#she will see her dream come alive at last

[galvanizedfriend]

Klaroline Fic: The Wolf IV [4/13]

Summary: Five years after the downfall of the Mikaelson family, Caroline returns to New Orleans to fulfill the promise she made to Marcel: one day, she would be back for the man he has been keeping prisoner in the bowels of the old compound, and she would not be leaving without him. But the plans to abandon the city's eternal loop of tragedy behind once and for all are thwarted when a new enemy with unexpected old ties resurfaces, threatening not just Eve's life, but Caroline's as well.

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S04E04 Keepers of the House 🎁

Klaus didn't expect to be back in New Orleans so soon. In fact, he was ready not to step foot in the city again for decades. This time, he was even glad for it. For the last eight years, New Orleans has been a selfish lover, taking from him much more than it has given.

He realizes now, with much belated clarity, that he had been holding on to some misguided sentimental attachment to a New Orleans that no longer exists, afraid of letting it go as though the city had been the very source of all his happiness. The only grounds where anything meaningful and lasting could ever grow. The city he built. His fortress. His kingdom. The only place that ever felt like home.

It's a belief that only solidified in his chest after Mikael took it from him. The decades that followed were a blur of misery and rage, where paranoia nearly drove him insane and the loneliness of being separated from his family ate him alive. He had to disappear like a coward, make himself a ghost, a name whispered in fear like a curse in the bowels of the underworld. New Orleans became a distant memory of joyful, thriving times.

He waged wars and shed blood and made new formidable enemies because he was chasing a dream, hoping to replicate those bountiful days. Klaus couldn't envision his family settling down anywhere else, couldn't picture his daughter growing up anywhere else but at the compound that carried her family's proud name.

He sees what a load of bollocks that was now. It was never about the city. His happiness didn't come from those sodden streets or that wretched house. It was about the people. About the moments of peace he'd managed to find with his family after hundreds of years running from Mikael. About finally being allowed to put down roots, forge alliances, build a legacy, live without restraint. He got to be as reckless and impulsive and expansive as he wished without the fear of attracting the Destroyer's attention with every breath he took.

It was... Liberating. The first time he ever truly tasted freedom.

Read the full chapter here on AO3

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Happy Holidays, everyone! To celebrate the season, here's an update for you! 😃✨ What does that edit have to do with the contents of the chapter, you ask? Nothing. There is absolutely nothing festive in this update. It just suits my mood. Sadly, I do not have enough money to pay for someone to make me beautiful art for my shit, so this is what I've got. You can deal.

Anyway, hope you enjoy! And if you do, as always, know that your comments and reblogs and messages are very much appreciated and go straight into my little jar of motivation to keep pushing toward the finish line with this one ✨

[dreamyelectronicmusic]

🎄 Hallmark Christmas Movie AU Part 4 - The End 🎄

(part 1) ❄️(part 2) ❄️(part 3)

Boris and Göran were looking forward to teasing Wille about not spending the night in his own bed, but when Wille gets back with red-rimmed eyes, they know this isn’t a time for jokes. Wille doesn’t even want to go see the play in the evening, but eventually they convince him to go since he worked so hard on the flats. Wille thinks it’s probably his last chance to hear Simon sing, so he agrees.

The play is a smashing success. Everyone loves Wille’s work and especially the changes he made. He’s very proud but it’s marred by how sad he is about Simon. He would hate for their last interaction ever to have been a fight, so he finds him after the show.

“I’m really sorry, Simon. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“I just want you to know you’re the furthest possible thing from inconsequential. I’ll never forget you.”

Simon watches him with sad eyes. “I hope you have a nice Christmas.”

Wille won’t, but that’s beside the point.

“Thank you, Simon. You too.”

And that’s it. A sad ending to the best days of Wille’s life and it’s all his fault, but what can he do? A car is waiting to take him back to Stockholm. He has to go back to his real life.

Only the staff are there to welcome him when he gets back to the palace. His parents and brother are at some function that Wille was allowed to get out of, but that ends now. Official royal engagements are all his life is going to be. The hope of escape is too distant to be of any comfort. It’s almost worse than before, now that he knows how nice life can be. He can’t sleep, tossing and turning in bed. He thinks of Boris and Göran’s quiet domesticity, his conversations with Boris, the way he feels when he’s painting. And Simon. Simon, Simon, Simon.

He dreams of him, too. When he wakes up, he can’t believe he let his chance at happiness go without a fight. It suddenly seems obvious what he has to do if he ever wants to be happy and that he has to do it now, not at some indeterminate, uncertain point in the future that may never come.

He goes to see his mother.

“Why aren’t you getting ready?” she scolds.

“Because I’m not going,” Wille says firmly. He’s not going to the gala, he’s going back to Bjärstad. He’s finally learned what it feels like to be alive and he’s not letting that feeling go. He’s going to withdraw from royal work and relinquish his titles. Yes, he’s serious, and there’s nothing she can say that could sway him. They can discuss the details after the holidays, but his decision won’t change.

Then he walks out of her rooms, grabs his coat and goes to the garage to get his own car. He doesn’t drive often, not since Erik was in an accident that could have ended very badly, but the Queen could stop the royal drivers from taking him, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to arrive like a prince.

The roads are busy and it’s snowing heavily, so the journey takes twice as long as it normally would. It’s dark by the time he gets to Simon’s house, and Simon isn’t home. He must be at his mother’s place already. Wille doesn’t know where Linda lives and has to ask locals for directions. It’s a full-on snowstorm by then and the streets of Bjärstad haven’t been ploughed, so Wille leaves his car where it is and makes his way to the other side of the town on foot.

Linda’s living room is softly lit and full of Christmas decorations and plates of cookies. Simon and Sara are there, as well as Linda’s new husband and his children and Boris and Göran, who are there for end-of-movie reasons. The atmosphere is warm and cosy. The only one who isn’t joining in the fun is Simon, who’s struggling to take part in the conversation. When the doorbell rings, he welcomes the opportunity to get away for a minute and goes to open the door.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but it definitely wasn’t Wille, shivering and nearly covered in snow.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came back. I changed my mind.”

“What about the gala?”

“I’m not going. I’m not doing any of it anymore, Simon. I’m done. I just told my mum.”

Simon is stunned. “What did she say?”

Wille shrugs. “She’ll come around. I hope. But it doesn’t change anything if she doesn’t. I’m done.”

“Did… did you do it because of me? Because I didn’t mean to ask that of you, I don’t want to be the reason why you –”

But Wille is shaking his head vehemently. “No. I did it for my own sake. You were right. I don’t want to do this to myself anymore. I want to have a life I actually like. And I… I’d like you to be part of it. If you’ll have me.”

Simon’s heart is beating so hard he thinks Wille must be able to hear it. “What the hell do you think?”

Wille honestly has no idea, but he’s saved from any doubts by Simon throwing himself in his arms and crushing their mouths together. They kiss in the swirling snow, relieved and happy and so in love they barely feel the icy wind.

“Why are you letting the cold in?” Sara calls from the doorway. “You can do this inside!”

And so they do.

[littlexlioness]

His heart was lead. His arms and legs dead weight for him to drag about when he infrequently dared to leave to his room – doing so only on his days to cook. It has been two months since she disappeared. Two months with a gaping hole where his heart has been.

He was empty most days. Hallow. Which, he supposed, was better than the raging blackouts of sorrow and despair he had experienced the first few days she was gone. Spite has taken over then when the feelings became too much. He hadn’t been able to hold the demon back, when he felt the earth slip out from underneath his boots. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. Felt reality being to fade away, again. It has been months since he’d felt darkness like this. Since the Ossuary, when he’d last lost all hope.

But back then, there had been Rook. Her high cheekbones and shinning green eyes had blasted part every dark cloud he’d surrounded himself with. She has been the light he had so desperately needed. Had been the light he’d been begging the Maker to bring into this life, his hope. And now she was gone. Swallowed into the Fade, never to be heard from again.

He knew better than to hope now. Knew nothing good would come of wistfully waiting around for her to storm back in through the pantry door and declare that she was fine. Never again. His chest ached with a familiar emptiness that, for a while, had felt foreign to him. But heartache could not change reality, and the reality of the situation was that Rook was gone. For good.

No matter how much he raged, how he shook, screamed, and sobbed – nothing would bring her back. And the idea of seeing her again, holding her the way he had dreamed of one day doing – would have been enough to end him right then and there.

So he didn’t hope. He couldn’t. Couldn’t imagine her fighting back, tooth and nail, scrappy till the very end – like she always had been. He couldn’t imagine her laughing with the team or rejoining them for dinner. Because any more hope for happiness would likely be his last.

Compartmentalize. That’s what he’d been taught as a Crow. Shut down your feelings and finish the contract– no matter the cost. And right now, that meant taking out the Gods and finishing Rook’s final mission. It was the least the team could do, having lost her in the line of duty. Carrying out her legacy would be his greatest honor. His most important Contract.

He heard a loud clank of pots and pants on the other side of the door, and knew Bellara should be done cooking any moment. He cringed at the thought of having to pretend to be fine in front of the team. He’d taken to eating alone after the first few days. He still cooked when it was his turn, and when it would have been Rook’s but taking his meals in the pantry, alone. Trying to put on a brave face inspite of Spite’s constating roaring had become altogether too much for him. And unless the team wanted to watch him try to leash the demon and fail horrifically, he wouldn’t be joining them.

He felt most guilty on Bellara’s days. She was the only other member who could manage to put together something actually edible, and those big, brown eyes of her staring up at him when he murmured, he would be taking his meal alone only furthered the pit in his stomach. Too soft, too fragile. They all were. And damned lucky to have even made it this far alive and in one piece. At least, most of them had.

A soft knock at the door had him turning over in his cramped cot and facing the door. Only to see the small elfhen he  been thinking of.

“ I know you prefer to eat on your own. But I tried my best to make crow feed, and I’d really like it if you’d join us for family dinner tonight.”

He could tell she was nervous, her eyes darting around the pantry trying to look at anything other than the shell of the man he was – lying lifelessly in the corner.  She had a small, sad smile and a tried her best to laugh at the last part- referencing Rook’s joke about them being a family. Rook always called mealtime, “family dinner” and demanded they were all present. No Excuses.  

She’d told him once, in confidence, that she’d dreamt of finding her own family someday. After growing up as an orphan and being taken in my the Mourn Watch. She’d dreamed of finding her place, her “people” someday. It had been a quite night, after a mission to Nevara with Emmerich that she’d told him. They’d sat closely together that night, sharing a cup of coffee in her rooms as the fish swam around.

Now, he’d do anything to get those quite moments back. To feel her warmth against his skin again or hear her voice whispering secrets to him in the early morning hours, too raw to speak to anyone else. The hollowness in his chest throbbed, and he felt Spite thrash against his control shouting at him

“ROOK. SHOULD BE HERE. FIND ROOK.”

He shook his head, trying to clear away the voice of the spirit, as best he could. Spite was getting louder, and angrier with every passing hour. Holding the demon back had begun to physically pain him. It took everything ounce of control he had to not relinquish his restraint.

Taash had been the one to find him, the first night after Rook disappeared. He’d spent hours searching the area, looking for clues, daggers in hand, eyes frantic and glowing,  all but begging the power-hungry Gods to let him join her. To let him trade places with her, to do anything to bring her back.

But there was nothing to be done.

Rook was gone.

That night they had barely crossed the threshold of the eluvian before Spite had snapped the withering leash of control he’d held over the demon and broken free.  There wasn’t much he could remember other than the overwhelming darkness of it all, the pit in his stomach overtaking him, his heart shattering time and time again, as wails he couldn’t control broke from his lips. He could feel his limbs trashing, as Taash held him close to their chest ( either in comfort, or to restrain him from hurting himself – he’s still not sure).  Spite had taken over for hours, hours of screeching and shouting unable to accept she was gone. Unwillingly to accept that there was nothing more to do to rescue her. It seemed Spite and he had very different ways of handling her loss.

He’d tended to his injuries in solitude and shame later, when he woke up.

“…..- Anis?”

He’d lost himself in thought. It had been happening more often lately, more often that he would like to admit. He looked up at Bellara with a sheepish, soft, smile.

“I’m sorry. What was that?” He was sorry. Bel had the softest heart of their team, and he knew she was hurting just as much as he was. He hadn’t meant to get lost in his head again – had meant to let the memory of losing control distract him.

“It’s okay! I asked if you needed anything. If I could do anything to help?” This time she looked him in the eye, honest and direct. He knew it was difficult for her, putting herself out there just to be shot down. The least he could do was throw her a bone and offer up a conversation.

“I’m as well as I can be Bel. But I could use the comforts of home, crow feed is perfect.” He said with a sigh, as he willed him legs to a standing position. Bellara’s surprise was palpable, and a grin broke across her face with satisfaction. He smiled back at her, halfhearted and empty – it was better than nothing.

“ Everyone is already at the table; we were just waiting for you to pick which wine we should have.”

She was trying to butter him up, and he knew it. Knew had it been any other night, Bel would have picked the first bottle she found and announced it good enough. Or worse even, Neve would have brought out that horrific box of “wine” swill from Minrathous and insisted it was “just as good”.

He trudged to the door, holding it open for the small elf and peering into the stagnant dining hall. Dinners used to be lively, with Rook and the team. They’d telling stories of their most recent adventures, or read letters from the members who were out on mission and making up stories about what they were facing.

But tonight, just like every night since she’d disappeared, it was quite. Too quiet. It made the hair on the back of his neck rise – he’d walked into a trap. And it was too late to turn back, as he head the soft click of the door behind him and saw Bellara walk towards the table where the head seat still sat painfully empty.

He took his seat, the seat everyone else had purposefully left for him. Ever since the night they’d caught him baking, and rebaking, and rebaking again the hazelnut Nevarran torte for Rook. He’d never admit how much effort he’d put into the dessert - but the team knew. He’d never outright told them about the conversation that followed that night. But, it felt as if they already knew something had been growing between him and their fearless leader.

He took his seat to the right of the head of the table. The seat still empty, no place setting laid out for its occupant.

He could feel their eyes on him, drilling past his defenses, staring daggers into his soul, as he looked anywhere else. Compartmentalization was one thing. Confrontation was another, and he was not ready for that discussion just yet. Not today, after a particularly long fight with Spite that had landed him with a particularly bad nosebleed, and a splitting migraine.

“YOUR FAULT.”

The demon shouted.

“YOUR FAULT. ROOK GONE.”

“FIND HER. FIND HER!"

He would do anything for 15 minutes for true, uninterrupted silence – without the team, or the spirit demanding something of him. With a relegated sigh, he looked up catching the eyes of the team boring into him.

“I’m fine” Even he didn’t believe himself.

“That’s not what people who are fine would actually say.” Taash threw back at him, without an ounce of careful caution.

Not like Bel who had been walking on eggshells around him for the past few weeks. Taash was always like this. Brash, but honest. He liked it, usually. They were an open book to read, no games to play, or mind tricks. Another other day it would have been refreshing.

But today, they was a nuisance..

“You’re right Taash, I’m not fine. But I will be – with time” He kept his tone even, his responses short and to the point. No need to get emotional, no need to let the team how badly he was falling apart, or how frayed his control had become.  He needed to put his feelings aside, in order to complete the contract. That was all he could focus on.

“Why not just be just be honest, for once.”

His head snapped up at that, of course it was Davrin who felt the need to make a dig at his behavior. He’d had a hard time letting go of his grudge against the warrior ever since the siege at Weisshaupt. They may have shared a drink together, but that didn’t erase their strained history.

“What would you like me to say, Davrin? That I’m upset? I’m sure you’re all more than aware of that by now”

No need to be subtle, the whole team has watched Taash restrain him as he clawed at his own skin. Spite desperate enough to take out it’s anger on anyone or anything. It was a moment of weakness he’d tried hard not to think about, embarrassed at the glaring weakness and shame of having to be held against his will like a child acting out.

“ So that’s it? You’re just going to give up? You’re not even going to bother fighting for her? Bother trying to find her? You claim you love he---“

The warrior was sharply cut off as a knife soared through the air, grazing across his left cheek, and embedding itself in the wall behind him.

“You know nothing of what I feel. Don’t’ you dare speak of it again!” He shot back his tone razor sharp, eyes subconsciously flashing midnight as his restraint faltered and Spite snuck into control.

The elfhan face was apparent with shock, morphing into a grimace, and then nothing put pure, unadulterated rage begin radiating from him.

It happened in quick succession, Davrin forcefully pushing back his chair, the flipping of the neatly made dining room table, and then the shouting as the elf charged at him eyes full of ire.

“WE ALL LOVE HER YOU COWARD, AND YET YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO’S GIVEN UP ON HER”

He grabbed at a chair that had been haphazardly thrown to its side. Needing something to use a weapon as the warrior charged at him. Ready with a steely look in his eye for a fight. He could feel himself give in, let go of his tether on Spite as his eyes glowed dark and wings appearing behind him. If Davrin wanted a fight, he’d give it to him.

That hardheaded idiot knew nothing, NOTHING, about how he felt! What had been racing through his mind every day, every moment since Rook had vanished. Davrin knew nothing about the gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be, how he would never feel the same, never smile the same, never think the same without her by his side. He’d rather the Fade take him, than lose someone as precious as her. At least someone like him deserved to disappear. All he knew was death.

He barely heard Bellara suck in a gasp, and the two men went at each other. Nothing but wrangled limbs, and rage as Davrin threw a solid punch, connecting with his left eye and he brought the lone chair down hard, against the elf’s head – shattering it to splinters. It seems Davrin really was as hardheaded as he seemed. His face throbbed, but it was a dull pang compared to everything else. He felt the wind knocked out of him as the elf rushed at him again, locking his arms around his waist and taking them to the ground. If the warrior wanted a brawl, he’d be more than happy to oblige. Sprawled out on his back, he reached around him searching for anything to use as a weapon. Smirking, he his hand connected with cool silvery metal. He grabbed the instrument and jabbed down, hard and fast into the other man’s shoulder stabbing the utensil deep into covered skin.

Davrin let out a howl, hollow and angry as he began throwing punch after punch into his stomach, his chest, anywhere the elf could make contact. He could barely heard the horrified shouts of his team mates around the sound of Spike finally being let loose.

“BREAK HIM.”

“KILL HIM.”

“HE THINKS. HE KNOWS ROOK BEST. END HIM”

And for once, he agreed. Davin thought he knew everything, thought he deserved to know everything – when really he didn’t know when to let things go and admit defeat. He wasn’t a leader; he was a fool. A hopeful, childish fool who would only have those hopes crushed when he realized there was no getting her back. They couldn’t. She was stuck in the Fade with no way of making contact, no way of freeing her.

The sooner Davrin learned to accept reality and cut his losses the sooner the team could move forward on their mission. The sooner he could complete the last contract he had, the last piece of Rook he had to hold onto.

As he reared back his head, ready to bash the elfhen man square in the face – he felt a chill. Something cold and foreign holding him in place, holding him back. He looked up to see Taash had quite literally picked Davrin off the floor, holding him like someone may hold a misbehaving kitten by the scruff. Davrin trashed at the restriction, and Taash let out a strained grunt as the man struggled against them.

He whipped his head to see the source of the chill holding him in place, came from none other than Neve as she stood Infront of a horrified looking Bellara and a disappointed Emmerich. She’d had to use magic to freeze him in place he realized with an annoyed grimace. But at least he wasn’t being held at bay by Taash, again.

The shouting continued, getting louder and louder as each man hurled more colorful swears than most of their team had ever heard. Davrin being especially creative, and his being mostly in Antivan. He could make out the sound, in the back of his mind, of Bellara begging them to stop. Emmerich holding her close to shield her from the sight of the fight.

But it wasn’t until a green rip opened in the middle of the dining room that the two men went silent. It was a fade tear. Totally uncontrolled, and random. Something the team had been trying to conjure on demand for the last few months to get back to their leader.

He could feel the heat creep red hot up his neck, across his cheeks as his heart pounded so wildly he was sure the elfhen in the room could hear. This----this was impossible. The only thing that could tear into the fade was the dagger, and the dagger was last with……..

No.

It couldn’t be.

And yet there it was. The rip opened wider, growing until it was the size of a doorway, big enough for an adult to walk through – and through the rip he saw a shadow. Short in stature, with same tell-tale red curls and a mischievous grin slashing across her face. And with one step, out of the green haze and into the shaken dining room – she was there.

It was her.

Out of now where, like an angle she just – appeared. He couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t process what was happening, as the feel the cold around his arms and legs melted away as Never lost concentration on the spell.

He couldn’t think straight. His heart thundering– hard and fast like he’d been running for his life. Some part of him recognized he was shaking, hands quivering as he reached out to her like she might disappear again if he were to touch her. Reverently, as if she were too pure, like she would break if he was too rough, too good for this world.

“I’m home! Did you miss me?” Was all she had time to get out before he was on his knees, and then rushing across the room.

Unbothered by what the team thought, unbridled by what a Dellamorte should act like, inhibitions running lost as he threw himself around her – wings blazing bright in the soft light of the Fade tear, before wrapping around her gently. Cocooning her in a shield of protection. He would never let her go. Never let her leave, never go another day without seeing her, hearing her, holding her. Never again.

His shaking worsened, and his face felt wet and he gripped her tightly around the middle – arms locking in place. Gingerly, he felt her arms raise up and hold him in return. He let out an uncontrollable sob, wet and loud. He hadn’t cried since he was a child, not since he lost his mother. But today, here- seeing her again? This was worth it.

She laid her head gently against his chest, and likely heard how deafening his pounding heartbeat was. He was fighting for control now, eyes flickering between purple and brown as Spite pulled at the fraying tether of restraint. He knew the spirit was just as excited as he was to have her back- to have her in their arms once again. But he couldn’t give up, couldn’t give up this moment. He’d rather die than lose this.

“I’m sorry” She whispered in his ear, softly enough that only he could hear, and another sob wrecked his body. He’d never live this down if Viago or Teia heard.

“shhhh, shhhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.  I’m home now. I’m safe. We’re safe.” She continued rubbing his back gently, as she repeated the soft words to him. As his grip tightened, and ratcheting around her until he thought for a moment that she wouldn’t be able to breath. But she let him continue, knew he needed this just as much as she did.

“ROOK.NEVER.LEAVE.AGAIN”

“Never leave us again, not like this”

He begged softly, words heavy on his tongue as he held her tightly in their cocoon. No one could see them, they were safe, protected here. She couldn’t leave, couldn’t disappear into the Fade, couldn’t fall through his fingers into nothingness. He drank in the embrace, the feel of her short frame against his, the smell of her messy curls against his cheek, the feel of her heart matching his thrumming in his chest. If it were his choice, he’d never leave this moment. Never let her go again.

“….Love.”

It took him a moment to realize she was talking to him. She’d never called him that before, and it added a warmth to his chest that was sorely needed. Love. He loved her. He’d always known, he could tell he was falling for her weeks ago despite how badly he wanted to distance himself from the feeling – he’d known. And when she’d gone missing? The largest regret he carried was never telling her, never being a brave enough man to accept the fear in his heart and tell her the truth. He’d never let that happen again.

“I love you, Rook. And I’m never losing you again”

He shook, out of fear or overwhelming joy he couldn’t be sure. He’d never said those words to anyone, not since he was a boy saying them to his mother. He’d never expected how terrifying it could be to say aloud to another person. But today, for now, he could be brave. He had to be, Rook deserved it. She deserved honestly, she deserved truth, and even if she deserved more than the love of a broken man – he would still offer all he had and more to her.

“I love you too, sweetheart”

She carded her hands through his hair softly, bringing a hand down to rest a warm palm against his cheek, eyes raising up to meet his wet gaze. She was beautiful, perfect, deadly. Everything he could want in partner, everything and more than he deserved.

“May I?"

She asked softly, not needing to even ask before he gently leaned down to meet her lips. It wasn’t perfect, his cheeks still wet with tears, his breath ragged with fear as his heart was still thundering in his chest. It was messy, and imperfect. But it was him, honest and present – everything he could offer to her.

He’d once told her that a good coffee tastes like a kiss goodbye, bitter and then sweet. But this, this was better. This was a welcome home kiss, a reuniting kiss, and kiss of endless opportunity and hope. Like honey and lavender cream, and so much more than he could have ever imagined.

A cough rang out from somewhere in the room, and it took him a moment to notice that Spite’s wings had disappeared – leaving the kissing lovers exposed to the rest of the team and the disheveled dinning room.

“Well, I supposed that settles that.” Never said as she let out a chuckle, at the sight of the embracing couple, both wearing matching pink cheeks.

Rook was mindful enough to let out an embarrassed chuckle, as she loosened her arms around his shoulders. She stepped to move out of his embrace, only for him to tighten his grip around her – he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“It’s okay, I’m not going anyway.” Rook whispered to him softly, reaching to grasp his hand in hers tightly. He reflexively reached out to grab hers, squeezing tightly, not wanting to be separated from her yet.

“Sooooo, so wants to tell me the story of why our dinning room looks like a war zone?” She quipped softly, trying to lighten the mood in the already awkward hall.

“You’re boyfriend was acting like a kicked puppy, I told him to grow up, and then he stabbed me with a fork” Davrin tossed out casually, pulling the offending cutlery out of his shoulder blade as proof of the indiscretion.

“And the chair. Don’t forget about the chair he broke over your stupid thick skill” Taash added in, with a look of amusement and a chuckle.

“ Ah yes, a true assassin’s way of showing affection. I should have known. If only I were so lucky.” Rook laughed disbelievingly, not quite sure of the statement had Davrin not been ready to show her the blood-tinged fork for herself. But she supposed there had to be more to the story, there always was.

But for now, she was content to laugh at the antics of her lover and their oddly mismatched family. Perhaps they weren’t prefect, or well behaved. But they were hers, and she loved them – no matter what.

[thresholdbb]

Michael Burnham: It has been a hell of a journey

You mean it's been a long road getting from there to here?

Michael Burnham: But everything ends someday

You mean your time is finally near?

[d3arapril]

PUSH 2 START | p.b

pushin' on my buttons with no hesitation, gas me up give me motivation

pairing: paige bueckers x f!reader word count: 5.4k words of pure filth sorry not sorry warnings/tags: sexual content. VACATION PAIGE!!!, they get drunk and nasty FRRR, dom!paige, oral, fingering, strap usage (yes i finally wrote it), squirting, doggy, spanking, overstim - bro i could literally go on and on, just read it lol. (reminder - don't like it? don't read it)‼️ ᡣ𐭩 this idea quite literally came to me in a dream. this wasn't supposed to be full on smut but obviously i got carried away & ended up writing quite possibly the dirtiest thing i've ever written.... i listened to tyla's album on repeat whilst writing hence the random title. enjoy :D as always feedback & reblogs are appreciated x

“Think I have heatstroke.”

You roll your eyes from where you’re sat on the balcony, distracted from the half eaten packet of lays sat in your lap. You shift in your seat to crane your neck around to look at Paige through the glass doors, sun beaming down onto your skin.

