#reality shattered and so did the screen
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imagine you’re dating ghost and no one knows. the two of you have kept it a secret on your end and his just for your protection— because ghost knows what could happen if someone finds out, how someone might try and target you to get to him, or worse, given his line of work.
but then imagine that he’s on a mission, interrogating some piece of filth ready to decorate the fucking wall with his brain matter when the guy says “you know what, simon, killing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.”
immediately ghost would pause, eyes narrowed, though his hardened demeanour wouldn’t fade much, he’d just blankly stare at the prick like “oh yea? n’ why don’ you tell m’ why.”
the shit-eating grin that would crawl across that fuckers lips would have ghost ready to kill him right then and there, but then he’d say “reach in my pocket. pull out my phone.”
id like to think ghost would have absolutely none of this assholes bullshit, not at all entertained by his theatrics. i’d like to think he’d just press the muzzle of his gun to the fuckers temple within an instant, all teeth barred and ready to get it over with when the guy would add,
“your girlfriend is a fucking beauty, isn’t she?”
everything would pause. ghost, time, the world, air, the universe itself—the life that would drain from ghosts face would almost be enough to make his alias a reality. his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers fucking trembling as he immediately reached into the assholes pocket to find his phone—a picture of a woman tied up (face not in view however) lighting up on the home screen. there’d be no thinking rationally, no thoughts in ghosts head except for making sure you were fucking okay. he’d do whatever he’d have to do, kill the guy, leave him strapped there, whatever—he’d be out of that room in two seconds flat and personally flying the helicopter back to your house calling you nonstop every fucking second until you answered.
“hello? si?”
he’d wait a second before answering. taking everything in. background noises, the inflection of your voice. it sounds calm, maybe too calm? he’s grasping his phone so fucking hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered between his fingers.
“princess,” he breathes, fighting with everything in him to keep his voice steady. “see any birds today?”
though it was a genuine question, it also was an established one. ghost had set up a series of questions for a situation precisely like this. if you said blue jay, it meant you were fine, at home, as usual. if you said crows, it meant you weren’t.
“oh just the usual blue jays, si.” he could almost hear the smile on your lips. “everything okay? i miss you.”
ghost would exhale a shattered breath. “i’m coming home.”
and then he’d show up, not all but a few hours later, hands still trembling slightly, heart rate still struggling to regulate. it was too much, reminding him too much of his past traumas, he knew he needed to find better protection for you, but that was a conversation for another time.
he’d come in the house, barely even taking the time to shut the door behind him, almost frenzied again, relentless, unable to relax until he could finally lay eyes on you. and then, the second he did, he’d just pause and look at you, all messy hair and pyjamas still on, in the kitchen cooking breakfast for you both since you knew he was on his way.
and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word, he’d just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you so tight you’d hardly be able to breathe, his face buried in your hair and his heart thumping at your back. you’d feel the pain the fear the anxiety radiating off him and you wouldn’t try to say anything because you knew he needed this, you knew he needed to see you, hold you, feel your pulse stable and alive. you knew he just needed a moment to breathe.
and so the two of you would stand there like that for a while, and then he’d take a big inhale and spin you around to face him, pulling up his mask to plant soft kisses on your jaw.
“i love you so fuckin’ much.”
#simon riley imagine#simon riley cod#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x you#simonriley#simon riley#simon#simon riley call of duty#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#simonrileysmut#ghost smut#simon ghost smut#ghost riley#ghost#ghost cod#task force 141#taskforce141
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Who's that girl? It's Jess!
Supergirl. Supercorp. Jess. Lena Luthor x Kara Danvers. Alex Danvers. Esmé Danvers. Sam Arias.
Word count: 4k
Jess flinched. The sound of the door slamming shook the glass in its frame, sharp and final. Whatever that was, it wasn’t just a disagreement. No. That was a fallout. And Jess hadn’t known anything was falling.
Kara stood in front of her, blinking fast, like she could push the tears back. Her eyes weren’t their usual bright blue. They looked clouded, raw, and most definitely wet.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Danvers,” Jess said, scrambling for professionalism and barely finding it. “Miss Luthor can’t see you right now. Maybe another time?”
It was a lie. Obviously. Lena hadn’t said ‘not right now,’ she’d said nothing, just closed the door like she was slamming a vault shut. There was no ‘maybe’ in that.
Kara gave her a smile that hurt to look at. Watery, uneven, nowhere near her eyes. Like a sun being hidden by rainy clouds. “Yeah. Maybe.”
When the elevator doors slid closed, Lena's voice rang on her phone.
“Jess, come in. Now.”
Crisp. Clipped. The kind of tone that meant Lena was either about to deliver a million-dollar idea or emotionally decapitate someone. And judging by the timing, Jess was leaning toward the latter.
She stepped into the office quietly. Lena was at the window, her arms crossed tight, posture like steel. The city lights glittered behind her, all calm and pretty and completely at odds with the tension radiating off her back.
“Yes, Miss Luthor?”
Lena turned. Her face was a mask, perfectly composed, perfectly cold. But Jess had worked for her long enough to know better. That stillness meant something was breaking underneath.
“Make a note,” Lena said, voice low and terrifyingly even. “Kara Danvers is no longer allowed access to this building. At any time. Is that clear?”
Jess’s mouth dropped open before she could stop it. Her brain scrambled. What?
She shut it again quickly, forcing her face back into something professional, but it was already too late. Kara? Not allowed? Ever?
That made no sense. They were always together. Lunch in Lena’s office nearly every day, whispered conversations and shared coffees and—
Oh god. The flowers. The thousands of flowers.
And the CatCo acquisition… Jess had always told herself it was a strategy. Smart move. Expanding influence. But now? Now there's more to it.
Jess blinked. Her brain was spinning, trying to reprocess everything — every lingering glance, every too-long lunch break, every quiet little moment she’d been too busy or too polite to question.
Lena turned back to the window. “Is that understood, Jess?”
Jess swallowed. “Yes, Miss Luthor.”
But her hands were already cold. Her mind wouldn’t stop spiraling.
She started mentally drafting the email to security, fingers twitching with the effort to act normal. But another part of her, the slightly nosey, deeply confused part, was flipping through years of memories, stitching together a very different version of reality.
She hesitated. Usually she’d ask if Lena needed anything else, but the silence in the room felt dangerous. Lena looked like she might shatter if someone breathed too hard. Jess wanted to say something, anything, maybe even So… did you and Kara break up? But that would’ve been insane. Suicidal, even.
“You’re dismissed.”
Jess nodded. “Alright, Miss Luthor.” and slipped out, shutting the door behind her as quietly as she could.
Back at her desk, Jess stared at the glowing screen in front of her. The email she was about to send felt surreal. Like being told to ban sunlight from the windows.
Kara Danvers: banned from L-Corp.
Lena and Kara were supposed to be constants. Staples of the L-Corp ecosystem. Jess had honestly thought they might outlive the company itself. But now?
Her fingers froze halfway through the entry.
She remembered the late nights. The flowers that always showed up in Kara's office. The way Lena laughed when Kara was in the room, like the sound had been waiting for her.
God. Had they been dating? Like actually dating? And no one noticed?
It felt like discovering your favorite book had a secret chapter written in invisible ink.
Before she could spiral further into the rabbit hole of accidental queer historical analysis, her intercom buzzed.
“Jess,” Lena’s voice crackled through “Can you come in for a moment?”
Jess stood so fast her chair nearly toppled over. “On my way, Miss Luthor.”
Inside, Lena hadn’t moved much from earlier. But now she had a glass of something amber in her hand. Not enough to be a warning sign, just enough to hint at it.
Jess waited for instructions. Except… none came. Lena turned after a long silence, and when she did, her mask had slipped a fraction.
“She lied to me,” Lena said quietly.
Jess opened her mouth, then closed it again. This… wasn’t in the assistant handbook.
“I’m sorry,” she offered, incapable of more.
Lena exhaled, slow and tired. “You know what’s ridiculous? I had an entire speech about honesty. I was going to make it very logical, calm. I even practiced it.”
Jess's mouth went dry. This is definitely not my job, she thought, but nodded anyway, as if she had any right to be standing here for this.
“But when I saw her, it just—” Lena broke off, shaking her head like she was shaking something loose. “It didn’t matter. I couldn’t say any of it. I just—slammed the door.” A dry, humorless huff of laughter escaped her. “Real mature.”
Jess’s brain short-circuited. Had Lena Luthor just… opened up to her? Like, actual human emotions kind of opened up?
“Do you want me to…” she began, then trailed off, because she had no idea how that sentence was going to end.
“No,” Lena said, with a wave of her hand. “You’ve done enough. Thank you, Jess.”
Jess gave a professional nod and fled.
Back at her desk, she clutched her mug like it was a flotation device. Her mind screamed: Okay so definitely dating. Or almost dating. Or in love with each other and refusing to admit it, which is basically the same thing except more exhausting.
This was no longer just a Kara-and-Lena problem. This was a national crisis. And she was in the middle of it.
How had she become the reluctant keeper of Lena Luthor’s heartbreak?
She wasn’t just taking notes for work anymore. She was… documenting. Witnessing. Cataloguing the slow unraveling of something she didn’t fully understand but was definitely too close to ignore. The more she thought about it: the late nights, the private lunches, the suspiciously domestic little rituals… the more obvious it all became.
The relationship between Lena Luthor and Kara Danvers wasn’t just significant. It was foundational. Jess had always thought they were some kind of weird workplace gravitational constant.
And now?
Now Lena was heartbreak in heels, Kara looked like she'd been hollowed out from the inside, and Jess was left trying to make sense of the cosmic fallout.
That’s when she started her list — the mental one she couldn’t stop building:
Definitely Dating, Right?? Evidence:
So many dinner plans
Knew each other's coffee order by heart
Baked bribes (plural)
Kara spoke at Lena’s tech conference like it was a wedding toast
Hugs lasted way too long
Lena laughs different when Kara’s in the room
And Kara. The way she’d looked today, like the ache was living right under her skin. Like she’d lost something irreplaceable and was still trying not to show it.
That’s what did it. That’s when Jess decided. She was going to fix this.
She didn’t mean to get this involved. Really.
But there’s only so much dramatic silence, longing stares, and closed office doors a person can take before something in them just… snaps.
So, fine. Maybe she started keeping a little list. Maybe there were steps. Maybe she was going to do everything she could to fix it.
Sue her.
But Operation Get-Kara-And-Lena-Back-Together was officially a go.
Step one: intel gathering. She cornered Kara’s sister in the CatCo lobby with a muffin and her most innocent smile.
“Totally unrelated,” She began.
"To what? We weren't even talking…”
“If you had to guess who broke the other’s heart, which way would you bet?”
Alex blinked, visibly weighing the odds that this was a trap.
Jess leaned in. “Think of me as Switzerland. Just with better taste in boots.”
Alex’s opinions turned out to be too cryptic to log. Jess crossed her off the source list. But maybe Sam would know something. She was Lena’s best friend, after all.
The call was innocuous enough. Something about the L Corp subsidiary Sam was overseeing. And then, halfway through pretending to care about quarterly projections, Jess dropped the question:
“Oh, by the way,” she said, casually, “totally random, but has Lena mentioned anything about, I don’t know, a catastrophic romantic implosion recently? Like, hypothetically?”
There was a pause. Then a sigh.
“Jesus. Did they actually break up?”
Jess sat up straighter. “So you knew something was going on.”
Sam made a noise like she was pinching the bridge of her nose. “Jess. Everyone knew. Esmé made them a macaroni art collage titled ‘My Aunts in Love.’”
Jess slammed her laptop shut. “Why does no one tell me anything?!”
“I assumed you knew. You’re literally their handler.”
Step two: emotional traps, aka weaponized sentimentality.
She dug up an old photo from the office holiday party — Lena looking terrifying (and gorgeous) in a black velvet dress, Kara leaning into her side with a candy cane between her teeth and stars in her eyes. Jess casually slipped it onto Lena’s desk, tucked between two budget reports.
The photo was mysteriously missing the next day.
It wasn’t her fault, she told herself. While knowing, in fact, it was entirely her fault.
The flowers were already scheduled — same as always, every other week. Sure, she could’ve canceled the order. But Lena had been so busy lately. Too busy to notice something small and stupid like…
...flowers.
Jess didn’t see Kara cry. But according to CatCo’s assistant, Kara had torn her office apart trying to find the card.
There wasn’t one this time.
And yeah — she cried when she couldn’t find it.
Step Three: recruitment.
Or, as she would later call it, the day she accidentally gained a co-conspirator.
"I'm in," Alex said, cornering her by the elevator before Jess had even had a chance to swipe her badge.
Jess blinked. “What?”
“Whatever strategy, sabotage, divine intervention you’ve got going to get those two back together — I’m in. I can't take it anymore. Kara’s been moping around like a kicked puppy for weeks. So... what’s the next step?”
Jess stared at her, half-awake, “Is this… a dream? Am I hallucinating this because of sleep deprivation and romantic rage?”
Alex crossed her arms. “Jess.”
“Oh my God, this is real,” Jess whispered. Then louder: “Okay. Okay, yeah. Welcome to Operation Emotional Whiplash.”
Step Four: use their love for Esmé.
Jess had considered it, briefly. But she figured Alex would never go for it. Surely she wouldn’t let her baby daughter get involved in a scheme to emotionally manipulate two full-grown adults. Right?
Wrong.
When Esmé marched into the office with a crayon drawing titled “Happy Again” and a very specific request that both Kara and Lena be present for the unveiling, Jess realized this wasn’t a solo mission anymore.
This was a movement.
“They both cried,” Esmé reported afterward, entirely unfazed. “Can I have a cookie now?”
Jess gave her three. For bravery.
It was on step five, however, that things got out of hand.
Step Five: go big or—oh my God, am I losing my mind?
It started with a theme. That’s how you knew things had spiraled out of control.
Jess had been brainstorming ways to "accidentally" lure Kara and Lena into the same room without risking another emotional detonation. Something light. Fun. Distracting.
“Maybe… a party?” she said one day, mostly to herself.
But then Alex — sleep-deprived, emotionally unstable, and drunk on too much sisterly guilt — looked up from her phone and said, “What about a carnival?”
That should’ve been the end of it. A throwaway idea. But instead Jess said, “Oh my God. Yes. I know a guy with a popcorn machine.”
One week later, L-Corp's private rooftop was transformed. There was a cotton candy station. String lights and streamers in shimmering SuperCorp color palettes. Esmé had made a sign that said “Lena & Kara’s Fun Time, Attendance Mandatory” with glitter stickers.
No one stopped her.
Alex somehow acquired a miniature ferris wheel. “Don’t ask,” she said, tossing receipts onto Jess’s desk that made her gag audibly.
“Why did you buy a hundred plush space frogs?” Jess asked.
“For atmosphere,” Alex said, visibly unhinged.
It got to the point where Sam had to get involved. Since they were kind of, you know, spending a lot of company money on this.
It was around hour nine of hand-painting the “Super Ring Toss” sign that Jess realized she might have gone too far.
Like, way too far.
There was paint on her sleeves, glitter in her hair, and the faint sound of an air pump inflating a moon bounce in the background. She was pretty sure she’d pulled something carrying a popcorn cart up so many flights of stairs because somebody (her, it was her) forgot to rent the freight elevator.
“This is insane,” she muttered to no one, dropping her paintbrush. “This is absolutely unhinged. I’m Lena's assistant, not their fairy godmother. Or their therapist. Or their… weird matchmaking friend with a craft addiction.”
She looked around at the carnival chaos blooming around her.
Lena was her boss. Technically. No, definitely. And Kara was—well, Kara was supposed to be banned from the building.
And here Jess was. Making a rigged carnival game with her bare hands to force them into the same romantic airspace.
She sat down, right in the middle of the glittery mess. “What am I doing?”
There was a soft rustling beside her. Esmé plopped down cross-legged, holding a container of heart-shaped stickers. She silently peeled one off and stuck it to Jess’s arm.
“You’re doing amazing,” she said solemnly.
Jess blinked. “Thanks.”
The sticker read #1 Boss Cupid. When did Esmé have time to do that?
And then, before she knew, before she had time to second guess this further— the guests arrived. CatCo employees. L-Corp staff. Sam came in from Metropolis. Brainy and Nia showed up in matching outfits.
Lena arrived in red. Kara showed up wearing blue. Jess nearly screamed. She didn’t. She swallowed it. Barely.
Soon Esmé was holding up a camera yelling, “Say cheese or I’m telling everyone about that time you fell asleep while babysitting!!” And they actually stood together. For a photo. Neither of them burst into flames.
Jess hid behind the popcorn machine and gripped the counter like it was keeping her tethered to the earth. Alex sidled up beside her, holding a snow cone.
“They’re talking,” Alex said quietly. “Like, actual words. No tragic silences.”
Jess exhaled so hard it came out like a sob. “Oh my god. Do you think it’s working?”
“If it doesn’t, we burn the whole city down and start over.”
“Valid.”
Across the crowd, Kara laughed at something Lena said. Lena didn’t look away. Her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile but failing.
Jess stared at them, heart pounding. “I might actually cry.”
“Don’t,” Alex warned. “It'll make this weird.”
Jess’s eyes flicked around the party. “I’m pretty sure this is already weird.”
As more guests arrived, Jess busied herself with last-minute carnival tasks, but her gaze kept returning to Kara and Lena. They were standing close, laughing, as if their recent conflict had never happened. For the first time since her crazy scheme began, a flicker of hope ignited within her. Maybe, just maybe, her ridiculous plan might actually work.
And then, it happened. Near the balloon animals.
Jess was restocking napkins—because apparently no one else at this fake carnival cared about organization—when she felt a hand catch hers, light and sure.
She turned.
Kara stood there, soft-eyed and shining under the string lights. She didn’t say anything at first, just held Jess’s paint-smudged hand for a second longer than necessary. Then, in the quietest voice, just loud enough to hear over the cotton candy machine, she murmured, “Thank you.”
Jess blinked. “For what?”
Kara's smile was small, knowing, and just a little sad.
Jess tried to shrug. “I mean, technically, this was all Alex’s—”
But Kara had already moved on, slipping back into the crowd, the moment barely a breath.
Jess stared after her, heart hammering. She felt it. That glowing warmth in her chest. Like she’d done something good. Like maybe, just maybe, it had mattered.
And she nearly got away with it. She was this close to slipping out the side exit with her dignity semi-intact when—
“Jess.”
The voice stopped her like a trap snapping shut. She froze, turned slowly—and yep. Lena.
Hands on her hips. Red lipstick slightly smudged. Dangerous glint in her eyes. Standing between Jess and every possible escape route.
“Hi,” Jess said, way too brightly. “Did you enjoy the festivities?”
Lena raised a brow. “You mean the unsolicited rooftop carnival that hijacked my company’s schedule and budget for the week?”
“I would classify it as an interdepartmental morale-boosting social activation event,” Jess offered. “Helps build synergy.”
“Synergy,” Lena repeated flatly.
“Between divisions,” Jess nodded, backing toward the door, “especially with Kara as the head of CatCo—technically—”
“Right,” Lena cut in. “We’ll talk about it. Tomorrow.”
Jess gave her most professional, definitely-not-panicking smile. “Tomorrow? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Step Six: get fired... possibly?
Jess came in early. Earlier than usual. Earlier than anyone ever should.
She wasn’t sure if it was the anxiety, the fear of Lena Luthor’s wrath, or the fact that she hadn’t actually slept thanks to the glitter still embedded in her pillowcase. Probably all three. Definitely the glitter.
She sat at her desk like it was a confession booth. Hands folded. Phone off. Soul bared.
At 8:01 AM, Lena’s door opened.
“Jess,” Lena said. Flat. Sharp. And, oh god, wearing her all-black power suit—the firing suit.
Jess stood immediately. “Morning! You look—powerful.”
“Come in.”
Jess followed her into the office like she was walking into a guillotine.
Lena didn’t sit. She turned, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “I was set on firing you yesterday.”
Jess flinched hard. Oh this is gonna be bad.
“But,” Lena continued, pacing slowly behind her desk, “some people came to your rescue.”
Jess blinked. “...People?”
“Alex,” Lena said with a sigh, “told me it was her idea too. Which I kind of believed. Esmé cried, saying it was to make us happy. And Sam—well. Sam called me a ‘romantic coward’ and said I should be thanking you for having more spine than Kara and I combined.”
“Oh, wow.”
Lena fixed her with a look. “Apparently, they are big fans of your meddling work.”
Jess tried not to squirm. “I... appreciate their support?”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m not furious.”
Here it comes, Jess thought. The scathing takedown. The monologue. The legal action.
Lena stepped closer, voice quiet but sharp. “Do you understand how insane it is to throw an unauthorized carnival on a corporate rooftop? How many liability waivers did I have to sign this morning?”
“Alex said we didn't need permits,” Jess offered weakly. “She is the one working for the government, so I—”
“You forged a fake event memo, Jess.”
Jess coughed. “Barely. I always write them anyway. I just… made you sign it.”
“You spent company money on a miniature ferris wheel and a hundred space frogs.”
“For atmosphere,” Jess mumbled.
“And,” Lena continued, eyebrows climbing higher, “you had Esmé write a glitter-covered sign that said ‘Attendance Mandatory by me and Kara. Which was not at all subtle.’”
“Trust me, she came up with that. I just—didn't stop her.”
Lena sighed. Rubbed her temple. Finally, finally sat behind her desk, looking way more tired than Jess had expected.
“I’m your boss,” she said after a long pause. “This—whatever that was—it crossed a lot of lines.”
Jess nodded, swallowing. “I know.”
“You orchestrated an entire operation behind my back. You used a child. Esmé now thinks she's Cupid. With stickers.”
“Her moms were okay with that.”
Lena stared at her.
Jess straightened. “Look, I know I should apologize. And I do. I’m sorry. I got too involved. I shouldn’t have. But—” She hesitated. “You seemed miserable. Kara was definitely miserable. And Esmé kept drawing pictures of the two of you holding hands in front of a rainbow. And I just—”
“You just what?”
Jess’s voice softened. “I just wanted you to be happy.”
The silence stretched. Lena leaned back in her chair, studying her.
“Why?” she said eventually. Quiet.
Jess froze. That wasn’t the question she’d expected. She could’ve handled being yelled at. But ‘why?’ That was… dangerous. That was soft. And Jess had no armor for it today.
“I—” she started, but stopped.
Why?
Because she’d seen Lena break a picture frame of both of them. Because she’d watched Kara nearly cry her heart out in front of a stranger. Because the two of them had been walking around like broken halves of something whole, and it hurt to look at. That’s why.
But Jess didn’t say any of that. Couldn't. Instead, she offered, “Because! You're the CEO. If you're happy, the employees are happy.”
Lena blinked. Her expression didn’t change, but something in her posture shifted—just slightly. Her arms uncrossed. Her shoulders dropped.
“Look, Miss Luthor, I'm sorry. I know it’s not my place, and I crossed the line, and I accept whatever comes next. But someone had to do something. And I wasn't alone on it, because everyone else saw how much you two weren't fine. I'm sorry but—I’d do it again.”
There was a long pause. Lena stared at her. And then, with an exhausted sigh, Lena reached into a drawer and pulled out a folder.
Jess braced for termination papers.
Instead, Lena muttered, “We’re moving your office.”
Jess blinked. “Wait—what?”
“You’re being promoted,” Lena said, eyebrow raising. “Effective immediately. You’re now Head of Cross-Departmental Relations.”
“Is… that a real thing?”
“It is now.”
Jess blinked again. “You’re not firing me?”
Lena exhaled slowly, then looked up at her, gaze even. “I probably should. But apparently you’ve wormed your way into everyone’s hearts. Including Kara’s. And Esmé’s. And Sam’s. And even Alex's, somehow. So you’re staying.”
