#reality was rewritten but it isn't *perfect*

[discordiansamba]

the idea of some of them just. having new family members. Most of them do!

Allura has a pair of human parents in this reality. One works as a librarian and the other works as a waitress. Despite how... strange their daughter can be at times, they love her unabashedly. And Allura has come to love them both as well, finding a place in her heart for the both of them alongside Alfor and Melenor. They don't have much, so she works hard to get a full scholarship to the Galaxy Garrison, working part time jobs to pay for her own airfare.

Coran has lived quite the full life on Earth! Ah yes, he's had his number of romances, though no one ever quite filled the void in his heart that Alfor left- even when he couldn't remember Alfor. He's also grown quite fond his colleagues at the Galaxy Garrison! Although he never quite liked the Admiral... though getting his memories back does somewhat explain that dislike.

Hunk grew up on the Balmera, alongside Shay and Rax. His Balmeran family is just as tight knit as his human family, though he always feels... something missing. But his parents are kind, and pass on to him stories about the Balmera before the Galra, passed down to them by their parents. Then one day he gets taken away by the patrols, and they never see him again.

Lance and Veronica grow up on Puig with the odd sense that their family should be... larger. Lance has big dreams of one day taking to the skies, but theirs isn't a space-faring race, as much as they trade with those that are. But his parents always encourage him. Big dreams are good for the young! Then the Galra conquer their planet, and they never see Lance again.

Pidge grows up on Olkarion, feeling like there's a cog missing in their family. Her parents feel it too, sometimes. She's thriving and in her element- until the Galra invade, and she's taken away. Matt grows up in the deserts of Kythra, constantly annoying his parents with his requests for a little sister. He just feels like he should have one, you know? He decides to join the rebels when Te-Osh recruits him. It feels right.

Keith grew up on the Altean colony. His parents were taken to the second colony when he was quite young. He... doesn't really remember them, if he's being honest. He was mostly passed around from family to family, but he was always weird and never quite fit in, so he made people uneasy. But Romelle and Bandor were always around, until one day it was suddenly just him and Romelle.

Shiro's parents were not part of the Empire- they were nomadic wanderers instead. They did not have it in them to fight, so they hid themselves and their son. They dreamed of a peaceful universe, but it would be one that they would never get to see. Unlike the others, they were killed when Shiro was taken.

actually it would be interesting if for the paladin's families in the reality scramble AU, whether or not they were brought along with them in the new reality was determined based entirely on their proximity to the paladins. which would mean that Veronica would be born on Puig with Lance as his older sister, but the rest of their family would still be back on Earth- the McClain family just had two less children.

it would also mean that because Matt was working to evacuate planets where the energy for the ritual was being drained from, he's actually separated from the rest of his family. I like to think that maybe in this reality, he was born on Te-Osh's planet? He's with the rebels from early on (and was definitely the annoying kid who always bothered his parents about getting him a younger sibling).

Which would mean that Hunk is the only paladin entirely separated from his family... but hey, at least he grew up with Shay? You know. until Honerva kidnapped and brainwashed him. Big downside there.

(also I haven't brought it up before now, but I like to think that Adam is both alive and a member of the Blade of Marmora)

[kathiraven]

The man walked through the dimly lit alleyways, his heart pounding in his chest as he neared his destination. The smell of sweat and cheap perfume filled the air, mingling with the distant sounds of laughter and moans. He had come here seeking something illicit, something that would satisfy his deepest desires. He spotted her from afar, standing under a flickering streetlight. Her figure was slender, her skin pale like milk, and her eyes… they were like pools of darkness, full of secrets and promises. She wore a skimpy outfit that left little to the imagination, but it was her seductive smile that truly drew him in

Jerald's pulse quickened as he approached the young woman, his mind already clouded with lust. His gaze roamed over her body, taking in every curve and hollow, his breath hitching in his throat. She was beautiful, exotic, and far too tempting for someone like him. As she turned towards him, her lips parted slightly in a teasing grin, revealing perfect white teeth against her dark complexion. She stepped closer, her hips swaying enticingly, and Jerald could almost taste the sweet scent of her arousal on the air. "Looking for some fun? " she purred, her voice like velvet." I can show you things you've never even dreamed of".

Jerald groaned, his head throbbing painfully as he tried to sit up. He was disoriented, his vision blurry and his thoughts foggy. Where was he? How did he get here? His surroundings came into focus slowly - a shabby room, lit by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was filth and grime everywhere, and the stench of stale alcohol and sweat hung heavy in the air. A large figure loomed over him, blocking out what little light there was. It took him a moment to realize it was another man, one he didn't recognize. The stranger was shirtless, his muscular torso glistening with sweat, and he held a wicked-looking knife in his hand. "What… what happened?" Jerald managed to ask, fear making his voice waver. "Who are you?"

Jer, as Jerald now knew him, gave a harsh laugh, the sound echoing around the small room. He tossed the knife onto a nearby table, where it landed with a clatter, and sat down heavily beside Jerald. "You passed out, mate", he said, his accent thick and guttural. "Got yourself into a bit of trouble, I reckon." He reached out a massive hand, roughly patting Jerald's cheek before pulling away again. "Best thing for ya is to rest up 'til the next bloke comes along. You'll be right as rain then". With that, Jer stood up and began to pace around the room, his movements slow and deliberate. Every now and then, he cast a glance over his shoulder at Jerald, his expression unreadable.

Jerald's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear. He couldn't shake off the feeling that something wasn't right, that his reality was shifting and changing beneath him.He remembered walking through the seedy alleyway, meeting the mysterious woman, and then... nothing. But now, he was here, in this grimy room with this terrifying man. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here or why he was with Jer.He closed his eyes tightly, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. But each time he thought he was getting somewhere, everything would blur and shift again. It was like his past was being rewritten, edited to fit whatever sick game Jer wanted to play.

Jerald's heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to hold onto his fading memories. He could feel them slipping away, like sand through his fingers. They were being replaced by new ones, ones that painted a picture of a life spent in the red-light district. He remembered waking up in this dingy room countless times before, always with a different face beside him. He remembered selling his body to strangers, using sex to numb the pain of his lonely existence. And yet, deep down, he knew these weren't his real memories. They were false, fabricated to keep him trapped in this hellish world. "No… "he whispered hoarsely, "This isn't me… I'm not supposed to be here…"

jer walks out of the room and lock the door behind him

As Jer left the room, locking the door behind him, Jerald felt a strange sensation wash over him. His muscles seemed tighter, stronger than before, and his skin glowed with a healthy sheen. He looked down at himself, barely recognizing the body he saw. His once lanky frame had been transformed into a chiseled physique, each muscle perfectly defined. His arms were thick and powerful, his abs rippled like waves beneath his skin. Even his legs had grown larger, more muscular, capable of carrying him for miles without tiring. And then there was his hair. It had gone from its usual dirty black color to a vibrant shade of pink, matching the new confidence that seemed to radiate from him. But it was his face that surprised him most. Gone was the plain, nondescript look he used to have.

Instead, he was now a handsome young man, his features soft and feminine. His cheeks were flushed with color, his lips plump and inviting. His eyes, once dull and lifeless, now sparkled with an inner fire that seemed to burn brighter with every passing second. It was as if he had been reborn, molded into a new version of himself. But who had done this to him? Why? And more importantly, how could he escape this nightmare and return to the person he used to be?

Jerald's transformation was complete. He was no longer the nerdy, awkward boy he used to be. Now, he was a gorgeous, alluring man, designed to sell his body to the highest bidder. He stood up, testing his new strength, flexing his muscles as he moved around the room. Everything about him screamed sexuality – from his tight, toned body to his inviting lips. He was a living, breathing temptation, created to satisfy the darkest desires of those who frequented this place. But despite his newfound attractiveness, Jerald felt a pang of sadness. This wasn't who he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be studying, dreaming of a better future. Not servicing men in a seedy brothel.

He walked over to the mirror, his reflection staring back at him with a mix of fascination and horror. He was beautiful, undeniably so. But it was a beauty born out of pain and suffering, a twisted creation of someone else's design. He ran his hands over his sculpted body, tracing the lines of his muscles. He couldn't help but notice how responsive his skin was, how every touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through him. It was as if his entire body had been sensitized, made hyper-aware of every sensation. But as much as he hated to admit it, part of him also enjoyed this new form. The attention, the power it gave him over others… It was intoxicating, addictive. But he knew he had to resist.

Jerald turned to face the door, his posture straight and proud. Despite everything, he knew he had to maintain some semblance of control over his situation. "Bring in your next customer", he said, his voice deeper and more confident than before." I'm ready." Even though he spoke the words, he didn't mean them. He wasn't ready. He never would be. But what choice did he have? He heard footsteps approaching, the heavy thud of boots against the floor. He braced himself, preparing for whatever came next. But instead of fear, he felt a strange sense of anticipation. The door swung open, revealing another man standing in the doorway. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a rough, rugged appearance that spoke volumes about his character.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Velvet Sin & Clandestine Vows - Getting *ahem ahemed* by Nanami in a bathroom at a billionaire's party!

Minors DNI/Implied Cheating but not really/Shameless Smut/My First Smut

Summary: Nanami X F!Reader Porn with plot if you squint Nanami at a bougie party? Weird. Nanami getting dragged into a bathroom with a woman who isn't his wife? Even weirder. What’s hotter than luxury, mystery, and terrible decision-making? Spoiler: nothing. Let the chaos (and a closet with better taste than Gojo) ensue. Or Getting Railed by Nanami in a bathroom at a billionaire's party! This fic started as a joke & spiraled into a mix of billionaire aesthetics, deadpan sass, & unhinged party vibes. Buckle up—it’s classy, messy, & totally Nanami-approved. 💅 #Rewritten since I hated the first draft. TW: Maybe Cheating

A/N: This is my first time writing smut of any kind so let me know if it hits the spot ( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖) Y’all, I swear, Nanami is loyal as hell, but who doesn’t love a little tension and mystery? If you’re living for the luxury or just here for the smut, drop a comment or a kudos—your chaos feeds mine. Cheers, besties! 🍸

The road twisted like a serpent through a dense forest, the towering pines stretching skyward, their shadows merging into a dark canvas under the fading sun. As Nanami’s Aston Martin DBS Superleggera glided past the last cluster of trees, the view opened into a scene pulled from the pages of an expensive dream.

The estate stood by a tranquil lake , its surface a sheet of liquid sapphire, mirroring the golden hues of the evening. The mansion, impossibly grand, didn’t merely rise—it commanded the horizon, almost otherworldly.

Towering walls of smooth stone enclosed the property, their minimalist design interrupted by intricate wrought-iron gates that whispered exclusivity rather than screamed it. AI-quipped security cameras, seamlessly embedded into the structure, blinking like mechanical sentinels, their presence a silent testament to caution wrapped in discretion. Guards in impeccably tailored suits patrolled the perimeter, some with guns, some with drones, some with androids, some with canines, their demeanor more akin to that of secret service agents than traditional staff.

The driveway stretched before him, a sleek ribbon of obsidian stone that gleamed like polished onyx under strategically placed lighting. The circular courtyard at the end was a gallery of excess : a Koenigsegg Jesko , a Bugatti Chiron , a��Maserati Folgore , a Mercedes-Maybach S-Class , a Cadillac Celestiq , and a Rolls-Royce Phantom sat gleaming among other cars, their black, forest green or electric blue flawless exteriors reflecting the golden glow of vintage lampposts.

The lawns rolled outward like an emerald sea, interrupted by marble fountains with sculptures so detailed they seemed to breathe. At the edge of the estate, a private dock cradled a yacht —a floating palace that promised indulgence on the water. Above, the faint hum of helicopter rotors signaled rooftop landings, where multiple sleek, futuristic aircrafts waited in perfect formation.

The mansion itself was a contradiction brought to life. Its towering facade bore sharp lines and elegant curves, an architectural ballet where glass and steel met aged stone and brushed brass, each material woven into a seamless tapestry of power and refinement. High ceilings soared above, the kind that made you feel small without making you feel insignificant. The structure breathed genius—an intellect so vast it had turned ambition into reality.

As Nanami pulled up, the double doors opened before he even stepped out, as though the house had been expecting him. Inside, the ambiance shifted into a warm, inviting opulence. The grand hall shimmered under crystal chandeliers that fractured light into golden rain. Polished marble floors reflected the glow, amplifying the sense of space, while floor-to-ceiling windows turned the lake into a living painting framed by midnight silk drapes.

Walking in, he adjusted his Tateossian 18K gold cufflinks out of habit, the gold gleaming briefly in the chandelier light. The fabric of his Tom Ford silk Charmeuse shirt cooled against his skin as he rolled up his sleeves neatly, a testament to effort without indulgence. His tailored Mohair trousers—his entire outfit, his wife’s suggestion—fit him perfectly, a fact he acknowledged with a silent nod to her exquisite taste.

He knew she had spent more time selecting them than he ever would. She had an eye for these things, a maddening precision that made him trust her implicitly. He'd let her spend a good amount on tonight's party outfit to blend in with his office crowd, even though price tags were the least of his concerns. His wife, however, was a different story. Her taste was so particular that she rarely found anything worth buying at a store. But once she did, if it was casual, it would likely be inexpensive. However, if it was anything work- or party-related, it would undoubtedly carry a hefty price tag

The party coursed through the mansion like a heartbeat. In one ballroom , laughter mingled with the clinking of glasses as soft jazz played from hidden speakers. A smaller, more intimate space pulsed with energy, decked out like a private nightclub , where a few couples swayed to Spanish music under the prismatic glow of lights. Staff moved seamlessly among the crowd; their movements choreographed perfection, while their uniforms—a balance of practicality and haute couture—highlighted the wealth that surrounded them.

Each corner of the estate exuded thought and precision. From the soft, ambient lighting casting shadows on minimalistic art pieces to the way every surface seemed untouched yet lived in, the house wasn’t just a home; it was a living entity—one that whispered of brilliance, extravagance, and untold secrets.

Soon, before he knew it, corporate small talk had already grated on him; he’d barely resisted the urge to check his watch. Conversations about ‘exciting’ fiscal projections felt like sandpaper on his nerves, but years of navigating boardrooms had honed his stoic armor to perfection. He tilted his head just enough to feign interest in a junior analyst’s enthusiastic recounting of how they saved 0.5% on operational costs last quarter.

“Impressive,” he muttered, his voice so flat it was unclear whether he meant it or not. The analyst beamed anyway, oblivious.

His whiskey remained mostly untouched, a mere prop for these tedious rituals. He glanced down at the gold trim of the glass and thought fleetingly about hurling it through one of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows—not out of anger, but for something more stimulating than listening to Steve from Compliance recount his golf trip.

“Nanami-san!” Steve called out, loud enough to turn heads. “What’s your handicap? Bet you’re deadly on the green.”

Nanami turned slowly, blinking once as if the words needed extra time to register. “I don’t play golf, Steve,” he replied, deadpan. “I have a job.”

Steve’s laugh was loud and awkward, his ego crumpling in on itself. Nanami allowed himself a flicker of satisfaction before turning back to the entrance, silently daring someone interesting to walk in and save him.

A marketing executive drifted over, a glass of champagne precariously balanced in one hand, their other already extended for a handshake. “Nanami, old sport!” the exec crowed, as though they’d survived war trenches together instead of working in adjacent departments.

“Hardly,” Nanami said, shaking their hand briefly before folding his arms, an unmistakable signal that the conversation was over before it began.

Then the intern appeared like a fly buzzing near a fresh wound, her enthusiasm bordering on suffocation. “Nanami-san, you look great tonight,” she gushed. “Is that Tom Ford? I could tell from a mile away!”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes the moment he saw her making her way towards him from the other corner of the room. Her extremely short gold dress barely covered anything, highly inappropriate for co-worker parties. Where was HR when you needed them?

He regarded her with the kind of cool detachment that made people second-guess speaking to him in the first place. His response was little more than a nod, a gesture so dismissive it might as well have been punctuation. “Yes,” he replied curtly, sipping his whiskey for the first time just to end the interaction. The burn of alcohol was preferable to enduring another comment.

“I’ve never seen you in anything so... relaxed ,” she added, eyes wide as though he’d arrived in a Hawaiian shirt instead of a $25,000 ensemble.

Nanami considered a sarcastic remark— yes, I’m positively unhinged tonight with my gold cufflinks and tailored trousers —but decided against it. “Enjoy the party,” he said instead, his tone as warm as a January morning.

Her persistence, however, was unwavering, her enthusiasm grating on his last nerve. She was the type who delivered coffee he never asked for, lunches he didn’t need, flushed cheeks, and doe-eyed stares he couldn’t unsee. What he had initially dismissed as professional eagerness was now so obviously a crush that even the office ficus had likely noticed. He didn’t mind admirers so long as they kept their distance, but this one was suffocating. Tonight, he had a plan: feed her to his wife .

He let her ramble, tuning her out while his colleagues began their usual background drone: glowing self-praise about the last quarter’s financial performance. Occasionally, Nanami nodded, just enough to seem engaged while maintaining an expression that screamed, I’d rather be anywhere else .

Then a peer from Finance leaned in, his smirk as oily as his hair gel. “You’re quite the magnet tonight, Nanami. What’s your secret?”

“Competence,” Nanami replied, without missing a beat.

The peer’s laugh faltered into a cough as he quickly excused himself. Events like this always managed to sap what little energy he had left after work. First, they stole every waking moment with deadlines and deliverables, then they expected polite socializing in his so-called free time. It was, in his opinion, borderline sadistic. He took another sip of his whiskey, wishing—not for the first time—that he hadn’t shown up. He didn’t much care to mingle, despite appearances. These events were breeding grounds for insincerity, where pleasantries masked ulterior motives. His colleagues jumped him, juniors seeking advice on everything from office politics to investment strategies, while his peers probed for weaknesses under the guise of camaraderie.

Then, previously flanked by armed bodyguards, she walked in.

He felt it before he saw it—the slight shift in the room’s energy, the way conversations seemed to falter for half a second. When his eyes finally found her, it was like everything else dimmed in comparison.

Time didn’t stop—not in some romanticized way, but it slowed just enough to emphasize her entrance. Classy, confident, and untouchable. The sound of her heels on marble cut through the hum of conversation, subtle but commanding. The red rubies on her dress flowed like molten lava, catching the chandeliers’ light with every step. The slit revealed long, toned legs that seemed almost deliberately designed to catch the attention of every person in the room. Her movements were languid but purposeful, as though she were fully aware that the entire party had turned their focus toward her and didn’t mind in the slightest. The siren-like glint in her eyes warned anyone brave enough to approach.

Nanami’s grip tightened imperceptibly on the whiskey glass, his chest rising and falling in a controlled breath. His gaze locked on her instantly, though he couldn’t pinpoint what drew him first—the way her dress hugged her or the quiet authority in her stride. One moment, he was half-listening to his coworkers drone about quotas; the next, he was captivated .

“Who is she?�� The intern whispered, her tone laced with poorly concealed jelousy.

Nanami didn’t look away, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Trouble,” he murmured, his voice low and even.

She didn’t need to seek attention—it sought her. Women flocked to her, showering her with warm greetings and effusive compliments. She reciprocated their affection with gracious smiles and her charm disarming even the iciest socialites. The men weren’t as brave, unsure whether to admire her or cower under her gaze—her siren-like aura daring any man to try their luck.

Except for one idiot.

Fucking Gojo.

Nanami’s jaw tightened as his white-haired colleague made a spectacle of himself, wrapping his arms around her from behind like an old friend reunited. Her face scrunched in irritation, a flash of disdain that Nanami couldn’t help but savor. But then she turned, her expression softening as she saw who it was. To his dismay, she hugged him back.

Nanami’s fingers curled harder around the glass of whiskey, the gold trim biting into his palm. Jealousy wasn’t his style— not like he wasn’t already married . But Gojo was a different story. The man had a knack for testing limits, his arrogance as boundless as his charm.

She, on the other hand, was the embodiment of contradictions: sharp yet soft, fun yet untouchable, her elegant demeanor veiling something far more dangerous. As if on cue, her eyes scanned the room lazily, not in search of anyone but allowing people to search for her.

And then their gazes locked. Her lips quirked into a knowing smirk, a silent dare.

Nanami’s breath hitched. Her smile—a challenge, a tease, a warning. His pulse quickened, a subtle betrayal against his otherwise calm exterior.

The intern beside him shifted uncomfortably, clearly feeling the weight of the unspoken connection between the two. Nanami almost pitied her. Almost. Definitely not.

His focus remained on the woman; she approached the bar with the kind of confidence that made the world rearrange itself around her. Even the bartender seemed to straighten his posture, offering her a champagne flute without so much as a question. Her long fingers, adorned with a curious glove-like jewelry piece , brushed the glass as she murmured her thanks, her tone effortlessly polite but laced with disinterest.

He didn’t notice the minutes slipping by; time blurred under the soft hum of chandeliers and the muted conversations he was no longer part of. Her every movement consumed his attention, the sway of her hips in that red silk dress a calculated provocation.

When she slipped through the gilded archway leading toward the bathrooms, his decision was already made.

