grown before shooting a look at his older brother. 

“We will be home late. Don’t wait up.” He yells as he drags you toward the front door, not giving either of his brothers time to respond as he slams it shut behind the two of you, ushering you to his car, opening the door for you as you slip inside. 

“Jack maybe I should change.” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest as he slips into the drivers seat, his gaze flicking down to your bare legs, before focusing out the windscreen. 

“No.” He says quickly, moving to pull on his own seatbelt before glancing over at you, noticing your belt not pulled over your chest. “We have places to be, my dear.” He adds, reaching over the centre console to grab hold of your seat belt, his hair tickling the side of your face as he pulls it over your chest, clicking the buckle into the slot, before dropping back into his own seat. 

“We’re on a slight time crunch.” He admits, glancing down at his watch before putting the car in reverse and backing out of the driveway. 

You can’t help but laugh at his urgency. “You sound like you’re leaving the scene of a crime or something.” 

Jack chuckles, his eyes lighting up as he navigates the streets, “Well you never know when the cops are going to show up. I’m just trying to keep the night alive.” 

“Oh, is that what’s happening?” You respond, glancing out the window at the familiar neighbourhood passing by - Jack’s quick, snarky responses helping ease a little bit of tension. 

“Oh yeah, this whole thing is going to be the best date you’ve ever had.” 

“It’s the only date I’ve ever had.” You correct quickly, noticing the quick and very dramatic eye roll from Jack as he takes a familiar turn. “Is this leading to the lake?” Your question is ignored another turn onto a quieter street making you shoot a quick glance over to the man besides you, a knowing brow raised. 

“Stop trying to ruin the surprise.” He groans. 

“What if I don’t like surprises?” You huff, Jack letting out another groan, the smile on his face growing as he slows the car to a stop. 

“Trust me, you’ll like this one.” He says as he turns off the ignition, sliding out of the car as he races around to your side, quickly yanking the door open before you get a chance to open it yourself. “My lady.” He says as he offers you a hand to help you out of the car. 

You can see the sun descending in the sky as you adjust your dress, watching as Jack shoves the car door closed before holding out his hand for you to take. “Have you brought me here to murder me?” You joke, looking out to the lake, the sun setting a golden glow to the water, Jack’s squeezing yours as he swings them between the two of you. 

“Hmmmm, undecided.” He hums - his steps slowing as you take in the set up before you. 

The plaid picnic blanket laid on the soft grass, a large assortment of snack laid across the mat as well as two canvases and some paints in the middle. “These are for you.” Jack says as he lets go of your hand to reach down to the picnic blanket picking up the bouquet of daisies sitting on top of the picnic basket, holding them out to you with a wide grin. 

“Oh my god, Jack.” You gasp taking in the set up basked in the warm glow of the sunset with a look of awe, quickly taking the flowers from his hands to lift to your nose. “I didn’t know your brain could even imagine something this romantic.” You tease as he ushers you forwards onto the picnic mat, taking the spot opposite you as he lets out a soft chuckle at your words. 

“Well I’m glad I can still surprise you after so long.” He says pulling two champagne glasses from the basket, reaching in to pull out a bottle of freshly squeezed lemonade. 

“No, seriously Jack this is amazing.” You continue, gratefully accepting a glass of lemonade from him, taking a long sip as you stretch out your legs. 

“Just wait until you see desert.” He says with a mischievous grin, clinking his non-alcoholic beverage against yours, “to spontaneous adventures.” He says. 

“To spontaneous adventures.” You echo, feeling the warmth of the setting sun wash over you as you settle more onto the blanket, taking in the scene again in amazement. “So are we just gonna sit here or are we going to do some painting?” You ask. 

“Let’s eat some snacks first.” Jack says, picking some cheese and crackers off the charcuterie board before popping them into his mouth and motioning for you to do the same. The tension you felt earlier melts away with each shared smile and joke.

“So tell me honestly,” you start, swallowing what’s left of the food in your mouth before continuing. “What inspired this whole set up? I mean a picnic and painting, seems a little out of the ordinary.” 

Jack leans forwards, a mock-serious look on his face as he speaks, “Well I realised we’ve spent so much time together as friends, I want to see if I could pull of something a little more… special?” He pauses for a moment sensing the shift as he adds, “Besides, I’ve always wanted to paint a sunset.” 

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile creeping onto your lips. “You wanted to impress me with your artistic side? Are you sure you’re not just trying to cover up your terrible drawing skills?”

He throws his head back and laughs, the sound rich and contagious. “Fair point! But I’m confident in my abilities. Just wait until you see my masterpiece!”

With a sense of excitement bubbling in your chest, you reach for one of the canvases and set it on the blanket. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got, Picasso.”

“Watch and learn,” he says dramatically, picking up a brush and swirling it through the paint. You can’t help but giggle at his theatrics as he begins to paint, his tongue poking out in concentration.

As you start to create your own piece, you steal glances at him, noticing the way the setting sun casts a golden light on his face, highlighting his features in a way that makes your heart flutter. You can’t help but feel that this moment is something special—something more than just a casual outing.

“Okay, time’s up!” Jack declares after a few minutes, throwing down his brush. “Let’s see what we’ve created.”

You both hold up your canvases, and the sight makes you burst into laughter. His painting is a chaotic blend of colors that vaguely resembles the sunset, while yours is a collection of abstract shapes and splashes that, while lacking realism, feels vibrant and alive.

“It’s… unique,” you say, struggling to contain your giggles.

“Just like us,” he replies, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

As you both continue to joke and critique each other’s work, the last rays of sunlight disappear, leaving a deepening twilight around you. 

“Hey,” Jack says, his voice softer now. “I’m really glad you’re here. This was my favorite idea yet.”

“Mine too,” you admit, your heart swelling at his sincerity. “Thank you for putting all this together. It’s perfect.”

He leans a little closer, the air between you charged with an unspoken tension. “Just wait until the stars come out. I think I have one more surprise.”

“Another surprise?” you ask, intrigued. “You’re going to give me a heart attack at this rate.”

He chuckles, then reaches into the basket, pulling out a small, twinkling string of lights. “I thought we could add some ambiance.”

Your eyes widen in delight as he begins to drape the lights around the picnic setup, the soft glow illuminating your surroundings. It transforms the scene, creating an intimate atmosphere that feels like it’s straight out of a movie. As the stars begin to twinkle above, you lean back on your hands, stealing glances at Jack, who’s focused intently on arranging the lights. There’s a warmth in your chest, a budding hope that maybe this night could lead to something more.

“Alright, now for the grand finale,” he says, turning to you with a playful grin. “Dessert time!”

You sit up, your curiosity piqued. “What did you bring?”He rummages through the basket, finally producing a small cake adorned with whipped cream and strawberries. “Tada! Strawberry shortcake. Thought it would be fitting.”

Your eyes light up. “You really went all out, huh?”

“Only the best for you,” he repeats, handing you a slice before cutting himself a piece. The two of you dig into the soft cake, watching as the sun disappears behind the houses, the start shining a bright white as you finish off the dessert, the side of your face burning. 

Turning your head slowly, to glance towards Jack you’re surprised when you eyes meet his, his gaze travelling over your face before he tilts his head, putting his empty plate down besides him and shuffling forwards on the picnic mat, his hand reaching out towards your face. 

“Here, you have a little bit of cream on your chin.” He whispers, his body radiating warmth as his finger gently swipe just below your lip, your body shivering slightly as he pulls his thumb away dipping it his mouth quickly to get rid of any evidence of the food he just removed from your face.  “Are you cold? Maybe we should start heading back?” He says quickly, his eyes locked with yours as your shake your head quickly. 

“I don’t think the cold is the problem.” You try to joke, your hesitant chuckle getting caught in your throat as Jack’s eye light in knowing. 

“Oh.” He says softly, his hand hovering awkwardly in mid air as he contemplates the choices he has - your body frozen as you wait for him to decide. “Is it weird to kiss on the first date?” He asks nervously, your shoulders shrugging as you respond. 

“You tell me, Jack.” 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He whispers, his body shifting closer ever so slightly as he hand reaches up to cup the side of your neck, your eyes searching his. 

“You’re not.” You say softer then you thought was possible, the anticipation building in the bit of your stomach, his thumb rubbing soft circles against the burning skin on your neck. Jack pauses for just a moment before leaning forwards to close this distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss so soft you barely even register that they’re touching. 

You sigh into his mouth as your hand reaches up to cup the side of his jaw, your movements all the permission he needs to press his lips firmer against yours as his other hand reaches up to cup the other side of your neck, his thumbs gliding along the underside of your jaw, his hands pulling you closer towards him as your lips move in sync. 

“Wait.” He says softly as he pulls away, his hands moving up to cup your cheeks, as he smiles, leaning forwards to press one more chaste kiss against your mouth before releasing you, and letting out a shuddered breath. “The mosquitos are gonna come out soon, we should head home.” He says, and you nod, your lips still tingling from where his lips were pressed against them, your head nodding as Jack makes quick work of packing up the date. 

His hands held out to help you up off the ground as he folds the blanket up quickly, rushing to bring everything to his car and shove it into his trunk. You meet him at his car, pressing your lips together to try and ease the swelling you know will be starting to show. 

“Well, if I don’t win this competition, I’m gonna say it’s rigged.” Jack jokes as he closes the trunk of his car running a hand through his hair as his words give your pause. 

The bet. 

You forgot about the stupid fucking bet with his brothers. 

“Oh.” You laugh, tucking your hair behind your ears in embarrassment. 

How could you forget about the whole reason he was doing this? 

The only reason he was doing this. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how they’re going to top that performance.” You let out another tense laugh as you open your own passenger door and slide into the car - trying to ignore the way Jack tilts his head in confusion at your sudden shift. 

“You feeling okay?” He asks as he follows you into the car. 

“Yeah, just really tired all of a sudden.” 

“We better get you home then.” Jack’s smile is gentle, as he places his hand on the head rest of your seat before reversing back onto the main road - your body folding in on itself as he makes quick work of the drive home - his hand resting awkwardly between the two of you, as if he was waiting for something. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jack asks as he pulls into the driveway, killing the ignition of the car before turning to face you, “That kiss didn’t make things weird did it?” 

“No, Jack.” You say quickly, adding “It’s just part of the competition, right?” You don’t glance at him as you let yourself out of the car, hurrying back inside to escape to your room. 

Stupid fucking competition. 

[keferon]

Chapter 3 of Jazzprowl mecha! >:D

Previous chapter

Under the cut⤵️

Jazz thinks Prowl is fucking weird.

With space around him and aliens and fucking teleportation and all that crazy shit...Prowl's weirdness isn't too obvious at first. But once Jazz stops marveling at the view outside the window, his attention shifts completely to his new companion.

And. Well.

"'Your plates are so squarish.'"

Prowl takes a break from reading something on his tablet and raises his eyebrows in surprise

"They are."

Jazz moves closer curiously

"No offense okay but isn't it... Hmm. Stupid?"

He raises one hand and lightly slaps the edge of his palm against the center of Prowl's chest.

"What's the point of making armor this shape? And with so many wide gaps? All the strikes will go straight through. It's kinda dangerous. "

Prowl purses his lips in confusion.

"Excuse me? As if your armor makes more sense."

"It does."

"You...wha...you know what. Humor me, explain what you mean."

Jazz shrugs.

"It's round. And the gaps are...uh. What's the right word. They're thin? It's very hard to grab with your teeth or get under with your tentacles. See? You are. Dude, no offense, but you're like, really grabbable."

Prowl just silently opens and closes his mouth for a couple seconds, trying to think of what to say in response. Finally he decides to focus, but not on the part Jazz might have been expecting

" You... were built to fight the Quintessons?"

Jazz nods

"Course I was. Why else?"

Prowl looks....Very worried and somehow sorry for Jazz.

That's weird.

Jazz lets this detail just linger in his mind. He's not sure what conclusion to draw from it yet. And it's very likely that his poor knowledge of the unfamiliar language is setting him up. He's not sure.

------

Prowl has wheels. Jazz gives himself a mental smack for not paying attention to them in the first three seconds, but it doesn't matter now.

Because Prowl has freaking wheels in his shoulders and Jazz has a bunch of questions in his head.

Why the fuck does he have wheels??? In a place like this??

Prowl looks up at him.

"Something wrong?"

Jazz reaches out his hand mesmerized and spins one of the wheels.

The wheel spins.

What an amazing world.

Prowl looks confused again

"Jazz?"

"What are they for?"

Prowl faintly twitches one of his weird little wings.

"To drive."

Jazz spins the wheel again

"But you can't drive them! I mean, they're...uh."

He tries to find the right words in his head to say "inside your shoulders" but. Shit. He doesn't know how to say it so he accepts his linguistic defeat and helplessly twitches his horns.

"...They're on top."

Prowl tilts his head, clearly missing the point, and turns one of his legs around

"I've got another ones here...?"

Jazz instantly squats down and. Yep. There are wheels in the legs too.

Prowl moves his foot away before Jazz can spin that wheel too.

"I can just show you if you want."

That's a great idea. A fantastic one. Jazz is hellbent on seeing how it would actually work, because all his brain offers him is "fall on your back and awkwardly drag yourself along the ground?"

Prowl doesn't fall anywhere.

Instead, he suddenly ALL starts moving and freaking folds into himself? Jazz isn't sure what exactly he was expecting to see, but watching another mech fall apart like lego sure as hell wasn't that????

Not falling apart, he realizes a moment later.

Is it reassembling? Into something else???

A second ago, Prowl was standing next to him, and now there is a

Is that a fucking car???

Jazz can't say anything more clever than a loud "HAH???"

It is indeed a car. The design is very odd and Jazz can't recognize the model, but it looks like something vaguely race-y?

He pats the roof of it.

"That's so cool!!!"

The car somehow manages to look awkward and moves away from him sideways like some weird metal crab.

What the- what the hell-

------————————-

Prowl's mech has an amazing face.

Not that Jazz is staring, but he can appreciate the amazing attention to details. The eyes, the nose, even the lips. Who and why would make a mech with such lifelike face? That ..would make sense if Prowl had to appear in front of a camera, wouldn't it? Maybe he's some kind of celebrity like Blurr?

Jazz doubts it. Prowl doesn't strike him as someone who's used to attention.

But it's a good face, yeah.

Prowl valiantly ignores his staring, but after ten minutes gives up

“What?”

Jazz shrugs. He's been doing that a lot lately.

"You have a really cool face."

Prowl chokes on air and looks confused again. If you look closer. What is this face even made of? It looks metallic but it bends??? Literally...how?? How does it work?

Jazz is taller than Prowl, so he has to bend down to get a closer look. He wants to ask if the mech's face was modeled after the pilot's, but. Shit. How do you put it into simple words ?

Man. Okay. Uh. Appearance. How do you say "real?" True-positive? Wait, no, true and false are from English, this new language must contain one state word for true and false at the same time.

Prowl watches Jazz's struggle with the patience of a true buddhist monk.

What word even summarizes the state of being true or false? Hot and cold is "temperature", heavy and light is "weight" and then..

Jazz fumbles his fingers helplessly.

"What's the word for. You know how."

He claps his hands hard, and then again, barely audible.

Loud and quiet.

"Sound-positive, sound-negative, right?"

Prowl nods.

"But if I speak. I-mouth-positive."

He claps once more, quietly, barely audible

"I-mouth-positive. Sound-positive. Word-question?

If I do “quiet” but say “loud”. If I do one thing and say another, that's called-?

Prowl twitches his little wings.

"Ah. That would be veracity-negative."

Jazz makes happy finger guns.

"Yes! This..."

He points to Prowl's face

"Appearance-veracity-positive?"

He could probably phrase it more...accurately. Jazz chews his lips in concentration and tries to elaborate

"Appearance-veracity-positive-you?"

Prowl tilts his head

" Uh. Yeah? That's what I look like. I didn't change anything. It's..."

He pauses uncertainly

"Why are you asking me that?"

Jazz gives a thumbs up

"How do you say 'impressive'? Something like "eyes-positive-emotions-positive." Or it would be "good." Good sounds kind of cheap.

Jazz decides to add a couple more positive modifiers on top just in case. He's always been generous with compliments.

Prowl's wings bounce up funny.

One of the passing lilac aliens whistles.

_______________________________

Prowl thinks Jazz is fragging weird.

Okay, to be fair. Prowl has never had to be anyone's guide to interplanetary interactions.

He'd heard that races making contact with the rest of the galaxy for the first time tended to be weird. It's alright. He can understand that. Which of course doesn't mean it's any easier for him to be at the center of it all...everything.

Jazz is clingy. Friendly. He's definitely never been off his planet before, so everything around him surprises him.

Prowl's obviously “surprising” too, but there's this weird familiarity in Jazz's attitude towards him.

Prowl thinks it's because they're both mechanical life forms. It's the only guess he has that makes sense. But Prowl realizes pretty quickly that Jazz only looks like a Cybertronian at first glance. It's the details. Small and disturbing details.

Jazz was built to fight the Quintessons. His entire body, his entire design was made for it.

Now that Prowl knows that, he's starting to see it. Now that he knows where to look, he can't stop noticing.

All the plates are either round or streamlined and sharp.

He has no face, but his head is shaped in such a way that it would be very hard to grab onto. Or to hit it.

Prowl's processor involuntarily tosses him numbers.

Every bend and edge. Every detail. The visor isn't just curved, it's arched at the most perfectly calculated angle to take hits. His chest plates have the perfect ratio of thickness and curvature so that any direct hit ricochets or slips without going through the plate directly.

And Prowl is scared to even begin to analyze the structure of those legs. He originally saw their design as something similar to Empurata's. But no. The Empurata had always made it their goal to humiliate and diminish their victims. The limbs that the Empurata created were simple and often horribly, impractically awkward.

Jazz's legs are an engineering marvel and Prowl honestly almost wants to take a closer look. They bend at...how many? Five? Six places?

He leans forward quietly, pretending to want to change his posture, trying to get a better angle. There's at least one more joint under the front plates. Seven then?

Huh.

Jazz snorts

"Like what you see?"

Prowl flinches and quickly looks away. Idiot. Just because Jazz’s head is pointed in the other direction doesn't necessarily mean that's where his gaze was pointed as well.

"I apologize."

Jazz chuckles

"Hey, don't be sorry. You're giving me a reason to show off~"

Prowl gives up. Okay. Maybe it's just that Jazz's weird openness is contagious.

"Your legs are pretty..."

"Cool," Jazz offers

Prowl nods diplomatically.

"Unusual. I think cool too."

Would it be too weird to ask exactly how many joints are in them? Perhaps yes, that's personal medical information after all.

Jazz takes a few joyful little leaps

"They let me walk on walls."

"I have to admit that's impressive."

______________

"Can I join you?"

The little furry alien folds their arms across their chest and says something that...sounds disgruntled. Jazz honestly can't understand a word of it. He just saw the aliens playing something remotely resembling cards and he got curious. He doesn't remember having a fight with any of them yet.

The alien stares at him expectantly for a couple seconds and then waves one of their limbs and switches to a language familiar to Jazz

"No. Go back where you came from."

Uhm. Rude.

One of the lilac creatures smiles guiltily

"We don't play with robots."

Jazz stiffens

"But I don't..."

His attempt to explain is interrupted by the furry alien

"I don't care what you say. Whatever's underneath the metal, whatever scientific nonsense you come up with. This..."

He gestures toward the entire Jazz’s mech.

"...it's a machine. We don't play with machines. It's an unspoken rule. So go back to your corner and stay out of our way."

The lilac alien folds his limbs in embarrassment

"Hey, there's no need to be so rude."

"I'm just stating facts!"

"You could have done it politely..."

Prowl raises his eyebrows and moves away, making more room for Jazz on the bench.

"Kicked you out?"

Jazz sits down next to him and confusedly begins to play with his own fingers

"They wouldn't even let me explain."

Prowl taps him on the shoulder.

"It's hard to explain anything to them. They think you're a soulless machine just because you look like one."

Jazz snorts

"Well, that's just stupid."

Prowl shrugs

"They think you don't have a soul, so you shouldn't participate in their social interactions."

Jazz twitches his horns angrily

"That's..fucking idiotic."

"Well yeah" Prowl picks up "how can they judge whether we're sapient or not?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Where's the evidence that they themselves have more 'soul' than mold?"

"Ye..Wait what?"

(..What the hell??)

Prowl frowns.

"I should probably be more...sorry. You're new to this topic and...I'll try to explain in an unbiased manner."

Jazz nods awkwardly

Prowl pinches the bridge of his nose

"In general. We don't really meet their standards of ''alive and sapient being'' and they don't meet ours. Because of that, we...don't get along."

