#part of me wants them to ask that question in the show

[enviedear]

stay, little valentine, stay ｡𖦹° jason todd

🎧ྀི your roommate makes the fateful mistake of passing you, his roommate, off as his girlfriend to his boundary ignorant family. now the both of you are tasked with maintaining a faux romance for the entirety of a dinner at wayne manor—simple enough, right?

wc 4.2k | roommate!jason, lowercase intended, fem!reader, brief mention of booze, cursing, mutual pining, two idiots fake dating…truly what more can i say (a lot, so). please, enjoy my 'funny little valentines' day special ᯓᡣ𐭩

“there’s not enough room in the freezer for the ice trays. either move your booze or enjoy an ice free apartment,” your voice is tinged with annoyance as you stare down your long-term roommate.

he’s laid back on the shared couch, right cushion side, staring back at you with a impish grin on his face, “or, you could finally throw out that cake you bought for your ‘promotion’ party. since, the fuckin’ promotion never happened and it takes up half of my freezer.”

“our freezer.” you add. “and fuck you, i could still get that promotion any day now. i can always unfreeze it—good as new.”

jason seems to be beginning to tune you out as your eyes drift to a new letter on the fridge, stuck on with an ‘i hate gotham’ magnet. the print is fancy, cursive, bold black ink—YOU’RE INVITED—it reads.

“what are we invited to?” you ask, ice tray debacle not at all at the forefront of your mind now. not when you can tell your roommate’s got an invite from his estranged past guardian, none other than bruce wayne.

he hums a reply at first, still zeroed in to the rerun of some prison show. when he finally picks up on your question he sours, visibly, “some idiotic anniversary dinner for dick and kori. we’re not going, you weren’t even invited.”

you pout, “i want to go! why can’t we go?”

jason’s got a stern look on his face now, and you’ve always found it so unnerving how quickly he musters it up—usually so relaxed in your shared domain.

“we’re not going because i told a lie, and if we show up…everyone will know.” he groans, “just drop it, i need a little more time to ride this out.”

suddenly more intrigued, you prance over to him on the couch, flopping down beside him, “a lie?”

“don’t. just drop it.” he huffs at the obvious annoyance on your face, “it’s just stupid.”

“c’mon, we know all of each others ‘stupid’ shit. what was the lie, todd?” you’re being genuine, riddling your appeasement with a sweetly sardonic tone.

finally, after a good minute of staring at a very completive jason, he cracks, “i might have alluded to being in a relationship with you.”

your smile cracks before he even finishes his admission, oscillating between confusion and sheer giddiness—trying to halt the part of your brain that wants to imagine a life where a relationship isn’t such a laughable idea.

you curl your lips to stifle your last giggles before looking back up at him, “why?”

jason shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the question. his eyes dart away from yours, finding sudden interest in the television screen, "bruce kept...asking about my life here. if i was settling in, if i was happy." he runs a hand through his dark hair, "and then, all the others got involved, asking to set me up with people. i needed them to stop asking. and you-" he pauses, scratching the back of his neck, "you were the most believable option.”

you stare at him, unblinking, trying to process his words. "most believable option…” you repeat slowly, testing how the phrase feels on your tongue. a warmth spreads across your chest-whether from flattery or something else entirely, you're not quite sure. "so, what? think i can’t pretend to be your girlfriend for a dinner?" the idea sends an unwelcome flutter through your chest. you curse yourself.

jason's expression shifts, a mix of surprise and something else you can't quite read. "you'd do that?" he asks, his voice carrying an unusual note of vulnerability.

"of course," you reply, trying to keep your tone light and casual. "what are roommates for? plus, free fancy dinner at wayne manor? count me in." you're aiming for nonchalance, but your heart is racing at the prospect.

jason's jaw clenches, a tell-tale sign of him thinking too hard, "it's not that simple. they'll know it's fake. bruce especially—dick and tim too—they’re too observant for their own good.”

"oh please," you wave off his concern, settling deeper into the couch cushions, "we've lived together for what, two years now? we already act like an old married couple anyway. i know your coffee order, you know my work schedule. we share groceries, we fight about ice trays—“ you gesture broadly to the kitchen, "it's practically method acting at this point."

he looks at you then, really looks at you, with an expression you can't quite read. "you'd really do that? pretend to be with me in front of my entire family?"

"of course i would," you say softly, nudging his shoulder with yours. "what are friends for if not to fake date each other to avoid awkward family dinners?" you try to keep your tone light, ignoring the way your stomach flips when he smiles at you that rare, genuine smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"fine." he finally concedes, shrugging his shoulders, "but we need to get our story straight. no holes, no gaps—i figured we'd keep it close to the truth. roommates who gradually realized there was something more." he pauses, then adds, "the best lies are built on truth or some shit, right?”

you nod, and start crafting the imagined romance with jason. over the next hour, you both piece together your relationship timeline—how you first bonded over late night takeout after his patrols, the way you'd patch him up after particularly rough nights, and how somewhere between shared grocery runs and movie marathons, faux you fell for him. or him for you—the both of you can't agree on that just yet.

you try not to focus on how easy it is to imagine, how some of these made-up memories feel more like documentation rather than fabrication.

"okay, and when did we actually get together?" you ask, pulling your knees up to your chest, trying to ignore how invested you're becoming in this alternate reality.

"three months ago." jason answers quickly, too quickly, like he's already thought about this. "after that night I came home really beaten up, remember? you were so pissed at me for being reckless."

you remember that night vividly—how he ever thinks you could forget, you’re unsure.

him stumbling through the window at three in the morning, blood seeping through his stupid jacket. how your hands shook as you stitched him up, how quiet he was, how close his blanched face was to yours. you’d attributed the racing of your heart to fear, but now…not so much.

"yeah," you say softly. "that works."

the rest of the week flies by in a blur of preparation and anxiety, until suddenly it's the night of the dinner, and you're standing in front of your mirror, wondering if you've made a terrible mistake.

you're wearing a deep red-toned dress that hits just above your knee—something you'd bought on a whim (a fifty percent off sale) months ago and never found the right occasion for. jason had given it an approving nod when you'd shown him, which somehow makes you feel more nervous than reassured as you stare yourself down.

"ready?" jason's voice comes from behind you, and you turn to find him adjusting his tie in the hallway mirror. he looks…different. good different. the suit fits him perfectly, and you wonder briefly if alfred had something to do with that. the older man has a penchant for doting over your overgrown battling ram of a roommate.

"as i'll ever be." you manage, trying to keep your voice steady. "but, um, how convincing do you think we need to be?"

jason's eyes meet yours in the mirror, "enough to fool the world's greatest detective," he sighs, "and his army of protégés." he turns to face you properly, and something in his expression softens, but he looks away too quickly for you to discern, "you look really pretty."

"thanks." you mumble, fiddling with your clutch. "so do you. very…boyfriend."

he laughs, but it sounds slightly strained. "that's the idea, isn't it?" he offers his arm to you, "shall we?"

the drive to wayne manor is muted. jason's knuckles are white on the shifter, and you find yourself reaching over to place your hand over his without thinking. he startles slightly, but he doesn't pull away—even keeps contact as he switches gears.

"hey." you start softly, "we've got this. we know each other better than anyone, we live together. besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

jason sighs, his hand tightening slightly under yours. "you clearly don’t know how bruce and tim get at these things. anniversary or not, they'll smell blood in the water if we slip up."

"relax," you assure him, glancing out at the looming trees lining the driveway. "i doubt they’ll care about your relationship timeline when they’re busy fawning over how happy dick and kori are."

jason shoots you a look that clearly says 'don't tempt fate', but his grip on the wheel loosens slightly. "just…follow my lead. and if it gets too weird, we can always fake a medical emergency."

"that...is always an option." you grin, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips when he smiles back.

the manor looms up ahead, and as jason pulls up to the gate, you feel his hand squeeze yours briefly, almost indecipherable.

"last chance to back out." he murmurs.

you intertwine your fingers with his, ignoring the voice in your head that whispers how right it feels. "not a chance, todd. you're stuck with me."

the gates open, and as you drive up the winding driveway, you're unable to shake the feeling that you're about to cross a line you can't come back from. but with jason's hand so warm and relaxed in yours, you're not sure you want to.

jason parks the car in front of the house at the partition, "in case we need a quick exit." he shrugs.

"i think you're too worried, jason. i doubt they'll even question it. you said they wanted you dating anyway, i bet they'll just be happy." your voice is quiet, hand hovering in front of the doorbell.

he sighs, "you don't know these people, they question everything."

before you can reply or try to alleviate his doubts, the double doors fly open. you grab jason's hand in your own and pull him closer, just as alfred sets eyes on the pair of you.

alfred's eyes visibly brighten at the sight of both of you, his normally reserved expression softening into something fonder, "master jason," he greets, a ghost of a smile on his lips, "and miss, how lovely for you to be joining tonight. everyone is very excited to meet you, i fear my few stories were not enough to quell them."

you smile, a real genuine one too, "it's nice to see you again alfred! i hope we're not too late—jason decided to change his tie last minute."

alfred hums and beckons you both inside, "fashionable tardiness, miss. i assure you."

jason, hand now sweaty in yours, chuckles, "he's being nice since you're with me. he's usually irate by my lateness."

you shoot jason a pointed look as alfred continues. "master richard and miss kori have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. their anniversary dinner is a rare occasion they’ve pulled out all the stops for, you see."

jason grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, overachievers.

the sound of multiple voices echos through from a room, and you feel jason's grip tighten slightly. you've heard stories about his family for years now—mostly complaints, occasionally fond remembrances, and everything in between during late night conversations over takeout.

"master bruce insisted on formal dining tonight." alfred mentions, though his tone suggests mild disapproval. you've learned over your visits that alfred much prefers when the family dines in the kitchen.

jason scoffs quietly, "because god forbid we eat somewhere comfortable." you squeeze his hand again, a silent reminder of your emergency exit strategy. two years of living together has given you an extensive library of non-verbal communications.

the dining room, when you enter, is exactly as alfred has described it countless times—grandiose in a way that speaks to old money and older traditions. the table stretches long and elegant, set with what you recognize as the ‘good china’ alfred often mentions.

your muscles tense slightly as you finally notice all of the eyes on you—staring and studying—you have to think before you step.

bruce wayne rises first, and despite all of jason's stories, despite seeing him on tv and in newspapers, you're struck by his presence. "jason." he greets, then turns his attention to you. "we've all heard quite a bit about you from alfred, though significantly less from my son."

you feel jason's posture stiffen, but you're prepared for this. "oh, you know how jason is with sharing things." you say easily, the words flowing naturally after years of defending his privacy to nosy neighbors and concerned coworkers. "though, alfred's probably told you all my embarrassing stories by now."

dick grayson—exactly as handsome as the magazines suggest—breaks into a wide grin. "actually, alfred's been surprisingly tight lipped. just kept saying we should ask jason ourselves." his eyes sparkle with mischief. "which, of course, got us nowhere."

"some things don't need to be broadcast to the whole family." jason grumbles, but his thumb is mindlessly drawing small circles on your hand, a gesture you've learned means he's more comfortable than he's letting on. 

"oh, but this is so wonderful!" a melodic, cheerful voice chimes in, and you glance up to see koriand’r—kori to most—seated beside dick, her vibrant curly red hair catching the light as she smiles radiantly. "you must forgive us for prying, but jason does not often share such…delightful surprises."

"by 'us,' she means her." dick cuts in with a smirk, earning a playful nudge from kori.

"yes, and what of it?" she replies lightly, turning her attention fully to you. "you see, jason is like a tamaranian grisnek—so fierce and protective on the outside, but underneath, he is all kindness and loyalty. how could we not be curious about the person who has captured his heart?"

"great. glad we're all analyzing my personal life at the dinner table." jason mutters, though his hand stays on yours, his grip steady.

"do not be fooled," kori says in a whisper that is anything but subtle, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "jason pretends to be irritated, but inside, i know he is glowing with happiness."

your lips twitch into a smile despite yourself, and jason sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging with mock defeat. "i think i'm gonna need another drink."

kori leans back, laughing softly, the sound warm and lilting, as she looks between you and jason once more. "you are lovely." she adds sincerely, her tone softening. "and jason could not have chosen better."

tim drake, who you've only seen in passing when he's stopped by your apartment to drop off miscellaneous ‘private’ documents, raises an eyebrow. "yes, it's all very sweet." he hums it almost, tone carefully neutral but eyes sharp, studying you.

"sweet indeed." you agree, letting some of your genuine fondness for jason color your voice. it's not hard to fake being in love with someone when you've spent two years memorizing their coffee order, patching up their wounds, and falling asleep on their shoulder during movie marathons. the hard part, you're starting to realize, might be pretending it's all pretend.

bruce barely looks up from his plate as he speaks again, cutting through your blissful thoughts of jason, “a shame i wasn’t aware you two were involved.”

jason tenses beside you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “yeah, well. guess you don’t know everything, old man.”

bruce sets his fork down with deliberate slowness. his gaze flicks between the two of you, assessing, “i never said i did.” his voice is even, unreadable. “but you don’t bring people around often. that’s worth noting.”

jason scoffs, like he couldn’t care less, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, unease, probably both.

jason’s hand finds yours under the table. it’s definitely not a calculated move, not a necessary nor obvious display for the act you’re putting on. it’s just—there. warm and solid, his fingers curling around yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you don’t let go.

dinner progresses with a strange mix of tension and ease. You find yourself falling into natural conversation with dick about your work, while jason maintains a careful distance from bruce's attempts at engagement. still, his hand hasn't left yours, and you're starting to wonder if he's forgotten it's all for show.

"so—how did you two finally get together?" dick asks, leaning forward with genuine interest.

you exchange a quick glance with jason, settling into the story you've rehearsed. "it wasn't really some big dramatic moment," you say, the lie feeling uncomfortably close to the truth. "we just...realized we work."

jason picks up the thread smoothly, his thumb still tracing patterns on your hand. "she was patching me up after a rough night, mad at me for being so bruised," he says, and you can hear the genuine emotion in his voice. "and i just...i dont know—knew, i guess."

tim's watching you both with analytical eyes, and you wonder if he can see through the charade. "that tracks." he says finally. "you two have always been...close."

"speaking of close," dick interjects with a grin, "i think it's hilarious jason used to insist you were 'just roommates', and yet never went on any of the dates i set him up on. i should have known, really." there's a pout on his face, humourous.

you laugh, perhaps a bit too nervously, "well, we were. for a while." the irony of the statement isn't lost on you. you can see jason watching you from your peripheral, face stoic—but his eyes are soft. the way they watch over you, simply affectionate.

bruce, who's been quietly observing, finally speaks. "i'm glad jason has someone looking out for him," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes your heart ache. "he's always been...independent."

jason's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "yeah, well, some things change." he mutters, but there's less bite in his words than usual.

the conversation shifts to safer topics—work, current events, alfred's latest culinary experiments. you find yourself relaxing despite the pretense, falling into familiar patterns of banter with jason, finishing his sentences, and sharing knowing looks.

it's during dessert that damian, who's been suspiciously quiet, finally speaks up. "you're good for him," he declares with all the authority of a youngest sibling. "he's less annoying when you're around."

jason chokes on his tiramisu, and you pat his back automatically, the gesture so natural you don't even think about it. "thanks, damian!" you say, fighting back a smile. "i think."

as the evening winds down and dinner ends, you find yourself in the manor's vast library, having wandered away from the group for a moment of quiet. besides, you feel somewhat redundant against their coded phrases and stories. jason finds you, as he always does.

"hey." he speaks softly, coming to stand beside you. "you doing okay?"

you turn to face him, suddenly very aware of how close he is. "yeah, i'm good. your family's...intense, but nice. just like you said."

he laughs quietly, but there's something different in his eyes. "you're amazing, you know that? playing along with all this. you didn't have to."

"i wanted to." you admit, and it feels dangerous how true those words are. "besides, what are fake girlfriends for?"

jason's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read, and for a moment, you think he might say something more. but then dick's voice calls from somewhere far off in the house and the moment gaps.

"we should head back." jason says, but he doesn't move. "before they send a search party."

you nod, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing. "yeah, we should."

but neither of you moves, caught in this strange liminal space where pretend and reality blur, and you're no longer sure which is which. even less sure if you hunger for dreams or waking existence—which is which? for a split second, you want to reach out. you desperately want to feel him—to possibly transfer the devotion you’re still too afraid to admit you harbor.

jason’s breath is staggered, coming out forced and shallow. his eyes, darker in the dim light, are flitting between you and the door—until he focuses in on you, fully. you’re too confused as to why he’s getting closer to you to react accordingly when his lips brush yours.

your first instinct is to furrow your brows, still confused. then, you kiss back. hungrily. confusion still fogs your mind, but nowhere near the way jason does. his lips are chapped, plump, and still tasting faintly of expensive dark liquor. his body cages you close him, hands respectfully at your shoulders. of course the only thing you can recognize is jason.

you err on the side respectfulness—opting to tug him closer by the tie. there’s a flash of the memory of him putting it on, and you can’t fight a small smirk from slipping onto your lips. jason must notice, because he finally breaks away to peer down at you.

“what?” he whispers, panting and staring down at your lips.