Jess let out a half-hysterical breath. “Okay. Okay. Cool. Promoted!’
“But next time you plan a romantic ambush on my property,” Lena added, “you run it by me. Or I will call security.”
Jess grinned. “Deal.”
She stood, legs slightly wobbly from adrenaline, and backed toward the door.
“Jess?” Lena said just before she reached it.
She turned. “Yeah?”
“…Thank you,” Lena said, quiet. Sincere.
Her heart did something weird in her chest. She nodded once—quickly—afraid she would say something dumb like You’re welcome, Boss, please name your first child after me.
Jess’s heart thudded so hard she was worried Lena might actually hear it. She turned to go—already halfway out the door when—
“Wait,” she said, almost without meaning to. She turned back, voice unsteady. “Did it… work?”
Lena paused. Her expression didn’t change right away. Still cool. Still unreadable. But something in her eyes shifted—softer, maybe. A little lighter.
She looked at her desk. Then back at Jess.
“We talked,” she said, a smile threatening to appear. “Last night.”
Jess held her breath.
Lena gave the smallest nod, like she was still getting used to the idea of opening up to her assistant. “We’re giving each other another chance.”
Jess actually swayed on the spot. Lena didn’t comment on it, which was kind.
So she bit back the thousand squeaky sounds building in her throat and just said, very seriously, “Okay. Okay. That’s… good. That’s very good. I mean, for you. Good for you.”
She bolted.
Lena didn’t stop her. But she was definitely smiling when the door closed.
Step Seven: reunite National City’s most dramatic power couple.
Step Eight: never admit how happy that made her. Not out loud, anyway.
#supergirl#supercorp#kara danvers#lena luthor#kara x lena#jess#sam arias#alex danvers#esme olsen danvers
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[Hey, how are you?] Simon Riley*F!Reader
Ten years ago, Simon lost you due to his mistake, and he meets you again after these years of regret.
Hurt and comfort, Happy Ending
“Are you married?”
He always be asked when others see the ring on his finger.
“No.” He answers while taking another sip of his wine, letting the person realize it’s a topic they don’t have the authority to dig in.
He still remembers the vow he chanted as he put the ring on your finger.
The memory is as clear as the day you left the house, and he never saw you again.
It’s his fault, you didn’t shed many tears when he yelled at you, saying that you will never be able to free him from his nightmares, who do you think you are? a fucking philanthropist?
He knew he screwed up everything the moment his taunt escape his mouth.
No, No. I didn’t mean to say that, I need you, I love you, please don’t leave me.
He watched you lower your head, trying in vain to hide your sadness, but your heart was already shattered into pieces, by him, the man who promised to protect you by any means.
I’m sorry.
The words stuck in his throat when he looked at you stepping out the threshold with your belongings.
Please stay.
The greedy wish was buried inside his heart when you stopped for a second. “Bye, Simon. Take care.” you whispered, and disappeared into the aisle.
Ten years, he’s still unable to move on.
He brainwashes himself repeatedly, she will have a better life without you.
Yet he still opens his phone every time he finishes his therapy sessions, looks at your number, and just stares at the screen for minutes.
His thumb lingers on the “call” button but never dares to press it.
Hey, are you doing alright? I’m sorry, I want you back. I went to therapy after that day. I’m not the same person caged in his past anymore.
I miss you so much.
but how selfish he is if he interrupts your life now? Such a nice person like you deserves someone to cherish you nicely, and treasure you with their whole heart.
That’s why he now stands afar from you, watching you behind the veil of autumn’s breeze.
You’re still stunning, time doesn’t deprive your beauty even a bit.
He gazes at you for a long while, and when you turn around and spot him, it’s obvious that you’re in shock and come to a halt.
The world keeps moving, but the time seems frozen between you two, as you both set eyes on each other and never dart.
You head towards him as he starts hesitating to take the first move.
“Hey.” You look at him with a shallow grin on your face.
“Hey.” He mumbles.
The silence fills the air, but no awkwardness, he’s just too indulged in your presence, which he has been dreaming of for years.
Sorry for that day. How are you doing now? Have you married? Have a partner?...
He has too many things he wants to ask, but his thoughts are like matted wool, until his eyes land on the ring on your finger.
“You’re marrie—“ He questions without a second thought, but the words get cut off instantly due to his realization.
because the ring is paired with the one on his finger right now.
It’s not until you chuckle that he’s back to reality.
“Yes, I’m married, about ten years ago? to an idiot man.”
“Why did you marry him? he’s a bloody dork.”
“Good question. or maybe that’s the reason why I married him.” Shrugging, you then meet his gaze with a smile “How about you? Are you married?”
“Yeah, ten years ago, to a woman that’s too precious for me, so I lost her.”
“If you meet her again, what do you want to tell her?”
“I’ve improved. I’ve reached for help and now I’m not the same man anymore.”
“Anything else you want to say?”
“I miss her every single day, and I hope I can have her in my arms again.”
“Well, I don’t know about her.” you step closer to him. “But I’m sure she will love to have some tea with you as her first compensation from you, what do you think?”
He blinks at the hand you reach out at him, and slowly, he takes it into his palms, that’s befitting to drive away the chill.
Your hand fits well in his, like it’s made for him to serve it with all his warmth, and he’s sure that he will never let go of it again.
“My pleasure.”
a/n: lemme give Simon a fucking punch/j
#cod imagine#ghost x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#cod x reader#simon riley imagine#cod x you#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon 'ghost' riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost x reader
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INSENSITIVE — L.N



lando norris x fem! reader
in which one drunken night blurs the line between friendship and something more, and you’re left wondering if he ever meant it at all.
warnings; emotional angst, friends to almost lovers(??), miscommunication, one-sided feelings (or is it?), alcohol use, unspoken regret, he might be emotionally unavailable (but you’re still hoping he’s not lol)
a/n: i don’t even know what this is lol. i was listening to insensitive by jann arden.
it started with a drunken kiss.
you never meant for it to happen—it wasn’t planned or romantic or anything you’d dream of on quiet nights when you’d wonder if he ever thought of you that way. you don’t even remember who initiated it, who leaned in first, or who crossed that line, but somehow you both found yourselves in a heated kiss, the tv with some show you randomly picked on netflix long forgotten. one minute you were half-watching some show, and the next you were kissing him like your life depended on it.
his hand on your hips, his thumb warm and slow under your shirt, tracing small circles that made your stomach flip. your arms wrapped around his neck like you’ve done it a thousand times before, like your body knew this is where it always belonged.
a small peck.
that was all it took to shatter everything you thought you understood.
it was reckless, it was new, it was exciting, and it was something you never thought you’d want. it felt real. too real. and somewhere in the middle of it, you dared to wonder, what if we were more than just friends?
but the illusion ended when your breath caught and a small moan slipped past your lips.
that sound, your vulnerability made real, was what pulled him back to reality.
he stopped abruptly and pulled away like he’d been burned. his chest rose and fell, a mirror of yours, and for a moment he held your hand, his thumb still stroking it softly. you looked at him confused, flushed, full of questions.
but he didn’t look back.
he turned toward the screen, like the last ten minutes hadn’t even happened, like the kiss was just something he hallucinated in a dream.
a new episode started. he didn’t say a word.
you sat there in the thick silence, trying to convince yourself that maybe he just needed time. but his arm draped around your shoulders like it was nothing. like you were nothing.
and that’s when the ache started. a slow, sinking feeling that maybe you had read too much into it. maybe the kiss only meant something to you.
you didn’t speak. not because you didn’t want to, but because his silence said everything.
⸻
you’ve always wondered how people learn to be so cold. so careless. to touch someone like that, kiss them like that, and then act like they didn’t leave a bruise behind.
he didn’t just kiss you. he kissed you like you were something fragile. like he knew the shape of your heart and wanted to hold it in his hands.
and then he dropped it.
how could he be so insensitive?
the next morning, nothing changed.
he acted like it was just another day. he offered you coffee like he hadn’t torn something inside you. he asked if you wanted to finish the show.
you laughed. bitter. sharp.
how do you finish a show with someone who won’t even finish a conversation?
you wanted to ask him, did it mean anything to you? did I mean anything to you?
but the truth was, you already knew the answer.
it was in the way he avoided your eyes.
in the way he never mentioned it again.
in the way he never even said he was sorry.
and so, you didn’t ask.
you just let him talk about anything else. everything else. like you weren’t breaking quietly beside him.
⸻
and maybe that’s what hurts the most—
not that he kissed you.
not even that he stopped.
but that he could make you feel wanted…
and then pretend you never were.
#lando norris#lando x reader#lando x you#lando fanfic#lando x y/n#lando norris x reader#landoscar#angst#formula 1#formula one#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1#mclaren
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messy / regina george
PAIRING regina george x fem!reader
SUMMARY you and regina have been secretly hooking up for months, but she breaks up with you when you ask for more. after she gets hit by a bus, you fear for her life and whatever relationship you have left.
TAGS regina george x fem!reader, hurt/comfort, angst, happy ending, queer!, reneé rapp is so fine 😫😫, internalized homophobia, use of d-slur (lesbian slur)
QUOTE "half of all my exes regret me, / but none of them will ever forget me, / loving me gets really messy," - messy by reneé rapp
WRITTEN 1.13.2024
WORD COUNT 1.3K
A/N everytime reneé showed up on screen, i literally started banging my fists against my seat because she SERVED CUNT!!!! SHE WAS SO FINE!!!! literally after the movie, my best friend said to me: "i think you're just gay. i think you're a woman kisser. you might just have a little fruit in your cup."
slammed up against the wall, you felt regina's teeth clash furiously against yours. it was all hot passion - how your lips ran feverishly against hers as though you'd never get to feel her touch again, the way her hands ran up and down the sides of your body as though she needed to memorize the shape of you. days the two of you had gone without a moment to yourselves. days you had spent fantasizing about her pressing you up against the wall. it wasn't that you didn't want a normal relationship. it wasn't that you didn't want to kiss and hold hands and go on cute dates, but . . . that wasn't regina's style. she was closeted. heavily. actually, you weren't sure that she even understood that making out with girls was perhaps the most gay thing she could do, but you were willing to take what you were given. it was regina george, after all.
she pulled away from you by biting gently down on your lip, letting go when she could no longer stretch it any longer. "god, you're so hot," she whispered with a smirk, unbuttoned the first two buttons of your shirt. she reclaimed the control she had over your body, pressing her lips to your collarbone. your hands somehow found their way to her beautiful blond locks, scraping her scalp with the sharp edge of your nails. fantasy was nothing like reality. you had forgotten how good it felt, but how terrible it was all at once. as her warm breath tickled your skin, doubts that had been haunting you the past few days filled your mind slowly. was this healthy? didn't you deserve a healthy queer relationship, one that would be open and free and full of love, real love?
you wanted it all. you wanted the life you saw other queer girls have all around the world. going on cute picnic dates with homeade muffins and favorite books, sitting in the lap of your partner and doing their makeup, snuggling on the couch while watching a movie. holding hands while strolling the town center. it was hard to keep these thoughts back any longer. they overflowed.
you felt regina freeze as you gently pushed her away from where she had latched onto your upper chest. "can we, um, talk?" you ask. she could hear the tone in your voice. you knew she could. the way her eyes met yours made your stomach twist with discomfort.
"talk?" she asked in an incredulous tone, pulling away.
"it's just that, well, hear me out first. i like you. i really like you, a lot! that's why i really want us to be more than . . . making out in the custodian's closet after school and sneaking into your room while your mom's asleep," you explained nervously, stumbling over your words. finally able to meet her eyes, all hope was shattered as you felt her icy stare fixed upon your flushed face.
"i thought we made a deal when we started this. nothing more than this." she barked out a bitter laugh and fluffed out her hair. "what, did you think i was some kind of dyke or something? this was supposed to be fun. nice job stamping out that fire." she opened the door to the closet and waltzed out like nothing had happened. as if you didn't spend the entire last three months building a bond. heart: broken.
-
fear couldn't describe the emotion you felt driving to the hospital. it was gut-wrenching, blood-curdling, heart-tearingly excruciating. the rumors swirling around made your sick with worry. could she really be dead?
you weren't there when it happened. you had been driving home and then doing homework, hiding your phone away in a drawer somewhere to keep you distracted. it wasn't until hours later that you checked your notifications to realize she had been admitted to the er.
you rushed into the hospital, demanding to hear about her condition.
"are you immediate family?" the nurse at the desk asked. of course you lied. of course you said yes. she gave you the room number and told you that you could wait in the hall - the doctors were talking with her mother and you would need to wait until she woke up herself.
when you arrived at the door to her room, you were afraid to look inside. you weren't sure why. she was alive, yes. maybe you were afraid she was still upset with you. or worse, she had amnesia and forgot about you completely. dejected, you collapsed into the very comfortable plastic chair next to her room.
a few minutes later, the door opened and the doctors and mrs. george exited the room. you stood up suddenly, expectant in your expression.
"she's fine. she's going to heal 100%, she just needs to wear a corrective neck bracelet for several weeks," the doctors assured you. you could relax, just a little. they walked down the hall, chatting softly. mrs. george grinned at you - you had met before, of course, being introduced as one of regina'a friends.
"well, look who we have here! did you hear the news? they said my name on the evening," she told you excitedly, as though her daughter weren't stuck in the hospital from injuries resulting for being hit. by a bus. "head on in darling, those cute boys said she'd be awake soon." her eyes trailed down the hall to the two doctors that had revived regina. with a mini-wave and a "toodle-doo!" she was down the hall and full on flirting with men much younger than herself.
the doorknob to regina's room stared back at you with intimidation so strong you almost turned around and drove home. you reached out a closed your hand around the cool metal, slowly turning it until you were passing through the doorway and standing feet away from her bed. it didn't feel as scary as you thought, entering her room, staring over at her bed. she looked more at peace then you had ever seen her, she looked prettier than you had ever seen her. without her mean-girl face, she seemed a lot more genuine. a lot more like the regina that opened up to you that one chilly night in december.
you silently pulled a chair next to her bed and sat there, waiting for her to wake up. you didn't mind the wait, in a way. because she was sitting there next to you, and she was going to be okay.
when regina awoke, she seemed more confused than anything. her brows furrowed as she looked around the room, her eyes finally landing on you.
"hey," you said all of a sudden, sitting up straight. "you're okay, you're fine. you're . . . in the hospital."
"what are you doing here?" not snappy or bitter or angry. genuine.
"i heard you got hit by a bus," you said, biting your bottom lip anxiously. would she yell at you? tell you she never wanted to see you again? "i heard . . . i you died. i just had to see for myself, to make sure you were okay. i'm sorry, if you don't want me here, i'll -"
"don't leave!" she shouted, grabbing your hand. you stared down at the place where her skin met your hand. this wasn't happening. this couldn't be happening. her fingers intertwined with yours and you find her eyes to be pleading you. "please, just don't leave."
"regina -"
"just shut up and listen, okay?" she told you, sounding upset, but it didn't seem to be an emotion she was directing towards you. you sat back down and scooted your chair closer to her. "i want us to be something more too . . . okay? i like you, loser."
you narrowed your eyes at her. "is this regina george trying to be nice?" you asked dubiously.
"don't ruin the moment or i'm taking everything i said back."
"no," you said quickly, shaking your head with a smile. you placed your other hand on the one clasped in hers. "it's a good look on you. really."
#— [ glizzy posts ☆ ]#regina george x reader#regina george x you#mean girls 2024#mean girls musical#mean girls#my writing#fanfiction#my fanfiction#my fic#writing#fanfic#renee rapp#reneé rapp
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Denial: As If It Were a Choice
Azul Ashengrotto x Reader
tags: fluff, inspired by azul 2024 bday card voiceline
summary: Azul was in complete denial. Your genuine interest and honesty about pursuing him romantically left him utterly confused. A date at the local fair? This had to be some kind of love scam—or worse, an elaborate mlm scheme. Right?
“How wonderful love is. It creates so many problems for folks that they have to come to someone like ME for help.”
Hypocrisy at its finest. Even Daedalus, the master craftsman, would laugh himself into the sun at the tangled mess Azul had just stepped into. Even Orpheus, after failing to retrieve Eurydice, would pat Azul on the back and say, “That’s rough, buddy.”
Because he, Azul Ashengrotto, was supposed to be the schemer. The one who spotted every loophole, exploited every weakness, and ensured that no deal was ever made against his favor.
And yet—
“You’re working hard as always, Azul!”
Azul flinched. He had been so engrossed in reviewing contracts that he hadn’t even noticed you enter.
“How did you—? Who let you—? How did you get in here?!” he snapped, immediately sitting up straight.
“Oh! Jade said I could just enter.” you replied, smiling like you hadn't just shattered every security protocol Azul had in place.
Feeling the betrayal seep into his bones, he knew those damn eels had sold him out. But before he could even begin plotting revenge, you spoke again—
Completely derailed his entire existence.
“I'm pursuing you!”
Azul instantly short-circuited. His brain did the mental equivalent of a blue screen.
“You’re WHAT?!”
“Romantically!” You clasped your hands together, beaming like this was normal human behavior. “That’s why I’m inviting you to the fair this weekend. Oh! They have fried chicken, by the way! I know you like it.”
Azul’s eye twitched violently. What— what was this?
A love scam? An elaborate multi-level marketing scheme? Some previously undiscovered pyramid scheme where he was the target instead of the orchestrator?!
No—NO. That wasn’t possible. He would have noticed the signs. The recruitment tactics. The suspiciously friendly invitations.
… Wait.
Was this one of those forbidden love spells he had always been so careful to avoid?!
Or worse.
Had someone abused a loophole in a contract he hadn’t accounted for?
His hands flew to his coat, patting his pockets as if a cursed contract would fall out. Did someone sell his own heart to this absolute menace in front of him?!
Is this how it feels to be scammed! IS THIS HOW HIS CLIENTS FELT?! Azul folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at you like you had just offered him a fraudulent stock investment.
“What’s your angle?” he demanded.
You blinked. “Huh?”
“This—” He waved a hand wildly between the two of you. “—This business transaction—!”
“Confession.”
“—This confession transaction—”
“Just confession.”
“—This blatant attempt at fraud—!”
You tilted your head. “It’s not fraud? I just like you. That’s it!”
He now felt something deep within his soul fracture.
“You’re too honest.” he muttered, rubbing his temple as if trying to ward off the migraine of the century.
“Yep!” You nodded enthusiastically. “Gotta make a good foundation, y’know?”
Azul’s soul nearly exited his body. A good foundation.
A GOOD FOUNDATION.
WHAT WAS THIS, A BUSINESS MERGER?!
WHAT SORT OF ADVANCED EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION TECHNIQUE WAS THIS?!?!
“This isn't how romance works.” Azul hissed, as if saying it aloud would somehow reverse time. “Where’s the fine print? The hidden agenda? The careful deception?!”
You blinked. “Oh! I mean, consent is cool! And so are choices! You can totally reject the date if you don’t want to. No pressure! Just lemme know once you’re done thinking, okay?”
“Done thinking—” He exhaled sharply, gripping his desk as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. “You—you expect me to think about this?!”
“Well, yeah! Big decisions need proper thinking time!”
BIG DECISIONS.
Azul can feel a second overblot forming, all from this nonsense.
You gave him a cheerful little wave. “Alright, see you tomorrow, Azul! Take your time!”
He sat there, paralyzed, as you exited like you hadn’t just tossed his entire worldview into some deepest trench. This had to be some kind of conspiracy. It had to be.
There was no way someone would just walk into his office, declare their romantic pursuit, and leave. So he just stared at the contract on his desk. The ink had smudged from how hard he had been gripping his pen.
His hand was shaking because the horrifying, gut-wrenching truth was—
You were being completely serious.
Azul had absolutely not come to this fair for a date.
Absolutely. Not.
This was market research. Yes, that’s all it was. He was simply here to observe seasonal trends, analyze consumer behavior, and assess potential menu additions for the Mostro Lounge.
The fact that you had invited him was purely incidental. The fact that he had dressed well was merely a reflection of his natural sophistication. The fact that he had spent far too long thinking about what to say to you was… irrelevant.
This was a professional outing. Nothing more.
At least, that was what he kept repeating to himself, right until the moment he saw you waving at him, beaming with an enthusiasm so bright it made him squint.
“Azul! You really came!”
Your excitement was unreasonably infectious, and before he could even formulate a proper response, you were already standing in front of him, looking genuinely happy to see him. He cleared his throat, adjusting his gloves as if the motion alone could help him regain his composure.
“I had business to attend to.” he said smoothly.
You raised your eyebrow, questioning his reply. “At a fair?”
“Yes.” he replied without hesitation. “As an entrepreneur, it's only natural to study popular market trends and analyze consumer interests.”
“Right, right, of course.” you nodded, completely unfazed. “Well, thank you for accepting my invitation!”
Azul froze like those fishes in the mostro lounge freezer in the kitchen. No. No, no, no—
He had, in fact, accepted your invitation. Which, by definition, meant— THIS WAS A DATE.
A headache bloomed in his temples as realization hit him like a tidal wave. He had been so focused on maintaining a logical excuse for being here that he had overlooked the most crucial detail: he had willingly agreed to spend time with you outside any contractual obligation.
This wasn’t a negotiation. This wasn’t a business meeting. There was no deal to be made.
So why was he here?
His thoughts were spiraling so quickly that he barely noticed you taking his hand and tugging him forward. “Come on! No pressure, let's just walk around and enjoy the fair, okay?”
No pressure? No pressure?! Azul wanted to scream. What kind of business tactic was this? You were just walking in, completely unarmed, with no ulterior motives? What kind of hidden agenda was this?
He had spent years mastering the art of deception, yet here you were, casually obliterating his defenses with nothing but pure, unfiltered sincerity. It was unnatural. Suspicious, even.
The fair was lively, bustling with chatter and laughter, but Azul was beginning to wonder if he had made a critical mistake in coming along. Everything had been manageable so far—mildly inconvenient, sure, but manageable—until you suddenly stopped in your tracks, eyes lighting up like you had just found buried treasure.
“Oh! A mushroom stall!”
Azul’s stomach dropped.
You practically skipped over, marveling at the selection of freshly foraged mushrooms, mushroom skewers, mushroom pies, and— Azul's blood ran cold—wild mushroom soup.
Why? Why did it have to be mushrooms?
Of all things, why did it have to be Jade’s most beloved fungi, the very ingredient Azul and Floyd had fought so hard to exile from the Monstro Lounge?
Before he could even think of an escape route, you turned to him, eyes shining.
“Want to try?”
Azul had never regretted a decision faster in his entire life.
Mushrooms. He hated mushrooms.
Not just in a casual, mild dislike way—no. This was a deep-rooted, visceral loathing forged from years of being subjected to Jade’s endless, borderline cultish enthusiasm for fungi.
Jade had force-fed him so many varieties, ranted about textures, aroma, umami, and gods-knew-what-else that Azul had developed a knee-jerk reaction to the mere sight of mushrooms. It was to the point that he had banned them from the Monstro Lounge entirely.
So when you enthusiastically ordered a bowl of mushroom soup, took a careful sip, but— your damn smile. Blasphemy!
Not just any smile. That smile. The one that made Azul’s mind go blank for a second too long, the one that messed with his judgment in ways he refused to acknowledge.
He should’ve just said no. He should’ve walked away.
Instead—
“Right…" Azul found himself saying. WHY? WHY WAS HE LIKE THIS.
You beamed at him like he had just agreed to some sacred pact of mushroom enlightenment. “See! It’s amazing, right? Fresh mushrooms have a way better depth of flavor!"
No. He did not see. There was no flavor except suffering.
Though somehow, Azul was now holding a spoon.