“We were outside for like, half an hour.”

The Greek sun was no joke. You'd both decided to treat yourselves to a last minute vacation, frantically booking one of the nicest apartments you could both find a week prior to departure. Seven days on a Greek island was your idea of heaven and Paige had willingly agreed, claiming she needed some sun.

However, what she wasn't prepared for was the sun being the hottest thing she'd ever felt in her 23 years of being alive– her words.

The blonde groans from where she’s splayed out on the bed. The crisp, white sheets are a nice contrast against her newly tanned skin, body wrapped in a white fluffy towel.

You stand up from the chair, grimacing at the sting of your legs unsticking from the plastic. The packet of lays gets abandoned on the small table before you and your toes burn against the hot tile as you hop back into the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind you.

Paige doesn't flinch when she hears you come in, cheek smooshed against the sheets. She hums in the back of her throat when you scratch at her scalp as you pass her, her hair still slightly damp from the shower.

"You gonna make it to dinner, champ?"

A breath of a laugh leaves Paige as she pushes herself up with another groan, towel loosely tucked around her body. You're busy sorting through the selection of dresses you'd packed when you feel her wrap her arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

Her head juts towards the white dress hanging up in the closet. "Wear that one."

It's a fairly simple dress- plain white with a racer style neckline and ruffled skirt. You take it off the rail and hold it up in front of you, head tilting as you study it. "Really? It's kind of boring."

"Nah," Paige's hands rub up and down your sides, nose nudging against your cheek. "S'my favourite." She punctuates her sentence with a kiss to your jaw. It's seemingly innocent, but you know the girl well enough by now.

You slip out of her grip, dress in hand, before she can try anything, grabbing a pair of white strappy heels as you go.

"I'm gonna get ready in the bathroom," you're heading towards said room before she can stop you. "Reservation is at 8!"

You're sat on the couch, impatiently tapping a heel against the flooring. You tap against your phone screen to check the time for what felt like the hundredth time– you only had five minutes to get to the restaurant. Somehow, Paige always managed to take so long to get ready. You'd tried to get into the bedroom to see what was taking her so long but the door was locked so you were forced to sit and wait for her like her chauffeur.

You're scrolling through TikTok when you hear the lock click on the door. You huff, grabbing your bag from beside you. Standing up, you run a hand down your dress to flatten out any creases and when you look up Paige is stood in the doorway.

She's got her hair slicked back in her classic bun and she's wearing a white shirt with a simple black crop top underneath. The shorts she's wearing are black, too and she's wearing the Nike's you bought for her. She stands in silence, hands tucked into her pockets as she watches you take her all in.

You slink towards her, heels clicking against the tiles. You're aware you're probably staring at her like she's a piece of meat but you can't find it in you to car when she looks this good, plus it's not like she would complain.

"You're late," you hum, pulling her in by the belt loops. "What took you so long?"

She shrugs, opting to not respond. Instead, her hands reach out to rub down your back. "You look..." She pauses, leaning back. Her eyes start from your heels, trailing up your legs. Her gaze pauses on your chest for a second before meeting your eyes. "Really fucking good."

The pink of her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she takes your hand and holds it above your head. "Twirl for me."

You do as she says, giddily spinning in a circle for her. Her teeth pull at her bottom lip as she watches you, the vanilla from your perfume hitting her like some sort of pheromone. You drive her insane.

"You like?"

"You know I like. We're matching."

Before you can respond, the sudden dread of missing your reservation hits you and you're kicked into gear, eyes widening as you cast a glance at your phone in your hand.

"Fuck, we're late!"

You pull Paige by the wrist as you frantically leave the apartment, locking the door behind you and walking as fast as you could in your heels to the restaurant.

Alcohol in Europe is different to the alcohol in America– it's somehow much, much stronger.

You'd had an amazing dinner, followed by some amazing cocktails. What was supposed to only be one or two turned into arguably too many and before you knew it you were both stumbling back to the apartment.

The front door is opened and shut again faster than you can blink and you're pressed against it before your brain can catch up with you. Your head spins a little when you tilt it up to give Paige access to your neck, dazed smile spreading across your lips.

"Mmmm," Paige all but moans against your skin, licking a stripe up your neck. "Tastes good."

"Might be the alcohol." the words leave you lazily, slurred. Paige pulls back to look at you, eyes glazed over.

"Nah, s'all you."

You pull her in with a hand gripping the back of her neck, lips slotting against hers. It's hot, messy- her tongue slides against yours and you taste the alcohol on her breath. Ordinarily, you'd make a joke about her needing to brush her teeth but you're fully aware you're just as bad so you remain silent, just kiss her deeper and softly moan into her mouth.

When you part from each other you're both panting, string of spit separating the two of you. You lick your lips and it breaks, clinging to your bottom lip. Paige's thumb reaches up to wipe it away, pad of her thumb pressing against you. She just stares at you as she swipes the digit across slowly, smudging the remainder of your lip liner down your chin.

"So fucking fine," she murmurs, eyes trained on your lips. Your tongue darts out to lick at her thumb, smirk forming when she lets out a shaky breath. "You tryna kill me?"

"Maybe." you smirk at her, pushing at her shoulders until she stumbles back. You glide past her and head to the lounge, the blonde hot on your heels.

She catches you by the couch, arms caging you in from behind. You let her, of course. The cat and mouse game is usually fun but when you're this desperate, there are plenty other things you'd rather be doing.

"So many rooms to choose from," Paige whispers against the shell of your ear, "So many places to fuck you in."

Your knees almost give out and you're sure they would've if it wasn't for Paige holding you up, her chest pressed tight to your back.

"Could fuck you here," a flick of her head gestures to the couch.

Her hands find your chest, squeezing at your tits through the fabric of your dress. "Or on the counter, on the balcony."

You're abnormally quiet, nodding at whatever she says. She snickers, hands trailing down further until they reach the hem of your dress. Paige knows that when you're speechless, she's doing something right.

"You want that?"

"Yes."

"Which?"

"All of them."

She spins you around and you have to grab onto her to steady yourself. Her cheeks are all flushed and she's clearly just as drunk as you.

"Gonna let me?"

You feel like you're going to cry from how badly you want it.

You nod eagerly, gripping the fabric of her shirt. You want to rip it off of her, lick all over her tan lines and have your way with her but you let her have this one; you can tell she's in the mood to take control and you'd never be one to deny her of that.

She wrestles herself from your tight grip and flops down on the couch, legs spread and arms wide across the back cushions. You're still stood in your spot, hands now awkwardly by your sides as you wait for her to tell you what to do.

"Take it off."

You lean down to slip off your heels but she stops you with a cough.

"Keep 'em on, I meant your dress."

"But-"

"Off, c'mon."

You stand up straight again, gripping the hem of your dress and pulling it up and off your body. It's a bit of a struggle and you stumble around slightly but it eventually slides off of your head. It drops beside you and you're left in a simple matching white set.

Despite the alcohol coursing through your body, you still manage to feel shy under Paige's heavy gaze. She's still sat in the same position, eyes raking over your body.

"C'mere."

You toe towards her with careful steps, nothing but the sound of your heels clicking against the tile and both of your heavy breaths echoing throughout the room. You're standing between her legs, much like you were earlier, and she still doesn't move from her spot, fingers gripping at the cushions of the couch.

Paige’s gaze remains locked on yours, her lips curling into a smirk as she leans back further into the couch, making no move to close the distance between you. Her liquid confidence oozes with the weight of her stare and the longer she waits the more your heartbeat thuds in your ears.

“Closer." she murmurs, her voice low.

You inch forward until your shins hit the leather of the couch. You try to stop your hands from shaking, try to act like this is any other time you've been in this situation but there's something about having the entire space to yourself that makes this feel so different, so intense.

"Do you plan to do this all night, or?" your voice comes out quieter than you'd intended.

She lets out a laugh, arms reaching forward to pull you in by your hips. You fall into her lap, bracing yourself against her shoulders to soften the impact.

"I just like lookin' at you," Paige licks her lips, glossy eyes looking up at you. "So sexy, you know that?" Her left hand smooths up your torso, grips at the fat of your chest and squeezes.

You whimper pathetically at the contact, your hands moving from their spot on her shoulders to her hair. You mess with the hair ties and pull the bun free, fingers brushing through the blonde strands. Paige hisses when your nails scratch against her scalp, hips pushing upwards against your own.

Her right hand slides around your back and she pulls you down until your chests are pressed together. You kiss her, open mouthed and messy as your tongue laps at hers, grinding down against her. The rough metal of her zipper presses against you through the thin material of your underwear and you whimper against her mouth, eyebrows drawing together at the feeling.

Paige's left hand finds home on your ass, squeezing and guiding you to rock against her. You whimper into the kiss as she uses her hold on you to grind you down onto her harder, tongue pushing further into your mouth. You can feel the heat radiating off of her, can smell the scent of the shampoo she used in the shower this afternoon and taste the alcohol on her tongue. You're practically drunk on her let alone the alcohol, and she's definitely drunk on you, too.

You're so caught up in the moment you're not prepared for Paige to flip you around. You let out a small ah! as she does so, head spinning from the sudden movement. Your back is now against the cushions, leather sticking to your sweaty skin. The blonde slips down onto the tiles in front of you, now kneeling between your legs.

"Hold 'em." Paige's hands are at the backs of your knees, pushing them up until they're almost at your chest. The heels of your shoes knock together and it's a reminder that you're actually still wearing them. You do as she says, clammy hands gripped tight over hers. You watch with bated breath as she slips her hands from your grip, thumb coming to press against your clit through your panties. It's a soft touch but it's enough to make you gush again; what was once a thick white material now a glossy, sheer mess.

"Fuck," Paige breathes. She moves her thumb in small, gentle circles around the clothed area. Your head falls back against the cushion of the couch, mouth open in a silent moan. "This all for me?"

"Always," you murmur, licking your lips as you move your heavy head, eyes meeting hers. "It's yours."

"Yeah it is," Paige nods, her voice coming out strained. She moves to slide her hands up the backs of your thighs and hooks both thumbs into your panties, pulling them up and off your legs until they're hanging around your ankle, exposing your pussy. "So good." she purrs, leaning forward to press open mouthed kisses against you. You suck in a breath when her tongue laps up your slit, nails digging into the skin of your thighs.

She moves slowly at first, and for a moment you wonder if it's because of her own drunkenness, but the longer she goes on the more you're reminded of just how good she is at this. You feel like you're going to explode at the slightest touch, every stroke of her tongue against your clit sending shocks of pleasure through your entire body.

"Paige," you moan repeatedly, her name coming out like a prayer. She hums against you, hands pressing against the backs of your thighs to keep you spread open for her.

You gasp at the feeling of her warm, wet muscle pushing past your folds to languidly dip against your entrance. "Oh fuck, fuck- babe."

She's sloppy with it, a mixture of your juices and her spit dripping down between your ass and onto the couch. You'll scold her for doing this here tomorrow but right now it's your last concern.

Your toes curl when she shakes her head against you, tongue flicking against your clit. "Gonna make me cum," the words leave you as a sob, mouth hanging open. You feel the wetness between your thighs increase even more when you hear her moan, the vibrations shooting pleasure straight up your spine. "Feels so good."

Paige's fingers dig harder into the skin of your thighs as she continues to lap at you. She pushes her tongue into you again and then moves upwards, pressing sloppy kisses against your swollen clit.

"Yeah, right there, please-" you choke on your own words, the feeling of her nose brushing against your sensitive skin making you jolt. You can't stop the loud cry that leaves you as she sucks your clit back into her mouth, tongue massaging against it.

The room is spinning and your legs start to cramp from how hard your muscles are tensed, nails almost piercing into your skin when the chord in your stomach suddenly snaps. You're practically crying, eyes rolled back in your head when it hits you. Paige helps you ride it out, keeping you pressed to the couch whilst she drinks up your slick. You're trembling, stomach rippling from the intensity.

You expect Paige to pull away, lean up and give you a messy kiss like she normally would but instead she slides two fingers up and down your pussy, gathering your wetness on the tips before she's pushing them into you.

"Wait," you whimper, feet kicking in the air. "Babe, wait, I just- I'm-"

"You're good," she murmurs, lips brushing against the inside of your thigh as her fingers slowly pump in and out of you. "I got you, just relax."

You mewl, letting her have her way with you. She starts off slow, fingers curling up deep. The sound is obscene, with every flick of her fingers the wet sound fills the air but you feel no shame, if anything it just turns you on more.

Paige definitely feels you flood her fingers because she picks up the pace, thrusting her fingers deeper into you, curling them with each stroke. Your entire body is coated in sweat, droplets beading against your skin. Her other hand moves from its place on your thigh to spread you wider, opening you up to her even more.

It's all too much; the heat, the way you're spread open for her, the pressure building deep in your stomach. She adds a third finger and the stretch makes you sob, legs starting to shake in your grip.

"I can't," the words spill from you, incoherently. "Please, please I can't."

"Shhh," Paige coos, leaning down to kiss the back of your thigh. "You can, gonna make you cum again."

She curls her fingers and the tip of her middle finger brushes against that spot, her palm pressing down against your clit. The feeling is so intense and you can't do anything but whine, thighs shaking around her.

"So good to me," Paige breathes out, heart hammering in her chest. She watches the way your pussy clings to her fingers, the digits now glistening as she pulls them out of you before thrusting back in. "She loves me, hm?"

You nod feebly, tears slipping down your cheeks, head lolling against the cushions of the couch.

Paige is relentless, fucking her fingers into you with such force you can feel the pressure in your ass. Your legs are starting to burn and so are your hips and it feels like a balloon is being blown up in your stomach, pressure becoming harder to ignore with every pump of her fingers.

"M'gonna cum, fuck, Paige-"

You cum for the second time with a broken sob and you hear it before you feel it, the distant sound of a splash against the tiles below you followed by Paige's load groan. It hits you hard, legs quivering as you squirt around her fingers, the wetness coating the floor. She slips her fingers out quick enough for another gush to leave you, trickling down your ass and onto the leather.

She moans, watching it play out in front of her. It's the hottest thing she's ever seen, her fingers now rubbing against your clit in quick motions.

"Again, again."

"Fuck, I can't-"

"Again." she demands but the word leaves her like she's begging, voice a pitch higher.

It's embarrassing how fast the heat builds in your stomach again, and before you can stop it you're squirting all over again, pussy clenching against nothing as you cry out.

Paige leans down, tongue slipping between your folds to drink you up. You're sobbing, trying to get away from her but you can barely move.

"You're okay," Paige mumbles, soothing her hand down your quivering leg. "I got you, s'okay."

A moment passes, Paige's head resting against the back of your thigh as she strokes her soaked hand against the other. You drop your legs ungracefully, stretching your limbs and groaning when your hips and knees crack after being bent for so long.

"That sobered me up." you whisper, heavy eyelids threatening to close. "Did they put viagra in your drink?"

Paige stifles a laugh, her own knees cracking when she stands up. She holds out a hand you to help you up and you take it with a shaky one of your own. You grimace at the feeling of the wet leather sticking to your bare skin, standing up.

"You ruined the couch."

"Says the one who squirted like a fucking firehose." Paige's hand comes up to push the hair from her face, a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. "S'not my fault I do that to you."

You groan, pushing at her shoulder. "Shut up."

Paige laughs and drops her hands to your hips, walking you backwards towards the bedroom. You stumble a little, bambi-like legs struggling in your heels.

"Get on the bed."

You're pushed backwards onto the bed, bouncing slightly when you hit the sheets. Your chest is heaving, heart still thumping wildly in your chest. Paige is climbing over you, caging you in with her arms and legs. Her lips ghost the shell of your ear,

"Still gotta fuck you in here."

She ducks down and connects your lips, teeth knocking against yours as she does so. Her hips grind down against yours and your hands snake under the fabric of her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders. Paige pulls back to shrug it off of her and throw it blindly behind her, reaching back to pull her crop top off in one fluid movement. She's braless, tan lines from her bikini top prominent against her now tanned skin. The sight alone makes you moan.

You both shimmy up the bed, lips still connected, and when the back of your head hits the pillow Paige's lips are on your neck. You sigh, hand smoothing down her back. Her skin is damp and so is yours, the smell of sex filling the air.

"Please, babe," you whimper, fingers pulling at the waistband of her shorts. Paige hums, sitting up to push them down her legs and kick them off.

"Hmm," she murmurs, fingers sliding over your cheek, thumb resting against your bottom lip. You part your lips, tongue swiping out to lick the pad of her thumb. "You gonna do something for me?"

"Anything."

Wordlessly, Paige pulls off her boxers with practiced ease and begins crawling over you. Her hand rests against the headboard as she steadies herself, the other reaching down to cup her pussy. You lick your lips, eyes flickering between hers and her cunt.

"Please," the word is soft, leaving you breathlessly. "I wanna taste you, please."

"Yeah?" she tilts her head, the pad of her index finger sliding up and down her slit. You watch her gather her wetness and then bring it up to her clit, circling the bud. "Wanna make me cum?"

"Please, please." you grip at her thighs, nails digging into her skin. Paige moans at the feeling, her own hand now moving faster against herself. "Wanna make you feel good."

Paige's hand leaves her pussy and she hovers above you, holding onto the headboard. You lift your head and stick your tongue out, eager for her to sit on you. You whine when she hovers her pussy just above your mouth, tongue swiping out to lick against her folds.

"Fuck, yeah," Paige moans, head dropping forward. Her left hand grips the headboard whilst her right holds onto her pussy, spreading herself open for you. "Yeah, good girl."

The praise goes straight to your core and you moan, tongue darting out again. She's finally sat on your face and your head falls back against the pillow, licking at her cunt like a woman starved.

She starts grinding against your tongue, the slick sounds filling the air. You're making a mess of yourself, saliva dribbling down your chin as you lap at her, tongue dipping inside her.

"S'good," Paige pants, grip against the headboard tightening. "Yeah, like that-oh fuck."

Your tongue flicks against her clit, your thighs squeezing together as a you feel your pussy gush just from making her feel good. She's so warm and wet and tastes so good and you can't get enough, tongue lapping at her clit in quick, harsh motions.

"Keep- fuck- keep doing that," her head drops forward and her hips cant, her movements becoming sloppy as she chases her high. "Right there, yes-"

Her legs start shaking, the muscles quivering under your touch and her hand reaches down, smoothing against your hair. Her hips move erratically, chasing her orgasm.

"Oh fuck, m'gonna cum." she pants, a bead of sweat rolling down the valley of her breasts. "Keep- yeah, yeah-"

Paige cries out with a broken moan, her orgasm washing over her. She's shaking all over, groaning as you keep lapping at her clit. You drink her up, moaning against her pussy.

"Please," she begs, her voice high pitched. "Fuck, I can't."

She's cut off by her own sob, eyes rolling back in her head. The room is filled with her moans, the sound bouncing off the walls and mixing with the obscene sounds coming from where your mouth is.

Paige is squirming on top of you, the sensation of overstimulation sending waves of pleasure through her body. Two can play at that game, you think.

"So good to me," Paige manages to choke out between moans, teeth gritted. "My fucking girl, s'so good."

You're drunk off of her, her words of encouragement only spurring you on. You roll your tongue against her clit, nails pressing down harder into her skin. Paige fights against your grip, hips lifting up as she pants heavily, forehead pressed against the wall.

She shakily moves her hips backwards and away from your mouth, now sitting across your hips. You're breathing just as heavily, the room spinning around you. Your chest is heaving and your eyes are half lidded as you stare up at her, lips red and puffy.

"You're so hot," you mumble, eyes drifting across her chest. The words leaving you before you can even process them.

Paige snickers, running a hand through her hair. "I know."

"So fucking annoying."

"You love it."

And well, she's not wrong. You reach up, cupping her tits and giving them a firm squeeze. Her hands reach up to cover yours, leaning into your grip.

"You want it?"

It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and figure out what she's referring to but when she gestures down to her crotch with a nod of her head, the cogs turn into place.

Paige spots the excitement in your eyes because she sniggers, tongue kissing her teeth. "'Course you do."

She clambers off of you, slight wobble in her legs as she does so. The moonlight dances through the room and you can see the sweat beading against her back, muscles rippling when she digs through her suitcase.

When she turns back she's got the harness briefs dangling from her fingers, skin coloured dildo fisted in the other hand. She wiggles her eyebrows at you and you roll your eyes back at her, urging her to get on with it.

She stands at the end of the bed, slipping the boxers over her feet and up her legs. She fits the dildo into place, bottom lip pulled between her teeth in concentration when she fumbles slightly.

You watch her with bated breath, squeezing at your covered tits mindlessly.

"Keep that on," Paige mumbles, nodding towards your bra. She crawls onto the bed, stopping at your feet. "Turn over for me."

You flip over with a groan, using what little strength you had left to keep your chest flat to the mattress, ass high in the air. Just how you know she liked it.

She affirms your thoughts with a soft moan at the sight of you, moving further up the bed. You feel the plastic brush up against you and it makes your thighs twitch, ass jutting up higher for her touch.

Her hands smooth against your ass, squeezing at the fat of it when you back up against her again. "Someone's impatient."

"C'mon." you urge, shaking your ass just enough to get her to fold. It works, of course, because she moans again- deeper this time. She grips the base of the dildo and slides it between your folds, blunt head nudging your clit. You're still soaking wet, the plastic glistening before she's even put it in you.

"Damn," the word leaves Paige automatically, pupils blown out as she admires your mess. "Ask me nicely and I'll put it in."

You groan against the sheets, fits gripping the cotton tightly. "Please, Paigey."

The nickname gets you a harsh slap to the ass, the impact stinging your skin. You suck in a breath through your teeth but the smirk grows across your lips despite it all.

"Fuck me Paigey, please."

"Shut the fuck up."

She slides in with one smooth motion, intrusion bringing your brows up to your hairline. It stings slightly but the familiar is welcomed, comforting almost.

"Gonna fuck you now," Paige's hands smooth down your back, coming to rest at the base of your spine. "Gonna make you fucking cry."

You strain your neck against the bed to get a peek at her and you're not sure you've ever seen her this wound up before- her eyes are wide, a red flush travelling across her chest and up to her cheeks. She's fucked.

Her hips draw back and then slam back into you, the sound of skin on skin deafening you. She's unforgiving, nails digging into your skin as she uses your hips as leverage to fuck into you. She's grunting with each thrust, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

"Yeah, yeah-" you whine, eyes screwed shut as the blonde ruins you. You can just about hear how wet you are over the sound of her skin smacking against yours, the recognisable squelch of your pussy getting louder when she grants you with another slap to the ass. "You fuck me so go-ood."

"Yeah?" Paige breathes out, slapping your ass again. Her hand tingles from the force but she ignores it, slapping your other ass cheek with the same hand. "Whose pussy is this? Hm?"

You can barely respond, body jostling against the sheets.

"Is it mine, baby?"

You nod against the sheets, helpless.

Another slap.

"Tell me."

"It's yours!" you cry out, fingers practically ripping holes into the sheets. "Yoursyoursyours-"

"Fuck yeah it is."

She pistons in and out of you at an ungodly speed and it makes you dizzy- so dizzy you don't even feel your orgasm approaching until you're on the edge, threatening to tip over.

"Cumming!" is all you can let out, the word caught in your chest as your spine curls inwards, heels kicking up against your girlfriend. It hits you like a truck, legs spasming and arms stretching out against the sheets as you cream against Paige. You see spots in your vision, eyes crossing as the pleasure consumes you. You feel everything, and then all of a sudden- nothing.

"You good princess?"

You crack an eye open to see Paige laying beside you, propped up on an elbow. She's gently stroking your cheek with her thumb, hair now pulled up into a messy bun atop of her head.

"Did I die?"

She snickers, leaning across to press a kiss to your forehead. "I killed that pussy, maybe."

You release the sheets that's still gripped in your hand to shove the blonde back but she just sticks her tongue out at you, reaching behind her for a glass of water left on the bedside drawer.

"Drink some, you need it."

She holds it to your mouth and you chug it down, dry throat welcoming the fluid. "I seriously passed out?"

"Eh," Paige shrugs, rubbing down your back. "You were conscious, just about."

"Wow," you roll onto your front, ache between your thighs making itself evident. "You did a number on me."

"Same again tomorrow?"

Your palm smooshes against her face, pushing her away with a laugh.

"Your turn tomorrow, Bueckers."

[lullabyes22-blog]

"I think the cycle only ends when you find the will to walk away."

Got a lot of Q's for this in my inbox. Figured I'd just address them here.

tw: mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation

Re: the ending of S2:

Jinx did not die.

She symbolically killed her old self, and with it, her last ties to the past that imprisoned her. She understood that for her sister to move on and live her life - be happy without guilt - she'd have to renounce the bonds that held them together.

Her talk with ghostly Silco was the 'sign-off' she'd been waiting for, ever his dutiful daughter. Throughout S2, she kept hoping he'd haunt her, and in doing so, offer some impetus given her aimlessness. Maybe just straight up boss her around, and tell her how she's supposed to exist now that he's no longer there to be a (subversive if loving) guiding hand.

But it was the promise of time (as represented by Ekko) healing old wounds, and the courage to feel, as she once had - a hopeful child with a hopeful future - that allowed Jinx to commit impetus to action.

Her blimp-ship in the climactic battle is a tribute to Isha - but also to the child in Jinx's own fractured psyche: Powder. She's letting both little girls have one last hurrah before she takes care of business - and cuts off the last oaths, duties and commitments that bind her to a past whose parameters she's outgrown.

Better still, she knows she's got the capacity to outgrow them.

That was the point of Jinx's arc with Isha, and why, no matter my misgivings on Isha's character herself, I found Jinx's trajectory towards a more nurturing and fun-loving figure more life-affirming and positive than the straightforward 'Daddy's Villain Goes Postal' shtick.

It's even why there's a minigame titled Jinx Fixes Everything. It's Jinx, struggling and stumbling, as she tries to rewrite her narrative, and finds in herself the capacity to do good.

To fix things that seem irreparably broken.

And to understand why she's reached this stage, we've got to let go of our tendency to project our own stuff onto Jinx (precious meow meow, unrepentant terrorist, manic pixie crazypants, edgy hot psycho) and acknowledge the purpose she plays in Arcane's thematic structure.

Jinx's character comes off as a death-seeker, and that's no shocker. She is hounded by terrible guilt and loss. She's got blood on her hands, and ghosts on her heels, and no matter what she does, she can't seem to be rid of them. Her inner mind's fractured, her mannerisms ooze pure chaos, and she seems a creature of pure feral impulse and no mercy.

That's the Jinx we're accustomed to seeing in S1 - except that's also both the front she's most likely to put on during that timeline, and the persona that is necessary for her to inhabit to survive, as Silco's daughter and his top enforcer.

Then Silco kicks the bucket, she symbolically fulfills his dream by shooting at the Council HQ, she accepts that she must inhabit this path of shadows and loneliness (as symbolized by her starkly decorated chair in the tea party scene), she accepts the fragmented push-and-pull between past and present, and...

And now what?