Jazz senses that something doesn't add up. Something dramatically big and obvious. But Prowl already looks annoyed, and Jazz is uncomfortable stressing him out with another game of charades. Probably should hold off on discussing such complicated topics until he's talking better.

____________

Prowl finds himself mentally reevaluating Jazz.

He no longer thinks Jazz is just weird.

Jazz is terrifying.

When their transport is attacked by a bunch of Quintessons, Prowl's processor tells him they're totally screwed.

The monsters have the numerical advantage, the ship is full of tiny, fragile organics, and Prowl only has one random tourist on his side who's in space for the first time.

When Jazz excitedly jumps up and asks to be let "outside to have some fun" Prowl's processor says it's suicide. If you squint and tilt your head, the stats numbers add up into a neat little ship that goes down swiftly and surely.

Then he has no time for statistics. Because one of the organics opens the airlock for Jazz and before Prowl can say anything his space tourist is already out the window.

Frag.

Frag, frag frag frag frag frag frg

"Jazz wait!"

Prowl climbs out onto the roof of the transport just in time to see Jazz tear a limb off one of the Quintesson monsters.

The sight is...creepy.

Jazz obviously doesn't have enough strength to just yank it off, so he sort of grabs the tentacle with his hand and then very quickly rotates his forearm a bunch of times literally twisting it off. The monster screams and wriggles and tries to rip Jazz's arm off, but he just lets it clench its teeth on his plates.

Prowl is in pain from just looking at this.

The monster clenches its jaws.

Its teeth cut furrows in the armor.

Jazz doesn't even twitch.

Things only get more interesting from here on out.

Earlier, all Prowl had was Jazz's word. Jazz said his job was to fight the Quintessons. Prowl automatically assumed that to have a job like that, Jazz had to be at least somewhat good at it.

This? It's not "good". It's a killing machine.

And Prowl is, just a little bit, fascinated.

Jazz tears through monsters with more than skill. No.

Prowl's processor is speeding up, analyzing the data.

These moves aren't just devastatingly efficient. They're habitual.

Jazz rips off limbs and locks jaws. Jazz knows exactly where to strike and for how long that strike will knock the creature down.

At one point, he just takes a moment to jump on top of one of the monsters and Prowl can have the pleasure of watching the sheer panic and confusion on the face of the usually inexpressively furious creature.

Quintesson twists and twitches and struggles to throw Jazz off, but he doesn't seem at all bothered by the constantly moving and shifting surface. He's clinging on tight as a damn insecticon. In a way that Prowl himself, with his angular legs, probably never could.

He also doesn't seem to react to pain whatsoever.

Either so used to it or unable to feel it at all? Prowl's not sure.

Jazz takes dozens of hits. He's been dropped, scratched and bitten. His plates are full of fresh grooves intersecting older ones, but they go completely unrecognized.

It's creepy. It's unnatural.

Three monsters at once try to squeeze Jazz into a circle, and Prowl curses himself for not thinking to ask for Jazz's comm. There's no sound in space, making screaming impossible, so Prowl just pulls out his rifle and shoots one of the Quintessons.

The creature twitches in agony and loses all interest in the battle struggling to shake off the sudden source of pain.

Jazz smacks one of the remaining monsters in the face and quickly bounces back to a more comfortable distance from the huge teeth and looks toward Prowl. Spotting a rifle and happily making finger guns again.

Prowl looks at the fresh teeth marks on Jazz's hands and thinks...wow...that's some wild dangerous alien slag.

Then he looks at the angular visor and the little moving horns and bouncy movements and corrects himself. Not slag. And not that weird. Probably.

The weirdest thing he's seen was organic life and he highly doubts that anyone or anything can overtake it.

[amiableness]

Peonies ; part five

Pairing: Theo Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Everything is a mess after Mattheo visits the infirmary.

Word Count: 3833

Warnings: Unrequited love. The chapter is just full on angst, honestly. Mentions of drugging? Y/n is used once. Let me know if there’s more!

A/N 💌 This is short and mainly focuses on Mattheo, but the next (and final!) chapter will be even more satisfying because of it. Even though a lot of you are mad at Mattheo, hopefully this makes up for it. As usual thank you to @moonpascal for reading and giving me feedback, I don't know what I'd do without you.

SERIES MASTERLIST <3

“I don’t understand. He seemed fine when I left.” Theo mutters under his breath, his voice tense and barely audible over the sharp echo of your hurried footsteps bouncing off the stone walls as the three of you head to the infirmary.

“I don’t know,” Pansy sighs, her voice low and laced with frustration. “Everything seemed normal when I first got there, but then he just… snapped. It didn’t seem like anyone had said anything to set him off; everyone looked just as shocked as I was. He was so worked up—angry, completely irrational—that we all decided to take him to the infirmary. We thought maybe he’d hit his head or something.”

“But he didn’t.” You mutter, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach as Pansy’s words echo in your mind. A love potion. Veronica’s been giving him a love potion. The thought replays, each repetition tightening the knot in your chest.

“No. It didn’t take long for Madam Pomfrey to realize he’d been given a love potion. One so badly brewed that it’s been fucking with his emotions.”

Pansy shakes her head, her expression twisted in frustration. “Veronica came in, putting on her best worried girlfriend act. When I first confronted her about a love potion, she played innocent, swearing up and down she’d never hurt him because she ‘loved’ him.” Pansy scoffs, anger simmering in her eyes. “But after enough yelling, she finally admitted it. She’d been giving him a potion, and things only went wrong because she tried to make it stronger—his feelings had started shifting, and she couldn’t stand it.”

A wave of sickness washes over you—anger and frustration curling together in a tight knot. For a moment, you consider darting to the right, heading straight for the restrooms to lose control in private, but you force yourself to steady your breath. This isn’t the time to fall apart.

For a brief, unsettling moment, you wonder if that’s why he confessed his feelings for you—not because he meant it, but because of the love potion’s influence. The thought stirs something confusing and hollow inside you, but now isn’t the time to untangle it. As you step into the infirmary, nerves coil tight in your stomach, but Theo’s hand slips into yours giving a reassuring squeeze, soothing you. You’re grateful for the touch—it’s the only thing keeping your anxiety from overwhelming you entirely.

“How is he?” Pansy asks, her voice tense as she strides ahead of you and Theo, reaching out to take Blaise’s hand. Draco and Enzo are there too, still in their practice clothes, looking out of place in the sterile, quiet room. Madam Pomfrey is nowhere in sight, but your eyes immediately catch the vial on the table next to him—whatever it is, it’s been left there, untouched for now.

You glance at Draco, casually leaning against a pillar near Mattheo’s bed, and Enzo, perched on the edge of the bed parallel to him. Neither of them looks particularly worried, which eases some of the tension in your chest. In fact, Draco seems to be listening intently as Enzo quietly details the reasons he’s been feeling off about Veronica. 

Then you finally allow your eyes to shift to the bed, where Mattheo lies back, his curls a wild tangle against the pillow. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and you can’t help but wonder if the love potion is to blame. His brow is furrowed, his gaze fixed on Enzo with a look of confusion, as though he’s struggling to piece something together.

“A little out of it,” Blaise says with a gentle smile, his eyes softening. “Pomfrey gave him something to counteract the potion.” He glances over Pansy’s head and spots you, offering a sympathetic smile your way. “He’s been asking for you.”

“I don’t know..” You trail off, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure of how Mattheo will react to seeing you. The last couple of months had clearly been tense and distant between you two—what was stopping him from starting another argument? The last thing he needed right now was more stress. But at the end of the day, he was your friend—he had been for years. What kind of friend would you be if you turned down his request to see you, especially when he asked for you specifically?

But it’s too late to make a decision—Mattheo’s eyes shift, locking onto you. It’s immediate, the way he sits up slightly, his eyes brightening with recognition, and a loopy smile forming on his lips. “Hi, my love,” he says, his voice soft and warm as if nothing else matters in the room. 

Draco and Enzo both turn their heads toward you and for a moment, you stand frozen, your lips parted as you scramble for the right words. 

My love. 

It’s hard to know how to respond to that, and your friends don’t seem any more certain, their eyes darting nervously toward Theo as they exchange uneasy glances.

You take a step forward, letting go of Theo’s hand as you approach the edge of Mattheo’s bed. A twinge of guilt runs through you as you release his hand, but you push it aside, not wanting Mattheo to see the two of you together yet. Not in this state.

“Hi,” you murmur, your voice soft. Theo watches as Mattheo pats the spot next to him, an unspoken plea in his gesture, hoping you’ll come and lie beside him. Theo prays—desperately—that you won’t, that you’ll stay exactly where you are. It already hurts more than he can bear to have you let go of his hand, but if you climb into bed with Mattheo, it’ll feel like you’ve ripped his heart from his chest. And the thought of Mattheo calling you ‘my love’—he can’t even bring himself to think about it.

“The love potion must still be lingering in his system,” Draco mutters, his gaze flicking toward Theo. “That explains why he’s been so jealous of you two. Veronica messed up the potion so badly, he ended up falling for Y/n instead.”

The rhythmic click of Madam Pomfrey’s shoes fills the room as she enters. “The effects of the love potion have worn off, Mr. Malfoy,” she says crisply, her voice professional. “Whatever he says now is simply how he truly feels.” With a swift movement, she places a bowl on the bedside table, setting a cool cloth on Mattheo’s forehead with a practical, “For the fever.”

Mattheo flinches at the shock of the cool, damp cloth on his forehead, shooting Madam Pomfrey an irritated look, which she ignores entirely.

“Fever?” Enzo questions, and she gives a swift nod.

“As I mentioned, the effects have worn off,” she explains, “but his body still needs time to purge the potion from his system, which is why he has a fever. It should break by morning, and he’ll be back to himself.”

Madam Pomfrey dips the cloth back into the water, preparing to place it on Mattheo’s forehead again, but he turns his head, ducking away. Her gaze shifts to you, and she extends the cloth with a small, knowing smile. “Perhaps it would be best if you handled this.”

Part of you wants to tell her you can’t. It feels wrong to tend to Mattheo, especially with Theo standing right there. A few months ago, you’d have agreed without a second thought. But things are different now—distant and messy in ways you don’t quite understand. Still, with Madam Pomfrey watching you so expectantly and now Mattheo’s gaze fixed intently on you, saying no feels impossible.

So, you step forward, taking the cloth from her hand before carefully settling onto the edge of his bed. Leaning in, you dab his forehead gently, your movements cautious and deliberate. Mattheo watches you intently, but you keep your gaze firmly on the task, avoiding his eyes as you work. 

“You know,” Mattheo murmurs, his voice soft and a little slurred, “I think you’re perfect.” For a moment, you freeze, your eyes darting to meet his.

“Oh.” It’s all you manage, the word slipping out as you quickly refocus on dabbing his forehead, ignoring the warmth spreading through your veins. Embarrassment prickles over you, knowing your friends are standing there, their whispered reactions confirming they heard every word Mattheo said. But when you glance up and catch Theo’s expression, your heart sinks—he heard it too.

Theo meets your gaze, and you silently hope he understands—you’re sorry. Sorry that you’re the one Mattheo wants right now, and that if you could pass this task to Enzo, you would. But guilt tugs at you, knowing that Mattheo’s emotions have been chaotic because of the love potion. Could you truly hold his actions against him?

Mattheo’s fingers brush lightly against your wrist, drawing your attention back to him. His gaze is unwavering, soft with a raw vulnerability that you’ve rarely seen in him. “You’re so perfect,” He repeats. “And I’ve only ever wanted to be good enough for you.” His fingers brush against your skin, and you freeze—shock, guilt, and frustration rising within you. You swallow it all down, forcing yourself to keep calm as you murmur for him to rest, resuming your task of blotting his forehead.

Theo watches as you continue to take care of Mattheo, who continues to brush his fingers against your free hand as helooks up at you as if you’re the only girl he’s ever loved. A wave of nausea rises in Theo as he watches his best friend touch you, gaze at you as if you’re an angel—the girl he loves so fiercely it hurts. His jaw clenches, a subconscious effort to keep his mouth shut and prevent himself from snapping at Mattheo to keep his hands off you. He knows he has no right to be jealous—not when you were never truly his to begin with.

The thought hits him so hard and painfully that he feels like he can’t breathe. Without a word, he turns and walks out of the infirmary, and no matter how badly he wants to turn and look at you, he doesn’t.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

By the next morning, Mattheo is back to himself—at least, that’s what everyone’s been saying. Theo knows this because it’s all anyone can talk about. He’s not sure how the news spread so fast, but he’s willing to bet Pansy had something to do with it. Not intentionally, of course; he just knows she tends to speak loudly when she’s worked up, and he’s been aware of her suspicions about Veronica for months. You’d told him all about how Pansy had been convinced something was off with Veronica, but you hadn’t wanted to get into the details.

After spending the entire morning catching snippets of gossip, Theo decided the library would be his refuge for some peace and quiet. For a while, the back corner had offered him just that—until two girls settled on the other side of the bookshelf. Unfortunately, that meant he could hear every word they said, and it didn’t take long for their chatter to break the silence he’d been craving.

“Did you hear about Mattheo Riddle?” An eager voice asked, accompanied by the screech of a chair being dragged out.

“You mean how his girlfriend slipped him a love potion?” Came the bored reply, the words dripping with indifference.

“Uh huh,” Theo pictures the first girl nodding. “I’m not surprised though.”

“Amelia,” The second voice sighed. “That’s an awful thing to say.”

“I just mean because even when he was with Veronica, he was still chasing after Y/n.” Theo feels his stomach drop, the urge to get up and leave washing over him. He starts to pack his bag, his movements quick and automatic, but then their next words slow his movements. He freezes, his hands stilling midair—he’s listening closely now.

“I thought she was dating Theo Nott.” The second girl speaks, her voice tinged with confusion, clearly already tired of the conversation.

“I think that’s just a rumor.” Amelia denies, and even though she’s technically right, Theo feels a surge of defensiveness rise within him.

“Oh,” Girl two murmurs. “I could’ve sworn they were.”

Amelia hums, “No, I think she’ll end up with Mattheo.”

That pushes Theo into motion. He hastily stuffs everything into his bag, determination flooding through him, though his stomach twists with nerves. He has to tell you how he feels. He wants a chance—even if you choose Mattheo, at least he’ll never have to wonder what might have been between you two.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

When Theo finally spots you, he wishes he’d stayed in the library. You’re sitting on one of the couches, your back turned to him, but he can tell by the open book beside you—left unread—that you’ve long since lost focus. But that isn’t what bothers him.

No, the real problem is Mattheo, seated right beside you, facing you fully, his gaze intense and longing, “Please, love.”

“Mattheo—”

“If there’s even a part of you that feels something for me, just give me a chance,” Mattheo says, his voice low, edging closer to you. Theo’s stomach tightens as he watches. “I know I should’ve told you sooner—before any of this.”

“It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours,” you murmur, your eyes drifting to Mattheo. “I think you need to focus on resting,clearing your head before we can figure any of this out.”

“I’ve got a clear head, love,” he insists, his voice steady despite the weight of it all. You sigh, your gaze dropping for a moment. 

“Honestly,” he continues, his words softer, “you’re the only thing I’ve ever been clear-headed about.”

You fall silent for a moment, your gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace. Theo watches Mattheo watch you, a quiet tension in the air. He’s thankful for the shadows that stretch across the room, hiding his frame, because if they didn’t, Mattheo would no doubt see him standing there.

Mattheo whispers your name, his voice heavy with longing and desperation, the sound so raw it nearly knocks Theo off balance—mirroring the same ache that’s tearing through him. “If you were mine…” Mattheo pauses, his gaze locked on yours. “I swear, I’d never give you a reason to regret it.”

Theo fights the overwhelming urge to make himself known, to grab your hand and plead with you to choose him instead. He’d fall to his knees and beg if it meant even the slightest chance with you—though he knows you’d never have to ask. He’d do it willingly, without hesitation, dropping down and promising you the world if only you’d agree to be his. 

He wants to tell you to remember these past few months, to think of last night’s kiss. To tell you he’s certain he fell in love with you the moment he saw you—that every vision he has of the future has you at the center of it.

But instead, he watches, a cold sense of dread settling in his chest, as you slowly reach out and intertwine your fingers with Mattheo’s. You don’t say anything, but it’s clear to him that words aren’t necessary—because at this moment, he realizes he has never stood a chance.

It was always going to be Mattheo.

It feels like a cruel echo of last night—that same sinking realization that no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never be what you want. It feels like he can’t get a proper breath in, so he turns and leaves, unwilling to stay and hear just how deeply your heart belongs to Mattheo.

He hadn’t seen your face, but if he had, he would’ve noticed the unease and discomfort in your expression as you turn to look at Mattheo, preparing yourself to turn him down as gently as possible.

“Mattheo, I can’t,” you whisper, your voice soft but steady as you squeeze his hand. The words come slowly, carefully, as if you’re afraid of shattering him. “I really can’t, and I’m sorry.”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening as he looks away, frustration flickering in his eyes. When his gaze returns to you, it’s filled with a quiet vulnerability. “If I’d made a move… before all of this,” he asks softly, “would you have said yes?”

“Yes,” you admit softly. He sits up straighter, and you can already see the determination flickering in his eyes, ready to argue, ready to convince you. But you press on before he can speak. “But everything is different, Mattheo—Veronica, us drifting apart...” You pause, your voice faltering. “...Theo.” You roll your lips together, trying to suppress the wave of emotion that just saying Theo’s name stirs inside you.

Mattheo sighs, a subtle shake of his head as his gaze drops to your intertwined fingers, his thumb grazing the back of your hand. He watches it with a quiet intensity, as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of it, and your heart cracks at the sight, the ache of it almost too much to bear.

“I’m sure you knew,” You start, embarrassment coloring your tone. “For the longest time, I had feelings for you. I spent so much time hoping—wishing—that you’d feel the same. That you’d stop with the one-night stands and realize that you wanted me just as much as I wanted you. I was convinced, you know? Convinced that because I understood you better than anyone, or at least I thought I did, that you’d finally feel safe enough with me to let me in.”

“But I did,” he says, his voice thick with regret. “The whole time, I wanted you. But Gods, the way Theo’s always looked at you... I couldn’t make a move. I knew it would tear him apart if we got together. So I waited, told myself I was giving him time to make his move—but he never did. I built myself up, so many times, ready to ask you out, to make you mine. But then I’d always freeze, thinking, ‘What if things don’t work out?’ And I’d lose both of my best friends.”

He shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze. “But then Veronica started giving me that potion, and I—I had feelings for her, but every time I’d see you, it was like that’s all I could focus on. And then suddenly, you’re with Theo, holding his hand, spending the night with him, and it felt like I was losing my mind. It hurt, seeing you with him. And maybe it’s selfish, but I had to know, had to see if there was any chance left with you. Because watching you two together made me realize that what I was really afraid of was losing you completely.”

You’re at a loss for words, your mind failing to catch up to the fact that Theo has feelings for you- and he has for years. So you offer Mattheo a weak, sad smile, the tears gathering at your lashes threatening to spill over. He squeezes your hand, and you sigh, squeezing it back. You’re both sat in the quiet common room, except for your occasional sniffle, for who knows how long, holding each others hand and watching the flames dance.

Mattheo clears his throat, a slight tension in his shoulders as he glances over at you, “When are you going to tell him you love him?”

You hesitate, a knot forming in your throat as your words trip over themselves. “I don’t—I’m not…” You falter, but Mattheo sends you a knowing look. “It’s just... too soon.”

“It’s not.” His voice is firm. 

“How do you know?” The question slips from your lips before you can stop it, and immediately, guilt lances through you. It feels wrong to ask, especially after he’s just laid his feelings bare.

“Because he’s been in love with you for years,” Mattheo smiles, but it’s nothing you’ve ever seen from him before. “Trust me, it’s not going to be too soon for him to hear.”

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

He’s on his way to practice when your voice cuts through the quiet hum of the common room, calling his name. His stomach sinks, the realization hitting hard—he’s going to have to face you after days of successfully keeping his distance. Reluctantly, he turns toward you, and there you are, seated comfortably in one of the plush chairs near the fire. A sweet smile on your lips, and resting on your lap is a book—likely the same one he noticed you holding when you were talking to Mattheo. That puts a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s something different about you. His gaze lingers, tracing the way the soft flicker of the flames paints your features in warm, golden light. You look gorgeous, as always, but there’s an unmistakable lightness about you now, a brightness that wasn’t there before. A taunting thought creeps into his mind: this is his doing. You look happier—because you’ve finally gotten everything you’ve ever wanted. Mattheo Riddle.

“I haven’t seen you much.” You say, leaning forward as he slowly walks towards you.

He shrugs, slipping his hands into his pockets with a casual ease that doesn’t quite match the tension in his voice. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot going on.”