He stared at the soup like it contained his entire downfall. The rich, earthy scent mocked him, reminding him of every terrible mushroom-related experience Jade had ever inflicted upon him.
With the grace of a man walking to his execution, Azul lifted the spoon to his lips and took a sip.
… It was tolerable. Barely.
But before he could think better of it, before he could stop himself from digging his own grave even deeper—
“It’s good.” he said. Lies. Deception. Betrayal—his own betrayal.
And then, Jade’s voice echoed in his head.
“Oh? It seems you’re finally appreciating mushrooms, Azul. How delightful.”
A chill ran down his spine. He nearly dropped the spoon. He had to get out of here and need a palate cleanser after this.
As the two of you continued strolling, who had been quietly observing—suddenly tilted your head. “Are you tired from all that walking? I think merfolk might feel slightly weird after walking too much on two legs.”
This was an ambush!
He immediately straightened his posture, adjusting his glasses with practiced ease. “A businessman must always be prepared to handle different environments. This is hardly enough to affect me.”
Before you could press further, he quickly redirected the conversation by gesturing toward a woodcarver’s stall. “Look at that craftsmanship. A fine display of artisanal skill.”
Your attention shifted as you spotted a pair of octopus-shaped keychains carved from driftwood, complete with tiny pearls embedded in their tentacles. Your eyes sparkled with excitement as you grabbed them. “Azul! Matching keychains!”
Azul internally winced. How many times had he convinced love struck customers to buy exactly this kind of sentimental nonsense at Mostro Lounge? This was an absurdly cliché romantic gesture.
Nevertheless, his fingers moved on their own, smoothly retrieving his wallet and paying for them before he even processed what he was doing. “Wait. What?”
Why did he do that so naturally? Where was his resistance? This was a scam. A love scam. Brand new tactics!
Meanwhile, you simply smiled brightly at him. “Now we match! Thanks, Azul!”
Azul sighed, rubbing his temple. Too late to back out now.
To make matters worse, you suddenly turned toward a food stall and, without hesitation, bought a portion of fried chicken—with your own money. You returned with an eager grin, handing him a bag. “Here! Since I mentioned this when I invited you, it’d be unfair if I didn’t fulfil it!”
His pride was hurting. Both as a businessman and as a man in general. He was the one who should be paying. He was always the one in control of deals. Yet, here you were, giving him something so happily, without any ulterior motive.
“… Thank you.” he said, taking a bite. “Damn it, it was delicious.” he thought to himself.
The next stop was an exotic animal stall, where vibrant birds, fluffy rodents, and even small reptiles were displayed. Azul found himself absentmindedly discussing the market value of rare creatures.
“These birds—while striking—are often smuggled illegally, making them highly valuable in underground auctions.” he remarked, adjusting his glasses. “Of course, with the right contacts, their worth could—”
He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed your expression. You were simply chuckling, utterly amused.
“What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“You sound like a merchant debating rare treasure, but you mean well.” you replied with a knowing smile. “It’s kind of charming.”
Azul felt his face heat up. This was dangerous. This definitely a scam. A perfectly crafted, terrifyingly effective love scam. And the worst part? He had willingly walked into it.
As time passes, the sky had begun its slow descent into dusk, painting the fairgrounds in warm hues of gold and violet. Lanterns flickered to life, their soft glow reflecting in Azul’s glasses as he found himself still by your side, a realization that should have alarmed him more than it did.
You turned to him, expression bright despite the long day. “Did you have fun today?”
Fun? That wasn’t something he usually factored into his outings. Business, market research, calculated investments—those were justifications. But fun? He was supposed to be scrutinizing every stall, noting trends, mentally categorizing what could benefit Mostro Lounge.
Hypocrisy shines through, here he was, hands full of a wooden keychain, the lingering taste of fried chicken on his tongue, and an entire afternoon that had somehow slipped away.
Before he could even conjure up a proper response, you smiled, cutting through his internal debate with infuriating ease. “Thank you for spending time with me! I appreciate it a lot. Can I invite you again?”
Azul’s breath hitched? No, perhaps hyperventilating at this point. His instinct screamed at him to analyze, to look for the loophole, the hidden terms of this ‘invitation.’
But his mind betrayed him, replaying the way you had laughed at his muttered grumbling over mushrooms, the way you had beamed when handing him the fried chicken, the way you had listened—actually listened—to his ramblings about exotic animals instead of brushing them off.
He should have walked away. He should have redirected, refused, twisted the situation in his favor.
Instead, he exhaled slowly, adjusting his glasses as he spoke.
“... No.”
The way your face faltered for a second almost made him smirk. Almost.
“Come to Mostro Lounge next Tuesday.” he continued, clearing his throat. “11 PM, after closing.” His fingers ghosted over the keychain you had chosen for him. A ridiculous, hand-carved octopus that he had somehow ended up paying for. “It’s… late for dinner, but I want it to be just us.”
It wasn’t an agreement. It wasn’t an answer for the confession. Just yet.
But the way your eyes lit up made him feel like he had already lost.
#kefimenu#twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#twst fanfic#azul ashengrotto#azul ashengrotto x reader#twst imagines#disney twst#twst azul#azul x reader#azul x you#azul x oc#twst fluff#twst#twst octavinelle#twst fandom#azul ashengrotto x oc#twst x reader#twst x you#twst x oc#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland x you#octavinelle#twst azul ashengrotto#fluff#twst headcanons
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gee willikers, batman!


pairing: boxer!choso x nurse!reader word count: 11k content: fluff, always a lil angsty w/ me, commitment issues, mentions of toxic relationship dynamics, for my girlies w/ a fearful-avoidant attachment style, big brother choso, mentions of abuse and domestic violence, smut, 18+ a/n: not sure if I like how this turned out but alas we shall persevere :')

You desperately needed to develop a better taste in men. Or a therapist. Whichever came to you faster would be best.
In reality, it should have been a sign early on into your career when you were so drawn toward the Emergency Department specifically that perhaps you had a certain… affinity for the more chaotic things in life. It was evident in your job, and it was evident in your disaster ex-boyfriend who you’d just broken up with a mere week shy of your one year anniversary.
He, like the many other men you’ve let waltz into your life, might as well have had ‘RED FLAG’ tattooed across his forehead, but it seemed you were never satisfied unless you were on the brink of a complete crash out— at least that was how you’d always felt until now. Maybe you were getting too old for it, all the bad boy types who had you clinging onto your phone in a furious rage most nights arguing over god knows what. It was never simple, but you seemed to enjoy the thrill of the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ types of attitudes.
Again, at least until your latest wannabe edge lord candidate had had you so fed up with his overbearing possessiveness that you were sure your nervous system was completely fried. It wasn’t until that last fight though, that ended with your phone screen shattered after he’d tossed it across the room in a child-like tantrum that was just so like him— the one after which you found yourself having to practice the very same fucking grounding techniques you’d show your patients when experiencing panic attacks prior to procedures— you thought perhaps it was time for a change.
Which was precisely why you couldn’t for the life of you understand why your coworker insisted on taking you here of all places. Ierie had been working with you for a few years now, so she had already heard about every argument, block, and makeup between you and that disaster of an ex-boyfriend of yours. Though she tried (not very hard but tried nonetheless) to conceal her unbridled excitement when you told you that you had ended things, she was practically bursting at the seams.
After the poorly concealed praise to a higher being she performed following the news, she did still want to be there for you. That was why she insisted on hanging out tonight so you wouldn’t have to be alone on what was supposed to be your one year anniversary. The catch was though, she seemed to have forgotten that she had already promised one of her long time friends from highschool that she’d be at his fight that same night.
Which led you to the very predicament you were in now, damn near overstimulated by the hollering and sweaty bodies pushing against you in the overcrowded, modestly sized arena that looked like it hadn’t been maintenanced in at least ten years. Ierie’s cold hand was dragging you by the wrist to assure you didn’t get swallowed up by the crowd, claiming that her friend had already reserved two spots toward the front.
“I know I came here to support him, but I don’t think Suguru is winning this thing.” She shouted over the crowd once you two found your spots, watching as a burly man stalked around the area taking bets for the fight.
“Geez, some friend you are.” You snorted with an amused shake of your head. “Does he suck or something?”
Truthfully, you knew nothing about boxing. It was never really your thing, even though you seemed to have quite a few mutual friends involved in the local boxing scene. You weren’t sure of the big names that everyone threw around, who was good and who was mediocre. Despite the fact that you’d much rather be rotting in bed, wallowing in your own self-pity right about now, you figured you should at least try to enjoy yourself and understand what you were watching.
“No, it’s not that.” She shook her head, her neck craning up to watch as the boxers began making their way out. “The guy he’s going up against is like a fucking machine. He never loses— at least I’ve never seen it.”
“Crazy strong?” You assumed, watching as the man you recognized as her friend hopped into the ring, his long hair pulled back into a neat bun out of his face. Shoko hummed unconvincingly.
“Nah, I heard he’s got a kid or something. So, I think he’s just crazy determined is all.”
You hummed, suddenly intrigued to see someone going against Geto— who was already scarily large in your book— with nothing but pure motivation to provide under his belt. As they announced his name— Choso— and he ducked into the ring across from his opponent, you realized that he definitely had more on his side than Shoko let on.
“Holy shit.” You muttered under your breath, lips parting as you watched him shed his jacket. He looked fairly young for a father, but the dark circles under his eyes surely fit the bill. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so shocked given his line of work, but the man was built like a tank, insanely broad shoulders to carry around those down right dangerous biceps of his.
“Eh? Didn’t I say this would take your mind off of what’s his face?” Your friend grinned knowingly with a teasing nudge of her elbow. She jutted her chin toward the ring. “Think his kid needs a step-mom?”
“Ierie,” You flushed with a breathless laugh. Suguru and Choso met in the middle of the ring, touching their gloved fists together as they awaited the match to begin. “Did you not hear me when I said I need a little bit of peace in my life for once?”
She didn’t respond to your rhetorical question though, because the opening bell was ringing and the boxers began dancing around the ring faster than you could process, administering and dodging blows so fluidly it almost looked choreographed. You noticed how Choso protected his face the majority of the match, ducking and dodging far more than actually swinging. When he did swing though, he swung hard. You wondered with your limited knowledge of the sport if his strategy was just tiring his opponent out.
A few minutes in, you found yourself flinching back with each punch that was thrown his way, but Geto rarely landed one on his opponent.
“I knew you’d go gaga for this!” Shoko shouted with a delighted laugh. “You love the dangerous ones!”
“Shut up!” You grumbled back at her, chewing at the side of your thumb anxiously as the two grew closer to the side of the ring you and Shoko were stationed at.
Of course, they likely knew what they were doing, but you couldn’t help but think of worst case scenario where these two two-hundred plus pound fighters toppled over the ring and onto your unsuspecting and unprepared body. You abruptly stood from your seat as Geto was cornered against the ring, his back facing you just a mere couple feet away.
From up close as Choso was landing calculated blows on his trapped opponent, you were able to see that subtle pout in his lips that contrasted against the big and scary vibe every other part of him emanated. The mark across his nose scrunched up in sheer focus, stray bangs from his haphazard bun falling across his forehead.
It only took a second, your abrupt movement shifting in his peripheral. His dark eyes drifted up just over Geto’s shoulder and met yours. The gloved fists that had been raised and shielding his face for nearly the entire match slowly faltered, drifting down in hopes of getting a better look at your wide eyed expression.
Those glossy eyes were locked on him, and perhaps he was too awestruck to note that— yeah, everyone was looking at him right now— because it truly did feel as though you were the only one in the room for even just a moment. The whiplash hit him straight in the ribs harder than any opponent could land, knocking the air from his lungs as he watched your face morph in horror. It was just milliseconds following the abrupt change that Geto’s glove was hitting him smack-dab in the center of his face.
You yelled out in surprise as Choso was instantly knocked back, falling onto the unforgiving ground below him while the arena erupted in hollers, because shit, everyone had bet on him. Even Suguru looked taken aback by how quickly his opponent dropped, because he’d fought with him before and definitely knew that he usually kept his stance stiff enough so that blows like that didn’t take him down so easily— and they certainly never kept him down.
The referee had knelt down beside him to count him down, but you were more concerned by the way blood had begun to trickle out of his nose and even the corner of his mouth. His eyes were barely open, squinting blearily at the blinding lights above him.
“He’s gonna aspirate if they don’t move him off his back.” You shouted desperately at Shoko, clutching anxiously onto her elbow.
“They have to count him down— rules are rules.” She stated absentmindedly, getting on her tiptoes to get a better look. “You’re off the clock.”
Ten seconds. He could get through it, you tried to convince yourself as you bounced on your heels. Time was moving too slow though, and you watched in dread as his chest heaved with a cough, the blood that had gathered in his mouth sputtering up to paint his chin and cheeks.
“They’re gonna kill him.” Your frantic declaration had barely processed in your friend's mind before you were hopping through the ropes and hoisting yourself into the ring. She was yelling out to you, and one of the boxer’s cornermen shot forward to stop you, but you had already slid onto your knees beside the referee, who was also trying to push you back. “He’s choking on his blood!”
They paused at your sudden, furied response, too startled to do anything as you grabbed his shoulder and mustered all your strength to roll him onto his side. Finally on his side, you reached over to pull the guard from his mouth. At once, Choso began sputtering up and coughing, coating the floor with the blood that he had been drowning in.
As he continued clearing his airway, your fingers carefully dug into the back of his head, threading through his hair to check for blood. With the sudden movements, he was slowly beginning to come to, though all he could hear through the ringing in his ears was the muffled uproar from the crowd. Blinking back his delirium, he lazily shifted onto his back once again, eyes drifting back shut.
“No, no, no— sit up for me.” Your voice instructed him through the haze of his attempted slumber.
Even Geto had shed his gloves and was kneeling down to help you get him upright.
“I didn’t even hit him that hard.” He explained in bafflement, the most subtle layer of guilt twinging his tone. “It’s like he completely ragdolled for a second.”
It took all the energy Choso had remaining to blink up at you. The sight of you— the same girl who had thrown him out of his zone for likely the first time ever in his career— his consciousness seemed to come flooding back to him. Sitting up quickly with your’s and Geto’s urging hands under his back, he looked around frantically in an attempt to grasp what had happened.
“Do you feel nauseous?” You asked him as he watched your lips form in a frenzy around the words.
Blood was beginning to pour from his quickly bruising nose into his lips, and the thus far useless cornermen bounded over with a small towel. Bunching it up, you carefully placed it onto his nose before tilting his head forward to allow it to flow out.
“I-I don’t—” Choso was stammering, as was so very common for him, but never in the ring, and he was coming to the mortifying revelation that the insanely gorgeous girl just watched him get the lights knocked out of him with a single blow.
Your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of his words. You moved the towel aside to hear him better.
“I don’t usually, uh—” He gulped, face flushing embarrassingly dark for someone who was on the brink of a possible concussion. You tilted your head at him. “Y’know, lose that easy— hah.”
His attempted nonchalant laughter sounded more like a nervous sigh, but his slurred explanation had an amused smile curling through the concerned pout of your lips. He found himself smiling along with you, blood coating his teeth.
“So I’ve heard, hot-shot.” You quipped with a shake of your head, pressing the towel back into his nose just as the medic finally hopped into the ring. Your eyes remained on his dopey expression as you tilted your head to the side to address them in a hushed tone. “Check him for a concussion, he’s looking crazy.”
Choso did not, in fact, have a concussion. At least that’s what the medic deduced in the back after having assessed him. Given that there, for some god forsaken reason, only seemed to be one medic present, you aided in transporting him to the back where you stuck around for support. Shoko was rolling her eyes in exasperation, mumbling something incoherent about your never taking a day off. She was however thoroughly entertained by the notion that the Choso Kamo got knocked onto his ass for the first time solely because he got a glimpse of you. Despite the evidence that was pointing there, you vehemently continued to disagree with her on what caused his little hiccup in the ring.
The medic was packing his things up as you were not-so-subtly re-checking his pupil reactions, because you seriously were questioning the credentials of the supposed medical professional that was about to let the man aspirate right in the ring. Choso didn’t question your insistence on double-checking, his wide, chocolate eyes following your pen light obediently— any excuse to be at the center of your attention for a little longer, right?
“So you’re, um—” His gaze fluttered as you clicked the light off before switching it to your other hand and turning it back on. “You’re a doctor?”
You smiled fondly and shook your head.
“An ER nurse— my friend over there’s a doctor though.” You explained, nodding your head back to where Shoko was speaking to Geto. She shouted something about being off the clock before continuing her conversation.
Choso hummed, blinking away the spots in his eyes left behind by the light. Upon closer inspection, you noted that the mark running jaggedly across his nose and cheeks was a scar, and not an oddly placed tattoo as you had assumed when first seeing it. If he noticed you staring, he made no indication of it— not with the puppy-dog like gaze he still had on you, a small smile on his blood-stained lips.
His attention was pulled away from you as a ping rang from his dufflebag. Tearing his eyes from yours, he quickly fumbled through his clothes before procuring his cellphone. In a last-ditch effort to make it seem like you weren’t just staring at the man, you busied yourself with cleaning up the blood-soaked towels and tissues that had begun surrounding him.
“Is everything okay?” Choso had barely glanced at the screen before quickly taking the call. “He’s still not asleep?”
You watched his brows furrow from your peripheral, and you desperately tried to mind your own business. In the louder corners of your mind though, Shoko’s words rang in your mind about his having a child. Despite only having spoken a few words to him, you just couldn’t see how this young, gentle-giant of a man was a father.
“Yeah,” His voice had become lighter suddenly, an amused smile painting his face so affectionately it damn near gave you baby fever. “Tell him I’m fine— I should be home in a little bit.”
You quickly averted your sidelong glance once he hung up the phone, moving to wash your blood stained hands in the dingy sink that sat in the corner. From the mirror, you could see him digging through his bag to grab a shirt.
“Sorry— my babysitter called.” He explained as he tugged a baggy, graphic tee over his head. As if it took him a moment to realize how that sounded, his frantic face was quickly popping out the neck of the shirt to clarify. “I take care of my little brother, I mean. I’m not um— y’know, his… dad.”
With a soft hum of acknowledgement, you could have cursed yourself for the subtle excitement brewing in your stomach at the fact that this man was likely single— and he wanted you to know it, too. Reaching down to grab your bag from the bench, you slung it over your shoulder. Jumping into action, Choso was quickly picking up his own bag to walk beside you.
“Big brother’s a boxer, huh? He must think you’re a god.”
“Oh, he doesn’t know, actually.” He corrected with a subtle flush, his hand fiddling with the strap of his bag. Noting the way your brows rose in surprise, he offered a meek smile. “I just don’t want him getting caught up in all this.”
“And how does he suppose you get all those bruises then?” You teased, but you were quickly putting two and two together that keeping his job a secret from his little brother was likely the reason for his oddly calculated boxing approach. He never seemed to make risky moves, always preferring to protect himself above all else and only striking when he was sure to land it.
Suddenly, a bashful expression overtook his face, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly as his eyes darted away from you. It was undeniably endearing to see such a tall and muscular man so easily flustered, especially considering how solemnly terrifying he appeared in the ring.
“Well, he…” He scratched at his head before huffing out a chuckle. “He kind of thinks I’m Batman.”
A choked laugh attempted to hide itself within your throat, but it, of course, failed miserably. Choso turned away from you in hopes that you wouldn’t see the maroon color that painted his neck and cheeks.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. That’s just really cute.” You explained through uncontrolled giggles, not missing the way Shoko rose a knowing brow at you as the two of you drew closer. “Well, uh… good luck with that bruise then, Batman.”
“Y-You should let me grab you dinner— y’know to… thank you for not letting me choke.” You turned as Choso chuckled nervously, the hand you had placed on your friend’s arm to head out with her falling.
Your gaze fluttered as you looked back at his hopeful expression, but all you could think about was the fact that you’d just broken up with your boyfriend just a week prior because he was no good for you. Staring back at the crusted blood at the corner of his mouth, along with the way his nose was blossoming with a vibrant black and blue hue, you shook your head with an apologetic smile.
“I’ve got a shift in the morning.” You explained, having to turn away lest your heart break at the way his face seemed to fall ever-so-slightly. “But I hope you feel better!”
As you and Shoko left, she was whisper-shouting over her shoulder an apology to him about your only liking assholes with a feigned subtlety. It was the subdued goodnight that he still called out to you even in the midst of his rejection that had you staring up at your ceiling that night wondering if you’d always be hard-wired to make things difficult for yourself.
You wished you had had the opportunity to forget about the interaction altogether the following morning at the start of your shift. Typically, working in the ER meant fast-paced, constantly needing to be on edge, and certainly not having the time to think about anything else other than what might be walking through those doors at any moment. As fate would have it though, today was one of the rare instances that your shift was absolutely dragging.
It was already nearly a quarter of the way into your shift, and all you had triaged so far was an elderly woman with a mild cough, a kid trying to get out of his school’s testing day with a feigned stomach ache, and a hungover college student in desperate need of IV fluids. Needless to say, you were beginning to grow restless.
You were a mere ten minutes away from throwing in the towel and taking your lunch break early, a luxury you were almost never privileged to, when your pager pinged alerting a new patient. Sitting up with a start, you quickly clicked at your computer to wake it up and check the chart.
Possible head injury; rule out TBI
Maybe if you hadn’t been so eager to just get up and do something, you would have read into their chart more. For now though, you were avidly collecting your things to check in the first patient you’ve had in the last two hours. Lugging the vitals machine behind you, you offered a soft knock on the wall as you glanced over the chart one more time and slid the curtain open. Your mouth popped open as your eyes finally landed on the name.
“Choso?” You muttered under your breath, brows furrowing as you looked up from the chart to see the very man you suspected perched upon the sterile bed.
He almost looked surprised to see you at first, those dewey eyes of his widening ever-so-slightly at the sight of you before a smile spread across his lips. Upon first glance, he looked to be the picture of health (save for the now diabolical bruise spread across the center of his face), smiling and bright eyed with no visible reason for why he’d be complaining of a head injury. As if noting the way your eyes began to narrow doubtfully at him, he quickly attempted to wipe the smile from his face.
“Um— I was… I was starting to feel symptoms of a concussion.” The burly man stammered out as though rehearsed.
Barely able to bite back your own amused grin, you tucked the chart under your arm before leaning against the wall expectantly. You made a go on motion with a wave of your hand, but Choso hadn’t expected to be so distracted by the sight of you in your scrubs. Rolling his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger, he gulped nervously.
“Y’know, like a… headache a-and uh…” An anxious smile graced his face as you raised a skeptical brow at him. He couldn’t help it though— not with the way your jogger-style scrub bottoms hugged at your curves so tantalizingly, and you looked so cute with your stethoscope hanging around your neck, the one that would surely catch the way his traitorous heart was racing against his rib cage.
“How did you know which hospital I worked at, Choso?” You finally interrogated once he’d been stammering a little too long to come up with other relevant symptoms.
He cast his eyes to the side as you moved to pull the sleeve of his t-shirt up to wrap the blood pressure cuff around his bulging bicep. Though you had already deduced that he was likely fine, he had still been registered as a patient, and now you needed to go through the typical procedures. You wondered if he was even aware of how attractive he was, because the way he remained oblivious to the manner in which you ran a hand unnecessarily down his arm on your way to the pump told you that he had no clue.
“Lucky guess.” He tried to come off as cool, hoping you wouldn’t see through the fact that this was the third emergency room he’d been to today. It wouldn’t let him rest though— the memory of you hovering above him as he came to, the thought that you had jumped into a boxing ring for a stranger and essentially saved his life. “You didn’t let me thank you yesterday. You saved my life.”