Silco's given her a semblance of direction for six years, and he's gone. Vi, the sister she'd hoped would return, and whom she'd hinged so many childishly idealized hopes on, is herself traumatized, and afraid of what her sister's become.

Jinx has her shadows and her loneliness. Jinx is traumatized. Jinx is suicidal.

But Jinx is still, whatever else, alive.

And all living things need connections.

That's why we as the audience enjoy her little found family dynamic with Isha and Sevika. It's Jinx, taking the first tentative steps to reach out to people beyond Silco and Vi, and realizing, wow, she enjoys the pay-off.

And all throughout S2, we see Jinx growing more and more comfortable in this newfound space - even jealously guarding it at the expense of Zaun's liberty, and Silco's wishes, because she can't bear to lose what she's found.

And what she finds empowers her enough that, when Warwick shows up, she's actually willing to reach out to Vi, and call upon their family connection, because Jinx is learning the value of bonds, not as baling hooks of guilt, but as buoys to carry her forward.

That's the story Jinx's relationships serve to tell in S2. Each one shapes the choice she makes in the finale. Until she learns to accept the past (Vi), to lay the monsters to rest (Silco and Vander/Warwick), forgive herself (Caitlyn) trust that time heals all wounds (Ekko), and hope for happier new beginning (Isha), she'll never trust herself enough to just seize the chance.

Jinx's culminating arc is not about death, much less self-erasure. It's about resurrection, and embracing the sublime chaos of a freed mind, and a lightened spirit. That's what she craves beyond simple death, and what her baptism by fire, blood and riverwater, has been about.

Each trial grinds her down into someone else. Someone new.

Someone closer to who she is meant to be, rather than who she's expected to be.

That's why she's so glad to make the sacrifice for Vi. She's not dying as an act of self-immolation. She's giving her sister - the one who's proven she'll never give up on her - the ultimate gift, and showing Vi that she deserves to live.

She needs Vi to live, so Jinx, the persona, can finally die.

"He (Silco) didn't make Jinx. You did."

She's basically saying, "I love you, I will always be with you, but you are no longer responsible for my actions. Please move forward with your life, and grant me the choice to do the same."

It's two sisters embracing everything they've meant to each other, acknowledging the pain weighing them down on both sides, and welcoming the new so they can each slough off old paradigms and live life as a whole person - or at least take steps to remembering what wholeness feels like.

That's the reason the show's final shots linger on the Hexgate tunnels, Jinx's monkey bomb, and the aircraft.

It's the show's way of reminding us that Jinx has ascended to a different version of her identity - one removed from the past that haunted her. It's Jinx, finally striking out alone, away from the sister whose memory she clung so desperately to, and who was, in turn, horrified by her hand in making Powder a monster (perceived guilt or real, fandom may debate ad nauseum) due to past mistakes and abandonment.

The ending of Arcane isn't tragic. It's deeply hopeful, and serves as a reminder that no matter how damaged you think you are, and no matter how monstrous the world finds you, there are still ways to come back to yourself - or to walk the path toward a new you.

Jinx is symbolized by crows. Jinx is shown with firelights emerging from her mouth. Jinx is depicted holding a torch like Janna ushering in the winds of change.

Thematically, Jinx is change.

And the best way she can embody that change is to write her story, and make it her own.

[saintobio]

blank canvas: the epilogue.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. past lovers, angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. mentions of toxic relationships, purple hearts-ish themes, maybe some heartache

notes. 2.4k wc. i said it’ll come in a few days, but i had free time so here it issss!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

TWO YEARS LATER

Tonight was Yuki and Choso’s going-away party. 

Their decision to migrate to another side of the world was because Yuki had always talked about wanting to live abroad, and so when Choso was offered a once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity in another country, it became the perfect chance for them to make that dream a reality.

So despite your apprehensions, you couldn’t miss the chance to see Yuki one last time and accepted her invitation to the party.

The evening was alive with laughter and chatter as their families and friends gathered to celebrate their bittersweet departure. Among the crowd, you spotted some familiar faces who exchanged greetings with the couple, as well as some strangers you had never seen before.

But one person was conspicuously absent. 

It had been two years since you had seen Sukuna, and the thought of potentially running into him again filled you with a strange mix of anticipation and dread. However, deep down, you knew he wouldn’t be there. There was no chance of him ever showing up because you hadn’t heard from him since that fateful night. The apartment you once shared together now housed a new tenant, and the tattoo shop across the street had transformed into a record store. Neither Yuki, nor Choso (even Yuuji), had mentioned anything about Sukuna since then, possibly avoiding any mentions of him to you out of his request. He had simply disappeared, evaporated from existence, leaving behind nothing but a fading memory.

As you scanned the room with a forlorn smile, your thoughts were interrupted by Yuki’s cheerful voice. “Y/N! So glad you could make it! I thought you weren’t gonna come, too.”

Your first instinct was to hug her tightly. “Of course, not! You know I can’t not see you before you go.”

“Aww.” She embraced you tighter before pulling away with a sad smile. “I’m gonna miss you so much. You’re like a little sister to me.” 

Indeed, and she was the big sister you never had. Things would feel different without her here, but you supported her decisions and would always wish her the best in her future endeavors. So, despite the distance you two would soon have, you gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “We can still keep in touch. And maybe, I’ll pay you a visit there, too.” 

“Honestly, I would love that!” she enthused, “Please do, even if I have to harass Getou and Gojou about it.” 

You chuckled as she mentioned the duo’s name and spent the next few minutes with you chatting for a bit, catching up with your life, talking about your future plans. It was amazing how much can change in two years, and how some things can also stay the same. Like your friendship. And this bond that you would never find with anyone else.

For now, the night was still young, and you knew Yuki still had many more guests to accommodate, so you didn’t want to take all of her time. Eventually she did excuse herself to greet more guests, and you found yourself standing by the kitchen island, absentmindedly stirring your cocktail.

As you stood in the corner of the room, surrounded by the chatter and laughter of the party, you felt a sudden jolt run through your body as loud voices boomed across the room. They were Yuuji and Choso’s exuberant greetings cutting through the air, drawing everyone’s attention, including yours.

“Nii-san!”

“There he goes, Mr. First Lieutenant!” 

Your eyes widened as you saw the figure they were addressing with playful salute—a man in a crisp military uniform, standing tall and confident. It took you a moment to recognize him, but when you did, your heart skipped a beat.

It was Sukuna.

He looked different, transformed almost, his demeanor more composed, his smile softer yet still retaining the undeniable aura of masculinity. He looked a lot more muscular than the last you remembered. His hair, now dyed back to its natural color, was neatly trimmed. You recognized that the uniform he wore was of the Japan Self-Defense Forces, adorned with badges and insignias that spoke of his achievements. The reckless, wild look in his eyes had been replaced by something steadier, more focused.

It wasn’t just the sight of him that made your heart skip a beat—it was how different he looked. 

“That’s so cool!” Yuuji raved about his older brother’s badges, his starry eyes genuinely intrigued at the sight of Sukuna in a uniform. 

Choso, on the other hand, was pulling him in a hug in an emotional jest. “Dammit. You said you couldn’t make it!” 

“Don’t cry now,” Sukuna teased, patting the younger brother’s back. He seemed to be genuinely having fun teasing his brothers. “Had to pull some strings. I was on duty, but do ‘ya think I’d let you go without seeing you?” 

You felt a pang of nostalgia in their interaction, but also recognized the visible difference in the way your ex-boyfriend spoke to others. He was genuinely happy. He was all smiles. He was the healthiest version of himself, both physically and emotionally.

It was clear to you that Sukuna had turned his life around, and it was evident that he was doing well in his field of work. The man you once knew, who had been consumed by his reckless way of life, was now standing tall and respected as an honorable member of the military.

When you said you had never met Sukuna again in your lifetime, that was true. Because the Sukuna you knew was no longer here. It was an entirely different man, changed for the better, just not for you. 

As if sensing your gaze, Sukuna turned and your eyes mirrored each other’s surprise. For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, as if you were characters in a movie screen seeing each other for the very first time. It was as though your eyes were the camera, and he was the actor. You could say you were starstruck, your heart thumping so loud that you could hear it vibrate through your ears. 

Two freaking years, and Sukuna still had that effect on you. 

You didn’t know what to do. You found yourself at a loss, the red cup in your hand now shaking from the sudden surge of anxiety. Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, a kaleidoscope of heavy emotions, a tornado of nostalgic bliss, leaving you feeling adrift in a sea of memories. 

You wondered if Sukuna hated having to see you here. And if so, should you leave to spare yourself—or perhaps him—from any potential discomfort?

Caught in this internal struggle, you felt paralyzed, uncertain of what to do next. But then, you saw a flicker of recognition and regret in his eyes. 

Before you could even contemplate your next move, Sukuna was already excusing himself from his brothers. Their knowing looks exchanged in silence spoke volumes, indicating they were aware of where he was headed. The realization then hit you like a wave. Sukuna, your ex-boyfriend of two years, was coming toward you, and you were suddenly faced with a decision between confronting the past or making a quick escape.

“Y/N,” he greeted with a boyish grin, his voice deeper, more controlled. The bad boy persona he used to carry was completely gone. 

“Sukuna,” you replied, struggling to keep your voice steady, a complete opposite from his confidence.

There was a moment of awkward silence before he spoke again. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” you meekly replied, clearing your throat and gesturing to his uniform, “You, too. Military suits you. I never saw that coming.”

He smiled in agreement, seemingly happy about his current appearance. You had never seen this kind of bliss from him before, like he was filled with content and a sense of self-worth. He was proud, and truth be told, you were, too. 

“It’s been a good change. It gave me structure, purpose,” he paused, taking a red cup from the kitchen island nearby, “I finally got something ‘better’ to do with my life, huh?”

You smiled softly, not missing the implication of his last statement. “I’m happy for you. Really.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

“Mhmm.” 

The minutes that followed were some of the most agonizing of your life, not because of Sukuna, but because of the overwhelming awkwardness that enveloped the two of you. It felt as though you had nothing else to discuss, knowing full well that delving into your shared past was a territory you could never comfortably navigate. However, Sukuna, always the more vocal one in your relationship, had finally broken the silence.

“Do you…” he began, leaving you on edge, anticipating his question, “Do you wanna get some fresh air outside?” 

Right. And with a smile, you nodded. “Sure.” 

— —

You were grateful for the opportunity to escape the stifling atmosphere of the party and find some solace in the cool night air. Both of you were at the front porch, sitting over the pavement talking about anything but your past. 

Sukuna excitedly talked about his time in the military, where you learned that he had enlisted two years ago and joined the army. After enlisting, he quickly excelled in the rigorous training required for the Special Operations Group (SOG). It didn’t surprise you that his physical prowess, sharp intellect, and determination made him a standout candidate.

“I actually completed advanced courses in counter-terrorism, reconnaissance, and combat survival,” he shared, his gaze set on the clear starry night above you. “Oh, and last month, I was deployed on a high-stake mission overseas. We extracted hostages from a conflict zone. Remember the action movies we used to watch? It was exactly like that. It was fun, thrilling.” 

You listened intently, an elbow propped on your leg as you absorbed the enthusiasm in his stories. Pride and joy swelled in your heart as you heard him talk about something he was passionate about, because it was a stark contrast to the old Sukuna who wouldn’t have shown interest in these things. And this time around, you felt like you were infatuated again, but with the new him. 

“I’m really proud of you.” Longingness dripping from your voice. “Very proud. And you’re First Lieutenant, too? Wow.” 

The compliment seemingly made him blush, a sight so rare to see that you haven’t seen it throughout your relationship. “I wanted to become a better man.” 

You felt a squeeze in your heart. You recalled the words he said that night at the parking lot, of him telling you that he had his own insecurities, too. That he knew all along that your uncertainties about him were rooting from his way of life. That he was aware that he couldn’t give you the life you deserved. 

“Y/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue in an affectionate manner. He soon rose from his seat, prompting you to follow suit, before turning to face you. “I forgot to mention.”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

His smile was sweet and genuine. “I’m engaged now.”

Oh.

Of course. 

What did you expect?

His words settled in your heart like a suffocating shroud. Despite the ache in your chest, you managed a polite nod, concealing the storm of emotions swirling inside you. But you couldn’t contain it—the damn tears that pooled in your eyes. Please, not now. You turned away, hoping to shield your reaction from him.

But it was all too late. 

He was already pulling you into an embrace, the familiarity in his warmth only making you weaker inside. “You are and will always be my greatest love,” he whispered into your ear, pressing his lips against your temple, “And also my biggest regret.”

Damn it. You covered your face with your hands, feeling ashamed of the tears streaming down your cheeks. What an absurd twist of fate. You could have gone about your day without encountering him again, yet here you were, shedding tears over the same man who had broken your heart two years ago.

“When I say regret,” he continued, cupping your cheeks and smiling at you lovingly. He ran his thumb across your cheeks, wiping your tears away. “I meant regret of not being that man for you. I didn’t treat you the way you deserved, or respected your boundaries like I thought I did.” Sukuna’s charm had you holding your breath still, too enamored by his beauty under the moonlight. He used to be a man of a few words, and now he didn’t shy away from pouring out his raw emotions. “I’m sorry I was two years too late. I’m sorry I had to let you go and be with someone else. But you and I know that it’s for the best.”

You weren’t crying because you wanted to get back together with him. You weren’t crying because he had promised marriage to someone else. You were crying because it felt like he was the one who slipped through your fingers, the one that got away, the one who could have been your forever if circumstances had aligned differently. It was the regret of a lost possibility, the ache of knowing that in another universe, you and him could have shared a lifetime together, untouched by the mistakes of the past.

He had dreams of making you his wife, dreams of having your children, dreams of growing old with you.

But the old Sukuna was dead, replaced by the new Sukuna who was happy and free from love’s toxicity. You realized it was time to let go. Time to bury the past and instead celebrate the future. 

“Congratulations on the engagement,” you offered your well wishes, pulling away slightly to meet his gaze with your tear-filled eyes. “I hope she doesn’t find you a handful.”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “No, no. I have to behave or else I’m a dead man,” he joked. “She's in the army, too.”

“Well, I’m glad you met her, Sukuna. You deserve it,” you said, your voice filled with genuine warmth as you wiped your lachrymose eyes. 

Gratitude and comfort shone in his gaze. “And I’m glad you found your peace, Y/N. You always deserved better.”

You smiled in appreciation of his words as he helped you dust off your pants. Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket, briefly taking your attention away from the current scene. “Uh, I think I need to go,” you hesitated, glancing back at the house. “But I think Yuki’s pretty busy.”

“It’s fine,” he assured. “Do you want me to call you a cab or?”

“No, it’s okay,” you replied, shooting him a grateful expression. “Satoru’s on his way to pick me up.”

He nodded, smiling. “Cool.” You were surprised when he offered his hand, a gesture to finally close whatever remained between you two. “It was nice seeing you, Y/N.”

You shook his hand and gave him a playful salute. “Likewise, First Lieutenant Ryomen Sukuna.”

As he returned to the party, immediately attacked by his friends, there was no hint of yearning or longing in him, as if the poignant exchange with his ex-girlfriend had never occurred. He was back in the scene in a fluid motion, laughing, catching up with his loved ones, telling stories about his life. No heartbreaks, no painful memories.

While as you stood there, knowing you had shared respect and love for each other, you were happy that there was a sense of closure in seeing Sukuna as the man he had become. You had both grown, both changed, and in that moment, you knew that your story, though painful, had led you two to where you needed to be. 

That your love’s canvas, once blank, now held colors to complete the portrait.

[loredrinker]

The Eternal Bond of Solas and Lavellan 

My sister challenged me to explore the depth of Solas’s love for Lavellan in Veilguard—a love I believe endures, no matter his choices or the challenges they face. It’s a perspective I’ve seen debated often, with some arguing that if he truly loved her, he wouldn’t have left, or that her love alone should have been enough to change his path.

While many have already explored this topic, truthfully, it’s something I’ve thought about since finishing Veilguard and therefore, couldn’t pass up the challenge. This post is obviously through the romanced Lavellan lens.  

For context, my sister is a staunch Blackwall fan. She wasn’t exactly Solas’s biggest fan during her first Inquisition playthrough, but during subsequent runs, she softened. Eventually, my adoration for Solas won her over and she even played a run through where she romanced him, and found it bitter sweet (and then ran back to Blackwall). 

But before we dive in, there are a couple of things that I take into consideration in this breakdown: 

Solas’s decisions are shaped by millennia of experience and centuries of guilt and regret. He’s not just a guy making impulsive choices—he’s a being who’s lived through unimaginable pain and carried the weight of a broken world for ages. 

Solas is immortal. It’s easy for us, as mortals, to judge his actions through our limited, human perspective. But how can we truly understand the mind of someone who’s lived for thousands of years, seeing empires rise and fall, burdened with trauma, guilt, self-loathing, and the scars of war? 

That said, this mortal is going to give it a shot. Let’s go. A long post under the cut. 

Inquisition – the Foundation 

The seeds of Lavellan’s significance in Solas’s journey—and the path that could one day lead to his redemption—are planted during Inquisition. Lavellan challenges his detachment, offering him something he’s avoided for so long: a glimpse of the world as it is, rather than as it was. Through her, he begins to see beauty in what remains and starts to imagine a life connected to something other than regret and isolation. Her influence is foundational. 

Solas’s love for Lavellan, and the transformation she inspires in him, doesn’t end with his departure. She lingers in his heart, shaping the internal conflict that is still to come.  

Trespasser 

The conversation between Solas and a romanced Lavellan in Trespasser is one of my favorite moments in the series. The different dialogue choices are filled with so much emotion and after two years apart, he still calls her vhenan and “my love.” 

Lavellan’s faith that their love will endure meets Solas’s sorrowful wish that it could. The weight of their connection is undeniable. Unable to resist, he takes one last, bittersweet kiss before saving her life by taking the Anchor. Even after the Inquisition disbands (in my world state), Solas doesn’t completely leave—he lingers, though in a way that’s both haunting and ethereal. 

The epilogue slides lay it out: 

"Lavellan sometimes came awake from dreams in which her lover watched her sadly from across an endless distance. If they were more than simple dreams, she could not say, for every time she reached for him, he vanished into nothing. Still she searched, and dreamed, and waited, for a way to change the Dread Wolf's heart." 

Even though they’re apart, his presence in her dreams shows the depth of his unresolved feelings. Watching her with sorrow from across an endless distance captures the conflict between his love for her and the path he’s chosen. Lavellan’s influence on him remains vivid and alive, a tether he can’t fully sever—even as he continues down his fateful road. 

Veilguard – the Letter  

Lavellan’s presence lingers for Solas in Veilguard, years after Trespasser. Her influence is woven throughout the letter he writes for her. 

"Vhenan, I do not know if you will see these words." 

He calls no one else vhenan. Starting the letter with this deeply personal term immediately sets the emotional tone. Even after all the years they’ve been apart, Solas still addresses her as his heart, reaffirming that she’s his most profound connection. 

"My ritual is ready and will soon be set in motion. Perhaps when you read this the world will be as it once was, and you will see why all I did was necessary." 

Beneath the resolve of committing to his mission, is a quiet longing—a hope that Lavellan will understand and maybe even validate the choices that weigh so heavily on him. Her opinion still matters to him. 

What I particularly love is the phrase "...the world will be as it once was, and you will see...". Yes, it’s about his dream of restoring the beauty and harmony of the world he lost, but it also holds this fragile hope that she might still have a place in it. You can sense his desire to imagine a future where Lavellan remains part of his world—or his vision—despite the impossible circumstances. 

"That night in Crestwood, when I shared the truth about your vallaslin… you do not know how close I came to breaking." 

This part in the letter is such a window into how that moment has stayed with him. It’s clear that it still resonates with him, even after all these years. The way he admits he almost abandoned everything for her shows just how deeply her love impacted him. The word "breaking" says it all—it’s not just about weakness. It speaks to the massive tension between his centuries-old resolve and the pull of his love for her. 

"I could have shared the truth, or even put my plans aside and simply stayed with you as Solas...as I wanted." 

This confession is a raw admission of how much he wanted a life with her. The phrase "as I wanted" gives us a glimpse into an alternate reality he imagined, a life centered with Lavellan, one he ultimately denied himself for the sake of his mission. 

"What I feel for you will never change." 

This final line is everything. It’s Solas declaring that his love for Lavellan is eternal - because he is. Time, distance, guilt, and even the weight of centuries haven’t dulled what he feels for her. It also mirrors what he says to Lavellan in Trespasser, "I will never forget you." His devotion stands as this unshakable truth in a world full of loss and impermanence. 

Whether Lavellan forgives him, understands him, or even sees his words, the letter shows us a man still tethered.

Rook as a Conduit 

To me, Rook acts as a conduit for the voices that hold the most emotional weight for Solas—Lavellan and Mythal. Through Rook, we get to hear Solas talk about Lavellan directly, and what he says is just as revealing as the letter he left her.  

Solas: “When I served the Inquisition, I tried to avoid entanglements.” 

Rook: “Except for Inquisitor Lavellan.” 

Solas: “I said that I resolved to do so, not that I succeeded.” 

He went into his time with the Inquisition with a clear goal to stay detached. No bonds, no entanglements. But then Lavellan happened. Her love wasn’t something he could resist, no matter how much effort he put into maintaining his distance. 

Solas: “She is a good woman. Growing close to her was selfish of me.” 

When Solas calls Lavellan “a good woman,” it’s admiration and reverence. He doesn’t need to list her strengths outright; instead, his description of her as “good” reflects his personal definition of what that means. 

He also says “She is a good woman,” not “She was.” He’s speaking in the present tense. This small detail makes it clear that Lavellan isn’t just a memory to him or a closed chapter in his life. Even after years apart, she’s still a living, active presence in his heart and mind. He still holds her in respect and love. 

When he says growing close to her was selfish, he isn’t dismissing their bond. If anything, it’s a testament to how much he valued their connection, even though he knew it might ultimately cause her pain. 

Rook: “Do you regret it?” 

Solas: “I live with countless regrets. Some of them I have grown to cherish more than my victories.” 

This dialogue sums up just how much Lavellan means to Solas. He’s lived a long life filled with accomplishments that, more often than not, came with devastating consequences. But his relationship with Lavellan stands apart. That cherished regret tells us that his time with her brought him something no victory ever could: meaning, fulfillment, and joy. 

And then there’s the phrasing: “I have grown to cherish.” It’s also in the present tense. Lavellan’s impact on him isn’t just something from his past. It’s still alive, still deeply embedded in who he is.  

Lavellan holds a unique and enduring place in Solas’s heart. Even with all the pain and consequences of their relationship, she’s still a source of warmth and significance—a constant reminder of how deeply she mattered and still matters to him.  

Love Does Not Exist in Isolation 

I’ve seen comments out there that if Lavellan really mattered to Solas, her voice alone would’ve been enough to stop him from tearing down the Veil. I disagree. It’s clear that it takes a village to sway someone like Solas—a wounded immortal being carrying millennia of guilt and regret. Lavellan’s voice is absolutely foundational, but it’s part of a broader tapestry of influences that all come together at a critical moment. 

Solas’s decision to tear down the Veil doesn’t come from a lack of love for Lavellan. It’s rooted in overwhelming guilt and this deep sense of obligation to his people, to Mythal. Her voice matters because she was one of the first to challenge his beliefs. But hers alone couldn’t undo the weight and trauma of millennia. Voices like Mythal’s were necessary too. 

When Mythal releases Solas from her service, it’s a pivotal moment. It’s a severance of the bond that defined so much of his existence. For Solas, it’s freeing—but also incredibly painful. It forces him to reckon with his autonomy, to face the choices he’s made without the shield of loyalty to Mythal. For a man who’s been carrying so much self-loathing and regret, what a deeply uncomfortable and transformative moment. 

Then there’s Rook, who also plays a crucial role. Before Lavellan and Mythal appear, Rook is the one directly speaking to Solas, urging him to see the world and its people as worth saving. But once Lavellan (followed by Mythal) steps onto the stage, Rook falls silent. It’s as if they instinctively know their role has shifted. It’s no longer their place to persuade; that responsibility now belongs to Lavellan and Mythal.  

Of those voices, it is Lavellan’s that lingers as the last. She is the one who reminds Solas that their love is what truly matters. Hers is not just a plea for him to reconsider his mission—it’s an affirmation that even in the face of millennia, their love is a truth he can’t deny. 

Through the Lens of Immortality 

For a mortal, it might be easy to see Solas’s love as fleeting because of how short-lived it was. What’s a year and a bit compared to thousands of years?  But for an immortal being—and someone as spiritual as Solas – I would think the depth of a bond matters more than how long it lasts. Solas’s love for Lavellan isn’t diminished by how brief their time together was; if anything, it’s magnified by its intensity—a flicker of light cutting through the endless darkness of his existence.  

And for someone who’s immortal, memories don’t fade the way they would for us mortals. Lavellan’s influence on Solas will stay vivid and eternal, untouched by time. Even though their time together was short, her presence is etched into who he is. Her love became this cornerstone of his internal struggle—something he wrestled with but couldn’t fully let go of. He almost gave it all up for her.

For an immortal, loving a mortal is a whole different kind of courage. It’s choosing to embrace something fleeting and fragile, knowing it will end. And still, Solas chose to love Lavellan. A bright chapter in a life that’s otherwise been filled with pain, loneliness, and time stretching endlessly in every direction. 

So yeah, she matters. 

At least, that’s how I see it. 

[faebled-stories]

Unbroken Connection

Kinkvember Day 18: Voodoo Magic

Aespa Karina (Yu Jimin) x Male reader

11.5k words

The house was everything you and Karina had dreamed up over whispered conversations and late-night plans—a beautiful, old-fashioned structure with a story in every corner, as if each creak and crack held its own memory. The red brick walls were cloaked in ivy, its tendrils winding upward in lazy spirals, giving the house a sense of timelessness, like it had stood for centuries, watching quietly as generations came and went.

“This place is perfect,” Karina whispered as she stepped onto the wide porch, running her fingers lightly along the railing. The wood was cool under her touch, its carvings faint but intricate. “Can you imagine the kind of lives people must have lived here?” Her voice carried a mix of wonder and nostalgia, as though she could already feel the house’s history soaking into her skin.

“Long ones,” you joked, gesturing to the ivy. “Look at this stuff. It’s practically holding the bricks together.”

She smiled, her eyes tracing the ivy’s twists and turns. “I like it. Feels alive.”

In the gentle evening light, the porch radiated a kind of quiet charm, the sort that made you imagine warm cups of tea and conversations that lingered long into the evening under skies painted by the sunset’s last, tender hues. A faint scent of lavender drifted in the air, subtle yet persistent, as if it had seeped into the walls, lingering from some long-forgotten garden nearby.

Inside, each room seemed to come alive with your presence. The wooden floors groaned in protest beneath your feet, their creaks echoing through the empty halls, creating a melody of movement that felt almost like the house was speaking to you, welcoming you home. The walls, bare and waiting, seemed to listen as you and Karina unpacked, your laughter filling the rooms and softening the house’s quiet, almost eerie solitude. Together, you unearthed each piece of your shared life from the cardboard boxes, placing cherished objects on shelves, letting them claim their new spaces.