You knew this already. Every time you asked the boys about him, there was always a new excuse for why he hadn’t been around: He’s behind on his assignments. He’s gotten detention. He isn’t feeling well. He’s taking a nap. 

“So I’ve heard.” You say lightly, teasingly. “I actually wanted to know if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade, since we didn’t last time.” A soft smile curves at the memory of him taking you to the flower field.

You saw the look on his face that day, the way he was clearly bothered by you taking care of Mattheo. But you figured spending time together would be the perfect opportunity to set things straight. To tell him it meant nothing, that you turned Mattheo down, and that all you truly want is him. It’s a surprisingly good feeling, better than you imagined, knowing that Mattheo is aware of your feelings for Theo—and that he actually encouraged you to go for it.

His eyes meet yours briefly before darting away, and he rakes a hand through his hair, a nervous edge to the motion. “Oh, uh... I can’t.”

“Oh, okay.” You respond, your voice barely hiding the disappointment. An awkward silence settles between you, and Theo avoids your gaze, leaving you sitting there, a little wounded.

“Actually, dolcezza,” he says softly, and your heart flutters at the familiar nickname, hope sparking in your chest. But then his next words land like a blow. “I can’t spend time with you anymore.”

Your heart sinks, the statement feels like a bucket of cold water to the face. “What?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he continues, his tone heavy with sincerity, “but I can’t be around you the way we were before. Not when you’re with him.”

please please please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write, and reblogs help to spread my work. likes don't spread posts on tumblr 🤍

[barnacles34]

Mr. Rager, Can I Tag Along?

Part I

Synopsis: Mr. Rager finally joins the birds in the skies. Dedicated to the song Mr. Rager by Kid Cudi.

tags: 8k, smut, so much romance, fluff, addiction, recovery, virgin Ryujin

Ryujin x Male OC

CHAPTER I: 

You might hear the birds singing flying around,

You never see them too long on the ground,

You wanna be one of them, yeah.

Cocaine toxicity. Solipsism finally vindicated. He was going to die—truly. That cloudy feeling of mind and body separation, as if the ribbons of heaven had finally let him grasp their reins, swaying him toward some version of forever happiness.

Mmmm.

He thought he’d care about dying right there in the nightclub. The shame of weakness, of collapsing with foam at the corners of his mouth—he’d truly thought he’d care more about it. But now, one worry gone, he was worriless. Life had its charm, but it wasn’t for him; he’d been walking on sticks until the very end. Now, the floor felt so right. His body sank into it, slipping slowly, as if turning to slime and merging back into the earth.

Each second, his grip over his fingers weakened, a constant slackening with every passing moment. His eyelids grew heavy, and the outline of the nightclub around him blurred. He couldn’t control his fingers anymore; he was truly sinking. When would heaven begin? When would this fantasy end? Mind-death, a complete and utter submission to the lifeless realm - he’d never recover.

The faint tingling of powder lingered at the rim of his nostrils. At least, he’d had a good high - a nice ecstasy haze along the fine columbian - before dying. Finally, his eyes closed, nerves shutting down, and he felt free, unchained from his body like a ghost.

"Stay with me!" A voice, deep and feminine.

Hm?

"Don’t close your eyes!" Again, that voice.

What?

Whatever. It was too late anyway.

"How many fingers am I holding up!?" Still images flashed through his fading consciousness, fingers held up just before his face, barely visible, though he couldn’t tell how many anyway.

"What’s your name?" He couldn't place a face on the voice, but it was distinctly feminine - separate from his inner voices.

They were trying so hard. If they’d responded any faster, he might’ve been forced to go back - to life.

Go back…

Did he want to go back?

Hell.

Mr. Rager - that’d be a good name, he thought. If he were reborn, given another chance, that’s who he’d be.

"Mr. Rager!"

What? Could the paramedic hear him?

"Mr. Rager! Come back! Fight back! Don’t go off on an adventure!"

—

Flash. Eyes open. He was alive - he was… alive.

"Mr. Rager. You’re okay; don’t make any sudden movements." A soft, padded palm rubbed his forehead with a gentle, compassionate touch. He looked up. A young woman, petite yet strikingly beautiful, looked back at him.

"What’s your name?" he asked, despite himself. Still a bachelor, after all. "My name is Ryujin." She was dressed in a way he couldn’t quite place, something different from what he expected. "I’m part-time, by the way," she said, noticing his confused look. "That’s why my clothes are different." He rubbed his forehead; it was pounding, but with a distant sort of ache, incongruous with a proper headache. “What the hell happened?” he asked, properly confused. “You went into shock, someone already administered naloxone to your body, thankfully; otherwise, you would’ve-” she abruptly bit her tongue, preventing herself from talking about a potentially sensitive topic that Mr. Rager was subjected to.

“And, by the way, this was my first call ever.” A subtle transition, a conversation starter.

He blinks, trying to relieve the soreness in his eyes, “God, I’m sorry, this is such a fucking shitty situation.” And the way he said it, that emotional self-deprecation.

She might’ve realized something, “Were you trying to commit suicide?” She asked, very bluntly.

“It’s none of your business. Thank you for the hospitality, I’ll be taking my leave now.” When he tried to take the IV fastened to his vein, Ryujin softly, with the firmest grip and tone, said, “You’re going nowhere.”

All Mr. Rager could think of were cuss words, cusses against the world, against destiny to be alive for the foreseeable future. 

A resolve to suicide is the moment the mind, at the cusp of mind-death, truly enters a dead mind. The inescapable rock-bottom, a self-fulfilling prophecy where one feels truly and utterly fastened to the floor - inhibited of all its freedoms, its happiness.

–

Mr. Rager, or better known as Min amongst his peers - not friends. At the hands of his peers, Mr. Rager sustained a traumatic head injury that tormented him with chronic migraines right from the start of it all - the drunk brawl, that he decisively lost in, at just the age of 17. 

See, Mr. Rager had not a single family member except his aunt who embezzled all the funds Rager’s parents left for him. And the last time he tried to talk with his aunt was when he sustained a knife wound on his forearm from her - a deeply tormented individual, she was locked in a home-made cage for most of her adolescence.

And, unfortunately, there’s not a single time where his life is measurably better than the year before - only getting worse until the overdose.

–

Ryujin didn’t inquire further, she was hoping somewhat that her presence might help Mr. Rager. She sat next to Mr. Rager, her hand still on the side of the hospital bed, feeling its soft fabric. Mr. Rager, still irritated, asked, “Why are you still here?”

“Cause I want to be here.” A joking undertone, perfectly acted out. In truth, Ryujin pitied him so much, her first patient, a successful businessman who tried to kill himself at the age of 29 - now that’s fucking rare, usually the cases accelerate at the age  of 50 or so.

“Why’d you take this job?” 

She replied, “Artistic inspiration.”

“Hm, fantastic idea by the way.” He was sincere about it.

“Thanks.”

“Do you have enough material now?”

“Oh. Plenty. Plenty enough.” She giggled.

“What if I don’t consent to my likeness being represented in your art - medium, whatever?”

“Mr. Rager, don’t you worry, I’ll refurbish it so much that it'll be closer to the likeness of… let’s say… me.”

“Quit the teasing,” he stated, straight to the point.

“I don’t want to.” She replied back, he was one of the few people where teasing seemed to genuinely improve their immediate well-being, and for someone like Mr. Rager - it’s huge. And, he was finally laying, no longer trying to plan an escape, on the flatbed, staring at the ceiling, observing the music player. “By the way, is this music player provided to everyone recovering?” He’s not one to mix words.

“You’re pretty smart.” She replies, a confirmation, fiddling with her torn skirt, presumably from rushing into her para-medic role.

“That’s what I owe you for?”

“Mhm.” Still fiddling, a pouty sort of face formed on her face, it was her favorite skirt.

“How do you want the debt paid?” He inquired, he’s one to never ignore the nascent attachment to his favorite items - thus, he understands: the exorbitant value placed on favoritisms. “I dunno. You’ll still owe me. Big Time.” She stared back, this time, their eyes entwined with a sort of friendliness that is almost, just almost, ethically wrong in hospital circumstances.

“Very well then.” His tired eyes kept pulling on his eyelids. Genuine sleep had seemed to completely take over his body, and yeah, that’s all the meds he’s under: naloxone, antibiotics, withdrawal medicine, and a lovely dose of morphine. “I feel new.” His voice was dozing as his intra-reflection began. As he nodded off, he felt the faint grasp of her hand, so small, yet filled with so much conviction. He’s tripping balls, but she’ll never tell him - presence was what was required of her.

And that was all the validation he needed: for sleep.

As Mr. Rager finally slept; Ryujin stayed for a bit, or about 4 hours. And, still, she’s sitting beside him - making sure that he sleeps and recovers. Just from the chance encounter of a paramedic call, she felt the compulsion to guard Mr. Rager. Poor girl, if she’d seen a dead body for her first call then she’d vomit a week’s worth onto the ground. 

After another hour, Ryujin finally decided it was time to leave. She wrote a thoughtful letter, of things that needn’t be said - obviously. But she also left a partition, finagling a creative way to demand what she’s owed. After, she let her boss know that she quit on the spot, that she’d also come back to the same room - a reservation of some sort. She left, leaving the stale, minty air of the hospital with a melancholy that wouldn’t be fixed until she saw him again. Because, when she was writing the note, she wished she asked more questions - Mr. Rager just seemed to lead on the conversation to a charming degree, that other circumstances were of lesser importance. 

Ryujin, outside, breathing in the fresh air of the summer, caught the last bus of the route. This route, passing by the road that she was taken on inside the paramedic van, also led to her apartment. Unfortunately, it’s an old, decrepit apartment where only the rudest sort of parties happen. Half the time, the floor above is vibrating thump, thump, thump from the heavy jumps, or the lower floor blasts some of the most needlessly, eardrum-breaking music.

At least she has solitude. Finally free from the dictates of those she didn’t get along with, finally separated from her friends who’d get too boring if she hung along for too long. Now, her family is charming - easy to get along with; now, her friends are always interesting - fascinating to be around. Distance is a marinating technique, or whatever.

Ryujin, the charming shut-in, finally arrived at her place, and began on her art piece. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to list that’s positive about her obsession with art. It’s the time where she vents her frustrations of being a failed trainee - rather, a placement that was restricted from becoming an idol; wallows in the misery of the color tone she loves the most: dark; and, to top it off, she gets bored of visual arts when she tries to make money off of it. Some dastardly sign from the man above, “Your hobby will stay a hobby.”

All that displeasure would be the paint upon the canvas: checkmate, mental turmoil turns to art, she thought. Swipe and swipe, the dirty colored watercolor painting had nearly no form worth thinking - almost entirely brown from the intermixing of the wet, damp color. Then the second layer, an apparition of segmentation, a deeper color, colors that entice and bite back. Then the specificity of the lines, things left unspecified were on purpose. But, this recurring thought, this pounding idea, that she left a man that fell in the depths of the void alone - really began digging into her soul. This thought unto Ad Nauseam brought her nausea that really can’t be eliminated with the will of her conscience. “I should’ve stayed, I should’ve stayed” - the recurrent thoughts that never seemed to leave her. With a sad howl, she fell to the side, crying deep, ruining all her pretty into the sheets - a room so small that her chair was the bed.

–

“I’m still alive”, Mr. Rager repeated this to himself over and over after waking up - not sure whether to feel some sort of rendered triumph. For a moment, he was truly tip-toed in the void, almost encased into the endless hope, of unrendered reality and a horrible sadness; now, he’s alive, breathing, with a full control of his body.

Nothing had caught his attention, the environment, whether there were people around him or not, only life as he knew it - coursing through his veins. The feeble thumps of his chest - his heart, still persevering.

–

Several days of this sort of morning locomotion went on, it was also the time that Ryujin came over. Poor girl brought over new confectionaries - mostly of her favorites; brought lunch boxes she herself fully funded; found ways to amuse herself and Mr. Rager during the listless hours.

“What’s the interest rate of this debt? Surely, a person like me, fastened to the bed with belts (a pure exaggeration), wouldn’t be extorted with dubious rates?”

“Mr. Rager, you’ll have to declare bankruptcy by the end of it, seriously. You owe me. Big time.” She joked back, of course, she didn’t really expect much. By her own goodwill, Ryujin was looking after Mr. Rager, an exchange of her goodwill would almost sour all her community service - again, a flash of her trait, a blithely weak trait in modern society, a subtle revulsion to being paid for her services.

Mr. Rager, however, was the opposite. Rogue-man, Rager man, Mr. Rager, a name that fits him so closely, from the early onset of consciousness, an unruly rebelliousness coursing through his veins at all times, with flourish - with the crimonest red. He’s done it all, disowning his billionaire politician parents, who still relish the thought of meeting Mr. Rager one day; losing all his wealth, gaining it back the next; then, enjoying it all on a single roulette wheel, then forgiving the casino when they couldn’t pay his winnings; and then dying for a few seconds, under the angelic influence of the so-called hellish “nose candy”. But for his closure, his preference—he’s pastless, futureless.

That’s the dilemma, Ryujin hadn’t learned a single thing about Mr. Rager that was worth pulling a strand on. Contradictory statements only confounded her further, and a reply to her joke - of bankruptcy and debt - he’d say, “I’d have to find it buried somewhere.” And she’d think, “What? What the hell? What’s buried? What’s ‘it’ ?”

Often the thought was interrupted, never fully leaving its conception—Mr. Rager wanted to keep it that way. Ryujin, often on her phone, never leaving her eyes off Mr. Rager, spent her delicate hours in the breezy, spacious hospital room.

Mr. Rager, of course alarmed, would ask - every day - “why do you visit so often?”

Then, Ryujin, really not knowing an answer, would default to a bland answer of so and so - real political talk. This procession, of nothing happening, stretching on for days was repetitive. It also made them happy. She’d put on her makeup, with her artsy hands - quick and fast. The rapidity with which she approached this situation, so contrary to all the aspects of her life - seemingly, Mr. Rager had brought vitality to Ryujin.

And in comes the day of withdrawal, the hospital withdrawal - where Ryujin and Mr. Rager resided comfortably. The door clicked softly as the nurse entered; simultaneously, Ryujin and Mr. Rager’s hairs stood up - what are they alarmed for? It was not, the nurse, no, absolutely not, the nurse was jovial, happy, thinking that she was delivering happy news.

She didn’t know that both of them found their only sources of joy inside this hospital. The nurse thought that she was relieving them of a most ludicrous bill, by ending it as soon as possible - as this hospital in particular, charges in hours, yeah, real dystopian shit. And so, it was a surprise when both the people had an almost disdainful stare towards her - it’s just my imagination, the nurse thought.

–

“Are you sure? You know overdraft schedules cost significantly more?” The nurse asked, confused, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah, I just want to stay here for one more day.” Mr. Rager replied.

“But, but - do you have any ailment? That’ll bring down the price.” 

“None at all, I just want to stay here for another day more.”

Rich people are nuts, the nurse, still, complied, letting him stay, leaving him for another day.

–

As the day progressed, Ryujin came back, again, in the evening. “Your schedule, how do you do that?” Mr. Rager was genuinely impressed with how Ryujin utilized her time, imagine his surprise when she just says, “I just skipped some stuff.”

“Alright, well, thanks for coming.” And that got Ryujin thinking, was this his first time thanking me? Which, in fact, did make her day. And, she wouldn’t dare challenge this once in a lifetime behavior - that’d be a quick way for that behavior to be stashed away, forever. Again, as soon as she entered, the atmosphere changed. 

It’s about damn time they understand the euphoric peacefulness they rouse for each other. And, today was one of the moments where Mr. Rager gives a slight glimpse of his life - the confounding ones that really led to nowhere. “I think my aversion to alcohol comes from the fact that I had kids with this chick, married this chick, bought a mansion for us to live in - and, only too late, realized that it was really the alcohol that talked.”

Ryujin’s heart sank, “what? You have kids?”

“Not anymore, don’t have custody over them anymore.” He was so unbothered, utterly unbothered.

“I’m sorry for asking, just curious—what happened to them?”

He chuckled, “No more personal questions after this, alright?”

She nodded, her beady eyes on full alert. The pillow that she borrowed from the hospital bed, on her lap. She was intently listening from the comfortable armchair. 

“I let her take the kids, she didn’t ask for alimony or anything like that—just that, on the condition that I don’t contact them ever again.” He stared at the ceiling, sorting some of it out, not sure if it was some traumatic experience. Nevertheless, he continued, “she found me unbearable after a while, and I found her unbearable as well. I was never there too: too busy with money. She probably didn’t chase after alimony because she already had a sweetheart - with money - to get back to.” With so much ease, as if he’d been through too many lifetimes - too many he can remember.

“Oh,” that’s it, that’s all the reaction she can give.

“Oh, what’s with that reaction?” He chuckled.

“I-I’msorryIdon’treallyknow-” she paused, “Hey! You’re being so annoying today.”

“Sometimes, a flipped script - like teaser gets teased - leads to masterpieces.”

“Any examples?”

“Nah, I just made it up.”

From then on, the conversations continued; the deep introspective pauses continued, listlessly; and both began to feel the drowsy effect of the combination of warm light and black-out curtains.

And a tired Mr. Rager loves beauty. 

“Ryujin.”

“Hm?” She looked back, staring at him with her doe eyes.

“You’re like marijuana.” One can say he has a way with words.

“What?” Her brows stitched in confusion.

“You’re fucking amazing to have around. But, I swore to never, nev-” He fell into a deep sleep, so contrary to his habits: he’s never fallen asleep with his own mind’s permission.

Her doe-like eyes opened farther open. Her heart began beating listlessly, skipping beats. I’ve got to leave, before I-. Yet she magneted closer to the bed, where Mr. Rager slept so peacefully. Did I do that? He’s always complaining about sleeping, yet- yet he slept so easily. She was making up all sorts of situations, scenarios, theories - none of them healthy for the mind.

And, before she knew it, under the bright moonlight radiating into the room, gentle shadows across his face, she leaned closer, letting her soft lips touch the peak of his cheekbone, causing shivers across her spine, and she thought fuck, fuck, I’m really doing it - and when that wasn’t enough - then his forehead, feeling the warmth radiating from his forehead on her lips. But no more, that’d be too much, too much.

Under her own shame, her bright flush cheeks, her dilated pupils, twin pools of dark moons: she quickly left the room, carrying all her stuff such that it’d be guaranteed to fall in the middle of the hallway, a real mess she made of herself.

CHAPTER II: 

Keep movin' forward, keep movin' forward

I'm so-I'm so reborn, I'm movin' forward

Along the way home, the realization washed over her like a molotov flame - its gentle but fiery shimmer covering the entirety of her body. And the way her heart pumped, any performative act she could do to stop it was useless - ultimately doing nothing, nada, zilch. The sound of his roaring laughter from her jokes, the curve of his smile, the messy stubble, god, she was really losing it inside the bus. Her every thought, motion, every constriction of her body - pulse and all - was consumed by him. Her legs rubbed together desperately, and the slightest, faintest moan left her quivering lips as she let her imagination go wild. 

And the fact that… that an elderly lady was behind her, judging her provocative movements, just nudged her on further - full on deviant shit.

As soon as she’d be home, she’d have a towel under her.

–

Fortunately, past the hospital departure, they wanted to see each other again - platonically. However, it’s been days, and though that may seem quite short, they’ve never been separated for more than 12 hours. 

And these days, these listlessly long days, let Ryujin know of her sympathetic entanglement, and, seemingly intensifying it. Ryujin, with her sore body, stared at Mr. Rager’s phone number on her phone - the curves of the numbers kept reminding her of everything she thought about days before (the curves of the numbers some dubious correlation with Mr. Rager). She’s about to do it again, two fingers, knuckle-deep, into her folds until she’s a drooling mess on the bed. She was already a mess to begin with, a crook in her neck, half her bed unmade, sleep-deprived.

That isn’t to say that Mr. Rager wasn’t just as affected. He never succumbed to the pleasure of the hand, but the dreams, the wistful dreams. Imagining her close smile against him, moaning soft and goading phrases right into his ear - melodiously erotic. Her soft palms against his broad back, pressing deep - trying her best to not scratch up his back. You’re fucking me so good, mm- she’s whimpering, right on your ear, fuck, shivers throughout. Then, halt. It’s the fucking alarm.

Both awake, going through their groggy morning routines to finally meet again. Would it be as magical as it was in the hospital? Would it ever be so calm?