“what do you mean, what? we kissed.” you still feel giddy from his kiss, but reality begins to settle into you like a winter chill.

jason watches you closely, his expression a mix of smugness and unease, “hmmm—playing it dangerous.” he finally murmurs, shaking his head.

you arch a brow, feigning derision. “you say that to all the girls, todd?”

he exhales a laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he huffs. “that grand number of...you.”

before you can say anything, footsteps echo just outside the library's door. jason instinctively steps back, widening the space between you just as dick pokes his head in. “there you two are! we were about to send out a search party.”

you smile, pushing down the lingering tension. “sorry. just taking a little tour.”

dick’s gaze flickers between you and jason, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “right. well, come on. we're playing charades—and bruce is actually smiling. you don’t want to miss that.”

jason groans, but he follows you and dick back back toward the others. his hand brushes against yours in the hallway, and for a second, you think he’s going to take it again. but he doesn’t. 

charades is winding down by the time you return, alfred putting away various dry erase boards and markers with the kind of efficiency only a butler can possesses.

kori beams when she sees you, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “lovebrids! you have returned!" she gestures to herself and grayson, "thank you for coming—we would like to extend our support to your relationship.”

jason lets out a little breath, like he wasn’t expecting that—like he isn’t sure what to do with the sincerity. “thanks, kori.”

bruce, too, seems slightly less intimidating now. “thank you for coming—you’re welcome here anytime, both of you.” he tells you, and it sounds like a rare offering.

something about it all settles in your chest, warm and unexpected. you’ve spent so much time being jason’s person in private—patching him up, watching his back, making sure he gets home in one piece—that it’s almost startling to have it acknowledged in front of everyone else.

goodnights and goodbyes come soon after, and tim catches jason by the elbow before the pair of you can walk out the door, pulling him aside for a hushed conversation. you linger near the doorway, talking with kori and dick, but you can’t help the way your attention keeps flickering back to jason.

when he finally returns to your side, his expression is unreadable. “ready to go?”

you nod, murmuring your goodbyes as you both step back into the night air. jason doesn’t say anything as he leads you back to the car, but his hands flex at his sides.

the drive back is quieter than before, the easy banter from earlier replaced with something heavier, something neither of you seems willing to touch just yet. jason’s grip is tight on the wheel, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the road.

it isn’t until you’re pulling into the familiar streets near your apartment that he finally speaks. “they bought it.”

you huff a quiet laugh. “yeah? i told you so.”

jason’s eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second before he exhales. “thank you, seriously. you were great.”

you glance at him, something warm curling in your chest. “we just make a good team.”

something glints in his expression, something hesitant, something aching. “yeah,” he agrees, voice quieter. “we do.”

the silence stretches between you as he parks the car. you unbuckle your seatbelt, but neither of you make a move to get out. stuck stagnant.

“so, this is was fake...” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

jason’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, knuckles red. “yeah.”

you should leave it at that. you should forget the kiss. you should revert back to just his roommate. you should laugh it off, make some joke about how convincing you both were—but you don't—instead you say, “does it still feel fake to you? us...tonight?”

jason’s breath catches. for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. you almost let doubt seep in.

then, he turns, his eyes dark and searching. “god, no.”

your heart stutters in your chest, and you swallow hard, pulse roaring in your ears. “good. me neither.”

for a second, he just looks at you, like he’s waiting for you to take it back, to laugh it off. but you don’t, you won't. and when he leans in—slow, hesitant, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away—you don’t.

you decide to meet him halfway, instead.

writer’s note .☘︎ ݁˖ all of my thanks to the helpful, @sunnie-angel for being my beta reader for this fic! thank you again for your services—and your sweet comments on this little story, very very happy to have a moot like you !!!

🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works

[bytemee]

WE CAN'T BE FRIENDS (WAIT FOR YOUR LOVE) — YU JIMIN.

"just wanna let this story die, and i'll be alright."

synopsis. what was once love now feels like a wreck, and nothing will ever be the same between them.

pairing. mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader

warning(s). angst, cheating (not really bc they're not dating), mentions of drinking, karina is mean :(, just sad no happy ending

words. 1.3k

authors note. hi guys happy valentines day masterlist soon ok

part one. part two. part three. headcannons. request. navigation. main masterlist.

family emergencies don't wait for anyone.

you barely have time to throw things into a suitcase before you're running out the door, heart pounding with worry and adrenaline. the flight feels like it drags on forever, leaving you with too much time to imagine the worst possible outcomes.

every missed call and text from karina stings, but you can't bring yourself to respond. you're already juggling too much.

karina doesn't hear from you for three days.

she finds out you're gone when she shows up at your dorm unannounced, expecting you to be there like always—because you're always there. like the obedient little puppy she trained you to be. but the room is empty, the bed half-made, and your phone is going straight to voicemail every time she calls.

at first, she thinks you're just ignoring her. a part of her almost admires the audacity. but then she checks your drawers and sees the clothes missing, the toothbrush gone, the little signs that you didn't just leave for the night—you left. and you didn't tell her.

it hits her like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath right out of her.

then rage coils in her stomach like a snake, tightening with every unanswered text.

where the fuck are you?

don't make me find you.

you think you can just disappear on me?

by the time the third day rolls around, she's furious. humiliated.

people keep asking where you are, and she doesn't have an answer. you made her look stupid. weak. you left without a word and expected her to just sit and wait? to not do anything?

like hell. fuck you.

so she goes out. parties harder than she has in months. lets her sorority sisters pour her drink after drink until the room spins and everything feels numb, because you made her feel something, and she doesn't want to anymore. she doesn't want to feel anything ever again.

then there's a girl.

not you, but someone close enough in the dark. someone who doesn't hesitate to put her hands where they don't belong, someone who doesn't make her wait, doesn't make her question if she's wanted. karina lets it happen. lets the girl kiss her, lets hands wander, lets herself pretend—just for a second—that you don't exist. that this is all there is. that she's still in control.

when you come back two weeks later, she's ice-cold.

at first, you think she's mad that you left without telling her properly, that she's just giving you a hard time. but when she won't even look at you, when she brushes past you in the hallway like you're nothing, the dread settles in your stomach like a stone.

then the videos start spreading around campus. one of her with a girl. her hands on the other girl's skin. her tongue in the other girl's mouth. the two of them drunk, laughing, kissing.

you can't stop watching them.

the videos aren't anything explicit, but they're damning.

you can't believe she would do this to you, after everything you've done for her, everything you've given her.

it hurts.

you want to scream at her. you want to ask her why—why she did it, why she pushed you away, why she made you feel like you were nothing. you want to know if she felt anything, if she even cared about you at all. but you don't. instead, you let the anger simmer beneath your skin, burning through your veins like wildfire.

you're done. you're so fucking done.

the next time you're face to face is completely coincidental. she's on her way back to her room from a party, drunk off her ass and barely able to walk in a straight line. you went to her sorority house to get some things of yours from her room, as winter promised you karina wouldn't be there.

but of course, she is.

karina doesn't notice you at first, too busy trying to steady herself against the wall. her makeup is smudged, her hair a mess, and her steps uncoordinated as she tries to focus on getting back to her room. but then she stumbles, catching her balance just in time to look up—and when her eyes meet yours, everything in the air freezes.

for a moment, neither of you move. you can smell the alcohol on her breath and see the haze of drunkenness in her eyes. she looks like shit. then, as if snapping out of a trance, you take a step forward—only for her to flinch back, her body pressing against the wall.

her reaction stops you dead in your tracks.

"stay away from me."

you stop in your tracks, throat tightening. "i just want my stuff. that's it. then i'm gone."

her eyes are glassy. she looks like she might cry. "i don't have them."

your hands clenched into fists. "yes, you do. my jacket and a book. you have them."

she shakes her head. "i threw them out."

"why would you do that?"

she exhales shakily, eyes darting away. "because you left." her voice is barely a whisper, her words slurred and uneven. "because you didn't even tell me. you just disappeared."

you scoff, shaking your head. "are you serious? i had an emergency, karina. my family needed me."

her jaw tightens, something unreadable flashing through her expression. "and i didn't?"

you blink. "that's not fair."

karina lets out a hollow laugh, bitter and sharp. "neither is finding out you were gone by walking into your empty fucking room."

you don't know what to say to that. because she's right. you should've told her. you should've sent something, anything. but you didn't, and now you're stuck, the two of you, standing in the middle of the hallway with no idea where to go from here. but that doesn't change what she did.

your voice is quieter when you finally speak. "you didn't have to—" you gesture vaguely, unable to say it. "—do what you did."

her gaze drops, shoulders tensing. her voice is low. "i don't know what you're talking about."

you let out a frustrated sigh, stepping closer. "you know exactly what i'm talking about. those fucking videos. everyone saw them."

she doesn't move, her breath hitching in her throat. "i didn't do anything."

your hands curl into fists, anger rising in your chest. "don't lie to me, karina. i know it was you. why would you do that? were you that desperate to...i don't know? try and get back at me?"

karina's eyes are glassy, but whatever vulnerability was there a moment ago hardens into steel. she straightens up against the wall, brushing at her smudged makeup. when she finally speaks, her voice is cold.

"you really think you were more than just my little pup?"

the words hit like a punch to the gut, taking your breath away. karina stares you down, chin tilted up defiantly, daring you to argue, to fight back. but you can't. because no matter how angry, how betrayed, how humiliated you are, you still care about her.

"you were convenient, that's all. always there when i needed you. following me around like a pathetic stray, waiting for scraps of affection. and you lapped it up, didn't you?"

"karina, stop," you whisper.

she doesn't stop. she steps closer, her words venomous. "i needed someone to depend on, and you were just there. do you think i would've chosen you otherwise?"

your throat tightens. every syllable feels like another dagger to the chest.

"when you left, i realized how easy it was to replace you. how easy it would be for me to find someone else. and i did." she smiles, sharp and cruel. "do you want to know her name? or do you prefer not knowing?"

tears well up in your eyes despite everything, hot and burning. you blink rapidly, but you can't stop them from falling. 

"i gave you everything," you say, your voice barely holding steady. "i was there for you every second you needed me."

"and that's all you were good for," she snaps. "you should've known your place. a good little pup doesn't run off without permission." 

then, she pushes past you, her shoulder bumping yours as she stumbles toward her room. "go home, y/n," she mutters, voice breaking just slightly. "there's nothing left for you here."

and just like that, she's gone.

you're left standing alone in the hallway, heart aching, tears streaming down your cheeks.

taglist - @brocoliisscared @spidrgamer @kimminjiissosjdirbidnsjje

[ihavenointerestinreallife]

family relations | 18+ mdni

everyone knew that where fred went, george was right behind him; even if nobody could tell them apart half the time, two identical ginger boys always signaled trouble. 

when you showed up–someone with a stark difference in look to the two boys–it immediately raised an eyebrow. while not rare to see the two twins apart, it was a sight to see them accompanied by someone other than another member of their family, often at least. 

with the amount of nosy students at hogwarts it didn’t take long until someone got curious. 

“she’s just a part of the family,” george would say. 

“she’s like a sister to us, really,” fred would add not long after. 

— 

holidays with the weasley family were always chaotic to say the least. it seemed every year a new person stayed for christmas in the burrow, most notably in recent years harry and hermione joining their best friend ron–this year, the family home saw you as its new addition. 

the weasley family home had been filled to the brim since the birth of ginny, and the addition of companions only brightened it with more love. 

on christmas morning, everyone who didn’t own one already (or miraculously lost their original) received their first of molly’s many knitted sweaters, all personalized with their first initial. you’d never forget the first christmas you reunited with the twins wearing their own sweaters. 

“did mrs. weasley make those so she could remember which of you is which?” you asked. 

“mother says she could never forget who is who, which i guess is why i’m wearing his sweater, and he’s wearing mine,” fred would reply. 

when the day came for you to receive your own, the twins had visibly outgrown the jumpers you first saw them in, instead adorning new pairs to fit their growing builds. 

“molly, it’s beautiful! i dreamed of the day i’d get my own,” you said, running your fingers along the woollen fabric. 

“i’m glad you like it dear- and look, now you match freddie and georgie.” 

your head whipped in the direction of the two boys to confirm her words, and she was right. you matched fred and george from the overall blue color to the yellow letter. 

the way they looked at you then, you knew you could get used to matching sweaters. 

— 

you were purely friends with the twins up until your shared sixth year when they went to the yule ball with angelina johnson and katie bell. sure, the way they looked at you for the past year and a half had you questioning everything you felt for them. and sure, having them next to you at every given moment–closely, at that–made you think things friends wouldn’t dare say out loud- but this was a whole new level. 

molly had sent all the hogwarts attending weasley children outfits to wear to the ball; ginny a bright pink and mint gown, ron a very explicit hand me down likely of bill or percy’s, and the twins looked dashing in their matching suits. but you knew they could look even better, each hanging off one of your arms. 

instead you had the pleasure of watching both fred and george dance multiple rounds with their dates, while you sat next to harry and ron, also bummed out by how terrible the evening had gone. 

“they wanted to go with you, you know.” 

you jumped, turning your head to hermione who seemed to be itching to escape the crowd. 

“don’t be silly hermione, we’re just friends.” you muttered as you chewed on your lips, effectively removing them of any color you stained them with. “besides, you saw how eager they were when they asked angelina and katie in potions.” 

“or they were just trying to tease ron, you know how brothers are.” hermione looked at you with pity, as if there was someone she had hoped would ask her to the ball as well. 

the moment you decided to guess who she’d hoped would have asked her, your eyes scanned the crowd for either fred or george. it was futile for a second, until on either side of the floor you noticed both twins sneaking a glance back at you, both still occupied in dances with their dates. 

“hermione,” you began, tone laced with shyness despite how loud the music drowned your words out, “how would i know if my feelings surpassed friendly?” 

— 

it only took a day for feelings to be admitted by all three parties, only taking half of another for you to find yourself sandwiched in bed by both of the twins. robes had been discarded by the door, and you weren’t even sure you’d be able to find your scarf considering how long it had been gone. 

the boys sat knee to knee with you straddling both their laps, george to your front and fred to your back. they worked together to pull your hair off your neck, and then to unleash your tie from its collar, effectively exposing your bare skin to them. 

it didn’t feel real when the warmth of fred’s lips ghosted your skin, not even a semblance of it when they finally latched on. the amount of times you dreamt of them touching you intimately could not have prepared you for the feeling. 

“does it feel good when he kisses you like that?” george teased knowing you wouldn’t be able to catch your breath in time to reply. 

“yes georgie- fuck,” you moaned as fred bit down and sucked like a man tasked with marking you as his own. “freddie, people will see..” 

“let them love, they’d put the pieces together soon anyways.” he bit down again only a couple inches away from the first love bite, effectively securing the notion of nosy onlookers creating their own story to tell off. 

and tell off they would when every week new patches would show on your neck. the twins took turns marking you in places just indecent enough to turn heads, but not enough to solidify any real narrative about the three of you. 

a couple of weeks of people swearing they saw you snogging both twins at once in the gryffindor common room had at least one person becoming bold enough to ask you how you really felt about fred and george:

“they’re like my brothers, really.” 

— 

happy valentines day <3

[unteriors]

With all due love and respect, most of the interiors you're showing from Piedmont are old (1950s-60s) country houses. Not exactly what I'd think of in terms of real estate neocapitalist dystopia hell. Many of those houses would be absolutely fine with a bit of work. It's definitely a tragic consequence of capitalism that nobody is buying them tho, for sure.

I understand where you're coming from. There are a few things here that irk me a little though - occasionally I'll receive some feedback that touches on similar themes. To start, I'm not really that motivated by titles when it comes to creative projects. There are things in the world, in my own life, in what I see around me, that I find interesting or disturbing or which I have anxieties about, and I put time into exploring them. Almost by accident I've amassed an enormous amount of imagery culled from real estate listings on my PC. I can explain the motivations and ideas behind it, but I'm not very good at wrapping everything up in a neat bow. I've come across a similar thing for another blog I've had for much longer, where people in its audience (or friends and family) would often message me saying that this particular image isn't really an Unplace, and the ambiguity of the title ends up narrowing their perception of the scope of the project (and makes it seem much more superficial - for a similar reason I'm not keen on the concept of liminal spaces, or the word liminal generally). With this blog, I made a conscious decision to use a title that would be broad enough to ward off attempts to pigeonhole it into specific, surface-level interpretations, which would sort of work against and challenge itself (and the viewer).

When I was in art school I was keen on the idea of antimarketing, which extends to branding. Advertising (increasingly over the past half-century) has a way of corroding depth and reducing substance to easily-accessible content guided by broadly-accepted conventions around social norms. I feel like it should only be a thing you deal with yourself as much as you have to, and I try to deadvertise the things I do as much as I can. I feel like these images deadvertise places. I look for real estate imagery which, on the direct, immediate level of their intended purpose, fail miserably (i.e., I do not want to buy this house. I sense lead paint, asbestos. This house may contain a corpse. Stay away). On a secondary level, in addition to selling a product, advertising often sells an idea about the world. With real estate imagery, the idea is much like the one this ask represents these houses as - a way of looking at housing that reduces it to an investment, which views older houses in a state of disrepair as something to be renovated and resold for a profit. This feels particularly myopic and inappropriate when it comes to Italy, a part of the world I've spent time in (though not Piedmont), which has layers and layers of history and human misery in every lived (and abandoned) surface, and which was hit hard by the twentieth century and still seems to be falling apart in many ways. As you pointed out, it's a consequence of the economic system that's currently oppressing Italy (involving years of austerity forced upon it by waves of neoliberal administrations, including within the country and in EU economic policy, against a backdrop of corruption and aggressive anticommunism that the US played a role in) that it has an issue with housing vacancy sitting comfortably alongside the same housing crisis most of us are experiencing (this article goes into a lot of detail about it).

There's the more technical question of how much work would be needed to rehabilitate these places and make them livable - I know in Australia houses that are only fifty or sixty years old often require specialised work by contractors (which our propaganda system that promotes DIY culture and house flipping tends to gloss over). And then, who would put the effort into renovating these places and then living in them? There are parts of Italy with very high unemployment rates, particularly among young people, where people have been leaving for generations. I guess, if someone from a richer country uses the exchange rate to buy and do up a rundown house in a village somewhere and pumps money into the local economy, there are some good sides to that. But I can't get away from the idea that, in our current system, renovating an older house - fixing it up - has the cumulative effect of pricing more people out of housing. I felt bad even about buying a house in my own country - more mortgages mean higher house prices, ultimately. The rot in the economic superstructure feeds into our artistic and conceptual understanding of housing. That creates tensions, between the real, deeper, historically and culturally rich, lived experience of a house, and the fake, greige, airbrushed, negatively-geared, embalmed home-as-investment that's sold to us, and I find those cracks in the surface (peeling paint, if you will) interesting.