Keeping his drink down, Nanami barely registered the figure stepping into his path until he heard the familiar sing-song voice that grated worse than nails on glass. “Nanami! Where’s your wife? Haven’t seen her yet tonight,” his rival cooed, wearing his trademark smug grin that Nanami fantasized about erasing.

“Still at work,” Nanami replied smoothly, his tone devoid of emotion but cutting enough to silence further prying. He didn’t slow, leaving behind muttered speculations about his sudden interest in someone other than his wife .

The hallways had the richness of the place amplified. The further he moved from the party, the quieter it became, the noise receding into a distant hum. The mansion’s grandeur became starker in the silence. High ceilings arched above, their ornate crown moldings gilded with gold that caught the soft light of sconces. The black marble floors shimmered under his polished shoes, stretching endlessly toward the private quarters. Staff passed like shadows flitting through the ethereal glow of this labyrinthine estate.

He paused in front of the bathroom door, glossy black with intricate gold fixtures, left slightly ajar as though inviting him in. The faintest sliver of light spilled out against the marble.

Knock. Knock. Two taps. Firm. Purposeful.

The response was immediate. The door cracked open, and before he could utter a word, her hand shot out, grabbing his shirt and yanking him inside with a force that surprised him.

The door closed behind them with a soft thud as he was shoved against it, followed by the decisive click of the lock. Her scent lingered in the air, both grounding and intoxicating, cutting through the bathroom . Then her mouth was on his, hot and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

“Not even a hello?” He murmured against her lips, his tone low, strained, yet laced with wry humor.

“Hello,” she whispered mockingly, her voice syrupy sweet, before pulling him back down. Her nails grazed the nape of his neck, sending an electric jolt through him.

Oh, she was definitely a siren. He thought as she drew him in with effortless ease, leaving him half-convinced she could drag him into the ocean and he’d thank her for it.

Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, deft yet impatient. When one refused to cooperate, she let out a soft growl, yanking hard enough to send buttons scattering across the tiled floor.

“They’re custom,” Nanami deadpanned, his voice thick with effort. “My wife chose them.”

“No wonder they’re ugly,” she shot back, her smirk as sharp as a blade. “Send me the bill.”

Her sass drew a low chuckle from him, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. She was cutting through his composure so easily, leaving him disarmed in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

In a swift motion, he flipped their positions, pinning her against the full-length mirror. Her front hit the glass with a muted thud, the chill drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. For a moment, he held her there, his gaze sweeping over her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, pupils blown wide with a mix of defiance and desire.

His reflection caught his eye in the mirror—a man undone, his hair disheveled, his usually sharp expression softened by raw hunger. He barely recognized himself, and for some reason, that didn’t bother him.

“Temptress. You’ve already got me obsessed,” his voice dark as he leaned down to press his lips to the curve of her ear.

“Stop talking,” she countered, her tone dripping with impatience. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him groan softly.

He obliged.

The kiss turned feral, finesse abandoned in favor of raw, unfiltered need. His hands roamed, the fabric slipping against her skin like water.

Once she turned in his arms, more of his buttons clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the small space as she ran her fingers on his chest then abs. The room filled with their gasps and whispered curses, the sterile luxury of the bathroom a backdrop to the pandemonium unfolding. She took off her handpiece, chucking it on the counter just to feel his skin against her fingertips unhindered.

Her scent was everywhere now, filling his lungs, embedding itself in his memory. It was familiar in a way, like déjà vu dancing on the edge of recognition. Unsettling, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.

“Careful,” she murmured against his lips, her voice teasing. “You might just fall for me.”

Nanami pulled back slightly, enough to meet her gaze, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “Highly unlikely,” he replied, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest smirk.

“Your loss,” she quipped, her voice light, but her hands circled around his shoulders, pulling him back toward her.

Whatever this was—whatever dangerous game they were playing—Nanami knew one thing: he didn’t want it to end.

The bathroom’s air carried a subtle mix of sandalwood, bergamot and cedarwood, understated yet lingering—a scent that seemed designed to make every breath feel curated, the kind of understated opulence that whispered money rather than screamed it

Yet for all its grandeur, it wasn't the decor that took center stage. It was the mess unfolding next to the countertop, where passion replaced polish.

Nanami now had her pressed against the large, mirror-backed counter, its polished surface now marred with the aftermath of their urgency—smudged fingerprints, scattered toiletries, and the faint condensation of their mingled heat. The cool marble against her back seemed to amplify the fire between them.

His grip was firm yet restrained, one hand steadying her thigh while the other trailed upward, tracing the daring slit of her dress with deliberate slowness. His fingers paused at the neckline, the silk sliding under his touch like water. His hold spoke of possession, but his eyes, half-lidded and burning, betrayed something deeper—curiosity, defiance, and a hunger he rarely let surface.

She kissed him again, her lips a demand he had no intention of denying. Teeth scraped against his lower lip, the sting pulling a soft groan from him that melted into a low chuckle. His hands roamed with precision, finding her waist, her hips, her breasts—each touch firm, unapologetic, and met with a sharp inhale or muffled moan. Every touch was a battle for dominance, each moment teetering on the edge of control and disarray.

He lifted her with ease onto the countertop in one fluid motion. The chilled mirror behind her elicited a gasp as her dress slid higher at her thighs. Her legs tightened instinctively around him, pulling him closer.

“Not bad,” she teased breathlessly, her voice a mix of amusement and provocation.

Nanami’s lips quirked into a rare smirk as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “I aim to impress.”

Her laugh was soft, intoxicating, and far too knowing. “You’re getting there.”

Her scent enveloped him now—a crisp, briny ocean breeze tinged with something wild and woody, a sharp contrast to the muted, earthy warmth of the bathroom. It was a siren’s scent, designed to disarm, to enthrall, and it worked far too well.

The sounds of their frenzy filled the room, chaotic yet rhythmic. Her nails dragged along his back, leaving faint crescent imprints as if marking her territory.

Then, with a devilish smirk, he dropped to his knees, his large hands splaying across the backs of her thighs.

“On your knees already?” She started, her voice faltering as he pushed the fabric of her dress higher. His lips ghosted over her inner thigh, his breath warm and teasing.

“You talk too much,” he murmured, his tone flat but edged with mischief.

Her laugh turned into a gasp as he tore through the delicate lace of her underwear with his teeth, the sound of ripping fabric punctuated by her sharp intake of breath.

His mouth found her core, hot and demanding; his tongue moved with deliberate precision, drawing broken whispers from her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, long nails digging into his scalp as she arched into him, every nerve alight with sensation.

Each touch was a battle for dominance, each moment teetering on the edge of control and chaos. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as she raised her head, her eyes wide at the sight of him.

When his fingers joined the fray—one, then two, then three—she let out a muffled cry, her hands trembling as they gripped his hair tighter. The rhythm turned torturous, each stroke a ploy to keep her teetering on the edge.

“Quiet,” he murmured against her, though the command was half-hearted at best.

Her laugh, shaky and breathless, cut through the haze. “Make me.”

He obliged, taking off his shirt & shoving it into her mouth to muffle her moans.

The room, a masterpiece of design and decadence, bore silent witness to their undoing. The perfection of its lines, the care in its curation—all of it had melted away, leaving only raw, unbridled chaos in its place.

Her body trembled, hips bucking against his mouth. His tongue and fingers were moving in perfect harmony. Her mewles grew higher in pitch, her body arching further as the tension began to pool in her belly.

Nanami’s grip on her tightened, his fingers digging into her hips to hold her steady as her body trembled beneath him. Her moans, muffled by his discarded shirt, vibrated against his chest as he felt the waves of her release pulse through her. She clawed his scalp, a claim he wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t enjoy.

When she finally collapsed against the mirror, her breath came in uneven bursts, fogging the glass behind her. Her flushed face, her dress still bunched at her waist, chest rising and falling as aftershocks wracked her frame left her looking like Mayhem personified. Still, he didn’t stop, his tongue lapping up every drop of her release like she was the finest wine.

Few moments passed, & Nanami stood, brushing the back of his hand against his lips, catching the faint taste of her. He was the picture of disheveled restraint—his hair tousled, his chest bare, and his trousers hanging low on his hips. The hunger in his eyes, however, was anything but restrained.

His gaze lingered on her as he reached for the straps of her dress. Tugging them down, he exposed her bare chest, the fabric sliding away like water until it pooled uselessly at her waist. Her breasts bounced with the movement, drawing a low growl from him that rumbled deep in his chest.

“Perfect,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as he leaned down. His lips closed over one breast, flicking her nipple with his toung, while his hand found the other, his touch alternating between firm and teasing. She gasped, her back arching off the mirror as he bit gently before soothing with his tongue, leaving her gasping & mumbling incoherently, her voice ragged but threaded with laughter—the kind that would have thrown a lesser man off balance. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” She spoke against the fabric in her mouth.

He paused, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “You started it.”

She smirked, sharper than the edge of the counter, biting into her legs. “And I’ll finish it.” She gestured.

Her hands fumbled with his waistband, still trembling but determined. The flicker of impatience in her eyes was oddly endearing, though he’d never admit it. Nanami stepped back slightly, watching as she struggled with his belt, her fingers clumsy but relentless, then the same belt clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the small space.

When she finally freed his cock, her hand paused holding it, her eyes widening as her lips parted slightly.

“Cat got your tongue?” He teased, his voice dropping into that smooth, sardonic tone.

“Shut up,” she muttered, voice muffled by the shirt.

He bit down lightly on her neck, one hand busy kneading her breast, while the other left faint crescent moons in the flesh of her ass.

Despite her reservations, her hand moved, slow at first, tentative strokes exploring him with a curiosity that bordered on reverence. The low "fuck" that escaped his lips emboldened her, and her fingers became bolder—squeezing at the tip, letting her thumb tease the slit, earning sharp hisses from him.

His control, usually ironclad, wavered, catching himself before her touch unraveled him entirely.

“Enough,” he growled, his hand wrapping around hers as he guided his cock to her.

She braced herself, her legs parted further instinctively as Nanami growled, guiding his cock toward her slick entrance. She mewled softly as he deliberately didn’t push in, instead teasing her, the thick head of his cock gliding against her swollen folds. The wet slide was maddening, the tension building as he refused to give her what she wanted. Her breath coming in shallow bursts as the tension coiled between them like a spring wound too tightly. Her eyes flashed with impatience, and the look of anger made him smirk through his own restraint. Then she hissed something, muffled, her voice low and threaded with irritation.

Nanami’s smirk was infuriating. “Patience.”

That patience didn’t last long. With a sharp thrust, he pushed inside her, his jaw clenching as she clenched around him, her walls tight and pulling him deeper. He moved slowly at first, letting her adjust; the intensity of the moment mirrored in their matched gasps and muffled curses.

Once he was fully sheathed, the restraint snapped. He withdrew almost completely before slamming back in, forcing a loud, uncontrollable moan from her.

His pace turned brutal, his hips slamming against hers with a force that made the marble countertop tremble beneath them. Her cries morphed into curses, each one sharp and biting, and directed at him with a venom that only fueled his hunger.

“You—oh my God—” she let out a muffled gasp, head falling back against the mirror as he drove her higher.

Nanami leaned down, yanking the shirt from her mouth as he captured her lips in a messy, heated kiss. Her teeth immediately bite his lower lip, drawing blood, but he didn’t care. Their tongues clashed, the kiss more battle than affection, each one pushing and pulling, neither willing to yield.

Breaking away to catch his breath, Nanami's thrusts didn’t falter.

“Still talking?” he muttered against her lips.

“Shut up,” she replied, biting him again, the taste of him & herself lingering on her tongue.

His hips slammed against hers, forcing cries from her throat. Her nails raked down his back, desperate, as though she needed them to fuse on a molecular level.

Despite his relentless pace, his lips softened, trailing kisses along her jawline, down her neck, and finally to her breasts. He nipped and sucked at the delicate skin; his attention split between breaking her apart with his cock and worshipping the parts of her he loved most.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room—a brutal rhythm that matched the pounding of her heartbeat. His hands roamed over her body, his nails leaving faint crescent moons in her thighs, her back, wherever he could reach.

Her body arched into him, trembling & walls tightening as another wave of pleasure threatened to overtake her. He knew she was close; his hand slid between them, his fingers finding her clit and circling it with a precision that left her gasping.

Her reaction was instant as she came with a sharp, keening cry, muffled when he cupped a hand over her mouth, entire body clenching around him as her nails dug into his shoulders.

“She’s sucking me in... so tight,” he murmured, voice hoarse, as his control finally broke. Movements turning erratic as he buried himself deep, his groan muffled against her neck. His eyes fluttered shut as his own climax surged through him, leaving him breathless and trembling. He barely managed to catch himself before collapsing onto her as the aftershocks rolled through him.

Two forces of chaos colliding. Neither of them moved, just staying for a bit; she rubbed his back as they caught their breaths, the occasional tremor running through her as she adjusted to the lingering sensitivity.

The bathroom was a battlefield of indulgence and chaos. Perfume bottles lay toppled on the black marble counter, the delicate crystal shimmering under the ambient lighting. A faint mist lingered in the air, clouding the oversized mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling, capturing distorted reflections of disheveled hair, flushed skin, and heat that had yet to fully dissipate. The mingling scents of bergamot, cedar, and salt—the sharp tang of the ocean—clung to the air, layered with the undeniable intimacy of their aftermath. Despite the mess around them, the silence between them felt clean, untouched by the outside world.

Soon her fingers were idly tracing patterns on his back, grazing over faint red marks she’d left moments before. When she finally broke the silence, her voice was teasing but warm, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Your technique hasn’t changed.”

Nanami froze, the words cutting through the lingering haze like a cold blade. He pulled back just enough to study her face, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“You heard me,” she replied, her tone deliberate and light as she brushed her fingers along his jaw. Her touch was deceptively soft, almost disarming.

Before he could spiral into overthinking, she laughed—a sound both melodic and cutting, slicing through his composure with surgical precision. “Relax, Mr. Nanami,” she teased, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’m just grateful for the first million you invested in my company when no one else would even hear me out.”

The tension in his shoulders eased as realization dawned, corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. “Mrs. L/N,” he said dryly, his voice laced with equal parts amusement and exasperation. “Should I prepare my chequebook again?”

“Always,” she quipped, her smirk softening as she leaned up to kiss him. Her lips brushed against his with a familiarity that belied the game they’d been playing all evening.

“You’re still mine, Kento,” she murmured against his ear—almost biting them, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down his spine.

Straightening himself, hand lingering at her waist, he pulled her closer to hold as the reality of her presence grounded him. When they finally pulled apart, her tone shifted. “Nice house, by the way.”

“Thank you, Mrs. L/N,” he replied, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. The simple gesture felt intimate, grounding, a contrast to the disarray they’d left in their wake. He arched a brow, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Though I do have to ask—what was the dress for?”

Her smirk deepened, her silence deliberate.

“Y/N,” he pressed, his voice carrying a mix of affection and exasperation. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

“I was informed that you looked miserable out there,” she said simply, shrugging with nonchalance that only made her look more self-assured. “Your coworkers are vultures. I couldn’t just stand by and watch you suffer.”

His exhale was slow, measured, but his forehead dropped against hers, his voice softening. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me plenty,” she countered, her hands sliding over his chest with a teasing confidence. “But I’m not done yet. My company just hit a billion-dollar valuation, which means—"she smirked, her tone mock-serious—"you can finally quit working for those corporate overlords. Effective immediately.”

Nanami blinked, her words settling in slowly. Just as he opened his mouth to protest, she cut him off with a single raised finger.

“And don’t start with the ‘backup plan’ speech,” she added, rolling her eyes in dramatic exasperation. “I’ve secured enough for the next fifteen generations to sit around and squander. You’re free, Ken. ”

He let out a long exhale, relief washing over him like a tide pulling him out to calmer seas. His hands tightened gently at her waist as he pulled her closer, his forehead brushing hers again.

“I can finally retire,” he mused, a rare chuckle breaking the steady timbre of his voice. “What a dream.”

Her grin was wicked and teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ll deck you out with butlers, drivers, private pilots—the works.”

He shook his head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” she said, her voice lighter now, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw before stepping down. She fixed her dress, the fabric shimmering under the soft lighting as if it had never been touched. After quickly rinsing & drying her hands, she shuffled for something in the drawer below the sink counter, then gestured Nanami to turn around, who obliged and then winced as she sprayed antiseptic healing spray on her nail scratches on his back. Then, putting it back with one hand while she rubbed his shoulder with the other, soon she adorned her handpiece again.

“Now, pack your bags. We’re going on a month-long vacation. We’ve barely seen each other this quarter.” Her tone practical, though the playful glint in her eyes was still sparkling while Nanami, who knelt on one knee to zip up her askew heels with a gentle touch. This was a stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor; he radiated a quiet eagerness to serve her, even if she had never asked for it—or even forbade him from kneeling—for anyone, including herself. His care for her was unwavering, as he found joy in these small devotions.

Raising up to his full height, Nanami tilted his head, arching a brow. “When do we leave?”

“An hour.” Her smirk was maddeningly smug, the kind that always made him want to both kiss her and roll his eyes. “Don’t worry about clothes—we’ll buy what we need when we get there.”

His frown deepened slightly, his gaze flicking toward the door. “The house is still full of people.”

She waved a hand dismissively, her confidence unshakable. “The white-haired menace can handle it.”

As if summoned, a sharp knock echoed against the ornate black and gold bathroom door.

“Nanami,” Gojo’s unmistakable voice called out, muffled yet infuriatingly cheerful. “I know you told me not to disturb you, but if you want to leave on time, you should probably come out now.”

Nanami groaned audibly, burying his face in her hair. “I hate that he knows us so well. Or worse, that he was probably hovering outside.”

Her laugh bubbled up, light and unrestrained, as she turned to press a soft kiss to his nose. “Good thing no one will know,” she teased, her tone laced with mischief as she nodded toward the party still raging beyond the door.

“Small mercies,” he muttered. His hand reached down, scooping up her ripped panties. He shoved them into his pocket—a gesture equal parts practical and ridiculous. Housekeeping didn’t need to discover that.

He reached for his ruined shirt & still-ok belt while his cufflinks were probably lost to the similarly colored lines in the bathroom floor’s marble. Sighing, he shrugged the shirt on. With most of the buttons broken, the fabric barely clung to him, but he managed enough to appear vaguely presentable, then did his belt & washed his hands. Before stepping out, he winked at her, his rare smirk making her laugh again as she leaned on the counter, ogling him.

Walking out of the bathroom, Nanami was immediately engulfed by the sheer scale of the mansion. The vaulted ceilings soared above him, an intricate lattice of brass and black lines reminiscent of sharp geometry. Recessed lighting cast a warm, almost ethereal glow over the polished marble floors, their obsidian surface streaked with veins of gold that seemed to shimmer with every step.

Security was seamlessly integrated into the decor—discreet cameras nestled within decorative sconces, motion sensors hidden within the intricate carvings of doorframes, and biometric panels that blended effortlessly with the black lacquered walls.

Gojo leaned casually against the wall near the bathroom door, his smirk as sharp as the lapels on his bespoke electric blue suit. “Well, well,” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement. “Looks like someone had a productive break.”

Nanami cast him a withering glare, brushing past him without a word.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo called after him, clearly undeterred. “Your secret’s safe with me. Well Mostly .”

Nanami strode into his bedroom, its absurd luxury understated yet undeniable once he unlocked it’s door with his thumb. Warm recessed lighting bathed the space in a golden hue, highlighting the polished marble floors and the California king bed draped in silk sheets that whispered decadence with every subtle fold. The walls were a study in contrasts—one side a sweeping expanse of black glass overlooking the estate, the other adorned with minimalist art deco patterns in gold and dark maroon.

A walk-in closet occupied one corner of the room, its glossy black doors sliding open with a faint hum. Rows of designer suits, pressed shirts, and tailored trousers moved along tracks, neatly organized by color, fabric, and season. It wasn’t just a closet—it was an AI-driven sartorial fortress.

Gojo trailed behind Nanami, Martini glass in hand, his ever-present grin practically glowing under the warm light of the bedroom.

Nanami shrugged off his ruined shirt, revealing faint nail marks trailing down his back.

Gojo’s exaggerated gasp was immediate. “Knew you were freaks,” he declared, grinning like a cat who’d just discovered a fresh bowl of cream.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nanami replied, his tone dry as he waited for the first shirt the AI closet presented.

The automated system whirred softly, its sleek black panels sliding open to reveal a neatly arranged selection of tailored clothing. The closet’s AI chimed in, its voice smooth and masculine: “Good evening, Mr. Nanami. May I suggest the Maurizio Miri blue Sam Arold , double-breasted blazer for optimal sophistication?”

“No, a white shirt will be enough for now. Thank you.” Nanami replied smoothly as the closet handed him the shirt.

Gojo’s eyes lit up. “Hold up, your closet talks?”

Nanami buttoned up the crisp white shirt, the fabric molding to him like it had been made yesterday, which it probably had been. A subtle reminder of how far he—and this house—stood from anything resembling average. “Of course it talks. Everything here does. Wife is particular about it,” he muttered, casually pulling out a certain incriminating piece of fabric from his pocket & tossing it into the hidden incinerator bin while Gojo eyed the AI.