–

The time to meet was approaching quickly. Ryujin got ready, her perfect face, judiciously given with all her perfect talents, was colored with minimal effort, any more and she’d show off her inexperience with makeup - Mr. Rager would’ve lost it all regardless. Because, she was dressed in this tight dress, the type of dress that a girl like her deserves, expensive, ornate, sexy; but, she was a special case, she’d never worn something so ornate and so revealing, and the mirror would reflect a little doe desperately pulling on the hems that revealed her taut thick thighs, the cusp of her petite bosom, and any effort to cover was an ultimately futile effort, this was something she had come to terms with, before leaving her small studio.

And, as if she were in a Wong-Kar Wai movie, she entered the bus: all glammed out in a shitty environment. And the nervous eyes in the bus quickly looked away, intimidated heavily; still, some passengers hoped that they could get a glimpse with the spasm of their pupils to her direction - that’s how good she looked.

She sat down mindfully, crossing her legs - alarmingly aware of the stares. Her face adopted a natural blush - a face too beautiful to hide. Her eyes, set beneath her delicately arched eyebrows, stared at the reflection of herself from the wide glass. She’d never be able to understand her own beauty, too often enveloped in imposter syndrome, and the only person, Mr. Rager, would be the one, who could tell her the beauty of her cascading black hair; her large eyes, accentuated by a deep-set gaze; the beauty with which she carried herself, awkward, yet enigmatically, always, the most beautiful person in the room.

Mr. Rager, gaunt from the opioids, still looked herculean, a fitful combination that fit any clothing piece. With an androgynous face that was covered with sharp eyebrows, dark under eyes, high cheek-bones, and a sort of asymmetrical face that was almost better than the conventional symmetry: in summary, he was someone you couldn’t miss. This inherited comeliness comes with its risks, from the ease of life to the women, things that Mr. Rager succumbed to in violent fashion. Other than that, his preparation was pretty rapid, hopping into his entirely dark-tinted - for obvious reasons - car and set off into the gentle night.

Ryujin landed at the closest bus point to the meeting point. Her dress was unsuited for the weather, and her body began going frigid under a chilly summer day. That’s until a black car, a mercedes s-class, stopped ahead of her. It was nothing to be worried about, she’d just pass by it, acting as if she didn’t see it. However, the figure that exited the car was all too familiar: Mr. Rager.

“Ryujin.” Mr. Rager took a look, scanning her body - making it all too obvious with his pupils - instantly realized why he’s been thinking constantly about her - she’s just the most beautiful person.

And Ryujin, the way her knees slightly folded from seeing Mr. Rager, a slight spasm in her joints - she really missed him. And her hands crossed together between her loins, her eyes opened slightly larger.

“Don’t be so nervous.” He chuckled, that chuckle, that deep chuckle - Ryujin could feel the heat in her core. “Come in, you still have a long way to go,” she gladly accepted, entering into the car: feeling the soft seats, the fragrance of the unusual smell of vanilla and sandalwood (in a car?), and the overwhelming luxury around her surroundings.

“Be sure to dial the temperature or dial whatever you need, I’m sure you were pretty cold outside.” Mr. Rager said, aware of how Ryujin is not one to engage in something without permission - only if he knew what she’d done, the moment before she left, that day. However as he talked, all Ryujin could respond with was a chuckle, she was too focused on how the sentence sounded, how his eyes placed on her face, and occasionally, how it landed on her chest. And that was just the pinnacle for her.

He couldn't stop his gaze, this fermentation of a pending calamity was bounding closer and closer, and thrilled both parties to no end - they couldn’t even hide their own temptations behind the screen of a platonic hang out. By the seconds, the passing seconds, they got bolder, he got bolder. He let his eyes wander far down, her creamy white legs, her meticulous maintenance of it all. And Ryujin was wallowing in it all, his sharp gaze made her feel warmer, wetter - enticing her to dial down the temperature, a contrast from when she was so cold outside.

Still, they’d say nothing, despite it all. The silent hum of the tire scraping against the asphalt was all the credence, the distraction, they were allowed. The rest was this endorphin-filled, endorphin-crazed environment where both of them knew that they were pushing too quickly, given the fact that this companionship began from a suicide attempt.

Still, there’s this slip of time, where they could, possibly, love each other. Though, before these exponential entropic forces caused all sorts of calamity, they arrived at the spot. This run-down complex, that hid a quaint restaurant with private rooms, was a source of nostalgia for Mr. Rager. Ryujin followed, climbing the stairs, ascending just behind him, pulling down on her dress, sticking her thighs together as she climbed (a natural precaution). The restaurant was exactly that, quaint. They entered one of the tight-fitting cubicles, where they sat across from each other, a small sitting-table separated their bodies - unfortunately.

“Don’t be too worried about this restaurant, it may be run down, but it’s a great experience.”

“Oh, no, no, I’m not worried about that, I frequent far more run down establishments than this.” As the words left her tongue, Ryujin cringed, frequent? What am I? A prostitute? Her eyebrows knitted.

“Relax Ryujin,” he chuckled, “enjoy yourself, I’ll pay for it all.”

“That’s the first step to the debt?” Ryujin grinned, loosening, gaining her natural confidence.

“Perhaps. Come on, go crazy.” There it is, that nice toothy grin, her cheeks ripple into some sort of whiskers - god, he’d do anything for that, again and again. 

The dishes came, oily dishes full of food, and Ryujin’s eyes glazed in excitement. After a brief, too quick, moment of eating, both of them leaned back - absolutely full.

“You got a bird’s stomach for your ambition, Ryujin.”

“And you’re a head taller than me, but you’re leaning as well!”

“Good point.” He chuckled, fighting indigestion through it.

“I don’t even like oily food.”

“Me too.”

This time, a collaborative laugh.

Mr. Rager paid the meager bill, leaving all the food to rot on the table - the plight of abundance.

–

“Anything you want to do today?” Mr. Rager asked, putting on his seatbelt.

“It’s really late, I really wanted to punish your wallet, you played your cards right going out so late..” Ryujin relaxed into the seat, fully comfortable, in-tune.

“Well, if you don’t have any plans. Mind if I go the reservation for us?”

“What reservation?”

“That’d ruin the surprise, Ryujin.” The ambient sound of the tires against the ground in combination with the dark night - the darkest night before morning - was an even more intense atmosphere.

This peaceful atmosphere, intense, yet peaceful, again, just like the hospital visits. This interesting continuation of happiness, so foreign to his life, was something that he could get used to. His forearm pressed against the storage compartment, letting his hand spill over; his other arm was loosely steering, as loose as the gentle dark night. 

As he trailed the road, occasional peeks at Ryujin showed her transition to sleep: drowsy eyelids that infrequently close for periods of time, then, longer periods, then, sleep. 

Who was this angel? This angel that wrought Mr. Rager all manners of hope, of happiness, of reflection. If he hadn’t been so stubborn about his affliction towards personal information, maybe, just maybe he’d understand her more, this girl - so beautifully clad in a flowery dress.

Is this love, this elusive feeling? How could it be so cruel? So cruel as to bring it to me at a time so random, and so heavily…

Again, he forgot his bad habit: speaking his thoughts out loud.

He realized too late, and he could feel her large eyes staring at him, confused. 

Yet, and yet, he felt the gentle warmth of another palm on his forearm - a reassuring grip.

“Min, I love you too.”

CHAPTER III: No Longer Mr. Rager

I want to kiss you on your space below your navalette

The place you keep so neat, so moist like a towelette

Ryujin, her beautifully beady eyes looked at you, as she lifted your forearm, planting little kisses all over it.

“Oh Ryujin.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that, Min.” A statement that left her lips as she continued worshiping his forearm.

Jesus, this woman.

He pulls into the closest parking spot, giving not a single fuck that there were a few cars there - all likely empty, anyway.

And, with all pretenses and courtesy removed, the forearm that was so judiciously worshiped, wrapped around her nape, pulling her into a searing kiss. That deep moan, that accepting moan as his mouth opened against hers. He almost forgot the most essential question - suddenly, slightly pulling away from the kiss.

“How’d you find out about my name, Ryujin?” Min asked.

“A woman doesn’t disclose her secrets, besides, how could my love not have a name?” Cheesy, feisty, what a woman.

“Good point.” Another searing kiss, dynamic, evolving, every step more depravedly romantic than the previous.

He was pretty sure that he’d break something, in the middle compartment, that separated you from total body connection. Again, you pull away, this time, it brought out a desperate whine out of her, her arms that wrapped desperately around you kept pulling you in - like a vortex.

She understood the memo as soon as he exited the car - love connection. This time, with a wider space, still constricted, was the best they could do, and they’d relish this extra space. Min, naturally assumed dominance over Ryujin, her body acclimated against his aggressive pulls and pushes - all for the pleasure of Ryujin, and she didn’t take it lightly, each breath heavy with the densest pleasure. Oh, oh, oh, keep manhandling me. She’d whisper. And he’d obey.

As Ryujin, with her tight dress, splayed against the seats on her back, took initiative to take off Min’s clothes, button-by-button. “Oh I’ll fuck you so good, Ryujin, so fucking good.” He’d repeat, over and over, and Ryujin would get more aroused by each iteration: “Yes, yes! Please.” Occasional soft bites were felt all over his collarbone, his neck, his earlobe. “Possessive little bird, I’m not going anywhere.” He caressed her head, making sure that he’d also mark her, a heavy hickey on her neck.

And Ryujin fucking loves it, she softly caresses him, soft grasps against his back, locking her taut legs around him, begging for continuations. And, Min would obey, in his own rebellious way, tightly grabbing her breasts - hidden behind the dress - then pressing kisses all over her neck, nearly all of them hickeys. 

“Fuck the reservation,” he grunted, it was an expensive reservation, but he doesn’t give a fuck: Ryujin’s right under him, begging for him to ravage her taut body. And she replies, “That’s right, that’s right, mister, master!” The end of her sentence was capitalized by Min’s heavy grasp on her breasts.

“That’s right, little bird.” Low grunts against her ears, his thick shaft, covered, grinded against her body, while his mouth assaulted hers.

And she cums, her head turns up, looking wherever - straining her neck - to release her pleasure. “Ngghhh!!!” A heavy whine, so enthusiastically human, straining against the seats that held her back. “Holy shit! That was so amazin-” enough talking, he’d motion, locking mouths together.

Silent moans, “mmmf..” hummed against his tongue, Ryujin was so turned on, and he’d love to fulfill all her wishes. Each rotation of his hip against hers were accentuated by Ryujin’s deep moan, squeaky moans, the moans that she couldn’t hide by covering her mouth. His hand, fixed onto her breasts, finally ventured below, feeling her lithe abdomen - the slightest abs - then letting his hand rest on her pelvis, just above her pussy. 

He finally released himself from the hypnotizing kiss, staring at her body - mostly still covered by the dress: now, that, won’t do. He pulled on the bottom hem of her dress, revealing her wet core, an embarrassed squeak along with it all. “You’re so fucking hot, Jesus,” he had a taste of what her body looked like, and he just can’t get enough. All precaution thrown out the window, the expensive dress was about to be ruined, and Ryujin - ever resourceful - seemed to allow it. He pulled the upper hem of the dress down, breaking the straps that could’ve been removed easily - this is a statement, I own you - Ryujin seemed to get the memo - all beady and begging.

Her soft breasts, creamy, smooth, with pink nubs spilled out from the tight dress. He pressed both his hands, all over her body, exploring the transitions from her taut skin to the scrunched dress, making sure to remember every facet of it all. “How badly do you want it?” He whispered, wholly focused on her body, subtly noticing her wet core, the outline of her pussy growing clearer by the second. And Ryujin didn’t even have to answer the question, locking her legs around his waist, frantically trying to get her hips on his covered shaft - yeah, she’s fiending for it.

And Min, ever the indulgent, gently moved and hovered his hand over her neck, waiting for that confirmation, that wink, that nod - and, Ryujin, calming down from the intense pleasure, nodded. That first grasp, tight, measuring her tolerance, measuring just the moment when the eyes go back to her eyes - and he seemed to completely pinpoint it, that slight spasm of her body, and her inner thighs are just soaked.

Finally, Min decided it’s time to give her sopping cunt some attention. Peeling the layer to the side, wet with the highest arousal, hid her bright pink core - and it, her core, was begging to be sated, pulsing, glistening, beautifully fragrant.

Firstly, he let a single finger prod, then entered. And Ryujin was already shaking, her eyes went straight to the back of her head, and her neck vascularized - all veiny - from the soft choke. It would’ve been too cruel to give her too much pleasure, so he took his hand off her throat, instead, patting her head - letting her know that she's doing so good, so good. 

In and out, motion of the ocean, slick covering his finger the deeper he went, earning the most virile moans out of her cute mouth. “You like that, huh?” He dug deeper, until his knuckle - a loud moan. She had never felt anything like this, her two fingers could never compare, and she’s a virgin after all, and she’s about to get deflowered in the backseat of a car - and, she loves it. 

In a swift motion, where Min continued his manhandling of Ryujin, he pulled his finger out - in a hook motion to agitate her g-spot, earning a girlish yelp - then, let Ryujin taste her own juices on his finger.

“You’re doing so good.” Min whispered, so overly joyed by Ryujin, how her petite body convulsed in pleasures beyond what he could ever imagine.

“I know.” Ryujin replied, defiant to the end. She knew exactly how this inspired him to be rougher - and she loves it. He gripped her waist, gripping harder, letting her firm abdomen mold against his grip, dug deeper into her cunt, placing his thumb over her engorged clit. One. Two. Three motions around her clit, three motions of his finger into her cunt - before she squirted onto the side window, far more girlish yelps, and desperate panting. This time, Min with his wet hand, spread it all over Ryujin’s face - the essence of her arousal, via his hand, spread on her face, where makeup was placed so thoughtfully, only to be ruined by her own squirt. She’s panting amidst all this, unable to process anymore than her overwhelming second orgasm. 

“You’re a fucking mess, Ryujin, cumming this quickly?”

“You made me this way…” She huffed, “you fucking brute.”

This time, all Min does is press against her pelvis - specifically, the pelvic bone, where just below is her g-spot, and the slight pressure, was absolutely deadly. All the while, he declared, “That’s right, little bird. I’ll press you against the seat, face-down, slam into your ass with all the force I can muster - then, when I’m deep, too deep, cervix-level deep, I’ll release all my cum into your precious little womb.”

“Nghhh~~!” And another squirt, where her legs closed together, toes curled, and her head hung back. While Ryujin was trying to recover, Min placed a quick and wet kiss on her lips, but that'd be the only romanticism that Min allowed her. Quickly, he let her sit up, pulling her by her thin wrists. Then, he pulled down his own pants - letting his shaft free from the restraints of his tight clothing, the painful onset of an early blue balls in its conception, that was only fuel to the fire to fuck Ryujin good, and hard.

“Sit on my lap facing me, Ryujin.” He demanded. And no matter how much Ryujin came, squirted, panted, and yelped - she’d always oblige in Min’s demands. She quickly hooked her other leg over him, in a hovered position rather than sitting. This time, he passed his fingers through her wet hair, letting it pass behind her ear, “safe word is Mimetic,” and he earned a soft nod from Ryujin, and consent to batter her sopping, wet, sticky, engorged pussy.

He slithered a hand around her waist, holding her in place; then, placed his other hand around her neck, just on the nape. He pulled her in for one last kiss. The last bit of eye contact before penetration, and all that could be seen in Ryujin’s eyes - beady and all wet from pleasure - was a fiending desire to be fucked silly.

Slowly, he let her descend, right up until his tip kissed her wet folds. She winced from her sensitivity, just from the touch. And that’s when it flashed in her eyes, she wasn’t sure if she was ready, given the fact that she hadn’t told him about her virginity. Before she could realize her thoughts through speech, she felt the intense heat of something foreign entering - something so thick and large - and it wrought every emergency signal in her brain - all of them, positive. “Oh–OH, fuck…” is all that Ryujin squeaked out before he pushed in deeper, feeling her gentle pussy wrap around his shaft - all wet and moist. A constant sizzling whisper could be heard from Ryujin as he buried his cock deeper, until, halfway in, where she let out a deep moan. “Holy fuck,” she moaned again, deeper. Holy fuck is right, her body was so resistant, tight right at the start to the end, yet, the way it also sucked his shaft into its wet folds - Min was already addicted.

“Ryujin, you’re so tight.” He said as he kept nudging Ryujin to move farther down, waiting for her glistening pussy to completely wrap around his shaft - then, eventually, completely devour her in the backseats of his own car. Yet, as he went through it with her, he began clueing in on the note - Ryujin is very.. Too sensitive. Why Ryujin focused on getting herself down, skewering herself on his length - desperately breathing, her chest dilating in and out. Through it all, as Ryujin tried to, adorably, hide her inexperience, Min pressed a compassionate kiss right into her mouth. 

“I love that. The fact that you’re so horny for a virgin.” He whispered against her mouth, breathing hotly, immeasurably hard.

And Ryujin needn’t respond at all, all she needed to do - well, did - was reach out with her tongue for his mouth, with those prey eyes, begging to be taken, testing her fickle fate - a sign that he needed to kiss her, devour her, again and again until hell freezes over. And finally, during the desperate haze of a reunification of mouths, he finally buried himself straight to the hilt, in her pink, glistening, sopping, beautiful core. And slowly, the wet sounds of sex, so blatantly loud in this claustrophobic environment, reverberated inside the car; the wet sounds of her moans covered this hazy atmosphere, coming from her lips that detached from his mouth, streaks of saliva still connecting them both; and that feeling, this mutual feeling of utter bliss, how her back bent - contorted - into every pump.

They couldn’t stop staring at each other, two perverts, two soulmates who couldn’t go for a second without looking at each other. Even when Min pushed up harder, letting his full length pass through her virginal hole, they still maintained that sensual eye contact - that essential eye contact.

“You fuck me so good, Min.” Ryujin said as her two small breasts jolted from every pump, every contraction of his length leaving her one step closer to ruin - until her eyes went back to that dangerous place, that orgasm line. And the resulting pressure, that heavenly pressure, pressed against his shaft so strongly, that his tight-lipped mouth let out a few growls of pleasure, a sign that he’s close to painting her womb in baby batter. 

Ryujin, ever the caretaker, felt the convulsions, and began pressing desperate kisses over his face - anywhere she could reach, whilst patting him on the back. And Min would never admit he liked it, that he loved it, and he didn’t need to admit it, Ryujin already knew. 

And she knew exactly, that this was the final straw that she needed to break before she was filled with his essence, the catalyst of that final convulsion. Min immediately seized, grabbing Ryujin in a bearhug - one that could’ve bruised her - and pumped hard, that final wet sound of sex, before, rope after rope of release entered deep inside her, splashing against her cervix, filling her womb.

“FUCKKK!!” He growled, he hadn’t felt this good since ever. And the same for Ryujin, who cried a leaky yelp, where her last bits of squirt flowed down the slightest nook from their love connection. They were static for a moment, relishing in the deviant copulation they engaged in, where, almost, the condensation of their lovemaking was visible in the air of the car.

“I love you.” She kissed him again, staring all lovey-dovey, as if her pupils had gone and turned into hearts.

“I love you.” He stared at her, happy, smiling.

“I love you more.” She added, exaggerating her laugh, trying to tease.

“I concede.” He replied.

“Heyyy! You’re supposed to say it back!” “I’m more for physical demonstrations. Wanna see?”

“Uh no. Please. It feels like it's about to fall off.” She was mentioning her pussy, all swollen and gummy to the eye.

“I love it, it’s so beautiful.” He replied, fully serious, digging his mouth into her neck, he was absolutely crazy about her.

“Min, I gotta take a shower, you’re being gross-” that’s when Min pressed a finger onto her - still engorged - clit, and proceeded to say, “I’m fucking crazy about you.” 

“Ngh! Stop! Seriously, it’s about to fall off.” Unfortunately, the collected accumulation of their love juices swiftly dripped down as Ryujin jolted back from him touching her clit.

“Isn’t this gonna stain your car until the end of time?” She stared at the significant puddle of who knows what.

“Let it. A commemoration of our intense copulation.”

Ryujin blushed, quickly grabbing the tissues that Min offered her, and wiping off all that she released, her entire lower half, essentially, was wet. And Min got aroused from watching Ryujin cleaning herself - her little winces when she slightly grazed her cunt only adding fuel to the fire. “Clean my cock.” Min demanded, but when Ryujin grabbed the tissues - ready to oblige - he replied, “with your mouth.”

To be continued...

Ahhh, I love cliffhangers. Enjoy waiting for 10 months! (just kidding!)

Honestly, I wanted to take months with this project, but I just can't seem to stop myself (from writing mid stuff).

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 15

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Penultimate chapter! Bashing of like...every IC member, though we have now reached the point where Rhys and Cassian are the good guys, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Accidental Baby Procurement

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

She overheard Rhys and Cassian. 