“Don’t you have a kid to be taking care of?” You quipped teasingly, a bit flustered at his gratitude as you undid the cuff from his arm. This time around, he did notice the way you rubbed soothingly at the mark left behind by the cuff, and whether conscious or not, he found himself flexing his arm ever-so-slightly just for you.
“Yuji? He’s at school.” Choso explained dismissively before quickly veering back on topic. “I wanted to make sure you were coming to the rematch, but I didn’t have your number.”
He opened his mouth obediently as you nudged the thermometer against his lips, lifting his tongue for you to rest it underneath. The way his pretty, pink lips wrapped around the thermometer made your breath hitch, and you forced yourself to tear your eyes from his as they bore intently into you. You hummed once it beeped, shedding the sterile cover into the bin by the bed.
“Rematch, huh?” He nodded, fervent eyes following each of your movements as you turned to confirm his vitals into the machine before turning back to face him once again. “I hate to disappoint, but I’m not actually into boxing.”
“You were front row at the match last night.” He rationalized, and his shoulders were slowly falling in disappointment. After a moment, he shook his head before continuing his pursuit. “Then let me take you to dinner at least.”
“Listen, I’m just not really—”
Your excuse was cut off when, after barely a moment of contemplation, Choso grabbed the chart from your hand and tossed it to the floor. A few owlish blinks were sent his way.
“Your friend said you like assholes.” The man explained simply, but it was clearly eating him alive, evident in the way his determined eyes darted between you and the clipboard that had just got done clattering on the floor. A couple, painfully silent seconds passed before he kissed his teeth quietly, sliding off the bed to pick it back up for you anyway.
Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for your sanity, that little failed stunt worked on you, and Choso bounded out of the ER that afternoon with your contact in his phone. Still, you made it clear to him that you’d reach out to him when you were ready. He nodded along intently as you explained that you had only just gotten out of a relationship, and you didn’t exactly feel that you trusted your ability to pick a man right now.
It didn’t matter to him though, because you had saved his number under Batman on your phone, and he had never been so proud of the silly persona his baby brother had assigned to him. So, he assured you not to worry, that there was no rush, and that he owed you a dinner whenever it was that you felt like having him. Sure, the next few days may have been spent glued to his phone in hopes that you’d get over your idiot of an ex-boyfriend sooner rather than later, but he could be patient, right?
It wasn’t until nearly a month later that he began to worry that perhaps you had only taken his number with the hopes that he’d leave you alone. Perhaps you were just letting him down easy. After all, he had shown up to your job after already having gotten a no from you. Choso had never been great with women— he’d never had the opportunity to, what with his taking over care for Yuji so early on into what were supposed to be his prime bachelor days.
Up until now though, it didn’t matter that he hadn’t had the chance to grow out of his awkward, teenage boy cadence, he’d never thought much of it. Sure, he was a man, and he had needs too, but there were always more important things to worry about— like putting food on the table and keeping a roof over the head of his baby brother. His job certainly didn’t require him to be a smooth talker, or a talker at all for that matter. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t read the body language or social cues that women threw at him— not until it was you that he couldn’t get a read on.
What he didn’t know was that you had spent the month waging war on yourself. The battle consisted of the you that wanted to remain in the familiar arms of men who your commitment fearing heart was sure to see no future with and the you that wondered if taking the hot, kind-eyed boxer’s offer of taking you to dinner and treating you like an adult human being was such a bad thing.
The decision was proving to be more difficult than you could have ever anticipated, because it was as if your man-child of an ex-boyfriend could smell that you were contemplating doing better for yourself once, and he had been texting you for weeks now. There were apologies, paragraphs sent about how your constant arguments only meant that you two were passionate about one another— ones that had you rolling your eyes while simultaneously thinking that this was the safe option.
You had come to a fork in the road though, as you stared down at his text asking if you’d meet him at the place you two met— some dingy arcade where you always had to hold your breath in because it seemed none of the men in attendance knew what soap or deodorant were. It was the same place where you remember finding it charming how heated he’d get over losing a game— it was quirky and hot and you couldn’t possibly see how that short-temper might pose a challenge to your relationship.
Chewing on your bottom lip, your thumbs hovered over the cracked screen that had lain witness to just how un-charming that temper could get. Glancing up at your carefully placed makeup in the mirror, you realized that you had missed getting all done up— missed going out instead of sulking in your apartment and contemplating where your abysmal attachment style could have possibly manifested from. With a shake of your head, you decided that you had put far too much effort into yourself to end up in that cesspool of a joint by the end of the night.
The cool wind nipped at your cheeks as you tried to borrow yourself deeper into the collar of your coat. You thought that perhaps you should have just waited in the car, but, then again, you weren’t exactly familiar with the protocol for proper dates. The dim lighting offered by the awning outside of the quietly buzzing restaurant cast a soft glow onto the wooden bench you were sitting on as you anxiously peered at the parking lot.
Just as you were on the brink of losing a toe to hyperthermia, an older looking, black cat peeled into the parking lot, barely coming to a stop before the driver’s door was swinging open. Choso’s frantic gaze caught yours almost instantly, and he almost appeared relieved that you hadn’t left.
“I’m so sorry, I know I’m late.” He babbled, shutting his door firmly before glancing into the back of his car. “Look, I um… I understand if you’re not cool with this, but my babysitter canceled on me last minute.”
In the midst of his hesitant explanation, he was tugging the backseat open, offering you one last apprehensive glance before ducking his head in. When he emerged once again, it was with a pink-haired, bright-eyed toddler in his arms. You stood up as Choso walked your way, whispering something that, by the look of the softly stern expression on his face, looked to be a warning to behave to his little brother before setting him down.
“I’m really sorry about this. If you want to go I—”
“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to my date, Choso?” Your mockingly stern tone halted his mortified rambling.
The boy, barely reaching his brother’s mid-thigh, was looking up at you with that fiercely curious expression that only a toddler assessing your danger level could pull off. His small, gloved hand was clutching onto Choso’s pointer and middle finger as the fake fur on his tiger beanie swayed with the gust of wind that whipped his way.
It certainly wasn’t how you had expected to spend your night off, but something about that exasperated guilt in Choso’s tone made your heart clench. All these years you had spent worrying about which douchebag you’d be picking yourself back up over, and this man, who couldn’t have been much older than you at all, had never had that stupid privilege. Such a miniscule act as not raising a fuss over his bringing his baby brother to dinner with him had him staring at you as though you’d hung the stars in the sky, and you suddenly decided that you had made the right decision that night.
A small, delighted smile tugged at his lips, and he quickly looked down to nudge the boy forward.
“This is Yuji, and he promised he was going to be on his best behavior for our friend tonight, right?” Choso urged with a subtle desperation hidden in his eyes. Your heart nearly melted as he nodded ardently with a soft sneeze.
“Niichan never has girl friends—”
“Okay, Yuji! Why don’t you show her how you open the door like a gentleman?” He eagerly cut off his brother’s innocent confession with a rapidly flushing face, scooping him up so that he could reach the handle. You offered a knowing, sidelong glance at the flustered man, unable to bite back your tickled smile as you nodded to Yuji in thanks as he held the door open for you with a prideful beam.
Choso had just about jumped out of his skin when your name randomly popped onto his phone. He must have re-read your text twenty times to assure he was understanding correctly, because the girl who had been radio silent for nearly a month was asking if tonight was a good night for her to cash in on the dinner he owed her.
Truthfully, it wasn’t a good night. He had been expecting to stay home with Yuji tonight given he didn’t have a match, and his brother didn’t have school the next morning. Because of that, he really didn’t have anyone lined up to babysit tonight. He frantically called his usual babysitter, practically begging her to come on such short notice, and he nearly did a backflip when she agreed.
Yuji was following him around the house with that lighthearted laugh, the kind that made Choso think that maybe he wasn’t doing such a bad job at taking care of him after all, asking him why he was practically bouncing around the house as he rushed to shower and dug recklessly through his closet for something decent to wear.
It had all come crashing down on him just ten minutes before he was supposed to leave, already having explained to his little brother that his babysitter would be coming tonight, when the woman in question called to let him know that her shift at her full-time job had gone over schedule. He sat hunched over his phone on the couch for what seemed like eternity as he contemplated what to do.
It had taken you an entire month to finally agree to a date with him. Would you change your mind if he canceled on you with such short notice? Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he noted that he was already going to be late, and the thought of leaving you waiting for him at the restaurant had him making the executive decision to bundle his little brother up in his winter clothes and pack him in the car with him.
Halfway to the restaurant was when it hit him that perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, but it was too late now. He wasn’t sure anything could have prepared him for how quickly you’d let it slide off your shoulders, and certainly not for how easily you’d work Yuji into what was meant to be a date with just you two.
Here he was though, lips parted stupidly as he watched you allow the boy to steal bites off of your plate (despite how many times he’d already swatted his hand away in mortification) and follow along with all the longwinded stories that toddlers were so good at telling with no real conclusion in sight. It seemed impossible for him to have found you anymore beautiful than he already did, but you were proving him wrong with every affectionate smile sent his way each time Yuji would innocently reveal another humiliating detail about his older brother to you.
“If I had known he was going to woo you so hard I would have left him in the car.” Choso joked with a timid smile, already having had his fill of embarrassment for one night following Yuji’s announcement that he cried everytime he watched Brother Bear with him.
You thought having the five-year-old around helped lessen what typically would have been a painfully awkward first date. Additionally, the seemingly tight-knit relationship they had made you wonder how Choso had found himself with such a responsibility so young in the first place. Of course, with Yuji around, it was hard to veer onto the topic.
“And how else would I have found out so much about the big, bad Choso Kamo?” You teased as Yuji busied himself with a coloring page the waitress had brought over (much to his brother’s relief). “Brother Bear, huh? Can’t blame you, that one used to get me too.”
“I don’t cry everytime.”
“Mhmm,” With an unconvinced hum, you peered up at him through the rim of your cup as you took a sip. “So, what turned you into a bear then, hm?”
The fond smile on his face slowly dissipated, leading you to believe that what you thought was a harmlessly joking question held more depth than you gave it credit for. Soon, your smile was quickly falling too as you sat up a little straighter.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay.” He reassured, attempting to bring that same lighthearted nature back around, but his eyes were heavier as he regarded you kindly. “I just… had to be.”
It was the only explanation he offered you, and somehow it was enough for you to understand the gravity of whatever their situation must have been— at least for now.
“So,” Your gaze fluttered about his chiseled face as you tried to rectify the now solemn energy at the table. Glancing toward Yuji, you noted that he was still concentrated on his coloring, a crayon clutched in one hand and a fry in the other. Still, you lowered your voice a bit as you leaned in closer to Choso. “How did your rematch go?”
“Thought you said you weren’t into it.”
“Didn’t say I wasn’t into you.”
This caught him off guard, whatever fleeting confidence he had to banter back and forth with you flying out the window just as your own words processed back to you. For a fleeting moment, you almost allowed yourself to be embarrassed by your own forwardness. Something about how easily he could be rendered speechless made it worth it though. After a moment, his lips twitched up nervously as he tried to reign in control of the conversation once again.
“Thought you liked assholes.” Choso whispered, praying his little brother wasn’t going to absorb that word into his subconscious to spring on him later.
Pursing your lips, you looked down at the cracked phone screen that had pulled you out of your stupor just hours prior. The man followed your eyes, taking note of the way you ran your finger absentmindedly down the shattered glass. You didn’t say anything, but he seemed to have heard it all, his face falling in quiet recognition. He had seen it before— that look of silent defeat in your eyes fighting against a cycle all too familiar to him.
“The rematch was good.” He offered with a soft, knowing smile, hoping to pull you from wherever your thoughts had wandered to. You peered back up at him. “Kicked his ass. I can be an asshole too— just… not to you, yeah?”
Choso couldn’t have known how deep his words burrowed themselves into your mind, replaying on repeat that entire drive home as your heart pounded against your chest. He had walked you to your car after dinner, Yuji clinging onto his back as he drifted off into what looked to be a nasty food coma. The look on his face said that he wasn’t sure what to do next, but you could certainly guess what was on his mind.
So, you were grateful when his little brother stirred away and tugged at his hair, pouting about it being too cold and wanting to go home. The man’s shoulder’s deflated ever-so-slightly, and he offered an apologetic smile and a promise that he’d text you.
You weren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
Choso Kamo scared you unlike any other raging hot-head had ever managed to in the past. At least with your past… distasteful selections, you could predict their moves, you knew it would only go so far. With him though, you could feel yourself wanting more, because he was sweet and genuine, and he was the type of guy that would make a nest in your heart so as not to disturb your peace rather than shatter it with an attempt to mold it to accommodate the jagged edges he refused to file down.
Without the expected downfalls of the disasters you set yourself up for, how could you prepare yourself if he disappointed you in a way you hadn’t already premeditated? Other men filtered in and out of your life, never leaving an impact heavier than a break of routine in their wake— but Choso? If you allowed him to stay, you knew it would ache in ways you’d never known if Choso left.
Despite your fear of falling, you couldn’t bring yourself to ignore him when he texted you later that night asking if you'd made it home, or even the next morning when he wished you a good shift. With each affectionate-smiled reply, you could feel your stomach twisting in fear as you hoped you’d snap out of this haze before the shoe dropped.
It was the very reason that you hesitated when your phone rang just two days later, his name lighting up your phone at an hour far too late at night to be considered friendly. Blinking back the tired haze in your eyes from staring at your television for too long, you felt that familiar anxiety swimming in your throat. Your thumb trembled nervously as it hovered over the button to accept the call. Shaking off your nerves, you swiped to answer the call.
“Hey, Cho—”
“Hello?” His voice was panicked on the other line, making you sit up from where you had been vegetating on your couch. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know it’s late— I need your help.”
Muffled in the background, you could hear the distinct wailing of a child you assumed to be his little brother. The sound made you kick the blanket off your lap, already breaking out into a nervous cold-sweat.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Yuji— he’s sick, and his fever won’t go down, and he’s not keeping down any of his medicine, and—”
“Okay, calm down.” You cut off his nervous rambling as you shoved your boots on under your fleece pajama pants. “How high is his fever? You should take him to urgent care.”
“I’m trying, h-he has a thing with hospitals.” The man sounded as though he was on the brink of tears, panting subtly in a manner that had you wondering how long he had been wrestling with the boy in order to get him to an urgent care before he gave up and called you. “Please, I don’t know what to do.”
Choso could barely hear your knocking over his brother’s incessant crying, and had he been more alert of his surroundings he would have wondered how in the hell his neighbors hadn’t sent in a noise complaint yet. After nearly a minute with no response, you knocked again, more forcefully this time.
When he finally opened the door, you would have assumed that he was the one battling a flu— what with his flushed face, disheveled locks, and red waterline. Having to endure his brother’s suffering alone was killing him, and he’d never felt more useless than he did tonight.
“Choso…” You sighed regretfully, nearly reaching up to pull him into a hug, but he was quickly latching onto your wrist to pull you into the living room where Yuji was bundled up on the couch, his little face flaming with a mix of the exertion from his pained wails and the fever that was still ravaging his system.
Kneeling down beside the couch, you touched your hand against his forehead. Even with the frigidness that still nipped at your hands from the chill outside, it was clear that he was practically scorching.
“He’s burning up, Choso.” You muttered frantically, making quick work to pull the countless blankets off of him. He was kicking out in protest with each layer you removed, and his brother was quickly moving to push his legs down lest you get kicked in the face. “You need to cool him down.”
“He— he kept shivering…” The man was gulping down tears of frustration, because all he was trying to do was to get him to stop crying. It was breaking his heart with each octave he reached, and he was sure that he’d find a way to make the sun rise early if it meant he could have stopped whatever it was that was making Yuji so uncomfortable.
“It’s okay,” You reassured, taking note of the fragile emotional state this situation had put him in. It was becoming clearer by the minute that Choso was new to doing this on his own. “We need to put him in a cold bath.”
The man nodded in a haze, reaching down to scoop the flailing boy into his arms as he cried out in protest. You followed closely behind him as he made his way to the bathroom and flipped the light on.
“I’m cold!” Yuji choked out, only making his brother feel that much more guilty as he pried his clothes off of him. You stepped around him to fill the tub with cool water.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Choso mumbled despondently, dodging each of his kicks with stunning precision. “We’re trying to help you, buddy, okay?”
“What have you given him?” You questioned, finally shedding your puffer jacket you began to sweat with the frantic movements.
“Nothing, he’s spitting everything out.” Choso’s voice raised in exasperation, though you knew better than to think it was directed at you.
You paced out the restroom as he lowered Yuji into the frigid water, and you thought surely his throat would start to bleed soon from the way his screams were scratching it raw. It didn’t take long for you to find the medicine cabinet after rummaging through the kitchen, and you made quick work to toss a fever reducer into a plastic bag to begin crushing it. Peeking your head into the refrigerator, you grabbed the carton of apple juice that was sitting on the shelf. Once your child-proof cocktail was thoroughly mixed, you made your way back down the hall.
“Please, Yuji, just sit still.” You heard Choso pleading desperately, followed by the frantic splashes of the attempted escapee.
“Let me go!”
“It’ll make you feel better—”
“I want Mom!”
You paused in the doorway at Yuji’s sobbed request, unsure whether or not to intrude. Clutching the cup to your constricting chest, you leaned against the wall just beside the bathroom door as you heard Choso sigh despairingly.
“Mom’s not here, Yuji. We’ve talked about this, please. Don’t do this to me.” His tone wavered notably, and it was clear that the dam holding up the strongest parts of him was weakening by the second, but his younger brother only repeated his request.
“Yuji,” You called out, finally stepping in to kneel beside Choso. He quickly cast his gaze down, but not before you caught the tears slipping down his face. Brushing back the pink hair that clung to the boy’s forehead as he panted up at you through choked cries, you showed him the cup. “Look, if you drink all your juice then we’ll get your bed nice and ready for you, okay?”
He sniffled messily as his blubbering slowed, eyeing you skeptically.
“It’s apple juice, see?” You tilted the cup closer toward him so he could see the familiar yellow color. Noting his apprehension, you leaned in closer to whisper to him in feigned secrecy. “Niichan can’t protect the city if you don’t get better.”
Through dewy hiccups, he slowly released the grip his little hands had on Choso’s wrists to take the cup from you. Beside you, his brother heaved out a sigh of relief watching as he quickly downed the cup, eager to get into his bed and under the covers as promised. The both of you held your breaths until the last drop was sucked up.
After running a few more handfuls of cold water over his head for good measure, you nodded at Choso to take him out once his skin was finally a bit cooler to the touch. As he dried and dressed his brother back up to prepare him for bed, you busied yourself with cleaning up the puddles of water Yuji’s thrashing had created on the floor of the bathroom. A good couple of minutes had passed before apprehensive footsteps finally made their way back to the bathroom where you remained kneeled on the floor.
“I’m sorry.” Choso whispered, slowly lowering himself down beside you.
You peered over at him as he buried his head into his hands. The t-shirt he wore was clinging to his chest as it still dripped with leftover bath water along with the ends of his loose, tousled hair. His shoulders shook every so often with the sniffles he was trying so desperately to conceal, but it had all been too much for him.
“I know the last thing you wanted to be doing on your day off was working.” He continued as he finally looked up at you, tears of frustration swimming in his dark, tired eyes. “I just— I didn’t know—”
“Choso?” You whispered, resting a careful hand on his raised knee. He blinked at you in question, swiping furiously at the tear that raced down his flushed cheek at the motion. “How… how did you end up with Yuji?”
His eyes quickly fell, observing the way his knuckles whitened as he clenched and unclenched his hands pensively.
“He’s my half-brother.” He began quietly. A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he looked back up at you. “Wanna talk assholes? My step-dad— Yuji’s dad— was just…”
You gulped, watching the way his jaw seemed to clench unconsciously at the memory of him. A gradual sense of dread twisted in your stomach as you began to guess where his story would go.
“We fought all the time. Our mom hated it, but I couldn’t stand the way he treated her, and it—” Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the ceiling to calm the way his tears seemed to continue to betray him. “It killed me that she let him.”
Your gaze fluttered with their own misty haze as his words sunk in, an unnecessary guilt clawing at your chest. Shuddering away the tremble in his tone, he finally looked back down at you. Swiping at his nose with a quick sniffle, he continued.
“We got into a huge fight a while after I finished school. He was mad about— god, I can’t even remember what had him so heated, but h-he threw a bottle at our mom.”
“Choso…” You sighed shakily, shifting forward to grasp at his hand. Though he made no attempt to halt his story, he accepted your hand, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as another tear raced down his face.
“I told him that if he wanted to throw shit to throw it at me.” With red-splotched eyes, he offered a humorless laugh and gestured toward the jagged scar that ran across his face. It was now you who was failing to hold back stinging tears. “I thought after— I don’t know, twenty stitches that she’d leave, but she didn’t. So, I did.”
His head dropped down toward his chest, shaking side to side regretfully.
“I left. I wasn’t there for her when she died— I wasn’t there for Yuji.” You quickly climbed over to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling his face into your chest as you allowed yourself to cry silently along with him. “I left him. He was only three. I left him, I—”
“You came back for him, Choso.” You quickly interjected.
“I should’ve never left in the first place.” His fingers drifted up to dig into your back as you settled onto his lap. “I thought if I learned how to fight— y’know, got bigger and stronger that he couldn’t hurt me anymore, he couldn’t hurt my mom anymore cause I would finally be able to do something about it, but I was just scared. I was scared, and I left.”
“You were just a kid.” You clarified, sliding your hands down to grip his face and force him to look at you. “And you’re here now.”
The grip you had on his cheeks forced his lips into a smushed pout, his wet lashes emphasizing the dark circles that surrounded his irises. Your thumb grazed gently over the scar on his face, and it broke your heart even more as you pictured it on a smaller, more defenseless version of him. You could see that Choso still ever-present in the fear that lingered in his eyes, in the doubt that clung to his frown that told him that nothing he could do for Yuji would ever be enough.
“And I’d like to see someone try to lay a finger on Yuji now.” You encouraged with a soft laugh. The tiniest of smiles cracked through his solemn gaze, but he was still searching your eyes with an intensity that nearly knocked you on your ass.
“Why do you do it?” He questioned, his voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head at him curiously. “I mean, you have a good job, you’re smart, and pretty, and you’re kind— why give it to people who don’t deserve you?”
His hands dug firmly into your waist as you attempted to lean away from his raw stare. You felt naked— humiliatingly exposed as though you had just been the one to air your dirty laundry out. The hands on your sides drew you in closer and closer with each pathetic open and close of your stammering lips.
“I think I came to terms a long time ago with the fact that I’d never get to understand why my mom stayed. I had to be okay with it.” Choso’s brows were furrowing as his gaze drifted down your face before meeting yours once again. “Then I met you, and… I feel that same frustration I felt when I was a teenager.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” The scarred bridge of his nose grazed against yours as the two of you drew closer. With a strained gulp, you shook your head. “Do you—” He paused as his face flushed, but he fought to push past his timid nature. “Do you want someone to be mean to you? Is that what it is?”
“Choso—”
“Because if that’s the case then let it be me, okay?” His plea had you biting back a wanton whine, because his lips were brushing against yours with all the anticipation of a building promise. Your fingers tangled into the drying hair on his nape. “I’ll be rough with you, and I’ll make you want to cry.”
Leaning forward, he slotted his mouth around your pouted bottom lip, pressing you closer against him as you two pulled at one another despairingly.
“I’ll be an asshole, but I’ll never hurt you— it’ll always be for you. Is that what you want?”
You could only nod hazily, too lost in the desperation in his tone and the craving he’d instilled in you for the lips you’d only come to know just minutes prior. Without so much as a grunt of effort, he was lifting himself off the ground with you in tow, stumbling toward the hallway in a craven pursuit of his bedroom. The hand holding you up against him squeezed vigorously at your ass, pinching at it until you yelped out into his lips.