Then Gojo leaned closer to the closet; his curiosity piqued. “Hey, Mr. Closet—do you take orders? I need something that makes me look like a billionaire without actually trying. Extra points if it comes with a holographic logo of the Gojo Clan.” Gojo didn’t have such bad likes; he just enjoyed being a menace.

The AI responded without missing a beat. “My name is Winston, & I’m sorry, sir. My services are exclusive to Mr. Nanami. While I assure you, no attire could enhance perfection.”

Nanami’s lips twitched as he fought back a smirk. “Even the closet knows you’re insufferable.”

“Hey, I like this guy!” Gojo shot back, pointing at the sleek black panel like it was a long-lost friend. “At least he has taste.”

The AI, apparently more than willing to engage, added, “Taste, sir, is precisely what you lack.”

Nanami turned away, struggling to suppress his laughter, as Gojo gawked. “Traitor! I’m officially boycotting this brand,” Gojo declared, though his curiosity kept him glued to the closet. “Btw what brand are you.”

Nanami smacked his arm. “Do you forget my wife invents AIs for a living, among other things?”

Gojo shrugged, “I didn’t know it was one of hers.”

As Nanami folded his sleeves up again, Gojo shot one last look at the closet. “You’re lucky I’m a forgiving man, Mr. Closet-Winston. Once I babysit this house, bet you’ll miss me when I leave.”

“I highly doubt that,” the AI replied, its tone impossibly smooth.

Gojo huffed, muttering something about finding an AI closet with better taste, while Nanami finally allowed a small smirk to surface.

Once out of the closet, Gojo chirped, “Aren’t you going to thank me for organizing this amazing party?”

Nanami took the whisky glass Gojo handed him, savoring a slow sip. “Thank you, Gojo, for organizing this party,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s not like we paid for it or anything.”

“Fair,” Gojo replied, recovering quickly with a shrug. “But I still expect to cash in the favor someday.”

Nanami nodded, flooding his sleeves with practiced precision before striding back toward the party.

Gojo followed on his heels like an overenthusiastic puppy, Martini in hand. Then looking back at the sentinel closet, he mused. “I need one of these. Think the wife will help me place an order?”

“She’s not your wife,” Nanami deadpanned, savouring the whisky burn as he sipped.

Once they had stepped into the grand ballroom, Nanami’s gaze swept over the room. Gojo, meanwhile, leaned in conspiratorially.

“So,” he began, his grin as infuriating as ever, “how was she?”

His gaze immediately found her. She stood along the far wall; an expansive bar carved from obsidian and gold stood like a centerpiece, its surface laden with bottles of rare vintages.

He didn’t falter in his reply, expression flat. “She’s a woman, Gojo. Not a secret.”

Gojo smirked as Nanami ignored the conspiratorial knowing smirks and whispers that seemed to surround him.

His gaze lingered as she laughed warmly, her head tilted slightly, the sound unguarded and genuine. She was speaking to two women he vaguely recognized as the CTO and CFO of her company, their expressions a mix of respect and admiration. For a moment, he simply watched. Despite himself, Nanami felt a rare sense of pride.

Just as he was about to make his way to her, a voice sliced through the moment.

“Nanami-san! There you are!”

The same intern with an unfortunate crush on him had caught sight of him again, waving over one of her equally annoying cohorts, a smug backstabbing bitch of a coworker Nanami didn’t even bother to remember the name of. They approached like vultures, the intern’s over-the-top enthusiasm clashing painfully with the coworker’s grimey smirk.

“Nanami-san!” she chirped, clasping her hands together. “This house is incredible! You must feel so inspired here.”

“I feel inspired to have another drink,” Nanami deadpanned, raising his glass slightly before taking a sip.

The coworker, clearly fishing for gossip, leaned in. “Yeah, no kidding. So, where’s your wife we’ve all heard so much about?” He practically sang the last part, his tone dripping with mockery. “Must be so busy to miss an event like this.”

Listening to this, Gojo moved closer to Nanami’s side like chaos incarnate, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Oh, you haven’t met her yet?” he asked, his grin practically weaponized. “Tsk, tsk, Nanami, keeping secrets from your best friends .”

The coworker scowled at the jab.

The intern blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. Nanami bit back a smirk, swirling his whisky lazily in his glass.

When the intern finally recovered, her tone turned defensive. “Well, he’s never mentioned her to me!”

Nanami’s expression darkened, his patience stretching to its breaking point. One thing he wasn’t—had never been—was unfaithful. And this implication, no matter how cluelessly delivered, crossed a line.

Yet Gojo wasn’t finished. He turned his full attention to the intern, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “You know, he does talk about her all the time. But I guess you two must not hang out much, huh? Just acquaintances, then.”

“Excuse me?” Nanami’s voice was sharp, each syllable cutting.

The intern, oblivious to the shift in tone, pressed on. “You never mentioned you were married—”

“Please,” arching a brow, he interrupted, his expression one of detached amusement. “Do not imply that I’ve hidden my marriage. I’ve been married for years and have never avoided speaking about my wife when asked. If you’re unaware, perhaps that says more about you than it does about me.” Each word measured and sharp. It’s not like he cared to keep his job anymore anyway.

The intern blinked, stunned into silence.

Gojo erupted into laughter, clapping him on the back. “Kento, you’re killing it tonight. Who’s next on the chopping block?”

Without waiting for a response, Nanami brushed past them, his focus already shifting back to her. Gojo, naturally, wasn’t done yet. Turning back with a smirk, he delivered one final dig.

“He talks about her all the time with his friends. Trust me, I’d know since I’m his best friend. I know all his secrets ,” he said lightly. “Guess you’re just colleagues.” Nanami could hear the mockery directed at his coworkers, with a hint of possessiveness over their friendship in Gojo’s voice, along with the intern’s sputtering, behind him.

Once he approached, his hand slid around her waist, the gesture subtle yet unmistakable. It wasn’t a public claim so much as a quiet reassurance, a tether grounding him in the chaos of the room.

She turned to him, her smirk softening into something more intimate as she acknowledged the unspoken exchange.

“Hello,” he murmured, inclining his head with a faint smile toward the women she’d been speaking with. They were better than his coworkers; hence they were hired.

As Gojo approached them behind Nanami, she introduced him smoothly, her tone warm yet commanding. “Ladies, my closest friend, Gojo Satoru.”

Gojo’s professional smirk slipped into place with practiced ease. “A pleasure,” he said simply, his arm resting on Nanami’s shoulder again.

The conversation progressed for a bit before the sound of glass clinking drew their attention.

“Everyone!” Gojo’s voice rang out, cheerful and uncontainable. He was sitting atop the bar, manspreading, grin wide enough to rival the chandelier’s glow. “A toast to the lovely couple!”

Heads turned toward them, though many had already been stealing glances at her all evening while others were glaring daggers at Nanami.

Nanami cleared his throat, voice steady, effortlessly commanding the room. “Thank you all for coming to our housewarming party,” he began, his tone formal but with a warmth that felt uncharacteristic. His hand rested securely on her waist. “For those of you who don’t know, this is Y/N L/N. She’s my wife. She’s the one who bought us this house.”

A ripple of polite claps followed, though Nanami wasn’t finished.

“She hasn’t visited my office because she’s been working tirelessly on her company, Curse Cop, which, as of today, has officially reached a billion-dollar valuation.” He paused, his voice softening as he glanced at her, unguarded admiration flickering across his face. “Please, drink to your heart’s content, because starting tomorrow, I’ll be on vacation with her—and I’ll also be stepping down as Finance Director to spend more time with my wife, as I promised her.”

The room erupted in applause and a few ‘awws’ from mostly female guests, though Nanami barely noticed. His focus remained on her as she looked up at him, her expression a blend of amusement and affection.

From somewhere behind them, he heard whispers, envy poorly concealed.

“How’d he even get with her?” one muttered.

“It makes sense,” another replied begrudgingly. “He’s the kind of man every woman wants.”

But none of it mattered. Nanami leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her lips, as if the room around them didn’t exist.

For him, in that moment, it didn’t.

Soon the evening had progressed—Nanami was comfortably leaning against the bar, whisky in hand, Gojo, still on top of the bar, flanking him as usual, when the intern caught sight of Y/N between them.

She stumbled her way toward her, clearly drunk, with newfound boldness, her barely-there dress doing little to enhance her sense of professionalism. Nanami’s lips twitched as he watched the scene unfold, hiding his amusement behind his glass. He wasn’t much for unnecessary public fights, but he was waiting for this one since she had really become a nuisance for him over the months, hence the reason she was invited today.

“Y/N,” Gojo whispered, sidling closer to her as she inquired about the launch of their latest multiplayer game with the COO of her company. “See that girl over there?”

Pausing, she glanced over, her brow arching slightly as she clocked the intern making a beeline toward her.

“That one’s been after Kento for months,” Gojo murmured, his grin wicked. “Unrequited coffee deliveries, surprise lunches... the works. You’re about to have front-row seats to her grand finale.” He had noticed it all while visiting Nanami’s office, along with Nanami’s look of frustration when she wouldn’t take the hint and leave him alone.

Y/N didn’t miss a beat, her expression remaining poised as she turned fully to face the intern. The air around her seemed to shift, her unapproachable aura sharpening to something razor-edged.

The intern, blissfully unaware, extended a hand, her confidence teetering on arrogance. “Hi! I’m Nat. I work closely with Nanami-san in finance. It’s so great to finally meet you.”

Y/N’s gaze flicked briefly to the outstretched hand before returning to the intern’s face, her expression neutral but distinctly unimpressed. “Oh?” she said coolly. “And what are you to him?”

The intern faltered, her hand dropping slightly. “I... like I said, I work with Nanami-san! He’s been so helpful to me in the office. Such a great mentor.”

Turning his head from his vantage point, Nanami’s smirk widened as he took another slow sip of whisky. He had actively avoided helping her since he discovered her hidden agenda.

“Is that so?” Y/N replied, tilting her head slightly. “And what exactly have you learned from him?”

The intern brightened, eager to elaborate. “Oh, just... everything, really! He’s so dedicated and focused. I can see why you married him.”

There was a pause—a beat of silence that stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable. Then Y/N smiled, and it wasn’t kind.

“I see,” she said, her tone dripping with polite venom. “And yet, here you are, at a party in our house, introducing yourself to me like you’re a stranger. How odd for someone who claims to work so ‘closely’ with my husband.”

The intern’s expression wavered, a flicker of panic breaking through her confident facade. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” Y/N interrupted smoothly, her smile widening. “To sound presumptuous? To overstep? Or to assume familiarity where there is none?”

Gojo, now openly laughing, gestured to Nanami, “Remind me never to piss your wife off.”

The intern stammered something unintelligible before finally scoffing & retreating, her confidence crumbling as she melted back into the crowd.

Y/N turned back to the COO, now flanked by CTO and CFO without so much as a backward glance as they dragged her off to introduce a potential investor, the conversation resuming as if nothing had happened.

Turning straight, Nanami finally let his smirk show, raising his glass toward Y/N in a silent toast.

She caught his eye, the faintest curve of her lips betraying her amusement, before she returned her attention to her companions.

“Worth every penny,” Gojo muttered under his breath, clinking his glass against Nanami’s.

“Agreed,” Nanami replied, his tone calm but his eyes glinting with mirth.

A/N: You thought Kento would cheat huh ☜(ˆ▿ˆc) Thanks for diving into this tangled mess of lust & love. If you caught the twist & liked it (or even hated it), drop a comment. I live for your chaos & crave your feedback like Nanami craves his wife. 🖤

Masterlist

[brucewaynehater101]

There's like, what? at least THREE speedforce users concentrated in a singular time period? and the word concentrated sounds a bit extreme until you remember the fact that these btiches have power over time; they can timetravel

Impluse did time traveled and has made a place for himself in an older time period permanently

Compared to that, the metabolism's hardly a big deal at all

and unless their world/universe/multiverse is isolated in it's own bubble where not even timetravel gets out, that means their time shenanigans likely affect existing multiverses outside their own so that's a doozy to comprehend

And time travel isn't even exclusive to speedforce users, nothing is sacred, there's magic, and sciences and magical sciences, probably metas with time powers and there's also time loops and---

As far as we're aware, there isn't just THREE speedforce users who can and will time travel if it's called for, but multiple other instance of time travel or manipulation, all concentrated in a singular time period

that fucks shit up

anomalies that people might not even pick up on because the screwing of reality has affected their very minds become the norm; because minus this time period the whole rest of the timeline, before and after that era, is in perfect working order

this particular patch of the timeline is mangled forever and irreversibly, before anybody knew there was a timeperiod in need of unmangling

The clock ticks onward---the heroes and villains, and everyone beyond moves on and dies and the next generations after them don the spotlights, and time marches existence onwards as it always has; that's true, that's permanent. It's ineffable truth

Nothing has changed

you say it feels like just yesterday we did this very act as though it weren't the case

The clock ticks onwards---1:00, 2:00, 3:00, 4

5, 6, 7, 8

9, 10, 11

this is how the world ends

11:30

this is how the world ends

11:50

not with a bang

11:59:59

but with a---

1:00

this is all to say that this is my headcanon to explain Tim's Forever 21 17

and also other plotholes; and maybe you can take this hc to make an AU where there's more shenanigans than ceasing to age at a certain point due to a time period being Eternal even though the rest of the timeline is still perfectly functional

=======

( as for wtf the whole clock stuff was meant to convey, it references the reblogged 'prokopetz the eleventh hour' post )

"...“The Eleventh Hour” is generally used to refer to the Last Possible Point BEFORE everything goes horribly sideways, so this would suggest that you are in a place perpetually stuck at the terrible and fruitless moment just shy of impending disaster. "

-- askmissbernadette

Ooh! AUs/HCs that explore Tim's perpetual state of 17 are rad as hell (although thankful he has finally been allowed to become an adult).

I never did quite consider the ramifications of multiple people messing with the timeline. For one person, we've seen so much media that warns against it and shit. Multiple people that aren't communicating before, during, or after their interventions? How the hell does the space and time continuum not collapse?

Then, the multiverse theory is added on top of all that? My brain is a little too tired to try to even comprehend how bad of an idea it all sounds (for the speedsters and other people who mess with the timeline).

I like to hc that some of the universes that pop off are consequences from a Flash or anyone else screwing up time. It'd be cool to see some angst regarding that (let's say Bart went back in time to save Tim in his universe which caused another universe to lose their Tim [and the domino effect of that unplanned loss for that timeline]). That, or the rewritten history causes new universes to form as a result of the many many paths and choices that can happen after that change.

It'd also be fantastic to see a villain who's like Miguel from Across the Spider-Verse, but worse. A person who picks and chooses universes that they think best suits their needs and desires. They keep hopping to other ones when the one they are in is no longer suitable. They also integrate themselves into the universes with ease and sometimes murder that universe's version of them to take their spot (they prefer kidnapping, though, so that the OG person can resume their life when the villain leaves).

Anyways, there are some great fics out there that chat about Tim staying 17 and/or the other Bats having weird timelines too

[justlarkin]

Look, no offense whatsoever, but please don't use this game as a reference of Christians, Catholics, Jewishs, and all those who believe in God.

There's not such a thing, as a good Christian or a bad Christian, you are either devoted to God and his teachings or you are not.

Two, Satan, he is not this savior of all freedom for mankind, be careful. He seeks to kill and destroy. Sure, if you listen to him, you can do whatever you want and not feel guilty about it... but the reality is, that there's a big price to pay. This game twisted the truth to make a "teaching of freedom and not be tied down to any faith." When in reality, people do need boundaries.

Thats why the Lord knows best. He doesn't want to subjugate us, He wants us to be free of sin. God forbids many things, because He knows that those things we find pleasure will destroy us eventually.

You don't need to post this if you don't want to. You can even ignore it. But please, don't misunderstand the truth of our faith because of some game. Because its just that.

No offense taken. I think I should clarify your main concern: yeah, of course the real Satan is bad. I'm just talking about a game here. I was raised Christian, I already get what his whole thing is.

I really don't think anyone here, myself included, genuinely believes that the real Satan is the good guy because a game said so. I'm talking strictly talking about the game's adaptation when I say anything praiseworthy of him because that's how he's portrayed to the reader. Even then, I've already made older posts talking about he's probably not that good in the game itself too with the inclusion of Mephistopheles, traits from Iblis, and the themes from Paradise Lost, showing this most likely isn't a total rewrite of him.

And I absolutely agree! I didn't elaborate, but that's what I meant when I said Shaytan was flawed in the original post. His game version seems like he'd be "perfect" to worship in comparison to the other WRs since he's portrayed as "caring" for everyone and due to the freedom he gives, but there's obviously flaws in his ideology since, like you said, people do need boundaries.

Of course, there isn't a real good Christian or bad Christian when it comes to the religion itself since devotion to the Lord is what matters, but there is still undeniably debate around it, which is why I clarified it as such. It's not about how God would view people, but how non participants and Christians view other Christians. Conversations like "why is that gay guy who worships the Lord and is on the straight and narrow considered a sinner while that other guy who cheats on his wife constantly and steals isn't?" or "Why do Christians treat those who believe different faiths poorly or judge others who worship the same God, but a little differently than they do when they're supposed to love thy neighbor?" or "That person doesn't follow the Bible word for word and go to church every Sunday, so they're not a true believer". It's just about how humanity views each other.

Maybe it's more accurate to say "Christians who give a good reputation and Christians who give a bad reputation to Christianity" because regardless of how God views it, outsiders of the faith are more likely to like a Christian who uses the Lord's teachings to spread positivity than the ones who use it spread negativity and hate ://

Nobody is misunderstanding anything. It's just discussion about a game that has rewritten history, multiple religions, stories, and mythologies to give them a little spin. I'm on here every week talking about how all these figures are actually making out sloppy style or something else as equally silly because the game portrays those ideas, not because I genuinely believe their real counterparts are doing so. Don't take what I'm saying seriously lol. It's not that deep.

[sharonisthebettercarter]

Slipknot Vermillion Butchlander.

FUCK. YES.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH~<3<3<3 buckle in buckle in y'all cause this about to be a DOOZY<3!!

songs if ya hadn't heard them~<3 (def give them a listen, pt.2 is like an acoustic version, both lovely~<3, same general themes tho different vibes which-- ;))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

anywho~<3

FIRST OF ALL. YES. absolutable~<3

you beautiful beautiful little monster, this is PERFECT. okay, okay, yes, i'm getting too excited lmao. BUTT--

"I won't let this build up inside a me--"

this is an absolutely perfect opportunity for a deep dive into billy's psyche, psychosis, and an incredible exploration of psychological horror~<3

and it starts~?

with a *married* butchlander<3<3<3 OOH~<3!! (altho fair to use for for other ships with butcher, just doesn't get to the same level of psychological turmoil from the whole *husband is the villain* thing--;)))))))))) ANYWHO<3

basically butcher and homie are in a loving, *healthy* relationship. john is a good husband. maybe they even have ryan<3 or a little baby in billy's belly on the way<3<3<3 (or both~! lmao, always gotta throw that in-- ;))))))))))) a/b/o always an option, trans/intersex billy too, the world is the oyster~<3 any explanation like homie can just knock dudes up i guess lmfao--maybe that was the start-- :O ;)))))))) anyway, everything's perfect--except...

billy's having a bit of psychological... trouble. in which for some reason, his brain seems to be fabricating an entire reality with a loving and perfect wife, becca/becky--where his husband is the villain who tore them apart... and the situation in turn... starts to drive him and john apart...

and at first, of course, they'd be managing, between medications, care, brain scans, billy having nightmares and dreams, john trying to help, fighting and screaming, moments homie would have to hold billy down because he's having a meltdown, john having all the proof to keep billy from going nuclear/make it clear that he's... unwell, and that he's there for billy. maybe even a dna test to show that ryan is *theirs* and no one else's if a baby still in billy ain't enough--

but trust is wavering.

OOH, exploration into billy falling down that rabbit hole and believing it so much, he makes an effort to investigate and run away while homie always comes to get him/find him, drag him back home--and always *always*, refuse to hurt him even while billy is at his worst trying to force his hand, maybe even asking john to kill him so this doesn't continue--and again, his husband refusing.

now here's the kicker<3<3<3

this story could be done in two main ways (with expansive variations~<3, 3 if you count the middle road<3<3<3)

OOH! but before i dive into that, i should also mention that billy potentially being the *villain* in his own mind--in which he kidnaps and tortures and holds captive this *perfect* woman while john is none the wiser--ooooooohhhhhh... we'll come back to that one~<3 ;)

back on *john* being the villain in billy's mind.

"she isn't real. I can't make her real--"

and there in lies the *question*...

whether or not billy *is* experiencing psychosis and john is *actually* the villain, is it's own exploration~<3<3<3. depending on which version (regular or pt. 2), you channel the vibes of lmao

pt. 2 def feels like it could be more of a tragic rendition of this idea, where billy really *is* experiencing psychosis and john *is* a loving husband who *is* trying to help and care for billy<3

but the original...? mmm. let's just say there could be various... hints of a completely manipulated world around them--signs of a world *rewritten* or people silenced ,sides to john that he never *ever* shows to billy. certain... *things* that would certainly *imply* he is the *monster* billy's mind has made him--maybe it's billy's real memories trying to spill through whatever homelander did to him-- ;))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

mmmmmhmmmm~<3<3<3

BUTT, my personal fave?