This may be getting close to paranoia, but there's also a phenomenon where, if you say anything too negative and controversial, you come to expect that some people will instinctively react by mocking it. This is something I feel instinctively (again, maybe the answer to this lies more in therapy than in looking at the outside world). Often without evidence of their own to demonstrate why what you have said is wrong. It reminds me of a reddit post I saw floating around on tumblr a few years ago, about how the attitude to the world you see in South Park is that, if you complain too much about something (i.e. if you point out that something is wrong), and you demonstrate that you care about that without hiding behind irony, that makes you the problem. You find this all through pop culture from a certain time period (the Simpsons could be just as bad, I also come across this attitude in contemporary art - the laugh react on Facebook feels like its late-stage distillation). It's hard to tell how much people are encoded by it, or if it provides a framework for seeing the world and handling moral issues for people who already held these attitudes. I named this blog Neoliberal Capitalist Real Estate Dystopia Hellscape to weed out those those attitudes and make the people who would ordinarily express them self-conscious. It's getting harder and harder for people to deny that it's not an accurate description, the middle-class psychological bubble has been getting harder to keep insulated for some time now.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi there! Many apologies if I put my foot in my mouth here.

Do you have any rules for when to use BIPOC vs POC? I personally don’t like the term BIPOC for a number of reasons, most of which match the Newsweek article I link at the end, but since I’m nothing close to an expert, I wanted to check if you had an answer for what to do on that front. Possibly separately or possibly as part of the same question, do you have a preference as to which is used in your inbox? Happy to do either, even if the surge towards only ever using BIPOC makes me a little squeamish since I really struggle to find anyone championing it who doesn’t eventually turn out to be white when I look them up.

PS - I feel like I see both PoC and POC, but never BIPoC. Is there a reason for that, or are people just making inconsistent guesses at capitalization?

Newsweek article in question: https://www.newsweek.com/bipoc-isnt-doing-what-you-think-its-doing-opinion-1582494

I think it's really just a personal choice, fr. I have never cared for it, really 😅 I have better battles to fight (the proper use of 'NOUN of color'), and I get what they were trying to do, but... I tried and I just... I don't care for it.

It feels self serving to me. It's redundant and yet it sort of lumps Black and Indigenous folks together in a way that... It doesn't address that while we do have similarities and overlaps, we're not the same and shouldn't be dismissed so easily.

And also, "indigenous" doesn't necessarily mean 'Indigenous to the Americas', so without that added context to the conversation, you could be talking bout anywhere and those indigenous people could very well be white 😭 and if your point by then is "well I mean the ones of color" then by then you could have just said "people of color" already! 🤣 But that might be me overthinking it.

You could just refer to people by their names 😭 I'm not just an amorphous POC, I'm Black! So when you enter my inbox, say Black. No, don't refer to me as a POC/PoC or a BIPOC, you know what I am and what I've asked you to refer to me as. It's honestly incredibly insulting when I make posts specifically discussing Blackness and they get hit with the #poc #poc things. I do love my folk of color and will show solidarity ofc, but when I'm talking about Black people, I do mean Black people. And I'm pretty sure I can tell who's leaving those tags 😬

We're not all one lump solely defined by "not white"- when you know our identities, use them!

Sidebar, I also always misread it as "Bi and Indigenous people of color" 😭 Lmao you managed to accidentally hit on something I'm very passionate about but rarely speak on 😅

[v4mpire45]

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

I plan on making this series so when I do the link will be here!

☞ Link: Part 2.

Bakugo x Jealous female reader

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

You've never felt such anger in your life, and you had no reason to. It was silly, really silly and immature. But it upset you, and you couldn't quite understand why.

From your seat in the back, you watch her, your face contorting into a sour expression. The way she fired fiery retorts his way, and he responded with his usual scowl and equal fire.

You bit your lip. Why did this bother you so much? You're not the type to get jealous, so when did this start to matter?

You and Katsuki had been friends since childhood. When your family first moved to Musutafu and you started elementary school, he was the first kid you met. You'd always been shy, awkward, and introverted, and honestly, you still were.

You remember standing at the back of the classroom, hiding away from everyone, but in true Bakugo fashion, he marched over to you and demanded to know about your quirk. Hesitantly, you showed him, and to your surprise, he was impressed.

From that day onward, Katsuki Bakugo decided you would be his friend forever. And that’s stayed true all the way to now, your second year at U.A.

But over the past year, your feelings for Bakugo had changed. You’d both been through so much together, his kidnapping, the war, the moment he died right in front of you.

It wasn’t just him who had changed, though. You had too. You'd learned how to be more confident in yourself, to trust your abilities. You weren’t constantly second-guessing yourself or drowning in self-doubt.

And if there’s one major lesson this past year has taught you, it’s that time is money. When Bakugo died, you truly thought you'd never see your best friend again, and it hurt like hell. Like a part of you had been ripped away. That was when you realized maybe you didn’t just see Katsuki as a friend.

But it’s not like you’d tell him. Bakugo didn’t believe in relationships, he saw them as a distraction, a waste of time. He had enough on his plate without his best friend confessing she was in love with him.

You were fine just being Bakugo’s friend.

Or at least, you were, until Kimiko Suzuki came along.

She transferred into Class 2-A along with Hitoshi, and at first, you had no problem with her. She was chill with everyone, including you. But then her focus turned to Bakugo.

Kimiko was everything you weren’t, fierce, confident, and completely unbothered by social interactions. And if there was one thing about Kimiko Suzuki, it was that she was determined. She wanted to break through that tough barrier Bakugo kept up, the one only a handful of people had managed to get through.

At first, you told yourself it was just fleeting infatuation. Nothing to worry about.

Until Mina’s sleepover.

You still remember how your stomach twisted when Kimiko had confessed, “I think I have a little crush on Bakugo.” The girls had cooed and giggled, while a sharp, unfamiliar jealousy burned within you.

But it wasn’t a big deal, at least, not back then. Kimiko hadn’t been very forward about it, so you ignored it.

Well. That was before.

Recently, Kimiko hadn’t been so sneaky. She was openly flirting with him now, and it was obvious to everyone, including Bakugo.

And Bakugo, being Bakugo, either didn’t acknowledge it, or he just didn’t care. He never outright encouraged it, but he didn’t shut it down, either. He just responded with his usual sharp remarks.

Still, it wasn’t too worrying.

Actually, no. It was very worrying.

Just last Sunday, during another girls' hangout, the others had started plotting ways to set Kimiko and Bakugo up. And then Kimiko had turned to you, eyes hopeful, and asked the dreaded question.

"Do you think you could help me get closer to him? I mean, you two are so close."

You couldn’t exactly say no with all the girls staring at you. So you forced out the biggest lie of your life.

"Er... uh, yeah. I'd be happy to."

You weren’t happy at all.

But there was nothing you could do. You could only sit there now, scowling at the sight.

© 2025 v4mpire45 — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[fruitswrl]

Valentines Shifting Pick a Pile જ⁀➴₊♡

" what your DR s/o loves about you + letter from your s/o "

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ what better way to celebrate valentine's day than to share your s/os feelings for you ?

i hope you find what you may be looking for, and if i was able to help in any way then i'm glad. and just like any other reading you find, take what resonates and leave what doesn’t

ꨄ take a deep breath and choose the treat you are most drawn to…

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Pile One 🎂~

/)/) ( . .) ( づ ♡

keywords/signs : allergies, sneezing, procrastination, daze, 3, garlic, cracking knuckles, waiting rooms, secret dates, laughing till your stomach hurts, pasta, cooking dates, car rides, engagements, new york, big families, ponds/bodies of water, loss for words, gifts, best friends to lovers, lack of communication, forgiveness

ꨄ ok i get the feeling that your relationship with your s/o is a wild adventurous one, fast paced yet a long drawn out one. perhaps some of you have been with them before “ officially ” getting together. or maybe an on again, off again situation. i got the sense that, someone, particularly your s/o being confused regarding their feelings. maybe it took them longer than they would like to admit, just how deeply they feel for you. but oh my pile one, they feel so much for you ! 

ꨄ they may play it cool on the outside, but on the inside… they are totally gushing over you. maybe for the first time in a long time you’ve brought out their inner child and they are just entirely giddy being with you. you definitely have been in their head for a long time, no matter what they do they think about you. they have definitely caught themselves thinking things like “ oh you would love this dress. ” or “ i can't wait to tell you about this. ”

ꨄ they truly admire your willpower and ambition. you just don't give up. it’s a quality they wish they saw more in themselves, i mean overall you definitely inspire them to be the best version of themselves. i get the feeling that some of you may be shifting to a fame DR, specifically one in which you are an actor. i sense that you and your s/o work in the same/similar career. I think that's part of the reason they admire your ambition so much. 

ꨄ whether or not you are shifting to a fame DR, and this might only be for a select few, but i get the sense that you two at some point or another have had to keep your relationship hidden. secret glances, hushed voices, hidden rendezvous and all. maybe this was a source of conflict in your relationship, but i think your s/o actually really liked the thrill of it, whether they admitted it or not. 

ꨄ you two seem to be really competitive individuals, you both push each other to their best. even if your s/o shows irritation for this from you, they are really grateful deep down. i think they see you as their lucky charm, with you by their side what could go wrong ?

ꨄ you definitely keep them on their toes, they absolutely love what a free spirit you are. you're down for anything like spontaneous road trips across the country, or getting a ( deeply questionable ) tattoo late in the night. but that's not all, you are willing to do anything for the people you love and care for, heck you'd probably give some random stranger your car just because they needed to go to the store real quick. not because you are naive, but because that's how big your heart is. and i think that might be your s/o’s favorite thing about you.

love letter from your s/o

" hello dear, it feels so long since i've last heard your voice. when are you going to give me a call? i think we should go to that spot near the water next time and feed the ducks. i hope you are doing well lately, i've been meaning to check in on you, i'm sorry if i took too long. there's a lot going on lately–but i really miss you and i desperately want to take you out. maybe we could go see a movie as well? my mom’s been asking about you, i think she misses you too shes just too stubborn to admit it, i guess i got that from her, anyways, call me…

p.s. i finally found that shirt you used to always wear around the apartment, i swear it somehow still smells just like you. "

songs

ꨄ pleaser - wallows

" back in your room remain the words i wanna say to you

but couldn't leave my mouth "

" language of averted eyes

silence is what i do best "

" quite the people pleaser

if only i could please her "

ꨄ this is how we fall in love - chelsea cutler and jeremy zucker

" you are the reason i can survive "

" this is how you fall in love

let go and i'll hold you up "

ꨄ r u mine? - arctic monkeys

" she's a silver linin', lone ranger ridin' through an open space "

" i go crazy because here isn't where i want to be "

ꨄ bonus songs: cedar by gracie abrams and dog days are over by florence and the machine

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Pile Two 🤍~

/)/) ( . .) ( づ ♡

keywords/signs : heavy water sign energy, 222, twin flames, mirrored souls, ice cream, 111, country life, past traumas, rough childhoods, religion, night sky, prayers, gemini, past lives, parties, drowning, separation, “written in the stars”, guitar, kdramas, moon, stars, lengthy conversations, blue lights

ꨄ well pile two, i felt such heavy emotional energy drawing cards for you. mostly just for how much you and your s/o feel for one another, but there might be some here whose s/o ( and maybe yourself too ) had their hearts broken in the past resulting in trust issues. it seems your s/o loves how much you trust them, and how they can trust you too. you are a very dependable individual, you've helped them heal from past hurt and to be able to open their hearts again. they feel like they can actually cry in front of you, free of judgement. you've freed them of a lot of emotional burden. perhaps they've done the same for you. it seems they view you as a literal angel, maybe you came to them in a really dark time in their life and “ saved ” them, and now they would like to save you as well. they are eternally grateful to you.

ꨄ it seems they adore how absolutely intelligent you are, you stimulate them intellectually in a way others bore them. you two probably have very similar hobbies and tastes in things, it seems reading is might be really important to the both of you. i can see that you two might share opinions and beliefs that others don’t, maybe that is part of how you both first bonded. ex: you two having a ( heated ) debate on something no one else particularly cares about but you both end up surprising each other by sharing the same perspective on something. along with your intelligence they admire how honest and direct you are with not only them but everyone, maybe that is part of the reason they trust you so much. you've shown them that even at their worst you will be there fully, right by their side.

ꨄ it seems that despite your honesty with others, to your s/o you have this air of mystique, they can't quite figure you out. i get the sense you might be playing into that as well… but you are not quite what you seem are you ? they desperately want to learn more about you, you are all consuming for them, they cannot even escape you in their dreams ( not that they'd want you to ). they love how in tune you are with your emotions, you are the stability in their life they never really had. you can easily manage making emotionally mature decisions with both your heart and head. maybe they are sometimes quick to anger, quick to let the highs of their emotions take over their actions and words. they really admire how mature you are ( despite the fact that i get the vibe that a lot of you guys are younger than your s/o ). with your high eq ( and iq ) you are a highly intuitive individual, able to pick up if something is off with your s/o. it makes them feel truly seen and cared for, especially in moments where they might not be able to express what they are feeling in the best way.

ꨄ they feel as though you are the one for them, no one else even comes close. pile two, your s/o only has eyes for you. i get the sense that for a lot of you, music is really important, and perhaps your s/o writes you loves songs. sometimes your s/o really worries for your well being, like making sure you've eaten, brushing your hair for you, getting you something from the store even when you say you don't need anything. it seems there's a chunk of you that may struggle with your mental health, and your s/o wants to make sure you're taken care of and wants to try and make you feel safe, ( even when you need your space or push them away ) they want you to know that just as you have for them they will show up, and they will stay.

love letter from your s/o

" love, this is hard for me to say, so i hope you can be patient with me. it’s nothing bad i promise. for the longest time i've been on my own, i haven't had the option to live life with the consideration of others, and i hope you haven't paid the price for that. you mean so much to me, and i don't think i've told you just how much. you are the breath of fresh air i needed, i can't remember the last time i felt like i wasn't drowning. you’ve shown me a different way to live, a different way to love. i have much to be grateful for, for one, you saving my life. i don't think i've ever mentioned that to you, but it's the truth, my truth anyways. no matter where we are, how far apart, i will always find you.

thank you for everything, but most importantly, for being you. "

songs

ꨄ come back home - bts

" i've seen the end of my life

i feel suffocated inside my heart

what is blocking my life is my fear towards tomorrow "

" why are you wasting your time?

my blood and sweat are truthful

now, let's imprint my name on that trophy and

come back home "

ꨄ kaleidoscope - chappell roan

" i guess we could pretend

we didn't cross a line

but ever since that day

everything has changed

the way i write your name "

" whatever you decide

i will understand "

" and love is a kaleidoscope

how it works we'll never know

and even all the change

is somehow all the same "

" and if you ever find

someone who could write

a better song for you

well i'd love to see them try "

ꨄ step on up - ariana grande

" you can't forget me

gave you the time of your life "

" what you need, babe, is a work of art

what you need, babe

come get it, i got it "

ꨄ bonus songs: angels by adrianne lencker and clean by taylor swift

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Pile Three 🍫 ~

/)/) ( . .) ( づ ♡

keywords/signs : music dr/band dr, travelling on the road with your band, smoking, games, wild one, messy hair, all nighters, independence, leather, eyeliner, moles, dancing, life of the party, 777, jealousy, third party/love triangle (?), the seventies, money problems, extremely fast paced, rock music, lullabies , fashion, forbidden romance, red hair, spacing out, 333

ꨄ pile three, it seems you are quite the trouble maker aren't you ? and it seems your s/o loves it. they love how you embrace all aspects of your life even the ugly and dark parts, whatever life throws your way you take it and own it! you easily adapt to any situation, always saying the right thing, you could charm anyone. you don’t have to change for anything, you are the change ! it seems for a lot of you, you and your s/o may have rushed into getting together, your feelings overwhelming. you live in the moment and that means wasting no time, why wait to be together when you can right now ? you are such a rush for your s/o. you could probably talk them into doing anything. one thing you definitely are not is boring. spontaneous and wild. and a love for the times. others can’t decide if they want to be you or with you ( probably both ). and somehow you chose them, they can't really wrap their heads around it. i think in a lot of ways they don't feel good enough for you, that you may deserve better, but they definitely don't let these insecurities show ( they try not to anyways ).

ꨄ despite your overwhelming popularity and stardom, it seems you may be overly criticized by others. your s/o definitely loves you for your flaws and all. you just feel so authentic to them, you don't hide who you are for anyone or anything. others might think you are more focused on yourself and or work to have proper relationships with others, but that doesn't actually seem to be the case, not entirely anyways. you reassure you s/o and their insecurities, if they are maybe going a bit off the deep end rest assured that you are the one to pull them back to shore.

ꨄ they often find themselves daydreaming about you. maybe they want things from you they are scared to ask for. i think they are a lot more of a serious person than others think, and that scares them, how serious they are about you. but even when they think you might leave, you are still there. you give them hope for a better future. you wrecked their plans, and that may have been frightening at first for them, but now they can't imagine it any other way. no matter what happens they truly believe they were meant to find you.

ꨄ they are inspired by your positive outlook on life, you can find meaning in something others can’t, in something they can’t. you are a creative soul, something you are quite passionate about, and they are honestly a bit envious of that. they might be someone who is more methodical than wild and creative. you definitely made them think of love and relationships differently, maybe in the past they had a more cold, closed off, demeanor to it. they still have a long way to go it seems. despite their new perspective they might still become easily jealous of the others in your life. due to their own insecurities.