Feyre didn’t mean to eavesdrop…actually she just meant to tell her mate goodbye, as Nesta, Elain and her were meeting for tea at one of the many teahouses dotted around Velaris. 

It was weird…the more they did realise how badly they had fucked up with Zahra…the more the three of them tried to at least keep close with each other. 

Feye’s eyebrows rose in surprise as she heard Rhys and Cassian’s conversation.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the two of them were being rather…loud.

She heard Cassian’s voice first, his tone animated as he spoke. “You can’t be serious,” he exclaimed.

Curiosity piqued, Feye leaned in closer, her ears straining. 

Rhys’s voice came in next, his tone serious but filled with a hint of amusement. “I assure you, I am quite serious.”

Feyre could practically picture the smirk on his face as he spoke.

“They got married?! And didn’t bother telling us?!?” Cassian’s exclamation nearly made Feyre jump. The shock in his voice was palpable.

Married? Who got married?

No. No. No, no… had Zahra…and Azriel… had her sister…had they?

She got the answer seconds later. 

"Yes,” Rhys answered simply, amusement threading through the word. “Azriel and Zahra came home a few days ago, all filled with newly-wed bliss.”

And Feyre was done.

This wasn’t funny. None of this was.

Ignoring the conversation still going on between her mate and Cassian, Feyre stalked out of the River House, her footsteps heavy on the cobblestones. Her heart raced as she tried in vain to control the tempest of emotions within her chest. 

She was supposed to meet Nesta and Elain for an afternoon of shopping...they were supposed to try and get their mind of the fact that Azriel had pretty much kidnapped their fucking sister and now this.

As Feyre neared the small shop, her and her sisters had arranged to meet up, she paused to take a deep, steadying breath.

Her emotions were still roiling inside her, a mix of anger, confusion, and frustration. She couldn’t even really put it into words why…why this upset her so much. She pushed open the door to the shop. Her sisters were waiting for her, their faces brightening as they spotted her. “Hey Feyre,” Nesta greeted, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in her sister's expression.

"Azriel and Zahra got married," she blurted out.

Elain and Nesta gasped almost simultaneously, their eyes widening in surprise.

"What?," Elain exclaimed, her mouth agape.

Nesta looked like she'd been slapped, her eyes narrowing slightly. "When?" she demanded, her voice low.

“A few days ago, I overheard Rhys and Cassian," Feyre answered weakly.

Nesta's expression darkened, her voice dropping to a low growl. "Damn him," she muttered, her lips curling. "I’m gonna rip his balls off.”

Feyre struggled to maintain her composure. She could feel her own anger simmering beneath the surface, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of Azriel and Zahra’s sudden marriage or the fact that no one had told her beforehand.

She couldn’t help but feel betrayed…couldn’t help but… 

"It's just...it's so unlike Zahra to just...run off and do something like this," Elain murmured after a moment of silence. Nesta’s eyes flashed. "And Azriel. Why didn't we know?."

"Maybe because he knows we would’ve tried to stop them," Feyre said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I just…aren’t they going at it way too fast?” she said weakly.  

“They barely know each other. Who knows what Zahra’s actually getting herself into?” Nesta agreed back.

“She didn’t even bother telling us,” Elain whispered.

"Well, why should she?” Feyre said weakly. "She's an adult. She doesn't answer to us."

Nesta’s expression hardened. "We’re her family," she insisted. "We have a right to know." “Are they still in Rosehall?” Nesta asked.

“No, they came home a few days ago,” she answered absentmindedly and then came up short. 

Wait, what?

They came home. Home to Velaris. Which meant that their sister was…

She jumped up, Nesta and Elain scrambling after her, as she strode towards Zahra’s house. 

The last time she had seen the cottage…it had been clean but downtrodden. Now though…Now though it seemingly sparkled. 

Feyre's breath hitched in her throat as she took in the sight of the house.

It looked…good.

Better than good. The walls that had been patched up before, now gleamed with fresh paint, the windows gleaming with their new panes of glass.

The house looked like a home. There were little bits and pieces dotted around the outside, like the rocking chair on the proch and the windchimes hanging from the overhang…Thoughtful little touches that hadn’t been there before. 

“Is this where Zahra lives?” Elain asked. ”It’s a bit small, isn’t it?” she wondered but Feyre was already walking up the steps of the porch, her sisters trailing behind her. 

Her heart was in her throat as she approached the front door.

When she reached the front door, she knocked. It took only a moment, but then the door swung open. Standing in the doorway was Azriel. Looking absolutely furious. 

His face was set in a fierce scowl, his jaw clenched. His eyes flashed as his gaze flicked from Feyre, to Nesta, to Elain. "What are you doing here?," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“What do you think?,” Feyre snapped back. She could feel her own anger rising to match Azriel's, her skin prickling. "We came to see Zahra.”

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Azriel said sharply.

Feyre bristled at his words. "She’s our sister."

Azriel's gaze darkened. "She's also my wife,” he snapped. “And she doesn’t want to see you,” he repeated. 

"How do you know?," Feyre shot back, her hands balling into fists. "Did you ask her?"

Azriel let out a humorless laugh. "I know her quite well," he ground out. "I’d like to think I have a pretty good idea of what makes her happy.”

“You are locking her up!” Feyre snapped sharply. Azriel was locking Zahra up. He was keeping her away from everybody.  “And you are keeping her away from people that care about her, and you think that will make her happy?!”

Azriel reared back like she had slapped him and his expression darkened even further, his eyes blazing with anger.

"How dare you?," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I would never keep Zahra captive.I would never do that,“ he whispered.

“Let them in,” came Zahra’s voice suddenly behind him.

Feyre’s head snapped up to see her sister. She looked…well. Non the worse for wear at least. She was dressed in a comfortable woolen dress, with the sleeves pushed up. 

Azriel’s face twisted as Zahra stepped up beside him, her eyes dark. “Let them in, Azriel,” she said softly, her hand coming to rest on her mate’s arm. Azriel’s gaze flicked to Zahra, his eyes softening for a moment.

Then, with a huff of irritation, he stepped back from the door, gesturing for Feyre and her sisters to enter the house.

***

Zahra should have known that their peace wasn’t going to last.

Zahra had hoped for a peaceful day with her daughter and Azriel, but those hopes were dashed by midday.

Azalea was sleeping in the bedroom, stretched out all over the big bed, because their daughter didn’t really seem to enjoy the crib at all. (And quite frankly, neither Zahra or Azriel had it in themselves to insists that she sleep all alone, when they could just let her sleep in the big bed with them and Azalea would snuggle up to them.) 

A couple of shadows had self appointed them as Azalea’s babysitters and would alert Azriel and Zahra whenever she woke… or as much as twitched. 

Right now, Zahra was in the kitchen cooking, trying to make these spicy meatballs Esmeray had showed her how to make and Azriel, was keeping her company while catching up on paperwork. Azriel's hand had stilled on the page he was writing, his eyes distant.

Zahra noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, setting down the bowl of meatballs she had been forming.

“Az?,” she questioned quietly. Concern laced her words. Azriel didn’t respond, his focus firmly fixed on some point in the distance.

"Your sisters are coming," he said, his voice flat.

Zahra felt her heart seize. How did they …she bit back a curse. “You’re certain?,” she asked warily, though she already knew the answer to that. Azriel’s lips pressed together, forming a thin line of displeasure. 

Right.

Zahra couldn't just ignore them for the rest of her life. Even when she wanted to.

Or maybe she didn't want to ignore them for the rest of her life, But she also wasn't particularly looking forward to talking to them about what had happened to her.

"Do you want to talk to them?" Azriel asked her. He was giving her the choice. Respecting any decision she would make.

"I don't but I will," Zahra gave back flatly.

Azriel’s stoic demeanor didn’t waver, but his hazel eyes were filled with understanding. “You don’t have to,” he told her quietly, his voice gruff.

“I know,” Zahra said with a sigh. “But they’ll never leave me alone until I do talk to them.” She was certain of that. 

“You don’t owe them anything,” Azriel told her sharply. Zahra glanced at him, feeling a small measure of joy at Azriel’s defense. Her hand found his, a silent thanks for his support. His grip was warm and comforting, a stark contrast to his hardened expression. 

“Maybe not. But they’ll keep coming. If I don’t talk to them now, they’ll just come back later.” She sighed. She hated how right her words sounded.

“If you don’t want to deal with them, I’ll do it,” Azriel told her.

Zahra raised her eyebrows, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. “And what would you say? ‘Get lost’?” she suggested drily. 

Azriel’s face turned serious, the shadows swirling around him like a cloak. “If necessary,” he said seriously.

Zahra chuckled despite the situation, the sound almost a bark.

The knock at the door sounded in that moment. Startled, Zahra exchanged glances with Azriel.

It could only be the sisters.

Azriel let out a heavy sigh, rising from his chair and stalking towards the door. Zahra watched him go, her heart thudding in her chest.

She could see how furious he was in every fibre of his being.

His voice was harsh as he opened the door, the words sounding like a growl.  "What are you doing here?"

She could feel the protectiveness pour all over their fledgling bond. Zahra could feel how furious he was on her behalf.

And there was also that little inkling of fear that was rearing it's ugly little head. She didn't truly want to see her sisters. She didn't want to talk about what happened to her. She had been willing to take that particular secret to the grave. 

And now there it was, out there to be gawked at, to be used to pass judgement at her.

“What do you think?” Feyre's voice was equally harsh.  "We came to see Zahra.”

Zahra watched Azriel, her heart thundering in her chest. It seemed like Feyre’s words had struck a chord with him, the anger rolling off him in waves. She could feel his rage through their fledgling bond, a fiery storm of protectiveness that coursed through them like a cyclone.

“She doesn't want to see you,” Azriel responded, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

"She’s our sister," Feyre responded, and Zahra's teeth clenched against themselves. Was she really? Was she really their sister?

Zahra watched, her breath caught in her throat, as Azriel bristled at Feyre’s words.

“She’s also my wife,” Azriel told her coldly, his eyes blazing.

He stood like a wall in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space, his shadows circling him like a cloak.

They had never treated her like she was. They had never...never truly accepted her as one of their own. Feyre had…for a time… but then Feyre had been probably too young to understand everything that had gone on...Nesta hated her. And Elain...Elain was embarrassed by her existence.

Zahra's hands balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms. Azriel’s words struck a chord deep within her.

She had been treated by her sisters…as a nuisance. An inconvenience.

Nesta had never hidden her animosity, her eyes burning with resentment whenever she so much as glanced in Zahra’s direction.

And Elain had hidden her embarrassment behind a veneer of sweet innocence, but Zahra had always seen through it.

“And she doesn’t want to see you," Azriel said at that moment, his words harsh but truthful.

"How do you know?," Feyre demanded. "Did you ask her?"

Zahra’s heart skipped a beat, her head snapping to Azriel as if to confirm what she had just heard. His jaw was clenched, his anger evident.

Her stomach churned as she heard her sisters speak. She could already see the situation deteriorating, the tension building.

 "I know her quite well,"Azriel said through gritted teeth. "I’d like to think I have a pretty good idea of what makes her happy.”

“You are locking her up!” Feyre snapped at that moment!  “And you are keeping her away from people that care about her, and you think that will make her happy?!”

What?!

But Zahra didn't really hear that. All her attention was on Azriel...on Azriel who had flinched at the barbed words shot his way.

And the anger built in Zahra's chest.

He had never locked her up. He had done everything in his power to give her choices, to give her agency...to make her feel like she was in control. He had done nothing to lock her away.

Zahra could see the anger flare in Azriel's eyes at Feyre's words. She could feel the tension radiating from him.

And then...then she saw him flinch. A small movement, so fast she almost missed it.

But she saw it.

Her heart swelled with anger, a red-hot fire burning within her. How dare they?

How dare they think that he had mistreated her?

And she could feel how even just the insinuation of this...how much this was hurting her mate, her husband. "How dare you?," Azriel whispered "I would never keep Zahra captive. I would never do that,“ he whispered. She could hear the desperation in his voice. She could hear how hurt he was.

And she was done.

"Let them in," Zahra said icily, crossing the room to stand next to him, facing her sisters. “Let them in, Azriel,” she said evenly, her hand coming to rest on her mate’s arm. Azriel stared at her, and she pushed all the love, all the adoration she had for him onto him at that moment.

He huffed but he stepped back from the door.

Zahra felt a wave of gratitude for Azriel wash over her. She wanted to thank him for defending her, for standing up for her...but she knew he would shrug it off. Still. She would tell him. 

Her gaze sharpened as she regarded her sisters. “Come in,” Zahra said coolly, stepping back to allow Feyre, Elain and Nesta to enter.

Zahra watched, her expression stony, as her sisters walked into the kitchen. Elain’s eyes darted around the room curiously, while Feyre’s gaze lingered on Azriel, who had taken up a stance near the door.

Nesta met her eyes with a defiant glare, her chin held high. Zahra gave a silent sigh. Of course Nesta would be the most difficult.

"What do you want?" she asked flatly, crossing her arms.

"What we want?" Feyre echoed weakly. "Zahra, we..." she trailed off, searching for words.

But Zahra was done. "What do you think gives you the right to show up here? To berate my husband like that?" she snapped. "Azriel has done nothing but protect me, to shelter me. What gives you the right to talk to him like that?!" she demanded

"I...I don't want you to be in a...situation like me," Feyre said weakly. "Zahra, we didn't even know the two of you were friendly and now you...you married him!" 

"I am an adult. I can manage my private life how I see fit," Zahra shot back, her voice icy. “He’s my mate. Besides, it's not like you actually cared about it before.”

"That's not true," Feyre protested.

Zahra just rolled her eyes. "Look, I get it," she said drily. "You feel bad because you found out that I wasn't a homewrecker with loose morals after all," she told Nesta drily. "But you hate me, so for you to show up here and berate my husband about keeping me locked up is ridiculous," she spat out. "And you, Elain...you have made it very clear what I meant to you when you invited Feyre and Nesta to our father's grave but not me." She had no idea where this was even coming from. But decades of pent up frustration was bubbling to the surface. “And Feyre…we all know which sisters you prefer to spend time with, so what are you even doing here?”

Zahra was fuming. Her heart was pounding furiously beneath her ribcage, her hands balled up into fists by her sides as she confronted her sisters.

But a small part of her was satisfied. Seeing them flounder, seeing them realize how wrong they had been. It was almost cathartic. She could feel Azriel's eyes on her, and she glanced at him, taking in his stoic expression. For a brief moment, she wondered what he was thinking, but she didn't have time to dwell on it as she turned back to her sisters.

"I did not choose to be born a bastard," she spat out. "I did not choose for our father to betray your mother with my own. I did not choose to be an embarrassment that needs to be hidden away from your suitors. I did not choose any of it. And believe me if I could chose, I would have chosen to grow up somewhere else." Zahra was on a roll now, the truth pouring out of her like a torrent. She could see the shock in her sisters' eyes, the realization of how they had treated her sinking in. But she wasn't done. She still had more to say, more to get off her chest.

"But I couldn't choose. Instead, I was stuck in that house with you three. Being a constant reminder of your father's affair. Being the outcast, the embarrassment." Zahra's voice cracked slightly, the pain and hurt from all those years coming to the surface.

She clenched her fists, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

"I endured it all. The looks, the whispers. I endured being the bastard, the one no one wanted. But I survived. And now..." Zahra's voice trembled. "And now I'm married to the male of my choice. A male who accepts me, protects me, and loves me." Zahra's gaze darted to Azriel briefly, the depth of her affection for him apparent in her eyes. "And you three want to take that away from me? You want to come here and accuse Azriel, one of the best, most caring, protective and noble men I have ever had the pleasure to meet...you want to accuse him of mistreating me?" Zahra's eyes flamed with indignation.

She took a step forward, her eyes blazing. "No. I won't let you. Azriel has given me more freedom, more support, and more love than I have ever known. And I will not let you come into our home, into our life, and slander him with your false judgment!"

Tears glimmered in Zahra's eyes, but she held her sisters' gaze, her determination unwavering.

There was a long silence. Her sisters were stunned, their faces pale. Zahra felt the weight of her words hang in the air, the raw emotion still pulsing through her veins. Azriel's gaze was heavy on her, his presence a steady anchor in the midst of the emotional storm she had unleashed.

And only then, she realised that golden glow that was covering her...like a thin film, clinging to her skin.

Zahra felt a shiver course down her spine as she realized what was happening. The power, the ancient magic that had lain dormant within her for so long, was stirring once again.

It seemed that her emotional outburst had provoked it, and now it was reacting, awakening in response to her strong feelings.

Zahra's hands trembled as she looked down at them, the golden aura visible as it enveloped her.

The glow seemed to pulse with each beat of her heart, responding to her emotions. With great effort, Zahra calmed herself, taking deep breaths to quell the anger that had initially sparked this power. Soon, the aura flickered and faded, once again sinking back beneath her skin.

Zahra looked up to find her sisters watching her, their eyes wide with shock and fear. The weight of their stares was almost crushing.

"So I ask again, what do you want?" she asked, her voice icy.

Zahra could see her sisters exchange quick glances, their faces still shocked. None of them had anticipated this turn of events.

"I am sorry," Elain blurted out suddenly. "I didn't know."

Zahra blinked, surprised that Elain of all her sisters was apologizing.

"And what could you possibly have not known?" Zahra asked, her voice still hard. The anger hadn't completely left her yet.

"I...I didn't know that you...that...that affair wasn't..."

"It wasn't an affair at all!" Azriel snapped at that moment. Zahra looked over to Azriel. His hands were clenched into fists, his eyes narrowed in anger.

It was clear that he was furious. And Zahra couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for him in that moment.

But she also knew that an outburst from him would not help the situation. She looked back to her sisters, her eyes searching their faces. She could see the shock and confusion there, the dawning realization of how wrong they were.

“It’s wasn’t an affair, It was an arragement,” she corrected her sister drily. 

"How can you call it that?" Feyre breathed out.

Zahra shrugged. "Because that's what it was," she gave back, her voice harsh. "I let myself be raped. I allowed it to happen. I let him do whatever he wanted to me and in return, we didn't starve."

Zahra's words hung heavy in the air. The truth, laid out bare and stark. She could see the horror and shock on her sisters' faces, the disbelief in their eyes.

It was a truth Zahra had never spoken out loud, never allowed herself to fully acknowledge. But now, in this moment, she felt strangely calm. As if saying the words, finally giving voice to her pain, was a release.

"I endured it because I had to," Zahra continued with a bitter laugh. "You all have no idea what I went through. You never bothered to ask. And I didn’t tell you. I hid away all the evidence of what he did to me, all the wounds and the bruises and the pain. And you were too busy burying your heads in the sand, too busy pretending I didn't exist."

Zahra's voice trembled slightly, but she pressed on. "But now, for the first time in my life, I have some resemblance of happiness. I have a mate who cares for me, protects me. I have a daughter I love. And you..." Zahra's eyes burned as she looked at her sisters. "You want to take that away from me?!"

"You have a daughter?!?" Nesta blurted out, staring at her. 

"Yes," Zahra said, her voice cold, "a daughter. A beautiful, wonderful daughter. Azriel accepted me, married me, even though he knew my secret. Even though he knew and he never judged me for it or scorned me…He gave me a family, a home. And I will not let you take that away from me."