*open. ended*

in which... there are... hints that might suggest one is true, and then the other, or even elements of both, but there's never truly an answer given... OOOH<3 FUCK YES. OOF, just the IDEA def gets me lol

i do feel the songs lean towards the 'she isn't real' factor (for obvious reasons lol) but for a fic~? ;))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

for variation in that exploration (and maybe an easy way to dig into the open ended vibes, but with a twisty lean~<3), maybe *most* of the 'hints' implicate one way with extremely *vague* BLINK AND YOU MISS IT hints for the *other* end, and one very *strong* hint/scene that ties together all the *vague* hints and makes them... impossible to ignore~<3

gawd i love psychological horror<3<3<3 lmao can you tell?

NOW. what about *billy* being the villain~<3?

OOOOHHHHHHH!!! now *that* one has some *real* hard potential for gut wrenching love from john<3<3<3 (i should also mention, *def* an option for psychosis with *john* there and OOF gotta stop giving myself expansions into this but it's just so FUCKING GOOD, LISTEN TO THE SONGS DAMMIT AND FEEL INSPIRED--)

similar enough deal, except with billy believing he's committed these horrible crimes to an innocent woman, a wonder of it might have been real or not and john trying to be by his side and settle his mind--and of course, the potential for a seriously covered up horrific crime because john's not about to lose his husband *for any reason*<3<3<3

maybe billy believes he committed the crime when it was really john and they covered it up together but billy--

this of course works just as lovely for the *canon compliant* show option with *john* feeling the full brunt of his psychosis--and billy trying to cover it up... *OR*... did it really happen at all? is billy right, is ryan really *their* son and there was no becky/becca?

;)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

oh i know i am absolutely TERRIBLE I KNOW-- but listen. LISTEEEENNNN... I FUCKING LOVE PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR, OKAY!?!?!

anywho~<3

there's also an element of serious *danger* involved with homie being the one to experience psychosis (powers and all, def one with billy too but not nearly as savage--unless a course ya give him powers too<3), especially if homie *convinces* himself that he *is* this *monster*, and therefore *must* act as this monster.

ooh, def some dives into comics themes but it go a little somethin'... like this:

"i think, therefore i am" or cogito, ergo sum (heeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyy that's a title if i ever done seen one for this one lmfao only if 'vermillion' isn't used i guess, alternatively 'cinnabar'<3)

and

"i can, therefore i must"

but the comics actually have a perfect set up for this too--OOH! it kinda goes back to that 'detective husbands' prompt lmao (expect a little different obviously) where instead of being a 'convinced i'm right when i'm wrong' dickwad billy or even *homie knows he didn't do it* (he would have to be on that edge of sanity/not know for sure for this one to work<3) we have a billy who actually legit *explores* and *investigates* what happened to becky because he *sees* that things don't add up *before* he starts actively making it worse. instead doing his own *solo* detective work~<3

maybe even stalking, meeting, getting to know homelander (*john*) personally. possibly even with the motive of finding his weakness, etc. and then tripping and landing on his dick and falling in love along the way~<3<3<3

lmao could be that billy even *abandons* the boys to get to the bottom of what really happened-- but also cause he ends up knocked up after realizing homie *was not* in fact the culprit<3<3<3

do feel the homie versions (show or comics) would deal less with the 'vermillion' vibes or i guess less chance for *open ended* horror themes, and more of a cut clean *he did it/he didn't do it* and is losing his mind sorta feel. in a sense, *becky* def *wouldn't* be real for comics homie because they never actually interacted (while the show version could be actively trying to remember her/struggling with who he *used* to be--OOH!! jason blood is def a place to look for inspo there~<3), so the tie in could be *exquisite* for sure, but it def is a slightly different feel lol

honestly might consider writing the comics/vermillion themed one (at some point, i have promised myself to other shit), it would explore billy instead of using homie as an excuse to be his worst self, homie becoming billy's excuse to hold onto what becky actually wanted for him/turn homie good (which is cute and sad in it's own way but could be SO fucking precious<3) and that would be some GOOD shit<3<3<3

FUCK! this is probably gonna build up inside a me i--

[stonyinspiration]

The Eyes Of A Boy

Author’s Note: This is the rewritten version of a previously uploaded story from a couple of years ago that was intially inspired by a prompt. I am curently rewritting the sequel and would love to potentially continue the story based the reception.

Steve stood on the balcony, clutching the railing as he breathed in the saliferous ocean air. The California sun had risen but was reluctant to fully present itself from behind the clouded curtain.

Despite being in nothing but jeans and an undershirt, Steve isn't bothered by the early morning chill. The night had ended, taking with it the ecstasy and euphoric haze, leaving the light of day to expose and scrutinize the nefarious acts done concealed under the blanket of darkness.

While Steve Rogers had spent decades perfecting a false, unflappable persona, in reality he lived his life akin to a car spinning on an icy track; always just barely managing to maneuver his way around the obstacles in his path. Now his figurative car had crashed, causing irreparable damage to the most important relationship with the most important person in his life.

The voluptuous Malibu mansion sat upon its perch that overlooked the water, and Steve envisioned his body hurling towards the jagged rocks beneath. Perhaps the waves would then take pity on him and wash him out to sea, absolving him of all sin.

Even with the Super Soldier Serum heightening his senses, never before had he experienced anything as physically or emotionally overwhelming as what he had sexually experienced as of last night. Steve had decades worth of countless sexual partners, men and women alike that had stepped through the revolving doors of his monotonous life; only there for a night and soon forgotten. Yet after last night Steve knew he could truly live forever and never forget last night.

The memory of last night was still so prominent that even now he could clearly hear the passion filled moans and cries he had evoked from his sexual partner. His tongue recalls the taste of perspiration on glistening skin. His fingertips tingle with the sensation of the dips and planes of the lean, muscular body they had been permitted to freely roam. His eyes are still looking into the blissfully blown, chestnut brown eyes of the most beautiful man he's ever seen.

Then in juxtaposition to the tantalizing memory of last night, his traitorous mind interrupts the image of the man from last night with the memory of a dark-haired little boy with the exact pair of chestnut brown eyes.The boy is running towards Steve, smiling at him with the unmarred smile that comes with the purity of innocence. The answering shame hits Steve like a sharp jab to the stomach and he tastes bile in the back of his throat. His feet feel unsteady beneath him and he grips the railing with such force that the metal bends under his enhanced strength.

What have I done!?

The guilt he is experiencing is enough to crush him. His thoughts shift towards darkness as he truly considers flinging himself over the balcony as a reprieve from his misery. His enhanced hearing picks up on the rustling of the sheets, and Steve can picture the younger man stirring in the bed they shared. He realizes that this is the first situation in a long time that he can't simply outrun or punch his way out of it.

He takes a few steadying breaths before he finally wills his feet to move and face the consequences of his actions. He walks back into the bedroom where the younger man is still fast asleep, completely in the nude except for a blanket teasingly dipping below his hips. He's shifted from his previous position so he's now lying on his stomach with his face turned to the side as he clutches the pillow. There's a sense of familiarity in the sight of the man's relaxed features and tousled dark hair; an innocence that is absent in his waking life but reminiscent of a simpler time

He's the most beautiful creature since Steve's late wife to ever grace this world. Dramatically long eyelashes fan those chestnut orbs that are his eyes; full and wavy dark hair; a delicately maintained goatee on his chin; plush pink lips; a lean and muscular body with a perky buttocks. He's the ultimate sexual fantasy of any man or woman, yet even if he hadn't been as aesthetically attractive as he was, Steve intrinsically knew he’d still have thought him utterly beautiful.

Fresh bruises stick out against tanned skin and white sheets; angry, red and purple splotches marred his hips and neck from possessive fingers and a hungry mouth. Steve swallows, torn between feeling remorse and an unsettling, animalistic pride at having laid his claim. But he knew that this man wasn't his to keep. He wasn't ever his to claim.

There's a pricking in Steve's eyes as he stands watching the man he loves more than anything on earth. The very same man that he had once held as a baby in his arms and had witnessed his childish features slowly mature from teenager to adult.

The birth of his beloved Godson, Anthony Edward Stark, had doubled as Steve Rogers’ personal rebirth. Before Tony, Steve had lived as a ghost observing the world of the living. He was trapped in a body that had stopped physically aging past thirty and life seemed like an infinite stretch of desolation he was destined to wander until death, or at least until he found a way to forgo the serum that made his body close to indestructible

The transient style and anonymity of being a S.H.I.E.L.D agent had suited him and working had become an obsession. Any relationships he had were tied to S.H.I.E.L.D and strictly professional. Even his sordid sexual encounters--which he had many of-- were devoid of any sort of attachments. He had done many things that he wasn't proud of in search of a feeling different from the omnipotent guilt and crippling sorrow that undertoned his existence. Yet no dangerous mission, or experiential sexual, had managed to fully restore his humanity. For so long he had lived this way until the day Tony had graced his world.

When Steve had held Tony as a baby in his arms for the very first time, it was like his gray world bloomed again with the most vibrant of colors. Tears had flowed freely down his cheeks and a smile had formed on his lips as he looked down at the tiny baby in his arms. It was that day that the very soul he once thought lost forever finally returned to him.

Howard and Maria Stark had anointed him as Tony's Godfather, and with the title came a renewed sense of purpose. Steve had become his self-appointed protector and vowed to dedicate his very existence to making sure that Tony grew up safe and loved.

Even now as he watches Tony sleep, he can't help but remember the small child that he wished he could whisk away from self-destructive warring parents. He remembers the insolent teenager that tried his patience, but amazed him during his visits to MIT. He remembers the young adult that stayed faithfully by Edward Jarvis's bedside as he lay dying, and the broken young man that sobbed in his arms after his parent's funerals.

As Steve searches through the archives of his memory he cannot reconcile when his love for Tony had morphed into this. He had loved Tony the way he would have loved his own child and had tried his best to be the friend that the lonely child needed. As time went by Tony grew older, but their relationship, like Steve, hadn't really changed at all. He would have never imagined that Tony's feelings for him could have shifted until the night of Howard and Maria's funeral.

Tony was twenty-one, and overwhelmed with grief for his parents, spent the day excessively drinking. That night as Steve attempted to put him to bed, Tony had kissed him. Steve had been stunned but immediately rejected his advances, even as Tony had begun to sexually proposition him. Steve had tried his best to be gentle with the grieving young man, but at one point his patience dissolved and he grew angry, and it devolved into an argument. Tony hurled the most hateful words at him, attempting to get a rise out of Steve. Steve stood firm, taking his abuse until the wounded young man’s heated anger was overtaken by grief. As he erupted into sobs Steve held him close, and once again Tony was a little boy again. Tony had cried himself to sleep in Steve’s arms.

The next morning neither man brought up what had transpired the night before. Steve knew that Tony wasn’t in his right mind when he had kissed him and was just looking for sexual comfort. Steve tried his best to forget the entire incident in hopes their relationship could resume as normal.

Had something changed within Steve after that night? Or had it happened sometime during the five years Tony had remained distant from him? Maybe it happened sometime during these past couple of days of their reconnection where they spent the most blissful period of time together in years basking in the California summer sun.

All Steve knew was that in these past days he had felt an undeniable stirring within himself whenever Tony laughed or smiled, and that stirring had turned to a jolt of electricity whenever Tony had touched him. Any reservations Steve should have had were silenced last night by Tony's lips and hands. All his senses filled with Tony and nothing in that moment existed other than him. Tony commanded his body and for the first time since before he had taken the Super Soldier Serum, Steve was weak.

Steve had nothing to compare his current situation to. As far as he knew no other human being like him had ever existed. There wasn't a single soul in existence, past or present, that could advise him on his predicament. Their dynamic was as non-replicable as the Super Soldier Serum that flowed through his veins, and just as permanent a life change.

"Steve?"

Sleepy eyes look up at him, interrupting his thoughts. Tony yawns and stretches his arms above his head; the sheets seem to whisper mockingly as they teasingly slip further down his hips. There's a blissful look in his eyes and a self-satisfied smirk on his face that simultaneously relieves and irks Steve.

"Hey." Steve tries to sound casual, but his voice breaks on that single syllable.

"Morning", Tony says cheerfully. "What time is it?"

Tony turns to peer at the alarm on the nightstand before releasing a groan of displeasure at the offensive digital numbers, and burrows further beneath the blankets. "Were you planning on sneaking out on me, huh?" Tony's tone is playful but the mere suggestion horrifies Steve.

“Of course not”, Steve ardently declares, seating himself on the edge of the mattress and entwining his fingers in his.

"Then come here", Tony tugs his arm towards him. "Lie down with me." His eyes are pleading, just like they had been last night, and even though he could easily shake him off with his super strength, he is once again rendered powerless by those eyes.

Steve obliges and Tony cocoons the both of them in blankets before clinging his naked body to Steve's clothed body. Steve presses his lips to the top of his head as Tony nuzzles his face against Steve's neck. For a moment Steve closes his eyes and inhales his scent.

"Why are you wearing pants?" Tony chastises. Then lowering his voice in lascivious intent, 'It should be a crime. It sends an involuntary shiver of excitement down his body. He could also say the same thing about Tony's entire body and about to say so aloud when Tony makes quic work of his belt and his calloused hand wraps around his traitorous, hardening cock.

Tony's fingers are magic and Steve is gasping his name as he strokes. "Tony". Steve gasps. "Tony... Tony... Then Tony lowers his head, and Steve knows that if Tony goes further he won’t be able to make himself stop. Wait, Steve rasps. "Stop", Steve pleads. Tony lifts up his head.

“What's wrong?" Tony asks, concerned. "Did I–was I–?"

Steve shakes his head. It takes him a moment to regulate his breathing. "No. it's just-", Sieve painfully tucks his erection back into his underwear. "We need to... we should talk."

Tony scrutinizes his face. "Okay..." He says, peering at him with uncertainty.

“Let me just-”, Steve struggles against the blankets and stands to right his pants. He then notes that he's instead left Tony completely exposed and apologetically replaces the blanket over his bare lap. Then he once again takes a seat on the bed but leaves a gap of distance between them.

"Last night..." Steve begins. He loses his words under Tony's gaze

“Was fucking fantastic?” Tony offers.

"No.” Steve says too abruptly. Tony's smile disappears. "I mean yes!" Steve quickly backpedals. "It was!"

“Is this a homophobic thing?" Tony raises a judgmental eyebrow.

Steve scoffs. "I left any denial about my sexual identity back in the 60's."

"Yeah, I was gonna say that after last night there's no doubt you've done this before. I mean I thought I was good–I mean I’m great–but I can't compete with what you did.” Tony then lowers his head in a mock bow. "I humbly bow before the master."

Steve rolls his eyes and lets out a noise of frustration."This was a mistake," Steve tersely declares, running his hands nervously through his already mussed hair. Steve then looks up in time to catch a glimpse of defiance in Tony's eyes, swirling bright and challenging, before he's lurching forward, catching Steve's lips. It's hard and filled with determination, catching his bottom lip in his teeth before abruptly pulling away. Steve is too late to suppress the sound elicited from his mouth.

Tony's face is close to his, his breath hot against his skin, his hands still grasping at his hair. "The only mistake," Tony rasps, "was not doing this sooner."

If Steve believed in magic he would insist that Tony has bewitched him. His head is foggy, his tongue heavy, as all his senses once again are filled with Tony.

The image of Tony as a child once again invades him mind, forcing himself to come to his senses and reveal the ruse. His attraction suddenly morphs into something heated and something cold and sickly curling in the pit of his stomach.

"No, Tony. He insists, his eyes stern as he firmly places his hands on Tony's shoulders to root him in place. "What happened between us wasn't right. What I did was unforgivable." He allows himself to fully feel the weight of his actions. He is disgusted with himself. He had done some horrible, unforgivable things in his life, but to take advantage of someone he loved and had sworn to protect… He swallows the lump forming in his throat. "I'm sorry." Tony's bewildered expression blurs before him as tears fill his eyes.

Steve cannot remember the last time he cried. It must have been even longer the last time he'd allowed himself any sort of vulnerability in front of another human being. He wants to turn his emotions off again. He doesn't ever want to feel as good as he did last night or as lousy as he does now. Feelings have never done anything but bring him pain.

"Whoa!” Tony exclaims. He stares incredulously at him, and Steve wonders if Tony is slowly processing the violation. But then Tony is gingerly wiping his tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Steve", He offers him a wry smile. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Steve shakes his head in disbelief. “I took advantage of you."

"You what!” Tony barks out a laugh. “Are you being serious?”Steve clenches his jaw in frustration and slinks further from him, but Tony grabs his hands. "For clarification, I'm the one that reached out to you. I'm the one that invited you here for the week. I'm the one that kissed you. Okay?"

“It doesn't work that way”, Steve insists. "You're just a kid."

To Steve's chagrin Tony lets out a boisterous laugh. "I'm close to thirty, Stevel"

'I'm eighty-one years old!' Steve snaps. "That makes me the real adult here." Tony continues to laugh and Steve feels anger flushing his cheeks.

“Seriously? Tony chides as Steve abruptly leaves the bed and starts to pace like an animal in the zoo. “Steve! I'm fine.” Then with a soft hilt of exasperation in his tone, “You’re overreacting.”

“You're not getting it!" Steve shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Whatever you want to call last night, it can't happen again! Then, quieter, he says, “Somehow, we need to move past it.”

Tony gapes at him as though he's been stunned into silence. "Move past it", Tony echoes as though he's weighing the words in his mouth.

Steve gravelly nods. Then despite the suppleness of every tendon and muscle, Tony seems to fold into himself. Suddenly he's that fragile little boy again that both feared and loved his father. "It's for the best." Steve insists. He moves to comfort him but when Tony raises his head his expression is hard.

"Is that an order, Mr. Captain America?" His words are filled with derision.

Steve involuntarily clenches his jaw at the name. Captain America had been dead and buried for decades, along with the righteous man Dr. Erskin believed him to be. He'd never be him again.

"Don't call me that." Steve warns

"Why not?" Tony challenges. "Was fucking me into the mattress last night unpatriotic?"

"Stop it." He says he through gritted teeth. He'd almost forgotten how Tony loved to push his buttons.

"What's the matter Captain Righteous?" Tony taunts. "You can't handle the full Stark package?"

And just like that his Tony is gone. He's been replaced once again with that glib persona that had driven a wedge between the two of them for years. He's the ruthless businessman that prioritizes profit over integrity. He's the pompous celebrity that flaunts for the cameras. This Tony hadn't reared his ugly head until this moment and Steve had mistakenly believed he was as gone as Captain America was.

"Too bad”, Tony tisks. "There's still so much more fun we could have had." He swings his legs over the edge of the bed with his back facing Steve. "Well you know what they say', he says as he gets to his feet, "C'est la vie".

Still in the complete nude, he unabashedly strides past Steve out of the bedroom. Steve knows that he's lost him.

“Tony, please don't go." Steve pleads, desperation lacing his words. How could words alone make this young man understand that this is wrong for reasons more intimately strange than either man could possibly fathom.

“I'm gonna shower." Tony states over his shoulder as he pads off.

"Fuck!" Steve hisses under breath. For a few moments he stands rooted to the spot Tony had left him. That will definitely be the last time he’ll ever see his Godson again. He'd come here to patch up their relationship but instead had severed it forever. A meaningless existence stretched before him, desolate and dark and devoid of Tony. He'd just gotten him back. How could he survive losing him again?

Steve bolts from the room, his nimble agility propelling him to be instantly at Tony's heels

"Tony."

Tony jumps at the sound of his voice.

"Holy shit!" He exclaims, turning on the balls of his feet, every tendon poised and strained to attack. "Don't do that!" Tony barks before turning to continue his stride down the seemingly endless hallway of the expansive mansion.

“I don't want to leave like this.” Steve pleads, placing a halting hand on his shoulder.

The muscles in Tony's back grow taunt, and he abruptly slaps his hand away.” I said it's fine," He says irritably. "Stop making everything such a damn crisis.”

Steve grabs his bicep as he attempts to turn away again and Tony descends upon him with unbridled fury. “Let me go." He hisses the words through his teeth, his voice quivering with rage.

Steve apologetically shakes his head. "I can't.”

Suddenly Tony's fist connects with his cheek. Steve's hand flies up to his face in surprise, the unexpected assault catching him off guard. It's not hard enough to leave any damage- won't even bruise Steve's skin-but it smarts in other ways.

The two men's stunned expressions mirror each other and it's like all air has been sucked out of the room. Tony then extends his hand in an apologetic gesture, his eyes fearful and remorseful. "Don't follow me", he whispers, lowering his head in resolve.

In the millisecond it takes for Tony to turn though, Steve swiftly places himself in front of his path. Tony,momentarily startled before his expression contorts into rage, elicits an ugly, angry sound before attempting to shove Steve with all his might.

Steve remains steadfast and it's as futile as trying to move a brick wall, only further enraging the young man. He takes another swing but Steve catches his fist, and surging forward, pushes Tony roughly against the wall, pinning his arms above his head. Tony squirms and attempts to kick him but Steve slots his legs against his.