“Do you think this place will feel like ours?” Karina asked as she set a stack of books on the mantle. She glanced at you, her head tilting slightly. “Or will it always feel… I don’t know. Like someone else’s?”

“It already feels like ours,” you replied. “But maybe I’m just biased because of how much we’ve already carried in.” You gestured at the half-empty boxes, trying to lighten the mood.

She laughed softly, but her eyes lingered on the empty space around her. “I guess we’ll see.”

Shadows began to settle into corners as the evening light faded, casting the rooms in a dim, golden glow. By the time most of the boxes were empty, you felt an irresistible pull to explore. The house, despite its warm charm, held an air of mystery, as if there were stories yet untold in the very walls.

Wandering from room to room, you found yourselves by the staircase, where a small, unassuming door, almost camouflaged within the dark wood paneling, caught your eye. Its handle was worn, gleaming slightly in the low light, and the door itself was so inconspicuous that you might have missed it if not for the slight draft that seemed to drift from the tiny crack at its base.

Karina frowned. “That’s… odd. Did you know this was here?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Maybe a closet? Or a pantry?” You reached for the handle, but her hand shot out, stopping you.

“Do you think we should? I mean, what if it’s locked?”

“It’s not,” you said, testing the handle and feeling it give way easily. A narrow stairwell descended into darkness, carrying a faint, musty smell that hinted at old things left undisturbed.

“I don’t like this,” she muttered, her fingers brushing through her hair in that nervous way she always did when something felt wrong. “This is how horror movies start.”

You grinned. “Come on, Jimin. It’s probably just storage. Let’s take a quick look.”

Her sigh was audible, but she nodded, reluctantly following as you descended. The steps creaked loudly underfoot, and with each groan of the wood, your own confidence waned just a little. At the bottom, the basement unfolded before you—a space cool and dim, filled with shadows that seemed to stretch and shift in the weak light. Dust motes floated through the air, and rows of shelves lined the walls, each one crowded with jars of indeterminate age, filled with strange, murky substances.

“What is this stuff?” Karina whispered, her voice barely audible over the stillness.

“Looks like… I don’t know. Old preserves? Or potions?” you joked, though your tone carried none of the confidence you were aiming for.

She shot you a look but didn’t respond. Her attention had shifted to the center of the room, where a table stood oddly clean amidst the dust-coated surroundings. Something on the table caught her eye—a doll.

The figure lay whole on the table, its shape unmistakably human yet profoundly unsettling. Its smooth, seamless form lacked any definition—no fingers, no toes, no musculature. The limbs and torso were entirely featureless, as if sculpted from an unbroken piece of clay, leaving an eerie impression of incompleteness. This blank, unformed body served only to emphasize the haunting precision of its face.

The skin of the face was painted with disturbing realism: faintly flushed cheeks, delicately drawn veins, and a subtle sheen that mimicked the warmth of living flesh. Its eyes were closed, the lids resting softly as if in peaceful slumber. The stillness of its expression, paired with the intricate detail of its features, gave it an unnerving lifelike quality that felt profoundly out of place against the blank canvas of the rest of its body. The contrast between the intricate face and the featureless form created an aura of quiet, disquieting intent, as though the doll were waiting to be brought fully to life.

“Who would leave something like this in a basement?” Karina murmured, her voice breaking the silence, sounding small and uneasy against the stillness of the room. Her gaze lingered on the doll, her hand tightening instinctively around your arm. “It’s… wrong.”

“It’s just a doll,” you said, though your voice wavered. “Probably an old collector’s item. Some people are into creepy things.”

“Some people need better hobbies.” Karina reached up and ran her fingers through her hair, the motion an automatic gesture of unease. Her fingers caught on a stray tangle, and she tugged lightly, smoothing the strands into place. A few locks cascaded back over her shoulder, catching the dim light as they settled. She took a step back, her face pale. “Let’s just leave it.”

You nodded, slipping your hand into hers. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

As you turned to leave, you didn’t notice the way her hair shimmered faintly, glimmering in the dusty glow of the basement light. The strands that had fallen from her fingers seemed alive, slipping from her shoulders and moving against gravity. They floated as if drawn by some invisible force, a deliberate motion that defied the stagnant air. The golden threads stretched toward the doll, weaving through the stillness like a gossamer pulled by an unseen hand.

The faint draft that had ushered you down reversed, the air now tugging gently in the opposite direction. It brushed past you with a quiet insistence, carrying Karina’s drifting hair closer to the doll. The motion was subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakably deliberate, as though something in the room had claimed the strands for its own.

The strands seemed to hover just above the doll’s porcelain surface, quivering slightly, as though testing the boundary between the living and the inanimate. Then, one by one, they disappeared. They didn’t land or settle—they were absorbed, sinking seamlessly into the doll’s cold skin. The process was slow, almost reverent, each thread vanishing into the porcelain as if it were feeding on them, consuming their essence. The doll’s surface showed no disturbance, no trace of the hair’s presence, yet a strange energy began to ripple faintly through the room, subtle but undeniable, as if the very walls shivered in recognition.

Upstairs, the laughter you shared was nervous but genuine, both of you clinging to it like a lifeline to push back the tension left in the wake of the basement. Karina wrapped her arms around herself as she stood in the hallway, her gaze darting toward the closed basement door. Her unease lingered, etched into the slight furrow of her brow and the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“Next time,” she said lightly, her attempt at humor wavering in her voice, “let’s stick to exploring things with actual light switches. Maybe some windows too.”

You chuckled, trying to match her tone, but the unease clung to you as well. “Agreed. No more basements. Definitely no dolls.”

She gave a half-smile, though her eyes lingered on the door a moment longer before she turned away. The house seemed quieter now, its warmth tempered by something you couldn’t quite name.

But below, in the still, heavy air of the basement, the doll’s porcelain surface began to glow. The light started faint, a barely perceptible pulse deep within its core, like the flicker of a distant flame. It ebbed and flowed in slow, deliberate beats, each pulse growing stronger, its glow intensifying with a sickly greenish hue that cast long, jagged shadows across the shelves and floor. The air in the basement thickened, heavy with a strange, metallic tang, as if the space itself were reacting to the doll’s transformation.

The doll’s eyes, closed in serene stillness, caught the flickering light in a way that made the lids seem faintly translucent. At first, it was a subtle effect—a play of shadows beneath the painted lashes. But as the glow swelled, the closed eyes appeared to hold a deeper presence, as though something beneath the surface stirred. The lids, once simple and lifeless, seemed to press outward faintly, hinting at a restless energy concealed behind them.

The strands of Karina’s hair, now fully absorbed, had vanished without a trace. Yet, the doll’s features began to shift. Its porcelain skin, once flawless and cold, took on a faint warmth, a suggestion of pliability that hadn’t been there before. The faint blush on its cheeks deepened, almost imperceptibly, as though the glow from within was kindling something beneath the surface. The contours of its face grew more defined, softening subtly, as if sculpted further toward perfection with each pulse of light.

The house seemed to hold its breath. The faint creaks and groans of its old structure stilled entirely, leaving an oppressive silence in their wake. Even the distant hum of the wind outside faded, as though the world itself had paused. In the suffocating quiet, the rhythmic flicker of the doll’s eerie light became the room’s heartbeat, steady and deliberate, an ominous reminder of its growing presence.

Its aura now exuded a quiet, watchful energy—no longer dormant but active, as though waiting for something. The shadows cast by its light danced across the walls, twisting and shifting unnaturally, their movements disconnected from the flicker of the glow. And deep within the stillness of its closed eyes, there was a stirring—fragile yet undeniable, an unsettling whisper of awareness beginning to take shape. The doll no longer felt like an object but a vessel, and the silence of the room seemed to anticipate the moment when its transformation would be complete.

------

The next morning, warm sunlight slipped through the bedroom curtains, casting a golden glow over Karina as she stretched and let out a contented sigh. You had left early for work, leaving her alone in the quiet intimacy of the morning. The scattered, unpacked boxes around the room hinted at new beginnings, but her thoughts kept circling back to the basement—to the doll. Despite the unease it stirred in her, a peculiar curiosity tugged at her thoughts. It was like a whisper, faint but insistent, calling her back.

After tidying a few last things, Karina found herself descending the narrow stairs once more. The wooden steps creaked softly beneath her feet, their sound amplified in the heavy stillness of the space. Cool, stale air wrapped around her as she stepped inside, carrying the faint tang of dust and metal. Shadows clung to the corners of the basement, stretching ominously toward her as the dim light flickered. She shivered slightly, her gaze drifting over the jars, cobwebs, and forgotten relics lining the shelves before settling on the table in the center of the room.

There it was. The doll lay silent, unmoved from the night before, yet somehow it felt different—like it was waiting for her.

Her steps slowed as she approached, her fingers hovering just above its surface. She hesitated, taking in its vague, incomplete features. The blank, mannequin-like body contrasted starkly with the face, which, though detailed, felt unfinished. Its closed eyes added to its unsettling stillness. Slowly, Karina extended her hand, her fingertips brushing against the surface.

She froze. The material wasn’t cold and lifeless as she’d expected. It was warm, soft, and faintly pliant—almost like skin. Her breath hitched as she instinctively pulled back, her heart pounding, but curiosity rooted her in place. Tentatively, she touched it again, her fingers trailing across its surface. A faint warmth blossomed under her touch, sending ripples through her skin, as though she were brushing her own body.

Her hand moved down its neck and across its vaguely defined chest. As her fingers lingered, the contours began to shift, the undefined surface molding into shape. Karina gasped, her hand trembling as she watched the doll begin to change. Her breath quickened, and she pressed her palm against its shoulder, marveling as the smooth joint took on a lifelike slope.

She trailed her fingers down one arm, the surface firming and refining beneath her touch. The blank limb transformed into something natural, each joint and curve forming with startling precision. The doll’s hand became delicate and human-like as her fingers brushed its palm, her pulse quickening with the impossible reality of it all.

Her movements grew more deliberate, her hand gliding across the torso. The blank plane of its chest yielded to soft ribs and a curved stomach. Karina lingered, pressing lightly into its sides as though testing its reality. Each pass sharpened the details further—faint muscles, a subtle navel, even the texture of skin. Each touch sent an echo of warmth spreading through her, a mirrored heat that made her shiver.

Her hands drifted lower, trembling as they explored its hips and thighs. The surface molded seamlessly beneath her fingers, becoming impossibly lifelike. She ran her hand down one leg, tracing the length as a knee, shin, and the curve of an ankle appeared. Each detail emerged with precision, her breath hitching as her fingers brushed its inner thigh. The texture was so warm, so realistic, that it sent a wave of heat coursing through her.

Karina swallowed hard, her hand returning upward, her touch almost compulsive now. Her trembling fingers brushed the doll’s chest again, the faint curves she’d noticed earlier now fully formed into soft, rounded breasts. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the surface before tentatively pressing against it. The material shifted under her fingers, warm and pliant, as though responding to her touch.

As she lingered, the blank surface of the doll’s chest changed further. Subtle lines formed beneath her fingertips, the soft material shaping into peaks that were unnervingly lifelike. Her fingers grazed the newly formed nipples, her breath catching as warmth surged through her, sharp and electric, as though she’d touched herself. Each gentle brush sent a thrill rippling through her, leaving her trembling and flushed.

Her breath hitched as her hand hovered over the last undefined part of the doll’s form. Slowly, she pressed her fingers to its lower torso. The blank surface beneath her touch shifted and molded, forming folds and curves with startling precision, mirroring her own. Her legs shook, and a low moan escaped her lips as an intense warmth radiated through her body, her cheeks burning as she clutched the edge of the table for support.

When the transformation was complete, Karina stumbled back, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. The doll no longer looked like a lifeless figure. It was her—exactly her. Every curve, every line, every detail was replicated in unsettling perfection, a hauntingly accurate reflection that left her rooted in place.

Her heart raced as vulnerability crept over her. Seeing her own body laid bare in such an intimate, uncanny way sent a shiver down her spine. She hugged herself instinctively, as though shielding her body from her own gaze. Desperate to cover the doll, she turned away, her hands trembling as she rifled through one of the boxes on the floor. Her fingers brushed over soft fabrics until she pulled out one of her favorite dresses—a pale, flowing piece she hadn’t yet unpacked.

Karina carried the dress back to the doll, her hands shaking as she slipped it over its shoulders. The fabric fell into place with unsettling ease, fitting the doll’s body as if it had been made for it rather than her. The way the dress hugged its frame sent an eerie shiver through her, the intimacy of the moment uncomfortably surreal. She stepped back, catching sight of herself in the mirror across the room.

Her reflection stared back at her, but so did the doll’s. It sat upright on the bed, its face now fully hers. Its closed eyes seemed more deliberate, its lifelike features so vivid they felt alive. The uncanny mimicry unsettled her, daring her to look away—but she couldn’t. Her breath came in shallow gasps, the air in the room heavy with an unnameable energy.

The doll, now clothed in her dress, sat motionless, yet its presence filled the room entirely. For a moment, Karina thought she saw the faintest movement—a slight tilt of its head, a shift of its hand—but when she blinked, it was still.

Her knees brushed against the edge of the bed as she backed away, her mind spinning. The longer she looked, the more the doll’s presence seemed to mirror her own. It wasn’t just wearing her dress—it was wearing her.

-----

The days following that intimate reveal of the doll Karina had hidden it in her room unsure of what to do with it, she decided to brush it off and distract herself from another full day of being an idol. After an exhausting but exhilarating practice session filled with music, laughter, and sweat, Karina and the other Aespa members gathered in the conference room, their energy palpable. The lingering rhythm of the studio beats still hummed in her mind as she followed her bandmates, feeling the collective excitement that seemed to bubble just below the surface. Giselle, ever the source of contagious enthusiasm, nudged Ningning with a teasing whisper that sent them both into quiet giggles. Minjeong leaned forward, her curiosity piqued, her eyes darting between their manager and the others as they settled into their seats.

The manager entered the room with his usual steady presence, his hands folded and his smile warm. The girls instantly hushed, their attention snapping to him in anticipation.

“Your recent comeback has been a huge success,” he began, his voice beaming with pride. “You’ve topped charts and we couldn’t be prouder of each of you.”

A ripple of pride swept through the group. Minjeong shot Karina a thumbs-up, her grin as wide as ever, while Giselle reached across the table to squeeze Ningning’s arm, the two of them laughing in disbelief. Karina couldn’t help but smile, soaking in the joy that filled the room. It was moments like these that reminded her of why they worked so hard, pouring themselves into their music and performances.

But the manager wasn’t finished. “That’s not all,” he added, his excitement unmistakable. “We have even bigger news for you—you’re going on tour!”

The room fell still for a moment as the weight of the announcement sank in, then erupted into a cacophony of celebration. Minjeong let out a delighted squeal, practically leaping from her seat as she clasped her hands together. Giselle’s mouth hung open for a second before she broke into laughter, her eyes shining with disbelief. Ningning gasped, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration, and she turned to Karina with a wide-eyed look of joy.

Karina’s heart raced as she imagined the roar of crowds, the thrill of stepping onto stages in cities around the world, and the energy of fans who had waited so long to see them perform. It was everything they had dreamed of, everything they had worked for. The thought of sharing their music on such a grand scale filled her with a rush of adrenaline and anticipation.

But as the manager began listing the tour dates, Karina’s excitement faltered. Her mind snagged on a detail she wished she could ignore: the tour would overlap with her anniversary with you. A pang of guilt and regret twisted inside her, dulling the edges of her happiness. She forced herself to stay present, laughing and celebrating with her friends, but part of her was already mourning the time she’d lose with you.

That evening, Karina returned home with a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. She couldn’t wait to share the incredible news with you, but the weight of the tour dates pressed heavily on her chest. As she stepped into the warm comfort of your shared space, she found you waiting for her on the couch, your face lighting up at the sight of her. The familiar scent of home—a mix of her favorite lavender candle and the faint aroma of dinner—embraced her, soothing her nerves, if only slightly.

“So,” she began, setting her bag down and fidgeting with her fingers. Her voice wavered as she tried to balance the excitement bubbling within her and the regret tugging at her heart. “There’s some big news.” She paused, drawing a steadying breath before the words tumbled out in a mix of pride and hesitance. “The album’s doing amazing, and… we’re going on tour!”

Your face broke into a smile, your genuine happiness for her shining through. Relief flooded her, but the feeling was fleeting. She hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the table as she continued. “But,” she added softly, her eyes dropping to the floor, “the tour overlaps with our anniversary.”

Your smile faltered for just a heartbeat, a flicker of disappointment crossing your face before you quickly masked it. “That’s… not ideal,” you said, your voice tinged with understanding. “But baby, when I asked you to be my girlfriend, I signed myself up for all of this. I’d never want to hold you back from that.”

She looked up at you, her eyes shimmering with gratitude as you reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. “I hate that it’s on that day, but… thank you for understanding.”

You pulled her close, wrapping her in a firm embrace. For a while, neither of you said anything, letting the silence hold the depth of your love and the ache of the separation that loomed ahead. The soft beat of your hearts seemed to sync as you held each other, anchoring yourselves in the present.

The lead up to Karina’s departure were a mix of sweetness and sorrow, a countdown neither of you wanted to acknowledge but couldn’t escape. Each moment together felt heavier, charged with a need to make it last. You and Karina spent every spare moment with one another, finding solace in the routines and small joys of your shared life.

Mornings became sacred. The two of you would wake up early, savoring slow breakfasts at the kitchen table. You teased her about her favorite coffee mug—a chipped, mismatched thing she adored despite your insistence that you’d buy her a new one. Her laughter echoed softly, her smile brighter than the sunlight streaming through the window.

Evenings stretched late into the night. You’d sit tangled together on the couch, your conversations meandering through memories of your favorite moments together. She told you how your first kiss still gave her butterflies, and you shared how proud you were of everything she had accomplished. When the words ran out, you stayed wrapped in each other’s warmth, the quiet hum of your love filling the spaces between.

There were moments of vulnerability too—nights when you found her staring out the window, her thoughts far away. She confessed her guilt about leaving on such an important day, and you reassured her with soft touches and whispered promises. 

------

Karina’s departure day dawned with a quiet that felt unnatural, as though the house itself understood what was coming. The air seemed heavier, thick with an unspoken finality, and even the sunlight streaming through the windows felt subdued. Her footsteps on the hardwood floor carried an unusual weight, each one more deliberate as she made her way to the door. In her arms, she cradled a large, carefully wrapped box, its presence as significant as the moment itself. The neat bow atop it added a touch of care, and she carried it with a reverence that spoke of its importance.

Her cheeks were dusted with a faint blush, and her lips parted into a nervous smile as she looked at you. There was something shy and uncertain in her expression, a contrast to the confidence she usually exuded. She set the box down gently on the coffee table, straightening her posture before turning back to you.

“I… I wanted to give you something before I left,” she said softly, shifting the box slightly and holding it out to you. Her eyes flicked between yours and the package, searching your face for your reaction.

You took the box from her carefully, surprised by its weight. It wasn’t heavy, but it had a certain gravity that hinted at its significance. Curiosity mingled with apprehension as you placed it on the table and began to open it. Lifting the lid, you peeled back the soft protective wrapping, and your breath caught as you revealed what lay inside.

A nearly life-sized doll, sculpted with uncanny precision, stared back at you—or would have, had its eyes not been closed in a strange, serene expression. Its resemblance to Karina was startling. Every detail, from the gentle curve of its cheekbones to the cascade of long, dark hair that fell over its shoulders, mirrored her perfectly. The doll even wore one of her favorite dresses, the fabric draping over its form in a way that felt disturbingly natural.

You blinked, taking an involuntary step back as you tried to process the sight before you. “Honey… this is…” Words failed you for a moment as your eyes darted between the doll and her. “It’s… so real.”

Karina let out a soft, nervous laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know, it’s a little unusual,” she admitted, her blush deepening as she shifted on her feet. “But I had it custom-made, just for you. Since I’ll be away for a while, I thought… maybe it would help you feel like I’m still close.”

You stared at the doll again, your chest tightening with an unplaceable unease. Its closed eyes made it look peaceful, almost restful, but its lifelike features made it feel as though it could wake at any moment. The dress only added to the strange feeling—a version of Karina that was simultaneously here and yet absent.

“Jimin…” you began slowly, glancing back at her. “I don’t know. This feels… like a bit much. It’s just… so realistic.” You tried to manage a smile, hoping to soften your reluctance. “Maybe too realistic?”

Her smile wavered slightly, and a flicker of vulnerability passed through her eyes as she stepped closer. “Please?” she asked softly, taking your hand in hers. Her voice was tender, her gaze imploring. “I know it might seem a little strange, but… I really want you to have it. Since I’ll be away, I thought it might bring you some comfort, knowing that even though I’m far away, you’ll still have something here with you. A part of me.”

Her hand tightened on yours, interrupting your thoughts. “I know it’s not the same,” she said quietly. “But I thought it could help. I just… I don’t want you to feel alone. Even if it’s a little strange, I want to leave you with something that reminds you of me.”

Her tone softened, and her eyes glistened with unspoken emotion. “Please, just try. It’s okay if it feels weird at first. I just… I really want this for you.”

You sighed, the tension in your chest loosening slightly at the sight of her vulnerability. Her intentions were pure, even if the gift itself unsettled you. “Alright,” you said gently, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll keep it.”

Relief washed over her face, and she broke into a warm smile, pulling you into a tight embrace. She lingered there for a moment before pulling back, gesturing toward the doll. “Go ahead,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “Look closer.”

You hesitated, then reached out. Your fingers brushed the doll’s cheek, marveling at its texture. The material was soft, warm, and faintly yielding—eerily lifelike. Your hand moved lower, skimming over its collarbone and down its arm. As you brushed against its hand, you glanced at Karina, noticing how her chest rose and fell more quickly than before. Her lips parted slightly, and she pressed them together as though to stifle a reaction.

“You okay?” you asked, watching her closely.

She nodded quickly, her blush deepening. “Yeah, it’s just… weird seeing you touch it,” she lied, her voice barely audible. “But go on.”

You turned back to the doll, curiosity tugging at you despite your discomfort. Your hand drifted lower, tracing the subtle curve of its waist. You couldn’t deny how precise it was—every contour felt real, natural, even though you knew it wasn’t. When your fingers brushed over its chest, you froze, startled by how soft and pliant it felt. The sensation made you glance back at Karina, who was standing rigidly beside you, her hands clenched at her sides.

Her breathing hitched audibly, and for a moment, her lips trembled as though she might speak—but she didn’t. She stayed quiet, her cheeks flushed as she visibly tried to steady herself.

“Jimin…” you said cautiously, watching her reaction. “Are you sure this isn’t too weird for you?”

“I’m fine,” she replied quickly, though her voice wavered slightly. Her body remained stiff, her fingers curling into her palms as she tried to mask her reaction. “Just… finish.”

You hesitated but continued, brushing over the doll’s arm again before moving lower. Your fingers trailed over its legs, the texture as lifelike as the rest of its form. Karina shifted beside you, her breaths uneven but controlled, her eyes fixed on your hand as though trying to focus on anything other than the sensation it might evoke in her.

Finally, you pulled back, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “It’s… impressive,” you admitted reluctantly, though the unease hadn’t entirely left you.

Karina nodded, exhaling shakily as she stepped closer. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I know it’s strange, but I wanted it to feel like I was still here with you. Even if it’s not the same.”

Her hand found yours again, her fingers lacing through yours as she rested her head on your shoulder. “I’m going to miss you,” she murmured, her voice soft and wistful.

You kissed the top of her head, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “And I’ll be here, counting down the days until you come back.”

-----

The days without Karina stretched endlessly, each one a slow ache that deepened the longer she was gone. Though you spoke every night, the absence of her presence—the warmth of her touch, the sound of her laugh filling the room—created a void that even her most loving words couldn’t quite fill. The doll she had left behind sat untouched, a silent reminder of her, but you hadn’t found the will to reach for it. Instead, the house felt emptier with every passing day, its stillness amplifying her absence.

When your anniversary arrived, it brought a bittersweet mix of excitement and longing. Determined to make the night special, you poured yourself into preparing the space, setting the table with flickering candles and the bottle of wine she had excitedly suggested weeks ago.

Her request had come during one of your nightly calls, her tone warm with affection. “Promise me we’ll eat the same thing,” she had said, her voice carrying an almost childlike excitement. “Same cuisine, same dishes. That way, it’ll feel like we’re together.” You’d agreed without hesitation, ordering her favorite dishes from a restaurant she loved back home. Unknown to you, she had gone a step further, arranging for someone she trusted to deliver a special instruction to the chef.

When her face appeared on the call that evening, it was as if the ache of her absence melted away for a moment. She looked radiant, her soft waves of hair cascading over her shoulders, her lips curving into the smile that always sent a warmth straight to your chest.

“Happy anniversary, love,” she said, her voice tender and filled with emotion.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” you replied, your tone matching hers. “You look… incredible.”

Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “So do you.” Her gaze flicked to the setup behind you, and her expression softened with appreciation. “You really went all out. It’s beautiful.”

“Only the best for you,” you teased, pouring the wine and raising your glass. “To us.” “To us,” she echoed, lifting her own glass with a bright smile. The synchronized motion, small as it was, closed the miles between you, making the distance feel just a little less insurmountable.

The evening began with lighthearted conversation, her laughter spilling from the screen as she shared stories from her tour. She described the places she’d been with an almost childlike wonder, painting vivid pictures of crowded streets, twinkling cityscapes, and quaint cafés.

“When we were in Japan, there was this tiny café,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “They served these adorable matcha parfaits shaped like bears. It was so cute I almost cried.”

“You? Crying over a dessert?” you teased, laughing. “I would’ve loved to see that.”

“You would’ve teased me the entire time,” she shot back, giggling. “But it would’ve been worth it.”

As the dinner progressed, the playful chatter softened into something warmer, more intimate. The food, rich and flavorful, carried an unexpected heat—a subtle, lingering warmth that began to spread through your body. It wasn’t just the wine or the meal itself; it was the way Karina’s voice felt closer, her laughter sweeter, her gaze through the screen more magnetic. Every detail drew you further into the moment, as if the distance between you no longer mattered.

She leaned closer to the camera, her smile softening as her voice dipped into a quieter, more vulnerable register. “You know,” she said, her gaze holding yours, “this tour is amazing, but it’s nothing compared to being with you. I miss the way you hold me, the way you look at me.”

Your breath hitched, her words weaving a spell that wrapped around your chest. “Babe…”

“I mean it,” she continued, her voice dropping further, taking on a sultry edge. “I miss the way your hands feel on my skin. The way you touch me like I’m the only thing in the world.”

Her tone shifted, her words slowing as her lips parted slightly. “You don’t know what it does to me, being away from you like this.” Her voice dipped into a low, intimate whisper. “I think about it every night—your hands on me. How you feel. How you make me feel.”