ꨄ this really might not be the case for everyone , but i get the sense that for the older shifters in this group your relationship may have started as hooking up / friends with benefits. i'm trying to keep this pg, but they definitely think of you, a lot. so do what you want with that…

love letter from your s/o

" think a lot has gone unsaid between us. some days i really don't mind, it’s who we are. but sometimes i think we could be more honest, but maybe that's just me. i know that i don't want to lose you, and that might mean showing you parts of myself i hate. but if that means you staying in my life, even for just a little bit longer than okay, you have me, all of me. i think even as much as it would hurt, even if you hated these other parts of myself, i would know that at least i was honest like you. i think you'd probably think this was cheesy and maybe a bit dramatic. god, i can see it now, you laughing, hopefully with me and not at me. it's fine either way though, i'll take what i can get. just don't make too much fun of me... "

songs

ꨄ strange love - halsey

“ and everybody wants to hear

how we chainsmoked until three

and how you laughed when you said my name ”

“ we wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night

but the ending is the same every damn time ”

“ that's the beauty of a secret

you know you're supposed to keep it ”

ꨄ filter - bts

“ i'll be anything

you can pick and choose me, yeah ”

“ for you, every day i'll be new

it's not fun to stay the same all the time ”

“ you'll be wanting only me

yeah, because you are the one who made me ”

ꨄ triptych - samia

“ keepin' you awake, keepin' you awake on purpose hey, did i make a mistake and do my mistakes worsen? ”

“ i'll be good to you, i'm worth it you, i'm worth it ”

ꨄ bonus songs: to be alone by hozier and closer by rm

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

[dinkerr]

loser vi who cums too early with a mean gf... (req from anon, nsfw under cut)

it feels like this has been going on forever. atleast, you haven't been over to vi's place in what feels forever (a week maximum) and she misses you so bad. she wants (you) back in her space.

it's late and the two of you are laying in her bed, the warm glow of the fairylights her sister bought her a few years ago hanging on the headboard of her bed paired with the light from her pc monitor playing family guy or white chicks playing in the background illuminating her dark room, her head tilted in a way so one of her eyes can stay open and focus on the show.

she's draped one her arms over your torso, her other tucked between the two of you with her hand resting on your tit (because she says that's the only comfortable place she can put it). you move to pull your head away to press a few kisses to the crown of her head, easily catching on to her trying to grind and roll her hips against your thigh that she has between her own one's every time you do so.

"baby." she murmurs into your neck, beginning to press kisses to the crook of your neck, inevitably letting out a shameless whimper when she feels you press your thigh further against her clothed pussy. you move to pull your head away to press a few kisses to the crown of her head, easily catching on to her trying to grind and roll her hips against your thigh that she has between her own one's every time you do so.

"mm." you hum in reply, kissing her back with little interest while your hand that's on her waist moves to fiddle with the waistband of her pyjama pants. "take these off."

she complied without question, pulling them and her boxers down by the waistband so they sat abandoned at the end of her bed all while still kissing you before she properly layed on her back, spreading her legs out of pure instinct.

you watched, crawling between her legs and folding your knees to your chest, pushing her thighs as far apart as possible. "are you gonna be good for me?" you asked lowly, your breath on vi's clit having her squirming and trying to roll her hips into your face. she nodded without hesitation, letting out a muffled moan into the air at the feel of you softly kissing her clit and sucking on it.

"pretty girl." she breathed out, looking down at you and letting a whine when you've already met her gaze, letting a low moan slip past her lips while her head fell back against the pillow, clenching around nothing while her hand reaches down to gather your hair in a pony tail, brushing away the parts that fall in front of your face.

your lips detach from her clit you you can press your tounge flat against her pussy, lapping at it like a starved dog with your nose bumping against her clit like how you'd put your vibrator on it. "vi." you respond after momentarily pulling away, allowing her a few moments to let her speak while your eyes flick between her pussy which is coated in a mix her arousal and your saliva. "do you have something you want to say?"

"i wanna cum." was the immediate reply that fell past her lips, which lead to a slap on her inner thigh also immediately after. you watch the way her eye brows knit toward eachother from your slap and how her pussy is practically dripping from the situation for a second before teasing her hole with your tounge and caressing the red slap mark with your thumb, an almost apology from you before you're lifting the backs of her big thighs to put them over your shoulders, shoving your pointer and middle finger in her without warning and feeling yourself getting wet at the way her mouth hangs open in a moan.

"please," she pleaded out when you started slowly pumping your fingers in and out of her, letting out a string of pornographic moans and whines. she arched her back off the mattress, her mind clouded with the feeling of your fingers inside her while you went back to sucking on her clit. "i'm gonna cum." she added, tugging at your ponytail and squeezing her eyes shut when you curl your fingers in the perfect way that almost has her embarrassed with how quick she wants to cum.

"you know you can't." but still, even with saying that, you don't stop, nipping at her clit and digging your nails into her fat thighs. "you're doing so good." you coo. but she's not, especially with how you're hearing her moan your name and feeling her cum around your fingers, her back arched off the bed in an almost uncomfortable way with how her chest is rising up and down and her thighs are clamped around your head.

it takes her a few seconds, but she lifts her head to look down at you with her puppy eyes, already knowing she fucked up with how you look back up at her with dissatisfaction in your own eyes.

"i'm-" "turn the fuck over." you command, cutting her off as soon as she tries to have an apology come from her. she knows she's gonna miss seeing your face for the next few hours or so when she's complying, the hand that was holding your hair in it's ponytail letting go of it to let it fall back, although messier than before from her tugging. she propped herself on her elbows, her ass out in the air with how her back is arched and her knees are spread apart enough to know what's coming.

you stand up from the bed, walking in a quick stride toward her closest to find a belt of hers, and the strap-on you know you left here in a box from one of the past few times you visited her. you're not slow with your actions- but not especially fast. you undress on the other side of the room, putting on the harness of said strap after finding the belt you were looking for. it's a plain black one, leather with a silver buckle. it's one you see her wear the most with her lazy outfits, and you knew she wouldn't want you using one of her more expensive, studded ones. you wouldn't want to either, because you'd hate to make her upset and you wouldn't be able to find it in you to hurt her that much.

you walk back over to her laying on the bed, belt in your hand, kneeling behind her with the tip of your strap just barely touching her pussy that's covered in her cum that you didn't bother to lick up from earlier dripping down her thighs. you grab her hip with one hand, folded leather in the other that you're using to slap on of her ass cheeks. "i'm sorry." she tried again, like the two words in her whiny tone will make you forget her mistake and give her what she wants. (it almost does, but you fight against it.)

"yeah?" you ask in reply, the hand on her hip grabbing the base of your silicone dick to push it inside her without warning, drawing the hand that's holding her belt back to slap her with it again before you start to move your hips to thrust into her, taking pleasure with the way she's turned her head to look back at you, both her hands gripping on the pillow one side of her face is pressed against.

"tell me how sorry, sweetheart." you practically coo, your thrusts slow in an almost mean way, letting yourself speed up just to see her reaction to it and to feel the harness on your clit. you love your girlfriend like this, no matter how many times she's been in this state for you. it's so captivating, so hot in a way you'll never be able to form into words. you know she'd do almost anything for you, and vice versa, and you never have it any other way.

"i'm really sorry." she moans out, eyes almost rolling to the back of her head when you slap her with her belt again, absolutely lost in-between the blurred lines of pleasure and pain. "'m sorry, angel." you move your hips faster at that, hand dropping her belt so it lands on the mattress besides the two of you. the item is long forgotten with how you're now tightly gripping her her hips to position yourself better inside her, leaving her with nothing but to moan and whimper into the pillows.

"can i cum?" she asks, turning her head back to look at you again, powder blue eyes pleading and almost overwhelming with tears. "mhm. good girl for asking."

holy shit this is so bad but i wanted to push it out tonight. i feel like i never portray what im asked well enough. i can just imagine all this happening with white chicks playing in the background lmaoo

[myloveer0]

My lovely darling

Girlfriend Ambessa Medarda X Fem!reader

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Summary: You were just trying to survive your family reunion when Ambessa Medarda—your girlfriend—showed up unannounced. Now, you have no choice but to introduce her to your entire clan. What’s got you nervous isn’t just introducing any partner—it’s the fact that you’re dating a woman who also happens to be twice your age.

💋 Enough with the smut we need sweet girlfriend Ambessa💋

Well… I didn’t expect everyone to like it that much, but anyway, here’s part 2. Part 3 will be last and be upload the day after tomorrow.... Enjoy reading!😊😉

Part II

This was not how tonight was supposed to go.

You had it all planned out—show up to the family reunion, smile through the awkward small talk, dodge questions about your love life, and make a graceful exit by faking a headache. The perfect escape. Then you'd be back to your regular life—your job, your apartment, and most importantly, your girlfriend.

Simple. Easy. Safe.

But Ambessa had other plan.

Amazing? She literally flew from the other side of the country just to see you—because she missed you already. Like you’d left her and promised to be back after two weeks.

And now, here she is, showing up before those weeks are even over… and demanded to meet your parents. You should’ve run. You should have. But with Ambessa’s hand wrapped firmly around you telling there was no turning back.

So now, here we were. Standing on your parents’ porch, the warm glow of the house lights peeking through. You could still hear the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from inside, but all you could focus on was the weight spinning on your mind.

“You nervous?” Ambessa asked, her voice low, amused.

You shot her a look. “You think?”

She chuckled softly, leaning down to brush a kiss against your temple. “Relax. They’ll love me.''

You release a nervous laugh. You weren’t so sure about that.

Standing in front of the double doors, the weight of what was about to

happen doubled this time. You turned to face Ambessa, your heart pounding so loud..

“Bess…” you began. Ambessa raised an eyebrow, waiting. “B-before we go in, I need to say this. No matter what happens—no matter what my parents say—I’m still with you. Nothing will change, okay? We’ll stand together, even if they’re started to go against us.”

Ambessa’s lips curled into a smirk, but her eyes softened. “Of course, dear,” she said with that same effortless confidence, like there was never a doubt in her mind. Like nothing could shake her.

Was she even nervous? She was about to meet your parents for the first time, and yet she looked so calm, so in control while here you are looking like a frightened wet penguin. Wasn’t meeting the parents supposed to be the most terrifying part of a relationship? Even more nerve-wracking than getting married?

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you reached out to adjust her suit. Your fingers brushed against the lapels, but you didn’t realize they were trembling until Ambessa's hand gently closed over yours.

You already imagine all the worst-case scenarios before the night would end, and none of them sat well with you. You could possibly lose Ambessa. Or your family. Or worst, both. Just the thought of it made your chest tighten painfully. You didn't want to choose between the people you love.

The mere possibility of it was unbearable. You don't know if you can take it.

Ambessa's touch was grounding, steady, like everything you needed in that moment. Ambessa gently cupped your chin, guiding your face toward hers.

“Little one… look at me.”

You met her gaze, and the calm, steady confidence in her eyes was enough to slow your racing heart.

"Calm down... Everything’s going to be alright. We will be alright." Her voice was soft yet steady "Don’t be nervous—I’m right here, okay?"

You nodded, swallowing hard, and she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

Before you could chicken out, you took a last deep breath before you swung the door open. Your heart thudded violently in your chest as you both stepped back inside, and it felt like the entire world paused.

Every conversation stopped mid-sentence.

Every fork froze halfway to someone’s mouth.

Your uncles, who had been lounging on the sofa watching football, paused mid-game, their attention snapping at your direction. Your aunties, mid-gossip, fell silent, their eyes narrowing at the front door. Even the children, who’d been running around shrieking with laughter, slowed to a halt, retreating to their parents like they were afraid on something.

Every pair of eyes—at least thirty family members crammed into the living room and dining area—snapped right to you and your unexpected guest. A shiver ran from your toes all the way up your spine, your heart pounding in panic.

You were just introducing your partner to the family, like your cousin did, but they never gave that kind of attention—the way they’re staring at you and Ambessa now.

It was like time had hit the brakes.

And how could they not?

When the woman beside you was an attention grabber, what more Ambessa was intimidating. She stood taller than the average man, her broad, powerful frame impossible to ignore. Every movement she made was deliberate, exuding a quiet authority that demanded respect and commanded attention the moment she entered a room.

Even board directors didn’t dare challenge her—no one did. Her employees were even terrified of looking onto her eyes or crossing path with her.

You blinked multiple times, trying to steady yourself, before glancing at Ambessa. Not a single hint of nervousness crossed her face. She stood tall and composed, completely unbothered by the dozens of eyes glued to the both of you. You could practically hear the collective whisper ripple through the room.

It wasn’t nice being gawked at, especially by this many people, especially when their eyes keep on shifting from you and Ambessa.

Ambessa was dressed in that perfectly tailored red and black suit—one that probably cost more than your car—she stood out in the best way possible. It was just a casual family gathering, and yet, there she was, looking like she’d stepped off the cover of a high-profile magazine.

And then, through the stunned silence, you spotted her.

Your mother. Eyebrows shot up so fast you thought they might hit her hairline.

You could feel your pulse in your ears. This was it. No turning back now.

Your mother’s brows knit together, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the sight of you and Ambessa standing side by side. She didn’t miss the closeness between you— and the way your hands brushed together.

Like she knew.

Like she had already put the pieces together but was desperately hoping she was wrong. But then, with a practiced calm, she clapped her hands together and forced a smile.

“Alright, everyone,” she said, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Let’s not hover. Go on, continue enjoying your food.”

Slowly, like someone had hit play on a paused movie, people started moving again. Conversations resumed, but not without the occasional glance thrown our way. You could feel them peeking, eavesdropping, pretending they weren’t doing exactly that.

And then your parents moved in.

You drag Ambessa as you led toward the dining room. Your mother stood by the table, stirring the salad with slow, deliberate movements. She didn’t look up right away. Your father appeared behind her, his expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked from you to Ambessa—and then back again

Meanwhile, your mother’s gaze turned laser-focused as you both stopped in front of her. Her eyes immediately darted down to yours and Ambessa's intertwined fingers.

Which made your palm run ice cold. Ambessa must’ve felt it too because she tightened her grip slightly, giving you support as her warmth seeping into your skin.

You glanced around the room, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow you whole. Why was everyone staring at you like you were the evening’s drama? You could practically feel the tension crackling in the air.

Your mom’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And who,” she began, her voice deceptively polite, “might this guest be?”

Before you could say anything, Ambessa took a step forward.

“Ambessa Medarda,” she said, offering her hand with the kind of poised confidence that could melt glaciers—or in this case, try to thaw your mother’s frosty demeanor. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet Y/N's parents.”

Your mom stared at her hand like it might bite, but she eventually took it—barely—but then turned to you, her eyes pointing dagger demanding an explanation. Your Dad, still buffering, finally shook himself out of his daze and gave Ambessa a quick handshake.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. "Ambessa, this is my mom and dad. Mom, Dad… this is Ambessa."

...

"She’s… my girlfriend," you added, your voice softer but clear.

For a moment, it felt like time itself had stopped.

You could feel the shock ripple through the room. Eyes widened. A few audible gasps echoed in the sudden silence, and you swore even the ticking clock on the wall seemed louder than before.

You understood their reactions perfectly. Your whole life, they had known you as a straight woman—never once had you hinted otherwise. You were so good at hiding it. And now, here you were, standing before them, introducing your first-ever lover… who just so happened to be a woman.

It wasn’t just introducing Ambessa; it was, in a way, coming out. Tearing down the version of you they thought they knew and revealing something they’d never expected. You could see it in their eyes—the shock, the disbelief, the scrambling to process what this meant. And being the only gay person in the family? It was a whole new revelation for everyone.

And as much as you tried to steel yourself for this moment, you couldn’t help the nervous knot twisting in your stomach..

Your mom’s eyes widened,

''G-girlfriend?” she repeated, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard you right. The word hanging in the air like an accusation.

She immediatly stopped on what she was doing. Then, with a disbelieving shake of her head, she let out a sharp little laugh. “Since when did you have a lover? And her? really… a woman? Y/N”

You felt like you were going to be sick. Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to nod. “Yes.”

Her lips twitched—not a smile, more like an involuntary reaction she couldn’t quite control. “Are you being serious? Right now?”

Before you could answer, Ambessa’s voice cut in.

“Yes,” she said firmly, her gaze locking onto your mother’s “We’re serious.”

From the look on Ambessa's face, she was clearly quite upset by your mother’s tone.

Your mother was just about to start arguing when your father gently pulled her aside, murmuring something to calm her down. Surprisingly, she let him, though the tension in her face made it clear she was far from pleased.

“Now, now… save the conversation for later,” your father said smoothly, shooting you a look before turning back to Ambessa. “A-ambessa right? Have you had dinner yet? I bet you haven’t. Why don’t you grab a plate and help yourself?”

Relief flooded you, and you shot your father a grateful look. He only smiled, giving you a quick wink.

You were about to guide Ambessa toward the food when you noticed she hadn’t moved. Furrowing your brows, you turned to her. “Bess…?”

Before she could answer, you caught movement from the corner of your eye—Ricktus, her ever-loyal guard, stepping inside, both hands occupied with something.large.

“Before that,” Ambessa spoke, “I’d like to give something first.” She gestured toward the items in Ricktus’ hands. “I brought some gift baskets. It’s not much, but I didn’t realize Y/N had quite a big family.”

All eyes turned toward the baskets, and you could practically hear the collective shift in the room. These weren’t ordinary gift baskets—they were luxurious, the kind only the wealthy could afford. Even from a distance, you could see the careful arrangement of imported wines, artisanal chocolates, and items that looked far too expensive for anyone to afford.

Your father let out a nervous chuckle, offering a polite tone “Ah—thank you, you didn't need to but that’s very kind.” He reached out to take one, but Ricktus didn’t let go. Instead, the guard gave a small, respectful nod.