“Stop it," Steve demands as Tony continues to struggle. "Stop it! Will you just listen to me, Goddamnit!"

Finally, Tony stops struggling but the detestment he's directing Steve's way is intense. It's worse than the expression on Tony's face during that fateful argument that had originally caused the riff in their relationship five years before. Steve was unable to take back his words no matter the amount of apologies he'd given. He couldn't stop the space between them from expanding into an ocean's worth of distance. Tony had steadily removed himself from Steve's life until their relationship was reduced to holiday cards and rushed phone calls.

Steve knew down to his core that this would be the last time he'd ever see Tony again outside of the cover of a magazine or a television screen. This would be the very last time he'd hear his voice or breathe in his scent. There was no point in holding the cards against his chest any longer. He might as well fold and leave everything on the table.

There was nothing left to lose.

"I love you!" Steve ardently declares, his bubbling emotion finally spilling over into desperation. "I love you so much," he chokes. "It scares me."

All the anger seems to dissipate from Tony and Steve releases his wrists, knowing that he has his full attention.

“I loved you from the moment I held you in my arms when you were a baby. I've loved you your entire life. You were the son I'd never had. I just wanted you to be happy and protected."

Tony's brow is creased, his lips tight, his eyes large and questioning as he takes in Steve's words. Steve's throat aches, and he tries to swallow his bubbling emotions.

"You were everything to me, and you still are. But then you grew up. Last night I scared myself. Suddenly you weren't just Tony- you were a grown man. And I wanted you in a way I'd never wanted you before. I wanted you. God, I wanted you so bad, but you aren't mine to take."

An intimate silence transpires between them, their breathing the only sounds that fill the space.Then with tears in his eyes and an air of finality, Steve says,"I'll grab my stuff." His legs are heavy as he prepares to walk out of his life.

“My parents' funeral”, Tony's voice halts his tracks. “I was drunk, but I knew what I wanted. I would lie in bed thinking of you. Imagining what it would be like if..." He takes a moment to mull over his next words. "What would it be like if you could feel the same way about me the way I feel about you.” Tony licks his bottom lip, and whether it was intentional or unintentional doesn't matter because Steve's body would have produced the same result. He's suddenly hyper aware of the fact that Tony is still standing fully nude before him.

"Even if you had punched my lights out for kissing you”, Tony continues, "It would have been worth it. "

Steve releases a noise of frustration, between a moan and strangled cry. "I'm decades your senior! The serum keeps me young while everyone else I know is either dead or dying. If the world was the way it should be, I'd be in a home and you'd have spent the night with someone that's actually your own age. Someone you could have a future with.”

"But it's not," Tony insists. "Get it through your head: I'm not that kid anymore. You don't need to take care of me. I'm an adult and I make my own decisions. Can’t you get that?”

Steve looks into the young man's eyes. The past begins to melt away and for the first time he's truly seeing the man he has become. The beautiful, brilliant, successful man that held his heart. But the boy still lived within the man, and will certainly rear his intrusive self in his mind’s eye. The two were one in the same. Would the boy forever obstruct his view of the man before him? Could Steve move past it? Steve wasn't sure, but at least for now the person before him was a man–a great man. One of the greatest men Steve has ever known. A man that Steve loved and loved him back. For now it had to be enough.

Steve could only simply nod.

"Good. Then stay."

Tony closes the gap between them, catching his lips, kisses him slowly, coercing his tongue into Steve's mouth until allowed access, until all he can taste is his heat and the bitter-sweetness that lingers like memories. Tony begins to pull away, but Steve pulls him in, kissing him with a savage ferocity that is equivalent to that of a drowning man starved for air. Tony presses his naked body against him, and shamelessly rubs himself against the crotch of Steve's jeans. Steve groans, squeezing Tony’s buttocs in response, eliciting an enthusiastic response. When they finally part to catch their breath, they’re both panting.

“It's cold in here," Tony raps, "and I'm naked.”

Steve chuckles. "Im aware" he slyly quips, his eyes darting to his prominent arousal.

"Shower?" He offers.

"If you'll join me."

Steve goes slowly this time, kissing and touching every inch of his body under the steamy spray of water. He gives up complete control by getting on his knees on the cool tile in a submissive gesture before the younger man. He lies his heart before him, giving him full permission to do what he pleases with it. It's Tony's to love and it's Tony's to break. No matter the outcome, Steve will die a happy man.

* * * * * * * *

"You know, you could stay still here as long as you want. It's a big place. Way too big for just one person.”

They're on the terrace, seated together on the circular couch that surrounds the fire pit. Tony's head rests on Steve's shoulder, watching the fire dance, flaring red echoes in the warm depths of Steve's azure eyes.

Steve frowns. "I can stay for a few more weeks. But then I'll be out of touch for two months on a work trip."

"Right." Tony concedes, hiding his disappointment in the embers of the fire. "Secret spy stuff."

Steve makes a noncommittal noise in response.

And because he can't keep his mouth shut, he frustratingly adds, "Don't you think you've done more than enough for Uncle Sam? You aren't their properly. Isn't it time you retired? Work on your art?"

Steve's expersission is serious. "I haven't worked on my art for a while."

Tony's face remains neutral, but inside he’s filled with fear and anxiety. Steve had no idea what a mess Tony was. Okay, he probably had a vague conception, but Steve really had no idea. He could make a vow at this moment to be better for Steve, but he just knew he was destined to slip up again, and Steve would inevitably know what a true fuck up he was and wouldn't love him anymore. His thoughts flutter like panicked birds, knocking into the sides of his head until his head begins to pound. He decides to throw Steve a lifeline.

"Or we could just do this."

"This?" Steve questions.

"You know”, Tony says gesturing between them, doing his best to seem nonchalant. "It's not like I need your varsity jacket or anything like that. If you prefer, we can continue this without making it a thing."

Steve is staring hard at him and Tony feels uneasy. So for clarification, he adds, "You know, ‘no strings’.”

'No strings attached’ was practically Tony Stark's motto. The thought of commitment, of being tied to someone, repelled him. Any personal relationship he had, be it romantic or platonic, were contrived. Yet here was, wanting Steve to stay with him. He never wanted Steve to leave again.

Other than the now deceased Edward Jarvis, Steve Rogers has been the most important adult figure in his life since birth. Tony has spent his life wanting Steve by his side, but as their relationship transitioned through the years, so did Tony's wants. As a small child he wanted Steve as a strong and protective male figure with gentle hands; as a pre-pubescent teen he wanted Steve as a confidant and as an encouraging mentor; as horny young adult he wanted Steve's approval even as he sexually fantasized about him. Now at this moment in his adulthood, he wanted Steve to be his and his only. Tony wanted to be completely his. Although he'd settle for anything that Steve offered, as long as he still wanted him.

“I don't want this.” Steve says. Tony feels his stomach drop. His expression must be telling because Steve adds,"I mean of course I still want to have sex with you. But I also want to take you out. I want to get to know you again." “What if you don't like what you see?" Tony asks, lowering his head in shame.

Steve gently lifts his chin. "I love you. That’s the only thing I know. And I promise that's never going to change, though."

Tony’s heart soars in his chest and he kisses Steve to settle down the emotions within him.

Although he's much too afraid to say those exact words for fear he won't be able to hold himself together, he does his best to convey his feelings through his chest.. He would never love anyone the way he loves Steve. There will never be anyone else.

Then Steve adds, “You know, if you ever find yourself wanting to move on from this, then just say the word. Just don't disappear on me again, okay? I can’t take it.”

Tony wants to tell him that he went away only because he knew that whenever he looked at him he only saw his father. He wanted to say he knew Steve didn't approve of his lifestyle and he couldn't handle the disappointment in his eyes. He knew how Steve felt about him wasting his intelligence on weapons, and the fact that he had somehow managed to not only disappoint his father, but also Steve, made him want to drink himself to death.

Tony wasn't going to tell any of that that, though. All he needed to know was that Steve loved him and wanted to be with him. He'd try his hardest to change for him. To be a man that Steve could be proud of. He'd do whatever it takes to keep him loving him.

“I won't." Tony promises. "Same goes for you."

“Never.” Steve promises.

[storyofmychoices]

Since you write for multiple Choices stories, I'm curious: (how) do they all intertwine? Do your various MCs know each other? How do they get along? How did they meet? If any of your stories don't exist in the same universe, how would the characters get along if they did?

What a great question... now if only I had a proper answer 🙈

I think about this often. I'd love for them all to exist in one universe however, I already have two universes for Thomas and Alex (Hollywood U and Red Carpet Diaries) .

From there, I started with Ethan and Ellie, who through Love & Scotch exist in my Hollywood U universe.

So that leaves me with everyone else. (this is long, I'm so so sorry)

Initially, I was writing Olivia as MC (for like a week) so Ellie and Olivia were in different universes.... but I hated it. MCs personality and job and everything didn't fit Olivia. I had Olivia trying to be Ethan's intern while also being a pediatric specialist, which made no sense. So Olivia was rewritten as a full OC, which meant she could be in Ellie's universe but I had both Ellie and Olivia interacting with the fellow interns but never each other so it feel incongruous to put them together.

So that made me think that Olivia could be in the RCD universe, but in my RCD Alex has mentioned Ethan and Ellie even though my current Ethan and Ellie only exist in HWU. Alex mentions that much like her and Thomas who find each other in every universe, Ethan and Ellie do as well, which then puts me to trying to reconcile how Olivia and Ellie coexist. Even if my current Ellie is HWU only, I'd have to see how RCD universe Ellie is. I assume they'd be similar but not the same as Alex and Ellie wouldn't have the same relationship as their situations are not the same. Plus I'd HC that Ethan and Ellie get together before Alex and Thomas in the RCD universe.

BUT there is something else to consider... Danny!

In HWU universe, Ethan and Ellie's storyline follows Open Heart at least through the attack, so Danny died. However, in my RCD universe, I wrote Danny having moved to LA to have a cameo in a fic, so in my RCD universe, regardless of how Ethan and Ellie get together, their story will be different to some extent because Danny is already different.

Leaving this mess to the side for a minute.... some quick ones to rule out. I'm not trying to make fantasy meet reality so

Mal & Daenarya, Beckett & Emma, and Troy & Astraea are all in separate universes. (for now at least)

So that leaves Justin & Mari and  Levi & Laura

I always HC that Levi and Laura are in the same universe as Olivia and Bryce. I have a wip that may never get finished, but Levi does a benefit concert to help raise money for the pediatrics ward.

Justin... oh Justin, I haven't written him in ages, but I do adore him (despite all the hate and threats I got when I did write him). He could honestly be in any universe.

OOO Ben Park from LoveHacks! I forgot about him! Okay, so Ben Park (preLoveHacks) exists in my HWU universe and is featured in the #HollywoodHacks storyline.

Okay and there is Whiskey Business which is my one shot crossover with The Royal Romance. This exists in my HWU universe. This includes Liam x MC, Drake, Max, Bertrand, Olivia, etc

However in my RCD universe, Liam also exists and is a friend of Thomas as mentioned in Seducing Mr. Perfect. So I guess their friendship exists in every universe. (as does his and Drake's lack of friendship/arguments over proper scotch)

I think that's everyone in the Pixelberry Universe that I currently write for!

Now on how they get along...

HWU Alex and Ellie become very close and get along well. Alex is sometimes a lot for Ellie, but she endures it and Alex definitely convinces Ellie to step out of her comfort zone.

Olivia and Alex would both get along well. I think they could have a lot of fun together but also work together to raise money for a good cause. I'd love for Olivia to be the twin's pediatrician, but Boston to LA isn't really all that convienient.

Olivia and Ellie... I think they'd get along, but I don't see them as being close friends. They have very different personalities and they work in two different fields. They might have friends in common that bring them to the same events, but I don't really see them hanging out alone. They work together, they like each other, but nothing more. The attack changed Ellie (forever) and she is definitely more closed off than before. It has a permanent effect on her so she has a couple close friends but that's it. (maybe that's why I'm having trouble figuring out how they fit together in a universe.) But also this is Olivia and HWU!Ellie... I don't know if HWU!Ellie is identical to RCD!Ellie or if things are different. So maybe one day I'll start a new AU for Ethan and Ellie and explore how the two universes differ... maybe the attack is different in RCD universe which would mean Ellie would be different. Maybe her and Olivia could be closer.

Laura and Olivia would get along well. I actually have Laura going back to school to become a nurse. I'd love for Laura to be the nurse at Sunshine Pediatrics.I want to set MOTY in New England so that I could build the relationship between Laura and Levi with Olivia and Bryce. I do think these two couples would be fun to explore together.

Okay, I'll end my essay on my universes here since it's a lot.. .sorry about that. Let me know if you have any questions or things y ou are wondering about based on my TED talk here lol

Thank you for the ask!

[thestorygenerater]

I made a post about this before but it was mixed with me coming up with the idea LATE at night so I’m going to Control C Control V here.

Story prompt - Hero swap

What if the DC and Marvel heroes switch universes, so the DC hero's and/or the justice league where in the marvel universe, and the marvel heroes and/or the avengers where in the DC universe.

That alone isn't that creative but what if there was a spin on things.

What if they all where altered to fit the universes themes. (Think the flash show where Berry and Oliver swapped lives but slightly different)

To explain; imagine if Bruce wane had took the place of stark, switching stark industries with Wane industries, and became Batman instead of iron man. The only difference being that he doesn't have a secret identity like Tony doesn't.

Same with superman, he still came from krypton but now krypton is still there, he was never raised by the kent's but was banned there like Thor.

It also goes both ways, Caption America was still frozen in ice but now he has a secret identity to maintain like all DC heroes.

Spider-Man would probably be the least changed, but since J Jonah Jameson doesn't exist, he would be way more popular (and he deserves is, screw cannon events)

Now imagine both heroes waking up in the wrong universe with reality rewritten around them, each having to deal with the others themes (DC's hero's are all paragons so they need to be perfect in their field and maintain their secret identities, and marvel's heroes are more flawed and having no safe identity to fall back on)

I can imagine that both hero groups can talk to the other, maybe if they look in a mirror they can see the character they fill the role of? Or maybe doctor strange and doctor fate do a spell? I personally like the mirror one more because it can introduce the characters to the switch sooner.

l am still on the fence for what to do with the villains, do I want to switch them two for do I want to leave them in there own universe but adjusted to fit the new backstory's.

It kinda boils down to, "do I want Loki to be one of the last Asgardians sent to earth with Thor, and when he appears he starts talking about random stuff like the phantom zone projector or the fortress of solitude (which Thor's influence would probably turn it into a party place or something asgardian.) or do I want superman fighting a Loki who talks about being Clark's brother, “you always looked down on me brother.” “I have a brother?” “Do you always have to remind me that l'm adopted" (Loki probably won't get a kryptonian's powers because he is technically not kryptonian like how he's technically not asgardian, plus messing with that means the heroes would swap powers and that’s a whole other mess, don’t want to much happening all at once)

[dalethesnail-blog-blog]

I'm tired of hearing that all Batman does is break arms and arrest the mentally ill.

First of all he is fictional. And he's never been written by billionaires. He is constantly being rewritten by many different people. Different versions of a broken man trying his best with a supply of infinite resources that never seem to be enough. Giving his money and himself to his crusade to save his home city. He is rich, and twice as often as we see Batman sympathize with a good citizen turned criminal, we see Bruce making donations to Gotham's city projects and social programs. In reality a billionaire could do a lot for a single city but again, fictional. The story ends when Gotham is safe, and I like the story so I'll suspend some disbelief to continue enjoying the good brain juice.

Second of all, he "is" breaking criminals arms but he isn't killing them. They can heal up and keep breaking the law, but there are stories told of criminals being scared straight by a single run in with Batman. There are stories of Batman saving criminals that straighten up and fly right. He gets the criminally insane off the street and gets them help. The Riddler actually made a full 360 in the new 52 storyline, Edward Nigma became a detective, and he helped people, he developed a conscience, showed empathy. What a crazy unrealistic thing for a sociopathic criminal. But you know what, I think a real life Batman wouldn't count anyone out, he would keep trying to save anyone.

Third, he isn't perfect, maybe if he has prep time and Kryptonite he can beat Superman, but he is traumatized, he makes bad calls all the time. He often walks into traps and improvises his escape. It's reasonable to say that maybe someone else could do better in his shoes without turning to vigilantism. Maybe Richie Rich could fix Gotham from the comfort of his Ferrari shaped bed. But Bruce is putting his life on the line. It makes for a better story than a magical genie that throws money at the problem.

why does anyone in Gotham even bother doing crime like you KNOW the second you leave the bank with the money you just stole Bruce Wayne is gonna be chilling on a bench on the other side of the street in his bat fursuit like “hey bitch u better not be breaking the law”

[toyourhometown]

Forgotten Yesterday

originally written for a theme prompt, it ended up combining with a concept ive yet to explore in story; dividers from here

Once again, Damien is certain time isn't real -- it's fake fucking bullshit -- and he can only say this due to the absurd string of events he's recently endured.

Reality could be altered with contracts made with demons for the price of a soul -- fuck you, Perri -- or if a poor soul met an untimely end in The Void. With the latter, as a consequence, the victim's entire existence would become null, history rewritten to spin a tale where they never existed in the first place and reality would continue as if that was fact.

But, by being someone who survived an experience in The Void, Damien could remember the reality he once lived in before it was altered by The Void's wicked curse.

And, almost like a joke, after learning how his very life was altered by a contract drafted by a wretched cousin -- a cousin he can't even remember having -- she dies in The Void at the hands of the very demon she contracted that deal with. . . causing reality to shift back to what it 'should be' had she and her contract never existed in the first place.

But the damage was done.

After all, even if she does not exist, and never did, according to reality, the years spent living in that tampered reality she created did 'happen' at one point.

Samson, the guy he previously only ever thought of as the asshole head of the Student Disciplinary Committee, would turn out to be his twin brother. A twin brother that was trapped living in a mansion with two parents who only married out of convenience and hated each other's guts, stripped him of his own hopes and dreams, and tried to mold him into the perfect heir.

With the contract unraveling, it would turn out his -- their -- parents were actually very kind and loving people, not just to their family and each other, but to just about anyone in need. To the point they were willing to open their homes to the friends of their children, made outrageously huge donations to the student aid program at their school and various organizations -- primarily animal shelters.

While, it wasn't that different from what Damien was familiar with when compared to the version of his parents he was living with while under that damn curse -- the only difference was the fact his actual parents have money and can do so much more to help -- Samson is still struggling to reconcile the adults he now lives with are the true version of his parents and not the adults he knew growing up.

There was also Irene, the mechanical wonder Samson created as a child, to worry about. As a child, Samson was so bad with people he cried when he interacted with others. His father lovingly suggested that Samson should make a friend and Samson took that literally and created Irene as a result.

It's unknown why, but, Irene's memories remained intact despite Perri's contract. Perhaps entirely due to her non-human nature but no one but, perhaps the Demons ruling over The Void would know but not like they'd tell them shit. That had to be an absolutely miserable existence for because she could remember how kind and loving her family and she had to watch her family and loved ones fight and drift farther and farther apart.

What made it worse was that she could do nothing about it. How could she even explain the discrepancy with what she knew and how life once was? So she was forced to pretend that she was nothing more than an emotionless machine to protect herself.

And Thera.

God.

He almost feels like an ass to be this upset over her situation when compared to his literal family, but Thera was always there for him and he was for her. In every reality, she was his first friend and childhood friend he supported and cared for. And until she roped Julian into their Trouble Duo, making them the Trouble Trio, he was the only person in her life because her pitiful fucking excuse of parents were more dedicated to the hospital than her, their own fucking child!

But in this reality? His parents have supported and taken care of her when she needed an adult figure in her life, doing little things -- while Thera refused a ride in their car when she went grocery shopping in bulk, like always, they insisted on transporting the bigger items for her -- and they absolutely love her. They love her so much they didn't even blink when Samson revealed his intent to court her with marriage in mind. They absolutely loved the idea and were ecstatic to officially have her apart of the family.

( That's such an insane thing that he still needs to unpack. )

( The fact they endured so much in The Void that lead to them making a promise to get married because they bonded so deeply is so HUH???? )

That weirdness aside, Evelyn -- the only other person who knew about all this reality warping from the start but couldn't talk about it -- explained while the number of friends around her was so much more . . . she didn't connect to them like she did when it came to Julian, Samson and Damien himself.

Of course, when he questioned this, the smile fell from her face and such sorrow filled her eyes as she bit her lip and folded her hands together. It's a really fucked up reminder that she entered The Void as a child, before Perri made her contract, making her situation very similar to Irene's.

"Your mother likes to create photo albums," She sighs. "If anything that's where Thera got her love for scrapbooking from. . ." The pink haired girl trails off for a moment, a hint of a smile on her weary face once more. "But, ah, Mrs. Tyler's photo album collection should say enough. . ."

So here he is, digging in one of the bookshelves in the living room at ASS O'CLOCK to find his mom's photo album collection. He's not going to do this with Samson, because, despite all the bullshit Perri put him through, he values family -- and by extension, her -- and he would probably be upset by the lack of photos of her, despite knowing there's no way to document a cousin that does not exist anymore.