Heat flared in your chest, her words igniting a visceral need that had been dormant for weeks. You shifted slightly in your seat, your voice thick with longing as you murmured, “Jimin, you’re not playing fair.”

“Who said I was playing fair?” she teased, her smile widening. She leaned back slightly, her eyes half-lidded as her voice took on a deeper, sultrier tone. “I’ve been thinking about you every single night. How your mouth felt the last time you kissed me, the way your hands made me forget everything else…”

She let out a soft, breathy moan, her cheeks flushing as she watched your reaction. “I wish you were here to touch me, to remind me what it feels like to be yours.”

You froze, the sound of her voice and the sheer intimacy of her words leaving you speechless. Your heart raced, the image of her filling your mind with every heated word, the space between you shrinking as her tone drew you closer.

“I need you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Jimin, I…”

“I need you too,” she replied, her voice dripping with longing. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About how much I want you right now.”

Her lips parted, her breath quickening as if she could feel the tension that pulsed through the screen. You leaned closer, captivated by the intensity in her gaze, your need for her overpowering the distance between you. The connection felt real, visceral, until the sharp ring of her hotel room phone shattered the moment.

She sighed, visibly frustrated, and glanced toward the phone. “Hold on,” she said, picking it up.

For a moment, you waited, unsure if she’d return quickly. But when she did, her expression was apologetic, her voice laced with regret. “The manager needs me for something urgent,” she said softly, her tone tinged with disappointment. “I’m so sorry, love.”

The flicker of frustration must have shown on your face because she leaned closer to the camera, her voice soft and reassuring. “I love you. More than anything. And I’ll make this up to you, I promise.”

Before you could respond, the screen went dark, leaving you alone in the charged stillness of your room.

You paced back and forth, your body still thrumming with the heat her words had stirred. The ache she’d left behind was relentless, her voice and the way she’d looked at you replaying in vivid detail. Your gaze drifted to your phone, lingering on the memory of her, when a notification lit up the screen.

A message from Karina.

Your heart leapt as you opened it. The photo hit you like a wave—a shot of her sprawled across the bed, her tousled hair falling in soft waves over one shoulder. Her skin glowed in the warm, muted light of her room, every curve illuminated with an alluring softness. Her lips were curled into a sultry, knowing smile, and her arms were draped in a way that hinted at modesty yet revealed enough to leave little to the imagination. Her bare chest was exposed, the subtle curves and smooth skin drawing your eyes helplessly downward. The photo was bold and intimate, a perfect balance of suggestion and revelation, pulling you deeper into her web with every detail.

The caption read: I hope this is the start of my apology.

You stared at the image, your breath catching as a mix of desire and longing surged through you. The ache of her absence felt sharper than ever, and now her words, her teasing smile, and this image stormed through your thoughts like wildfire.

Far away, Karina leaned back against her pillows, her lips curling into a sly smile as she imagined your reaction. She ran her fingers lazily through her hair, the satisfaction of her plan unfolding exactly as she intended. “Let’s see how long you last without me,” she murmured, her voice tinged with playful mischief.

Your room felt stifling, the air thick with tension as you lay on the bed beside the doll. Its lifelike features caught the soft glow of the bedside lamp, eerily close to hers yet unreachable. Karina’s voice echoed in your mind, teasing and sultry, her plan working perfectly as you struggled with the void she’d left behind. The space beside you felt impossibly empty, the absence of her touch a gnawing ache that the doll’s uncanny resemblance only amplified.

Your hand hovered over the doll’s face, brushing against the smooth, synthetic skin. The texture was startlingly lifelike, warm under your fingers, and as you traced its delicate features—the familiar curve of its lips, the softness of its jawline—it became harder to separate the illusion from the reality you craved. Karina’s name slipped from your lips in a quiet murmur, your chest tightening with longing.

Inside her hotel karina laid on her bed, her bare skin kissed by the cool air drifting through the room. She had orchestrated everything—the doll, the setup, even the lingering ache she hoped would drive you to her gift. She had imagined every step, every reaction, and her body hummed with anticipation as she pictured you succumbing to the desire she’d left behind.

Her lips curled into a smile as she ran a hand lazily along her stomach, letting her fingers trace idle patterns. She could almost feel your touch, phantom sensations that made her skin tingle. “Finally” she whispered, her voice low and breathy. Her thighs pressed together as the anticipation coiled tightly within her. She imagined your hands, your breath, and the way you’d surrender to the distance that had stretched too far.

In your room, you sat up, running a hand through your hair as the ache inside you became unbearable. Your gaze flicked to the doll again, its serene face illuminated in the dim light. Hesitation flickered through you before you reached for the nightstand, grabbing a small bottle of lube. The coolness of it sent a shiver through your body as you prepared yourself, the vividness of your desire making every movement feel charged with electricity.

Karina shifted against the sheets, her eyes narrowing as a pang of doubt crept into her thoughts. What if you didn’t use it? What if her plan had been too much, too bold? Her confidence wavered, and she sat up slightly, running a hand through her hair. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as she whispered, “Did you stop? Was it too much?”

Her mind raced, imagining you hesitating, putting the doll aside. A ripple of frustration and sadness swept through her as she bit her lip, staring at her dark phone. “Don’t pull away from me…” she murmured, her voice laced with longing and desperation. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself against the quiet ache of disappointment.

But then—she gasped, her body jolting violently as an overwhelming sensation ripped through her. Her eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, as she clutched at the sheets. Her back arched as her entire body shuddered, an unmistakable pressure filling her completely, so vivid and intense it left her breathless.

“Oh my God,” she cried out, her voice trembling as her head fell back against the pillow. Her thighs quivered as the phantom sensation of your length pressed deeper into her, deliberate and slow, making her toes curl. Every nerve in her body was on fire, pleasure rolling through her in powerful, unrelenting waves.

Back in your room, you positioned the doll carefully, the weight of its form adding to the vividness of the illusion. Your body moved instinctively, your mind entirely lost in the fantasy Karina had spun around you. Each motion, each moment felt electric, her name a quiet mantra on your lips as you surrendered to the overwhelming need she’d left behind.

Karina’s chest heaved as her body adjusted to the sensation, her hands clutching the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Oh, fuck…” she whispered, her voice cracking as she felt you move inside her again, slow and steady, leaving her gasping for air. The intensity of it made her whole body burn, her skin tingling with the phantom connection that defied explanation.

“You’re… using it,” she whispered breathlessly, her voice tinged with equal parts triumph and desperation. Her lips parted as another moan escaped her, her head turning to the side as she let herself fall deeper into the moment. Her back arched as her body responded instinctively, her hips moving subtly, as if to meet the sensation halfway.

The thought of you, so far away yet so intimately close, sent another wave of pleasure crashing over her. She shivered, her breathing uneven as she whispered, “I knew you couldn’t resist…”

The air felt oppressive, thick with the heat and tension that had built throughout the night. Your body moved with a desperation that bordered on animalistic as you thrust into the doll. Its lifelike softness under your hands, the way its core clung to you with an almost pulsing grip—it all blurred the line between reality and fantasy. Every sensation was heightened, vivid to the point of overwhelming, and you couldn’t hold back.

Your hands roamed over the doll’s body, gripping its breast roughly. The synthetic material gave under your fingers, yielding in a way that felt startlingly real. Normally, when you were with Karina, your touch was controlled, measured, careful. She was an idol, and every step in your intimacy came with a layer of deliberation. But now, with the doll’s unyielding silence and perfect mimicry, you felt none of the restraint you would have with her.

Your palm struck the doll’s breast, the sharp sound echoing in the room. A red flush appeared on its synthetic skin, and you smacked it again, harder this time. The sight of your mark left your breath hitching, your body trembling as the roughness spurred you on.

Karina gasped as the sensation of your touch reached her. The sting of your hand on her breast sent jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through her, her back arching off the bed as her chest heaved. “Oh, my God…” she whimpered, her voice cracking with the vividness of it.

Her hands moved to her chest, instinctively covering the marks she felt there. The roughness of your touch, the sharpness of each slap, only heightened the pleasure building inside her. She could feel every movement—your palm squeezing her flesh, the sting as your hand struck her, and the pressure of your fingers digging into her skin.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, a futile attempt to temper the overwhelming sensations radiating through her body. The motion only heightened the intensity, amplifying the heat that coursed through her. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, her entire body trembling as she whispered, “You’re so rough tonight,” her voice tinged with disbelief and raw arousal. “I can feel all of it…”

In your room, your breath came in shallow gasps, your grip tightening on the doll’s hips as your thrusts grew more erratic. The lifelike core pulsed and tightened around you, gripping you with a vividness that blurred the lines between fantasy and reality. Each rhythmic contraction drew you deeper, coaxing every ounce of control from your body, the intensity building with each movement.

Normally, with Karina, you would use a condom. It was an unspoken rule—one born of mutual care and caution, knowing how carefully she had to protect her image as an idol. But now, the rawness of feeling completely bare was intoxicating. The doll’s warmth, its pulsing tightness—it all overwhelmed you in a way you’d never experienced.

You groaned her name, “Jimin,” your voice thick with desperation as you leaned over the doll. Your free hand came down on its breast again, the slap harder this time. The synthetic skin flushed under your touch, and you pinched its nipple, twisting with a force you wouldn’t dare use on Karina.

Karina’s back arched violently as her skin mirrored your actions. She could feel your hand gripping her breast, the sharp sting of the slap followed by the rough pinch. A cry tore from her lips as pleasure and pain mingled, the intensity leaving her gasping for air.

Her body burned, her skin alive with sensation as if you were truly there with her. Every motion was perfectly synchronized, every rough thrust and squeeze sending her closer to the edge. Her chest heaved as she clutched at the sheets, her voice breaking as she cried out, “Yes… just like that…”

The doll’s core pulsed around you again, gripping you tighter, almost pulling you deeper. The sensation was surreal, unlike anything you’d felt before. It wasn’t just the warmth or the tightness—it was the way it seemed to respond to you, as though it were alive. The rhythmic squeezing was enough to drive you mad, and you could feel your climax building with unrelenting intensity.

You buried yourself deep inside it, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave. The rawness of being bare, of releasing fully into the doll’s impossibly realistic core, sent shockwaves through your body. Normally the condom muted the sensation, a necessary precaution you’d both grown used to. But now, the sheer vividness of the feeling left you trembling. The pulsing tightness of the doll clung to you, each pump of your release magnified, each pulse drawing out the intensity.

“Ugh fuck,” you groaned, your voice breaking as your body gave in completely.

Karina screamed as the sensation of your release surged through her, a shockwave of impossible vividness that left her gasping for air. It was as if you were truly inside her, every pulse of your release tangible, every rhythmic pump filling her completely. The feeling was overwhelming, raw in its intimacy, breaking through every boundary she had known before. It was not just physical—it was all-encompassing, lighting up her senses in ways she had never imagined.

Her back arched violently off the bed, her legs trembling as the sensation spread through her. Instinctively, her thighs pressed together, her body desperate to contain the fullness, but it did nothing to slow the relentless tide of pleasure. The startlingly real pressure claimed every inch of her, leaving her utterly breathless. Her hands gripped the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white, her body reacting instinctively to the connection that felt like nothing she had ever experienced.

Lost in the feeling, Karina’s hips began to move of their own accord, grinding upward in a desperate attempt to meet you. Her movements were met only with air, the stark reminder of your absence making the sensations even more surreal and maddening. The futile grinding only amplified her need, her body seeking a closeness that wasn’t truly there yet felt undeniably real.

“Oh, my God!” she cried out, her voice breaking as the intensity of it overwhelmed her. The rhythmic pulses of your release felt endless, each one sending another jolt of pleasure through her. It was as though her body recognized this as something forbidden, something she had never allowed herself to feel—a complete surrender to being filled, claimed, in a way that shattered her carefully controlled world.

The sensations opened something inside her, a deep well of vulnerability and raw, unfiltered pleasure. The feeling of being filled wasn’t just physical; it was emotional, a connection so profound it left her trembling. “I can feel you,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper, the awe and disbelief clear. “Every bit of you…”

Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, each one more intense than the last. The fullness inside her heightened everything, making her body hyper aware of every nerve, every sensation. It was unrelenting, a tidal wave of ecstasy that consumed her completely. Her thighs quivered as her body tightened around the phantom sensation, her hips lifting instinctively as if to take more of you, to hold you closer.

Her climax ripped through her like a storm, an overwhelming, earth-shattering moment that left her crying out in ecstasy. The pulses of your release seemed to synchronize with her own, amplifying the pleasure as if you were truly connected. She could feel everything—the heat, the rhythm, the way you filled her completely. It felt endless, the connection between you growing stronger, the distance between you evaporating in that moment of shared release.

As the sensations finally began to ebb, her body collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. The aftershocks rippled through her, leaving her trembling and flushed. Her skin was damp with sweat, her hair clinging to her face as she stared at the ceiling, her mind reeling from the intensity of what had just happened.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across her lips as she whispered, “You couldn’t resist.” Her voice was soft, filled with triumph and affection, her body still buzzing with residual pleasure. Her hand trailed lazily over her flushed skin, the memory of the sensations lingering like a brand.

She closed her eyes, her mind swimming with thoughts of you. “Good,” she murmured, her voice a mix of possession and tenderness. “You’re mine… just like I wanted.” The feeling of being filled, of connecting with you so deeply, had changed something in her. It was more than just a physical experience—it was a claiming, a bond that would linger, no matter how far apart you were.

Karina felt boneless, her body trembling violently as wave after wave of aftershocks rippled through her. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, her thighs quivering as she struggled to regain control. She could feel every inch of you—the impossible fullness, the lingering warmth of your release pooled deep inside her. Her entire body felt raw, too sensitive, and yet her arousal continued to build. Every slight movement seemed to push it deeper, a constant reminder of how thoroughly she’d been claimed.

Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles white as she bit her bottom lip to stifle the sounds threatening to spill from her. Her inner walls throbbed uncontrollably, her body clenching as if unwilling to let go of the overwhelming sensation.

Her back arched off the bed as a sharp sting spread across her chest—a hard slap on her breast. The sound reverberated through the quiet room, and she cried out, her voice muffled as her face pressed into the pillow. Her nipples throbbed, hypersensitive as your grip returned, kneading roughly, tugging and twisting with no mercy. Another hard slap landed, and she gasped, her chest heaving as the pain blurred into pleasure.

Her mind spun as the sensations intensified. Her legs fell open wider, her body yielding completely as the rhythm grew more relentless. Each tug on her nipple sent jolts of heat straight to her core, and the fullness inside her felt like it was expanding, stretching her impossibly more. Her breath caught as she felt your tongue on her skin—wet, warm, and insistent. It circled her right nipple, the pressure teasing and building as you sucked hard, making her toes curl.

“No,” she whimpered weakly, her voice trembling. “No, I can’t—” But her body told another story. She arched into the phantom touch, her breaths growing faster as her nipple throbbed under the attention. The flick of your tongue sent shivers through her, the combination of pleasure and overstimulation pushing her closer to the edge. When suddenly.

Knock, knock.

Her heart leapt, panic surging through her. Minjeong’s voice came through the door, her tone hesitant. “Unnie? Can we talk for a minute?”

Karina froze. Her mind swirled in panic, her body still alight with your touch. She fumbled for her robe, struggling to gather herself. The fabric clung awkwardly to her damp skin as she tied it hastily, her trembling hands betraying her desperation. She forced herself to rise, but the moment she stood, an invisible grip tightened around her neck.

Her breath caught sharply, her head tilting back as the hold constricted her throat. She stumbled forward, her hand bracing against the wall as she gasped for air. The pressure made her lightheaded, yet it only amplified the arousal coursing through her. Her body betrayed her, her chest heaving as she struggled to take another step, each movement sending the fullness pressing impossibly deeper inside her.

“Oh, God,” she choked out softly, her knees wobbling as she reached the door. Her fingers gripped the handle tightly, and the constriction eased just enough for her to force the door open. She leaned heavily on the frame, her face flushed and damp with sweat, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

“Minjeong,” she managed hoarsely, her voice barely steady.

“Unnie, are you okay? You look… really flushed,” Minjeong said, her brow furrowing.

Karina forced a tight smile, clutching her robe around her. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice strained. “What’s up?”

Minjeong hesitated but stepped inside, her expression uncertain. “I just needed to vent,” she began softly. “I messed up during the performance yesterday. It’s been eating at me.”

Karina froze, her body still trembling as the sensations rippled faintly through her. “It wasn’t a big deal,” she said quickly, her voice higher-pitched than usual. “No one noticed.”

Minjeong sighed, sitting down on the bed beside her. “But it was during my highlight part,” she continued, her voice heavy with guilt. “I missed the cue, and I could feel everyone looking at me. I feel like I ruined the whole song.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Karina said sharply, her words tumbling out too fast. “The crowd loved it.”

Minjeong tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “Unnie, you’re talking really fast. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Karina snapped, her voice cracking. She crossed her legs tightly, her thighs clenching as the lingering pressure inside her made her shift involuntarily. “I just… I think I left some medicine in my bag in the bathroom. Can you grab it for me?”

Minjeong hesitated, her gaze lingering on Karina’s disheveled appearance, but she eventually stood. “Okay, I’ll check.”

The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, Karina collapsed back onto the bed. Her legs fell open as her body gave in completely. The grip on her neck tightened again, and her head tilted back as she gasped for air. Her chest burned, her body trembling violently as the phantom rhythm built to a breaking point once more.

Her climax surged violently as your teeth grazed her nipple for the first time. Her back arched sharply as the biting sensation left her trembling, and the wet flicks of your tongue soothed the sting, coaxing her higher and higher. She grabbed the pillow, pulling it over her face as her voice escaped in a strained scream, muffled against the fabric as the grip on her neck tightened further.

Her entire body convulsed, the intensity overwhelming as she felt the fullness inside her deepen with every movement. Her cries turned into desperate, broken moans as wave after wave of pleasure consumed her, leaving her trembling and gasping for air.

When Minjeong returned, Karina barely managed to pull herself together. Her robe was haphazardly tied, and her face was flushed and damp with sweat.

“I couldn’t find anything,” Minjeong said, her tone skeptical. “Unnie, are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’ve been running a marathon.”

“I’m fine,” Karina said quickly, her voice shaky. “I just need to rest.”

Minjeong frowned but eventually nodded. “I’ll go down to the lobby and see if they have anything.”

As the door clicked shut, Karina collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving as she let out a shaky breath. A weak, triumphant smile spread across her lips as she whispered, “You’re impossible.”

Back at your house, you sat on the edge of the bed, the doll resting before you. The soft glow of the room illuminated it's eerily lifelike features, a testament to the unsettling craftsmanship. Its warmth radiated faintly under your touch, and its pliant texture added an almost unnerving realism. As you worked carefully to clean it, your hands moved methodically, though your mind couldn’t help but linger on how strange and lifelike it felt.

Your fingers brushed against its core, and the unexpected tightening startled you briefly. You shook your head, muttering to yourself about the doll’s unsettling realism. As you continued, your movements remained methodical—careful scoops to ensure it was thoroughly clean. Each curl and shift of your fingers felt oddly precise, the warmth and give of the material blurring the line between artificial and lifelike. You adjusted the angle instinctively, focused entirely on the task while marveling at how well-crafted it was.

Again, Karina jolted violently, her thighs clamping together in a futile attempt to contain the storm of sensations coursing through her. A broken gasp tore from her lips as her fingers twisted the sheets, knuckles white with tension, her back arching off the bed in a mix of helplessness and need.

Each deliberate motion of your hand, precise and unyielding, sent waves of overstimulation rippling through her. Your fingers pressing and curling inside her felt so real it made her toes curl. Her chest heaved with uneven breaths, rising and falling as she struggled to process the overwhelming intensity. She couldn’t escape the unrelenting pressure that pushed her to the brink, her body trembling uncontrollably beneath its weight.

“Stop…” she whispered faintly, her voice shaky and laced with desperation. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, the overstimulation dragging her into a haze of pleasure and vulnerability. “Please…” she choked out, her plea barely audible as her hips moved restlessly against the bed, seeking relief but finding none.

The pressure built relentlessly, her inner muscles clenching involuntarily, her body betraying her at every turn. Her face pressed into the pillow, her muffled whimpers spilling freely, each sound tinged with a mix of desperation and surrender. Her body bucked slightly, her thighs quivering as she tried to resist the sensations flooding her, but every shift only drew her closer to unraveling completely.

Then, suddenly, the sensations eased, leaving Karina collapsing into the mattress. Her chest heaved with each ragged breath as relief mixed with exhaustion, her body trembling in the aftermath of the intensity. The storm had passed, but her emotions churned restlessly beneath the surface. The earlier anniversary dinner weighed on her heavily—a night cut short, the guilt of leaving the call unfinished pressing uncomfortably on her chest.

Unable to bear the feeling any longer, she reached for her phone. Her fingers trembled slightly as she scrolled to your name and pressed the call button. The line barely rang once before your familiar, warm voice answered.

“Babe?” you said, tinged with surprise and concern. “Is everything okay?”

Karina smiled faintly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I just wanted to check in,” she began, hesitating. “About earlier. Leaving dinner like that—I felt terrible. I wanted to hear your voice… to make up for it.”

The soft chuckle on the other end sent a soothing wave of warmth through her chest. “I miss you,” you admitted, your tone gentle and full of affection. “It’s been hard without you here.”

“Tell me about it,” Karina murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I feel it every second.”

A brief silence passed before you spoke again, hesitating as though deciding whether to share your next thought. “You know,” you started softly, “that doll you left behind… It actually helps. I don’t know who made it or how it’s so realistic, but holding it… it reminds me of you. It’s comforting in a weird way.”

Karina’s heart raced at your confession, but she kept her tone steady. “Then hold it,” she said gently. “Cuddle it, like you normally do with me.”

There was a pause on your end, followed by the faint rustle of fabric as you adjusted yourself. Karina closed her eyes, imagining you settling into the bed. Then, like a spark igniting, she felt it—an unmistakable warmth wrapping around her, soft and steady, just like your embrace. A quiet gasp escaped her lips, her body easing into the comforting sensation as her chest filled with an indescribable lightness.

She could feel the gentle pressure of your arms encircling her, the way they always seemed to ground her, pulling her close and making her feel safe. The phantom weight of your hand rested on her back, warm and reassuring, while the faint brush of your breath against her hair felt so real she could almost lean into it. Her body sank deeper into the mattress as she surrendered to the illusion, her heart swelling with a mix of longing and relief.

“It’s perfect,” you said after a moment, your voice rich with affection. “Almost like you’re here.”

Karina hummed softly, her mind drifting into a haze of peace and contentment. She tilted her head slightly, as though nuzzling into your chest, and the sensation met her as if you were truly there. The phantom pressure of your heartbeat against hers resonated, steady and soothing, its rhythm lulling her into a rare sense of calm. Her breaths deepened, syncing with yours as she felt the warmth of you—not just physically but emotionally—envelop her entirely.

Her legs relaxed against the bed, the earlier tension melting away as the embrace seemed to tighten around her. She could feel the way you would normally hold her, firm but tender, your hands moving subtly, like you always adjusted to make her more comfortable. It was so vivid, so intimate, that she couldn’t help but let out a quiet sigh. The connection she felt—the closeness—bridged every mile between you, anchoring her in a love that felt as tangible as the bed she lay on.

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics—your plans for the week, a funny story about something that happened at work, and little observations about the house—Karina hummed absently, her voice soft and dreamy. Her body felt lighter, weightless even, as if she were floating in the comfort of your arms. Her shoulders, always tense from the pressures of the tour, eased fully into the mattress as her lips curled into a faint smile.

“You should’ve seen it,” you said with a laugh. “The way it played out, it was like something out of a sitcom.”

Her hum grew fainter, the embrace and your voice working together to lull her further into relaxation. She could feel the warmth of your chin resting gently against the top of her head, the comforting sensation of being fully encased in your love. The faintest brush of what felt like your fingers grazed along her arm, and her body responded instinctively, her skin tingling as she leaned further into the feeling.

Unbeknownst to her, back in your room, you shifted closer to the doll, your body responding instinctively to the memory of Karina’s warmth. The moment reminded you of all the quiet times you’d shared before, when she’d curl into you, content and serene, indulging in the quiet intimacy.

It had always been her way of staying close, of feeling connected without urgency, and the thought tugged at your chest. Without thinking, you pressed deeper into the doll’s lifelike folds, its warmth enveloping you in a way that felt startlingly familiar. Pulling it impossibly close, you murmured into the phone, “Do you know how much I miss this? Just holding you like this.”

Karina didn’t answer; her hum had faded into a faint, contented sigh. But the moment you settled fully into the doll, she felt it—a slow, steady fullness building inside her, grounding her in ways words couldn’t describe. Her breaths deepened, your touch wrapping around her like a cocoon. The sensation of you filling her wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, a tether binding her to you.

Her legs shifted restlessly, her body reacting instinctively to the steady warmth coursing through her. The subtle pulsing from within deepened the haze of comfort and security enveloping her. It wasn’t urgent or demanding—just a steady, grounding presence that filled her with a connection she hadn’t realized she craved. She melted into the sensation, her body yielding completely as a quiet, contented sigh escaped her lips.

“I miss you so much” you murmured again, your voice tinged with longing and affection.

Karina didn’t answer; her body was too relaxed, too wrapped in the comfort of your embrace and the subtle rhythm inside her. Moments later, the faintest, most delicate snore reached your ears, and a warm chuckle escaped your lips.

“Sleep tight, baby,” you whispered into the phone, your voice brimming with tenderness. “I love you.”

Back at your house, you remained there for a while, holding the doll as the call stayed connected. The sound of her calm, even breaths filled the quiet room, creating a sense of closeness that bridged the miles between you. You smiled softly to yourself, knowing she’d finally found peace. It was the best sleep Karina had since the tour began—a sleep steeped in love, comfort, and the feeling of being wrapped in your arms, no matter the distance.

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Heyy hiii I love your blog🤍 If you're still taking requests... Could you write an Aemond Targaryen who is obsessed with his half-sister or aunt?

(Fuck yes I can!

For this story the ages are a little off which frustrates me but I did that to make sure that Y/n wouldn’t be considered ‘too old’ to marry. If however, the person who made this request wants something with an older OFC, like a cougar-y kind of story with him obsessed and willing to do anything to have her then let me know and I will try my hand at that for you)

Y/n had been born first just before her mother Aemma had died giving birth her twin brother, who sadly died just a few hours later, leaving Y/n alone.

Rhaenyra took very good care of her, as much as she could as her younger sister was just a babe and now had no mother and no father as Viserys had all but checked out…especially after marrying Alicent and having more children.

Y/n was only just under 1 year older than Aegon as Alicent had gotten pregnant almost immediately after the wedding however as Rhaenyra was having her own children she took care of her sister less and less, leaving the girl on her own a lot of the time. Alicent had taken a liking to the young girl and they were quite close, which is what led to Y/n and Aemond’s relationship in the first place. Aemond loved Y/n from the moment he was born. When he was with her he was always content and happy, but if she left him alone he would cry and scream for her until Alicent could no longer take it and sent for her once again. That lasted until the boy was about 3 and she was 6 and from then on he was basically attached to her skirts.