“Shh, Yuji’s sleeping.” He still had the nerve to chastise you lowly, using your back to press the door shut.
With you squeezed between him and the door behind you, he allowed his hand to dance up and grip your jaw, hooking his thumb into the corner of it as his forefinger dug into your bottom lip and pried your mouth ajar. You panted against him, eyes half-lidded as you awaited his next move with baited breath, but as he’d promised, it felt as though he wanted you to cry for him, his lips exploring your neck and jaw at an agonizing pace.
“Choso—” Your plea was cut short by your gasp as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder that had been left exposed in the flimsy tank you had been wearing to bed prior to his call. He moaned against your skin, digging his canines ever-so-slightly deeper into the flesh to feel the way you jolted at the sting. “Ah— ahh!”
The man only hummed contentedly, arm hooking under your thighs once again to pry you from the wall and drop you onto the disheveled covers of his bed and pull the damp shirt from his back. He surveyed the way your eyes ran down his body, your reddened lips parted and your brows drawn softly together, and he deduced that he couldn’t possibly look at you if he was to ravage you like he hated you.
Dipping down, he flipped you easily onto your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pajama pants. Pausing for a moment, he leaned down, and you shuddered at the feeling of his warm chest pressing you against the bed.
“Is this what you wanted?” He whispered into your ear, knowing it would only take a shake of your head for his resolve to crumble.
Your ribcage expanded and deflated beneath him in tandem with your anticipatory panting, and you could only nod through your flushed face, too embarrassed to confirm your desires aloud, yet your senses too lit ablaze by every inch of muscle you could feel on him to deny yourself the pleasure. There was a longing kiss pressed against your temple— an unspoken promise that he meant it when he said he wouldn’t hurt you— before he slowly pulled away from you to yank your bottoms down.
Choso bit down on his bottom lip, rough enough to draw blood as he fought to maintain his composure. Running his hands up your thighs until they met the swell of your ass, he raised a knee to rest beside your hip before hiking your ass up.
“Make me understand it.” He pleaded, a subtle growl laced into his tone as he drew teasingly close to where you were throbbing for him.
“I don’t know, Choso—” Your voice had raised to an embarrassing pitch as you fisted his sheets between your fingers. They smelled just like him, and it was by no means aiding in your coherent thought process.
“Do you need someone to tell you you’re worth more?” At once, his fingers plunged into your incandescent center, twisting mercilessly as he continued to ration with you. “Because I’ll do it, I’ll remind you every fucking day if I have to.”
But his words were quickly becoming background noise that harmonized sweetly with each of your slack-jawed moans. Reaching back, your fingers barely grazed his wrist in an attempt to gain any semblance of control over his pace, but he quickly collected both your hands in his free one to pin them at the small of your back.
“Is that what you need?” He asked again, and his fingers curled up with a striking precision, drawing a pathetically pitched squeak from the depths of your throat.
You buried your face into the sheets to conceal the way your eyes began to water at the growing warmth pooling overwhelmingly fast in your stomach. After a moment of your whimpering silence, his fingers abandoned you in favor of a resounding smack against your sensitive core. Your legs seemed to snap shut involuntarily, but it didn’t last long before he pried them open once again.
“Answer me.” Choso demanded. His tone was barely stern— the fervent desperation to understand more present than anything. He threaded his fingers into your hair to pull your head to the side and reveal your face. “I said is this what you needed?”
“Yes!” You gasped, your hearing feeling as though it had increased tenfold as you listened to his sweatpants rusting while they hit the ground. “Please, please, Choso.”
Despite his insistence that he’d be rough with you as you so pleased, he couldn’t bring himself to stop the gentle way in which he eased into you, savoring each hitch in your breath. Hooking his arm under your neck, he pulled you up to press flush against his perspiring chest, the slow descent up aiding in burying the last few inches of him into you.
There was a crack in his resolve, evident in the broken moan that his lips pressed right against your flushed ear. The tears that he had promised you finally slipped down your cheeks. His eyes tracked it with a sharp vigilance, the sight making him pull you in that much closer. With a hand gentler than what he had planned for you, he swiped at the salty stream before allowing his fingers to settle around the column of your throat.
“Keep crying for me.”
And he made sure you did, his pace relentless as his sculpted hips slapped against your ass. For each overwhelmed tear of pleasure that escaped you, Choso chased it with a kiss; to your cheek and your jaw, to your helplessly parted lips and temple until there wasn’t an inch of you within his reach that his lips hadn’t become acquainted with. You thought your back would snap in two as you arched against him through your high, yet his furious pace didn’t slow until you slumped back against him, only held up by the hand at your throat and his will.
The man watched as your head fell back onto his shoulders, eyes half-lidded as they stared at the way his gaze never seemed to falter. Only then did he pause, carefully lowering you to lay on your back against his cool pillows. Crawling over you, it was clear that his intent had shifted with the fulfillment of his goal.
His hair tickled your cheeks as he leaned down to capture your lips tenderly. Reaching down, he caressed the side of your neck with the same hand he had used to restrain it as he entered you once again, this time with the intent of proving that it didn’t always have to be so merciless. With each purposeful roll of his hips into you he proved that you too were worthy of being handled with all the gentleness he had never been on the receiving end of.
Choso clung onto you as he finished, and he didn’t leave when you allowed yourself to wrap your arms under his shoulders and press your cheek against his heaving chest. Instead, he pulled the covers up and assured they reached your shoulders that had since broken out into goosebumps— though you weren’t sure you could blame them on the cold.
He brought your hands up to kiss the parts of your wrists that had been locked in his fierce grip. For the first time in years you weren’t itching to leave before he had the chance to leave you, because all the weight and muscle he’d worked so hard for in order to protect that scared, teenage boy in him were enveloping you with a crushing safety while his faint snores into your ear lulled you to sleep.
Perhaps Yuji wasn’t so naive in believing his big brother was a superhero.
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Listen Up: Swimmer
--- Originally posted on 2021-04-21 by newyoutf ---
Jon twisted back and forth under the showerhead, singing along to the music blasting from his phone on the counter.
The music lowered in volume for a second, making way for two loud dings. Jon reached out from the stream of water and fumbled with the screen in his wet hands. It was a message from Oliver, his best friend, “Hey bro, got something you should listen to.”
“Bro?” Jon wondered. Since when did Oliver say “bro”? Jon blinked, struggling to think for a moment. Oliver talked like that all the time, he was American after all... wasn’t he?
Attached to the message was an audio file. Jon figured it must have been a new song by one of the pair’s favorite pop divas, perhaps a new leaked track. Jon hit the play button, placed the phone back down, and returned to the hot water.
A harsh static buzz and what sounded like garbled speech boomed from the phone, taking Jon by surprise. The corrupted audio cleared up after a moment and a deep, male voice started.
“Welcome. This audio program is custom designed. Just for you. Ensure you are in a comfortable, private place. You will not want to be disturbed.”
“Oliver,” Jon rolled his eyes, thinking that surely something starting this ridiculous would be some sort of joke or meme. After all, Oliver had always been a dumb joker. “Wait,” Jon felt confused, he could have sworn Oliver was a quiet, twinky lad like himself?
Jon realized couldn’t form a solid impression of his friend in his mind. They met at their university in London and became best friends, bonding over their mutual love of pop music and ogling the campus jocks. But now it was like that reality had been shattered. Those memories gave way for ones of meeting each other at the campus gym shortly after Oliver arrived from the US. Oliver was his best, hot, American friend, right? Jon’s cock twitched at the new image of his friend as he placed his face under the stream of hot water in an attempt to clear his head.
“Relax. Take a deep breath, in and out.”
Jon unwittingly followed the instructions. The frown fell from his face and his body relaxed, taking in the warmth of the water.
“You’re Oliver's best friend. Makes sense, given you’re a total alpha too.”
“Both wha- ah! Ah!”, Jon planted his hands against the wet, tiled wall as the words sent pleasure rippling through his body. He looked down feeling a strong warmth against his leg but it wasn’t the hot water. His semi-hard cock had blasted a rope of cum against his leg. “What the fuck?” Jon mumbled.
“What a coincidence that you’re both six-foot-four. It serves him well in the gym, the same way it serves you well in the water.”
Jon howled in ecstasy, spluttering and moaning, as his five-foot-nine body stretched higher. His soft cock drooled hot cum as it rapidly began to rise. His arms pushed against the wall, lengthening for better performance in the pool. He stepped backward as his head struck the showerhead and rose even higher. Hot water poured down the front of his much longer torso and legs.
“Your shoulders are so broad. Typical of you swimming jocks.”
Unable to resist the command, Jon's shoulders crunched and throbbed, thrusting out larger and bulging with muscle. “God! W- What the fuck i- is... ugh... happening?!” he roared, terrified not just by the growth gripping his body, but the incredible pleasure it wrought on him.
“Those are some long, meaty fucking arms, Jon.”
“F- fuck!” Jon roared, spraying a massive load up the back of the shower feeling his narrow arms explode with thick mounds of muscle, rippling across his biceps and triceps. The growth spread down his arms, his forearms bloating with tight, lean muscle. His wrists cracked as they thickened.
“Hands that big must be useful for pushing through the water.”
Stifled screams rumbled from Jon’s tightly clenched mouth. His hands were pressed against the back of the shower, clicking and twitching as they began to swell across the tiles. The fingers accelerated longer and longer. His palms spread monstrously broad. He flexed his hands, in total awe of their disproportionate size; perfect for pushing through the water.
The experience was like nothing Jon ever felt. A sexual eruption taking place across every cell as the words rewrote his body. “Can’t... resist... so g- good,” Jon grunted, gasping for air.
“You clearly work out for the aesthetics as well, not just the pool. Your shredded chest is proof of that.”
Jon couldn’t even attempt to fight anymore, but nor did he want to. His chest puffed and bulged, distorting the path of the water running across it. The previously non-existent pecs pushed outward from his widening chest. His cock trembled as the changes took hold in his abdomen, causing his flat stomach to erupt with tight, thick abs. Jon gripped his ass, feeling it swell into his huge hands while he erupted cum across the tiles once more.
*“That’s the spirit, Jon. You’re a *stud.”
Jon felt those words echo in his ears and rumble down his throat. Grunts and pants became deeper and deeper as his thickened and voice morphed. His head groaned as it enlarged to fit his frame. Hair began to flourish out of his cheeks and across his upper lip while the mop of medium-length hair on his head retreated, leaving a short, handsome cut in its place. He stroked his cock with one hand and clasped his face with the other feeling his jawline refine and the angles of his face sharpen. He turned to the mirror cabinet, seeing just a sliver of his improved visage. Jon gasped at the sight and immediately ejected another load of cum.
He didn’t just look like a swole swimming jock. He felt like one too. He rejoiced in his mind being filled with thoughts of the pool, weightlifting, spotting his bros at the gym, and fucking them afterward.
“Good to see the bottom half matches the top.”
Jon’s legs trembled. He clutched the slippery tiles harder to hold himself up, the pleasure reverberating through his legs almost too much to bear. Muscles spasmed in his calves, swelling with every little twitch. Muscle wasn’t all that was gracing his legs. Dark hair grew forth from the skin, coating his powerful legs in a layer of fur. Jon swore under his breath, impressed by the hair spreading up and down his legs. He thought about how he refused to shave like other swimmers, he liked the hair, and regardless his superior form needed no extra boost. His body responded to the suggestion, triggering a fine layer of hair to sprout from his forearms, between his pecs, in a trail over his abs and across the tops of his feet.
Memories of the pool, the beach, and victories across university swimming tournaments swarmed his brain. Trophies and medals materialized in the bedroom just next to where he was showering.
“Damn, it’s no surprise you outperform everyone in the water with feet that massive. And you know what they say about that, Jon.”
Every one of the toes on Jon’s size eight feet surged with pleasure. He moaned loudly as they began to push across the floor of the shower while his soles stretched to catch up. He recalled new memories of having large feet, how they propelled him to victory in the pool, and the comments people would make: “Bigfoot”, “You know what they say...”, “Where can you even buy size sixteens?”
“Sixteen?!” he repeated in his mind. The brief shock turned to anticipation as he felt his soles continue to march forward longer and wider, his toes twitching while they reshaped long and meaty. Jon growled aloud as he expelled another load, “God, yeah... so f- fucking... big.”
The jock trembled under the stream of hot water, desperate for sexual release. He looked down as the expanding feet settled into excessively large size sixteens, curling his long toes as his six-inch cock began to quiver in its desperation to grow larger as well. It felt as though it were perpetually hardening, only to then push longer and girthier instead. Jon grasped his wet cock and thrust into his grip hard and repeatedly. He relished in the sensation of the veins bulging and the shaft thickening.
*“I guess what they say really is true, isn’t *it?”
The audio toyed with him, pushing his cock just that little bit longer and pumping it ever so slightly thicker. It pulsed and twitched, gradually and slowly with every breath. His uncut, British foreskin slid further backward, as a larger, blunter head swelled outward. Jon smirked as he groaned and growled, stroking faster and faster, enthralled by the beautiful nine-inch weapon he now possessed.
“Cum.”
“Oh yeah! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jon made three final long, hard tugs on his thick pole before roaring in delight as unspeakable ecstasy filled him. Cum rocketed upward against the water rushing from the showerhead, ejecting what remained of Jon’s old genetic material while orgasm after orgasm pounded his body.
Exhausted and dripping wet, he stepped slowly out of the tub, unsteady on his new legs and feet.

*“Remember to share this recording with your friends*.”
And with that, the playback stopped. Jon looked at himself in the mirror, still shocked, but enraptured with his new body and looks. He grabbed his phone and wiped the water from the screen, struggling to unlock it with his longer fingers. He typed out a reply to Oliver, “That shit was fucking lit mate!”
A few miles away, a sweaty Oliver was busy lifting weights, waiting for his friend to give him some indication that something had happened. He had to place the weight down slowly as his mind blurred for a moment. He saw the images and memories that he had of his friend change and shift. Gone were the images of a quiet little twink, replaced by those of a loud, masculine swimming jock. Oliver smiled cockily realizing what had just happened. Then, as if on cue, his phone vibrated with Jon’s reply. Following was a photo of a huge, semi-hard cock swinging above two gargantuan feet. Oliver felt his own cock stiffen slightly at the image.
“Hell yeah, bro! You should be selling these pics like I do,” Oliver sent in response, getting a deep chuckle out of Jon.
Both men now looked at their phones, horny and pondering who next to share the mysterious audio file with.
#male tf#male transformation#muscle grwoth#jock tf#swimmer tf#sport tf#cock growth#americanization#foot growth#listen up series
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I feel like the grid would be so happy to see Amira in the Met Gala like in thr fic that you wrote... And then Carlos would see her with Lewis and go: HEY WHY DID HE GET AN INVITE AND I DIDNT?? ALSO WHY IS HE TOUCHING MY BABY SISTER
Cue Carlos throwing hands and trying to convince Max to lend him his plane so he can go chase after a knight for being near his sister 😂
I love writing about the Met Gala. Enjoy reading and send me some requests. -XoXo
The After Party
The Met Gala and its glamorous allure had captivated the racing grid. Lewis Hamilton’s presence was no secret; they watched him on the screen, cheering and eagerly awaiting Amira’s grand entrance.
But the unsuspecting twist came during the After-Party. The anticipation to see Amira in her stunning new dress was palpable. And when they noticed her surrounded by girls, Kim and Lana, their happiness soared. Amira’s animated conversation with her friends seemed like a dream unfolding before their eyes.
Then reality shattered that dream. Lewis Hamilton, the unexpected intruder, covered her eyes. The shock wasn’t just that he was there; it was the genuine happiness on Amira’s face. But the worst part? His possessive arm remained around her waist. The. Whole. Damn. Time.
Oscar muttered, “No. No fucking way.” George stumbled over his words, unable to form a coherent sentence. Max, in his stunned state, accidentally dropped his phone.
Carlos, protective brother mode activated, shook poor Charles. “That stupid man! First, he takes MY seat. Now he wants to take my sister. What’s next, my liver? Where’s my invitation? Did you eat it?” His frustration knew no bounds.
Charles stood up, resolute. “Not with me, mate.” Daniel attempted to mediate. “Hey, Carlos, let’s calm down a bit.”
But Carlos wouldn’t be placated. “No! I won’t calm down. This man has the audacity to hold my sister. MAx, give me your plane, You don't need —DID HE JUST KISS HER CHEEK?!" "Quick! Grab him!” Pierre’s command set off a frenzy. Six drivers piled on top of Ferrari’s Carlos Sainz, determined to protect their own.
Carlos’s final declaration echoed through the room: “NO, YOU CAN’T PROTECT HIM FOREVER! I WILL SEE HIM IN IMOLA!”
And so, for the next 30 minutes, the room buzzed with attempts to calm Carlos’s fiery rage.
**********************************************
Bonus (+)
“Oh, look at her. It seems our pretty girl fell asleep,” Lana gently informed Lewis. Throughout the night, he had subtly shifted her chair closer and closer to him until, finally, she succumbed to slumber in his arms.
Kim, ever considerate, asked, “Should we help you get her to the car?” Lewis’s gentle response came, “It would be very sweet if you could help me get her to her hotel room.”
And so it happened—the iconic picture of Lewis Hamilton carrying a sleeping Amira Sainz, flanked by Lana Del Rey and Kim Kardashian, became an internet sensation.
#formula 1#baby!sainz!sister#lando norris x reader#carlos sainz x sister!reader#charles leclerc x reader#formula 1 x reader#lewis hamilton x reader#george russell x reader#pierre gasly x reader#met gala#kim kardashian x reader#lana del ray x reader#after party
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Office Hours (p.4) | professor!harry
Summary: Secrets were always part of the game—but you never expected one to end it. One moment, you’re tangled in Harry’s world, caught up in whispered promises and stolen touches. The next? Everything unravels. A familiar voice. A name you weren’t supposed to hear. A truth that was never meant to reach you.
And just like that, the illusion shatters.
A/N: Part 4 is finally here!!! And oh boy, this one hurts. 🥲 The angst is off the charts, the betrayal is real, and the emotions?? A mess. (Just like Harry, honestly.) I had SO much fun writing this, and I hope you all enjoy screaming/crying over it as much as I did. Let me know your thoughts, and as always—reblogs, comments, and theories are so, so appreciated. Now, go forth and suffer. 😘
Wordt Count: 4,2k
Warnings:
Heavy angst (seriously, this one hurts)
Betrayal & emotional devastation
Harry being a dumbass (again)
Mentions of alcohol (clubbing scene)
Breakup / heartbreak
Harry’s POV filled with regret
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆
The next morning, you wake up feeling like your world has tilted off its axis.
Your head throbs, exhaustion clinging to your limbs like a weight you can’t shake. The sheets are tangled around you, suffocating, heavy with the scent of him. You shove them off, blinking against the early morning light spilling through the blinds, but it does nothing to clear the fog in your mind.
Your phone is still on your nightstand where you left it, screen black, as if waiting for you to wake up and face reality.
You reach for it, hesitation curling around your fingers like a ghost of last night. The moment your thumb unlocks the screen, the message is there, waiting.
Harry: We need to talk. This is getting dangerous.
A cold chill runs down your spine.
Dangerous.
You swallow hard, rereading the words like they might change if you stare at them long enough. He knew. He knew something was wrong, and instead of explaining, instead of giving you anything to hold onto, he left you drowning in uncertainty.
Your mind replays everything—the intensity of his touch, the way he claimed you in his office, the abrupt panic when someone knocked. The voice was female, familiar.
Your stomach twists violently, nausea clawing at your throat.
You want to believe it was nothing, that the fear in his eyes was just the risk of getting caught, that the voice on the other side of the door was just some faculty member, a student, anyone but what you fear it might be.
But the way he pushed you out, the way his grip had been tight, urgent—it didn’t just feel cautious. It felt desperate. Like he was hiding something.
Your fingers tighten around your phone.
You tell yourself you’re overthinking, but the doubt lingers.
Harry knows it will.
Knows you’ll wake up with questions, with that sharp mind of yours piecing things together, even if you don’t want to. Knows that the moment you walked out of his office, his world started cracking at the seams.
He barely has time to run a hand through his hair, to school his expression into something unreadable before he reaches for the door handle. His pulse is still thrumming, his body still electric with the ghost of you, your touch, your scent, the way you came undone beneath him.
But none of that matters the second he opens the door.
Emily.
She stands in front of him like a storm cloud, her arms crossed, a knowing look curving her lips.
“You’re hard to track down these days,” she says, stepping forward like she still has the right. Like she hasn’t been gone for months. Like she doesn’t know exactly why he’s been avoiding her.
Harry clenches his jaw. “What do you want, Emily?”
His voice is sharp, clipped. A warning. But she ignores it, like she always does.
Her gaze flickers past him, over his desk, the disheveled papers, the air still thick with the remnants of something intimate. Her smirk widens.
“I was going to ask how you’ve been,” she muses, tilting her head. “But it looks like you’ve been busy.”
His stomach turns, but his face remains unreadable. He doesn’t move, doesn’t let her see the way her presence alone has lit a fuse under everything he’s built, everything he’s tried to keep separate.
He doesn’t respond. He can’t afford to let her see how much she’s right.
She steps closer, her perfume—something expensive, something foreign now—curling in the space between them. Her eyes are sharp, dissecting, pulling apart the pieces of him that she still thinks she has claim to.
Then she smirks, because of course she does.
“Let me guess,” she says, voice coated in amusement. “A student?”
His silence is all the answer she needs.
And maybe, deep down, you already know the answer, too.
But knowing doesn’t stop the way your stomach twists violently every time your mind replays the moment in his office—the knock, his urgency, the way he shoved you out like a secret that needed to stay buried.
You try to focus on your classes, on anything other than Harry. But it’s impossible. Every lecture blurs together, every voice around you muffled beneath the pounding thoughts in your head. You’ve never felt this restless, this sick with uncertainty.
It must be written all over your face, because the second you slide into your usual seat in the lecture hall, Olivia frowns.
“You look like you saw a ghost.”
You force a laugh, waving her off, but you know she’s right.
You haven’t eaten. Haven’t slept. You feel like you’re coming apart at the seams, like if you let your guard down for even a second, all the questions, the doubts, the fear will swallow you whole.
Between classes, you finally snap, you pull out your phone and type the words before you can stop yourself.
You: Can we talk?
The message sends. You watch the screen. Wait.
Nothing.
You stare at your phone for what feels like an eternity, willing it to light up, for his name to appear, for something—anything—to give you a lifeline.
But there’s no response.
The unease grows into something unbearable. Hours pass, but the silence remains.
And finally, you snap.
You need answers. You need to see him.
That’s what you tell yourself as you step out into the cold evening air, pulling your coat tighter around you, your fingers clenched around your phone like a lifeline. The city buzzes around you—people laughing, cars honking, life moving forward—but your world has stopped. Frozen in the unanswered text, in the gnawing doubt that has been sinking its teeth into you since last night.
Your feet move on autopilot. The closer you get to his apartment, the harder your heart pounds, each step echoing in your ears.
He’ll explain this, you tell yourself. There’s a reason. There has to be a reason.
You reach his door. The hallway is eerily quiet. Your breath catches in your throat as you lift a hand to knock, hesitating, just for a second.
But then you try the handle.
It’s unlocked.
Something twists in your stomach, sharp and instinctual. Wrong.
You push the door open.
And you freeze.
Because the last thing you expect is to see her sitting on his couch.
Her legs are crossed, body draped over the cushions like she owns the place, a glass of wine in hand. She’s beautiful, effortlessly so. Her dark hair is pinned back in a way that screams elegance, her red nails tapping against the glass, a slow, deliberate rhythm that only adds to the suffocating weight settling in your chest.