( If he could, he would spit on her corpse again, but there's literally no body of that bitch . . . )

Despite that, Damien chuckles under is breath at the thought. He shines the flashlight of his cellphone -- holy shit a goddamn top of the line iPhone, he is still not used to how he has access to such high quality goods in this reality -- on the spine of the books before him.

That aside, he isn't sure if Julian or Thera would be proper support for this kind of mental breakdown he'll inevitably suffer. And honestly, could anyone? At this point, with how many veterans they have among their team, they know of the alternate realities The Void creates with each life it takes but seeing actual, physical proof of how much was taken and altered, is an entirely different thing.

Sighing to himself, Damien shakes his head and focuses on his objective once more. Finding the photo albums is incredibly easy, seeing how his mother openly left her collection on the bookshelf, each book labled with a year on the spine in her elegant script.

( Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if she happily grabbed an album when someone came over, )

( Just to show them her 'most precious pride and joys'. )

( Embarrassing. )

The only problem being these books are from middle school forward and, according to Evelyn, she and Elijah came into the picture in first grade. . . so, that's. . . Fuck. Damien points his phone's flashlight towards the floor as he tries to do the math on his fingers.

If its 2011 right now and he's like, 16?

( God. He fucking hopes he is. )

( He doesn't want to have a stroke about even his age and birthday being wrong because of this curse bullshit. )

Squinting his eyes at his fingers, he continues where he left off. So, if he's 16 in 2011, and in the tenth grade, nine years ago would be . . . 2002. Yeah, that sounds about, right.

Nodding to himself once more, Damien quietly pops a squat before the lower half of the bookshelf and opens the storage cabinet door. The fact it doesn't squeak is a mercy at this time of night but also an obvious sign his mother most likely visits her many books often. He'll have to make sure to put everything back as he found to avoid alerting her.

Although, he doubts his mother would actually act negatively in anyway to such a discovery. She would most likely coo over it and think it's cute. The Tylers, er, his parents, think way too positively about the children under their care. Like, the only hard rule his dad has given him is 'Don't Do Illegal.'. Which, yeah, that's obvious, dad.

Realizing he's letting his thoughts run off, Damien shakes his head once more and points the flashlight at the trove of photo albums beside a box containing doubles of the photos used in said albums waiting in the storage cabinet. Like the ones on display, they're labeled with clean, elegant script and distinguishing each book by the year.

Just as he's about to grab the '2002' book when he spots what's directly under it. 2001. The year he met Thera as classmates in kindergarten. Unable to resist the temptation, he grabs the book and flips it open, and easily skipping through the sections labeled by months to August, around the start of the school year.

Damien squints his eye and angles the flashlight's light once more to ensure the glossy surface of the photo doesn't blind him.

Instead of finding a picture of young Thera like he expected, he finds a picture of . . . himself and Samson and if he guessing right, it's a 'First Day' photo. The two of them are standing side by side, his young face covered in bandages and showing off a toothy grin as he clutches his twin brother's hand. Samson, on the other hand, lacks the air of authority and confidence Damien is used to seeing. . . instead he sees the crybaby he's been told of. His face flushed red, scrunched up as tears roll down his cheeks.

Something coils in his gut. Damien isn't sure what. Something between a familiar warmth and uncomfortable emptiness. Perhaps it's because his mother did the same thing when the family was separated by Perri's contract.

Unable to bear the discomfort of this window into the past, Damien swiftly flips the page. There's a few photos of . . . his mom -- Mrs. Tyler -- volunteering at the kindergarten for various events or just helping in general. Samson is positively beaming in the photos, his tiny fingers clutching his mother's hand and their mother is smiling back in turn. Her gaze is full of such love and affection, a stark difference from Samson's description of his cursed parents he grew up with.

Damien returns the flashlight to the photo album, glancing over his father's notes in beside the pictures. Notes that indicate the date and what was happening in the photo, or just silly pointless comments he's making about the scene. It. . . It makes him smile a little.

In this reality, Mr. Tyler is still a business man, but he's so . . . loud and enthusiastic, always smiling. And he has no intention to pass his business off to his children, wanting them to follow whatever path they desire.

Setting his phone down for a moment, Damien runs a hand through his red-brown hair, uncertain of what to feel once more. The Tylers he knew in the reality created by Perri's contract were horrible powerful, and feared people but they were never real depictions of who they actually were . . . Fuck. That should be obvious . . . but, it's simply not the reality he knows. Even so, despite how different they are from what he knows, the fact they care is so painfully obvious. . .

. . .

Continuing onwards, Damien soon finds a photo of himself and Thera playing with the classroom's indoor sandbox together. She's clutching her favorite stuffed cat -- the only thoughtful gift she's ever received from her parents -- as she uses the other hand to slap at the sand, her expression in the usual impassive and blank mode. He's simply running little toy cars over the mounds of dirt she's made.

It's. . . close to what he can remember. He can clearly remember driving the toy cars into the little hole she made and when the teacher called for them to change activities, she grabbed the back of his shirt and followed him to the next activity he picked. After that, they suck together like glue.

And in this reality too, her first trip to the beach is taken with him and his family as indicated by the photo on the following page. The two of them are dressed in bathing suits and Thera with her favorite stuffed kitty plush from her childhood. She's avoiding eye contact with the camera all together and hugging the plush close to her chest as he grins at the camera like a fool, still covered in bandages and scrapes.

Again, not so different from what he remembers but the only difference is that Samson is here too, ready to burst into tears. According to what information Samson managed to scrape together of his life before it was ruined by Perri, he knew of Thera since they shared the same kindergarten class together, but they hardly interacted and having her at the house made him think Damien was trying to replace him.

( It's almost embarrassing how much the two now love each other. )

( Like, if the love is true they'll find a way back to each other kind of romance between them. )

This photo shares the page with a photo of the two of them on the beach, her old raggedy stuffed kitty plush sitting in the sand as they work to dig a hole together. Since Thera couldn't swim -- and still can't to this day -- she choose to dig a hole, and he decided to help her out, claiming he was going to make her into soup.

There's also a picture of Samson in the corner. His face red from the sun and tears, clinging to his mother. Usagi is simply smiling, stroking her son’s back. It's disgustingly sweet that he cant help but smile.

But. He's getting distracted isn't he? 2002. He's looking for Evelyn and Elijah in 2002 . . . And yet, he finger slips, causing him to fall into the summer memories of that year.

He finds a photo of Irene wearing a simple white sundress and sunhat while holding a hand with Thera, who's other hand holds onto her plush. Irene’s other hand holds on tight to Samson’s and he, Damien, is settled on her shoulders, trying to make himself tall as he could be. Her expression is awkward, but she's smiling all the same.

There's a few additional photos in the set, featuring Irene offering ice pops to the children on the house's Japanese style engawa; Irene with a hose in hand as she supervises the three of them splashing in a kiddy pool in the grass of the front yard as the dogs blur like cryptids in the background.

It's the first time he's ever seen her so genuinely happy and content.

But, his first summer with Thera, he remembers it . . . differently.

His . . . fake parents caught on quickly that her home life wasn't the best. While her parents were a renown doctor and nurse combo at the local hospital, exceptionally good at their job, they fundamentally sucked as parents . . . to the point they forgot her birthday, hence why the plush was so precious to her, so Damien insisted on doing something nice for her over the summer.

The adults scrimped and saved for seasonal passes to the Rapids Waterpark, rented a deluxe cabana for each visit, and spoiled her a bit with the food options available at the park. His parents even took shifts 'watching' Thera's favorite plush to ensure she wouldn't get wet or lost.

. . .

Eventually, Damien finds what he's looking for. A little into the September section, two new kids are added to the roster of familiar faces. Evelyn with her round doe eyes and short soft pink hair and her childhood friend, and current boyfriend, Elijah with his toothy smile with missing teeth.

Damien doesn't look into the details of the photos anymore. He flips the pages again and again, and two more familiar faces appear; Kay and her brother Brice. . . The fact his crush was in his life before Perri's contract was even forged throws him for a goddamn loop.

As far as he was aware, and by extension Kay since she entered The Void on the same night as him, their first meeting was in drama club in middle school. . . but he's starting to get what Evelyn was saying. There was more people involved in his life, and by extension, Thera's life and he wasn't as much of a lone wolf as he thought he was. He simply hadn't fight the right people to bring into the pack.

Damien abruptly snaps the photo album close. He slouches forward, pressing his forehead against the photo album, trying to. . . grasp what the hell is going on inside him. He feels. Something. Pain? Sorrow? Maybe both. Maybe it's longing? How could he even begin to define this twister of emotions?

According to reality, all of these photos happened once upon a time but he's never lived a single moment of it and he will never remember it due to The Void. The thought leaves him bitter that he has to learn who his own family is -- his own history -- from scratch.

[spideyanakin]

Heather (archived version)

Cedric Diggory x reader

Based on Heather by Conan Gray

Synopsis - ‘As she walks by, what a sight for sore eyes, she’s got you mesmerized.’ Cedric is oblivious to your feelings, so you end up watching as he dates a girl that isn't you. Will the two of you get a happy ending?

N/A - Stop I haven't written or thought of Cedric in so long, he was my first big fictional crush back in 2018 lmao, and I never thought I'd crush on him again 😳 I fully blame Batman... I ALSO PROMISE THIS ENDS WELL LMAO

Masterlist 🧚🏻‍♀️

Cedric Diggory Masterlist 🌻

rewritten version

I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater

It was a cold day - a third of December to be exact. It was late in the afternoon and quidditch practice had just ended. You were drenched in sweat, your bright red Gryffindor quidditch jersey barely shielding you from the cold now that your body was cooling down from the exercise.

You fished in your bag but loudly cursed when you realized you had forgotten your sweater and your jacket back in the common room. Fred had asked you for a service right before practice, making you almost late and completely forgetting half of your things on the common room chair.

A shiver slipped passed your lips and you wondered how you were going to get back to the castle without dying of cold. You watched as Harry Potter got out of the changing room - all wrapped up in warm layers of clothes, you somehow wished you were in his position.

Until your savior came. His voice broke your thoughts like it always did. The way he pronounced your name made you want to melt like snow exposed to the sun. Lifting your head - you met his grey eyes and like always, it sent shivers down your spine. He was walking straight for the changing rooms and had spotted you there - shuffling through your bag in panic.

"Let me guess, you forgot your sweater?" It was always that friendly banter that made you weak to your knees. He would always have a friendly smirk to give you, always something fun to say.

"I think so." You made a weird face as your eyes went back to the snowy quidditch fields.

"Here." He didn't think twice before handing you his. "I know it's not Gryffindor but I'm sure it will at least keep you warm until you get back inside" Your thoughts were frozen and for a second you thought it was only you and him. He was towering over you, his arm raised towards you with his sweater balled up in his hand. "Plus it's too small for me" He chuckled. "It would look better on you" You had to look away to compose yourself from his words. Only if he knew how much you liked him

But then, you watched as his gaze flickered from you to someone passing behind.

It was like him taking your heart out of your chest and ripping it apart. His eyes sparkled with something more at her sight and a short smile climbed to his lips. You turned your head around and of course, it was her. Heather. She was a Hufflepuff chaser, always first in class and always having something bright and positive to say.

What a sight for sore eyes, brighter than the blue sky

Of course, she had to be prettier than you. Long brown hair braided for Quidditch, with crystal blue eyes. Her positive energy resonated through the hallway and you watched the scene roll before you. You had to painfully watch as his gaze chased after her even when she disappeared into the changing rooms.

She's got you mesmerized, while I die

"It's alright - but thanks." You brought him back to reality this time. Pushing his hand back towards him. "I'll freeze my way back to Hogwarts" You gave out a stiff chuckle and stood up before he could argue.

So you walked back up to the castle - your heart broken into a thousand pieces while your shoulders shook from the cold. Every day you had to be reminded that he loved someone else.

It all started last June, in the last week of class. Professor Trelawny paired them up in divination and ever since he only had eyes for her. She seemed to be perfect. A good sense of humor like you, mixed with the brains and the looks. She was even on the quidditch team, again like you...

But he only saw you as a friend. His childhood best friend who was placed in a different house than him. His childhood best friend who got into way too much trouble with the Weasley twins. His childhood best friend who was doomed to watch him love someone else from the other corner of the room.

But your misery couldn't end there. Because you knew Cedric and you knew bravery was his most beloved trait. You knew that it wouldn't be long until he asked her out. He had already been debating the idea since September.

And it killed you every single second. Watching him sulk over her - sitting next to her instead of you...

By the next week of December, you had to watch as they walked into the great hall - hand in hand.

Watch as she stands with you, holding your hand

Of course, she would have said yes. It was Cedric Diggory - the heart throb. Everyone liked him, everyone dreamed of him. He was kind, brave. The golden traits mixed into one beautiful being.

Somehow you thought that being his childhood friend would have made you higher up the list. That he would notice your lingering eyes and the way you reacted when he was close.

But you like her better, wish I were Heather

She was wearing his Hufflepuff sweater, the one he had offered you a week earlier. You wished you had accepeted it, not even that - that he would have given you the sweater as a token of his love, not as only helping a friend.

Wish I were Heather

You gave her your sweater

Of course, Cedric spotted you by the Weasley twins, and of course, he wanted to introduce you. Oblivious to how he painfully twisted the knife inside the wound. So he sat in front of you by George, and she sat by him, and you had to watch as he wrapped his arm around her.

put your arm 'round her shoulder, now I'm getting colder

The lunch went on, and with every second you felt another piece of yourself crumble away. So much that by the end your mind had fully gone blank. Desperately trying to tune out the way he was holding her, stealing glances with her and everything you wished could happen with you.

She's got you mesmerized while I die

The worst part is that it was so painfully obvious to everyone else. Fred and George played eye tennis, reading each other's minds in an attempt to find ways to help you.

Fred who sat by your side ended up placing a hand on your knee in an attempt to comfort you. It somehow made you feel better, but you knew nothing could fix the Cedric-shaped hole in your heart apart from the man himself.

So instead of holding in the pain, and pretending like everything was alright - you excused yourself, pretending you had finished your lunch early or simply wasn't hungry. Mumbling something about having extra homework to be done before class.

Your feet flew up to the hidden corner of Hogwarts only you and Cedric knew. It had become your hiding place, but he never seemed to come anymore. It was just you in this lonely corner of the world these past few months.

So you let the tears fall. Hot drops stained your cheeks and this time you couldn't do anything about it. It wasn't a random joke from the twins that could fix it. It wasn't his smile or something he would say that could cheer you up. It wasn't anything he could give you, because his heart was already taken. His heart had been partly given to someone else and in your lonely corner of the world, you wished you could have a piece. You wished that Heather hadn't taken all the pieces for herself.

Maybe it was selfish. But also how could you hate her? She had always been kind to you and even today she hadn't shown an ounce of jealousy towards your friendship.

But how could I hate her? She's such an angel

No one was to blame.

You had to live with your misery.

December turned into April and the pain in your chest had become nothing but a numb feeling.

The tears were frequent though. And it would always be the red-haired twins that would try to glue the pieces of your heart back with jokes. Bring the pieces back with soft laughter and dumb pranks.

You hated the way this made you drift away from him.

His presence seemed to get further as she stole every piece. She made him drift away from you like a deadly river that was so beautiful you wouldn't guess that stepping in it would drag you miles away, making you drown.

Was that what she was doing? Making him drown in her presence as the tied of her river dragged him further and further from you?

"Hey Y/n/n" George broke your thoughts, snapping his fingers in front of your eyes.

"S- sorry-" you blinked again, your eyes falling to the work on your lap.

"I asked you what you knew about Disneyland" He pointed to the paper; Muggle studies.

"I've been there once." You replied, your tone slightly off as the thoughts of Cedric tried to grab your train of thoughts again.

"And?" George paused and watched you swallow as you blankly stared at a spot on the carpet. "Y/n/n" He sighed and shuffled closer to you - placing a hand on your shoulder to catch your attention again. "Cedric's a dumb-dumb" He whispered. "He's dumb to have chosen her instead of you, and dumb to have abandoned you after they started dating."

You took a long breath in and out, looking back down to the homework on your lap.

George looked at the clock and clicked his tongue "Let's go to quidditch practice, it will cheer you up." He grinned and stood up, making you follow him.

Rain was pouring down the freshly cut lawn of the quidditch pitch and you looked as the house you were playing against started walking out.

Of course, practice had to be against Hufflepuff...

To your surprise, Heather wasn't glued to Cedric as they walked out - and both of their gazes seemed to be lost elsewhere.

Did they fight?

Something in the back of your mind was asking. Cedric looked pretty mad, and by the way he was guiding his team and giving orders you could tell he was.

From the other side of the pitch, Heather pointed a deadly glance at you. The rain was already bringing shivers, but her stare was even worst and it made you wonder what in the world happened.

Fred was happily walking to the pitch with his broom in hand. He walked to you with a grin from ear to ear.

"I've got something to tell you." He sang along and you spotted Geogre running towards the two of you.

"What's up?" You matched their grins

"There's a rumor."

"A very interesting rumor" George chimed from behind his twin.

"Cedric and Heather had a fight."

"A fight?" They got your attention. "About what?"

"2 rumors: That she cheated on him with Jamie Lammerson - they've been awfully close lately."

"Second rumor is that she did it because he's been acting more distant lately." Fred continued.

"That's he's been acting distracted." George finished.

"Distracted? By what?"

The twins looked at each other like they knew the biggest part of the puzzle that you were apparently clueless off.

"You!"

"Me?" You shook your head. "Impossible." You laughed, a bittersweet laugh by how hopeful they were trying to make you.

"Not as impossible as you think," They said in unison before making their way further the quidditch pitch, leaving you stranded with your own thoughts.

~

This time you hadn't made the mistake of forgetting your sweater, and Cedric noticed.

He noticed?

"I'm glad you brought your sweater today" He smirked. A smirk he hadn't given you in weeks.

What the heck was he doing talking to you? Shouldn't he be with Heather, laughing about a dumb joke she made?

You blinked. "Yeah."

Him, on the other hand, he had completely forgotten his. He was soaked with the rain that had started pouring down in the middle of the game, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulder and framing his handsome face.

"But you forgot yours." You noticed.

"I did." He scrunched up his face and twisted a part of his shirt to drench the water in a poor attempt to dry it.

Somehow it wasn't awkward. Even if he had spent weeks without talking to you, your friendship hadn't been broken.

Your smile lingered and you noticed that his stare did too. Weird.

Were the twins right?

Right until Heather stepped out of the changing room. Her wet hair was tied up in a bun as she was all wrapped in dry clothes.

Suddenly, the glim in his eyes died down and he cleared his throat - giving you a stiff nod before following her out and back up to the castle. You heard his words echo from a distance - something about needing to talk about their fight...

It made you frown a bit. The way his eyes saddened when he had to walk away... It made you wonder if everything was alright with him.

But you were on duty to clean the brooms.

The rain had made your job easier. It had partially removed the dirt from the collections of nimbus and cheap school brooms. You didn't mind the work and the thundering rain made relaxing music as you worked.

You dusted your hands and admired the clean brooms aligned on the floor of the big shed, awaiting polish and all the other products to make them stay pretty and shiny.

You opened the closet and frowned when you saw that the polish was empty, realizing you would have to go to the other side of the field to the second storage unit; the one with old broken brooms and extra products.

You grabbed your raincoat, securing the hood before darting across the pitch and slipping in between the tall bleachers and walking along the field downhill towards the crooked storage shed, half hidden with overgrown trees and bushes.

"Wait- we have to stop-" You heard mumbling from the inside, freezing as you realized people were in there. Great. You had forgotten this was a famous make-out spot.

"What do you mean stop? Is this about Cedric? Aren't you two practically broken up?" You gulped as you heard the name, your heartbeat quickening.

Maybe you heard the name wrong, or it was another Cedric?

But the female voice that spoke again felt way too familiar.

"Well, I think we sort of made up?" You balled up your fist. So it was true, Heather was cheating on Cedric - with who you expected to be Jamie.

Cedric wore his heart on his sleeve while she was doing all this behind his back...

"You made up!?" Jamie's voice became a bit angrier. "Heather I thought you were ending this? I thought you said he became interested in what's her name again?"

Was he talking about you? You munched at your lip in anxiety as the conversation went on.

The rain was still harshly falling against your raincoat, but you were frozen in place. It felt impossible to move with what you were overhearing.

"Y/n. She's one of the Gryffindor chasers. The one who broke your nose last game?"

"Oh, her. Aren't they like best friends of something?"

"Kind of." She mumbled - she seemed angry.

Jamie laughed at her reaction. "She's definitely a threat. I thought they were together before the two of you were a thing."

What you didn't see was Heather shooting daggers with her stare.

"Will you shut up?" She sounded mean, nothing like the facade she wore every day.

"Why? You dragged me here remember?" Jamie bickered back and you could sense tension in their words. This made you realize that one of them might be storming out at any moment now.

You turned back, making your way back up the small field leading up to the pitch. Walking through the bleachers again and back inside the shed.

What the fuck?

~

The next day that overheard conversation was eating you whole. Even Professor Lupin noticed the way you drifted away in Defense of the dark arts.