Neither of the children had a dragon to their name and spent their time dreaming of flying across the 7 kingdoms together. Aemond had always promised to take his half sister with him when he mounted a dragon one day, and though Y/n thought it a nice dream, Aemond was determined to make it come true. He swore to her that one day he would be strong and that he would protect her, no one would ever bully them again. Y/n did not know just how seriously her younger brother took that vow.

He was 9 years old when Rhaenyra moved to Dragonstone and snatched his happiness away as she took their 12 year old sister with her and it was at that moment that Aemond realized how in love with his sister he really was. She would be his, no matter what he had to do to ensure it.

When they met again on Driftmark it was like no time had passed, they stayed by each others side while everyone mourned, but Aemond wasn’t sad, he was determined. With the death of Laena there was now an unclaimed dragon, the largest one alive and he was going to claim her or die trying. To say Y/n was upset that he risked his life to mount Vhagar would be an understatement however he had done it and the pride and happiness on his face wiped away her anger…for about 10 minutes before watching her nephew slice her brothers eye from his head. She held close to his side for as long as she was allowed, holding his hand as the maester stitched him up painfully.

‘I do not wish to frighten you with my scarred face sister, you shouldn’t have to see this.’ He told her later that night as she sat beside his bed to watch over him, the milk of the poppy he had taking quick effect as his good eye began to close against his wishes.

‘You could never scare me brother, you are as handsome as ever and anyone who says otherwise is blind. I will never fear you, no matter what. I love you too dearly.’ She swore, curling up into her chair and drifting off by his side in case he needed anything during the night.

Aemond’s hand held tight to hers all night long, never letting go as if terrified, even in his sleep, that she would disappear.

Aemond was comforted by her words and it is the only thing that got him through the next years. That and the fact that he had “convinced” his sickly father to betroth Y/n to him.

Aemond was told by the men he paid to keep watch over his Princess on Dragonstone that Rhaenyra had been trying to betroth her to Cregan Stark of Winterfell. The Wolf in the North was apparently quite taken with his Princess and Aemond couldn’t blame him, but he would kill him if the man went anywhere near his sister and he made that perfectly clear to his mother and Grandsire. Aemond had vowed that if they didn’t betroth him to Y/n immediately that he would take Vhagar and have her burn Winterfell and every Stark in existence to the ground. He would melt all of the snow in the North if he had to to make his point. Both Alicent and Otto knew that her son was serious and would do exactly as he promised, they also knew that no one could stop Vhagar if Aemond decided to put his threat into action and so they had the King order the marriage.

However other than Rhaenyra acknowledging the order from the King, he heard no word from his betrothed until he was 18 and it was ordered that she return to Kings Landing to be with her soon to be husband. Aemond had kept eyes on her since the day she had been forced to leave him, men that worked for Rhaenyra were secretly under his command, 2 of which became Y/n’s personal guards and wrote the Prince everything about her so that Aemond didn’t miss a thing. He knows all of her interests, what she loves to do everyday, her daily schedule, the foods she likes and more importantly doesn’t like, and he also had them ensure that no man got close to his future wife in anyway. He knew that Jace had an interest in his aunt, the guard reporting to him that the boy had been grounded to his chambers on more than one occasion for watching her bathe or trying to sneak into her rooms in the night and it both enraged and delighted Aemond that Jace wanted his sister but also that he would have to see her happy with the person that Jace hates most. Aemond would ensure that he could rub it in his nephews face that the babes that Y/n would bare would never be anyone’s but his.

Over the years since she had been gone her brother had changed, not just at her having been missing from his side but especially after Aegons actions in taking him to the silk streets on his 13th nameday. Aemond felt disgusting but he was determined to be a better husband than his elder brother was, after all, Y/n was his. His sister, his wife, his everything and he would ensure her happiness. He would make her his and fill her with as many Targaryen babies as possible, Aemond couldn’t wait to see her swollen with his child at his side and in his bed, his elder sister was just too perfect not to be full of his children for the rest of her days.

2 days after the letter was sent to Rhaenyra he was greeted by the sound of huge wings and angry dragon roars as the large black dragon descended on the Red Keep, a dragon that everyone recognized instantly which prompted them scattering like mice. Aemond had heard that his sister had mounted the cannibalistic dragon but to actually see the creature was incredible. He found it funny that his sister, who was a loner with a tendency to be aggressive ended up with the aggressive loner dragon who would have burned anyone else to dust…he must feel how similar they are, honestly it was a fairly perfect fit if you asked him. Though he could have done without the teeth bore in his face from this scarred beast.

He got as close as he dared, watching as a beautiful women slid down the dragons neck to her feet, the dragon nuzzling her and nearly knocking her from her feet (though the gesture was gentle for such a giant dragon who had to be just slightly bigger than Caraxes) before he took to the skies again and left her to look around the courtyard.

She was a vision, more than Aemond could have imagined after all these years without her and as she turned to see him for the first time, the smile that lit up her face gave him butterflies. ‘Aemond? Wow! Look how you’ve grown, you are certainly not that little boy I remember anymore, you are a man grown! Look at this handsome face!’ Aemond took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles in greeting, unable to look away from her perfect purple eyes.

‘You are a vision, more beautiful than I could have imagined…and I have imagined for years.’ Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink as she blushed and he held his arm out for her to take. ‘Come, I will show you to your chambers and you can freshen up, I know you must want out of your riding clothes-‘

‘Actually…I had hoped we could go riding together like we always promised we would. My sister would not let me come to Kings Landing before now but you did swear to take me on Vhagar when I returned.’ She reminded him as he guided her through the halls of the castle.

‘I could never forget my promise to you, however we will not be permitted to disappear together the night before our wedding, it would be improper after all.’ He teased making her roll her eyes with a smile.

‘Right because riding a 10 ton scaly lizard into the night is definitely a romantic evening.’ She paused after saying that before speaking again. ‘Actually, never mind, for a Targaryen that has to be the most romantic night possible. We’ll save it for tomorrow night.’

‘As you wish sister. Here is your chamber for the night, tomorrow night your things will be moved into one of our own. You change and get comfortable, I will return in a half an hour and we can take a walk in the gardens, how does that sound?’

‘That sounds lovely brother. I look forward to it.’ Aemond leaned down and pressed his lips to her hand like the gentleman he was, watching once again as her face grew pink and he loved her sweet blush, vowing to make it happen as often as possible.

The wedding that next evening was a huge affair. Everyone was present, members of every house in attendance for the event, and even all of the peasants celebrated as they left the Sept, throwing flowers and cheering their congratulations as they had all loved Y/n since the moment she was presented to the world as a baby (often ordering the gold cloaks to feed the poor, especially the children in need). Rhaenyra and Daemon had shown up with the children late, clearly hating being there for a marriage they didn’t want and Aemond couldn’t help but silently gloat to Jace who glared at him all through dinner. As they locked eyes Aemond could not resist giving in to his petty attitude, leaning down and touching his lips to his wife’s and enjoying the feel of her lips pressing against his in return as she clearly enjoyed the show of affection. His nephew glared harder at him before eventually taking Helaena’s hand and bringing her to dance as if trying to anger the One-Eyed Prince but nothing could do that right now, not now that Aemond has everything he’s ever wanted.

‘Would you like to retire now my beautiful wife? I want to make this marriage official before one of the dozens of men here that are jealously staring, attempts to steal you away from me.’

‘As if anyone else could take my attention away from you.’ At that moment there was suddenly the sound of several women screaming and they both turned to see that right in front of the Kings table Jace was locked in a physical fight with a man on the dance floor. Aemond turned his wife’s body away and pulled her to his chest to shield her, not wanting her innocent eyes to see such violence. Even if he enjoyed watching Jace get hurt he knew that his wife would never be the same if she was forced to potentially witness him die and he loved her innocence too much to let that be ruined. The guards pulled the man out of the hall and most likely to the Black Cells after Daemon had saved Jace from being butchered, following along with a rage filled Rhaenyra to question the man. Y/n pulled away from her husband and moved to the floor, inspecting her nephews face and Aemond nearly growled as Jace leaned into the affection. ‘Are you alright nephew?!’

‘Yes, of course, I am fine. I had it under con-‘

‘Thank goodness Daemon was here! You could have been killed! What were you thinking?!’ She demanded and Aemond watched on as Jace’s face fell once again. ‘You are my sweet nephew, not a soldier or a brawler in the streets!’

‘I don-I’m-Uh…‘

‘She is right nephew, we could never forgive ourselves if you had been hurt attending our wedding…perhaps it is time for you to retire for the evening. Too much wine makes the mind do stupid things.’ Y/n nodded along with Aemond but Jace just glared at him.

‘This has nothing to do with you Uncle! Keep your thoughts to yourself! I don’t need-‘

‘Jacaerys! How Dare You?! Have care how you speak to your own family, Aemond is simply showing his concern for your well being! If this is your current state then he is correct, you should retire. I’m sure Luke will help you to your bed, won’t you sweet boy?’ Luke nodded his head, moving to take his elder brothers arm.

‘No! I don’t need to-‘

‘We should be retiring as well anyway. I must ensure my new wife is taken care of…’ Y/n blushed at her brothers words, leaning into his body as his hands found her waist comfortingly.

‘You are right brother, I think I have had enough partying for one day. We have a family dinner tomorrow evening anyway, we can celebrate more then.’ Suddenly Aegon, who had been drunkenly enjoying this whole situation, was grinning in excitement and stepping up to the newly weds, hand on his younger brothers shoulder.

‘Yes brother, time to retire. The bedding ceremony must be seen to before the end of the evening! I shall get our Grandsire and elder sister to-‘

‘No!’ Aemond snapped, everyone that was listening jumping in fright at the rage in his voice. He had felt his wife’s body tense as she pulled him closer by his jacket that she was now clinging to for dear life. ‘There will be no bedding ceremony, I will have neither my sister nor my wife gawked at in her most vulnerable state as if she is some cheap whore on the street of silk! Y/n is my wife now, and no one else will ever see her in such a way ever again. I assure you brother, I can handle consummating my marriage just fine without your wandering eyes and words of encouragement.’ Aemond looked back down at his bride and took her face into his hands, wiping away the tears that escaped in her moment of panic, no one having mentioned a bedding ceremony and Aemond himself having assured her that it would not be happening.

‘My young Prince, it is tradition to have a maester and at least 3 members of the family present to ensure the wedding is consummated. Your brother, myself, Rhaenyra and Daemon are going to-‘

‘No Grandsire, you are not-because if you try to enter our marital chambers tonight, or really any night from this moment forward for any reason under the sun, I will break your spine and be feeding you to either Vhagar or the Cannibal in the morning. I will let my wife decide which she would prefer to make a meal out of your body as it is her you are offending. I am uncomfortable with how determined you are to watch me make love to my wife, and I am telling you that it will not happen.’

‘Aemond! You cannot speak to your Grandsire this way, you must-‘ Aemond cut his mother off quickly, startling her as he had never spoken to her like this before.

‘Do not make the mistake of believing my words to be exaggeration mother, they are not. Anyone who steps foot into our marital chambers this night or any moment from this one onward will find themselves being fed to a dragon of my wife’s choosing. She is my wife! And it is my job to care for her as such! I will not have her humiliated or upset as she gives herself to me for the first time…or any time. That is the end of the discussion, however you may wait in the hall and once we are done I will deliver you the sheets from our bed as your proof. That will have to suffice because it is all that you are getting.’ He looked back down at Y/n who had tears in her eyes once again but this time they were not fearful or embarrassed, but grateful and full of love. ‘Come my wife, it is time that I make this marriage official and fill you with my son. I must give my wife all of the lovely Targaryen babies that her heart desires.’

Aemond bent down slightly before lifting Y/n into his arms like a babe, whisking her away and out of the party. ‘Thank you Aemond…I know I should just accept it but I-‘

‘My wife will never be seen by anyone but me in any state of undress from this moment on, and should anyone sneak a peak at you I will deliver you their heart and feed the remains to Vhagar. Don’t you ever apologize for being uncomfortable, it is my job as your husband to see to your safety and I take my job very seriously.’ He assured her, kissing her head as they reached their new marital chambers where all of their things had been moved to. As Aemond carried his sister through the door he kicked it shut behind himself and locked it with both locks before using the thick wood plank and barring the door so no one could get in without more work than it was worth.

‘Will you assist me with the dress, husband?’ She teased making Aemond smirk, eyes darkening at the thought of finally undressing the prize he has worked and waited for, for so long.

‘You need not even ask, my love. Come here.’ He quickly unlaced the back of her dress, allowing it to fall to the ground and leave her in her small clothes which she removed before crawling into the bed and looking back up at him nervously. ‘Relax my love, you will love every second of this, I promise you.’ He swore and she took a breath, nodding, though her eyes grew wide again as he removed his trousers and revealed himself to her for the first time, now naked as he crawled onto the bed, leaning down to kiss her, sucking his way down her neck and chest.

‘A-Aemond? What are you-‘

‘Shh…just relax. I’m going to take care of you Princess, just trust me.’ He lifted her leg up by the back of the knee and leaned in, pressing his mouth over her slit before trailing his tongue up between her pussy lips and brushing against her clit, causing her hips to jump against her will.

‘I’m s-sorry-‘

‘Don’t apologize again, just enjoy it.’ Aemond wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking on the little bundle of nerves, brushing his tongue against it repeatedly which seemed to shut her up quickly, the only sound remaining was her never ending moans. He pressed a finger into her tight hole followed by a second one which earned him a soft mewling noise that he couldn’t help thinking was adorable as he began pumping his fingers in and out of her, stretching her as gently as he could to prepare her for him.

‘Oh Fuck! Aemond!’ She seemed to be hanging right on the edge in that moment until he curled his fingers up and just as he did she cried out at a whole new octave and her pussy squeezed his fingers in a vice grip, her body shaking while she panted as if she had run a long distance and he couldn’t help but find her flushed face absolutely beautiful.

‘You are so gorgeous…’ he crawled up over her and touched his lips to hers while spreading her legs. They wrapped around his waist before he pressed his cock against her hole and instantly felt as if he had died and gone to Heaven. 9 years he had waited after realizing how in love with Y/n he truly was, 9 years dreaming of this moment and wanting to make it just as special for her as it was for him just knowing how good his sister would make him feel, and he was right. Her cunt was like the sweetest vice grip he had ever experienced, he had never felt anything more wonderful in his entire life as he stilled his hips and just waited, not wanting to hurt her or cum so fast that she would inevitably laugh at him. ‘Are you alright?’ He questioned, wanting to make sure he wasn’t hurting her too badly but she nodded.

‘I want to see all of you brother…I never want you to hide any part of you from me again.’ She spoke as she reached up and pulled the eye patch from his face. He reflexively turned his head away but she caught him, turning his head back and pulling him down to kiss the scar both over and under his eye. ‘My husband nor my brother will ever have to hide from me, you are so strong…and I think my husband is the most handsome man in the 7 kingdoms. I will fight anyone who chooses to disagree with me…and I have a Dragon so they will most assuredly lose.’ She teased making him smile before he choked on his breath, her pussy squeezing his member suddenly before she wiggled her hips. ‘Take me brother, I am all yours now!’

‘Yes you are…Mine! I will kill anyone who even thinks to disagree with me! All mine…’ Aemond spoke, shifting his hips back before pushing back in gently, doing it again only to thrust up into her this time. ‘Your husband is going to fill your belly so full tonight that no one will be able to question whether or not you are carrying my son. You want that, don’t you Princess? You want me to give you a baby?’

Y/n’s head nodded frantically as Aemond was now jack hammering his hips into her mercilessly, her whines prompting him to go faster. ‘Yes Brother! Yes! I want to give you everything! Fill my womb so that I may give you all the sons you want!’

‘Never going to stop breeding your cunt, Gods you feel magnificent! We’re going to end up having an entire army because I am never going to stop fucking you! Cum for me Princess and your husband will fill your womb, give me your pleasure!’ He demanded just before she cried out, her head thrown back as her cunt clamped down on him so hard he briefly thought it would hurt before the pleasure shot straight up his spine and he buried his cock into her as deeply as he could.

Aemond couldn’t tell how long they laid there breathing heavily and just holding each other, it felt as if they lost time before there was a knock on the door and Y/n flinched, instinctively trying to cover her body with a blanket despite no one entering. ‘My Prince? If you have finished we need-‘

‘Shut Up! Say Another Word and I Will Remove Your Tongue!’ He growled to the maester at the door. ‘Stay still my love, I will take care of it.’ He kissed her head and she smiled, humming contently before wincing as he pulled out of her, using his thumb to press his cum back into her abused hole as it leaked out. Aemond jumped up and pulled the sheet carefully from under her and off of the bed, rolling his eyes as he saw the small amount of blood on the white linen that he had made sure to fuck her on top of as he wasn’t willing to argue about them needing evidence that consummation took place. ‘I will be right back, then you are mine for the next week, because I do not plan on us leaving this bed for at least that long.’ He teased, kissing her nose and making her giggle as he pulled his trousers on and moved to the door, unbarring it and stepping outside while shutting the door behind him, unwilling to let anyone see his wife in her current state. At the door stood Maester Mellos along with his Grandsire, his mother and brother, and also Rhaenyra and Daemon. ‘I do not understand why this needed to be such a spectacle for so many of you but here.’ He shoved the sheet at the old man angrily. ‘Now, all of you will leave because if I find out anyone continued listening at the door I will slit you from balls to brains!’ The maester inspected the sheet before nodding to the Queen who genuinely looked sorry for her son.

‘I didn’t know you had it in you brother!’ Aegon laughed, Otto shoving him away quickly and dragging him down the hall before Aemond could move to cut him open as he wanted to, Daemon following along, clearly not caring about being there and only having done so as he loved his niece- to ensure Aemond was a gentleman.

‘Take care of your wife Aemond, I know you will be a good husband, better than your brother.’

‘Thank you mother-oh! We will be taking all of our meals in our chambers tomorrow-and for the foreseeable future. Please be sure a maid is sent to do that, my wife will need breaks to eat.’ Alicent didn’t look shocked at all, just nodding her head before she walked off.

‘Brother.’ Rhaenyra spoke, Aemond sighing before giving her his attention. ‘Take care of her. She is a gentle soul, if you hurt my sister I will make sure you do not live to see whatever children you give her.’ He rolled his eyes, not giving a fuck about his elder sisters threat.

‘If you think for a moment that I would harm her then you know nothing about our relationship at all-oh! Wait! You don’t…it took 9 years but I always knew that I would make her mine no matter what I had to do. I’m just thankful that father gave into my threat before you could give her away to that idiot Wolf in the North.’

‘W-what are you-‘

‘Of course, you don’t know! I made my mother aware of the fact that if you were successful in marrying off our sister that I would have mounted Vhagar and burned every inch of the Starks home, and every other home and stronghold that had snow covering it. She was never going to marry anyone else, that was decided quite a long time ago…its just that no one but I knew it.’ He explained, enjoying her shocked expression before opening the door to go back to his wife. ‘Oh! One more thing! You should make sure that you keep your eldest on a short leash, because if I find out-or Gods forbid catch him-peeping at my wife like he did under your watch, he will be locked in the Black cells until I decide to feed him to Vhagar. Your heir or not, father will not be able to argue with him dishonoring my wife and his favorite child, and you know it…it was lovely to see you again sister.’ With that Aemond slammed the door in her face and turned back to his wife.

‘Is everything okay?’ Y/n asked, clearly nervous that the sheet wouldn’t be enough evidence and they would demand to watch this time.

‘Of course my Love, I will always ensure that it will be. Now, let us continue enjoying our marital bliss for as long as we can, hmm?’ Y/n smiled, dropping the blankets and revealing her naked chest to his eyes and he couldn’t help but imagine the breasts that he was in love with, swollen with milk to feed the boy that was growing in her womb. He was desperate to taste it himself, his cock growing hard in record time at the thought before he leapt into the bed beside her.

‘I want to stay here with you like this forever.’ She admitted, now sitting in his lap, his cock buried in her pussy as he enjoys worshipping her breasts with his mouth.

‘As you wish Sister…Always.’

Aemond T. Masterlist

[creamflix]

UNSCRIPTED — toji fushiguro x female reader [chapter 1/5]

summary: you’re a faceless author of scandalous smut — great at writing steamy scenes but totally clueless about real-life romance (and with no one to match your freak). enter toji fushiguro, a hot stranger you (accidentally) throw up on during a drunken night out. surprise! he’s also the future voice actor for your smutty novel’s main character. can you survive the awkwardness of your disastrous meet-cute while keeping your identity (and dignity) a secret? welcome to the chaos of your own erotic fantasy romcom!

content warning & tags: (erotic) voice artist! toji, (smut) writer! reader, smutty content!! [will be added over the course of the series], sort of workplace romance, secret/anon identity, slight social media au, meet-cute, virgin!reader, single dad dilf! toji, kid! megumi, strangers to lovers (?), she fell first but he fell harder, mentions of other characters (satoru gojo, suguru geto, megumi fushiguro, shoko eiri, brief mentions of ryomen sukuna)

notes: hi friends !! wow, been a hot min since i wrote something of this caliber. feels good to be back in biz ;D did you all miss persephone! suguru? because there's a LOT of him here >_< i really wanted to publish this as a oneshot but....tumblr hates me so now it's gonna be a chaptered series! oh , joy! ps @nappingmoon i got u bae, this one is for you.

read on ao3! ● series masterlist

➤ related au: persephone [business tycoon! sukuna x reader]

you never really set out to be the face of smut-lit. 

in fact, you weren’t even really a face at all — just a “faceless” author penning scandalous stories for fans who devoured them, and haters who, well… tried to eat you alive.

you’d started out innocently enough, scribbling down your little fantasies and tropes that no self-respecting romance book would touch. then one day, a friend dared you to post one on booktok. 

you thought, "fuck it" and uploaded a snippet of your latest brainchild: a steamy billionaire x star-crossed chef fic called hunger games: not that kind of hungerer. it was, admittedly, extra spicy. 

and oh, did the internet have thoughts.

soon, your comments section and dm’s became a battleground for all opinions on “what qualifies as literature.” gems included:

who even writes this crap? did a middle schooler steal her mom’s laptop? i can feel my brain cells self-destructing as i read this 💀 girl hasn’t even been within a mile radius of a dick and it SHOWS

you'd had to admit… the last comment was right. but hey, they only added to the fuel. 

like moths to a flame, they kept coming back, and the trolling just made your followers skyrocket. a lot of people secretly liked the outrageousness, the drama, and the absolute audacity of it all. before long, your books were trending, and you were raking in numbers (and dollars) most “serious” authors could only dream of.

soon, you found yourself the subject of headlines you never thought you’d see:

the faceless queen of spice: how one unknown author is reshaping romance. trolled online, loved in secret—author sells millions in ebook downloads. social media says she has no idea what she’s talking about, but her bank account says otherwise.

and the kicker?

you’d never had sex with anyone, let alone…well, rocked worlds like your characters. 

here you were, a smut writer with zero real-life experience, who’d single-handedly created booktok’s, bookstagram and hell, even the people down at twitter's guilty pleasure.

but the day big publishers started knocking on your door, it was surreal, to say the least. 

you’d been fully prepared for the anonymous online fame — hell, you’d leaned into it, posting “faceless author life” videos and doing question and answer sessions where you dropped zero identifying details, save for some vague hand gestures and blurred-out backgrounds. but now, major publishing houses wanted in on the action.

“we think your stories have broad market appeal,” one exec had said on a zoom call, trying to make “billionaire mafia love quadrangle” sound dignified. “if we could get them on shelves, we’d reach an audience beyond booktok. international appeal is the goal here!”

suddenly, your filthy, albeit occasionally cringey, tales were going global. they got translated into french (where your enemies-to-lovers series got a fancy new title: l’amour et la haine). your spicy chef saga was reborn in italian as sapore di te, which roughly translated to taste of you (and made you blush, honestly). 

and when your personal favorite, the billionaire’s forbidden touch, hit the japanese market, they titled it 禁断の夜 (which… you didn’t even want to know the translation of, because you knew it was even worse than the original).

you had to admit, though, seeing these books spread worldwide made your head spin. what started as a joke online was now somehow sitting next to classics in international bookstores, becoming a hot commodity for fans everywhere.

but the cherry on top? 

oh, that came when you opened an email from none other than gojo-sonic, the world-renowned audio company best known for its highly specialized audiobook recordings. they’d taken smut literature to the next level, hiring voice actors who sounded like they were in the room with you, all breathy whispers and seductive baritones. people had raved that these audiobooks were “too real” — like they’d been recorded in a closed room with dim lights and a whole lot of… commitment.

they offered you a multi-million dollar deal to turn your books into experiences.

one of your friends, absolutely losing it, texted you as soon as they heard the news:

homegirl [5:21 pm]: “OMG OMG so you’re gonna do it right?? u realize this means ppl will be hearing ur lil virgin brain’s fantasies out loud in their headphones right” you [5:21 pm]: “no kidding. i’m freaking out. this feels illegal.” homegirl [5:22 pm]: “but u gotta!! pls this is ICONIC.” you [5:24 pm]: “they’re giving me millions. you think i’m saying no? lmao.”

it still felt surreal that soon, the whole world would hear your books come to life with professional voice actors — ones who knew exactly how to tease and breathe and make listeners feel like they were right there.

“bring my fantasies to life, huh?” you muttered to yourself, flipping through the contract that would secure your financial future, all because of your fictional men and their, uh, moves. 

who the hell were you to say no to that?

it was surreal enough to get an email from gojo-sonic, but now, sitting across from the ceo himself, gojo satoru, you were starting to wonder if this whole experience was some fever dream.

the man was stunning in an obnoxious, immaculate way. snowy hair, piercing blue eyes, and sunglasses balanced on his head like a headband. and, okay, you had to admit: it was a little weird that he’d named his company after himself — though, frankly, it just fit.

you tried not to laugh when he introduced himself. gojo satoru, ceo of gojo-sonic. the narcissism was off the charts, but so was his charm. as a quick google search before the meeting had revealed, gojo sonic had an impeccable reputation, and there was apparently not a single scandal tied to its name.

“nice to meet you,” you said, shaking his hand and trying to keep your cool. “kinda surprised a guy is running a… company like this. no offense.”

“none taken!” he replied, leaning back in his chair with an easy grin. “if i’m honest, i’m probably the last guy anyone would expect here. but,” he shrugged, “it works. my employees say i’m a ‘girl’s girl,’ whatever that means.”

the way he said it so nonchalantly made you smirk. apparently, the term wasn’t a throwaway nickname, either; the gojo-sonic gossip mill painted him as the absolute dream boss. rumor had it he’d given his whole office a free day off because his assistant had been dumped, and when a writer complained about unisex bathrooms making her uncomfortable, he’d personally had a “feminine touch” added to every single stall, complete with pink hand soap and luxurious lotions. he was kind, considerate, a man who just got it.