Her eyes flick up when she hears you, sharp and calculating. And then she smiles.
“Oh,” she hums, standing as if she’s been expecting you. As if she already knows who you are. “You must be her.”
Your breath catches.
The air in the room shifts, charged and suffocating. Your vision tunnels, your brain scrambling to process the words, the meaning behind them, the implication—
Her.
Your pulse pounds, a steady, deafening beat in your ears. Your entire body locks up as you stare at her, as the pieces start clicking into place with terrifying speed.
And then—
“Y/N.”
Harry’s voice.
Low. Urgent.
You look up just in time to see him stepping out from the kitchen, a dish towel still clutched in his hand, his face a mask of pure panic the moment he sees you.
He stops dead in his tracks.
For a moment, no one speaks.
You and Harry lock eyes, and the way his entire body tenses, the way his throat bobs as he swallows, tells you everything before a single word is said.
The floor beneath you may as well crack open.
Because you already know.
You know before she even tilts her head, a slow smirk creeping onto her lips.
You know before Harry exhales sharply, his free hand running through his hair, as if bracing himself for the inevitable.
You know before she takes a step toward you, deliberately slow, like a predator playing with its prey.
And when she speaks again, her voice is smooth as silk, dipped in something cruel.
“I’m Emily,” she says, extending a hand you don’t take. “Harry’s wife.”
Your world collapses.
“It’s lies.”
The words barely make it past your lips, but they land. They settle between you like a finality, like a gavel crashing down in a courtroom, sealing a fate you never saw coming.
Harry flinches. His hands twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you, like he wants to fix this. But he can’t. He won’t.
Because there is no fixing this.
“Who is she?” You choke out, barely recognizing your own voice.
It’s raw, barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the suffocating silence like a blade.
Emily doesn’t hesitate.
She smiles—cold, knowing, like she’s been waiting for this moment. Like she’s enjoying it.
“As I’ve just said. His wife.”
The word slams into you like a freight train.
For a second, everything stops.
Your heartbeat. Your breath. The very foundation you’ve been standing on crumbles beneath you, sending you spiraling.
You stumble back, shaking your head so violently it makes you dizzy. “No.” The word bursts from your lips, sharp and desperate. “That’s not possible.”
You turn to Harry, waiting—begging—for him to tell you she’s lying.
That this is a mistake. That she’s just someone from his past. That this isn’t what it sounds like.
But he doesn’t.
He just stands there, his jaw tight, his shoulders tense, his silence the most damning thing of all.
You feel like you might throw up.
“It’s not what you think,” Harry finally says, but his voice is hollow, like even he doesn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.
A sharp, humorless laugh rips from your throat. Your hands shake at your sides, your entire body thrumming with something between fury and devastation.
“Oh, really?” Your voice cracks, barely holding itself together. “Because it sounds like I’ve been fucking a married man.”
Emily hums, tilting her head, faux sympathy curling in her smirk.
“Technically,” she muses, “we’re separated.” She shrugs, inspecting her nails, as if she’s commenting on the weather. Then her eyes flick back to yours, sharp and ruthless. “But legally? He’s still mine.”
A sickening snap echoes inside you, like a rubber band stretched too far, finally breaking.
Your stomach twists, nausea clawing at your throat.
Your world is crashing down around you in real-time.
You think about every stolen moment. Every whispered promise. Every fucking time he told you that you were his.
That all this time, he was never truly yours.
Harry takes a step toward you. His face is tight, pained. “I was going to tell you.”
You step back so fast your heel almost catches on the rug. Your hands come up like a shield.
“When, Harry?” Your voice wavers, the first sign of the cracks forming in your carefully built composure. “After I ruined my life for you? After I let myself believe this was real?”
His throat bobs as he swallows hard. He wants to reach for you. You can see it in the way his fingers flex, in the way his chest rises and falls too quickly.
But he doesn’t.
Because he knows he doesn’t deserve to.
“It is real,” he says instead, voice quieter now, like he thinks that might soften the blow.
But it only makes it worse.
You let out a breath—ragged, exhausted, done.
“No.” Your voice shakes, but your resolve doesn’t.
You meet his gaze, one last time, letting him see it.
The moment you give up on him.
“It’s lies.”
The words seal something shut inside you. The last thread tethering you to him snaps.
You turn around.
And this time—
You don’t look back.
You can’t.
If you do, you might break.
Your legs move on autopilot, carrying you out of his apartment, down the hallway, through the stairwell, because waiting for the elevator feels like torture, like wasted seconds you could be using to get as far away from him as possible.
Your breathing is uneven, sharp, ragged gasps that don’t feel like they’re actually filling your lungs. Your vision is blurring at the edges, hands trembling so violently you have to ball them into fists.
You don’t know where you’re going.
You just know you have to get out.
The cold air smacks you the second you push through the building’s front doors. It stings against your overheated skin, bites at the exposed parts of you like punishment for being so fucking stupid.
For believing him.
For letting yourself fall.
You don’t realize you’re crying until a sharp gust of wind makes the wetness on your cheeks burn. You swipe at them harshly, furious with yourself, with him, with everything.
A door opens behind you.
For one agonizing second, hope flares in your chest, ugly, unwanted, but there anyway.
But when you hear the voice, it’s not his.
It’s her.
“Wow,” Emily drawls, footsteps slow as she steps onto the pavement behind you. “Didn’t even try to stop you, huh?”
A fresh wave of nausea rolls through you.
You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling sharply through your nose. “Go fuck yourself.”
Emily hums, unconcerned. “Can’t say I’m surprised. He never was very good at holding onto the things he really wants.”
Your hands clench into fists at your sides.
You want to ignore her. You want to walk away.
But you can’t.
Because every single word she’s saying is feeding the thing inside you that’s already ripping you apart.
And she knows it.
So you turn.
You meet her gaze head-on, fire burning behind the devastation in your chest.
“Whatever game you think you’re playing,” you grind out, voice shaking but unwavering, “you can fucking have him. I’m done.”
Emily just smiles.
Like she’s already won.
And maybe, maybe she has.
Because the only person who could have proved her wrong is still standing inside his apartment, behind a locked door, choosing silence.
Choosing not to fight for you.
You turn around.
And this time, when you walk away—
It’s for good.
The words echo inside you like a cruel joke, rattling around your skull as you push forward, step after step, through the city streets.
You don’t remember the walk home.
It’s a blur, blinking streetlights, car horns blaring in the distance, the sharp chill of the wind biting at your skin. You feel detached from yourself, like you’re floating somewhere outside of your own body, watching a version of you that you don’t even recognize anymore.
Because that version of you?
She was naive.
She let herself fall into something dangerous, something messy, something that was never meant to last.
And now?
She’s paying the price.
You barely make it back to your apartment before the tears start falling.
The second you close the door behind you, the dam breaks.
A strangled sob rips from your throat, your knees buckling as the weight of it all slams into you at full force. Your fingers clutch at the fabric of your coat, your chest heaving as if you can’t breathe, as if no matter how hard you try, you can’t get enough air.
You don’t hear Olivia at first.
Not until she’s right there in front of you, her hands gripping your shoulders, her voice sharp with concern.
“Y/N—hey, hey. What the hell happened?”
You shake your head violently, trying to force the words out, trying to explain, but—
They get caught in your throat.
Because how do you even say it?
How do you put into words the way your entire world just imploded?
Olivia doesn’t wait for an answer. She just pulls you in, wrapping her arms around you tight, holding you like she’s afraid you might shatter completely if she lets go.
And maybe she’s right.
You bury your face into her shoulder, your entire body trembling as the sobs rip through you, one after another.
“I—” Your voice is barely a whisper, cracking with the weight of it all.
Olivia pulls back just enough to look at you, her brows furrowed in concern. “What?”
You swallow, hard, your throat raw.
“He was married.”
Her expression shifts instantly.
“What?”
You let out a broken laugh, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks. “He fucking lied.”
Olivia stiffens. Her grip on you tightens, her entire body going rigid with rage.
“Are you—” She cuts herself off, inhaling sharply through her nose. Her eyes darken, her jaw tightening. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
You just shake your head.
And worst of all?
You let yourself believe he was yours.
The realization guts you.
It claws its way through your ribs, wrapping around your lungs like a vice, making it impossible to breathe, to think, to function.
Because that’s the worst part, isn’t it?
Not just that he lied.
Not just that he kept her a secret.
But that you let yourself believe.
That you let yourself fall so deeply into him, into this illusion of something real, something yours.
And it was never real at all.
That night, you don’t sleep.
You toss and turn in bed, your body aching from something deeper than just heartbreak.
It’s in your bones. In your blood.
A wound that no one can see, but one that’s still bleeding.
The weight of his betrayal settles like lead in your chest.
And no matter how many times you tell yourself to let it go.
You don’t know if you ever really will.
Harry knows he won’t.
The second the door slammed behind you, something in him fractured. Something deep, something vital, something that will never fully heal.
Now, he sits on his couch, head in his hands, his elbows digging into his knees, his mind a fucking mess.
He can still hear it. Your voice, raw and shaking, cutting through him like a blade. It’s lies.
You’d looked at him like he was a stranger. Like he was something filthy.
And maybe he is.
Across the room, Emily sighs, the sound laced with amusement. “Well. That went well.”
Harry’s head snaps up. His blood boils.
“Get out.”
His voice is low. Dangerous.
Emily smirks, crossing one leg over the other, making no move to leave. “Oh, please. You’re mad at me? You’re the one screwing your student while still legally tied to your wife.”
His stomach twists. He hates that word. Wife.
Hates that you heard it come from her mouth.
Hates that you believed it before he could tell you the truth.
“Ex-wife,” he grits out sharply, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
Emily just laughs. It’s light, amused, mocking.
“Yeah, well…” She finally stands, swiping her purse off the couch. “Good luck fixing this.”
She walks to the door like she’s already won.
And maybe she has.
Because when she shuts it behind her, the silence is unbearable.
Harry exhales sharply, his hands dragging down his face, his skin hot with frustration, regret, and self-loathing.
He should have told you.
Should have sat you down weeks ago and explained everything. Should have given you the truth instead of letting you walk blindly into this fucking mess.
But he didn’t.
He kept you and her in two separate worlds because it was easier.
And now?
Now he’s lost the only thing that mattered.
He leans forward, gripping his hair tightly, his breathing uneven. His chest aches in a way that isn’t just emotional, it’s physical. A sharp, twisting pain that radiates through him, coiling around his ribs like a noose.
His eyes flicker toward the coffee table. Your hoodie is still there.
You’d left it here a few nights ago. He remembers watching you walk around his kitchen in it, drowning in the fabric, laughing when he pulled you onto his lap and told you it looked better on you than it ever did on him.
Now, it’s just evidence of what he’s lost.
Harry grits his teeth, pushing up from the couch so fast his vision dips.
He needs to fix this.
He has to.
Without thinking, he grabs his phone.
His fingers move fast, typing and deleting and typing again, until finally, he settles on the only truth that matters.
Harry: I love you.
He sends it before he can stop himself.
Then he waits.
And waits.
And waits.
But the screen stays silent.
And deep down—
He knows it will.
The silence.
The nothingness.
The absence of you.
And still, he waits.
Harry sits in the dim glow of his apartment, the only light coming from his phone screen as it rests on the table in front of him, mocking him with its stillness.
The message is there. Sent.
Delivered.
But unread.
You’re not answering.
You’re not even looking.
His jaw locks. His fingers drum restlessly against his knee, his whole body tense, like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off.
Hours slip through his fingers, but the only thing he can focus on is that goddamn phone.
He doesn’t move from the couch.
Doesn’t eat.
Barely breathes.
His mind races, running through every possible way this could have gone differently.
If he had told you sooner. If he had fought harder. If he had pushed past his own fucking cowardice and made you believe in him before Emily got the chance to ruin it.
But the ifs don’t matter now.
The only thing that matters is that he lost you.
He swipes the phone off the table so quickly it nearly slips from his grasp.
His fingers hover over the keyboard.
He types:
I’m sorry.
Please, talk to me.
Deletes it.
Types again:
Y/N, please.
Backspaces.
Finally, his hands still.
His chest tightens.
And he settles on the only truth he knows.
Harry: I love you.
He hits send before he can stop himself.
And then—
Nothing.
The screen stays silent.
The minutes drag into an hour. Two.
No response.
And deep down, Harry knows—
You’re gone.
And you’re not coming back.
The bathroom is filled with music, bass vibrating through the walls as you swipe mascara over your lashes, refusing to let your hands shake.
Olivia is in the other room, hyping you up, her voice loud over the pounding playlist she threw on the second you told her you wanted to go out.
“That’s my girl!” she calls from the bedroom. “We’re getting wasted tonight.”
You force a smile, dragging the wand through your lashes one last time before stepping back, eyeing yourself in the mirror.
You look like yourself. Hair styled. Makeup flawless. The dress hugging your body is one Olivia shoved into your arms twenty minutes ago, saying something about how you needed to “remind the world you’re a fucking catch.”
But no amount of red lipstick can cover the wreckage underneath.
Your chest still aches. Still tightens every time you close your eyes and see him.
Don’t think about it.
Don’t think about his hands, his voice, the way he looked at you when you walked away.
Don’t think about the way his jaw tensed when Emily said wife.The way he didn’t fight for you.
Don’t—
Your phone buzzes.
Your breath catches.
You stare at the counter, at the way the screen lights up.
Harry.
Your stomach lurches. Your heart stutters in your chest, knocking against your ribs with something sharp and awful.
You don’t pick it up right away.
You don’t want to care.
But your hands move before your brain can stop them.
You blink, and then—there it is.
Harry: I love you.
The words blur together on the screen, your breath leaving your body in one sharp, uneven exhale.
Something cracks inside you.
And for a second—for a single, agonizing second—you waver.
You should feel something. Anger. Sadness. Hope.
But all you feel is tired.
Because he doesn’t get to say that. Not now. Not after everything.
Love isn’t a fucking bandage he can slap over the mess he made.
You swallow hard, your reflection swimming before you.
Somewhere in the other room, Olivia is singing along to the music, yelling about how you’re taking shots the second you get to the club.
You grip the edge of the counter, fingers pressing into the cool surface.
For a second, you think about answering.
About calling him. About screaming. About telling him that love doesn’t fix this. That love doesn’t erase lies.
But then—
“Let’s go, babe.”
Olivia’s voice is closer now, her grin wide as she steps into the doorway, hands on her hips. “Time to forget about that asshole.”
You inhale shakily.
You take one last look at your phone. At his name glowing on the screen.
Then you turn it off.
You shove it into your bag and grab Olivia’s hand. “Let’s go.”
You aren’t ready to deal with the wreckage he left behind.
Not tonight.
Tonight, you’re going to drown him out with flashing lights, loud music, and strangers who don’t remind you of him.
Tonight, you’re going to pretend he never existed.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow, you’ll start learning how to mean it.
☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆
Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️🔥
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is there someone else?
(Satoru gojo xreader angst part 2)
Last part 3
Part 1
(I used chat gpt to fix my grammer!)
Part 2 : is there someone else?
The morning light crept into the apartment, stark and unforgiving, illuminating the cold, empty space you had left behind. Satoru sat at the table, his head in his hands, the smell of untouched dinner still faint in the air. He was the strongest, they said, but in this moment, he had never felt weaker.
His phone buzzed on the table. Utahime’s name flashed across the screen for the third time that morning, but he ignored it again. He couldn’t bear to hear her voice, not when it would only remind him of the destruction he had caused.
Satoru Gojo was a man who could bend reality to his will, who stood at the pinnacle of strength and invincibility. But none of that mattered now. None of it could bring you back.
He had faced curses that could tear apart the world, adversaries that brought armies to their knees but he couldn’t face you. He couldn’t fix the cracks he had allowed to spread in the one thing that had made him feel human.
You sat on a bench by the harbor, your knees pulled to your chest as the salt-tinged breeze stung your face. You hadn’t slept. The night had passed in a haze of wandering, of replaying every fight, every word, every bitter silence.
Gojo Satoru, the man who could shatter mountains and tear through dimensions, had made you feel like nothing.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket again, and you didn’t have to look to know it was him. He was trying, but it was too late or at least, it felt that way.
You swallowed hard as the memory of his hesitation surfaced again, the way he had frozen when you’d asked, “Do you love her?” That pause was louder than anything he could have said.
What was worse was how easily you had believed it how deeply you had let his silence confirm your worst fears.
When Satoru found you later that morning, you were still sitting by the lake, lost in thought. He approached hesitantly, his usually confident steps faltering. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say.
You glanced at him as he sat down beside you, leaving a careful distance between you.
Neither of you spoke for a long time. The sound of the waves filled the silence, a cruel reminder of how far apart you’d drifted.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.
You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Sorry doesn’t fix this, Satoru. Sorry doesn’t make me forget how you made me feel.”
He flinched but didn’t argue. “I know,” he admitted. “I just… I don’t know how to make this right.”
“Then why are you here?” you asked, your voice trembling. “To say what? That it wasn’t what it looked like? That you didn’t mean to make me feel like I was nothing?”
“Utahime and I…” He trailed off, his words catching in his throat. “She’s someone who understands parts of my life I don’t know how to explain. She’s familiar. She’s… safe.”
“Safe?” you repeated, your voice breaking. “And what am I, Satoru? A risk?”
“No,” he said sharply, his voice cracking. “You’re everything. That’s the problem. You make me feel things I don’t know how to handle. You make me feel vulnerable. And I didn’t know how to deal with that, so I…” He buried his face in his hands. “So I screwed it all up.”
You stared at him, your heart aching at the sight of the man who always seemed untouchable now crumbling before you.
“You could face the worst curses in the world without flinching,” you said softly. “But this us was too much for you?”
He looked up at you, his eyes raw and unguarded. “I know it sounds pathetic, but yes. You terrify me, because I don’t know how to protect this. How to protect you. I thought I could keep everything under control, but I couldn’t. I failed you, and I hate myself for it.”
You felt tears stinging your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You’re right. You did fail me. And I don’t know if I can forgive that.”
Satoru’s shoulders sagged, his head hanging low. “I don’t blame you if you can’t. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you if you let me.”
You stood, your legs unsteady beneath you. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, but the pain in your chest was still too fresh.
“I need time,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to figure out if this is something I can survive.”
He watched as you turned to leave, his heart shattering with every step you took.
Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world, could save countless lives, could win every battle thrown his way. But as he sat there, alone on that bench, he realized that this was one fight he couldn’t win. Not with his strength, not with his power.
And for the first time in his life, he wondered if being the strongest meant nothing at all.
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Too Late: Part 2
SUMMARY: After leaving, you've put some distance between you and Tyler. And Tyler has to come to terms with you being gone. But he can't let you go, and comes up with a plan to try and when you back - or at least figure out what to say to you. That is until an unexpected accident throws a wrench in both of your plans. Tyler is determined to show you that he can be there for you when you need him to, but the emotions of being around him again start to rise inside you. Memories of what you once had - and what you lost - keep pulling at you. Especially when Tyler doesn't let the space between you stop him from quietly being there when you need him most.
A/N: Thank you so much for all the love and support on Part 1 of this! I was definitely not expecting this story to take off and get the reactions it did! Thank you for the comments, reblogs, and likes! This story ended up being way longer than I planned on it being and there will be a PART 3 coming soon (probably sometime next week after the holidays so I can finish up the last few holiday fics I'm working on)
WARNINGS: None, just a lot of heart-shattering angst. This one made me cry while writing it, so be prepared!
WORD COUNT: 6k
TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS
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TYLER’S P.O.V.
Tyler stood on the front porch of his old farmhouse, staring out at the horizon as the last rays of sunlight dipped below the tree line. The weight of the conversation he was preparing for sat heavy in his chest. His truck keys dangled from his fingers, his grip tightening and loosening as doubt gnawed at the edges of his determination.
He wasn’t sure what he was going to say to you–only that he needed to say something. He couldn’t let things end the way they had, not without trying to make it right. He had so many things he still needed to say to you.
But the weight of your words, the hurt in your eyes the last time you’d spoken, kept playing on a loop in his head. Then the doubts crept in. What if he’d already blown it? What if showing up just made everything worse?
But then he thought, what if it helped? What if it fixed everything? What if you gave him a chance?
With a final sigh, he pushed off the railing and headed for his truck. He figured you were probably at your mom’s house which wasn’t too far of a drive from his place. He pulled open the driver’s door and slid in behind the wheel.
He had just turned the engine over when his phone buzzed in the cup holder. He glanced down and saw your best friend’s name flashing across the screen. His stomach dropped. Why would she be calling? Was it to chew him out for breaking your heart? He wouldn’t blame her if it was. Tyler hesitated, his hand hovering over the phone. He almost let it go to voicemail, but then a pang of guilt hit him. He deserved whatever lecture your friend was about to give, so he swiped to answer.
“Look,” he said, bracing himself. “I know what you’re going to say, and-”
“Tyler.” Your friend interrupted, her voice sharp but trembling slightly. His brow furrowed at the crack in her tone. “Something’s happened.”
The world seemed to tilt under his feet, Tyler clutched the steering wheel as your friend’s words came out in a rush. “It’s her mom. There was a car accident. Her mom’s in surgery right now. She…she’s at the hospital by herself, and-”
“Wait,” Tyler cut in, his voice hardening as he processed her words. “Surgery? Is…is her mom gonna be okay?”
“They don’t know yet,” your friend admitted, her voice quieter now. “Tyler, I don’t know. It…it sounds bad. And she’s…she’s trying to be strong, but you know how she gets. She’s telling us all that she’s fine, but I don’t think she is.”
Tyler stayed silent, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His pulse pounded in his ears as the reality of the situation hit him. Your mom was in the hospital. You were alone. And here he was, debating whether or not he should show up.
“I think you should go.” Your friend said.
“I don’t think I’m the guy she wants to see right now,” he admitted, his voice low.
Your friend huffed, frustration creeping into her tone. “You’re exactly the guy she needs right now. Whether she realizes it or not.”
“She told me-”
“I know what she told you, Tyler.” Your friend snapped, cutting him off. “Trust me. I was there the night of her birthday when you weren’t. I know. But I also know she’s hurt and scared and stubborn as hell, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t need you. She won’t say it, but I will…get over yourself and get to the hospital. She shouldn’t be alone right now, and you know it.”
Tyler’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t respond right away, his mind spinning with doubts and what ifs. What if showing up made things worse? What if you pushed him away again?
“Tyler.” Your friend said softly, her tone shifting. “You love her, don’t you?”
The question hit him square in the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. “Of course I do,” he murmured.
“Then prove it,” she said simply. “Be there for her.”
Your friend hung up after that, but her words lingered in his mind. Tyler sat frozen for a moment, his thoughts a chaotic mess. He could still hear your voice from the last time you’d spoken, the way it had cracked with anger and pain. The fear of making things worse clawed at him, but your friend’s voice echoed louder: Be there for her.
Tyler put the truck in drive and started making his way towards the hospital. Screw his doubts. This wasn’t about him. It was about you. And if there was even a chance you needed him, he wasn’t going to let you down again.
YOUR P.O.V.
The waiting room was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional voice paging a doctor over the intercom. You sat in the corner, hunched over with your elbows on your knees, your hands clasped tightly together. The plastic chair was uncomfortable, but you hardly noticed. Your foot tapped a restless rhythm against the tiled floor, the nervous energy pulsing through you too much to contain.
You’d sent everyone away. Your best friend had tried to stay, but you insisted you didn’t need her hovering. You also told her some lie that the nurses said only immediate family could stay. Your dad had called multiple times, offering to send a neighbor or someone to sit with you until he could get there. But you told him the same thing. You didn’t need anyone there with you. You’d be fine until he could get there.