“Forgive him but they’re quite heavy,” Ambessa said evenly, her tone smooth yet firm. “Let my men carry them—just tell us where you’d like them placed.”

....

The meal was tense. You could barely swallow the food in front of you, your stomach knotted with nerves. Other than Ambessa, the martini in your hand was the only thing giving you strength. Your mom was definitely more upset than you had imagined. She had been demanding for years that you finally introduce someone—and here you were, doing exactly that. But clearly, this wasn’t what she had expected. What a way to suprise everyone..

It had been hour, and the crowd had thinned as the night stretched on. A few of the younger kids had finally tired themselves out, curled up in corners or carried off to bed by their parents. The once lively energy had settled into something quieter, more subdued.

Some of your aunts had struck up light conversation with Ambessa—mostly out of curiosity, you suspected—but you could tell they were still hesitant. And then there was your mother.

She hadn’t said a word to you.

Not since then. Not since everything.

She wasn’t throwing a fit or making a scene, but that almost made it worse. The way she moved around the room, politely engaging with everyone except you—it was deliberate. A silent cold shoulder. Like you hadn’t just been laughing together at your uncle’s joke moments ago.

And damn, it hurt.

Meanwhile, Ambessa? the unbothered queen, savoring every bite like she was at a five-star banquet instead of sitting in the middle of this emotional minefield.

She was even enjoying your mother’s homemade mac and cheese, which was shocking considering how picky of an eater she was. Even a world-renowned chefs had to bent over backward trying to impress her, and yet here she was, casually indulging in a simple family recipe.

You sat beside her leaned in slightly, your elbow resting on the table, your head propped up by your hand as you watched her. Seeing her eat—actually eat, rather than picking at her food like she usually did—made you happy. It was such a simple thing, but it meant something.

Your voice was low, “I like what you did to your hair.”

Ambessa's usual free-flowing curls were now braided back into a triple dutch braid, weaving tightly along her scalp in thick sections into the center one. A few white strands near the front contrasted against the dark, adding a striking edge to her already commanding presence. She looked good. No—she looked ridiculously good.

Ambessa paused mid-bite, glancing at you. “Ah, yes, little one… You did say you liked it this way.” She smirked, setting her fork down. “So, I had it styled before I got here.”

Your lips parted slightly. “You did it… for me?”

She hummed, taking another bite, as if it was no big deal.

Your heart stuttered, and heat crept up your cheeks. “Well, I do like it,” you admitted, staring at her shamelessly. “I can see your face clearly. You look so—”

Ambessa cut you off, her gaze sharp and knowing. “I see what you’re doing, little one.” Her voice dipped lower, teasing but firm. “But don’t flirt with me right now. You might not like what I do to you in front of your family.”

You choked on your drink. Your cheeks burned as you quickly averted your gaze.

What is wrong with this woman?!

Ambessa just chuckled, sipping her wine like she hadn’t just sent your brain into a tailspin.

You were lost in your little moment, completely wrapped up in Ambessa’s teasing, when someone cleared their throat. You both turned, and it was none other than the devil itself—your mother.

Your stomach dropped. Shit.

How could you forget she was sitting just two seats away? You had been so caught up in Ambessa’s presence that you completely overlooked the fact that your mother had full view of your shameless flirting. You could only hope she didn't hear any of it.

Wine glass in hand. Then your mother began to approached and took a seat—this time, directly in front of you. The shift was small, but it was enough to make the entire table fall quiet.

A few of your family had noticed it too.

Your mom wasn’t done. You could feel it. Maybe she was just waiting for the crowd to subside, which, in a way, was a relief—at least you wouldn’t have to endure her torture in front of an audience.

Your mother, set down her drink with an audible clink and looked directly at Ambessa “So,” she began, “Ambessa… what do you do?”

You winced internally. Here we go

______

Taglist:) @jhyoos @dakotapaigelove @daenerysluvrr @marve1stranger @angrywhisperslove @ghostie1131 @natsaffection @vyvvycg @euphoricnyctophilia @cloudstoday @imconfusrd @chezze-its

[kunareads]

and i bet it's even better than in my head

actor!satoru x popstar!reader

satoru's valentine's day present causes headlines.

prev

series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 5k

this is the last part. i love them so much and they're so sweet and it only made sense to end it on valentine's day <3 <3

content: another awards show, tension, reader loves torturing satoru lol, fluff, SMUT!, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, nanami hating them, internet uproar. slight smau.

18+ please i block children <3

+++

music hums through the car’s speakers, low and familiar. anticipation simmers between you and satoru, the air warm and electric.

his fingers brush against your wrist as he fastens your bracelet, the touch lingering before trailing up to adjust the strap of your dress. the fabric catches the light, its shimmer matched to the shade of his jacket.

he leans in, looking you over. “good?”

you hum, smoothing his collar, fingers trailing along his jaw. a smudge of gloss lingers just below, and you wipe it away with your thumb.

“you should’ve left it,” he murmurs, teasing but not joking.

the car slows. camera flashes catch in the tinted windows, bright bursts against the dark. your gaze meets his, and for a moment, everything stills.

we’re really doing this.

your thumb sweeps over his cheek. “happy valentine’s day, satoru.”

he leans in to press a careful kiss to your lips. “happy valentine’s day, princess.”

the car door opens, and the energy shifts.

flashes explode, the carpet illuminated. the noise doubles—shouted questions, photographers calling your names, attention crackling in the air.

you’re used to this. so is satoru. but together, it’s more.

his hand finds the small of your back, a quiet claim, more instinct than intention. you both play to the cameras at first: the flash of his smile, the perfect turn of your head, a performance both of you know by heart.

then, when the moment is right, he leans down, his voice low and just for you. “you’re unreal.”

his lips brush your shoulder—nothing scandalous, just enough to set the cameras alight. then, with a slow step back, he gives you space, letting you take center stage.

and you do, tilting your head just enough, shifting so the light catches the glimmer of your dress, giving them exactly what they want.

even in the chaos, there’s the quiet undercurrent of his unwavering attention on you. you like the way he looks at you, like the rest of the world is background noise. you glance back, unable to help yourself. he doesn’t look away. doesn’t even pretend to.

his lips twitch, staring you dead in the eye like he knows something they don’t.

+++

the noise lingers past the carpet, a steady hum of excitement trailing you and satoru into the interview area. cameras roll, microphones extend toward you, and you barely have a second to adjust before a familiar voice cuts in.

nobara leans in, eyes glinting. “you arrived together, in matching outfits, and satoru literally kissed your shoulder on the carpet—should we be reading into this?”

you blink, glancing down at your outfit, then at him. “wait, we match?”

satoru scoffs, shaking his head. “she copied me.”

you nudge him lightly, and nobara snickers. “so, are you two celebrating valentine’s day together?”

satoru’s smile tugs wider as he glances at you. “i’d say this is a pretty solid start.”

nobara shifts, tilting the microphone toward you. “and you’re performing tonight! what can we expect?”

your eyes flick to satoru before you answer. “something new.”

her head tilts. “wait, like, never-heard-before new?”

satoru’s head jerks toward you. “wait, actually?”

“you really didn’t know?” nobara asks, brows lifting.

you shrug, feigning innocence. “he loves surprises.”

satoru blinks, processing. then his eyes narrow. “do i?”

nobara just laughs, moving on, but you’ve planted your seed.

by the time you make it past the press line, the internet is already in flames.

@/ynupdates: THE WAY SHE SAID ‘HE LOVES SURPRISES’ AND HE JUST STARED AT HER LIKE ??? DO I ???

@/fulltimeshipper: the way satoru got bamboozled on that carpet and just rolled with it. like okay sir go get your life rocked i guess

@/satorusimplicity: not she’s giving him a valentine’s day present in the form of a mystery performance……… let’s pray

the night moves in flashes—satoru’s laughter in your ear, the warmth of his hand warm on your thigh, champagne bubbles fizzing against your lips.

the ceremony blurs past in speeches, applause, and stolen glances. each time you turn to him, he’s already watching, eyes gleaming, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

just before you head backstage, he leans in close. “should i be nervous?”

you just smirk, trailing your fingers along the lapel of his jacket before kissing his cheek and slipping away.

your outfit is something stolen from the past, romantic and undone. lace and silk hug you, sheer in places meant to tease.

beyond the curtain, the crowd murmurs, rising into cheers as your name is announced. onstage, warm golden light pools across deep red velvet, roses scattered like remnants of a perfect night.

the first note hums in your ear. the moment the stage manager signals, you step into the light.

you sink into a velvet lounge chair, crossing your legs, leaning in like you’re telling a secret.

i was in a sheer dress, the day that we met we were both in a rush, we talked for a sec

the music carries over the room, curling like smoke. your gaze drifts the crowd, landing on him.

satoru is grinning. at first. you keep singing.

then his chest rises on a slow inhale. realization flickers in his eyes. you see the exact moment he puts it together.

oh.

you sit up, fingers grazing the rim of the glass beside you, lifting it slowly. the next lines slip from your lips, smooth as silk.

who’s the cute guy with the wide, blue eyes and the big bad mm? like i know it sound a bit redundant but i bet we’d have really good bed chem

the camera follows your gaze, panning to him.

he leans forward, eyes locked on you, blinking like he’s processing the fact that you are, in fact, doing this to him on live television. he shakes his head, smiling like can’t believe you—entertained, stunned, and completely enamored.

you bend down, fingers ghosting a red rose before plucking it from the stage. soft petals brush against your skin as you stand and start walking.

the audience stirs. your voice is lower now, sweeter.

and i bet we’d both arrive at the same time

satoru tilts his head slightly, watching you approach.

and i bet the thermostat’s set at six-nine

you don’t stop, don’t hesitate. as you pass, you set the rose down on his table, fingers trailing across his shoulders like an afterthought.

and i bet it’s even better than in my head

the cameras catch everything—his sharp inhale, the way his fingers twitch against his thigh, the way his tongue presses against his cheek like he just took a hit he wasn’t prepared for.

the beat shifts back in as you slip toward center stage. just before you turn away completely, you look straight at him.

how you pick me up, pull ‘em down, turn me ‘round, oh, it just makes sense how you talk so sweet when you’re doin’ bad things that’s bed chem

satoru doesn’t even try to play it cool. he’s staring, lips parted, one hand braced against the table, like he needs to ground himself.

the crowd roars as the song melts into its final note, and you just smile, letting the music fade out around you as the stage lights dim.

and in the audience, satoru exhales, dragging a hand down his face.

beyond the stage, beyond the cameras, the performance hits like a shockwave.

@/chaoticgood: why am i being seduced rn??????

@/ynenergy: SHE WALKED RIGHT PAST HIM LIKE HE WAS JUST ANOTHER MAN. I WOULD NOT SURVIVE THIS

@/satorusbraincell: SATORU BLINK TWICE IF YOU’RE IN DISTRESS

@/ynsleftknee: spending my valentine’s day watching this lady seduce her man on national tv…

+++

it’s been a week since you last saw each other. too long.

you don’t notice him at first.

satoru leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching as your team moves around you—adjusting, blending, spraying.

you reach for your lipstick last, leaning close to the mirror, swiping on the deep red shade in smooth, practiced strokes.

he still doesn’t announce himself—just waits, tracking your every move. the way you press your lips together, checking the color. the satisfied tilt of your chin.

then you see movement at the edge of the mirror. broad shoulders, white hair, blue eyes locked on you.

excitement surges so fast you nearly send a jar of brushes flying.

you run. satoru barely has time to react before you throw yourself into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist. he catches you easily, laughing as he stumbles back a step. “miss me?”

you nod, pressing your face into his neck. “obviously.”

you pull back just enough to meet his eyes. just enough for your lips to brush his neck, leaving a smudge of red against his skin.

you blink at the mark. then, slowly, you grin.

satoru narrows his eyes. “what?”

you slide from his hold, grabbing his hands, guiding him toward the dressing room chair.

“sit.”

he obeys, dropping into the seat, letting you climb into his lap. his eyes glimmer—amusement, intrigue, a little bit of trouble—as you twist the lipstick open and lean in.

a kiss beneath his jaw.

then another.

and another.

by the time you reach his collarbone, the collar of his shirt is a disaster—smudges of red staining the crisp white fabric, a masterpiece of your making. you sit up, admiring your work, before reapplying.

satoru huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “kento’s gonna be pissed.”

“looks hot,” you say, grinning. “hold still.”

your fingers trail down, making quick work of the buttons, pushing his shirt open. his breathing stutters, but he doesn’t stop you. he just watches, eyes dark, waiting.

then your lips are on him again, finding his chest, his shoulders, moving lower, leaving traces of red like a brand. your lips trace the hard lines of his stomach, pressing deeper, leaving proof.

he exhales sharply, head tipping back. by the time you’re done, he’s covered—his throat, his chest, the dips of his abs, all ruined.

you press one last kiss to his jaw, and satoru groans, head dropping forward. “if you keep going, we’re not making it to set.”

you tilt your head, feigning consideration. then, deliberately, you hover over his mouth.

the air tightens—waiting, waiting—

“fuck it.”

the chair scrapes back as he moves. you find yourself on the vanity, legs spread, satoru between them.

his mouth finds your throat immediately, open and hungry.

you laugh, breath hitching as his lips drag lower, hands pushing up your robe, fingers skimming bare skin. something clatters to the floor.

“you’re making a mess,” you murmur, exhaling sharply as his teeth scrape your collarbone.

he laughs against your skin, voice rough. “i’m making a mess?”

his lips find the top of your chest, the dip above your ribs, hands pushing your thighs further apart—

a loud sigh.

a very loud, very familiar sigh.

you freeze. so does satoru, lips still parted against your skin.

slowly, he lifts his head, shielding you as he closes your robe.

in the doorway, kento nanami stands—arms crossed, unimpressed.

his gaze travels from satoru’s face, to his lipstick-stained shirt, to his lipstick-stained body.

a beat.

“no.”

you look at satoru. satoru looks at you.

then, at the same time: “too late.”

kento pinches the bridge of his nose.

satoru grins, shameless. “what? it’s the look.”

+++

the set glows under golden lighting, everything draped in a hazy warmth. the camera is rolling, the crew watching from just beyond the lights. you sit at a bar, idly tracing the rim of a glass, your gaze flicking just past the camera as the intro to your song plays through the set speakers.

kento’s direction is simple: untouched, untouchable, alluring. you make it look effortless.

right on cue, satoru moves into the frame. his presence shifts the energy instantly, like a static charge through the air.

he glides in behind you, his reflection catching in the mirrored bar shelves. a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened like he’s already been up to something.

he doesn’t touch you. just leans in like the script tells him to. but instead of playing his role, he uses it. “if kento wasn’t burning a hole through my skull,” he murmurs, just for you, “i’d have my hand up your skirt already.”

your breath catches, barely noticeable, but satoru feels it.

you don’t react. at least, not the way he wants you to. instead, you follow the script, smirking slow and knowing, like you saw this coming a mile away.

off-camera, an exasperated sigh cuts through the moment.

“good, keep that smirk. satoru, shut up.”

kento’s voice is flat, like he’s aged a decade in the past thirty seconds.

satoru grins. he doesn’t even pretend to be sorry. you press your lips together, fighting the urge to laugh.

+++

the elevator doors glide shut, sealing the three of you in. cameras are rolling.

dim lighting casts soft shadows across the walls. reflective panels make the space feel tighter. the script’s notes flicker through your mind: anticipation, restraint, tension.

kento doesn’t wait. “this is about restraint. no touching.”

satoru leans against the back wall, hands in his pockets. relaxed on the surface. his tongue skims his teeth, jaw shifting, gaze fixed on you like a challenge.

you say nothing. you just press the top floor button, hovering over the emergency stop in faux consideration.

a scripted pause.

satoru shifts, unhurried. he doesn’t touch you—technically. but you hear his inhale, like he’s fighting an urge. he takes a step closer, crowding your space. you feel the heat of him behind you.

“define touching,” he says with a smirk.

the words skim down your spine, and you react before you can help it, you shift, taking an almost invisible inhale, your lips parting slightly.

kento’s jaw sets. “i will physically remove you.”

+++

the suite set is dimly lit, soft and gold with faux city lights filtering through the windows.

satoru reclines against the headboard, white shirt undone, boxers riding low on his hips. evidence of your earlier antics lingers—lipstick scattered on him like a map of everywhere you’ve been.

you straddle him, hovering, silk lingerie catching the light. the scene is simple: seduction in motion.

you lean in, your lips brushing the red-stained curve of his throat. a deliberate tease. then, so subtle only he can feel it, you roll your hips.

satoru’s breath stutters, but outwardly, he doesn’t react. not for the cameras. his hands twitch against the sheets, jaw tightening.

then, so low that only you can hear it:

“keep doing that, and i’ll give the cameras something real to shoot.”

your lips curve. his hands remain at his sides, but you can feel the restraint humming under his skin.

you tilt your head slightly, gaze flickering to his hands, daring him.

you shift again. just for him. a breath catches—his, not yours. his jaw tightens.

and then, to no one’s surprise, he caves.

his hands slide up your thighs, fingers spreading against your waist, pulling you closer.

“CUT.”

kento’s voice slices through the haze.

satoru exhales, tilting his head back against the headboard. his grip tightens for just a second before he lets go, dragging his hands back to his sides.

kento steps forward, frustration palpable. “too much hands.”

satoru hums. “disagree.”

you smirk, tilting your head. “i think it’s fine.”