You were walking in the middle of the hallway as you headed to your next class, Fred and George on either side of you like usual. You were drifting off into thoughts again, running images of how you were going to tell Cedric, or how you were going to attempt to make this situation stop.

He was your best friend, and he didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve her.

"Hey!" A voice came from behind you, making you jump as you felt two hands on your shoulders. You all turned around to meet a bright-eyed Cedric.

He looked all happy and giddy and it made you raise an eyebrow.

"Can I steal Y/n for a second?" He looked at each of the twins.

"Ask her" they both pointed to you.

"Yeah" You nodded, not being able to help the small smile that bloomed on your lips at the sight of him. "What's up?"

"I wanted to talk to you." He looked behind your shoulder to make sure the twins had continued their way. "Somewhere quieter." He smiled and you almost thought he was blushing.

"Sure."

You followed him down to your secret place. Your hidden corner of the world where you had spent the last few months coming alone.

It felt weird seeing him there again, especially with you.

"I wanted to apologize." He awkwardly stood in front of you, scanning your features for a reaction.

"Apologize?" Your scrunched your eyebrows. "For what?"

"For how distant I've been lately..." He went back and forth on his heels and looked down to the floor. "For the way I've been ignoring you-"

"Cedric, it's ok."

"No, it's not. It's not because you didn't deserve this. I've been an awful friend lately and it's been because of-" He didn't want to stay it. He didn't want to voice the name of the person whom he knew had caused you and him all this pain.

He might have been oblivious for a long time, but now he knew.

And he wasn't going to take this opportunity for granted.

"Because of her"

"You can't blame her, it's normal, she's your girlfriend-"

"Was" He corrected you. "She was"

You blinked, your breath catching in the back of your throat as the words registered.

"What?"

"We broke up." You looked to the side as you tried to process the information.

Was that why he was acting all happy when he asked you to follow him here in the first place?

"But I thought?"

He shook his head.

"I told her it was over yesterday. We got into another fight because she complained about the fact that I was talking to you after practice." He took a step closer to you. "But she also made me realize that it wasn't her I liked" He looked down to his feet, and you could feel your heart leaping in your chest.

"I've heard things... about um- the way you might feel too. But- if it's not true, I'm not going to ask you to feel the same-" He sighed through his nose and suddenly your whole world lit up again. "But I want you to know."

"I'minlovewithyou" you muttered, barely audible.

He thought he had heard it but wasn't sure.

"What did you say?" He raised his gaze to your eyes, a small smirk across his lips.

"I'm in love with you" You said again, this time clear and loud enough.

You didn't think twice before placing your hand around his neck and dragging his face closer to yours. You closed the gap between your lips faster than you could say Quidditch.

The kiss took him by surprise, but when it registered he melted into it. But the situation caught up with you, and soon enough the kiss became clouded by giggles.

"I love you too."

Be added to my taglist

@mkr31011 @kenzi-woycehoski  @burninggracesandbridges @kimivcblog @skyfallslayer @chaoticevilbakugo @crayzmarvelfan800 @shulliworld @Todorokishoe21  @etalnxngel @brucewaynescar @moonlightreader649 @Crosshair-is-the-superior-clone @greenfield77

[covenofwives]

To Cry on a Bed of Stars

GeorgeHD is so very rudely awoken from his slumber by an inconsiderate DreamXD. HD has half a mind to throw the younger God out, until he realises something very off about XD's behaviour.

This is a two parter fic (technically three but the other fic is getting rewritten so doesn't really count right now). The first part of the fic isn't about tickling but it's basically tells what happens before this fic.

First part is To Pay A Visit if people want to read it.

Now please enjoy some very rare, soft comforting by GeorgeHD

---

GeorgeHD was in the midsts of a strangely comfortable dream. Usually the God’s dreams ranged from being too exciting or horrid nightmares, but this one was calm.

HD was laying over a warm grassy spot in the middle of a calm, starry night that matched his hair. There were fireflies flying up overhead, merging with the stars and shooting off into the night sky to make a wonderful meteor shower.

The God stretched out along the grass, sighing comfortably before pushing himself up. He got halfway up before he was stopped. There was a sudden pressure on his back, pushing him down but also pulling him back to lie back on the grass. It didn’t feel the same as the grass against his back. This new pressure was firmer, warmer and the cloud of panic in HD’s mind slowly cleared to the realisation that he was waking up. And someone was with him.

The fog of sleep cleared, slowly pulling HD back into reality. The night sky faded away to a bundle of pillows and blankets. He was not in a perfect grassland but instead in his own colourful void of the God Realm, which was slipping out of a dark blue to a hue of confused turquoise.

HD had fallen asleep laying on his front, which apparently the visitor took as an invitation to cuddle up against his back. Luckily HD knew who it was pressed against him. There were very few who would come so close to HD’s realm willingly, and there was only one who had two sets of arms; both of which were wrapped around HD’s waist.

DreamXD pressed their chest to HD’s back, their arms locked round the smaller God’s waist and their face buried into the back of HD’s neck.  A usual position. Sometimes when XD stayed to nap, this was a position they slipped into during their cuddles. But HD was a hundred percent sure he fell asleep alone, and XD was usually one to wake him up whenever he arrived.

“XD…” The starry haired God yawned. His voice was still rough from sleep, and his instinct to turn over and stretch was impeded by the other God pressed into him. “When’d you get here...?”

XD was silent but HD knew he was awake. He could feel the arm around his waist shuffle and XD was a still sleeper. His face nuzzled into the back of the smaller God’s neck and HD had to suppress a bubbled squeak.

“EhexD! D-Don’t pretend to be asleep! I know you’re awake.”

XD’s response was still uncharacteristically quiet. As the haze of sleep cleared more, HD took in more unusual details. XD’s didn’t have his mask on, and his face felt unusually cold against the other God’s skin. His arms hadn’t stopped moving as though there was a jitter through them. These details, along with the silence, confirmed to HD that something was wrong.

HD pressed his tongue between his lips before speaking again, trying to make his voice softer. Tactfulness was not exactly something he was familiar with. “XD…what’s the matter with you? You’re not your usual se-”

The noise cut off HD’s words like a sword through paper. But it wasn’t a response the taller God made. The sound was small, meek and one HD hadn’t heard the XD ever make.

XD was crying.

Suddenly the little details clicked into place. The cold feeling along the back of HD’s neck wasn’t cold, it was wet with tears. His arms around HD weren’t shuffling, they were shuddering.

The realisation hit HD’s mind like a ton of bricks and numbed their tongue into silence. They felt at a loss for words, completely helpless and useless to their friend.

HD might not have known what to say, but some deep part of him knew what to do.

From behind XD, the familiar ethereal hands appeared. One slowly brushed their white fingers through XD’s blonde hair, scratching through his scalp and then combing their fingers through the golden locks. Another took spot at XD’s back, patting and rubbing into his shoulder blades and a few caressed down his arms.

The hands seemed to do something right as the trembling lessened down.

HD waited a moment for any signs of crying again. When it seemed XD had calmed from that, HD took a breath and spoke.

“DreamXD…can I turn around?”

The blonde God’s arms tightened around HD’s waist.

“You don’t need to talk. I don’t even have to look at you.” HD carried on, his voice as calm and soft as he could make it. “I just want to hold you. You can bury your head into my neck after I turn.”

There was a pause before XD slowly nodded and his arms unwrapped from HD’s waist.

HD tried to move as slowly as he could. When XD backed up enough, he turned around, trying his best to keep his head turned from XD to give him privacy. When HD lay down on his back, XD was instantly down, laying over HD’s chest and pressing his face into the starry haired God’s neck.

HD could feel it properly now that XD not only didn’t have his mask on, but the wraps around his eyes were gone too. Whatever was enough to break XD down was serious.

HD’s hand took over from the one petting through the blonde hair, but the ethereal hand travelled down and joined the other in patting XD’s back. He didn’t wrap his arms back around HD’s waist, instead XD laid them by the other’ God’s side instead. His upper arms resting by HD’s shoulders and his lower near HD’s sides.

The air was silent apart form XD’s shaky breaths. It didn’t sound like he was still crying, more like he was trying to even his breathing again after a cry.

“You don’t need to but…you can talk about it if you want?” HD offered. XD didn’t respond and HD’s first impulse was to ramble. “Or if… I don’t know, if you want I can talk to you about stuff. Just nothing stuff. I know when I’m upset I like some noise. Keeps out the chatter, you know?”

XD still kept silent, only moving his arm to slightly curl around HD’s shoulder. The silent punted into HD’s heart, and he felt useless. He’d never had to comfort someone before and his only reference was relying on was trying to remember the things 4K would say to him.

The taller God lightly shook his head against HD’s neck. His hair fluttered along HD’s neck and up his chin. HD’s first instinct was to hold back his giggles as he always did, but he was struck by a quick moment of brilliance and instead giggled openly.

“Th-Thahat tihickles…”

The two were silent then. HD waited on what felt like held breath for any response. They couldn’t be sure XD would respond, but they waited hopefully. It took a while before XD moved again, shaking his head in the exact same way. His nose nuzzled into the spot were HD’s shoulder met his neck, and his hair tickled over HD’s neck and chin again.

HD giggled and wriggled under XD’s weight. “Ehehex Dehehehehe…”

The blonde God’s arms crowded closer around HD. The ones by his shoulder now held onto them and the ones at his sides now had hands ready, claws resting over the sensitive skin.

A shudder ran through HD though he tried to stifle it. The ethereal hands around XD had disappeared, leaving him helpless. XD’s long claws slowly trailed down, starting from HD’s ribs and ending over his sides. When XD’s claw lightly poked in, HD jumped with a high squeak.

“Tickles?” XD’s voice rumbled against HD’s neck, which only served to rile up the butterflies already going mad in HD’s tummy.

“Y-Yehesssss…”

The claw in HD’s side moved to the dead centre, pressing in and like a button was pressed, HD couldn’t stop the spill of giggles that left his mouth. His back arched, though it didn’t offer much escape, and his arms wrapped around XD’s neck. Partly to let out the ticklish energy coursing through him and another to keep him from struggling away too much. Every survival instinct was screaming at HD to move away, but he ignored those voices.

“Does it tickle here?” XD’s asked.

“Y-Yohou knohow ihihit dohohoes.”

“I’ve forgotten.” XD’s voice went low and dangerous. His hands around HD’s shoulders now gripped on tightly and both hands poised by the smaller God’s sides latched on to the quivering muscle. “Remind me.”

Even with the “warning”, when XD started squeezing and drilling into HD’s side the smaller God was not prepared. His body jumped with his laughter before trying to crumple and curl up, though that was impossible with XD draped over him and keeping him purposefully stretched out.

“EHEHEHEX DEHEHEHEHEHEHE! NNnn-fffuhuHUHUCK FUHUHUHUCK!”

HD’s instinct was to scream for the tickling to stop, but he swallowed back those words, burying his head into XD’s shoulders and laughing against his skin. XD’s hands moved around HD’s back, skittering along his lower back and up to the back of his ribs. It didn’t tickle as much, turning HD’s laughter into squirming giggles.

“Y-Yohohou ffff…wh-whihihiy dohoho yohohour nahahails tihihickle soho muhuhhuch!”

“They were perfectly made to tickle you.”

“Thahat’s ahaha lihIHIHIE!”

XD’s nails grazed along one of HD’s back ribs. One of the ribs in the middle of his back, but he couldn’t note down where exactly. XD did though, and brought all of their nails back to test the spot. Grazing and drawing little shapes along the overly sensitive bone, sending HD into a frenzy.

“NAHAHAHA! NNNnnn! S-Stohohop! StohoHOohoHOHOP! G-GIHIHIVE MEHEHEHE AHAHA BREHEHEHEAK!”

XD’s his scritching faded until finally stopping. His hands lay flat along HD’s back, and he snuggled back into the spot at the smaller God’s neck. It slightly tickled again but it wasn’t as bad. The tickles rose like little bubbly giggles in HD’s chest, but it felt nice. Calming.

HD chest rose and fell with his panting, eventually settling his breathing enough to speak without panting. “How do you always find new spots?” He grumbled, though a smile was on his face that he was sure was from the left over tickles.

“It’s my gift.” XD boasted proudly.

“What a terrible gift.” HD scoffed. One of his hands came up to XD’s blonde hair and pet through it again. He watched the golden locks fall through his fingers before he spoke again. “Can I see your face?”

He knew the question might have been a hard one. He could feel XD’s arms tighten around him, but not too much to hurt.

“I… I-I don’t have my mask on. O-Or…”

“I don’t care.” HD tried to make sure his voice sounded soft, and not snappy. “Your eyes don’t bother me. Please?”

HD thought he’d have to wait a lot longer, but XD surprised him. They pushed themselves up, uncurling their lower arms and repositioned themselves to leaning over HD.

XD’s wraps were off, and his mask gone, leaving his face so unusually open and vulnerable. From the tops of his cheeks to his hairline there lay a black void. It wasn’t even that the skin looked completely black, it was more like there was nothing there. Void of any humanoid resemblance, it lay as a dark back drop for the masses of swarming shapeless eyes.

The many eyes were always moving though the void but never mixing with one another. They were the colour of a dark night sky filled with tiny stars and a thin bright green pupil stood out amongst them. While the eyes were always moving, disappearing and reappearing, the pupils usually all looked in the same direction.

Right now the pupils were focused on HD, but they faltered and flicked away every few moments. At the edge of the black void, just above XD’s cheeks, there tears gathering and dried tear marks already down their cheeks.

HD silently reached up, wiping away some of the tear marks and a few tears not yet fallen.

“It’s dumb right?” XD tried to smile, but it was shaky and his voice sounded broken up. “I don’t have any tear ducts, yet I still cry. So stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” HD said softly. His hand cupped over XD’s cheek, which the other God leaned into gratefully. “What happened?”

Even the question seemed to set XD off again. Fresh tears bubbled under the void and his voice made a little squeak before he could speak. “I-I… I fucked u-up…”

“With what?” A few of the ethereal hands appeared again. They cupped around the back of XD’s neck, leading XD back down into HD’s arms and XD followed without a fight.

XD lay over HD again, this time resting his head over HD’s shoulder. “I think I… I-I fucked up with Dream.”

“Your brother?” HD poised it as less of a question and more in shock. “Did you fight?”

“Yes…N-Nooo not like… I-I’ve been a horrible brother…”

“What brought this on? I thought you were reconnecting with him.”

“I was! I was but…things went... I-I didn’t pay attention or maybe I was too late to see it but Dream changed and I w-wasn’t there for him and now he-he doesn’t even want to see me.”

HD was silent, letting them rant and get out whatever they wanted. It would be better to manage the problem when he knew all the pieces. When XD was quiet again, HD spoke. “Did he tell you that himself?”

“Yes! He…y-yes.”

“Then, as hard as it may be, space is the only thing you can give him.”

XD’s hand gripped onto HD’s robes. “But I… I-I want to fix this.”

“I know you do. I know it kills you not to rush back to him but if he tells you he doesn’t want to see you then, for now, all you can do is respect that.”

XD gave a defeated huff, sinking lower into HD’s arms. After a moment he gave a forced laugh. “You know, another friend doesn’t want to speak to me either. And someone gave me the same advice to just give them time. Now I’ve fucked up the same way even with my own brother.” His voice broke into a cry again. “I’m a useless friend…”

“You are not!” HD quickly shut that down. The ethereal hands swarmed around XD. Soothing through his hair and down his back. “You’re  the kindest, most patient God I’ve ever known. Even despite how horrible I was to you, for months, you kept coming back to visit me and check up on me. If it wasn’t for you I’d still be alone.”

XD said nothing. HD didn’t know if he was stunned silent, or just too tired to speak anymore, so HD tentatively carried on. “You might make some mistakes but your heart is always in the right place. And I know keeping away from people goes against your puppy-like nature,  but it’s good for both of you to heal.”

XD gave a soft huff. His breath tickled over HD’s skin and gave him goosebumps, but HD repressed the shudder.

“Do you…do you want to tickle me again?”

XD made some kind of response. His body made the tiniest movement but he was still silent. HD wanted to chastise himself for being so stupid, but his nerves made him talk instead.

“Sorry. I suck at helping people. I just… I don’t know how else to he-EHEHELP!”

XD’s hands had snaked their way to HD’s sides again as they were distracted and started skittering their nails up and down in the same pattern as before. When HD started really laughing, he switched to kneading.

“YohHOhOHou s-sneheheHEAHAK!”

“You offered.” XD spoke with a smug smile. “And I really want to get back to that new spot we found.”

XD stopped tickling and his hands slipped around to HD’s back again. “D-Dohohon’t! Dohohon’t yohou dahahare!” HD tried to make his voice sound stern, but it was hard with his wobbly smile and giddy tickles still fluttering through his nerves.

“Hmmm now where was that rib?” XD purred, moving his lips right against HD’s ear.

HD tried pulling away his head but XD just followed. “YohohOHOU knohow whehEHERE!” He said, his voice squeaking as XD’s fingers would start gently scratching.

“I’ve forgotten.”

“Th-thahat’s juhust yohour fahavourite ehexcuHUHUHUSE!”

XD’s hands skittered up to just graze along HD’s lower back rib. “Is it this one~?” He drawled out.

“D-Dohohohon’t.” HD pressed his palm against XD’s shoulder. It wasn’t enough pressure to actually push the other God away and XD knew that. If HD wanted him to really stop, he would have absolutely no problem in doing that.

“Hmm. Nope. Not this one. Maybe this one?”

XD’s fingers crawled up, and even with HD knowing it was happening this time it didn’t stop his laugh. It wasn’t as loud or squeaky of course and HD snorted through the laughter that it wasn’t that one, but XD already knew that.

“Not there.” XD sighed in feigned disappointment. “Then is iiiiiiit…”

The taller God’s fingers made a slow crawl to the rib above and HD was determined he wasn’t going to be caught out again. Unfortunately that plan was out of the question when XD suddenly jumped in, attacking at the spot with all 10 kneading fingers and scribbling claws.

HD jumped and screamed with laughter. Their legs kicked, heels dug into their blankets and they pulled side to side; anything to lessen the maddening shock waves rocking through their body and tickling every nerve in his system.

Eventually XD did stop, complying when HD tapped out with his safe word. The blonde God was then lulled into a soft sleep in the arms of HD. He fell asleep to one ethereal hand playing with his hair and another rubbing soothing, wide circles in his back.

In a shocking twist of events, HD did not sleep afterwards. He didn’t fall asleep at all. HD kept awake for the whole time XD slept. Just watching his friend, and keeping a vigil look out. The moment XD’s face twisted to an uncomfortable look, HD pressed a kiss over the top of XD’s head and melted away all of the dark clouds gathering in the younger God’s head.

HD would, of course, deny he did such a thing.

[imfiguringitoutlovely]

I have an idea for a quirk idea.

*Ahem*

Quirk: Tiamat.

Like the Primodials Goddess you can create life itself, whatever you want. An army of monsters including, Dragons, smaller dragons, Minatours and so much more. Or inorganic things as well, there are barely any restrictions.

You can also create chaotic energy, bending reality to your will, being able to summon celestial energy as well, for the heavens are under your control.

Like the Tiamat herself you also look draconic, wings, claws and Sharp teeth with many other Features( you can just look at Tiamat from smite and you pretty much look like a somewhat humanoid version)

And the of course you can Manapulate and create salt water, for Tiamat is the Primodial goddess of the salt sea and chaos.

Due to your quirk you are also more durible and stronger than a normal human.

And to really sell the point of divinity, if you use celestial energy you get a halo behind you head.

Drawbacks: the more you use your quirk with out breaks, you will get fatigue, it can take a while until you can use your other abilities again, but you will recover quickly.

Is this op? Yes but we have characters like fucking deku with Protagonist powers and All for one. So let us be op too

Uhhh, yeah let's go with 1a ( Platonic)

class 1a with a fucking god as a classmate

pairing: platonic!class 1a x gn!reader (they/them)

genre: fluff, lotsa angst

warnings: angst 😭 (depression, isolation)

author's notes: HENXN DAMN I FINALLY MADE IT TO YOUR REQUEST YAY,, im also very sorry this isn't my best stuff. ive rewritten it...a lot. in the future I'll probably come back and rewrite again for you!!!

Also!! ik the point was for it to be op, but i decided to strip back a little. ik deku, todo, and baku have super strong quirks, but there are ultimately drawbacks to kinda balance it out and i felt it'd be easier to work a reader in w that balance

so tiamat!: user has ability to bring mythical creatures to life using a balance of chaotic and divine energy. upon activating this quirk, the energy also creates a pair of temporary wings, halo and claws for the user. after 30 minutes, the user becomes incredibly dizzy and needs to rest their quirk for two minutes. they should recover after 2 minutes with only light dizziness and be able to use their quirk for another 30. not resting may result in loss of consciousness.

sorry if there are too many changes plz lemme know if you'd like a rewrite!!