The silence was suddenly interrupted by the steady thud of boots against the linoleum floor, echoing down the hallway. You barely glanced up, expecting to see another loved one ignoring your instructions to stay away.
Without lifting your head, you muttered, “Go home. I’m fine.”
The boots stopped. You waited for a response, but none came. Irritation flared, and you straightened slightly in your chair.
“I said, go home,” you repeated, sharper this time.
Still nothing. Finally, you glanced up, ready to tell whoever it was to leave in no uncertain terms.
The words caught in your throat when you saw him. Tyler stood in the doorway, his hat tucked in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed with concern, but his eyes softened when they met yours.
You swallowed hard and dropped your gaze back to your hands, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “What are you doing here?”
He hesitated for a moment before stepping into the room. “Your friend called me,” he said simply. “She told me what happened.”
You let out a shaky breath, your hands tightening in your lap.
“I’m fine,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to be here. You can leave.”
Tyler didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched between you, heavy and unrelenting. Finally, you glanced up to see that he hadn’t moved an inch. His expression was unreadable, but there was a steadiness in his gaze that made your chest ache.
“Go home, Tyler,” you said again, this time with more force.
He didn’t budge. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying you. “When you can look me in the eye and tell me you’re okay without lying,” he said, his voice steady and calm, “I’ll leave. Until then, I’m staying right here.”
The breath hitched in your throat, and you quickly looked away, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. You couldn’t meet his gaze. Not when he saw right through the mask you’d been wearing all day.
Your eyes landed on the brown bag in his hand. The logo was instantly recognizable, and despite everything, a flicker of confusion crossed your face.
“What’s that?” you asked, your voice quieter now.
Tyler glanced down at the bag as if just remembering it. He crossed the room, closing the distance between you, and held it out.
“Figured you hadn’t eaten today,” he said simply. “It’s well past supper, and you need food. Stopped by your favorite place and got you your usual.”
You blinked at him, the unexpected gesture catching you off guard. For a moment, you just stared at the bag in his hand, unsure whether to take it.
When you didn’t move, Tyler set it down gently on the chair beside you and crouched down so he was at eye level. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice low and soft. “Just eat something, okay?”
The tears you’d been holding back all day finally broke free, and you quickly turned your head, pressing the heel of your hand against your eyes. Tyler didn’t say anything, didn’t try to touch you or pry. He just stayed there, steady and calm, his quiet presence more comforting than you wanted to admit.
You didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore, so you reached for the bag, the smell of your favorite meal filling the room as you opened it. It was still warm, the familiar scent wrapping around you like a blanket.
You managed to eat about half of the food Tyler had brought before your stomach protested. Setting the container back into the bag, you folded it shut with deliberate care, focusing on the crinkle of the paper as a distraction. You still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but you muttered a quiet, “Thank you.”
He didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel his gaze on you, steady and unrelenting. The silence stretched again, broken only by the distant murmur of hospital staff and the faint beeping of monitors from somewhere down the hall.
After a few moments, Tyler cleared his throat, the sound startling in the stillness. “Do you have any updates?” he asked, his voice low but careful, as if afraid of pushing too hard. “Have you heard how she’s doing?”
Your throat tightened, and you shook your head without looking up. You couldn’t speak—not without your voice breaking. You clenched your hands in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to keep the tears at bay.
Tyler’s eyes softened as he watched you, the effort you were putting into holding yourself together painfully clear. He saw the slight tremble in your hands, the way your shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world.
He couldn’t stand it anymore. Without a word, he stood from the chair across the room and moved to the one beside you. You didn’t look at him, but you noticed the shift, and felt the heat of his presence closer now.
You glanced sideways as Tyler settled into the chair, his broad frame filling the space beside you. He didn’t say anything, but he opened his arm, leaving it resting on the back of the chair as he leaned slightly toward you. It wasn’t an overt gesture—just enough to let you know it was there, an unspoken invitation.
You hesitated, your breath hitching as you looked at the open space he was offering. A part of you wanted to retreat, to keep the wall between you firmly in place. But the ache in your chest—the one you’d been fighting all day—finally won out.
Slowly, you leaned over, your weight shifting until your head rested against his chest. His arm closed gently around you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. He didn’t pull you in too tightly, giving you the space to move if you wanted, but the warmth and steadiness of him made you feel like the world might stop spinning just for a moment.
The steady beat of his heart was soothing against your ear, a rhythm that felt like home in a way you couldn’t bring yourself to think too much about right now. You closed your eyes, your shoulders sagging as the tension slowly began to leave your body.
Tyler didn’t speak. He didn’t ask any more questions or try to fill the silence. He just sat there, holding you as the tears you’d been holding back slipped quietly down your cheeks. And for the first time that day, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t completely alone.
The quiet warmth of Tyler’s presence, combined with the emotional toll of the day, eventually caught up to you. Your breathing slowed as you sank deeper against his chest, the exhaustion overtaking your attempts to stay awake. Tyler glanced down at you and realized you’d fallen asleep, your face relaxed for the first time since he’d arrived.
He didn’t move. He stayed as still as he could, not wanting to disturb you. His arm remained firmly around you, holding you steady as your head rose and fell gently with the rhythm of his breathing.
Tyler rested his head back against the wall, his free hand rubbing tiredly at his face. He stared at the sterile ceiling tiles above, his mind racing with a mix of relief and guilt. He was here, and you were letting him be here, but he couldn’t help thinking about all the times before when he hadn’t been.
Nearly two hours passed in silence, broken only by the occasional murmur of passing staff. Tyler shifted slightly, careful not to wake you. Just as he was debating whether to adjust his arm that was starting to go numb, the sound of the waiting room door opening caught his attention.
He turned his head, his gaze landing on the doctor who stepped into the room. The man was middle-aged, with a kind but tired face, his scrubs wrinkled from what must have been a long shift. Tyler straightened slightly, his movements gentle enough that you didn’t stir.
“Are you the family of (your mom’s name)?” The doctor asked, his voice soft but clear.
Tyler hesitated for a second, glancing down at you. “She is,” he said, his voice low so as not to startle you. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he shook your shoulder gently. “Hey, wake up,” he murmured.
You stirred, your brow furrowing as your eyes blinked open. For a moment, you seemed disoriented, but then you sat up quickly, your hand brushing your hair from your face as you glanced between Tyler and the doctor.
“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice still thick with exhaustion.
“The doctor’s here with an update about your mom,” Tyler said gently, giving you a reassuring look.
You swallowed hard and turned your attention to the doctor, your hands twisting nervously in your lap.
“Surgery went well,” the doctor said, his tone calm and steady. “She’s in recovery now. We’ll keep her here for a few days to monitor her, but she’s expected to make a full recovery.
A wave of relief hit you so hard it almost felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your lips parted as though to speak, but no words came out. Tyler’s hand moved to rest lightly on your shoulder, grounding you as the doctor continued.
“She’ll be groggy for a little while when she wakes up, but she’s stable.” The doctor reassured.
“Can I see her now?” you asked quickly, your voice trembling.
The doctor nodded but held up a hand. “Only one person can go in at a time. She needs to stay as calm as possible while she comes out of the anesthesia.”
You hesitated, glancing at Tyler for just a moment. His blue eyes softened, and he gave you a small, encouraging nod. “Go ahead,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”
Your heart clenched at the steadiness in his voice. Without another word, you stood, your legs shaky beneath you as you followed the doctor out of the waiting room. Before you passed through the door, you glanced back at Tyler. He was still sitting, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher—concern, affection, and maybe something deeper.
He gave you a faint smile, his eyes never leaving you as you disappeared into the hallway.
A few hours later, the hum of the hospital had settled into a quiet rhythm as the nurses moved efficiently between rooms. You had been sitting at your mom’s bedside for as long as they allowed, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept peacefully. Relief had begun to seep into your bones, replacing the earlier tension, but exhaustion lingered, weighing heavily on you.
Eventually, a nurse came in, her smile kind but firm. “She’s stable now and will need her rest through the night. We’ll call if there are any changes, but it’s best if you go home and get some sleep too.”
You nodded, reluctant but understanding, and stood slowly, brushing your hand against your mom’s. You whispered a quiet goodbye and promised you’d be back first thing in the morning.
As you made your way back to the waiting room, you pulled your phone from your pocket. You’d been dropped off earlier and hadn’t even thought about how you’d get home. You scrolled through your contacts, landing on the name of a neighbor who’d always been quick to lend a hand. Just as you pressed the call button, Tyler’s voice interrupted you.
“I can drive you home,” he said softly, standing up from the chair where he’d been waiting.
You froze, lowering the phone from your ear. “Tyler, it’s late. You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to,” he interrupted, his voice calm but steady. “But I’d like to. If you’d let me.”
You hesitated, biting your lip. The idea of being alone in the car with him made your chest tighten. Not because you didn’t trust him—but because you weren’t sure you could handle the quiet, the possibility of him pressing you about everything that had happened between you.
Almost as if he could read your mind, Tyler raised his hands slightly in a gesture of surrender. “It’s just a ride home,” he assured you. “That’s it. No talking, no pushing. I know this isn’t the time for… everything else. I just don’t think you should be alone right now.”
His words settled over you, soft and sincere. You studied him for a moment, searching for any sign of an ulterior motive, but there was none. Just a quiet steadiness in the way he looked at you, the same steadiness that had kept you grounded all night.
Finally, you nodded, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Okay,” you murmured. “Thank you.”
Tyler gave a small nod, grabbing his jacket from the chair and slipping it on. He didn’t say anything else, just gestured for you to follow him.
The night air was crisp, the faint hum of insects filling the quiet as you and Tyler stepped into the dimly lit hospital parking lot. He stayed a step ahead, his boots scuffing softly against the pavement as he led the way to his truck. When you reached it, Tyler opened the passenger door, pausing to glance at you.
You climbed into the seat, the familiar scent of his truck—faintly leathery, with a trace of pine—wrapping around you like a memory. He waited until you were settled, buckling your seatbelt, before carefully shutting the door.
You watched him through the windshield as he walked around the front of the truck, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the rumble filling the silence.
As he eased out of the parking lot, Tyler glanced over at you. “Do you want me to take you to your mom’s house or home?”
The word hung in the air between you for a beat too long. Tyler’s jaw tightened slightly, and he quickly corrected himself, his voice quieter. “I mean… my place. Do you want me to take you to my place instead?”
You turned your head to look out the window, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across your face as the truck rolled forward. Your mom’s house would feel empty, too quiet for you to face tonight. Every room would carry the weight of her absence, the echoes of your worry. The thought of sitting there, alone with your thoughts, was unbearable.
“Can I… stay with you tonight?” you asked, your voice soft but steady.
Tyler’s hands tightened briefly on the steering wheel, but he didn’t look at you. Instead, he just nodded and turned the truck onto a familiar road, the one that led to his old farmhouse.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “Of course.”
The drive was quiet after that, neither of you saying much. The occasional hum of the truck’s tires against the road filled the silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt more like an unspoken agreement to let the quiet speak for itself, to let the exhaustion and the events of the day settle.
As the farmhouse came into view, its porch light glowing faintly in the distance, you felt your shoulders relax ever so slightly. Tyler parked the truck in the gravel drive and killed the engine, the sudden stillness almost startling.
He glanced at you, his voice low. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
Tyler unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping inside and flipping on the lights. The warm glow illuminated the familiar space, but as you stepped through the doorway, you hesitated. The house felt the same, smelled the same—like cedarwood and faint traces of whatever cologne Tyler always wore—but you didn’t.
You paused just inside, unsure if you had the right to walk through it as freely as you used to. Your feet felt rooted to the spot, and your arms wrapped around yourself almost instinctively, like a shield.
Tyler paused near the bottom of the stairs and glanced back at you, his brow furrowing slightly when he noticed your hesitation. He rubbed the back of his neck before offering a small smile.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, his voice soft. Then, after a beat, he added, “You know where everything is.”
You nodded faintly, still unsure, but before you could say anything, he gestured to the stairs. “I’m gonna run up and see if I can find you something comfortable to wear for tonight. Be right back.”
Without waiting for a response, Tyler jogged up the stairs, his boots thudding softly against the wooden steps. You stood there for a moment, listening as the sound of his footsteps faded, before finally stepping further into the house.
You found yourself drifting toward the kitchen, your fingers brushing lightly against the edges of the counters as you passed. The farmhouse kitchen had always been one of your favorite spots—it was warm, lived-in, and full of charm. But now, as you glanced around, you noticed how disheveled it was.
Dishes were piled high in the sink, crumbs scattered across the counters. A forgotten coffee mug sat near the edge of the table, and you spotted a pair of work gloves tossed haphazardly onto one of the chairs. It was clear Tyler hadn’t been keeping up with housework.
Your chest tightened slightly. He was probably just as exhausted as you were after the week you’d both had. Without really thinking, you filled the sink with warm water, adding soap until suds began to rise. You rolled up your sleeves and got to work, grabbing the first plate from the pile.
The rhythm of cleaning was soothing, your hands moving on autopilot as you scrubbed and rinsed. One dish turned into two, then three, until the pile began to shrink. You didn’t hear Tyler come back down the stairs until his voice broke through the quiet.
“You don’t have to do that, you know.”
Startled, you glanced over your shoulder. He was leaning against the doorframe, holding a neatly folded T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in his hands. His expression was unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier.
“I know,” you said softly, turning back to the sink. “I just… wanted to help.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything. Tyler set the clothes down on the table and walked over, his boots clicking lightly against the tile. He reached past you and grabbed a clean dish towel, drying one of the plates you’d just washed.
The two of you worked in quiet tandem, the only sounds coming from the water and the soft clink of dishes. When the last plate was dried and put away, Tyler finally spoke again.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he repeated, his voice lower this time.
You dried your hands on the towel and glanced at him. “I know,” you said again, meeting his gaze. “But I wanted to.”
Tyler held your gaze for a long moment before nodding. He motioned toward the clothes he’d brought down. “Those should be comfortable.
You nodded, taking the clothes from the table and brushing past him, your fingers grazing his for just a moment.
Tyler held your gaze for a long moment before nodding, but instead of leaving it at that, he started to speak, his words coming out in a ramble—something you knew he only did when he was nervous.
“I, uh, was looking to see if maybe you’d left something here. You know, clothes or—just… something. But it looks like you cleared everything out when you left—”
He cut himself off abruptly, the weight of the words hanging in the air like a stone dropped into still water. You saw the flicker of regret cross his face as if he wished he could take them back.
Your chest tightened the reality of the distance between the two of you crashing back in. You forced a nod, your throat too tight to speak, and clutched the clothes tighter to your chest.
Without another word, you turned and headed toward the bathroom down the hall, your steps quick and purposeful, driven by the sudden need to put space between you and him.
You changed into the clothes Tyler had given you, silently hating how comfortable they felt. The fabric was soft and worn in all the right ways, and the faint scent of him lingering on them—woodsy, clean, and unmistakably Tyler—settled you in a way you didn’t want to admit. It felt too easy, too familiar, and you tried to shake the thought as you ran a hand over your face and took a steadying breath.
When you stepped out of the bathroom, the farmhouse was quiet, save for the faint creak of the old wood floors beneath your feet. You padded into the living room and spotted a throw pillow and blanket folded neatly on the back of the couch. Without giving it much thought, you reached for them and began to lay them out, preparing to make a bed for the night.
The sound of footsteps behind you made you pause, and you turned to find Tyler standing in the doorway, his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame. His brows furrowed slightly as he tilted his head. “What are you doing?”
You glanced at the blanket in your hands and then back at him. “I’m making a place to sleep,” you said simply, motioning toward the couch.
He shook his head almost immediately, his expression firm. “No, you’re not.”
Your brow knit in confusion. “What do you mean, no? I’m not kicking you out of your own bed, Tyler.”
Tyler’s jaw tightened briefly, but his voice was calm and steady when he spoke. “And I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”
“Tyler—”
He cut you off, his tone a little more resolute this time, though still gentle. “You’re sleeping upstairs. In the bed. End of discussion.”
You frowned at him, not sure whether to feel annoyed at his stubbornness or oddly comforted by it. “And where exactly are you planning to sleep, then?”
“The couch,” he said plainly, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world.
“Tyler, that’s ridiculous—”
“It’s not,” he interrupted again, his voice softening just slightly. “You’ve had a hell of a day, and you’re not about to spend the night crammed on this couch. You need to rest, and you’re sleeping in the bed.”
You opened your mouth to argue again, but the way he was looking at you—his gaze steady and full of quiet insistence—made the words catch in your throat. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you. Finally, you exhaled, realizing there was no point in fighting him on this.
“Fine,” you muttered, reluctantly grabbing the pillow and blanket and handing them to him. “But if you wake up sore in the morning, that’s on you.”
Tyler chuckled softly, taking them from your hands. “I’ll take my chances.”
As you turned to head upstairs, you could feel his gaze on you, but you didn’t look back. It wasn’t until you were settled beneath the covers, the familiar scent of the farmhouse wrapping around you, that you realized how much you’d missed the quiet comfort of this place—and, if you were being honest, him.
Downstairs, you heard the faint sound of the couch creaking as Tyler settled in, followed by the soft exhale of his breath. And for the first time in days, you felt the edges of exhaustion pulling you into sleep, knowing you weren’t alone.
The soft sounds from downstairs pulled you from your sleep, and for a moment, you lay there disoriented, the unfamiliar surroundings grounding you in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. The room was too quiet, too still, and it wasn’t until you spotted the framed photos on the wall—the ones you’d seen countless times before—that you remembered where you were. Tyler’s house. His bed.
You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and the faint smell of coffee and something cooking reached you, accompanied by the faint clang of a pan. Pushing the covers off, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood, padding toward the stairs.
The kitchen came into view as you reached the bottom step, and you stopped in the doorway, momentarily caught off guard. Tyler was standing at the stove, barefoot, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt that clung to his back just enough to remind you how unfairly attractive he was. He looked so casual, so domestic, like he belonged here in this space that had always felt like home to you too. And that realization was almost too much to take, given the current mess of emotions between the two of you.
He must have heard your footsteps because he turned, a faint smile tugging at his lips when he saw you. “Morning,” he said, his voice warm and easy, like this was just another day in the life you used to share. “How’d you sleep?”
You hesitated for half a second before answering. “Fine,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. “Thanks for…everything last night.”
He just nodded, as though it were a given. “Feel free to make yourself some coffee,” he said, motioning toward the Keurig sitting on the counter.
You blinked, your gaze landing on the sleek machine that had replaced the old, battered coffee pot he’d had for years. The sight of it caught you off guard, like it was proof that time had moved on in this house even when you hadn’t been here to see it.
“I didn’t remember how you like your coffee these days,” Tyler admitted, running a hand through his hair. “With all the stuff you used to add to it, I figured I’d mess it up. But there’s still some pods and syrups in the cupboard. And I, uh—” He cleared his throat and motioned toward the fridge. “I went to the store and picked up some creamer. It’s the kind you used to like. Figured it couldn’t hurt to have it, just in case.”
Your chest tightened at his words, at the small gesture that felt far too thoughtful for what you thought you deserved right now. You opened the fridge to find the familiar bottle sitting there, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at it, trying to process the sudden wave of emotions.
“Eggs’ll be ready in a few minutes,” Tyler said, his voice pulling you back. He glanced over his shoulder at you as he stirred something in the pan. “Hope you’re hungry.”
You shut the fridge door and turned, your gaze settling on him again. He looked so at ease, so natural standing there, that it made your heart ache in a way you hadn’t expected. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep your voice steady as you replied, “Yeah. I think I could eat.”
He nodded, turning his attention back to the stove, and you lingered in the doorway for a moment longer before making your way to the counter to fix your coffee. You couldn’t help but feel like you’d stepped back into a memory, even though you knew things weren’t the same anymore.
Not even close.
You sat across from Tyler at the small wooden table, the one that had been in this kitchen for as long as you could remember. The plates between you held scrambled eggs and toast, simple but enough to ease the ache of an empty stomach. The air between you was thick with an awkwardness that neither of you seemed willing to address, and the only sounds filling the room were the soft scrape of forks against plates and the occasional clink of a glass being set back on the table.
You stared down at your plate, taking another small bite, trying to focus on the food and not the tension that was quietly suffocating the space. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. Setting your fork down, you cleared your throat softly, your voice tentative as you broke the silence.
“Thank you,” you said, your gaze lifting to meet his, though he didn’t look up right away. “For everything. For… being there for me.”
Tyler’s fork hovered over his plate for a moment before he set it down. He looked down at his plate, his shoulders stiffening slightly. “It was about time,” he murmured, his voice quiet but weighted. “About time I was there when you needed me to be.”
The words hit you harder than you expected, cutting through the delicate balance you’d been trying to maintain. You blinked, your throat tightening as you realized what he meant. He wasn’t just talking about yesterday or last night. He was thinking about all the times he hadn’t been there—your last birthday, the other moments and milestones you’d quietly endured alone. The guilt in his tone was unmistakable, and it settled heavily in your chest.
“Tyler…” you started, your voice soft, but he quickly shook his head, stopping you before you could go any further.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he said firmly, finally glancing up at you. His eyes were steady, but there was a flicker of something raw in them that made your breath hitch. “It is what it is.”
The words hung in the air for a moment, cutting off any argument you might have made. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what you could even say to that.
Tyler leaned back in his chair, his expression softening slightly as he tried to steer the conversation away from the growing tension. “Once you’re done eating,” he said, his voice lighter now, though it still carried a trace of that earlier guilt, “I can take you over to your mom’s to get your car.”
You nodded, grateful for the change in subject, even if it felt like a half-hearted attempt to escape the unspoken weight between you. “Yeah, okay,” you murmured, reaching for your glass and taking a sip of water.
The silence returned, but this time it felt less oppressive. You both focused on finishing your meals, the unspoken understanding settling between you like a fragile truce. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough for now.
#Tyler Owens#Tyler Owens x reader#Tyler Owens x you#Tyler Owens Fic#Tyler Owens Fanfic#Tyler Owens Fanfiction#Tyler Owens Angst
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Every Little Thing Pt.2
Yoongi x Reader
Summary: You want to keep your relationship quiet for a lil bit following Yoongi’s confession, but subtlety is not quite his thing.(aka, bf Yoongi’s a lil bit of a clingy brat, but we love it). Part 1
Word Count: 1.7k
Warnings: Slightly suggestive, swearing, reader is referred to as Yoongi’s girlfriend like once, not proofread
A/N: Finally a part 2! This has been sitting in my drafts for far too long, but I hope you guys like it!
Masterlist
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The first thing you became aware of as you woke was the distinct weight of another body pressing on your chest. Cracking your eyes open slowly, you were greeted by the sight of Yoongi half on top of you, sound asleep, small puffs of breath brushing warmly over your skin.
Flickers of the night before flash through your mind as you watch him sleep, a grin of disbelief spreading across your face.
Yoongi showing up at your door, his confession, the feeling of his lips on yours, it all felt like a dream, yet the proof of its reality was right in front of you, snoring lightly.
You stretched slowly, a task made doubly difficult by the fact that still on your couch, you and Yoongi having not made it further through the house before collapsing together.
You hadn’t done much more than kissing, due to Yoongi, god bless him(despite you wanting to strangle him in the moment), wanting to talk everything out and make sure that you were both on the same page about how you felt towards each other.
It had been nearly morning by the time you had fallen asleep, you didn’t know what time it was now, stretching to reach for you phone on the coffee table, causing a low whine to emit from the sleeping form on your chest, tired arms wrapping tightly around your waist to hold you down, preventing you from moving further.
“Don’t, ‘m comfy.” Yoongi grumbled.
“I’m just trying to check the time.” You chuckled.