“people say i’m probably gay,” he added, laughing as if that was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “and you know what? let ‘em think what they want.” he gave you a wink. “as long as they keep buying the goods, i couldn’t care less.”

honestly? the guy made a point. did it matter who he was taking home at the end of the day? not at all, as long as your bank account kept racking up zeros.

“speaking of,” he continued, “we’ve got the full studio ready for tomorrow. you’ll meet the voice actors, go over a few sections, and give input as needed. think of it like a live theater production, except it’s your book.”

“oh, i get to… watch them record?” you asked, wondering how mortifying it might be to sit there, watching actors give their all to lines like, “you’re mine tonight, darling.” 

yeah, you’d written it, but watching someone breathe life into it was a different level of… embarrassment.

“even better,” gojo grinned, looking far too amused by your nervousness, “you’ll get to guide them. they’ll take direction from you — however you want the line delivered, that’s how they’ll say it.”

“you mean i can… like… make suggestions? on delivery?”

“exactly!” he said with a small clap. “we want it to be perfect. i’ve already arranged for our top voice actor, toji fushiguro, to voice your main character.”

toji fushiguro?

if gojo-sonic was the industry’s top company, toji was the crown jewel of voice acting. the guy was a legend. 

he had that smoky, velvet tone that could turn a mundane grocery list into a full-on romance scene. he was also notoriously elusive; some people waited months to get him to even consider their projects. and you — the virgin author who’d stumbled into fame thanks to trolls and booktok — had him voicing your main character?

“wait, toji fushiguro is doing this?” you asked, jaw practically on the floor.

gojo chuckled, looking far too pleased with your reaction. “yep! i think you two are going to work great together. he’s intense but flexible; really good at taking feedback.”

you tried to imagine giving feedback to toji fushiguro of all people. 

“um, maybe say ‘you’re mine’ with more… conviction?” 

“can you sound a bit more possessive on that line?”

“i, uh…” you managed, trying to swallow your nerves. “okay. yeah. sounds… good.”

“great! i think you’ll be amazed. toji’s professionalism is unmatched, and he’ll bring exactly the level of…” Gojo paused, grinning, “intensity you need to really make your character come to life.”

“good luck tomorrow! i’ll make sure everything’s set up perfectly,” gojo had assured you with a big grin as you left the office. “don’t stress about a thing. our identities are always kept top secret here. toji’s included! he’s never done a face reveal, and your privacy is just as ironclad.”

oh god. tomorrow, you were really going to sit there while toji fushiguro acted out lines you’d written on a whim in your pajamas.

sure, not stressing sounded like a logical plan. but after that surreal conversation — and the realization that tomorrow morning, you’d be face-to-face with the one and only toji fushiguro, hearing him breathe life into your raunchiest fantasies — you did what any responsible, mature adult would do.

you headed straight to the nearest bar and got sloshed.

by the time you were three cocktails deep, the reality of tomorrow’s “firsts” hit you like a ton of bricks. first real direction on an audiobook, first time meeting a voice actor, first time dealing with your own steaminess out loud, and — oh god — the cherry on top, it was toji fushiguro himself.

sure, you thought, sipping from your fourth drink and trying not to scream as lana del rey sings “it’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you,” i might be slightly freaking out.

another cocktail slid your way. you squinted, unsure if you'd ordered it or if the bartender was just reading your general mood, because yeah, you did look like someone who needed another round.

“tough night?”

“tough tomorrow.” you swirled your drink, laughing to yourself. “i mean… you ever written a, uh, totally inappropriate novel and had to watch a famous guy turn it into audio?”

“…can’t say that i have.”

you shrugged, downing a bit more of the drink, when the song on the speakers switched to avril lavigne’s complicated. fitting, given that your life had just become exactly that.

“why’d you have to go and make things so complicated?” avril sang, like she knew.

the bartender, apparently used to the types who showed up for existential crises alone, leaned against the counter. “sounds like big stuff tomorrow, then. what kind of work do you do, anyway?”

“oh, just… smutty novels,” you said, letting it slip before you could stop yourself. “just… page after page of absolutely shameless, absurd filth. and now i’m, y’know, supposed to direct the guy. to make it sound like he’s really, um, in the moment.”

the bartender chuckled, raising a brow. “sounds intense.”

“you have no idea.” you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “he’s this insanely talented voice actor. i mean, they’ve got toji fushiguro in there, which is like… god. if he knew who i actually was, he’d probably laugh.”

why’d you have to go and make things so complicated? avril continued wailing, her words your accidental anthem.

“well, whatever happens,” the bartender said, passing you a glass of water with a grin, “sounds like you’re about to have a pretty interesting morning.”

“i’ll drink to that,” you muttered, clinking your cocktail glass against the water. you downed it, hoping that somehow, it might chase the nerves away.

and as everytime we touch, i get this feeling started blasting on the speakers, you couldn’t help but shake your head with a groan. if there was a playlist made for romantic embarrassment, it was definitely playing tonight.

in your half-sloshed state, it seemed like a good idea to turn to the stranger who’d just sauntered up to the bar — a ridiculously hot stranger, tall with dark hair, and a scar slashing right across his lip. it was the kind of look that would’ve inspired an entire chapter in one of your books, but as of right now? it was just inspiring some truly regrettable choices.

“goodness gracious, great balls of fire,” you muttered to yourself, just loud enough to catch his attention, which felt smooth, in your totally buzzed opinion. so, of course, you swung around on your stool, plastering on what you hoped was an alluring smile.

oh god, here we go. “hey there, handsome…” you paused, hiccuping “… you come here often?”

the stranger raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, leaning an elbow against the bar with a smirk that could kill. “depends,” he said, voice low and rough. “you, uh, always this friendly after a few drinks?”

oh god. 

oh god. 

but you couldn’t stop now. 

you were committed. 

you were bold. 

with all the poise of a drunk giraffe, you propped your elbow on the bar and leaned in closer, pointing a finger at his chest — totally unintentionally, because your depth perception was off by, oh, about a mile. “well, what can i say,” you replied, attempting a sultry grin. “good-lookin’ guys like you… don’t come around often enough, mister.”

“it’s like i’m drunk off your love,” played from the speakers, not helping your case at all. 

oh god, this was actually happening. 

he actually laughed, a warm, deep chuckle, as he watched you struggle through whatever pickup line was about to escape your lips.

he tilted his head, that smirk turning up a notch. “should i be flattered?”

“you should!” you exclaimed, with a bit too much enthusiasm. “you’re like… i dunno, like one of my… you look like a… a fictional character.” 

smooth, real smooth.

“oh yeah?” his smirk widened. “so, what am i, a prince?”

“more like…” you bit your lip, trying to focus, “an antihero with a… tragic past and just enough softness in his heart to make him dangerous in all the right ways.”

he looked you up and down, bemusement clear in his eyes. “dangerous in the right ways? is that your type?”

you gave a shaky wink, nearly missing because the world was swimming a bit. “maybe.”

he chuckled, his voice all rich and velvety, and leaned in closer. “so… you’re here alone? i mean, besides all the fictional men you’re envisioning.”

“for now,” you replied, trying to sound mysterious, but it just came out as a bit… wobbly.

the bartender set the stranger’s drink down with a raised eyebrow, and he took a sip, watching you with amused interest. “you know, maybe you should slow down before you scare all the good guys away.”

“oh, trust me,” you replied, hiccuping again. “i don’t scare easy.”

he shook his head, clearly entertained, and you felt yourself glowing under his gaze. you were about to continue — just as soon as the world stopped spinning — when you felt the slightest bit queasy, your stomach reminding you that you’d had one cocktail too many.

the stranger’s amused smirk softened. “you alright there?”

“i’m…” you swallowed. “perfectly fine. just, you know… making sure you’re… getting the full effect of my…” you barely managed the word “…rizz.”

he laughed outright this time, low and warm, like he genuinely couldn’t believe you were real. “is that so? lucky me.”

it was all going so well — okay, not well, but you were holding your own, kind of. you had him laughing, after all, which for someone with approximately zero charisma was an accomplishment! but then the first chords of firework by katy perry blared through the speakers, and as if on cue, your stomach decided to join in the grand finale.

“do you ever feel like a plastic bag,” katy crooned, but for you, it was more like a “do you ever feel like you’re about to ruin your night by barfing on a hot stranger?”

before you could process what was happening, the tequila-fueled fireworks decided to erupt all over this guy’s very expensive-looking shoes.

oh god. oh god.

you looked up, mortified, to find him staring down at his shoes, eyebrows raised. wow, would you look at the time? 

run.

“oh… oh no. i… i’m so sorry, i swear this never happens.”

he raised a brow, still looking somewhere between amused and horrified. “well, that’s… comforting?”

you grabbed a napkin, fumbling, still buzzing enough to not know if you should laugh, cry, or just make a run for it.

“guess that’s, uh, one way to make an impression,” he murmured, lips twitching in a smirk even as he assessed the disaster on his shoes.

“oh god. really, i’m… i’m so sorry.” you dabbed helplessly at his shoes with a cocktail napkin, somehow making things worse. “if it helps, i… i normally only vomit on hot guys.”

he chuckled, though you were sure it was mostly at you, and shook his head. “well, it’s one hell of an icebreaker.”

“baby, you’re a firework,” katy sang passionately in the background, but you were already ready to crawl under the bar and disappear forever.

you were surprised — actually, you were shocked — that the stranger hadn’t ditched you after the whole public-vomiting-on-his-shoes fiasco. instead, somehow, he was still right there, leaned in close and casually sipping his drink, just as much a mess as you were. hours had passed, and you’d been rambling about anything and everything, lost in an alcohol-fueled bubble that had turned the night into something you’d never have dreamed of.

maybe it was the booze, or maybe it was the guy’s ridiculously calm attitude, but you’d opened up about your career, the absurdity of writing spicy novels as a faceless author, and even your terror about tomorrow. he’d listened with a smirk, offering the occasional snarky remark or grunt of approval. in return, he’d told you a bit about himself too — well, at least, you thought he did. at some point, the details got hazy.

“so, what do you do?” you asked, squinting at him like it was going to make his face stop swimming in your vision.

he shrugged, swirling his drink and giving a lopsided grin. “something kinda like… acting. you know, nothing glamorous.” there was a hint of amusement there, like he was in on a joke you weren’t.

you squinted harder, your mind pulling up images of random professions. “oh, so like… theater? or like, movies? or wait — commercials? are you one of those guys that has to pretend he’s in love with a bowl of soup?”

he let out a deep laugh, and the sound sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. “sure, something like that. though i’d like to think i’m a bit more convincing than a soup guy.”

you grinned, leaning in closer, your curiosity fully piqued despite your state. “convincing, huh? so you’re a good actor, then?”

“i do my best,” he said, voice low, that amused glint in his eye again.

“you have to be really good to make people believe in, like, totally unrealistic things, y’know?” you babbled, waving your hand. “like, imagine trying to voice —” you cut yourself off, feeling a hint of embarrassment as you remembered why you’d gotten so sloshed in the first place. the irony of tomorrow, and how this entire conversation felt like it was straight out of one of your own stories.

but before you could get too in your head about it, he tilted his head, looking genuinely interested. “voice what? i’m curious, princess.”

princess. the nickname sent a bolt of something dangerously warm straight through you, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “oh, nothing…” you said, waving him off. “just, you know… the usual. people who… um, make people fall in love with their voice.”

“and what if i told you,” he leaned in even closer, smirking as if he’d just had the best idea ever, “that i could probably do that?”

you rolled your eyes, not believing him one bit. “oh really? think you could pull it off?”

“depends,” he said with a shrug. “what kinda character am i playing?”

you didn’t realize it, but you’d inched even closer, like you were hanging on his every word. “someone… someone rough around the edges,” you started, your voice dropping, completely lost in the moment, “but with a softness underneath. someone who could make the world stop with just a whisper…”

he smirked, eyes never leaving yours, and for a second, you felt like he was taking every word way too seriously. “i think i could manage that.”

you blinked, feeling a blush rise. 

this stranger had charisma — like, the kind of charisma you’d thought only existed in your characters. 

oh god, maybe you should write him into your next story. you shook yourself, blinking the daydreams away just as he started talking again.

“... and that’s why,” he was saying, “there’s a bit of an art to saying things just right. people think it’s all about the words, but it’s the way you say them that makes it real, y’know?”

you nodded, trying to focus on his words as the room spun just a bit. “so you’re telling me, it’s all in the delivery?”

“exactly.” his gaze dropped to your lips, and he smirked, like he knew exactly what he was doing. “even the… dirtiest lines sound good if you say ’em the right way.”

oh no. that dangerous warmth was back.

somewhere between his intense gaze and that slow, lopsided smirk, dancing queen by abba blared through the bar speakers, jarring you out of your tipsy trance. the upbeat, disco-infused rhythm filled the room, all but laughing at the “moment” you thought you were having with this too-hot-for-reality stranger.

was this a moment? or were you just ridiculously drunk? did he even have a name? or were you just too far gone to have bothered asking?

“you can dance, you can jive,” abba sang, practically mocking you as you stared, wide-eyed, at the man across from you, his scarred lip twisted in a little grin as he watched you piece it all together. he must’ve seen the dawning realization on your face, because he chuckled, reaching for his drink again.

“something wrong, princess?” he asked, leaning forward with a glint of amusement.

oh, great. i’ve already been promoted to ‘princess’ by a guy i might not know the name of. you were seconds away from facepalming.

“uh, nothing,” you said, waving a hand as casually as you could manage. “just, uh, thinking how ironic it is that dancing queen is playing while… we’re, you know…”

“... having a moment?” he teased, clearly enjoying himself.

“well,” you cleared your throat, cheeks blazing, “if you can call me drunkenly staring at you while abba serenades us a ‘moment.’”

“hey, it’s a solid soundtrack choice,” he replied, looking like he was suppressing a laugh. “besides, don’t pretend this isn’t kinda perfect.”

“you think dancing queen is perfect for this?”

he shrugged, sipping his drink. “come on, you’re hammered, i’m here keeping you company, and we’re both, what… living in the moment?” he quirked a brow, his smirk widening as he eyed you, like he was daring you to argue.

and then, maybe out of pure liquid courage, or maybe because the absurdity was too much, you laughed. “yeah, living the moment… with some guy whose name i don’t even know.”

“toji,” he said, offering his hand with a lazy grin, like he’d just handed you a secret.

“toji,” you echoed, shaking his hand. he held on for a second longer than necessary, his gaze never leaving yours.

 oh, this guy was trouble, and you were in so deep.

“and you?” he asked, still holding your hand.

you barely managed to whisper your name, but it came out like a sigh, and he repeated it back like it was something precious. “well then,” he said, smirking, “guess that makes two dancing queens tonight.”

“toji…” you muttered, the name slipping off your tongue again as you tried to place it. there was something familiar about it, like you’d heard it before, but in your tequila-drenched state, nothing was sticking. 

toji, toji… where had you heard that name?

he cocked an eyebrow, clearly amused as you stared at him like he was the world’s most frustrating puzzle. “something on your mind?”

“n-no,” you stammered, then immediately backpedaled. “wait, actually, yes. toji, right?”

he nodded, a playful gleam in his eye. “that’s the one.”

“toji… toji…” you repeated, squinting at him as if a clearer view would magically connect the dots. and then, it hit you — toji fushiguro. 

the voice actor who would be bringing your spicy, shamelessly dramatic main character to life. 

the same guy you were supposed to meet tomorrow, the guy who was probably used to making everyone’s knees buckle with just a whisper.

“no way…” you whispered, clutching your head, and you could practically feel the blush creeping up your cheeks. “you — you’re… that toji?”

he gave a slight tilt of his head, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “what, surprised that i could be both hot and talented?”

you sputtered, trying to backtrack and failing miserably. “no! i mean, yes, but i just — tomorrow —  you’re… you’re the guy who’s voicing my main character?”

he leaned back with a smirk, clearly enjoying the whirlwind of emotions he was putting you through. “didn’t think the universe would give you a sneak preview tonight, huh?”

your fuzzy brain struggled to compute this twist of fate. you were drunk, mortified, and beyond flustered, sitting in a bar with the man who’d soon be giving voice to all your filthy, shameless words. this was almost too much.

“oh my god,” you muttered, sinking back in your seat. “i literally threw up on my main character’s shoes.”

toji let out a hearty laugh, patting your shoulder. “hey, if anything, i’d say it’s on-brand for the kind of night you’d write.”

just as you were processing the sheer, ridiculous insanity of the situation, a fresh wave of nausea hit you like a freight train. before you could even react, you leaned forward and… splattered the floor with a decidedly not-dignified stream of bile. this time, it was almost cinematic, complete with a dramatic gagging sound that had you doubling over.

you watched in horror as you once again spewed your insides onto the floor, narrowly missing toji’s shoes but definitely adding a new layer to the already mortifying scene. 

you’d probably just hit rock bottom.

“oh, god,” you groaned, covering your mouth with your hand as the bile burned your throat. “i swear… i’m not normally like this.”

toji chuckled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he handed you a stack of napkins the bartender had generously supplied. “i’m starting to think i’m just a little too overwhelming for you, princess.”

you shot him a sheepish look as you wiped your mouth. overwhelming was an understatement. 

“yeah, maybe we can leave that out of tomorrow’s team introductions,” you mumbled, trying desperately to pull yourself together.

toji chuckled, tossing a few more napkins your way. “no judgment here. it’s a rough night for a first ‘meet-cute,’ but hey, you’re nothing if not memorable.”

you gripped the napkin, willing yourself to hold it together, at least until you could make a semi-dignified exit. “i don’t even want to know what story you’ll tell people about this.”

toji just laughed, completely unbothered, as if getting vomited on was a regular night for him. “don’t worry, i’ll keep it discreet.” his voice dipped, lowering to a murmur. “for a girl with secrets, i figure you’d appreciate that.”

he lifted his drink and gave you a small toast. “to first meetings — and unforgettable nights. and hey, maybe tomorrow, you’ll surprise me and keep it down.”

oh, god, you thought, as you attempted to bury yourself in your napkin. if only i could crawl under the bar and hide forever.

normally, you wouldn’t wake up with “dancing queen” stuck in your head, but as you nursed the remnants of a truly terrible hangover, it felt almost... pleasant? the upbeat melody cut through the fog of your brain, and you couldn’t help but hum along, even if the lyrics felt like a cruel reminder of your embarrassing escapades from the night before.

“you can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life...”

wait, why dancing queen of all songs? you squinted at your alarm clock, your heart racing as the memories started flooding back like a poorly written rom-com. oh.

OH.

your eyes widened as you bolted out of bed with a speed that could make an olympic runner blush, frantically throwing on whatever clothes you could find — did you seriously still have a piece of glitter from last night stuck in your hair? gross! but no time for a shower; you had a meeting to get to at gojo-sonic, and you were about to meet — erm, remeet — toji fushiguro.

“ooh, see that girl, watch that scene, digging the dancing queen...”

as the lyrics blared in your head like an incessant movie soundtrack, you dashed out the door, praying you’d catch a cab in time. the universe couldn’t possibly let you walk into this meeting looking like a hot mess — especially when your main character's voice was waiting on the other side.

“you’re a tease you turn ‘em on…leave ‘em burning and then you’re gone…”

you rolled your eyes at your own ridiculousness. who cared if you’d practically thrown up on the guy? all you had to do was survive your own personal dance-off with fate and hope toji didn’t remember the lovely little details from last night.

you took a deep breath, determined to channel all the confidence you could muster. today was going to be great. right?

as you walked into the meeting room, gojo practically huffed an air of relief. you couldn’t help but think it was a little dramatic — like, it’s just a meeting. you took a deep breath, trying to shake off the last remnants of your hangover and the lingering embarrassment of last night’s vomit-venture.

the room was brightly lit, filled with a few familiar faces, including toji, who was leaning casually against a table with that annoyingly charming grin plastered on his face. 

great. you’d somehow forgotten just how hot he was in the light of day. 

toji’s presence made your stomach flutter and flip, but you shoved that feeling down — this was business, after all.

you scanned the room and spotted gojo-sonic’s most valued investor suguru geto on a screen in the corner, his hair tied back and eyes sharp as he joined the meeting online. wow, great first impression! with a sudden wave of panic, you could almost hear the dancing queen lyrics mocking you in the back of your mind. what’s next, bursting into song?

“hey, look who finally made it!” toji said, amusement dancing in his eyes. perfect. if he was going to make light of your grand entrance, you had to think fast to steer the conversation away from the disaster that was last night.

“sorry for keeping you all waiting,” you replied, forcing a smile that hopefully didn’t look too forced. “i had... a crazy night.”

toji raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “crazy night, huh? did you bring us any stories?”

you shot him a warning glance, your heart racing as you internally pleaded with him not to say anything that could ruin your career. thankfully, he just chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning back, letting the moment hang in the air without any revealing comments.

“i think we’d all like to hear that,” suguru said, his tone teasing as he adjusted the camera. “but let’s save the fun stuff for later, right? we’ve got work to do.”

you nodded, grateful for suguru’s timely intervention. “yes, absolutely! so, uh, about the voice work —”

the atmosphere shifted as the others exchanged knowing glances, and you knew you’d have to tread carefully. this meeting was crucial, and you couldn’t let last night’s incident derail everything you’d worked for. with any luck, maybe you could just keep your foot out of your mouth for the rest of the meeting.

toji always knew he was hot.

i mean, how could he not? 

with a jawline that could slice bread and a smirk that could charm the pants off anyone, confidence practically dripped off him like a cologne commercial. but the real question was: how to channel this hotness and turn it into something lucrative? great question! 

being a single dad to wasn’t easy, and running from odd job to odd job just to scrape enough money for the brat’s school was proving to be tiresome. until one day, a certain gojo satoru decided to drop a bombshell on him.

“toji, you ever think about using that voice of yours for something... more creative?” gojo asked, leaning back in his office chair, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“creative? what, like narrating my life as a sad single dad?” toji replied dryly, rolling his eyes. “because let me tell you, it’s not exactly a page-turner.”

“no, no, hear me out!” gojo insisted, practically bouncing in his seat. “i’m talking about voice acting — specifically, erotic audiobooks. it’s the next big thing!”

toji blinked, momentarily stunned. “you mean to tell me that the former bouncer at an elite club would be voicing erotic audiobooks? saying those weird, cringey lines that women seem to love? you’re insane.”

“think about it! you have the looks, the voice, and the whole mysterious vibe down pat,” gojo urged, waving his hands dramatically. “besides, you need the cash, and i need someone to bring a little... heat to my company.”

“you really think people want to hear me read lines like, ‘take me, you wild beast?’” toji quipped, snorting.

fast forward to his first recording session, where everything seemed to be going smoothly until disaster struck. toji was deep in character, delivering his best sexy voice when — bam! — the bathroom pipe exploded in his tiny flat.

“oh god, yes, just like that —” he started, voice dripping with sultry charm, when suddenly, a muffled splash! interrupted him, followed by megumi’s wail from the other room.

“dad! there’s water everywhere!”

toji cursed under his breath, trying to maintain his composure. “i’m coming! just... give me a second, i’m — ah, it’s getting so hot in here!” he struggled to continue, desperately trying to block out the chaos around him while the sounds of the pipe gushing water filled the audio.

but it turned out hormones took over the technical difficulties, because when the snippet was finally released, women and men of all ages were devouring it like it was the last slice of pizza at a party. it even went viral on tiktok, with cringe-worthy wannabes trying to recreate his sultry lines, failing miserably while toji sat back, amused.

“really? you think you can pull this off?” he chuckled to himself, watching one kid awkwardly mimic him. “nice try, kid. but good luck sounding this good while your mom’s screaming at you for hogging the bathroom.”

because toji wasn’t just a househusband — house father — anymore. he was a household name, and everyone knew him. his rise to fame was a wild ride, but hey, at least now he could afford to get the bathroom fixed — one line at a time.

he could hardly wrap his head around how he’d managed to move out of his tiny, crumbling apartment and into a much better place for him and megumi. it was like waking up one day and realizing he’d accidentally won the lottery. “wait, how did i end up here?” he’d mutter to himself, staring at the pristine walls and polished floors. “and how the hell can i pay megumi’s school fees on time without dodging dirty glares from the accounts office?”

he’d walk into the school, head held high, while megumi proudly puffed out his eight-year-old chest. “my daddy’s an actor!” he’d announce to anyone who would listen. toji couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. i mean, the kid wasn’t wrong. he was acting — acting like he had his life together, at least!

but did his new job stop toji from being a little hoe? oh, hell no. 

if anything, the fame went straight to his head — both up and down there, mind you. toji was like a kid in a candy store, and he was using his newfound charm to siphon money from literally every sugar mommy he could find. 

and daddies, too, if he was feeling daring. 

because people would die to be known as someone “close” to the toji fushiguro.

“oh my god, is that him?” a passerby would whisper, nudging her friend as they walked past toji at a private event.

“i think it is! i heard he’s dating someone famous,” her friend would respond, leaning in as if they were sharing a juicy secret. “i’ve seen him at that new club downtown. he’s just so... magnetic.”

“totally! i mean, if i could get him to call me ‘sweetheart’ just once, i’d die a happy woman,” the first friend would say, fluttering her eyelashes dramatically.

toji would smirk to himself, sipping his drink while casually overhearing their chatter. “yep, you’re right. i’m as available as a 24/7 convenience store,” he’d think, reveling in the attention. "i could probably charm the pants off a rock if i tried."

another group of giggling fans would walk by, whispering amongst themselves, “i met him at that charity event last week! he was so sweet! like, did you see the way he talked to everyone? he’s definitely a heartthrob.”

“sweet? you mean hot, right?” one of them would tease, and they’d all burst into laughter.

“please, if he looked at me, i’d die!” another would declare, all starry-eyed.

toji’s smirk widened. “keep it coming, ladies. i’m just here for the show.” he couldn’t deny it; being the center of attention was intoxicating, and he was loving every second of it.

with a wink and a little wave, he’d keep strutting through life like a runway model, knowing full well he had the power to turn heads and keep wallets open. “who knew being a hot voice actor could be this fun?”

great that you’d ask what toji did with all that sweet, sweet cash! save it all for his brat of a son, of course, even if he wouldn’t admit it. beneath that rugged exterior and playful swagger, he had a soft spot for the little sucker.

just the other week, megumi had been rambling on about wanting a really cool new video game console. “but daddy, alllll my friends have one! it’s so unfair!” he’d whined, big blue eyes practically shimmering with hope. toji had rolled his eyes, trying to act tough, but the moment he saw the kid's face, his heart melted like butter on a hot skillet. “fine, but only if you promise to finish your homework first.”

the next day, megumi had unwrapped a brand-new console, complete with all the latest games, and toji had basked in the sheer delight radiating from his son. “this is the best day ever!” megumi had screamed, wrapping his arms around toji’s waist. “thank you, daddy!”

toji grinned like an idiot, pretending to be unimpressed. “yeah, yeah, don’t go losing it on the first day, alright? and remember, no playing after eight!” he was basically a walking contradiction: a grumpy dad who secretly loved being the cool parent.

then there was that time megumi had been obsessed with this rare action figure from his favorite show. toji had seen the way his son’s eyes lit up every time he spotted it in a store, but it was always sold out. so, naturally, when toji found one online at a steep price, he didn’t hesitate. “i’ll just skip my overpriced rum for a week. totally worth it.”

when megumi had opened the package, he’d literally jumped in the air, screeching like a siren. “no way! you got it for me!?” and toji had played it cool, shrugging his shoulders. “what can i say? your dad’s a generous guy.”

of course, this indulgence didn’t go unnoticed by gojo satoru. the six eyes — er, eyes! — of the man always seemed to be on toji, especially when he noticed his friend was splurging just a little too much on himself — like that new leather jacket that looked ridiculously good on him. 