[f14fun]

pixelated love (!simmer x mv1) - chapter 2

synopsis: in which the famous three time world champion max verstappen wants to learn how to play the sims 4. except, he doesn't really know how to. so what does he do, search up a youtube tutorial. low-and-behold, y/n's video is the first he watches.

smau ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ prev | next | series index ˚୨୧⋆｡

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yourusername:

yourusername: WATCH LIVE ON TWITCH: i dominate my sub (max verstappen) as we play the sims 4 together - he's streaming too, ig 🙄🙄

(pls subscribe to my patreon and all of the cool cc looks that I put together)

view comments:

maxverstappen1: That is not the picture that we agreed on you to post, Y/N.

yourusername: deal with it max emillian 🙄

maxverstappen1: I look horrible, please delete it.

yourusername: max, i mean it in the best way possible, but you look so babygirl 😍😘🥺

maxverstappen1: This? Means me?

yourusername: SEE?!? the word fits u, totally 😁😁😁

maxverstappen1: ???

user1: LMFAO MAX??!

user2: this is the most unlikely pairing/collab of the year, i'm bewildered

user3: ABSOLUTELY LIVING for this unhinged duo >>>

user4: the way they type is COMPLETELY THE OPPOSITE FROM EACH OTHER

user5: and we are totally living for it??

user6: they match each others freak in the phattest opposite directions its so funny everytime they interact

user7: this is the type of deluluship that i aspire to have one day

yourusername: DWAI! you will reach my level of mental illness and one day have to live in a mental insane aslyum like me! (my bedroom playing sims twenty-four seven)

user7: oh!- 😀 (trembling)

maxverstappen1: It's spelled as asylum*** @/yourusername.

yourusername: 😐😐😐 not funny

user8: ☠️☠️🫵🏾

user9: love to see a set of people constantly being able to humble each other, prime entertainment

user10: guys, the stream is so fucking funnny PLS WATCH IT RN.

user10: like my mom came in to tell me to eat dinner and she heard HOW FUNNY and UNHINGED it was and decided to join me 😭

yourusername: w mother fr ‼️‼️

yourusername: now max, this is a PRIME EXAMPLE of a MILF.

yourusername: watch and learn, okay!

maxverstappen1: I am still very confused...

yourusername: mom i'll learn from >>> mom i'd like to fuck

liked by maxverstappen1

maxverstappen1: Ohhh, I see

user11: the BLATANT gaslighting has me IN TEARS. 💀💀

user11: like this is what she chooses to do the minute she gets noticed by a f1 driver HELPPPP

user12: this is MORE UNHINGED version of everything in the yt video i beg for u guys to join in on the stream i swear, NO REGRETS FRRR

user13: when she started teaching max the words to club classics by charli xcx mid stream 😭😭😭

user14: NOT A REAL EXPERIENCE. LMFAO.

yourusername: what can i say, i just need to educate this man in pop culture 😁

yourusername: i swear he is gen-z guys, just with a tinge of millenial in him (we are working on fixing that!!)

maxverstappen1: Yeah, I wanna dance to me, I wanna dance to A.G, I wanna dance with George @/georgerussel63

georgerussel63: ???

georgerussel63: Eww mate, I will not dance with you Max

georgerussel63: You can't dance well, so no thanks 🙃

yourusername: i already like you george

yourusername: you are very funny

georgerussel63: Why, thank you. May I ask who you are?

yourusername: only the funniest girl on earth ‼️🎀🌍🫨🌋

georgerussel63: I'll give that title to my girlfriend, thank you very much, but you can take a close second

yourusername: i'll take it 😁😁🤣

maxverstappen1: ☹️☹️

user15: it's okay max, you can be babygirl in the corner with me

user16: george russel once again rendering max bitchless, in front of a hot girl nontheless ☹️

yourusername: it's okay, max is my bitch 😈💦😼

user17: girl, i'm astonished everytime you open your mouth

liked by yourusername

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taglist: @hiireadstuff @sinofwriting @mehrmonga @the-untamed-soul @glai1023-blog @loloekie @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @sheastri @llando4norris @gwginnyweasley @carmenita122

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author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾 part three will be out sometime within the next week, comment if you want to be added to the taglist! ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

[f1goat]

roommates ; lando norris + part four

In which you have to live with your brothers best friend who you really don't like, Lando Norris, and his many 'girlfriends' for a while, but there's always a thin line between love and hate.

masterlist - playlist

lando norris x fem!verstappen reader tw: nothing much yet expect that Lando is a player + i don't proofread + smut will come next chapters!

When you wake up that following morning, you’re confused for the first few seconds about which room you’re in. This is not the guest room from Lando his apartment. Slowly the morning fussiness inside you clears up. The events from last night come back to you. Lando was screaming and making sounds all night, which caused you to check it out. He had a nightmare. You awoke him. After another stupid remark from Lando, you decided to watch some television with him - in his bed. Did you fall asleep in his bed? Shit. Carefully you look next to you. When you look and notice Lando, who’s still peacefully asleep, you realize that you did fall asleep next to him. 

The part that sits with you the most right now? It feels weirdly comfortable to lay next to Lando in his bed. It scares you. The wise thing to do is to get out of his bed, get back into your own and forget about this situation. Although you already know that Lando will bring it up eventually. You don’t want to leave his warm bed, but you don’t see another option right now. So, carefully you turn yourself around and move away from Lando. It’s only now that you notice how close you were laying to Lando. 

When you get away from the blankets and take your first move to get out of the bed, you’re quick to be stopped. It’s Lando who’s stopping you. He’s quick to grab your arm and to stop you from leaving his bed. “Not yet,” he softly mutters while pulling you back to himself. You notice how much deeper his voice is in the morning. Fuck, his voice is hot like this. Slowly you give in and move yourself back underneath the blankets. You know that this isn’t smart, but you can’t help yourself. Lando is quick to get you into his arms. It feels weird to lay into his arms like this, but in some even weirder way it also feels really nice. Lando wraps his arms around your body. 

You allow yourself to fall back asleep in Lando his arms. This is an one time thing, you keep reminding yourself. This can’t happen again. That means you better enjoy it for how long it lasts. Lando however tries to stay awake this time. When he notices your closed eyes and peaceful  deep breaths, he can only focus on how to get you in his bed again. He needs to experience this more often. Or even better, this should become the new normal. 

Eventually Lando can’t stop himself from falling asleep again as well. Before closing his eyes and giving in, he presses a soft kiss on the top of your head. You have turned yourself completely into his body. Lando feels his underwear tighten around his crotch. Feeling your body onto his own like this will probably be an image that he won’t forget about quickly. 

When Lando wakes up again, you have left his bed already. 

+++

“You’re actually insane,” Lando grunts annoyed, “Who in their right mind is going on a date with their ex boyfriend?”

“It’s not a date,” you sigh with the same annoyed tone as Lando was using earlier. 

“Not a date?” Lando asks you sarcastically, he almost laughs at you for the remark. “You’re going to a restaurant to have dinner with your ex boyfriend. Doesn’t that sound like a date to you?”

“Why do you even care,” you ask Lando with a raised voice. The annoyance is obvious in your voice. You know that Lando does have a point, but you can’t tell him that. Right? Earlier today your ex called you. Which seemed weird to you, since the last time you spoke to him was a couple months back during the break up. He told you that he still had some of your stuff which he wanted to give back to you and that he wanted to apologize. You have no idea what stuff he still has of you, but you can only hope that it’s the sweater you have been missing for a while. It was the most logical idea to meet up somewhere. The worst idea was to invite him into Lando his apartment and you also didn’t want to go to his place, so you settled for a restaurant. Exactly like your ex wanted.

“Why shouldn’t I care?” Lando asks you back.

“Because you don’t care about me,” you are quick to slap back. 

Lando can’t stop himself and lets out a loud laugh. It almost scares you. “You’re really stupid,” he tells you while laughing. 

“Great!” You tell angrily. Now he really crossed a line with you. “Stupid, insane, what else do you think of me?” You ask him with the same angry tone in your voice. 

Lando holds back a lot of words right now. It takes a lot from him to not start to scream at you what he actually thinks about you. What a stupid question. It’s not like he thinks that you’re insane and stupid, but he does think that about your idea of going to dinner with your ex. Normally Lando thinks you’re the most beautiful, smart, kind and many positive things more, girl he knows. Although he does think you’re a bit bratty, but in some way that only makes you more attractive in his eyes. He wants nothing more then to fuck all of that brattiness our of you, only for it to come back every time again. That would be the best. 

“Sorry,” Lando sighs with a more calmer tone in his voice then before, “I don’t think you’re stupid and insane, okay? It’s just that I think that this idea is pretty stupid and insane. He’s your ex for a reason, you can’t date him again.”

“You’re not deciding things like that for me,” you tell him angrily. After those words you turn yourself around and start walking towards your own room. You’re really not in the mood to stay with Lando any longer right now. An annoyed groan leaves your throat, it’s not like you think this is a date - although you have no idea how to call it otherwise. And it’s really not like you want to get back with your ex, but you do want to stay civil with him. 

“Don’t walk away,” Lando yells after you. 

“Why not?” You yell back, “So you can insult me even more?”

After those words you slam the door of your bedroom shut with a loud bang. Lando sighs when he hears the door slam. He almost slaps himself. How is it that every time things seems to be going alright between you and him, he finds a way to fuck it up? He thinks about following you and trying to apologize, but eventually it seems a better idea to let you cool down for a bit. 

In the mean time you’re making yourself ready for later tonight. You have no idea what to wear and how much time to spend on your make up. Of course, you do want to look nice, but you don’t want your ex to think that you did that for him. This is complicated. Eventually you pick out a dress and put on a light make up look. You still have some time left. Since you’re not in the mood to clash with Lando again, you decide to relax for a bit on your bed and watch some TikTok’s. 

When you do come back in the living room an small hour later, it doesn’t take long before Lando his frustrations comes back up again. He feels himself getting mad all over again. This time it’s caused by the way you’re looking. Why are you dressed this nicely for a date with your ex? He starts to doubt if you do want him back. It sure does seem like it. Lando can’t look away from you. Earlier today he called you insane, but now he’s pretty sure that he’s the insane one. All because of you. You’re making him lose his mind. 

You notice the way Lando is looking at you. The frustration is clearly displayed on his face. Is he still mad? You felt like you were calmed down about it, but seeing Lando staring at you like this makes your frustration come back as well. 

“You look good,” Lando eventually tells you with an annoyed tone. Before you can ask about his tone or thank him for the compliment (?), he’s already talking further. “Too good,” he adds.  You want to ask what he means, but when you see the notification coming up on your phone you decide to let it be. Your ex is already here. 

“I’m leaving,” you tell Lando, “Bye.”

Lando hurries himself after you when you walk away from him again. Quickly he grabs your hand. “Just be careful alright?” He asks you. 

His behavior confuses you. What does he mean with this? It’s just your ex, not some criminal. Or is this still because he thinks you’re stupid? “I wonder if I can,” you bite, “I mean I’m pretty stupid after all.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Lando sighs annoyed, “Just call or text me if you need help.” After those words you’re quick to walk away from Lando. Everything about him confuses you. Fuck. Maybe you’re getting insane, Lando makes you lose your mind. 

 +++

This day won’t get any better. Your ex boyfriend did bring your lost sweater, but that’s the only positive thing so far. He’s going on and on about how much he misses you. At first it was kinda sweet, but now it’s just annoying. You didn’t break up with him without a good reason, so you don’t feel tempted to act out on his pleas. Not that he asked about getting back together, but you suspect that the question can come anytime. 

Maybe Lando was right, this is weird. You should have bought a new sweater instead of doing this. He did already send you multiple messages, maybe you should text Lando to help you out of this situation? You almost laugh at your own dumb idea. Lando will probably text back something in the lines of: “I told you so.” He isn’t going to help you with the mess you created yourself.

It’s a shame Max isn’t around. You try to remember why your brother isn’t in Monaco right now, but you don’t remember the reason right now. You do however remember that you really need to meet up with him soon, you haven’t seen him for a bit. 

“Don’t you miss me as well babygirl?” Your ex asks you. His questions shakes you out off your earlier thoughts. No, you don’t miss him. That isn’t the strange thing you’re feeling right now. It’s his last word. Babygirl. He never called you that before. He wasn’t one for nicknames like that. Since when is he calling you babygirl? It feels weird. 

It takes you a short minute before you can say why it feels weird. Normally it’s Lando who calls you babygirl. Shit. Is this really feeling weird because you’re used to Lando? 

“Please don’t call me that,” you politely tell your ex. He gives you a strange look. “Earlier you begged me to give you a cute nickname?” He asks confused.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “When we were in a relationship.”

His remark reminds you about why you broke up with him the first place. Yes, he was your boyfriend but often it didn’t feel like it. He was always too busy to make time for you. Which wasn’t that bad, until you noticed that he had time for everyone else. The romance just wasn’t there. When you thought about your relationship after the break up, you were quick to realize that it was a more friendly situation then a relationship. 

And maybe, really maybe, your meeting with Lando confused you as well and made the breakup happen sooner. When you first saw Lando, he made you feel something that you never felt around your then-boyfriend. But that will no one ever know.

“But I do want to get back with you in a relationship,” your ex confesses, “I can make more time for you, I can figure out some cute nicknames and we can be together again.”

“I think it’s a bit too late for that,” you carefully reply. Everything he just said, is nothing you want. You don’t want to spend more time with him, get his attention and certainly don’t want to be together again. 

“What do you mean?” Your ex asks you confused, “That’s what you wanted right? More attention, a more loving relationship?”

“Wanted yeah,” you tell him, “I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what do you want?” He asks you frustrated.

“I don’t know what I want,” you confess, “but I do know that it’s not you, sorry.” 

You tried to tell him so polite as you could, but apparently it made him still angry with you. Fuck. This really was a bad idea. You notice another text from Lando popping up on your screen. Should you text him back? You unlock your phone and read Lando his texts.

Lando Norris: I meant it. Text me if you need me.

Lando Norris: How are things going?

Lando Norris: Babygirl?

Lando Norris: Just tell me if you’re okay

Since when does Lando care this much about you? It makes you shiver, but not in a bad way. That’s not a good sign. You want to reply to his texts, but your ex is already snatching your attention away again. 

“Who are you texting?” He asks you annoyed. Before you can answer, he’s talking further. “Is it your new boyfriend?” He continues to ask. 

“New boyfriend?” You ask confused. Does he think you have a new boyfriend? Why would he even think that. 

“Yeah. Maybe it’s that Lando guy, that wouldn’t surprise me.”

The venomous tone in his voice reminds you about the other reason you broke up with him. The jealousy. It’s crazy now you think about it. On the on hand you were having the feeling that the two of you were barely friends, let alone lovers, but on the other hand your ex was always jealous. You remember multiple fights between the two of you, even one about Lando. You almost laugh if you think about telling your ex who you’re living with right now, but you don’t tell him. You don’t want to fight. 

“I don’t have a new boyfriend,” you tell your ex.

“Then why won’t you want to get back with me?” He asks you angrily. 

You don’t like the angry tone. He has no right to act like this. “I don’t like you like that anymore,” you tell him annoyed, “and I don’t even know if I ever did.” The last part of your sentence wasn’t smart, but you feel yourself getting mad as well. 

“Bitch,” you ex hisses angrily. 

For a few seconds you doubt about your next move should be. Are you going to get into an argument with your ex or are you leaving? His words make you mad, but you know it isn’t smart to get into an argument with him here. Maybe this is the moment to text Lando, he offered to help you right? Maybe he can pick you up? 

“I’m going to pay for my part and then I’m leaving,” you tell your ex eventually, “I don’t think there’s anything else to talk about left.” In the mean time you pull out your phone again, you open your chat with Lando and quickly type something. 

y/n: can u come get me? I’m at Amù

You press send, but you have no idea if the text is actually being send. The screen has turned black. Shit, you didn’t even know that your battery was low. What if the text didn’t send? With an annoyed sigh you get up from the table and walk towards the server so you can pay for your part. Then without looking back at your ex, you leave the place. In all irony it’s also starting to rain. What a shitty day. 

Within the second that Lando got your message, he’s in his car. The restaurant you’re at isn’t that far from his place thankfully. He tries to get to you as fast as he can manage. Breaking multiple traffic laws in the mean time. 

“Come on let me take you home,” your ex says angrily. He’s standing outside with you, much to your annoyance. You don’t want him to be here. It’s pouring rain in the mean time. You realize that you must look awful now. Your dress is sticking against your body, your make up is probably ruined. You can only hope that there isn’t anyone around who knows your name or brother. The Instagram posts are already formed in your head. 

“No,” you reply.

“So you’re going to stand here stupidly?” He continues to ask. 

“I’m getting picked up.” At least, you hope so. 

When Lando arrives at the street from the restaurant, he’s quick to spot you. You and your ex. He has never seen the guy before, but he can’t take his time to look at him. He quickly parks his car across the street and jogs to you. When he looks at you, he realizes that you are all soaked. Before he can say anything to you, your ex is talking at you. Lando didn’t expect that your ex would be still here as well.

Lando takes a good look at your ex. He never saw the guy before. It’s been a while since you dated him, but Lando is certain that he never met him. He knows that Max wasn’t a fan of the guy either. 

“See!” The guy says angrily. “Fucking slut,” he continues with a raised voice, “you’re already dating someone else. And even worse, it is him! You lied to me.”

“We’re not dating,” you sigh. 

“Yet,” Lando can’t withhold his remark. “And don’t call her that again.”

You send Lando an annoyed glance. Is he here to help you or to make things worse? Even though, you can’t stop the weird feeling in your stomach after he just said that. Why are his words having such an impact on you? And why is Lando talking about dating you? Could it be possible that he wants to date you? You’re getting confused by what’s happening.

“Are you going to deny that she is a slut?” Your ex asks Lando. 

“Come on babygirl, we’re leaving before I’m going to lose it,” Lando mutters annoyed. He already feels himself getting angry with the guy in front of him. He gives you his hand, which you thankfully grab and wants to take you with him to his car so you can get home. 

“So that’s why I couldn’t call you that,” your ex remarks, “your new boyfriend has dibs on that name.” 

“Not my boyfriend,” you state again. 

Lando almost adds another ‘yet’ again, but this time he holds himself back from doing it. 

“Oh just for the sex then?” Your ex asks, “That does seem more fitting for a slut like you.”

Before you can even say something back, you’re already busy with pulling back Lando. What is going on? Lando has let go of your hand, only to use it to form a fist which can hit your ex boyfriend in his face. Fuck, he did actually punch him. You’re quick to grab Lando his arm and to try to take him with you. 

“Let’s go Lando,” you mutter, “He isn’t worth it.”

“He called you a slut!” Lando almost screams. “Two fucking times.”

“I know,” you sigh, “Let’s leave please.”

Your ex is furious right now. He’s balding his fists as well and seems ready to take revenge on Lando for his earlier punch. When you see the fist of your ex coming at Lando his face, you don’t think about your next action. You quickly pull away Lando, which caused you to stand in front of the upcoming fist from your ex. When you feel it hit your cheek, you let out a gasp from the impact. It’s not a hard punch, but you’re still shocked. 

Lando reacts within seconds. He carefully looks at your cheek, making sure that the impact wasn’t big. Softly he pushes you to the side before he grabs your ex by his neck. “I swear to fucking god,” Lando says with a voice so low it almost sounds dangerous to you, “you better make sure that you’re never close to her again, because the next time I see you too close to her, I’ll fucking end you.” You wonder what he means with that. “I’ll make sure everyone knows what a pathetic loser you are,” Lando continues, “and that you’ll never have a chance with a girl, or with a job or with whatever ever again.” He lets your ex go and watches him quickly walk away. 

“Are you alright babygirl?” Lando asks you worried. He is quick to get you into his arms and to inspect your face again. It doesn’t look to bad thankfully. 

“I think so,” you softly tell Lando. 

“Let’s get you home,” Lando replies, “I have some ice there, hopefully it will stop the swelling.”

When you’re seated next to Lando in his expensive McLaren, you remember your horrible state. You must look like a mess. Your dress is soaked, your make up is running all over your face and even worse, you also feel like a mess. 

“It turns out you were right after all,” you sigh.

“I wish I wasn’t.”

“Sorry that I dragged you into this,” you apologize towards Lando. 

“Rather be sorry that you ever dated someone like him,” Lando replies, “I’m pretty sure there’s someone better around for you.”

“Someone like?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Lando chuckles, “Someone who’s ready to punch another guy for you maybe.”

And again, Lando confused the hell out of you. 

part five

a/n; thanks everyone so much for all the kind reactions so far 🫶🏻 love reading them 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

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[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter two)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

chapter: 2/?

MASTERLIST

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, oral sex, thigh riding, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here (and pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

a/n: first off, THANK YOU for the love on chapter 1. wasn’t sure how I’d fare since I’ve done a lot of writing in my life but little to no smut. with that said! longer chapter incoming. also I just know he’d give insane head okay i just do,the guy looks like he fucks and he definitely does

You weren't sure exactly how you slipped away from Snow’s room that night, but you could somewhat piece it together in flashes. First a head rush, then the fire in the pit of your stomach practically having gasoline thrown on it.

You remembered a quiet gasp escaping your lips, then panic, a flash of white, and suddenly you were stumbling away, head spinning as you tried to catch your breath, pacing unevenly down the hallway, any chance of a stealthy escape long thrown out the window.

Back in your room, once the door was bolted and your back was against it, making sure nobody could get in if they tried, you had your first shot at clear-headedness since you’d heard heels scuffing the hardwood.

You’d soaked your panties through and were dripping down your thighs, but you’d be damned if you could get into the headspace to take care of it. Panic flooded your veins, ice-hot as you tried to catch your breath. you slid down the door and sat there, legs numb against the cold wooden planks.

Who was she? A million questions filled your head all at once. Was she from the Capitol? Could she be one of Snow’s friends, one of your friends? The thought made you sick. What if you’d dined with her before? Talked to her? How long had this been happening? Who knew about it? Were you being played?

Had he seen you watching him?

Unable to help yourself, your one-track mind took you back to the way he’d groaned your name, though you were half sure that had been a fever dream of some kind. Still, you kept replaying it. Over and over, like a broken record.