+++

the moment the door clicks shut behind kento, the studio crew finally gone, satoru exhales sharply, like he’s been holding it in all night.

you stand by a mirror, adjusting the lace of your lingerie, fixing your makeup. poised, untouched.

across the room, satoru is a wrecked contrast—lipstick-stained, his open shirt hanging off his shoulders, boxers slung low on his hips. he looks like something you ruined, something you can ruin again.

he drags his gaze over you, indulgent. the soft fabric clings to your skin, shifting as you move. he watches the steady movement of your breaths, the way you subtly adjust your posture. you’re perfect.

you meet his eyes in the mirror, tilting your head. “you enjoyed that a little too much, huh?”

his grin is sharp, dangerous. “you have no fucking idea.”

you take a slow step back, just to see if he follows. you expect a chase.

he’s on you in seconds.

he catches your waist, guiding you back until the bed catches you. the second your back hits the sheets, he’s there—pressing you down, lips crashing into yours, swallowing the gasp that slips free. his tongue sweeps against yours, greedy and unrelenting, like he’s making up for every second he had to hold back on set.

his hands slide down, rough, impatient, gripping the backs of your thighs. your panties are gone in a single motion. his body is flush against you, hips pressing into yours, the heat unbearable.

he bites your bottom lip, then soothes it with his tongue, murmuring, “such a tease.”

his hands slip beneath the silk, dragging over the curve of your waist, his fingers pressing into soft skin. his lips follow—jaw to throat to collarbone, warm and open-mouthed. his teeth scrape lightly and you arch, fingers twisting into his hair.

he groans when you tug, pressing his hips down into yours, letting you feel how hard he is, how much he wants you. his mouth moves lower, down to the swell of your breasts, sucking a mark right above your heart.

his fingers slide further down, grazing heat, and he exhales sharply, like it’s confirmation of what he already knew.

“fuck,” he groans, pressing a kiss just above your navel, voice wrecked. “already soaked for me.”

you suck in a breath, fingers threading into his snowy hair, guiding him lower.

he chuckles, breath hot against your skin. “desperate?”

you roll your eyes, and he just grins.

you squirm beneath him, already impatient, aching, but satoru just keeps doing what he’s doing. he loves this—loves teasing, loves making you wait, loves knowing how much you want him.

he kisses higher, right by where you need him most, but doesn’t give in yet. instead, he exhales, sending cool air against your heat, watching your body react.

“missed this,” he murmurs. “missed you.”

“missed you too, ‘toru,” you breathe, nails scraping against his scalp.

he hums at that, pressing another kiss just above your clit, lips lingering.

then, finally, he licks a slow, deliberate stripe through your folds. your back arches, legs tensing over his shoulders, and he groans at your reaction, at how needy you already are for him.

he takes his time, tongue dragging through your slick, slow and unhurried, savoring the way you writhe. you buck against his mouth, chasing friction, but a strong hand moves over your pelvis, holding you down.

“let me enjoy this,” he mutters against you, voice thick with amusement. “made me suffer all fucking day.”

he sucks at your clit, just enough to make you whimper, to send a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. your head falls back, breath breaking into shaky gasps. he’s not rushing—he’s just working you open, licking into you slowly, precisely, making sure you feel it.

satoru loves every noise you make. he’s been hooked since the first time you came apart for him. so when you moan, unrestrained, he chuckles, breath hot against your slick skin. “there she is,” he murmurs, smiling as he pushes your legs up, exposing more of you. “give me another one.”

his tongue curls inside you, deep and slow, unraveling you. his hands tighten on your thighs, keeping you spread, keeping you from running from the pleasure.

you whine, thighs shaking, fingers slipping from his hair to clutch the sheets. your body feels stretched thin, heat pooling deep, tension winding so tight it nearly hurts.

“satoru—” your voice breaks, high, desperate.

he hums against you, the vibration sinking into you. “yeah, baby?” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to watch you squirm before diving in again.

you whimper, chasing every flick of his tongue, every press of his mouth, your body arching off the bed, desperate for more.

he just grins, watching you struggle, taking his time.

then, suddenly, the pleasure spikes—his tongue curling just right, lips sucking slow and deep, dragging you under.

“oh my god—” your breath stutters, body locking up as your orgasm slams into you, sudden and consuming.

he doesn’t stop. he works you through it, dragging out every last wave, groaning against you and loving the way you fall apart for him. when your body finally shudders, oversensitive, he pulls back, lips slick, pupils blown.

it’s not enough.

your chest rises, unsteady, but the need doesn’t fade. it only deepens, twisting into something hungrier.

you reach for him, tugging him up by the shoulders, nails raking down his back.

he leans over you and grins down, smug and satisfied. “that was a big one,” he teases. “you look so fucking pretty when you cum.”

you don’t think. the word just slips out, breathless, desperate. “please.”

his grin against your jaw is slow, wicked, teasing. but he doesn’t move. "please, what?"

you shift beneath him, thighs squeezing around his hips, trying to pull him closer. but he stays firm, hovering over you.

you feel his bulge against you, his boxers getting covered in your slick. the friction drives you crazy.

“use your words, princess,” he murmurs, lips brushing your throat, sucking lightly. “tell me what you need.”

“satoru—” you whine, back arching, but he just leans back, pushing his boxers down enough to free himself. he lines the tip up against your entrance and stops.

his smirk is slow, easy. “that’s not an answer.”

he rolls his hips, just enough to tease, just enough to make you gasp—then pulls away again.

you whimper, frustration curling through every nerve, every inch of you aching for more. “need you,” you gasp, pulling his hands to your waist, desperate to feel his weight again.

he groans, hips stuttering before he steadies himself. “need me to do what?” his voice is still teasing, but his breathing is heavier now.

he leans down, face-to-face with you. your fingers twist in his hair, nails pressing into his scalp. "need you to fuck me," you breathe, leaving small kisses and licks along his jaw.

his grin sharpens like you just gave him exactly what he wanted. “see?” he purrs, scraping his teeth over your collarbone. "that wasn’t so hard, was it?"

"sa—"

"say it again," he murmurs, pressing the tip inside, just barely, before pulling back.

frustration coils tight, unbearable. “fuck me,” you gasp, hips lifting, chasing him. "satoru, please—"

that does it.

his smirk vanishes, his jaw going tight. "fuck—"

his hands grip your thighs, opening them wider.

then, finally, he pushes in, stretching you open with one slow, unrelenting thrust.

a strangled moan rips from your throat, your body arching as he fills you completely.

he groans, pressing his lips to your cheek first, then the top of your head.

"that’s my girl."

his name is a breathless moan on your lips, barely holding its shape as pulls back and sinks into you again, stretching you open until he’s buried to the hilt. your thighs tighten around his waist, locking him in place like you could keep him there forever.

his breath shudders, forehead pressing to yours, one hand gripping your hip, the other fisting the sheets. he’s already falling apart, his voice a rasp against your lips.

“fuck—so wet, so perfect.”

his words barely register over the rush in your ears, the desperate, needy way your body clenches around him, still sensitive and needy. every inch of him makes you tremble, every movement leaves you gasping. it’s still not enough.

“more.” it slips out, broken, pleading.

he groans, fingers flexing against your hip, keeping you pinned. “you’re fucking insatiable,” he mutters, but he’s just as bad. his next thrust is harder, deeper, pushing you into the mattress, forcing another gasp from your lips.

he swears under his breath, shifting one of your legs higher, draping it over his shoulder, angling himself even deeper. the change has you crying out, your body jolting, nails dragging down his back.

“that’s it, baby,” he groans, voice thick, drinking in every gasp, every broken moan. “lemme hear you.”

he sets a rhythm, slow at first, savoring it—each thrust deliberate, pushing you closer, making your breath stutter, your mind go blank. but it’s not enough, not for either of you.

his grip tightens, his pace quickening. the bed creaks beneath you, the air thick—heat, friction, the obscene slap of skin on skin, the desperate, breathless sounds spilling from your lips.

he tilts his head, voice dipping low, rough, commanding. it’s not something you get to hear often. “open your mouth.”

you don’t even think, just obey—lips parting, chin tilting, waiting. his thumb drags across your bottom lip, smearing your lipstick before he spits, watching your tongue flick out to catch it.

you swallow without hesitation. he twitches inside you at the sight, hips jerking forward, thrusting deeper, rougher.

“good fucking girl,” he groans, voice wrecked, pressing his forehead to yours.

his lips trail down your throat, sucking, biting, marking. he loses himself in the rhythm, hips snapping into you, pulling out just to drive back in harder, deeper. “you take me so fucking well every time.”

your body tightens around him, desperate, clinging. your nails rake down his back, your hips lifting to meet him, to take more. you can never get enough of him.

he leans back slightly, gripping your thighs, spreading you open wider. his gaze drops between you, watching himself disappear into you, watching the way you take him.

“look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. “so fucking pretty like this.”

“you like watching?” you tease, but your voice is weak, wrecked.

he groans, grinding into you, making you moan, making you shake. “love watching you fall apart for me,” he mutters, before leaning in, kissing you deep and swallowing your gasps.

the bed creaks louder, the rhythm unraveling into something more frantic, more desperate. your body arches beneath him, his name a choked moan against his lips. he feels it—feels the way your walls flex around him, feels the way you shake, the way you’re already there, teetering, about to fall.

his lips brush against yours, voice low, coaxing. “give it to me.”

and you shatter.

your body bows, fingers digging into his shoulders, his name breaking from your lips repeatedly as your orgasm slams through you, hard, sudden, and overwhelming. your walls pulse around him, dragging him down with you.

his thrusts falter, his grip on your thighs tightening. he moans, deep and wrecked, pressing in as deep as he can go as he spills inside you. his forehead drops to yours, both of you panting, skin slick, bodies tangled in the aftershock.

you stay there for a moment until he pulls out, sliding down onto the mattress and pulling you into him. he searches your face, fingers swiping over your spine.

“you okay?” he murmurs, voice soft with exhaustion.

you nod, still catching your breath. your fingers thread lazily into his hair, smoothing it back as he exhales against your skin. he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. his voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“let’s go home.”

+++

it’s been two weeks since the music video was filmed. it’s releasing today, and you opted to stay home with satoru for it.

you and satoru are sprawled across the couch in your apartment, the tv murmuring in the background. satoru’s head is in your lap, his arm draped lazily over your thighs, scrolling on his phone. your fingers move absently through his hair, but when you check your notifications, you go still.

"oh, shit."

satoru hums without looking up. “hmm?”

"it’s bad."

his brows lift slightly, but his attention stays on his phone. "define bad."

you hesitate, staring at the screen like it might change if you blink enough times. "i think the internet is broken."

that gets his attention. he shifts, craning his neck to glance at your phone.

"jesus christ."

the tweets are relentless.

@/stanwars: WHY DOES IT FEEL ILLEGAL TO WATCH THIS FOR FREE

@/ynsays: i need to study them under a microscope

@/fathergojo: she wrote this horny ass song about him and then made him ACT IT OUT like a VILLAIN.

@/touchgrasscommittee: kento nanami has seen things he can never unsee. he is never working with them again

the headlines aren’t much better.

Rolling Stone: Y/N’s ‘Bed Chem’ Music Video Redefines Intimacy on Screen

Elle: Y/N’s New Music Video: Cinematic Excellence or Just an Excuse to Make Out?

PopBuzz: The Internet Is in Mourning Because Satoru Gojo Is Officially Taken

you scroll further. “oh, wow.”

satoru shifts, eyes narrowing at the way your expression tightens. "what now?"

you open your group chat.

satoru snorts, scrolling further. "oh my god, look at this tiktok."

the screen shows a fake behind-the-scenes clip of nanami sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose as you and satoru get a little too close on set.

another video cuts to a montage of satoru looking way too into it, captioned this man forgot the cameras were rolling.

another shows a person sipping tea with shaking hands, wrapped in a blanket, sunglasses on, looking like they’ve been through a war.

satoru pouts. “they’re making things up. i was fine during filming.”

you press play on a slowed-down clip of him gripping your thighs, head falling back as you kiss his throat.

"oh, totally," you say, watching the clip, lips twitching. "you were super composed."

his expression shifts immediately. "i don’t like this game anymore."

grinning, you scroll. "oh, wait, they slowed down this part too—"

suddenly, satoru snatches your phone and tosses it onto the other side of the couch.

"okay," he declares, pinning you against the cushions, smirking down at you. "that’s enough of that."

"hey—"

"since we’re dissecting things," he muses, eyes glinting, "let’s talk about your expressions during filming."

you laugh, squirming beneath him. "oh my god, get off me."

his smirk deepens, fingers curling around your wrist, his breath ghosting against your skin. "nah," he says, eyes dark and playful as he leans in, "i think i need to rewatch the footage. for, uh…research. live commentary this time."

you shove at his shoulder, laughing. "satoru—"

but he’s already reaching for the remote.

tags: @moonchhu @httpstoyosi @lavnder311 @harryzcherry @perkypeony @katecupcakekate @hellicify @oh-my-god-donald @jupiterbinnie @i88b0nten @satxoru @chuuminn @moncher-ire @r0ckst4rjk @flwerie @raendarkfaerie @pinksdump @blkmystery @pearlessance @satoruxsc

[rosenclaws]

Do Mutants Dream of Two-Headed Sheep? Chapter 1 || Logan x Cyborg!Reader

Summary: You find yourself in a strange place after being rescued and you don't feel very welcome here.

Warnings: Body horror, angst, blood, medical stuff, injury, angry reader, defensive Logan, reader has a panic attack

wc: 2.2k

a/n: Here's the first chapter! Its mostly set up with a lot of angst but I'm excited to take this story and explore more about both Logan and the reader.

Series Masterlist

They were called the X-Men. They’re mutants. Just like you. You didn’t know anything. They asked you a million questions. Hooked you up to machines. Took X-Rays. Ran tests. Their scientist. Beast. Hank as he asked you to call him. He poked and prodded you for hours.

You hated every moment of it. You were a fucked up creation. He apologized but you paid him no mind. All you could stare at was your new robotic body. What did they turn you into? Hank starts talking.

The people who did this to you, they replaced half of your body with machine parts. But it was incomplete. They meant to turn you fully into a robot, a heartless, cold dead weapon who would listen to their every command. But by the time the X-men had gotten there they had only gotten half way through.

“It’s incredible really.” Hank mumbles and your head whips to the side.

“Incredible? You call being torn apart and replaced by metal incredible?” You spit. His eyes widen as he starts to back peddle, apologizing for his insensitive language but you don’t want to fucking hear it.

“Leave me alone. I’m done being your little show pony.” You snarl.

“I…I’ll be back later to check on you.” Hank offers you a small smile but you just stare ahead of you.

You look at your hands, your arms, your legs. You can barely differentiate between your new body and the medical IV’s that Hank and stuck in you. You had no memories, no clue who you were, how you got there in the first place. The only thing you remember is pain. Only pain.

You hated it. In a fit of rage you grab the IV wires and rip them out of your arm. You watch as blood drips down your arm. The only reminder you have that you’re still made of flesh. 

Upstairs Charles had called a team meeting. All of them for the lack of a better term were unsettled. They’re mutants. They’ve seen a lot of things in their life. People who don’t look human or have some mutation that changes their physical appearance. But this. This was utterly new and horribly cruel. 

“According to the files we extracted from their computer, the mutant you found is known as Project G.H.O.S.T.” Charles sets down the files on his desk.

“Doctor Peter Crane is the lead scientist hired by Section K. Unfortunately, we were unable to capture him or the leader of a mutant experimentation group. But we were able to get their information and future plans all while destroying their current base of operations.” Scott follows while skimming through the amount of information gathered on the mission.

“Who are they? Why did Crane want them?” Storm asks as she looks at the folder with all your information.

“We don’t know. Most of the information had already been destroyed, not even a name. But from what…” Scott trails off, unsure of how to phrase it. He glances at Logan for just a second before turning back to Charles.

“What we do have, we think they were planning on turning them into a living weapon. Strip them of their humanity and turn them into a puppet.” That struck a chord with Logan. Living weapon, yeah he’s heard that one before. He was one before.

“Did they?” Logan asks gruffly.

“We don’t know. It looks like they only got half way through before we found them.” Scott replies.

Logan grunts in response. He stops listening to Scott once he moves on, something about plans or whatever. He doesn’t care. His thoughts drift back to you. Just what are you? Charles didn’t mention anything about a mutant like you. Half machine. Logan was the one to save you, to cut you free and try to get you out but now he’s wondering if it was a mistake.

What if they had turned you already? Destroyed your humanity and they brought you right into the heart of the X-Men. Are you dangerous? He knows what it’s like to be experimented on, to be turned into a puppet for the masters to play with.

Anyone else would feel a connection, a level of understanding. But Logan, he can’t trust that easily. This is his home and the people living in this mansion are his family. He knows what you could possibly be.

And he doesn’t trust it one bit.

“You’re all dismissed, we’ll try and find out more and plan for next week.” Charles says. He turns his head to stare directly at Logan.

“Logan. Come with me.” Logan grumbles as he gets out of his chair and follows the professor through the halls.

“I know you’re distrustful of our new guest,” Charles starts making Logan scoff.

“Your thoughts are louder than you think Logan. I would have assumed you would be more…understanding.” Charles says carefully. Understanding isn’t exactly the word anyone would use to describe Logan but it was the best choice.

“I understand how dangerous people like us can be.” Logan states plainly. The destruction he caused as Weapon X, he doesn’t remember most of it but he can still smell the blood and sometimes he catches glimpses in his nightmares.

“I see.”

Logan steps in the elevator with Charles and stays quiet as it brings them down to the laboratory. When they enter your room they just see you sitting on the bed. Your eyes staring at the small TV in front of you. The channels flipping back and forth rapidly.

“Hello my dear, my name is Charles Xavier.” You glance at him, then at Logan before turning your attention back to the TV.

“I know this is a lot to process but I promise you we’re here to help you.” Still silent.

“When you’re ready, we have a room ready and we’d like to ask you some questions.” Still nothing. Logan grows irritated at your lack of response.

“Hey. He’s talking to you bub.” Logan snaps, the words tumbling out of his mouth without even thinking. You glare at him as he slams his hand against the TV, shutting it off. With a flick of your wrist it turns right back on.

“Technopathy, a rare mutation indeed.” Charles notes.