(this pic probably part of the movie, huh? 😐 im too broke, I haven't watched it but once i get a job,, that's my first expense let's get the bill,, purr-)

SO. first off, since there's no real limit on the mythical creatures you can "manifest", you're pretty much one of the most powerful students from the get go. you get in on recommendations, are already coming from a very high class private school for extremely skilled children (tuition paid by the school itself)

your parents are pros, too, so you're well known not only in your class, but amongst the staff and rest of the school, too.

in the class, though, you never acted like you were above the rest. sure, you weren't exactly the most sociable, but you were polite and there to work as hard as the rest of them. it was an extra advantage, because you were at least cooperative unlike bakugou and understood the need to be flexible unlike todoroki.

it toom them time to learn this, but you seemed to have it all the necessary points of a great hero in your palm.

to some people, like tenya iida, this was absolutely admirable. perfect, meant to be idolized and rewarded with success.

to others, like bakugou, this was a threat. another competitor, another reason to push harder than before, even if it broke him.

to aizawa, though, this... well, it was scary. was it nice to have such a well prepared student? of course. was it good to have such a dedicated student? why wouldn't it be?

well, what was left to teach other than the skills themselves? and what did this mean for villains? were they improving at the same rate, building their whole lives around improving their craft to the point where what would take a lifetime for one person to learn will take their children a few years of childhood?

this is where his calculations were a bit off, though.

it didn't take "a few years of childhood". to be as good as you were, as strong and capable and wise, it took it all.

so were you passing every test with flying colors? improving at rates almost breaking records? practically drilling into everyone's heads that you should probably already be in the field?

yes.

but you weren't interacting with your classmates otherwise. your room and the training rooms were all you knew outside of class. every imvitation to any outing was declined. you hardly ever smiled or relaxed, and when you did it was for undercover practice.

you were alone and lonely. the only people you voluntarily spoke to were your teachers whenever you wanted extra tutoring or work and your parents to update them on your progress. you were a machine.

"robocop."

you didn't like the name katsuki bakugou had lent to you, but you felt that you couldn't exactly be mad. and to be honest, it wasn't too bad, right?

but you can only be robotic for so long. eventually the feelings start to set in, especially in that stunning incredible beautiful part of your life called puberty.

"they never smile..."

"even thirteen is more emotive."

"sensei aizawa has more enthusiasm."

"maybe we shouldn't even bother them with the invite."

it wasn't that they were trying to be mean and you knew that. most of it came from worry, or sometimes them being genuinely convinced you were some sort of robot. they were going to be curious and that was... okay. for a while.

it was fine. they stopped inviting you out so much, just nodded to you in passing, and spoke with you as they usually did when paired up for classes or lessons.

but over time? they stopped inviting you altogether, didn't acknowledge you in the hall, and took on overly-professional tones whenever you talked...at all.

this is what you'd wanted, though, right? just focus on the work, on the quirk, on the career path. that's it. that's all you needed.

oh fuck. you were wrong.

powerful, yes, but you started losing the passion. you didn't lose against anyone, but you weren't as vigilant in keeping it clean and quick. sometimes they took a lot more time, and sometimes your energy wasn't enough to keep a large mythical creature like a Bahamut up for two minutes.

people took notice, especially sensei aizawa. still, most people just took it as a small bump in your intense progress.

yeah, you got some looks of pity and some small comments here and there, but... you'd be fine!

"c'mon, terminator, stop playing shy. it's weird."

"[Your last name], you missed an attack. is everything alright in the plan?" (iida)

"you look tired. maybe you should let us take over, ribbit."

it was ok. you were ok. yeah. okay. yeah! of course! you were the almighty tiamat! you'd be fine!

yeah.

yeah...

and then...

"did... did sato and sero just beat iida and [your last name?" (midoriya)

it was... quiet amongst the class. even aizawa, who's rarely taken aback by anything, seemed at a loss for words or any sort of reaction.

but sure enough, there you were, tied to one side of a pole in tape with iida opposite of you, sato and sero reveling in the victory.

your head was down. this wasn't... you. you didn't lose, not that easily, and you definitely weren't captured by surprise. and you definitely did not just mess up the entire precise plan your partner and you constructed with an almost 0% margin for error.

no. no way.

when it set in and aizawa called the win for the next team is when a wave of...relief hit.

relief that you'd lost, relief that you messed up clear as day, messed up soemething so easy to perfect, and relief that nobody was hurting you for it. you closed your eyes and your body released this surge of energy, not strong enough to hurt anyone, but instead slowing into slow waves that slowly tampered off.

everything was put on pause, aizawa trying to make eye contact to cancel out your quirk before realizing all was well and you were... smiling.

you were smiling, teary eyed and genuine, with not one ounce of tension in your usually stiff shoulders.

it was quite the situation, really, and left most of the class rather...weirded out. but after a conversation with the school counselor and sensei aizawa followed by some serioud self reflection, everything started shifting.

you started talking. not a lot, obviously. it was going to take some time, but you'd say hello, ask how people were, laugh. then you said yes to an invitation to ice cream. and then told a joke! a real joke. granted it wasn't the funniest, and the delivery was awkward at its height, but the fact that YOU told it had your class rolling.

and better yet, this improved your performance! you were still improving, but at a human pace, and you had the chance to sct your age a little.

no, it wasn't perfect. this was new. this was going to take some time. but thay was okay, because you had your class with you, and they thought you were pretty fantastic.

and you had limits. and that was wonderful.

[saucy-sassy-sparkly]

Flight 1311: Eight

We're back! I've been making some changes to the original story and it's taken me a bit to land on a direction I want to go. This chapter is a little rewritten and the following three will take a bit of a different turn from the original on AO3. Thanks for sticking with me :)

Chris Evans x OFC (Harriet Kelly)

This is another spicy chapter. If that isn't your thing, hold out for part nine!

Flight 1311 Masterlist

“Stay, baby,” Chris whispered to Harriet while holding her against him. Harriet sighed and leaned against him, welcoming his warmth.  

“Why,” Harriet muttered into his chest, “why do you keep fighting for me?”

Chris put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away, “I think you’ll be worth it.” He stared at her, not letting her drop her eyes like she wanted to.

“But why? Why me? I keep trying to run, so why not just let me run?”

“Do you want me to let you go?” She shook her head, still captivated by his bright blue eyes in the dark room; he continued, “I think I’ll regret it if I let you go and I think you’ll regret it if you let me. Please stay with me tonight. Let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” she whispered back, finally dropping her eyes from his to nuzzle into his shoulder and suppress a smile. They stood in the quiet of his bedroom just holding each other; Chris’s hand slowly trailed up and down her exposed back. Harriet held the comforter at her chest while her other hand was wrapped around his waist. His chin was on top of her head and her cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.   

“I have a kind of cheesy, romantic idea. Will you let me?” He grinned down at her, “it’s intimate and most importantly, relaxing, I promise.”

Harriet hesitated, “I guess so.”

Chris’s handsome smile covered his face and he pushed her towards the bed, “stay right here. Give me 10 minutes.” He disappeared into the large bathroom and shut the door. She flopped back on the bed, still wrapped in the blanket, and stared at the ceiling fan. 

Against all her internal monologue, she gave into her gut and stayed with him. She’d have to figure out how to fight this instinct to run before she could get hurt because nothing in her life had ever felt as safe and warm as Chris’s embrace. He emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and lavender with a towel wrapped around his waist. “M’lady,” he held out his hand to her and she took it, following him into the bathroom to the large soaking tub.

The room was dark and warm with candles flickering along the windows that looked over the back garden. He’d filled the tub with bubbles and warm water, and a soothing piano playlist played from somewhere in the room. Chris looked at her sheepishly, “is it too much? I thought it would be relaxing and feel good on your sore ass.” He tentatively reached out and gave it a soft tap to accompany his cheeky grin.

Harriet took a shaky breath, that Chris misinterpreted as displeasure. In reality, it was Harriet attempting to quiet the noise in her brain and take this at face value: a kind, sweet gesture, not a ploy to get close to her before pulling the rug from under her. “It’s perfect.”

“You can enjoy it alone if you want,” he said quickly. Chris started to babble most endearingly while he gestured loudly with both hands, “I don’t have to join you, I can give you time to relax. I’m not expecting anything, I just thought we could be here together and talk. Or not talk. We can just sit. You can just sit. We can do whatever you want. I just thought--” Harriet cut him off by moving in front of him and putting a soft hand on his chest. She smiled up at him and dropped the blanket from her body to let it fall on the floor. With a wink, she turned her back to him and covered the rest of the distance to the tub before stepping in and sinking into the bubbles with a sigh.  

“C’mere, you’re too far away,” she echoed the line he’d delivered the first time he’d kissed her and held out her hand.  

Chris dropped his towel and stepped to the edge of the tub, hesitating between sitting behind her and holding her, and sitting across from her. The tub was more than large enough for both of them to fit, although they’d touch in some way. Harriet decided for him, scooting forward and pulling his arm so he’d move behind her. He’d promised her nothing had to happen, yet he immediately regretted his decision. There was no goddamn way he could sit with her naked body pressed in between his legs and not get hard. He didn’t want to spend this whole time mentally picturing Scott peeing his pants, but that was the only option he had to avoid complete arousal. He knew that. Harriet probably knew that too. But he stepped in behind her anyway, trying not to groan when she leaned back into him, her ass pushing against him and her back falling against his chest. 

Harriet peeked over her shoulder, “hi,” she said softly.

“Hey you,” he pressed a kiss onto her shoulder, then her neck, her cheek, and finally her lips. She moaned quietly into his lips, and he felt his cock twitch.  Scott peeing. Scott pooping his pants. C’mon Chris, you can do this.  

They sat in silence for several minutes, just listening to the piano music and the sound of the water sloshing gently with their movements. Chris wound his arms around her stomach, and she settled her hands on top of his, their fingers interlacing. “I could get used to this.”

“I hope you do,” he told her, his chin resting on her shoulder and his beard tickling her when he spoke, “I’d like you here as much as I can get you.”

Harriet was quiet; he could almost hear her thinking. She finally asked in a small voice, “would you really?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely, Harry.”

She giggled, “Em and Danny call me that.”

“Is it okay if I do?”

“Okay…” she sighed and nuzzled her cheek against Chris’s. “I don’t know how to do this, Chris.”

“Do what?”

“Be intimate. Trust you. Let my guard down.”

“You’ve been in relationships though, right?”

More hesitation, “yes,” she said after a few seconds, “but I’m not very good at them.”

“Why do you say that?”

Harriet laughed, “because I’m still single, that feels like pretty good proof. I just always find ways to hold them at arm’s length. It’s just easier that way.”

“Okay, well, do you want a relationship? Do you see yourself settling down, maybe having kids, staying with the same person forever?”

“Oh wow, that got real too fast. I’m not sure I’m cut out for giving someone a toothbrush at my house, let alone picturing retirement with someone.”

“Fair enough,” Chris laughed. “Baby steps then: why don’t you have a toothbrush here? I gave you one this morning, we’ll keep it here and start with that.”

“Isn’t it too soon for that kind of stuff?”

Chris flapped his hand, slightly exasperated, “ahhh there are no fucking rules for this shit. We just do what feels good. When it stops feeling good, we talk. We come back to center and we talk about it together.”

“We talk,” Harriet murmured, sounding wistful. 

Chris grabbed her chin and pulled her gently to face him, “we don’t run. We talk. No running.”

“No running,” again, Harriet sounded wistful.

“Only if you want this. If you want this, I’m yours.” Chris held eye contact with Harriet, watching her green eyes carefully. As a grin spread across her face and she rubbed her nose against his, his cock twitched again, hardening against his will.

“You’re mine?” Her eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips and back again, her forehead touching his and her bottom lip held between her teeth.  

“Yours. I told you: no one else’s rules, just us. We talk when it’s not working. Deal?”

Harriet pressed her lips to his, almost immediately sliding her tongue into his mouth. Chris’s arms tightened around her as he kissed her fervently; Harriet’s hands slipped away from his and up his bicep to pull him as close as she could. She started to turn around in the tub but Chris held fast. He continued to kiss her, both of them lost in the sensation. He broke the kiss to plant small, open-mouth kisses across her cheek, neck, and shoulder. 

He positioned her between him, trying to ignore the feel of his hard cock between the globes of her ass as he pulled her closer. While he continued to alternate kisses and nips between her shoulders and neck, his hands started to wander across her body, tentatively at first. It started with fingers dancing lightly on her clavicle and over her shoulders before moving south to cup her breasts in his hands. He massaged them softly, rolling her nipples between his fingers and enjoying the supple, soft weight in his hands. 

Harriet’s breath was shaky but her eyes were open and watching his hands on her. She chewed her bottom lip and revealed in his touch, small moans and sighs filling the bathroom. Chris moved slowly, his eyes moving between Harriet’s expression and his hands. He took his time and continued to play with her breasts, pushing them together, running his fingers over the nipples, squeezing, and listening to Harriet’s responses.

His breath was growing heavier, and he unconsciously rutted his hips against her; she pressed her ass back into him as her back started to arch. Harriet’s left hand fell to Chris’s thigh, squeezing the muscle each time he hit a particularly sensitive spot. Her right hand reached back behind her to wrap around Chris’s neck and send her fingers into his hair. 

Chris’s featherlight touch startled to move down Harriet’s body and over her stomach. His left hand stayed with her breasts, playing with them more forcefully as her breath got heavier. His right hand found her center and started to play in the folds, teasing her and making her hips buck. Her head fell back on Chris’s shoulder with a shaky sigh, “feel good, sweetheart?”

She hummed in response, her hips swiveling under his fingers, “more,” she murmured when her eyes fluttered closed. 

Chris acquiesced quickly, using his fingers to pull apart her folds to give access to her clit. She sighed heavily when his fingers started to work the sensitive bud, drawing tight circles over it. Sighs, moans, and heavy breathing rushed out of Harriet’s mouth while Chris worked her up. His hand still at her breast was working faster and harder too, forcing louder noises out of her that echoed in the bathroom. 

“Chris,” she sighed eventually, her hips rhythmically pushing against his fingers and enjoying the sensation of his hands on her chest and her clit while his hard dick rubbed her ass. “Chris, I need more,” she breathed. 

“What do you need, baby,” he urged her, “tell me what you want.”

She pulled his face to hers, kissing him fiercely, tongues and teeth clashing, “I need you. Ohhhh fuck, Chris,” her hips bucked erratically under him, “now,” she kissed him again. Hard. “Now, I need you in me right now.”

Harriet surged up and turned around, Chris supporting her hips and keeping her steady while she settled straddling him. He yanked her roughly to him, kissing her again while she pumped his cock a few times before lining him up. His grunts now added to the noises in the room. 

She sank down onto him, breaking the kiss to moan lewdly, “shit,” she murmured at the feeling of him stretching her. Her eyes flashed open and she smirked at him. The lust-blown, slightly dazed look on his face mixed made spurred her on. 

Chris’s thumb returned to her clit, and he leaned forward to lick her breasts, running his tongue over her nipple before sucking hard. Her hips acted on their own and started to move smoothly, quickly on his cock. Harriet’s hands on his shoulders, she rode him with her head thrown back, her chest out, allowing him full access to her breasts. “Babe, I’m close,” she hummed while he flicked her nipple with his tongue. “So close, Chris,” she repeated in a trance. 

One hand still rubbing furiously at her clit, the other went to her hip and helped her bounce faster and harder on him. Harriet came with a strangled cry and the rhythm of her hips slowly so that Chris had to grab both of her hips, pull his knees up, and push her through her orgasm. As she came down, her eyes flicked open and Chris knew he was a goner. The sweet, sexy, blissful look on Harriet’s face hit him hard; he was in deep with this woman. This was just their first time together, yet he was feeling things he’d never felt before.  

Harriet started to regain some energy while he was continuing to pump inside her, and she started to move her hips with him again, occasionally circling or dropping her hips deep to rub her clit against his pelvis. He was doing most of the work, thrusting up into her and holding her hips tightly while they both groaned, leaning into messily kiss each other. 

“Baby, give me one more,” Harriet whispered to Chris after he hit a particularly deep spot, “please, I want to finish with you, please,” she was whining now, rocking her hips faster and reaching between them to find her clit.

Chris batted her hand away and did it himself, using his other hand to pull her to him roughly and kiss her hard. He groaned into her mouth, “Har, honey, I’m almost there.”

“Me too, oh fuck, harder, Chris,” she whined, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Look at me, baby,” his voice was deep, raspy, and commanding and Harriet immediately complied; her lip slipped between her teeth again as she willed herself to keep eye contact. Chris pressed his forehead into hers, holding the back of her neck to keep her from running and whispering, “That’s it, sweet girl, c’mon, baby, finish with me, baby,” he continued to babble terms of endearment and Harriet’s heart was in her throat. It was so intimate, so intense, and so unlike any sex she’d had before.  

Harriet came first clenching hard around Chris; his deep groan echoed around the room when he finished behind her, eventually slowing his hips but keeping one hand tightly on her while the other was still at the nape of her neck. He pressed his lips up to hers once, twice, three times before moving into a languid few minutes of making out.  

Finally, Harriet broke away and fell against his chest while he was still in her to catch her breath and nuzzle against him. “Sweetheart,” he mumbled, his Boston accent thick in the aftermath, “you definitely can’t run. I’m gonna need that all the time.”

She pulled back and grinned at him, kissing both cheeks, the tip of his nose, and then pecking his lips. “That was fine.”

His eyes grew big, “fine?! We soaked my bathroom for fine? That was more than fine!”

She giggled, glancing around the tub at the water and bubbles sloshing around the ground. “I’m going to rinse off really fast,” she kissed him again and got to her feet, holding his shoulders. He growled when her swollen cunt was at eye level and he leaned forward to place a kiss on her pelvis, “I’ll see you later,” he said, making her laugh before she stepped carefully onto the wet floor. 

They’d gone to bed together after a quick rinse (and a once-over of the floor to soak up most of the mess) and then woken up late. After going another round and then real, separate showers, Harriet finally went home to get dressed in her own clothes after a long, hot makeout session against her car to say goodbye.  

She spent the next week rotating between visiting with Emily and Dan at their home and quiet dates with Chris. They met for ice cream and coffees during the day, strolled the park with the dogs in the mornings, and ate quiet, cozy meals together in small restaurants around town. Being in Massachusetts, rather than LA, lent itself well to protecting their privacy. They could wander both downtown and in the suburbs without being noticed or photographed very often. Boston protected Chris. They were together every moment that Harriet wasn’t teaching or with her niece. Harriet and Dolly were hardly ever at her apartment, opting to spend the night watching movies with Emily or tangled up with Chris.

Weeks went by in this perfect way, and before Harriet knew it, she’d been with Chris for four months. Four months with his kisses, his boisterous laugh, his kindness; he’d traveled a little for work, going to LA for a few days for meetings or screen tests, occasionally an interview, but they’d not been apart for very long. They’d started to spend time with each other’s families, much to Emily’s delight, and things were good. Harriet was comfortable and happy. She even admitted it out loud to anyone who asked: she was in a healthy and happy relationship with a man she adored. Since those first few panicked days, she hadn’t had any reason to feel worried or threatened. Even the few photos and rumors that popped up online linking Chris to other women hadn’t ruffled her-- although she’d stayed away from most social media for that very reason. She knew she had no reason to worry. If he wasn’t in bed next to her, he ended his nights on FaceTime with her. Dodger stayed with Harriet and Dolly every time Chris was out of town.  

It was nothing short of perfect. Until it wasn't.  

[nico-drives-badly]

👻🍟🌙

Thanks, Sylvie! 💗

I know I tend to subconsciously base a lot of Rose's personality on myself (the whole asexuality thing definitely has a lot to do with that), but this is actually something that Rose and I do NOT have a in common. While I personally do believe in ghosts, Rose probably does not. She does think that there is probably some sort of afterlife — she's not 100% certain about it, but she's not ruling it out either — but she definitely doesn't think that spirits hang around after they die and haunt places. Consequently, this also means that she hasn't witnessed any ghostly experiences; if she *had* experienced some supernatural phenomenon that could only be explained by ghosts, she likely would've come to a much different conclusion.

Yes. Oh god yes. Most certainly yes.

One of the lesser-known facts about Rose is that she can't cook. Like, at all. The closest thing to a recipe that she can make is grilled cheese — and even then, it's questionable. Once she moves out of her family's house and gets a job in Red Grave, she almost solely relies on takeout food for sustenance. How she manages to stay skinny is anyone's guess — Rose is personally betting on how she hyperfocuses on her research and forgets to eat. (Aaaand we're back to the self-projection. Lmao)

Rose wishes that she could find that "perfect balance" in her life — a way to make both her father and Abuela proud, while simultaneously doing what makes her happiest, without having to worry about exhausting herself from burning the candle at both ends. We can already see how far she's willing to go to make this a reality — once she moves to Red Grave, Rose literally tries to pursue both of her passions in order to please both her father and Abuela. But while she genuinely enjoys both demonological research and devil hunting, she knows that doing both at once isn't sustainable, and that it won't be long before she suffers from burnout.

At this point in time, I don't know if there will ever be a solution to Rose's dilemma — if she will ever be able to choose one passion over the other and solidify her career path, or find a way to balance them in a sustainable way — because I have only recently begun to find that solution in my own life. It will likely be a long time before I have Rose's entire character arc solidified in my mind...and if/when the Life Rewritten series becomes a reality, it will be a long time before Rose figures it out, either.