It didn’t make any sense, you were so fucking confused. All this time you’d been hoping he would make a move, you’d practically begged him to. Why hadn’t he? When you were clearly on his mind, and yet he made you believe he didn’t think of you that way at all. Was he just respecting your agreement?

You fiddled with the lace on the hem of your slip as you mulled it over. You stayed sat like this for almost an hour, trying unsuccessfully to wrap your head around it. When you ended up right back where you started, and you were sure enough time had passed that if someone was coming to get you, they would’ve already, you finally stood up. Your caution led you to drag a chair from across the room, propping it up by the door to jam the handle. That left you with the sliver of peace of mind you required to shower off this cold sweat you’d formed.

The next morning, you dreaded breakfast. But you knew you had to face him, as well as the fact that this could very well be your last meal. You should at least try to eat well.

You made your way downstairs, a few minutes later than usual, enough for Coriolanus to already be sipping coffee, a few pages through his newspaper. You’d not got fully dressed yet, not wanting the contrast to be too obvious, but you’d wrapped a silk dressing gown around you so you were a little more covered up. You knew one thing for certain, you wouldn’t be trying any more of your tricks until you knew just what you were dealing with.

He didn’t look over at you, which you took as a good sign. The urge to hide from him, from what you’d seen and what you now knew, overwhelmed you. You didn’t say a word, and picked silently at your breakfast, but despite your best efforts, not managing to keep more than a few bites down.

“You’re quiet today.” He muttered, and you started.

“Um.”

He lowered his paper.

“Something wrong?”

How about everything?

“Oh, no, I’m okay. Just uh…” you glanced up at him, and met his sharp gaze. Fuck. You’d hoped you’d go unnoticed. You felt like a deer in headlights, like he could read your mind.

“Well?” He prompted, gaze unwavering. You blinked.

“Headache.” You managed to breathe, faking a small, pitiful smile.

He brought his paper back up in front of him, crisply turning the page. You both thanked the new barrier between you for cutting off his stare, and resented it as you looked at the tiny printed words you couldn’t make out from where you were sitting.

“I’ll have Lucille bring you up something.”

“Thank you.” you said quickly, almost too quickly, and you feared he might lower his paper again to watch you as you stumbled over another excuse. But you fell lucky this time.

The week seemed to pass in a blur, Monday’s gala being one of the only times you really left your room when Snow was around, other than meal times, which you spent in a similar state as that first breakfast. You cursed yourself for throwing out your longer dresses, and settled for the least suggestive of them, the white one you’d been thinking of pitching to Snow as a backup plan in your panicked state outside his bedroom. That all felt worlds away now. What you’d seen had shifted the tides, marking a solid, definitive line in your head between the before and after.

The gala went as well as it could given the circumstances. You danced, Snow was charming to you in front of the guests, but held your gaze no longer than usual. It was simultaneously terrifying and thrilling to feel his hands on your waist, knowing what you knew. It felt like you’d been tapped with a cattle prod and had to hide it every time his hand brushed yours on top of the dinner table, as unsuspecting guests smiled at you, the happy couple.

If only they knew that in the same breath, you were scanning the crowd, wondering who the blonde could’ve been, how close she was to Snow, if at all, and hating the way every touch he placed on your hands and waist served as a reminder that he’d been touching her instead of you.

Your stupid brain had formed a highlight reel of what you’d witnessed behind Snow’s door, and it tortured you with every passing moment. To know he was thinking of you. To think that maybe, he wanted you there instead. It put a strange sense of possessive pride into you, that weaved between your jealousy. Because yes, you’d seen another girl on her knees with her mouth around him, but you hadn’t heard any name other than your own while it happened.

You carried this strange hope, dwindling to start off, and then building each day that you were left un-hanged and very much alive, slowly chipping away at your fear of the worst. And yet, you knew the game, unbeknownst to Snow, had been fundamentally changed. You’d stopped your antics altogether, now barely meeting his eye as you passed each other in the hallway, covering up more at breakfast, and only talking just enough to avoid another interrogation. Avoiding touch, and conversation, and all-around keeping yourself away from him.

You were quieter still at night in your room. After a few days, you’d finally felt safe enough to move the chair away and sleep with the door locked as you normally would. But while your games had stopped, your want for him had only been amplified. Fuelled by jealousy and frustration, you had to bite down on your hand so that not even the slightest noise made its way out as you pictured him, not as you used to in your fantasies, but as you’d seen him that night, undone with your name on his lips. It was much easier, in your head, to picture yourself as the one on your knees. Any other fantasy just failed to make the cut now you’d seen the real thing.

Thursday rolled around and you’d made a new habit of pacing the downstairs library when Coriolanus was out of the house. That way, if he got home and stepped inside, you could pretend to be lost in a book. But the hours seemed to stretch out and you became bored, and with no Snow in sight, you decided to head down to the servants’ quarters.

This wasn’t a common occurrence, but it wasn’t unheard of. You were known for your gentleness among the house staff, less harsh than Snow, but firm nonetheless. It had led you to a respectful friendliness with the maids and servants, and once every so often you’d check in on them.

Today’s objectives, however, were purely self-motivated. You found Lucille, who dressed you, at the kitchen table, chopping vegetables.

She stood upon seeing you, and curtseyed (Snow was rather old fashioned that way). You nodded, then took a seat at the foot of the table.

“Do you need any help with that?” You glanced at the cutting board.

Lucille’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Ma’am.”

You laughed. Lucille chopped and diced, and you asked questions. At first, they were after her family, her brother was sick and despite your offers, she wouldn’t accept help. So instead you listened, and slowly but surely, your questions got a little more directed toward the object of your interest.

You were good at playing the long game, so you started by asking about the company he kept. What she thought of them, with the promise that it would stay between the two of you, cross your heart.

She wouldn’t say much but she knew a little more than you; Snow kept very similar company as you did, and rarely went out for social visits. Any trips were strictly work-related, and when you eased into the topic of his past, Lucille mentioned, in very polite terms, that he had left a small trail of women heartbroken after a short period of time. That not all of them had been pleasant, and that she was pleased you seemed to have a positive effect on him.

She knew about your arrangement, practically the whole staff did, but they were kept on a very tight leash and were thoroughly reminded to not say a word acknowledging it, not even to you. It was with a knowing glance that Lucille told you she was happy you’d stayed around.

You smiled. Knowing that was likely all you were going to get for now, you let her be. By then, it was late enough to have gone dark, and you headed up to bed.

You awoke to creaking outside your door, and the shadow of footsteps from underneath it. You’d been tossing and turning for the last - you checked your watch - two hours. Excellent. You rolled onto your back wondering who it was, and then you heard it again. At first you wondered if it was just a sleep-deprived hallucination, or a sense of deja-vu, but then you focused, and there it was. The sound of heels. Again.

You sat up in bed, pushing your hair out of your face. You were enraged the first time, but if this was becoming a Thursday night tradition, it would be a serious problem. You were tired, you reasoned, you could just try to go back to sleep. Ignore it. Not let him have this power over you, a power that he didn’t even know he had. All the more reason to ignore it, and make it tomorrow’s problem.

But you just couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, no matter how hard you tried. Your mother used to say it was a problem, always sticking your nose in places it didn’t belong. But it had got you this far, hadn't it?

You knew you were going to follow her to Snow’s room again, it was just a matter of time. You had to at least pretend you had an ounce of self-control, whereas really your head was thrumming and you knew it would take getting hit by a high-speed train to send you back to sleep now.

So you held off. Five minutes passed. Then ten. You had to know, at least, what they were doing. Maybe you could get a look at her face, see who it was, and answer some of the questions you had.

So you went. With a purpose this time, knowing full well what and who you’d end up seeing, trying to take steady breaths and focus on your plan. Check who it was, then leave.

You’d never been that great at execution. Call it hedonism, call it a morbid fascination, or living vicariously, but when you walked up to the door - which was ajar again, strangely even more than last time, by at least an inch or two - you looked inside, and your feet planted. The last shred of your self-control allowed you to take in the room first, the desk and chair that was right within your sight, and as you tucked yourself into the room, half hidden behind the door, you finally looked back at the bed where you’d seen Snow with his blonde girl last time.

Neither of them were sitting now.

Thirty seconds ago, you would’ve believed the hottest thing you’d ever seen was what played out in this room last week. But that was before you saw Snow turned away from you, still fully dressed with his sleeves rolled up, stomach on the bed and face between the blonde’s thighs, eating her out like he was on death row and she was his last meal.

You’d gotten head before. You knew it felt good, but the boys you’d slept with before your arrangement with Snow were selfish and inattentive. They would try, but they were far more interested in getting their dicks wet than showing you a good time. But Snow - you’d never seen anything like it. You didn’t know it could feel that good, or at least, not as good as the blonde girl - who you noted in the back of your mind, wasn’t anyone you recognised - was making it look. Her hips were bucking so hard he was having to pin her down with both hands around her waist.

She was just moving so much, wriggling and crying out and gasping and - you didn’t think you’d ever truly known jealousy until that moment. You couldn’t look away, knees weak and hands shaking, letting yourself get sucked into this headspace again, losing all trace of rationality. You’d think she was playing it up for him, but you knew what that sounded like. You’d faked enough orgasms to know if she was, but this? This was real. As she got close, grinding into him, writhing, running a shaky hand through his hair then getting louder, you managed to snap out of your trance.

In a flash, you ran back down the hallway.

If you thought you were avoiding Snow before, this week was about to give you a run for your money. You took breakfast in your room, and kept only to the parts of the house you knew he never entered. You only touched yourself in the shower, silent cries washed away by the water and steam, paranoia backing you into a corner.

You feigned illness the one time Snow sent a maid to inquire after you. Nothing too major, but enough to put him off. When he left the house, you snuck into the library to smuggle books back to your room, a pile forming as you tried ceaselessly to distract yourself.

You wrote home, you studied art and history. You attempted a few terrible sketches. You tore apart your room, then put it back together.

Before you knew it, Thursday rolled around again. On longer days like this, when Snow had been away working for hours at a time, you’d doubled down on your efforts to get information, and after chipping away for just long enough, you finally managed to squeeze some tidbits out of Lucille. Namely that there was a certain gentleman’s club in the city that he used to frequent before his election as President. Snow’s old driver might know its name, she said.

“But that was long before he met you, ma’am, rest assured.” She added hurriedly.

“Of course. Thank you, Lucille. I think I’ve kept you for long enough. Goodnight.”

Snow had been gone for the whole day, and you weren’t sure if he’d come home yet, so as you headed up to your room, you quietly wandered a little further down the hallway, to check if there was any light beneath his door. There wasn’t. Good. You were glad he wouldn’t be continuing this routine of his. Maybe this Thursday night, you could sleep peacefully.

With a sigh, and mulling over what you’d learned today, you returned to your room, poured a drink, then collapsed into bed.

This night was as sleepless as the rest, and you’d been drifting - not uncomfortably - in and out. A storm was brewing outside, and the sounds of howling wind began to keep you alert. You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling, then glanced towards your door. Snow must’ve come home at some point, and very late at that, because dim lights had been turned on in the hallway. Paranoia crept into your mind, slowly poisoning your thoughts and turning you inside out.

It didn’t take long before the feeling pushed you to roll out of bed, slide on a dressing gown, and crack open your door. This time, you couldn’t hear footsteps, or anything that might arise suspicion. You closed the door again. Waited. Then looked around your room, at the messy sheets and the half finished glass of liquor on the nightstand. You rarely drank alone, but these past few weeks had been getting to you, fucking with your head. Coriolanus Snow had driven you to this.

The wind got louder, and you knew you were too wired to sleep, so you stood by your window and finished the glass.

You’d never been good with mysteries. You wanted to know everything, all the time. Know who had power over you, know precisely how to take it away. Know exactly what was happening around you at any given moment. But most of all, you didn’t like being played for a fool.

And sure, the ethics of it had never been discussed between the two of you. Your business was strictly professional, but when you weren’t allowed to sleep around, why could he?

In fact, how dare he?

You poured another glass, straight whiskey. Downed it, pacing your room, back and forth between the door and the window, running your fingers along the ridges of the crystal glass. You thought about him, comfortably in his room, not a care in the world.

How dare he.

You weren’t sure if it was the drink or the buildup of your situation that had your blood boiling, but it didn’t matter. You were incensed. His behaviour was an insult to your name, to your family’s name. Sure, this relationship was a sham, but all the more reason for him to act with basic fucking respect. Sleeping with - and very obviously, at that - a whore, who had a bad habit of leaving the door cracked open, was unacceptable.

You were running hot, and if you knew one thing for certain, it was that when Snow met with fire, he was going to melt. You’d make sure of it.

Your feet took you into the hallway, with the decidedness that this would be the last time.

You rushed down the corridor with a tightly bottled rage that was about to burst, words hot on your tongue and demanding to be spoken, until you turned the corner and saw Snow’s door half open. You stopped in your tracks. Reassessed, then stepped closer, slowly, steadily. Remembering what you were there for.

Then, as you got close enough to see inside - right there, without you even having to step past the threshold, were the two of them, lit by a table lamp, Snow sat on the desk chair as the girl rode him to high heaven, obscene noises getting louder. As you approached you saw Snow’s face again, eyes shut, breath laboured, and you couldn’t believe that anyone just walking by would be able to see this. They were fucking like animals, out in the open. You didn’t know how or why you drew closer still, closing in on them. The girl’s head was dropped down to his shoulder, back facing you, and couldn’t see you unless she turned, but Snow? He was practically facing the door, almost as if he’d been…

No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

But you didn’t have time to think it through, because Snow’s eyes blinked open, and you knew. He was looking right at you, blue eyes piercing into yours, sharp and dangerous like he was going in for the kill. You stood there, jaw dropped, unable to look away. In what world could you walk in on someone like this, and feel like they held all the cards, and you none? That was how he looked at you; like you’d been there watching the whole time, and this was all a show, playing out exactly as he’d planned it. Like somehow, despite all your best efforts, he’d landed on top.

It was like he read your mind, because he wet his lips, unblinking as the blonde writhed on his lap, and fucking smirked.

a/n: can’t wait for them to hate fuck after this (oh sorry forgot i’m the author for a sec) thanks for reading &lt;3

taglist: @superchatnoir07 @itsrainingreid @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii

if you’d like to be tagged, please leave a comment on the masterlist!! 💌

[alwaysanundertone]

Why try? | poly! marauders x fem! reader

angst / fluff

CW: brief mention of bully, negative self talk, some cursing (?) I think that’s all :)

word count: 1.4k

note: it’s my first mini series and English is not my first language, just wanted to say so in case you spot any error :)

chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4 coming soon

“Why are they dating me?”

That’s the question that kept flashing in your head 24/7 for the past week.

It all started when you were sitting with your group of friends in the Ravenclaw common room. You had just returned from your secret date with the marauders; even though they wanted to love you in public, you didn’t. It was silly, really, but you didn’t want all of the backlash that it would inevitably come from dating them.

You knew, deep down, that if you were to love them in the open, everyone would be confused as to why they chose you. They were the marauders, for god’s sake, even you had doubts about this… thing that you had been going on, god only knows what everyone else would be thinking.

So you invented an excuse. You told them that your brother was protective over you, that you didn’t want to cause them trouble. You could have been spending more time thinking about a better story: your brother couldn’t care less about your wellbeing, let alone who you dated. It didn’t matter what he really thought, though, because they believed the lie.

It hurt to have to lie to the boys that you were growing fond of, but still, years and years of bullying made you this way. You never really viewed yourself as someone worthy of affection, let alone of love. You never really liked your physique, you hated your nose, you wished you had something special about your physical appearance but you couldn’t find it.

Even your personality didn’t seem worthy of being known, or at least you thought so. You were an A-student, but only because you studied hard. You had a lot of hobbies, sure, but you weren’t exactly good at them. All of this to say, you didn’t deem yourself worthy of their attention.

Now you were sitting with your friends, chatting, and of course, of fucking course, they had to start talking about james.

“I really don’t get how he can be so oblivious about my flirting”

This caught your attention. The girl talking wasn’t exactly your friend, however she shared her room with Emmeline, one of your best friends, so she started hanging out with you. Still, you didn’t know about this flirting until now. You chose to listen quietly.

“… I mean, I even went to his game wearing his damn number on my back. What do I have to do in order to get his attention?”

“I don’t know Aurora… Rumor has it they are all dating some new girl, though nobody knows who she is! They saw them hanging around near Hogsmade, but nobody saw her face. I really thought they didn’t want to include anybody in their relationship”

“Another girl?” Both you and Aurora exclaimed at the same time. This. This was a rather embarrassing situation.

“What Y/N? Decided to join the conversation?”

“Yeah, didn’t take you as a marauder fan?”

This is why you should learn to keep your mouth closed.

“What? Am I not allowed to be curious?”

“Yeah, not like they’ll ever consider you.” Em stared at Aurora blankly, you were sure your face was showing every little thought that was slowly, but surely, starting to crawl over your consciousness, making you doubt yourself.

“What? Don’t look at me like I’m the evil guy. It’s nothing personal, Y/N, but you are just a normal girl, they seem like the type to enjoy someone more… special?”

And that’s when the doubting started.

“Yeah… I think I’ll go study now”

You excused yourself, while you clearly heard Em starting to get angry at Aurora, but you just couldn’t take this.

It was one thing to doubt yourself, but if even your friends thought the same of you, maybe you were right, maybe you should just stop bothering them.

You ran to the library, to the farthest corner. Staring at the rain pouring outside your window, you started to do the one thing you were really good at: self loathing.

A hand made you jump.

“Hey there dovey, didn’t mean to scare my girl”

Remus was looking at you with that loopsided grin of his that made your stomach flip. He called you ‘his girl’, even though you weren’t official, your heart swelled.

“Hey Rem” You tried to smile, you really did, but for some reason your facial muscles couldn’t bring themselves to work. His face immediately fell.

“What is going on?”

You could have just told him.

Maybe you should have.

But you really weren’t one to just talk about problems, you preferred to just pretend.

“Nothing! Nothing I- I just-“ You stopped for a moment. Great job, Y/N, you were doing such a great job! You took a deep breath. “Nothing, I’m just a bit stressed about herbology? You know I’m not the best at it”

He seemed to believe you. “Well, we can study together then?”

Again, you should have said yes.

“I’m sorry I just- I mean, we hung out earlier? Aren’t you tired of me?”

He frowned. “No? Why would I be? Sirius and James are napping, I was actually looking for you? I feel like we hardly ever have some alone time together”

You wanted to cry, you wanted to talk about every little doubt crowding your mind. But you couldn’t, your tongue twisted.

“Oh…”

“But I mean, if you want some alone time I understand!

You simply nodded.

“See you around Remus”

“Okay then? See you around?”

He turned, stopping for a minute, likely pondering if he should just go away or stay to talk. He decided to leave.

You fell even further on the armchair, your mind flooded with doubts.

You sat at dinner, exhausted. You have been spending the whole afternoon running through the endless possibilities as to why they were willingly spending their time with you. Were they making fun of you? Were they just bored? None of your answers made you feel any better about yourself.

Now you were staring at your plate.

“Hey Y/N” Em looked quite concerned. “Are you alright?” You nodded, she frowned.

“If it’s Aurora who got you so sad, don’t worry, I kicked her ass”

You snorted at that. “No, don’t worry Em, everything’s alright. You know I get like that when the winter nears”

She nodded. It was exhilarating how everybody seemed to believe your lies.

Throughout the whole dinner, you sensed three pair of eyes burning through your back. You decided you couldn’t stay a minute longer under their scrutiny, pretending to eat, pretending to have fun. You simply stood up, exiting the Great Hall.

A hand grasped yours, making you jump.

“What’s up with you lot today? Trying to induce a heart attack?” James snickered, tugging your wrist and making you end up in his arms.

You noticed Sirius and Remus looking at you, the latter still sporting the frown he had in the library.

“Just wanting to check up on you. Moony here was quite worried about you, said you seemed sad. Is everything alright?” Sirius searched for your eyes, while you looked at your feet. “Did we make you uncomfortable in any way?”

“No, no it’s not that”

That’s it. You really were stupid.

Remus quirked a brow. “So you are sad about something.”

“Well, you know… the rain.”

James looked like he was about to laugh. “Well yes, it rains quite a lot in Scotland?”

“No, I mean I get quite moody when the weather starts to worsen” At that James hugged you.

“You poor thing, you should have told! Wanna come in our dorm and have a cuddle?”

A cuddle did sound nice, but then again the doubts started to flood your mind. They already had to spend time to someone as uninteresting as you, the least you could do was try to not be a burden.

“No, sorry I just want to take a shower and have some alone time, you know?”