“Logan, show them to their dorm room. I think they’ve spent enough time down here.” Charles leaves, stranding you alone with Logan.

He’s the one who found you. You recognize his voice. Though this time he’s much angrier than he was before. He’s hostile and it looks like he might claw you right where you sit.

“Alright kid-”

“I’m not a kid.” You snap. Your robotic hand clenching around the rails of the bed, crushing the metal with ease.

“Fine. I want to know exactly what they did to you. Give me one reason I should let you near any of those kids up there.” Logan growls. You just laugh at his audacity, he doesn’t scare you for a second.

“Aren’t you a warm welcome? Is this typical X-Men hospitality? Stick needles and threaten my life? ” You spit and Logan’s claws come out instantly.

“Listen bub, I know their plans and I want to make sure you aren’t already the weapon they wanted to create.”

“What if I am Logan? A trojan horse to spy on your little friends.” You’re not, you have control but he was pissing you off. If he was going to treat you like a threat you sure as hell weren’t going to spare him any real explanation.

“Then I’ll slice you to pieces in a heartbeat.” He says, brandishing his claws.

Without thinking you flinch just seeing them. They remind you of the blades, the pain as you went in and out of consciousness. Your heart starts to race as flashes of broken memories. The pain shoots through your body, both sides. You don’t understand. You push yourself off the bed and flee to the corner of the room. Logan’s eyes widen as you start to mumble. Your fingers digging into your hair as you try and calm yourself down.

“Hey kid I-” Logan’s cut off by the TV exploding next to him.

“Fuck!” Logan hisses as the parts of the screen dig into his skin.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I didn’t mean it.” You cry.

Logan reaches out but the sight of his claws send you deeper into your spiral. With your right hand you push him into the wall and run.

You hear him shouting but you keep running. Grabbing a jacket from one of the lockers you hurry into the elevator, putting it around you and hoping it covers some of your robotic body. When the doors open you leap out of sight, maneuvering your way through the halls as you hear the sound of children laughing and footsteps getting too close. You can’t think straight, you want to leave. You don’t want to be here anymore, you just want to go home.

What even was home? Did you have one? Did you have a family? You see a group of kids approaching your hiding spot and you bolt. You see a large open door and throw it open, slamming it shut and leaning against it. Closing your eyes you try to focus on your breathing. Your lungs had been replaced too, with each breath you hear the turning of the gears and the squeaking of the air pump.

“I may owe you an apology my dear, perhaps Logan was not the right person to leave you with.” You open your eyes to see Charles at this desk. Fuck the room you went into was his office.

“You think?” You bite back, though you feel yourself a little more relaxed around this man. He chuckles and beckons you over to sit.

“I apologize. You see, you and Logan share more than you may think.” You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything about it.

“He thinks I’m a threat.” You close the jacket tighter around you. Charles stares at you and you feel something off in your head.

“Please don’t read my mind.” You mumble, trying to shut him out. To his surprise you do.

“I’m sorry, your thoughts are just very loud.” From Hank's scans Charles had discovered that your body was an odd mix of human and machine.

Your heart and lungs had been replaced but your brain remained intact. The neurons that controlled your bodily movements had been expertly attached and morphed with the wires that ran through the right side, the robotic side. Your thoughts were loud and clear that even if he tried not to he could still read them.

The conclusion?

You were not an immediate threat, but you could pose danger if you were to give in to your machine side. You carried the capacity for both great good and great evil. Your humanity was out of touch which is exactly what Crane wanted. The doors to his office slam open to reveal a pissed off Logan. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees you sitting there, for a moment you swear you saw his eyes. turn soft. But you blink and the softness is gone. Replaced by complete apathy.

“Look, I appreciate the rescue but I think it’s best if I leave.” You say while looking at Logan.

“If you want to leave, I will not stop you. But I believe you would do well here. This is a place to learn how to operate your new self safely. We’ll protect you, take care of you.” Charles offers.

The truth is he wants to keep you here so they can guide you to the right path. The fear is radiating off of you. He doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know that you’re afraid of becoming exactly what they wanted you to be. There’s one question swimming around in your mind, projecting itself to everyone who looks at you.

Are you human? Or are you a weapon? Can those people have truly stripped away your humanity, by taking your heart, your blood, your limbs?

If they were to find you again they could finish what they started. But if Charles could keep you here, he can help you find your humanity again, help you become yourself.

“I know what you fear and we can help. I promise.” Charles whispers.

“It might be too late.” You whisper back. Staring at your hands once again, watching yourself in the reflection of your metal hand.

“Nonsense my dear, you’re not the first person who’s come here with a past like yours.” Charles says while looking at Logan.

Logan shifts on his feet, there is guilt for sending you into panic but he doesn’t trust you fully yet. But if Charles does, he’ll at least stay out of your way.

“Give us a month, a month to guide you, to help you and I promise the team will do everything in our power to find the people who did this.” You think for a moment.

There’s so much of your life missing and there’s a desperate need to know growing inside of you. If he’s telling the truth, if he can really help you. Then you don’t have a choice.

“Deal.” Charles smiles and places a hand atop your metal one.

“Welcome to the X-Men.” 

[sirazaroff]

Hey :)! Just asking but how does Glinda hide her scars on the visible parts of her body(like hands or the one on her face). And if anyone ever noticed did Morrible say that Glinda got attacked by the Wicked Witch?(you don’t have to respond with a drawing :), hope you have a good day/night)

Hey there! Thank you for the inquiry, I know yall are waiting on me to say SOMETHING since first posting the two ideas. Such a tease I am~

I will make a disclaimer that my ignorant ass has yet to know what goes down in act 2. I have plans to change that soon enough. Here’s my current take on things but I’ll make an update if they no longer have any merit in the timeline.

And speaking of a timeline, just keep in mind that after she’s struck on the back, the final beats of act 2 start to play out: Glinda going to Kiamo Ko and witnessing Elphaba’s ‘death’. The Wizard leaving and Morrible tries to grab power before Glinda can, and then failing. Glinda takes over as ruler and changes Oz in Elphaba’s vision.

——————

So, why does Glinda cover her scars?

It’s cause of her image as hope to the masses. The Good Witch can’t be appearing all busted up like that, people will ask questions. They’ll be afraid that the Wizard can’t actually help them, or at the least that Glinda can’t. Truthfully she’d rather people believe the truth but between the threat of more punishments from Morrible, and the fact that she’s putting her own public image and safety at risk, it’s better to just hide the scars. No one ever really sees them and so they never question it.

——————

Now let’s talk about how she covers them.

My thought process is that with her hands she would hide those with gloves during the frequency of the beatings. Gauze underneath, hoping they won’t bleed thru while she’s away from the palace. When Morrible eased up on this, Glinda switched over to covering them with makeup since they could finally heal over.

For her lip, Morrible gave her 3 days to figure out how to deal with the fresh wound before throwing her back into the spotlight. The pain of this caused Glinda to resent smiling. This scar would also be hidden with makeup once healed.

Now once she’s struck by lighting, all of this goes out the window. Glinda is quite literally bedridden for a few weeks and her absence is dully felt. Ozians are aware something happened at the palace, but they’re not sure what and who did it. In that instance it was easier to just blame everything on the Witch and rile up the public. (This narrative falls apart after Morrible tries to make for a power grab. Ozians will learn that it was she who hurt Glinda).

When Glinda can finally stand again, she’s in no shape to work. Of course that doesn’t stop the Wizard from having Glinda stand out on her balcony and address the worried masses.

From here on out Glinda doesn’t cover up any of her scars, only her demeanor. Even if she wanted to cover her back, it’s too large and touching the entry point sends a jolt that feels as sharp as when she was first stricken. She’s riddled with constant pain and walks with a limp, but when in public she acts like everything is peachy and is full of smiles. Glinda does this mostly because the people need a leader and if she shows her true ailments, there’s bound to be a threat for power by those taking advantage. Years down the line she’ll eventually retreat within the palace, unable to physically do much anymore but drink in an effort to numb the pain.

[partoffantasy]

Hold Me Closer - Aaric Graycastle / Cam Tauri

⸻ image credits to artbycassmira & etherealbookart ⸻

summary: Aaric casually pulls Y/N away from Sloane, masking his need for affection behind indifference. But as he holds her close, she knows the truth—his father never taught him warmth, and now he craves it more than he’ll ever admit.

pairing: aaric graycastle x fem!reader warnings: fluff word count: 1.9k

Thank you for your idea, asteria-wood! I hope this comes close to what you had in mind. 💙

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The training yard was quieter than usual, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the worn stone. Y/N sat beside her best friend Sloane on the low wall bordering the sparring grounds, watching a few first-years struggle through their footwork drills. "You need to drop your stance lower," Sloane remarked, eyes flicking toward one of the first-years wobbling under the weight of their own sword. "They'll get knocked on their ass within seconds."

Y/N hummed in agreement. "You should tell them." Sloane scoffed. "Not my problem. If they don't figure it out, they'll wash out soon enough." "Harsh." "Realistic." But despite her words, her gaze lingered in that assessing way, like she was already dissecting their mistakes, debating whether or not it was worth the effort to intervene. Y/N smiled a little. Sloane was blunt, at times ruthless, but she had a strange way of caring—often against her better judgment. "You're already thinking about helping them, aren't you?" "Absolutely not." "Mhm. Sure." Sloane shot her a flat look, but there was no real bite to it. "You're insufferable."

Y/N only grinned. "And yet, here we are." Before Sloane could answer, Aaric showed up. He approached without hurry, his usual air of effortless composure wrapped around him. His expression was unreadable, but Y/N had spent enough time around him to notice the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed slightly at his sides as if resisting the urge to fidget. He wanted something.

“Aaric,” Sloane greeted, her tone neutral but edged with curiosity. He rarely sought them out like this. Not publicly, at least. Y/N barely had time to process his arrival before he reached out and—without so much as a word—wrapped a hand around her wrist and tugged her to her feet. “Walk with me,” he said, his voice smooth, casual, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if it hadn’t been a command disguised as a request.

Y/N blinked up at him. “I—what?” “Walk. With me.” His tone was deliberately unbothered, but there was an underlying weight to it, something only she would catch. Sloane’s brows knit together. “Are you—” “Need to discuss something with her,” Aaric interrupted smoothly. “Nothing important.” Sloane’s confusion only deepened, but she didn’t question it further, merely eyeing Y/N like she had somehow gotten tangled in something bizarre and beyond explanation. Y/N, for her part, let herself be led without resistance. Because she knew exactly what this was.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Aaric didn’t stop walking until they were well beyond earshot, past the archway leading toward the quieter corridors of Basgiath. Only then did he slow, his grip on her wrist loosening but not quite letting go. “You could have just asked,” Y/N mused, watching him out of the corner of her eye. Aaric sighed through his nose, the tension he had held in front of Sloane bleeding away now that they were alone. “I had to make it look natural.”

Y/N tilted her head, her voice softer now. “And what is it exactly that looked so natural?” Aaric didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned against the cool stone wall, eyes flicking over her before he exhaled, reaching for her hand again—not to pull her, not to lead her anywhere, but simply to hold. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, absentminded, almost hesitant.

“I just wanted to hold you for a bit,” he admitted finally, his voice quieter, lower, like it was a secret meant only for her. “That’s all.” Y/N’s chest ached in the way it always did when he let his guard down like this, when the carefully crafted mask of Aaric Graycastle slipped to reveal Cam—Prince Camlaen Aaric Tauri, a boy who had grown up under the rule of a father who never offered warmth, never taught him what love was supposed to feel like.

She squeezed his fingers lightly. “You’re allowed to want that, you know.” His lips quirked, but there was something tired about the smile. “Not publicly.” Y/N shifted closer, resting her forehead against his shoulder, feeling the way his breath hitched at the contact before he melted, wrapping his arms around her properly this time. Not casually, not in passing, but fully—like he needed this more than he wanted to admit.

She felt his heartbeat against her cheek, steady but strong. Aaric exhaled, then without a word, started walking again, this time with her hand still firmly in his. Y/N followed without question, letting him lead her through the dimly lit corridors. His room was neat, orderly, but the moment the door shut behind them, Aaric’s composure cracked. He tugged her into his arms once more, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply like he was grounding himself in her presence.

Y/N held him just as tightly, her fingers brushing through his hair in slow, soothing strokes. “Cam,” she murmured softly against his temple. Aaric shuddered slightly, his arms tightening around her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. That name—Cam—was something only she called him, something only she was allowed to say. From anyone else, his true name felt like a burden, a reminder of his duty, of expectation thrown onto him. But from her? It was warmth, it was belonging, it was home.

He pressed closer, inhaling the familiar scent of her, letting it soothe the raw edges he never let anyone else see. "Stay a while?" he asked, his voice rougher now, almost hesitant, as if he feared she might slip away. Y/N smiled, her hand drifting to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. "Always."

Aaric lay quietly, his head resting comfortably on Y/N’s chest. For once, he didn’t have to carry the weight of his title or his father’s expectations—he could simply be Aaric, just a man with the woman he loved. Y/N’s fingers gently combed through his hair, and Aaric let himself sink deeper into the moment. She always knew just how to calm him, how to make him feel like he was more than the crown he was born to wear, more than the obligations that had been placed on his shoulders.

“Cam,” she murmured softly, and his heart fluttered at the sound of his true name leaving her lips. No one else used it. No one else could. It was just theirs, a secret between them that meant more than anything the world could offer. He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his gaze soft and vulnerable, something he rarely allowed anyone to see. "I know I don’t say it much, but… thank you. For being here. For letting me be myself, even when I’m... not what I’m supposed to be."

Y/N smiled down at him, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw in a slow, soothing motion. "You don’t have to be anything other than what you are, Cam. I love you for you. Not the crown, not the prince. Just you." Aaric’s heart gave a little jump at her words. No one had ever loved him like this. His father had always seen him as an extension of his power, a tool to be used for the kingdom’s needs. But Y/N? She saw him. The boy behind the crown, the man beneath the responsibilities, the one who just wanted to feel like he mattered for who he was, not what he could do.

Aaric took a deep breath, his voice low and sincere. "I didn’t think it was possible. Not for me, anyway. To be loved just for being me. But then I met you, and everything changed." Y/N’s thumb gently caressed his cheek, her smile wide and genuine. “Of course, it’s possible. You’re perfect just as you are, Cam.” He laughed softly, the sound more relaxed than it had been in a long time. "I don’t know about perfect, but... with you, I feel like I’m finally starting to understand what it means to be loved." He turned serious.

"My father—King Tauri," he began, the name feeling foreign on his tongue, "he never showed me or my brother's love. Not in any way that mattered. I was never... enough." His chest tightened at the thought, the familiar ache creeping up again as he recalled his childhood. He could still remember being a boy—maybe ten or eleven—standing in front of the grand throne room, waiting for his father’s approval. Always waiting. But it never came. Not in the way he needed it.

"As a child, I’d try... try to do something to get his attention," Aaric muttered, his fingers tightening around Y/N’s. "I’d study harder, fight better, follow every order without question, hoping—just hoping—that he’d look at me the way a father should look at his son. But it was never enough." Aaric took in a shaky breath, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke again. "He would look at me, but it was like I was just... another piece in his game. Just another soldier to shape. No warmth, no affection. Only duty. Always duty." He chuckled bitterly, the sound hollow. "The kingdom, the crown—it was all that mattered to him. Not me. Not who I was. Just what I could do for him."

His eyes fluttered closed, and the memories surged forward like a flood. His father’s cold stare, the weight of his expectations crushing him at every turn. "I remember asking him once—just once—if I could have a moment of his time, to ask about my training, or anything. I was a child. And he looked at me like I was an inconvenience, then turned his back on me." She traced gentle circles over his back as silence settled between them, allowing the weight of his words to set before she spoke.

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before resting her forehead against his. “You deserve love. You deserve to feel it every day.” Aaric’s eyes fluttered shut as he let himself melt into her embrace, feeling the warmth of her affection wrap around him like a blanket. "Thank you for showing me how to love. I don’t ever want to let that go," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I don’t ever want to lose you, Y/N."

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised softly. "Not ever. You’ll always have me." Aaric’s heart swelled at her words, his fingers tightening gently around her waist as if to ground himself in the moment, in her. He shifted, moving closer. It was just about them—him—being with her, the one person who made him feel safe enough to lay down the weight of everything he carried. He leaned up, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss so soft, so full of love, that it made everything else fade away. No politics, no obligations, just the two of them.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N’s smile was a little more mischievous. “Hold me a little longer?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with affection. “Always,” Aaric answered, pressing a kiss to her temple. He pulled her closer, letting himself fall into the warmth of her embrace once more, where he could simply be Cam—the man who was finally loved, for who he truly was. And for the first time in his life, he was at peace.

[respectthepetty]

Seventeen episodes of Perfect 10 Liners and I've finally arrived at couple I'm most excited for because I think they share the same color! It's time to see if I'm actually getting Lapis Lads (two Blue Boys).

But first, this episode has to remind me that other couples exist, starting with Green Guy Gun and Black Brooder Yotha.

Their story just finished in the previous episode, but the show must let us know they are disgustingly in love in case we couldn't tell from the heart on Yotha, the dog and tiger plushies, or the fact that their apartment is bright as hell with Gun's green as the accent.

But that doesn't stop Gun from wearing his man's black.

They're so in love, they invented a new way to share cologne.

Gross.

Don't worry, Red Rascal Sam. I'm judging them too.

And don't worry, Red Rascal Arc, I'm judging your man as well!

First, I cannot overlook that Yellow Yal Arm is in orange simply because I like that his shirt says "God is in control." I will not be distracted by that all powerful being upstairs!

And neither will Arc because he basically asked Arm if he wanted to get married, and Arm was like, "um . . . you can marry someone else if you like them more." SIR! WTF?!

At least Arm's Blue Boy best friend Sand understands what is happening when his Orange Oddity boyfriend asks what his plans for the future are.