“Time is a capitalistic social construct.” He groaned, rubbing his face against the material of your shirt. “It’s too early to be moving, that’s all you need to know.”
You laughed again, the vibrations in your chest finally drawing him into full consciousness.
He lifted his head enough to meet your eyes, propping his chin on your chest. “Hi.”
“Hi.” You grinned.
There’s something singularly unique about experiencing something for the first time, an exciting uncertainty like the pause just before the drop on a rollercoaster. That’s what it felt as you stared at Yoongi, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as he shifted enough to connect his mouth with yours.
You let out a contented sigh, parting your lips just enough for him to take advantage of, slipping his tongue inside with a fervor, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.
He let one hand drop to your waist, slipping beneath the thin fabric of your sleep top, the other settling at the base of your neck, anchoring you to him as he pressed your hips down into the cushions with his own.
By the time you came up for air, the atmosphere around the two of you had shifted considerably, any traces of your earlier drowsiness long gone.
You were fully underneath him now, his hands positioned on either side of your head, his eyes holding the same dark craving that they had last night, his mouth swollen and red from your continued assaults on it.
You reached up slowly, tucking a messy strand of hair behind his ear, taking in the way the midday light gave his skin a soft, golden hue. He was truly so beautiful.
His soft laughter brushed over your face like a morning breeze.
“What’s that look for?” He asked, taking in your dreamy expression.
“I-” Before you could form a proper response, the moment was shattered by the ping of your phone.
You sat up slowly, Yoongi managing shift so that he was still wrapped around you as you did so.
Glancing down at the screen, you tapped on a new message from Jimin.
What time should I pick you up tomorrow?
Tomorrow? With everything that had happened last night, you had almost forgotten that you had asked Jimin to help you go furniture shopping.
Sorry Chim, smth came up and I can’t go tomor-
“Why can’t you go?” Yoongi asked, peering at the screen over your shoulder.
You looked up at him quizzically. “I thought you didn’t like me going with him?”
“I didn’t like it because you were ignoring me, I don’t have any issues with you hanging out with Jimin.” He shrugged. “I’ll even go with you.”
You blinked at him. “What, as like a couple?”
“Maybe, is that too soon?” He tilted his head at you.
“I don’t know...” You bit your lip. So much had changed in the past twelve hours. Last night, you were afraid that you were losing one of your best friends, now he was more or less asking you on a date? Did this even count as a date? You weren’t sure. What about Jimin? Would this make him feel uncomfortable? The three of you had hung out together before, but now-
“We don’t have to say anything yet if you don’t want to.” He offered, as if sensing your spiraling train of thought. “I’ll just tag along in case you guys need help with anything. Plus, my car has more room.”
His words helped calm your mind. You nodded. “Okay.”
He grinned, leaning in to press kisses to your face as you tried to type out a quick reply to Jimin.
Slight change of plans-
“So you guys are done fighting?” Jimin asked as he climbed into the back seat the next day.
“We weren’t fighting.” You replied, shooting him a look.
“Sure seemed like it.” He muttered under his breath.
“We weren’t fighting-”
“But if we were, we’re done now.” Yoongi said, shooting you a smirk.
You slumped back in your seat with an annoyed huff.
“Yeah, okay.” Jimin snickered. “So what are we looking for today, Y/n?”
The drive passed rather comfortably, Yoongi leaving you and Jimin to do majority of the talking for the most part, smiling to himself as the two of you argued over differences in interior design preferences and color palettes.
Things felt pretty much back to normal, until he noticed you shiver slightly out the corner of his eye as he was parking.
”Are you cold?” He asked, glancing over at you with a frown.
“I just forgot my jacket, it’s fine.” You said dismissively, getting out of the car, but Yoongi was having none of it.
“Nope.” He quickly rounded the car to you, shrugging off his jacket and holding it out for you to put on. “Here.”
“I’m fine.” You argued.
“I don’t want you to be cold, put it on.” He insisted.
“But what about you?” You asked.
“Don’t worry about it, just put the jacket on.”
“Yoongi-”
“Please?” His eyes softened as he looked at you, making your stomach do a tiny somersault.
Damn him, he knew exactly what he was doing, that was the same look he gave you whenever he wanted his way, the same look he’d given you to keep you cuddled up with him till almost 3 in the afternoon the day before.
“Fine.” You sighed, slipping your arms into the sleeves, letting the slightly oversized article envelope you.
You turned back to face him. “Happy?”
“Yes.” He said with another pointed smirk.
Jimin, who stood behind the two of you, watching the whole bizarre exchange with a baffled expression, cleared his throat.
“Soo, are we ready to go?” He asked, pulling you both back to attention.
When Yoongi had said you didn’t have to say anything about your relationship yet, you had thought that also meant that Yoongi was going to act the same as he normally did.
You soon found out that that wasn’t the case.
He wasn’t overly obvious about wanting to be closer to you than usual, but he wasn’t exactly subtle about it either. Brushing your hair out your face for you, grabbing your wrist to draw your attention to certain items and then “forgetting” to let go, and generally just sticking to your side as much as possible.
It wasn’t like he was trying to make you uncomfortable or anything, but after the past week of you ignoring him, he wanted to tease you just a little bit. He knew how easily flustered you were, and was taking a great deal of enjoyment out of trying to raise the color in your cheeks.
While you were mainly choosing to ignore his ‘odd’ behavior, Jimin was absolutely stunned.
“Okay, what the fuck is up with you and Y/n?!” He hissed as soon as you were out of earshot.
“Don’t worry about it” Yoongi said simply, finding the lamp display in front of them much more interesting.
“Don’t worry abou-?!” Jimin stared at him in disbelief, wanting to press further, but seeing you approaching, he let it drop for the moment.
The way Yoongi’s expression brightened as you rejoined the group however, told Jimin far more than he knew his hyung ever would.
It wasn’t until later that evening as you were helping him unload a few things he picked out that he spoke about it again.
“So, when you and Yoongi get married, can I be your best man?” He asked, only half teasing.
“Goodnight, Jimin.” You said, ignoring his question.
“G’night.” He grinned, hugging you.
“I’m really happy for you.” He mumbled into your shoulder, causing your eyes to prick with tears as the sudden wave of emotions hit you.
“Thank you, Chim.” You whispered, squeezing him tighter.
When you finally separated, you could see his eyes were shining similarly to your own.
“If he ever hurts you, I’m gonna kick his ass, just so you know.” He cautioned.
You let out a wet laugh.
“Good to know.” You nodded. “Night, Chim.”
“Goodnight.”
When you got back to the car, Yoongi was smiling knowingly at you.
“Did you have a nice time today?” He asked pleasantly.
“Mhm, my boyfriend was being kinda weird though.” You said, settling into the passenger seat. “Kinda clingy.”
“Maybe that’s just because you’re not familiar with boyfriend Yoongi.” He said. “We’ll have to give you a crash course on it.”
“I look forward to it.” You said with a grin. “So then, what does boyfriend Yoongi do when his girlfriend is tired and hungry?”
“Typically, buys her favorite dinner and makes her go to bed at a reasonable hour.”
“Sounds good, except for that last part.” You replied, stifling a yawn.
“Would it sound better if I told you that it also includes said boyfriend staying over and cuddling?” He offered.
“Yes, it would.” You grinned.
“Then it’s settled.” He started the car.
“Jimin said he’ll kick your ass if you ever hurt me, by the way.”
“I don’t plan on ever giving him a reason to do that.” He replied, resting a hand on your thigh as he drove, making you smile.
Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0o0o0ooo @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz
#yoongi x y/n#yoongi x reader#yoongi drabble#yoongi fluff#yoongi scenarios#bts x y/n#bts x reader#bts requests#bts scenarios#bts reaction#bts reactions#bts drabble#bts fluff#7ndipity
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Sequence of events:
The Doctor admits out loud that he's about to kill himself. "I liked this face..."
A Tardis console screen suddenly brings up a Doctor Face Clipshow. "Why are you showing me this?" The screen finally settles on 13, and as it does, 13 appears.
I probably would have read this as the Tardis selecting a previous Doctor to summon who could try to talk him out of it. Except thanks to Unleashed, now we have a hint it that wasn't actually 13 - it was "Petrol." The Tardis was choosing one of his faces to wear. Acting as a mirror for him.
13 tries to object to him giving up his own life, tries to point out that he's endangering all of the cosmos, but when he asks if she's here to stop him, she immediately backs down: "That was never gonna work." Which isn't actually that Doctor-like! But does track with the Tardis being unwilling to put her foot down with him. She wants to give him anything he wants.
13 says that she should tell Yaz she loves her. If that's the Tardis wearing 13's face, then that also tracks with one of the main morals of the Tardis's fairy tale: the Doctor shouldn't be alone.
13 also says that he should shift his phenotype markers - "Just might help."
13 fades away like a ghost. Could imply that she was just phasing back into her own time, but I think it's supposed to make her feel even more unreal. It also looks very much like the Tardis's fade out animation.
The Doctor starts shooting regeneration energy out of his hands. This is maybe one of his most overtly suicidal regenerations ever. He's not injured by any outside force. There's no ticking clock, no bullet that he has a split second to throw himself in front of for someone else. He just makes a calculated and premeditated decision to kill himself.
Shooting regeneration energy out of his hands is the same thing Saxon Master did in End of Time, btw!
He fires the regeneration energy directly into the Tardis console. We get an actual phantom mirror shattering effect. Hello.
He wakes up in "heaven" - suffused with golden light, vaguely Lynchian. Belinda has been reality warped into the Perfect Mother, the Doctor has saved Poppy but remains fundamentally alone in the universe, and everything operates on a kind of dream logic.
("Here he is. Bad penny." "Oh, I would love to be called Bad Penny." One word away from Bad Wolf...)
He goes back into the Tardis. To recap: the Tardis became a mirror and spoke to him from his own face. The Tardis told him to do something very specific to his "phenotype markers." The Doctor gave the Tardis a blast of regeneration energy and shattered the mirror.
He doesn't want to be alone, so he seeks "company" with Joy, who also killed herself. The Tardis dramatically shutters all the lights. His regeneration energy shoots out of him like the points on a star. In the middle of all this, we briefly cut back inside to the Tardis console, glowing softly in the darkened room.
The Doctor becomes the Bad Wolf, who looks straight into our eyes and goes "Oh, hello!"
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The Third Rule
Lily x Oscar Piastri x You (Reader)
Chapter 17 - The Call
You hadn’t slept.
Not really.
There had been too many vibrations from your phone—alerts, mentions, unread DMs. Too many people talking about your life like it was a reality show. Too many versions of the truth circulating, and none of them told by you.
So when Lily's name lit up your screen at 9:37 a.m., your stomach dropped.
You stared at it for one long second.
Then answered.
“…Hey,” you said, voice tight with sleep and dread.
There was a pause on the other end. Just enough to make your heart race.
“You could’ve told me,” Lily said quietly. No anger. No coldness. Just something worse: disappointment.
You sat up, dragging the blanket over your lap. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“I know.” Another pause. “But it did.”
Silence.
You could hear her breathing. You pictured her on the other end, sitting on her bed, probably still in pajamas. Hair messy. Bare-faced. Real. Familiar.
And breaking.
“I don’t even know when I started feeling like the outsider,” she admitted. “When it stopped being ‘me and Oscar’ and became… something else.”
You swallowed hard.
“Lily, I never wanted—”
“But you didn’t stop it,” she cut in, not cruelly, just honestly. “Neither of you did.”
You felt tears burn your throat, but you held them back.
“I loved you,” Lily said. “As my best friend. As someone I trusted. And I think part of me was okay with sharing him at first because I didn’t think I could lose to you.”
That hit harder than it should have.
“You didn’t lose,” you whispered.
“I did.” Her voice cracked then. Just a little. “You didn’t even have to try. You just… became everything he looked for. And I watched it happen. Every day. I was the one who talked about you to him, remember?”
You did. God, you did.
And now?
All of it felt poisoned.
“I don’t hate you, (Y/N). I probably should, but I don’t. I just… can’t be part of this anymore. I’m stepping away.”
You froze.
“From Oscar?”
“From you,” she said softly. “From both of you.”
It was the right thing for her. You knew that.
But it still shattered something inside you.
Before she hung up, she added:
“I hope he was worth it.”
Then the line went dead.
And you sat there, blinking at your reflection in the black screen of your phone—wondering when exactly this had stopped being a story about friendship, and started becoming a slow unraveling of everything that mattered.
.
Oscar had just come back from training. He was still in his hoodie, damp with sweat and exhaustion, when his phone lit up on the table.
Lily.
He stared at the screen. For a moment, he thought about not picking up.
But he did.
“Hey,” he said, running a hand through his hair. The casual tone didn’t sound like him anymore.
Lily’s voice came through, quiet and level.
“Do you still love me?”
Oscar blinked.
The question landed like a punch—unexpected and unfiltered.
“Lily…”
“It’s not a trap. I just need to know,” she said. “Right now. Not what we had, not what we were. Right now, Oscar.”
He pressed his lips together, heart pounding. “I don’t know.”
She laughed softly. Bitterly.
“That’s the answer, then.”
“Lily, I—”
“I talked to (Y/N),” she interrupted. “I already told her I’m stepping away. That I can’t be in the middle anymore.”
Oscar closed his eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”
“No, I do. Because you won’t.”
Silence stretched between them. The kind that only happens when two people know everything has been said, but neither wants to admit it.
“I loved you,” she said. “For real. Even when it got hard. Even when you stopped trying.”
“I didn’t stop—”
“You did,” she whispered. “You stopped making time. You stopped answering with interest. You started spending your free time in another timezone, even when you were in the same city.”
He felt like someone had reached into his chest and twisted something raw.
“I don’t hate you,” Lily continued. “But I’m not going to keep pretending this is still love when it’s just comfort.”
His voice cracked slightly. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know.” A pause. “But you did anyway.”
Oscar swallowed hard, guilt thick in his throat. “What happens now?”
There was a pause on her end. Then:
“You figure that out with her. Or you don’t. But you don’t call me again unless you’re sure.”
The line clicked off before he could say anything else.
And for the first time in a long time, Oscar felt like he wasn’t the one in control—not of his heart, not of the damage he’d caused, and certainly not of whatever came next.
You were curled up on your bed, trying to read something for class, when your phone buzzed.
Oscar: She ended it. Just now.
You stared at the message.
No “hey.” No buildup. Just the truth, dropped into your hands like a stone.
Your chest tightened. You knew it was coming. Everyone had known. But reading it—seeing those words—still made the room feel like it had lost some kind of air.
Before you could reply, another notification lit up your phone.
Oscar had posted.
You opened Instagram.
@oscarpiastri Lily and I have decided to go our separate ways.
This should’ve been handled differently. We owe everyone honesty and, more importantly, respect.
The last few months haven’t been perfect—we’re human.
I ask for space—for myself, for Lily, and for (Y/N).
Please don’t assume. Please don’t attack.
We’re all just trying to move forward.
The comments were already pouring in.
“Finally.” “We knew it!” “(Y/N) deserves better.” “Poor Lily.” “Give them space.” “He’s doing this for her.”
You dropped your phone on the blanket, heart racing.
Then it buzzed again.
Oscar: I know I shouldn’t have let it get this far. I just didn’t know how to stop it without breaking someone.
Another text followed:
But I broke her anyway.
You didn’t answer right away.
You didn’t know how.
But your fingers hovered over the screen, trembling with all the things you wanted to say—and all the things you still weren’t sure you should.
You stared at his last message for a long time.
But I broke her anyway.
Your thumbs hovered above the keyboard, backspace pressed a dozen times, heart pounding harder with every second you let pass.
Finally, you typed.
(Y/N): I think… we both did. And maybe that’s the part I hate the most.
There was no instant reply this time. A minute passed. Two. Then:
Oscar: I didn’t want it to happen like this. I wanted to be better. For her. For you.
You hesitated, breathing slowly through the lump building in your throat. The room was quiet. The kind of quiet that lets every emotion echo.
(Y/N): We were selfish. But also honest. Maybe not with each other. But with what we felt. It was never just Vegas. Not for me.
Three dots. Then a message.
Oscar: It wasn’t for me either. I think I fell for you somewhere between laughing in that city and watching you disappear from me after. I tried to make it stop.
You closed your eyes.
(Y/N): So did I.
Silence again. Until he called.
You answered without thinking.
His voice was low, a little tired, but real.
“I’m sorry,” Oscar said. “For her. For you. For letting this all drag out.”
You swallowed. “Me too.”
“I never wanted to hurt her.”
“She didn’t deserve it,” you whispered.
“No. She didn’t.”
There was a pause. Then, softer—
“But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
You looked out the window, to the London skyline glowing under the night. “I know.”
Another silence.
“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he said, voice quiet. “I don’t know what comes next. But I know I want you in it.”
You bit your lip, heart breaking and blooming at once.
“I want to be in it,” you whispered. “But I don’t want us to forget her. We loved her.”
“I’ll never forget her,” he said. “She was home for a long time.”
You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “But maybe… we’ve outgrown that version of home.”
He let out a breath. “So, what now?”
“I don’t know,” you said truthfully. “But maybe we start by not lying to ourselves anymore.”
A pause. Then—
“I can do that,” he said. “For you? I can start now.”
And just like that, it felt like the first real thing either of you had said in months.
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we keep this love in a photograph
ao3: we keep this love in a photograph pairing: asakura shin x f! reader genre: romance, fluff wc: 1.2k status: one shot
She has changed his wallpaper countless times before, and Shin knows she will do it a thousand more times in the future. He only wished she wouldn’t change it to something silly—but it was always something silly when it comes to her.

“[Name]! I told you to stop doing this!”
Shin’s footsteps echoed in the living room where he sees the culprit and cute little Hana-chan sitting in front of the fan letting their hair be blown in every direction.
The sight had him stopping in his tracks, it still takes him by surprise so it seems—that the ever elusive [Name] of the research lab so long ago could be seen in the light of day laughing and tickling little kids as if she was born to be surrounded by every droplet of sunshine.
He felt his phone vibrate, shattering the spell she had wordlessly cast, hauling him back to reality where he remembers that he was upset—yes… upset!
“Doing what, Shin?” [Name] looks over her shoulders with that teasing look, knowing damn well what she did.
Shin grumbled, willing himself to remain annoyed—beseeched it to stay for a little longer before he is overcome by the desire to smile and walk over and stamp her face with his lips. He fights with the fires of his blood trying to ignite the meadows of his face yet he feels the tiniest of sparks creep up his neck—from his grievances or his flusteredness, he remains unsure.
“This!” He raises his phone and points at the screen where it displays his unnattractive pictures from back in his ‘rebellious phase’ as she had so crassly labeled it.
“Aww, but you look adorable,” she chuckles, glancing at him then back to Hana. “Shin-kun looks cute, doesn’t he, Hana-chan?”
[Name] continued to smile warmly at Hana, but when she turned to look at Shin, that smile morphed into something else: teasing, amused at best. Oh, she knows full well that Shin in the picture was anything but adorable.
For goodness sake he looked like a gangster two years ago! [Name] was there, as she always has been, and she was always poking fun at his choice of clothing so he knew she was riling him up just now!
“Hmm!” Hana nods enthusiastically as she jumps down from [Name]’s lap to circle around him. “You look cute, Shin-kun!”
Shin’s shoulders sag in utter defeat, knowing that nagging [Name] about sneakily changing his phone wallpaper was a battle he was never going to win. “Thank you, Hana-chan.”
[Name] has changed his wallpaper countless times before, and Shin knows she will do it a thousand more times in the future. He only wished she wouldn’t change it to something silly—but it was always something silly when it comes to her.
Most of the time Shin doesn’t even know where the image comes from, only being notified about its existence when it inevitably becomes the first thing he sees when he uses his phone. Like that one time he sees himself picking his nose… when did [Name] even take that photo? Or that time back in the lab almost fifteen years ago when a mushroom got stuck in his hair, how did [Name] even get a hold of that?
They were embarrassing… and they came at the most random times, too! There could be a month-long interval before his wallpaper is changed, other times it’s only a matter of days.
Until one day, he caught [Name] in the midst of her crime.
“Aha! The culprit herself exposed in the act!” Shin points dramatically to where she sits by the foot of the sofa, but [Name] doesn’t look at him… only keeps her focus on his phone as she stares at something he couldn’t see.
Shin cautiously stepped closer to her, warily craning his head to see what she was so fixated on—and it made him want to yank his phone out of her hands.
He felt the ink of his life rush to paint his face scarlet, the fires of his blood igniting every organ in his body as his hand covered his face in a desperate attempt to shield his embarrassment.
“You kept this?” She asks, craning her head to try and catch his stare… but all Shin did was look at anything that was not her.
[Name] laughs, propping herself up to her feet so she could bridge the distance that separated her from him. “And you keep telling me I’m the sentimental one,” she grins, booping his nose which only had him plunging deeper into the oceans of his flusteredness.
“W-Well—I… I mean—you…” Shin tried to retaliate, tell her that she had it wrong or that it was photoshopped. But the evidence was clean on her hands, engraved in the roots of his memories, bottled for safekeeping in the meadows of his soul.
How could he bring himself to tell her that it wasn’t what it looked like when he was right here being all embarrassed because she just so happens to catch him using their very first date as a wallpaper?
Shin remembers it clear as day. He still knows where that place is: the little corner cafe next to the park where the neighborhood had flowers blooming most vibrantly in front of the convenience store. He remembers the feel of the sun, the bite of the summer wind, how the frost of winter crossed the borders of the seasons to take home in the horizons of his fingernails, make home in his nerves and rattle his body to the core.
“I like you,” he tells her all those years ago—hands trembling underneath the table as he grips the fabric of his clothes.
His eyes don’t waver, they don’t falter—not even for the slimmest of moments—if he was willing himself to scrape past this through sheer will alone he doesn’t know. But in the littlest corners of his ribcage thunders the hopes that her ever-perceptive eyes don’t linger long enough to notice.
Shin doesn’t know how much longer he could last underneath her stare.
What’s worse is she probably doesn’t even know of the agony she’s causing him: how the ravaging drumming of his heart makes his head pound, the gales in his lungs falling short of what he needs because she was taking them all away just by being near, how his vision saturates to a thousand different colors because she was there to refract and mirror every shade of the cosmos.
He could take on assassins—fight them day and night if he must, infiltrate the JAA a thousand times over, he’d drink a hundred poison bottles… he would do all of it and she would only ever need to ask.
[Name] laughs… and Shin thinks it might just be the prettiest thing he’s ever heard in his life.
“You probably say that to everyone.”
“Yes,” he echoes breathlessly—enamored completely from the sight of her smile, one so tangled with her lips it almost made him jealous that it gets to be near her all the damn time. “I do tell everyone that I like you.”
“I’m happy to know I’m loved by someone who tells everyone he likes me,” [Name] teased.
Shin groans, burying his face in the crook of her neck, unable to take any more of her taunts. If he could explode right now he reckons he would. Just from the feel of his blood rushing far too fast for his brain to catch up, casting his very being to flames that burn hotter than the sun, his ears catching fire from her laughter, heart drumming like a war song in his chest… gods, he was so in love with her.

I AM ALIVE RAAAAAAAAAAH🏋️🔥 school has been monopolizing my time so much for the past months: midterms, case studies, competitions, more case studies, finals, even more case studies, and assignments. I only managed to conjure this short fic in such short time bcs it's the end of the month and I haven't posted anything yet aside from my craziness 💀 thank you endlessly for your support 🫶
#chiya's head rent 🎐#sakamoto days#shin x reader#asakura shin x reader#shin asakura x reader#x reader#shin#sakadays shin#sakadays shin x reader#sakamoto days x reader#sakamoto days shin#shin asakura#I love Shin so much 😭
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