They seemed worried. James looked like a lost puppy, not understanding why you were so suddenly trying to create space between you and them.

Sirius nodded. “Okay love, but if you change your mind you know where to find us, yeah?”

You wanted to cry. To actually sob into their shoulders and word vomit every single mean thing that you told yourself in the last six hours. Instead you just smiled, waved, and ran to your room.

And so began the worst week of your sixth year at Hogwarts.

[munsonsreputation]

am i allowed to cry?

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: [2.8k]

warnings: cursing, allusion to depression and anxiety, reader nearly has a mental breakdown over the stress of work/school/and life, steve comes to the rescue don't worry (honestly just wrote this because seasonal depression combined with school and work and life is real as fuck and we all need some comfort), also semi proof-read, sorry!

summary: it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, something too heavy for you to bear all alone, but you do, anyway. and when you finally collapse under pressure, the last person you want to worry is your boyfriend steve, but he’s your safe space, and all he ever wants you to know is that he’s going to be there for you through smiles and tears.

The fatigue settled under your eyes and in the depths of your bones like a heavy weight pulling you down. There was an exhaustion seeping from the inside out, eating you alive until you were merely a shell of yourself. Your stomach twisted in knots unsolvable even with the help of sleep or tea—you felt beyond defeated with no way out.

It didn’t matter where you were and how ‘fine’ you thought you were. The feeling of dread became embedded into your entire existence and it was getting harder to keep up the act and blame it all on school or work. Perhaps it started there, but slowly and surely did the feeling morph into every avenue you steered towards in order to escape.

Your hangouts with friends suddenly turned into an inner panic attack of sorts, feeling the need to keep up with everyone who was doing so well whilst you were barely making it out alive.

Family dinners then turned into interrogations, where they poked and prodded probably with the best intent to figure out why you were so absent, but it all just felt like an attack coming from left and right.

No matter how hard you tried to keep up the facade of being fine and telling everyone they were making a big deal out of nothing, you knew you were moments away from falling apart. At this rate, you were a machine breaking down piece by piece, rusting and stalling until you couldn’t move anymore.

And the absolute last person you wanted to shrink away from was your boyfriend, Steve.

He was the most supportive and present person in your life you could have ever asked for. He never doubted you in anything, and most times he was the one egging you on to go after your dreams. Telling you to take risks and go for it, because you always succeeded in everything you did, and even when it wasn’t on the first try, he knew you were bound to get a hang of it.

A special trait about him that you adored so much was his trust in you. He knew what it was like for people to always question his worth, to try to make it seem like he wasn’t capable or smart enough to make his own decisions so much so that other people had to step in and save him. But to be fair, Steve Harrington never needed to be saved—he just needed the right people around to show him it was okay to make mistakes and learn from it.

And you did just that.

When Steve didn’t know what he wanted to do after graduation, you never pestered him on to go off to college, committing himself to something he wasn’t one hundred percent certain about. Instead, you encouraged him to find his calling, to scour town in order to find different hobbies that had potential job opportunities. To volunteer and possibly shadow in order to widen his options.

You were always supportive and did your best to guide instead of control—and because of that; he was able to find a job that made him happy, surprisingly enough.

And likewise, while Steve never was the biggest fan of structured school, he guided you through your college path. Providing all the moral and emotional support he could offer you, and at times even going as far as to reading a textbook chapter alongside you to help you understand concepts that were all too confusing.

He never pushed too hard, and never made it seem like he didn’t care. There was a perfect balance between your understanding and his—a sort of tune that always was in perfect harmony…until it wasn’t.

You had been assuring Steve that while school and work were surely kicking your butt, you had it all under control, but that was far from the truth. Date nights were seemingly pushed back…not that he minded since he understood you needed to study and rest—but things were beginning to feel more off.

You avoided having him stay the night at your place or even just stopping by to drop you off some food. When you did spend time together, you were physically there, but not mentally. You listened intently to what he had to say, but when it was your turn, you shared little about what was going on with you, and diverted the questions back to him.

A lot of the time, you just seemed out of it. Too far away in your mind for him to reach you, and while he knew everyone had their off days and even off weeks, yours was becoming imminently permanent, and you were beginning to realize it, too.

You sat hunched over at your desk, eyes welling with tears as you stared down at your notes, then back to your textbook, then back to your notes once again. Nothing was making sense, and your patience was slim to none, batting your eyes as the tears fell onto the pages where you were too fed up to care.

Your mind was scattered all over the place, thinking about how you needed to make sense of the content in front of you, but also about the many deadlines of other assignments you had under your belt. On top of that, you had other responsibilities that needed your full attention, yet you sat there wondering how you were even going to complete one of them.

There was something that snapped inside of you. A guttle cry that you let out as you pushed yourself out of your desk chair and stood with your hands threaded roughly in the roots of your hair. Hot, vicious tears floated down your cheeks while you paced in circles attempting to calm yourself down, but nothing worked.

You needed Steve, even when you didn’t want him to see you like this.

He was at your doorstep not even a whole ten minutes after you had phoned him, asking if he would drop by. It was almost midnight, and usually at this hour your nose was buried deep behind textbooks and assignments, but he could just tell something was the matter.

He had asked rushed and worriedly, if everything was okay, but you refused to give him a definite answer, just sniffling back your cries and humming, telling him to come over as soon as he could. The drive was short, and yet for him it felt like eternity until he was face to face with you on your front porch.

“Baby,” His voice was rigid yet gentle, striding closer to you as his warm hands came down to hold your arms, “Hey, what’s going on? Are you hurt?” He breathed, half catching his breath from his haste, and half worried out of his mind.

He bent a little at the knees, trying to get a better look at your face in the dimly lit doorway. All the color was drained from your skin, except the red path your tears took down your cheeks and your bitten lips.

You sniffled hard, an unevenness apparent in your breathing, “N—nothing,” you lied pathetically, closing your eyes as you shook your head, “I’m just a little stressed. You don’t have to worry about m-me.”

There was lots to worry about, especially seeing you in the state that you were in. Steve had seen you stressed out many times before. Worried about running late, leaving something behind, nervous about a final exam, but nothing ever to this extent. This was more than stress, and he knew it.

“Let’s go inside and talk, yeah?” He murmured, ignoring your comment and leading you back into your home, hoping to get you to talk some more.

Guiding you to the kitchen, he switched on the lights, pulling out a chair for you to sit at the dining table while he got you a glass of cold water and some paper towels.

“Have some water, baby,” He knelt on the ground, holding the cup of water to your lips.

You sniffled, closing your eyes tightly as you tried to catch your breath before taking a sip, letting him help you, and pulling the cusp away from your lips before you could cough up. You could feel his eyes boring through you, filled with fret wanting to get down to the bottom of the situation yet letting you go at your own pace.

He took the paper towel, crumbling it up into a small ball to dab over your cheeks and under your eyes, doing his best to soak up all the tears that kept pouring. His heart shook and broke in his chest, wondering what had happened to get you to this state of no return.

“Talk to me sweetheart,” He started, letting one of his hands come to hold your trembling one, giving you a firm squeeze. “What can I do to make it better?” He implored, just wanting to make whatever that was hurting you stop.

The desperation in his voice made another sob rip out from chest, face pinching into something painful as you hung your head low and wept as quietly as you could. You felt so weak and helpless, hating that you pushed yourself to the point where you made the one person who vowed to always be there for you feel as though he wasn’t.

“Babe, shhh, hey c’mon,” He murmured, immediately wrapping his arms around your body, pulling you close to him and burying your face in his chest, “It’s okay. I’m right here, baby. S’okay.”

You hadn’t said anything just amounting yourself to a mess of tears and unspoken feelings, not knowing how you could possibly articulate what you had been going through all this time.

“I—I’m sorry,” You muffled against his chest, causing him to pull away slightly, just to look at you and shake his head wondering why you were apologizing.

“You don’t have to be sorry baby—”

“I’m fucked up, I know I am.” You blurted out, a cruelty in your voice Steve could tell was directed towards yourself, not him.

“I-I’ve been so caught up with school and work that I know I haven’t been the best girlfriend, but I swear—”

“Hey stop it.” He didn’t let you finish, furrowing his brows, determined to make you understand the words you were saying about yourself weren’t true.

“This isn’t about you not being a good girlfriend. You’re so good to me, baby and I promise you whatever it is that’s going on, isn’t because of that. Talk to me. Don’t be scared.”

He assured you with warm circles rubbed over your back, just wanting you to focus on your feelings and not on what you thought you were making him feel. The only thing that mattered to him was understanding you, and how he could fit himself into the puzzle to make it all better.

“I’m just so tired,” You broke down once again, “I don’t feel like myself anymore, and even when I look at myself…I don’t see me.” You croaked, voice breaking in between words.

“All I want to do is relax, but my brain is just on a live wire where I can’t stop thinking and then I start spiraling. If it isn’t school, then it’s work, and if it isn’t work, then I’m thinking about all of the others things I don’t have time for in between school and work.” You heaved, just feeling the panic and frustration arise at the mere conversation.

He hated how he could see the contempt you had for yourself. Fingernails biting into the palm of your hands and a deep-seated frown over your lip, as if you wanted to crawl out of your skin to be someone completely different. But there was no one like you, in his eyes. Whatever it was that you were going through he was going to stand beside you and help you get back to feeling like yourself, the girl he couldn’t imagine living without.

“I’m here for you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner,” He murmured, pushing the tear soaked strands of hair out of your face. “You work so hard all the time, you deserve a break.”

“I can’t,” you cried, shaking your head, rubbing exhaustingly at your eyes, “I physically can’t. I can’t fall behind when I already am.”

You wanted to listen to his advice, the knowing that deep down he was so very right, but you couldn’t look past the idea of letting people down and falling behind when you knew it was impossible to play catch up.

Steve knew how you operated on a one track mind to get things done and out of the way, which was obviously ideal. However, the amount of physical, emotional, and mental strain the work ethic had put you in was enough confirmation that he needed to step in before it got worse.

“Listen to me, hon,” He said tenderly, grasping your face in his hands, “You need a break. I’m not saying you have to abandon everything, but you need to take it easy on yourself. Learn how to step away and breathe. You’re going to work yourself to death if you keep this up…and you know I can’t live without you.”

His sentiment was true and sweet, something he was able to be at all times, even at times like this.

“I’m not going to let you fall behind, baby.” He promised you, swiping his thumbs over your cheeks, pressing a chaste kiss over your lips before he continued, “I’ll help you and we can take it on together, but you can’t keep stuff like this from me okay? The last thing I ever want you to feel is like you have to do it all alone.”

You sniffled, nodding as you swallowed back the lump in your throat, hiccuping slightly, “I-I know, I’m just usually so good at taking on everything, but I don’t know what happened.” You admitted with a shrug.

He nodded understandingly. “You might not feel it, but you’re overworked and that’s okay. I’m going to be here to help any way I can. With school, with work…with breaks.” He smiled softly.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” You stared up at him apologetically, wishing you hadn’t waited so long to tell him, knowing that he was always your number one confidant and supporter through everything.

Still, he shook his head, caressing your cheeks, “Don’t apologize, I’m here now and I promise it’s going to get better.”

He held you in his arms a little longer, letting you cry the rest of your tears into his chest, before suggesting to head up to your room. Agreeing, he grabbed a fresh cup of water to keep at your bedside before following you up the stairs and into your room.

Books and papers were sprawled out across your desk, hinting to him what had gone down before you called. He knew that school was beginning to take a toll on you with bigger projects and finals approaching, but had no idea it was getting worse and worse as the days passed by—but no longer, not with him around.

“Let me just…” You spoke under your breath, heading towards your desk to get everything cleaned up, now that Steve was spending the night and not wanting him to deal with the mess.

But he was quick to stop you, grabbing you gently by the wrist before you could even close the textbook, causing you to follow his lead to your bed.

“Hey…” He murmured, setting the cup down on the small table beside your lamp, “we’ll figure it out in the morning okay?”

“Hmm,” You hummed with a nod, letting him situate you into bed before toeing off his shoes and getting in beside you.

You turned to face him after he switched off the lamp, encasing you both in complete darkness. Eyes adjusting to the light, enough for you to make out his face, eyes closed peacefully, as his arms went instinctively around your frame, pulling you closer into him—the feeling you had been missing so desperately, wondering why you ever even thought to push it away.

“You know I’ll be here whenever you need me, all the time okay?” His voice broke the silence, nuzzling his face closer to yours, hoping you knew how true every word was.

“I know,” you promised, jutting your chin up to press a kiss to his lips that he smiled into, kissing you back a little harder wanting you to remember the feeling and that alone.

All the stress still lingered in the back of your mind, but the feeling that consumed wasn’t the fear or the exhaustion that had been weighing you down. It was the knowing that you were allowed to feel your feelings around Steve, and the security to know he was your person, rain or shine—and that in itself was enough for you to know it was going to be okay.

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: very short one shot in honor of seasonal depression doing its big one on me...but don't worry im surviving through my safe space fiction characters!!! i hope you are all doing well and thank you again for sticking around!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

[lizziesribbons]

Part 1 | seeing her for the first time

PAIRING: BEST FRIEND'S MOM! WANDA X FEM! READER

summary: you had no idea visiting your college bestfriend's hometown for the first time would put a women in your life that would either ruin your life or be the love of your life. Stay tuned to find out.

warnings: ****MINORS DNI***** *****MEN DNI***** ****CONTAINS SMUT LOTS OF SMUT****** fluff, legal age difference (r is 21, Wanda is 42), angst, homophobia, wanda is religious, church visits alot of them with Wanda, Wanda is divorced because I absolutely hate cheating it disgusts me I hate vision but I hate cheating more. Mentions of domestic abuse, mommy issues, parental control and alot of family issues.

Author's note: this is the first chapter so it might be a bit of everything idk I need a good base uh anyways y'all know my first language isn't English so bear with me ALSO half of this is projecting I'm literally writing what happened to me irl the only part fictional is me meeting an older women unfortunately that wasn't the case but I absolutely love my bestfriend's mom she's such a sweetheart I miss her alot :( I haven't met her ever since me and my bsf grew apart been a year I think

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Going to your best friend's hometown for the summer wasn't your first option but you didn't really have a choice since your family disowned you after you came out to them during last year summer after your first year at college, it was your second year now and you've still been in no contact with them you occasionally talk to your sister every once in a while since she's the only one who accepts the fact that being gay isn't anything out of the ordinary

So here you were driving in your old ass jeep your grandparents gifted you on your birthday behind your parent's back, you loved it alot even though you were the only person who were able to drive it since anyone else couldn't figure it out even if they wanted to save their life.

"my mom just called she's excited to see you, says she's glad I'm bringing a friend she has been bored alot" your bestfriend carlee says pulling you out of your thoughts. "Oh" you say breathing out and shaking your head to pull yourself out of the trance you were apparently in, "uh yeah I'm excited to see her too. What did you say her name was? I didn't catch it" you ask her your eyes still on the road "Wanda" carlee says with her mouth full of potato chips, "Wanda? That's pretty- carlee I swear to god if you drop any chips in here." you say with concern "I won't! See I'm not a little kid" she says in defence "just be careful." you drive in silence, carlee's mouth sounds the only sound in the car.

"why is your name carlee" you ask after a few minutes "what the fuck is that supposed to mean" she says her eyebrows furrowing and you chuckle and say, "I mean why and who named you there must be a meaning cuz your name makes 0 sense with Wanda's", "I'm still confuse on what that means but anyways my mom didn't name me my dad did he didn't really give mom an option to name me, says it was his first love's name and he wants to cherish her" she says softly, "Oh what a dick" your face in disgust as carlee laughs loudly "he was, I mean he is he still is I'm glad mom divorced him" she says sighing "yeah? I bet he was" you say to her sadly "well atleast we can bond over our crazy insane dads you know" carlee chuckles lighting the mood as you laugh with her, "hey you want something there's a cafe coming up I think" you ask Carlee "yeah sure I can enjoy a coffee right now" she says as you pull over "no coffee carlee we're still 4 hours away and you will eat my brain if I let you stay up just eat something and go to sleep besides you've already had 4 cups of coffee and it's literally only 2PM." you hear carlee groan as you talk "You're not my mom you know" she says throwing draggers at you "Oh sure like I literally don't make you breakfast every morning" you roll your eyes at her "Oh shutup" carlee throws her head back as you get out of the car and shout lightly "I'll bring you something to eat just wait here okay" with that you head off inside after 19 minutes you come back inside the car with a paper bag in your hand, you drop it in carlee's lap "here eat please all you've had all day is potato chips and coffee" you say with obvious concern, carlee smiles at you "god you're so sweet it's sickening sometimes I love you" carlee says rummaging through the bag as you start driving again "yeah sure" you say laughing after eating your snacks and lots of laugh and talks carlee falls asleep as you peacefully drive, the car ride after that didn't feel that long you reached her hometown at 6:37 you wake her up so she can guide you to her house after a 10 minute drive you pull up at a beautiful house, calling it a house would be an understatement it was more of a villa even though it wasn't even that big it was just built so beautifully. You knew carlee was rich even though she never showed off or bragged about it, it was obvious, she was the kind of person who's help you could recieve gladly without feeling small because she never made you feel small you were always an equal to her "your house is gorgeous" you say breathing out "yeah? My mom got an eye for architecture she made the blueprint herself" carlee says clearly proud of her mom, you say with shock getting out of the car after parking it in a respectful setting "your mom? That's impressive" you say looking at the house in awe "wait till you see the inside girl cuz I was flabbergasted too." carlee says chuckling as you walk up to the front door

Carlee rings the bell and you hear footsteps approaching the door, you had to hold your breath so you couldn't scream as you see Wanda walk out her face beaming with happiness as she saw carlee and hug her. She was perfect actually. Angelic even you could she was an angel herself. Before you could process it she hugs you and you melt in her arms "you must be y/n carlee has been speaking about you non stop" you can carlee became friends after your family disowned you she saw you crying outside of your class one day and approached you, ever since then she have been your ride or die. "yeah uh I I am nice to meet you miss maximoff" you say softly and nervously fidgeting with your shirt, you were sure you were sweating right now and hoped to god carlee and Wanda don't notice.

"well come in darlings I've been waiting for you I thought y'all were coming yesterday" Wanda says rushing you both into the house, you were in awe when you saw the inside it just felt like home it was so beautiful and gorgeous it was like walking into a warm embrace "yeah mom we had some work to-" you cut carlee off and look at Wanda "your house is beautiful miss maximoff" "Oh please it's Wanda no need for formalities and thankyou I'm glad you like it" she says, her arm around Carrey as she looks at you softly smiling "mom I'm really really really tired do you mind if we rest a bit?" carlee says looking up at Wanda, carlee was short even shorter than you, Wanda was probably a feet taller than carlee and atleast 6 inches from you. "sure sweetheart go on your room is all ready I made the bed first thing when I woke up and y/n your room is beside carlee's I set up the guest room as carlee told me you'd like but it's okay if you wanna sleep in carlee's room too" she says patting your shoulder, you could've sworn she looked you up and down and checked you out but you just shrugged it off as you being tired "you didn't have to miss maxi- Wanda but thankyou so much" you say looking up and softly smiling "I'll unload the bags from the car just give me the keys you both go and rest" she says already taking the keys from your hand "wait I can help" you say walking behind "no worries you just go and rest okay?" she pushed you towards the already sleepy carlee and go outside, you grab carlee's hand and ask her to lead you to the room "Oh come on you're so ridiculous you slept for 4 hours already" you say laughing at her as she acts sleepwalking "so what sleeping is fun" she says lazily "just show me my room and I'll get off your ass ho" you say to her as she guides you to the room "thankyou" you say rushing to the room and dropping on the bed you let out a huge breath you didn't know you were holding. God Wanda is beautiful you thought to yourself how can someone be this pretty? Is it wrong to find your bestfriend's mom this gorgeous and attractive but you couldn't help yourself she's just so perfect, you slept thinking of her.

After 2 hours there's a knock on your door, you stir awake "yeah?" you say in a sleepy voice "hey sweetheart it's Wanda can I come in?" you were wide awake now. "yeah come in" you quickly fix yourself and sit up in the bed "hey I just woke carlee up, fresh up dinner is ready carlee is downstairs just freshen up and come down okay?" she says in that angelic voice of hers, god you could listen to her for hours- no, y/n don't do that don't think about it that's wrong but she looks so sexy right now in just simple jeans and button up shirt "yeah I'll be down in 5 minutes Wanda" you say quickly covering up your nervous state you rush to the bathroom.

After 5 minutes you come downstairs and see Wanda and carlee on the dinner table waiting for you, how will you survive 3 months if you can't even walk straight infront of her?.

To be continued