Because even if Sand isn't sure what his future holds, Pond made it clear that he wants to be part of it as a communicative Orange Oddity would. Take notes, Arm! If you wanna wear the color, you gotta communicate!

Like if you are a Blue Boy, you gotta be honest. It's in their (color) coding.

Which is why I will love Faifa the most. He is so honest that his face has subtitles.

And because he is so honest, people don't realize he is hiding some big emotions underneath all his happiness.

So it's time he met his match in another Blue Boy because only another Blue Boy can help him see the error of his ways by being a mirror reflection of his errors.

And it seems the universe agrees since Faifa ran into Wine's life and changed his fate (and his name).

But this is really a group effort. Arm made sure Yotha had the gifts for their newest member since we all know Yotha is too distracted in love to remember that other people exist.

And because Yotha is a Black Brooder and Wine is a dark Blue Boy, they could easily stand in silence, so Faifa and his special peacemaker skills were needed to be the middle ground between the two.

Because, once again, Faifa is the epitome of a Blue Boy.

But Wine is also a Blue Boy who is going to make Faifa see that always stepping in to help others only hurts himself.

Because Faifa wants to give everything to everyone else, even if it means he dies (allergic to milk, sir), but Wine wants nothing.

Faifa wants to give everyone all his love, yet Wine wants to be left alone.

Because in a world of colorful characters, it's the Blue Boys who ground people and ask the questions that need to be asked, like how possible Blue Boy Jay with his blue phone immediately questioned why Wine was hanging out with Faifa when his mentor was Yotha.

It's Blue Boy-to-Blue Boy communication, and only they can see through the bullshit of another Blue Boy, which is why they are great friends.

And it's why these two are going to be great friends.

But that's also why they will have the biggest problem because this is a love story.

So in the battle of Blue Boys, once they realize nothing between them is friendly, will they be honest about their emotions or sacrifice their love for some form of noble idiocy?

They're already in the danger zone and don't even realize it.

I love it here!

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Love on the brain chapter 4

Master List

CW: Please check the master list. This chapter alludes to child sexual abuse. Nothing is graphic in detail.

You had spent the better part of your day out at your son's soccer game. You are pleasantly surprised that your four neighbors showed up to cheer him on. All of them are incredibly involved with watching the game, as if it were a professional game. Johnny and Kyle had been pacing up and down the field following the game, encouraging Jabari and his teammates. For some odd reason, you found it incredibly nice that John had made it his business to chat with the other fathers as if he's always been a part of the group. Chatting away about whatever it is that men talk about, household projects, work (things he could share), being invited to help with the team cook out for Sunday to celebrate getting into the playoffs. You notice that he doesn't correct people when they compliment him on how his boy (and despite Jabari looking nothing like John) is well adjusted and a good team sport, always willingly leading others effortlessly. He certainly doesn't correct anyone when they say that his little girl Jayla is a quiet and well-behaved girl. They find it cute that she clings to his hand. She swings from his arm, pulls at his hands, and is just generally using him to stim and keep occupied because her twin isn't paying her dust at the moment.

The reason her twin is paying her dust is because Jada has made it her mission to play out in the farther fields with Simon. She's got her baby Anni with them, and she's fussing about Simon making sure his little flower crown is on right. She smiles at him and explains that Anni has been asking about him, wondering when the next time he could keep her for a sleepover.

“Wouldn' ya want Anni to stay with you?” Simon asks her, “I'm sure she hates being away from ya.” He's careful with how he arranges the doll's little flower crown on its head. Truthfully, never in a million years did he think he would be playing dolls or be within range of children again. Not since his brother and his family. He feels protective of this little girl and her twin and her older brother.

When Price had told him that the neighbor next door was in trouble, her husband beating her black and blue, Simon could feel ‘Ghost’ slipping to the front that night. Before they even knocked on the front door, they could hear the shouts of bloody murder coming from the woman. He was so angry, absolutely seething with rage. He had to keep himself calm so he wouldn't kill the bastard when he stepped out onto the front porch after Price flashed his gun.

The coward didn't even look at or speak to him.

“No.” Jada says clear as day, “Anni prefers to stay at other people's house so that way she knows she's safe.” She is digging through her pink backpack, and finally, she pulls out what she is looking for. It's a little charm bracelet, and she offers it to Simon. “It matches my bracelet. See, it says TTC. It stands for The Tea Club.”

“Well.” Simon takes the dainty pink and purple bracelet with the little white letters and flowers, “you do make some of the best tea.” He tries not to dwell on the ‘She knows she's safe part’ of the conversation. Still, something in his gut tells him he needs to ask. He's just never been good with being tactful, and he feels like he should be gentle with his questions.

“Jada…” He takes a deep breath, “have things been okay since your father has been home?”

She looks up at him and purses her lips. It's clear that she is thinking, not entirely sure what to say for the conversation. She turns towards the field as the sidelines erupt into cheers over the game. Then slowly she turns and looks back at Simon, “I…I don't know Mr. Simon. Mom and Dad fought last time…when I asked Dad why, he didn't say anything and told me that it was all fine.” She sniffles a bit, “I try not to let Anni or even Jayla and Jabari know how upset it makes me, especially Mom.” She rubs at her eyes, trying to make her tears go away. “Sometimes he gets mad at me when I don't behave, and he spanks me if I cry, but sometimes I cry, and I can't help it.”

Simon feels his heart drop in his stomach. He remembers the look on your face when you admitted that you don't spank your children. Why would you if the fucker you're married to hits you? This though, seeing Jada cry and sniffle about spankings and crying didn't seem right. His throat felt dry and he also felt like he was going to murder. “Why would he spank you for crying?”

“I don't know Mr.Simon, sometimes his hugs hurt, and I cry.”

You were chatting with another one of the parents, taking note of what you were supposed to bring to Sunday's cookout. The game is in its final moments, Jabari's team is clearly going to win. Your eyes are covered by two sets of hands, a broad chest pressed against your back and kiss pressed to your cheek. You know instantly that it's Kenny, even more so. You are surprised that he even showed up to the match. “Kenny, glad you made it.” You turn to face your husband, and he is smiling at you. He's handsome right now, the cool suave man that swept you off your feet eleven years ago. He's sober, polite, bright, and sweet.

“Yes, I told you I would show up for his game. Is his team winning?” He says as he presses a kiss to your head.

“They most certainly are.” You say and wiggle out of his grip. Your attention goes back to watching the game, but you do notice how Kenny tenses up. “What's wrong now?”

“Why are the neighbors here?” He's glaring at where John is, Jayla is perched on his shoulders. John is still chatting with a group of parents. “And why's he got my daughter with him?”

You roll your eyes, “Kenny, be nice, please. The kids happened to like them, and Jabari invited them to watch the game.”

The whistle for the game to end is blown by the ref, and your son's team is jumping about in celebration. Kenny watches as his son runs up to Johnny and Kyle and is immediately hoisted up onto Johnny's shoulders. The irritation can be felt radiating off of him in droves. You sigh and give him a side eye, a silent plea for him to behave, don't embarrass you, and please for the love of God be cordial. You make your way over to the crowd of cheering families, and when you get close to Johnny and Jabari, you lean up and kiss your son on the cheek as he leans down.

“I scored the last goal, mom!” Jabari is sweaty, hyper, and loud. His smile is so big it stretches his face. Brown eyes sparkling in the daylight, he is your baby, and you feel like you're staring into the sun right now. He looks and sees his dad, and his smile falters a bit but stays big. “Dad, you made it!”

Kenny raises an eyebrow but strategically avoids the glare that Johnny sends him. He holds his arms out for his son. It can be written off as Jabari being careful of heights, but he eventually goes to his dad. “Good game sport.” He ruffles his hair, “you really gave them a run for their money.”

“Thanks Dad.” Jabari laughs and hugs his waist, then he lets go, “Mom, can we cut the strawberry cake when we get home?”

“You made that cake?” Kenny says, his brows drawn up in a bit of disgust, “You know I don't like that sugary mess.”

You look over at him, ready to defend the celebratory treat. Jabari had been asking for weeks, and you finally had squirreled away enough spare change for the cake. You open your mouth to say yes, but Johnny beats you to it.

“Good thing it ain't fa ye mate.” His blue eyes aren't welcoming. They are hardly the same pretty light shade that you've come to know. Kyle is standing beside him, a strained but polite smile on his face. You notice how his fingers flex, hand opening and closing. There's tension between the three men. The chatter of everyone else sorta fades from you as you anticipate some form of violence.

“Everything okay?” John comes to the rescue. He somehow appears out of thin air, and Johnny and Kyle relax. Their metaphorical hackles lower. John has Jayla tucked under his arm as if she's a bag of potatoes. She really is just swinging limply.

Jayla lifts her head up and smiles, “Hello.” Her greeting almost missed amongst all the noise. Johnny and Kyle dutifully greet her with smiles.

“Yeah. Good to see you, Price.” Kenny says, but it's more like a growl.

“Miss Bonnie was just inviting us over for cake. I was thinking we could all get together and have dinner.” Johnny looks at you with the tilt of his head.

“Oh! Can we get sushi?” Jabari jumps up and down, “pleaseeee” He begs.

“No-” Kenny starts.

“Sure” you say at the same time. Both of you look at each other. And it's not lost on you that he doesn't like sushi. He could never stand the food, but Jabari does, and he rarely gets it. It's a mini stand-off before Kenny sighs.

“I spoil you all too much. Let's get out of here.” He says and heads off to the car.

You ignore the eye rolls from both Kyle and Johnny. “You guys don't have to have dinner with us. Kenny can be kinda tense.”

“Nonsense. Jabari wants us there, right soldier?” John says with a shrug.

“Yeah Mr.Price, I do!” He stops jumping about and looks around, “Where's Jada?”

This also makes you look around, but you spot her and Simon coming in from the unused field. He's got her in his arms, holding her protectively, her little pink backpack slung over his shoulder. Her baby is crushed between her body and his, her face hidden in the crook of his neck. She clings to him, shaking just a bit, and you feel your heart ricochet between your throat and stomach.

“Baby what's wrong?” You're rushing over to them and trying to peer at her face. Simon stops you, though, and he shakes his head no. You're a bit indignant because how dare he.

Simon pulls you close to him, and he leans down to your ear, “She, her sister, and brother can ride home with me and John. You ride home with Kyle and Johnny.”

“What why?” You ask, and there's panic in your voice, “what happened to my baby? What did you do to her?” You go to take her, but Jada only clings to Simon more. She sniffles and won't look at you.

“Listen to me and trust me, yeah.” He stares deep into your eyes. There's something akin to restrained rage in those honey brown eyes. He, too, is shaking now that you've noticed. John approaches the three of you with concern on his face. It's like he can sniff out distress and discomfort. Simon tells him the game plan for the ride home, and John doesn't question it.

You feel like you're going to throw up.

You arrive home, confused and worried sick. You find it odd that you trust Simon implicitly along with the rest of your neighbors. You chalk it up to them, saving you from Kenny and being genuinely nice to your children. The way they just allow the three of them to clamber and hold onto them. You notice how the four of them seem interested in their well-being. You, Johnny, and Kyle arrive at your homes, and you spot your husband's car in the driveway. But before you can get out of the passenger seat, John is approaching the car. He looks livid, his face red with anger. You're halfway out of the car when he kneels down in front of you. His hand on your knees, blue eyes searching yours for a moment.

“Sweetheart…I'm gonna tell you something. And you have to stay calm.” His voice is leveled. It doesn't match the urgency of the moment.

“I just want to get Jada and see what's wrong.” You whisper. Your stomach is in knots as it waits for something, anything to happen.

“Soap and Gaz go inside and keep him from committing murder.” John barks at the other two. You think you hear in the distance their front door slam shut.

Your eyes snap to your neighbor's house, and you see Simon, on the porch, a handgun in his grip. Your body moves on its own, and you're pushing for John to let go of you. “Move John, I need to get my children.” There's a swell in the air.

“Sweetheart, has Jada ever come to you about anything inappropriate?” John isn't budging. He keeps his hands on your legs so you can't leave the car. There's shouting in the background, Kyle is trying his best to diffuse Simon.

“John- no- I don't-” It's like your mind is running on dial-up. Everything is slowed down, and it's like a fresh new Hell opened up and swallowed you.

“Jada confided in Simon that her father has been touching her.”

You're not too sure what happens after that. It's all static, really. Slow motion. The sky is too bright. The air is too cold. John's hands feel grounding, and they also feel scorching. You aren't sure if you want to scream or not. Maybe you do scream. Maybe part of you feels like if you march into your home and bury your teeth into Kenny's neck, rip out his throat, you can right every wrong that led you to this moment. Spill his blood in penance for all the hurt he's caused your children. You'd also, in the same breath, cut out your heart. You don't deserve to live, especially when you are so blind.

Your mind is racing back to every little thing that Jada has said or imitated. Her idea of ‘me time’, her casual statements about spanking. Anything you can think of, every interaction, comes screeching to the forefront of your mind. It hurts. How are you even a mother? You were so worried about your husband hitting you, beating you and children to death, you never once entertained the idea of him killing your children in this sense.

Good God. Nights that you've been too tired to fight him off and blacked out from pain. Has he done things to them then? What about when you've left him alone with any of them. Jabari, now that you think about it, always hated being left alone with his father. He's shied away from his touches and hugs.

“Sweetheart?” John brushes away the tears from your face.

“Get me in the house John…” It's not really your voice that's speaking. It's too vacant. “Take my keys.” You hand him your house keys, “throw any and everything into a few bags. If I go in there, I'll kill him.”

He does as you say and steadies you. When you're in their house, you see Jabari talking with Kyle and Johnny, talking to Jayla. Simon is nowhere to be seen, but a part of the sectional is pushed against the basement door. Jada is sitting in the quiet room that belongs to Simon. He's in there with her, but he's on his knees. Holding her hands between hers, whispering something to her. She's got tear tracks on her face, and when she glances up at you, she launches herself into your arms. She's sobbing, saying sorry, she didn't know it was wrong.

You only shush her and kiss her head. You are doing your best not to bolt next door and kill the bastard.

a.n: so everyone take care of yourselves. This was heavy. There will be immediate consequences in the next chapter. Just you wait.

Tag list: @leahnicole1219 @uraeus56 @royalty-cashinout @chickennuggetuwu @gazsluckyhat @justanerd1 @the-monster-under-the-bed @curiouslittleprincess @flairenragebelmont

[shipper4everships]

BuckTommy Fluffebruary: Day 16

~AU: didn’t know they were dating~

It all started by chance. Buck had just started his service at 118th station, while Tommy was in the process of transferring to station 217. Tommy’s transfer was delayed, so they began working together. Tommy was usually a composed and somewhat introverted guy, not quick to let people close, but Buck was so sincere and open that Tommy let his guard down.

They became friends, and Tommy showed Buck some of his secret tricks that helped him on the job, which later came in handy for Buck on calls. 

"Hey, you only told me about them in my second year here - why does the rookie get such privileges?" Eddie asked teasingly. 

On their days off, they sometimes went to the gym together or invited each other to the bar for a beer and to watch a match. 

"I thought you weren't very into basketball before, Buck. Something changed?" Chim in with a grin. Buck just waved off the question.

When it came time for Tommy to complete his transfer to station 217, he briefly thought about refusing it because he was afraid their communication would end. But Buck turned out to be better than he could have imagined and supported Tommy’s decision to transfer.

"If flying is your dream, then you have to follow it!" 

Tommy couldn’t argue with that.

Now they didn’t see each other as often, but they were always in touch. There were nights when they both stayed up until morning, texting or talking on the phone about everything under the sun.

"Buck, you look awful... You were up all night talking to Tommy again, should I tell him to stop messing up your schedule?" Hen said, half-seriously, half-joking.

"He’s not messing anything up, I called him first!" Buck blurted out, then realized what he’d said.

They continued meeting occasionally at the bar, but it became harder to sync up due to shift changes. One day, Tommy suggested Buck come over to his place for a couple of hours so they could see each other, and Buck gladly accepted.

They kept visiting each other to watch movies or cook together. Until one day, the moment happened: Buck cuddled up to Tommy while they were watching a horror movie, and Tommy turned to him and kissed him in the dim light of the room. To Buck’s surprise, he didn’t pull away. On the contrary, he eagerly joined in.

Since that evening, not much changed between them, except that their texts became more flirtatious, their touches more frequent, and that kiss on the couch wasn’t the last, but rather the first in a series of others.

They wished each other safety before every shift, and it was always the case, but now it felt different - as though there was something more behind that wish, as if they started caring for each other more.

Buck wasn’t sure how to feel about it, but he was afraid of losing the connection that was growing between them, so he decided to keep everything between the two of them and see where it could lead.

Was it really a surprise when, not long after, they slept together for the first time in Buck’s loft? They didn’t talk about it or anything that happened between them, but Buck lay in bed in Tommy’s arms the next morning, feeling like he was exactly where he needed to be.

Maddy called him a few days later and invited him to dinner at the Buckley-Han house, and Buck enthusiastically agreed.

"Buck, I just wanted to check… if you want, you don’t have to come alone," Maddy said cautiously.

"…What do you mean?" Buck was caught off guard by her words.

"Maybe you’ll introduce us to your boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend?" Buck asked, glancing at Tommy, who was sitting across the table from him. Tommy had overheard Buck’s part of the conversation and looked at him. In his eyes, Buck saw curiosity and something more… maybe hope?

Buck ran through their relationship over the past few months in his mind, and everything in his head and heart finally fell into place.

"Yeah, you’re right." Buck smiled into the phone. "Set another place at the table because I’m bringing my boyfriend." Buck said those words and caught Tommy’s answering smile.

When he hung up, Buck leaned across the table, and warm lips met him halfway.

He wasn’t sure where this would lead, but now he knew. Now he would do it right. @bucktommyfluffebruary 💗