“i need a jacket like that,” gojo had muttered to himself, glancing at his own wardrobe with disappointment.

whenever toji treated himself, gojo would quietly slide a check over to him, nonchalantly muttering, “just a little something for megumi’s school expenses.”

some people would have viewed it as offensive or patronizing, but not toji. he’d always laughed it off, feeling grateful instead. in his mind, gojo was like a guardian angel — “if guardian angels wore sunglasses and had a taste for expensive sweets.” he saw it as gojo looking out for megumi, which made toji’s heart swell with warmth. “who else would want to help raise my kid? might as well accept it.”

“just don’t make a habit of it, alright?” toji would say with a teasing grin. “i don’t need you spoiling him more than i do.”

“too late,” gojo would quip, already plotting ways to sneak more gifts into megumi’s life. “it’s my new hobby.”

so, when gojo casually dropped the bomb that toji would be voicing one of the hottest, trending smut book — “mating with the demon king” or something equally ridiculous — toji shrugged it off. “simple enough job,” he thought. “and it must be good if they came to me for it.”

but when gojo suggested he read the book to get an idea of the material — “just a little prep work,” he’d said with that infuriatingly charming grin — things took a wild turn.

big mistake, toji would later reflect as he flipped through the pages, his eyebrows shooting up higher than a roller coaster. “who writes this stuff?” he muttered, half-laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all.

the content was downright depraved. there were scenes that had him questioning his entire existence. 

“‘he thrust into her like a man possessed, each stroke igniting a fire within her’ — what even is that?” he read aloud, only to burst out laughing at the ridiculousness. megumi, playing quietly in the other room, wondered why his daddy was cackling like a madman.

“uh, daddy? why are you reading that out loud?” megumi had peeked in, eyes wide with curiosity. toji quickly scrambled to shut the book. “uh, just… learning about, uh, cooking techniques!” he stammered, trying to play it cool. “you wouldn’t get it, buddy.”

but the laughter continued to bubble out of him, and he couldn’t help but read some of the more ludicrous lines. “‘his lips found her collarbone, trailing heat like a wildfire’ — who even talks like that?” he shook his head, utterly bemused.

by the end of the chapter, he was howling. “‘she gasped as he swept her off her feet and into a world of ecstasy’ — oh please!” toji chortled, clutching his stomach, imagining how this would all sound through a microphone. “my kid is gonna think i’ve lost my goddamn mind.”

but hey, if this job was going to pay the bills, he figured he could endure a little humiliation. “it’s all in a day’s work, right?” he muttered to himself, finally accepting that he was now the voice of “mating with the demon king.”

all that reading really took its toll on toji — physically, mentally, spiritually even. after hours spent tripping over lines like “pressed against the throbbing heat of his desire” (yeah, that one took five tries to get through without laughing), he needed to clear his head. so, he found himself at a bar, halfway through a drink, hoping to numb the embarrassment he’d just endured in the name of rent money.

then stumbles this stranger — a cute, very tipsy stranger who quickly parked herself right next to him and started chatting him up, wide-eyed and slightly unsteady. great, drunk people, he thought, resisting an eyeroll as she grinned at him, looking ready to either start a fight or profess her love. 

maybe both.

of course, what are the odds she’d go ahead and throw up on his shoes? yes, his brand-new shoes, because, apparently, the universe had decided that tonight, toji fushiguro would be the world’s personal punching bag. “can’t even get through one drink without some shit happening,” he muttered to himself as she looked up at him with a horrified expression. “we’re off to a great start here, huh?”

after some water and some awkward apologies (mostly her apologizing, mostly him trying not to laugh), they fell into surprisingly decent conversation. she was rambling about her job, the stress, the weird demands — stuff he could sympathize with, honestly. 

and that’s when he dropped it, just for fun: “i’m a voice actor.”

her eyes sparkled with recognition — a little too much recognition, actually, which made him narrow his eyes. “wait, what’s your name?” she asked, suddenly all ears.

“toji. toji fushiguro.”

the second he said it, her face went from curious to horrified to... oh yeah, she knew exactly who he was. “wait,” she gasped, putting her hand over her mouth. “you’re... you’re the voice actor for my book.”

toji raised an eyebrow, deadpan. 

so this was the writer, the one who wrote all that nonsense he’d been struggling through for days. well, wasn’t that just the cherry on top. not only was this his boss but also the very person responsible for phrases like “pulsing need” and “moans spilling like honey.” and she’d just puked on him. 

talk about a power move.

“small world,” he said, his tone dry as desert sand. wonderful, he thought. my boss threw up on me. but, hey, the night was still young. 

he took a long sip from his drink, hoping she wouldn’t take this as an excuse to unleash some kind of creative critique.

“i... i didn’t know you’d be here,” she stammered, a shade redder than before, probably realizing what this made her look like — her, the lady behind the “throbbing heat of desire” shtick.

“don’t worry,” he said, giving her a smirk. “i won’t tell anyone the literary mastermind responsible for all that... romance has a weak stomach.”

you probably don’t remember much after you composed yourself following that second round of projectile embarrassment — but don’t worry, toji remembers. the man’s got a steel trap for the kinds of memories you’d prefer stayed buried. once he’d figured out that you weren’t exactly in shape to be left wandering around, he made the executive decision to get you home. yeah, he’d just met you a couple hours ago, but somehow, through the boozy haze and questionable life choices, he’d managed to catch your address. 

impressive detective work, really… or, well, you may have blurted it out mid-ramble about how “the streetlight outside is the only thing lighting up your lonely hallway.” 

a touch dramatic, but, hey, it worked.

so he got you back to your place (no thanks to the cab driver’s judgmental side-eye), got you up the stairs without you faceplanting, and, after propping you up long enough to unlock your door, he even went the extra mile and tucked you under the covers. you, meanwhile, mumbled something about “tequila being the devil,” blissfully oblivious to the poor guy who’d just witnessed more of your personal life than your closest friends. toji took one last look before heading out, chuckling to himself as you drifted off, probably already dreaming of whatever literary nonsense you’d be writing next.

but what really stuck with him? the damn “dancing queen” chorus ringing in his ears from the bar. maybe it was still playing somewhere out there in the night, or maybe you’d just cursed him with it. because as he walked home, hands shoved in his pockets, there it was, looping over and over in his head. 

“you can dance… you can jive…” 

great, now he’d be humming it for days.

both you and toji were snapped back into the fluorescent-lit reality of the conference room, where gojo was still going on about… royalties? percentages? to be honest, the entire spiel sounded more like corporate white noise to you. 

toji, on the other hand, was leaning back in his chair, looking as disinterested as humanly possible without actually falling asleep. across the screen, suguru appeared in one of those stiff, all-business modes, nodding along to gojo’s speech. his eyes had that telltale sparkle that only appeared when money was the topic — “stakeholder perks,” as gojo would call it, though it just meant suguru got to rake in extra cash on the side.

“and once the audiobook’s live, the split from the sales will be recalculated quarterly, yadda yadda, yadaaa —” gojo’s voice broke into a sing-song, clearly amusing only himself. “anyway, you guys will see some real sweet checks from this.”

“royalties…” suguru interjected, a bit too smoothly, “remind me what those projected percentages were again, satoru?”

toji suppressed a snort. here they were, with the man himself who could barely be bothered to read a weather report straight, much less your raunchy magnum opus. good luck explaining earnings, gojo.

“oh yeah, royalties!” gojo cleared his throat, launching into a number-laden monologue that seemed to somehow both explain everything and nothing at once. toji barely listened, glancing at the digital clock on the wall. it was only when gojo pivoted, with a suddenly very pointed look, that toji actually tuned back in.

“so, did everyone do their, ah, homework?” gojo grinned as his gaze swept across the room, his eyes landing on you with a bit too much knowing amusement. “read the… material?”

you shuffled uncomfortably in your seat, and every other voice actor in the room suddenly found the table, the wall, or their own shoes very interesting.

all except toji, of course, who stretched back with the most obnoxious smirk you’d seen yet.

“homework?” he drawled, deadpan as always. “yeah, got right into it. wouldn’t want to miss a single word of that… fine literature.”

a few of the others exchanged awkward looks, clearly unsure how to respond to the dead-serious way toji said fine literature without a shred of irony. meanwhile, you shrank a little in your seat, not exactly loving the fact that the guy you threw up on was apparently the one voice actor who actually read your work cover-to-cover. not to mention, this was toji fushiguro, the voice actor who’d taken the world by storm with a single, leaked snippet. you'd heard your fans say that he was some kind of god-tier talent — practically a household name. and now? 

he was casually staring you down like he'd just read your diary.

“it’s… it’s not that bad,” you muttered defensively, feeling a prickling heat rise up your neck.

toji raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “oh, didn’t say it was bad. just, uh… thorough.”

you felt the blush intensify, but before you could reply, gojo jumped back in, undeterred. “great! since everyone’s read it now, we’ll dive into scene breakdowns tomorrow, with input from our illustrious author here.” he winked at you in that annoyingly playful way of his, as if he’d just orchestrated the whole thing for kicks. “it’s all about bringing your vision to life, yeah?”

“looking forward to it.” toji’s tone was smooth, with just enough emphasis to hint at the mischief lying behind his calm expression. you could swear there was a glimmer of challenge in his eyes, and the fact that he’d actually read the book — a book that you wrote in a creative haze, no less — was beginning to feel less like a weird coincidence and more like some cosmic joke at your expense.

suguru’s voice broke through, “and let’s hope that translates to success, right, gojo? my dividends would certainly appreciate it.”

“oh, don’t you worry, sugu bear.” gojo leaned in with that shark-like grin of his. “with toji voicing this masterpiece, and the author right here to guide us? we’re printing money already.”

with a dramatic flourish, gojo clapped his hands together, instantly breaking the tension. “alright, dismissed! snacks are out front — help yourselves, or not! more for me, after all,” he added, a mischievous glint in his eye as he clearly envisioned his sugary hoard.

suguru took this moment as his graceful exit cue, giving a short nod before the screen blinked off. gojo sighed theatrically, clasping his chest. “oh, suguru, leaving so soon? you wound me! who’s going to discuss ‘dividends’ and ‘royalties’ with me now?”

nobody had the heart — or possibly the patience — to answer that question, which suited gojo just fine as he spun on his heel, making his way toward the snack table. 

you, meanwhile, considered vanishing altogether, at least until the next segment of the day when you’d actually need to make yourself useful. judging by the energy in the room, none of the other voice actors were in a rush to strike up a conversation with you. 

ouch. apparently, being the creator of their next project wasn’t that much of a social asset.

you edged toward the door, already halfway to freedom when, like clockwork, a deep, familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. “leaving so soon?”

you didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. obnoxious didn’t even cover half of it. “just… thought i’d give you guys a break from me,” you muttered, gripping the strap of your bag tighter, hoping it looked casual instead of like an attempt to bolt.

toji’s laugh was low, almost teasing. “a break? i don’t mind the company. in fact, i think the others are just shy.” his words were smooth, but there was a mischievous lilt to them, like he was very aware of just how uncomfortable you probably were.

“right,” you deadpanned, summoning every ounce of sarcasm you had left. “they’re all just shy.”

he chuckled, falling into step beside you as you made your way to the snack table. gojo was already there, unabashedly sampling a tray of tiny cupcakes. he shot you both a grin that was, in all honesty, more threatening than friendly. 

oh god, why is he looking at us like that?

“so!” gojo swiped another cupcake, leaning back against the table as he took in you and toji with an almost too-pleased expression. “getting along, are we? i mean, it’s not every day you get to work so closely with the voice behind your book, right?” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, as if trying to ignite some sort of spark just to make things interesting.

toji, unbothered as ever, shrugged. “she already threw up on me. might as well be friends after that, huh?”

oh my god. 

you felt the flush rise to your face instantly, a mix of embarrassment and horror. he did not just bring that up in front of gojo, of all people.

“aww, how cute!” gojo crooned, looking absolutely delighted as he clapped his hands in that overly-enthusiastic, not-at-all sincere way. “bonding over bodily fluids. you guys are practically soulmates!”

“please, kill me now,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at the snack table like it might provide an escape hatch.

toji leaned in, voice dropping to a near whisper, and you could practically hear the smirk in his tone. “don’t worry, author. i’ve seen worse.”

“great, that’s… comforting,” you muttered, resisting the urge to roll your eyes as you grabbed a snack at random. at this point, you were ready to make a quick exit, potentially before the day’s work even started if it meant escaping this scene.

“now, don’t run off too fast,” gojo added, wagging a finger at you with a sly grin. “i’m expecting all of us back here in an hour, nice and energized. don’t want any excuses!”

toji shot you one last look, equal parts teasing and unreadable, before he turned to grab a coffee. “guess you’re stuck with me for a little longer,” he murmured, a faint glimmer of humor in his eyes.

wonderful. absolutely wonderful. well, at least there’s cupcakes.

it’s only five minutes into the recording session, and you’re already wondering if there’s a job market for earth-burrowing positions. if there is, you’d gladly take it. anything would be better than this…circus.

the sound booth is packed with voice actors delivering line after line of your book’s carefully crafted (painfully cheesy) smutty dialogue. you bite your lip, both cringing and resisting the urge to laugh out loud as one of the actors, a slender guy with an unfortunate tendency to over-dramatize every vowel, reads his line with a tragic sigh.

“i can’t help it… i just want to devour you.”

devour you? you want to throw yourself into the nearest trash can. before you can stop yourself, you lean forward into the mic, managing a half-apologetic, half-pleading tone. “uh, could you maybe… ease up on the ‘devour’ part? like, less dramatic, more… suave?”

he nods seriously, doing a quick vocal warm-up before trying again. “i can’t help it… i just want to devoooour—”

“nope! nope, nope, nope!” you blurt, a little louder than you intended, the cringe spiraling out of control. you quickly clear your throat, trying to sound as professional as possible. “let’s, uh, maybe just skip to the next line.”

from the corner of the room, you catch sight of gojo, who’s grinning so widely you’re genuinely concerned his face might stay that way forever. he’s watching you with an infectious enthusiasm that’s bordering on manic, his eyes practically sparkling with amusement. you’re half-expecting him to yell, “surprise! this is an snl skit!”

you rub at your temple, wishing the earth would do you a solid and open up beneath you, while the next actor — a petite, sweet-looking woman who’s visibly uncomfortable — takes her turn. she clears her throat, looking down at her script, and delivers the line in a barely-there whisper, “i… i want you to take me… take me as if…”

“um…” you grimace, instantly feeling the heat rise to your face. “maybe a bit louder? but, you know, sensual.”

she blushes, muttering something under her breath before raising her voice, though it’s still trembling. “i… i want you to… take me… as if…”

toji, who’s been watching the whole scene from his seat, chuckles lowly, and his smirk sends a jolt of embarrassment through you. “jeez, author, why don’t you just hop in there and show ’em how it’s done?” he mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm, though it’s not unkind.

you throw him a flat look, biting back an eye roll. not like i wanted to be here, you think to yourself. it’s just that somehow, the universe decided that today you’d be responsible for turning lines you’d never want to say out loud into something even remotely palatable.

and it only gets worse. 

another actor — a deep-voiced, well-meaning guy in his mid-40s — leans into his mic and reads out, in a gruff voice you can only describe as a rejected batman impersonation: “you’re driving me… wild.” his tone is so intense it’s like he’s threatening to fight the listener in a parking lot.

“okay… we might want to dial it back a little,” you say carefully, hoping to mask your horror with politeness. “just… a little less ‘supervillain,’ more… warm?”

you hear toji chuckle behind you, low and rumbling, clearly reveling in your suffering. and as you glance over your shoulder, you find gojo, once again, looking like this is the best entertainment he’s had in years. 

at this point, he might actually cry from laughing.

just when you think it can’t get any worse, toji stands, giving you a wink as he heads into the booth for his turn. he takes the mic, his face blank and unreadable as he starts reading the next line.

“i need you… right now,” he purrs, his voice oozing that lazy, sensual charm you’d envisioned for this character. it’s… almost unfair, really. 

there’s not an ounce of irony or overacting. 

toji’s delivery is so smooth, so confident, that it catches you off guard, a flush rising to your cheeks.

gojo lets out a low whistle, giving you a teasing look as if to say, see? was that so hard?

“finally,” you mutter under your breath, swallowing the lump in your throat. gojo raises a brow, clearly enjoying every second of your awkwardness.

you sigh, mentally bracing yourself for the rest of the recording. if nothing else, at least one actor seems to have nailed the tone — much to your embarrassment and gojo’s endless delight.

you clear your throat, attempting to regain some semblance of control over the recording session, which is proving to be harder than herding a pack of caffeinated cats. “right, everyone, let’s, uh, keep moving and go ahead with recording the dragon king’s lines. toji, if you’re ready?”

but you barely finish your sentence before gojo claps toji on the shoulder with that all-too-annoying bromance energy, grinning from ear to ear. “our star is ready, aren’t ya, toji? i mean, look at this guy! look at him! can’t believe i found this gem for gojo-sonic!” gojo’s voice carries that infuriatingly proud tone that practically drips with smug satisfaction.

you stifle an eye roll, and even the other actors exchange glances, half-annoyed, half-amused at gojo’s over-the-top fawning. but before you can jump in to cut gojo off, toji just smirks, sliding comfortably into the mic like he was born to deliver cheesy lines.

“alright, alright,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. “let’s see what you’ve got, mr. dragon king.”

toji adjusts the headphones, his lazy smirk already primed. 

and then he begins, voice low and sultry, hitting each cringe-worthy word with the same ridiculous gravitas that has the whole room mesmerized.

“i have waited eons for a beauty like yours to grace my realm. come… be mine, and together we shall rule the heavens.”

you can practically feel everyone holding their breath, transfixed by the sheer sincerity in his tone, despite the line’s absurdity. you, too, can’t help but feel a blush creeping up your neck, which is just unfair given you wrote these lines. 

you knew what they were meant to sound like, but this? 

he’s delivering them like they’re damn poetry.

toji doesn’t stop there, though, his deep voice carrying each line as though he’s serenading the mic. “my heart burns with a fire only you can soothe. take my hand, and i swear to guard your heart with my very life.”

gojo is practically fawning, batting his eyelashes like a proud parent in the corner. “see, people, this is how it’s done! let the dragon king here show you amateurs how it’s really supposed to sound!”

you resist the urge to chuck something at gojo as the other actors’ eyes widen, watching in awe.

one of them mutters under their breath, “no way we’re topping that.”

and then, toji’s voice dips even lower, the next line coming out in a growl that somehow manages to be both dramatic and, disturbingly, kind of… enchanting.

“you are the breath in my lungs, the flame in my veins. without you, i am but a shadow… a beast in the dark.”

the room is dead silent. 

you’re all fawning, gushing messes, and you’re not even sure how it happened. it’s like toji’s somehow turned this trial recording into an absurdly hot moment. you can barely believe you’re hearing the same lines you once labeled “ridiculously cringey” in the draft.

finally, he leans back, looking pleased with himself, as if he hadn’t just left everyone a little breathless. gojo practically beams with pride, nudging you. 

“so… i think you’ve found your dragon king, wouldn’t you say?”

you nod, still stunned, half in disbelief, half in begrudging admiration. if this was just the trial recording, you could only imagine how many blushing, starry-eyed listeners this final audiobook was going to leave in its wake.

the moment the trial recording session wraps up, gojo is the first one on his feet, clapping his hands like he's just watched the performance of a lifetime. “brilliant!” he practically shouts, pulling out his phone faster than you can blink. “suguru needs to hear this,” he mutters, already dialing his business partner like a kid who can’t wait to brag about his latest toy.

sometimes you really do forget that gojo is the ceo of a multi-million dollar company — an erotic audiobook company, no less. 

is he this passionate about the art, or is it just the money? either way, watching him fanboy over his own employee leaves you a mix of amused and exhausted.

there’s a charm to it, though, even if it’s a little baffling to witness in real time.

as the energy in the studio starts to mellow, you find yourself actually breathing a bit easier. for once, things seem to be going smoothly. 

maybe this whole collaboration wouldn’t be a disaster after all. 

you let yourself relax, even if a small part of your brain chides you with a quick reminder: next time, skip the cheap caffeine fix when you’re pulling an all-nighter writing smut. 

or… cheap anything, really. 

yeah, you don’t actually smoke, you remind yourself — except, well, that one time in college, but hey, that was a whole different you. one that should stay buried in the relics of questionable decisions, right next to your spiral-bound notes of embarrassingly bad poetry.

just as you’re praying to the universe that this is all going to wrap up without any extra drama, you hear it. the sound that’s become both your nightmare and… okay, maybe, a little less than that.

“well, princess,” toji’s voice rumbles, his tone as amused as it is teasing, “got anything else you want from your dragon king?”

you close your eyes and will the ground to open up beneath you, but nope, nothing. 

nothing but the sound of your heartbeat doing an awkward little tango in your chest.

of course he’d pick now to resurrect that ridiculous moniker from last night. like it wasn’t humiliating enough when he threw it out there while you were a couple drinks deep and all but glued to your seat at the bar. 

oh, you’re practically begging the universe to put you out of your misery — well, actually, now that you think about it, maybe being wrapped up in those beefy arms wouldn’t be the worst fate…

wow. get a grip, girl. this is the caffeine deprivation talking. 

definitely that.

but then toji smirks at you, an eyebrow raised, as if he’s just dared you to respond. and all you can think is… oh, lord, this man is trouble.

"c’mon, just a drink,” toji insists, flashing that devil-may-care grin that both ruins and improves your day within a matter of seconds. he’s leaning back like he’s got all the time in the world, casually ignoring how you definitely don’t. 

“trust me, princess, it’ll settle your nerves.”

it’s not like you need a reminder of the mess that was last night. every foggy memory swirls in your head, like life’s own cruel version of a mocktail — one garnished with shame, regret, and a generous helping of last night’s tequila. 

if anything, adding more drinks to this equation feels about as smart as walking blindfolded into traffic.

but toji’s already up, stretching like he’s completely unaware of the chaotic memories this whole “outing” is summoning. “just a quick look around gojo-sonic, yeah?” he says, nodding toward the maze of hallways beyond the studio door, his face the perfect picture of innocence.

“you’re new here, and it’s… important to know the lay of the land. work reasons.”

you can practically hear the quotation marks around that “work reasons.”

“you know,” he adds with a wink, “never hurts to see where the magic happens.”

yeah, right. you have a feeling the only magic here is him somehow dragging you deeper into your personal nightmare.

you don’t even get the chance to respond with a yes, no, or a “maybe next century” when toji’s phone lights up and his whole expression darkens. not exactly the look you expect from the guy whose voice practically ruined half the internet last month with that infamous line about... well, yeah, better not go there right now.

“satoru, the brat got into a fight,” he growls into the phone, and suddenly, satoru’s jaw hits the floor with such force you can practically hear it from across the studio. toji doesn’t stick around for a reply, though — he’s already striding toward the door like a man with a purpose, ignoring satoru’s spluttered, “the what did who?”

and somehow — god knows how — you find yourself tagging along like it’s the most natural thing in the world. maybe it’s curiosity, maybe it’s the thrill of seeing toji in full boss mode, or maybe it’s just because, oh, y’know, “responsible adult and responsibilities” instincts or whatever. 

but the further you walk, the more you realize that toji doesn’t mind you following one bit. in fact, he’s practically matching his pace to yours, as if you’re part of some unofficial escort mission to... whoever this “brat” is.

which, speaking of, who the hell is megumi?

you’re still trying to wrap your head around how this was supposed to be a “quick tour” of the office and not, somehow, an impromptu escort mission to the world’s sleekest car, a porsche 911 turbo — yep, that’s right, the kind of car you’ve only ever seen in movies where the bad guy’s got a mysterious, sexy side. all you can manage is, “you own this?”

toji shrugs, slipping his keys into the ignition with an air of pure, unbothered cool. “you don’t?”

oh. okay. 

you barely have time to process this response before he’s peeling out of the parking lot, narrowly avoiding a stray cat, a snail-paced truck, and an old lady who’s almost sacrificed her wig to his driving style. but hey, all part of the thrill, right?

definitely not questioning life choices here.

by the time you pull up to a cutesy primary school — you know, the kind with pastel-colored gates and cartoon murals of bears and rabbits — you’re genuinely confused. 

toji seems like the last guy who’d be here unless it was some undercover op. and “megumi,” whoever he is, sounds like he could be the school’s playground menace.

“wait, this is where we’re headed?” you ask, eyeing the building like it might suddenly make sense.

but toji’s out of the car, moving so fast you practically have to jog to keep up. the school secretary gives you both a wary glance, likely sensing the storm of exasperation radiating off toji, as he strides straight into the principal’s office. there, sitting on a chair with his arms crossed and an unimpressed scowl that screams “mini-toji,” is a little boy with spiky hair and an air of quiet defiance.

without missing a beat, toji asks, “megs! did you win?”

the principal, a kindly-looking woman whose expression is rapidly shifting from “calm mediator” to “i don’t get paid enough for this,” clears her throat. 

“mr. fushiguro, your son wasn’t... in the wrong, per se. it appears he was, um, defending his honor.”

defending his honor? you blink. what kind of second grader even knows what that means?

“that true, ‘gumi?” toji says, arms crossed, looking every bit the unbothered, proud dad of the year.

“he said my dad was a... weird voice actor,” megumi mutters, then shrugs. “so i said at least my dad works.”

you nearly choke, partly from stifled laughter, partly from the sheer absurdity of all this. here you were, thinking “honor” meant, like, taking down a playground empire or something. 

but no, megumi’s just a kid with a sharp tongue and a little too much of toji’s attitude.

“damn right, kid,” toji says, patting megumi’s head, then looking over at you with that familiar, annoyingly smug grin. “raised him right, yeah?”

“...sure,” you say, because what else can you even say at this point? it’s like you’ve stumbled into the weirdest sitcom ever, and the laugh track is somehow missing.

the principal’s expression morphs into something almost painfully polite as she addresses you, tiptoeing around the word wife with an impressive mix of caution and curiosity. 

“are you, ah... megumi’s guardian?”

and then, in perfect, unplanned harmony, you, toji, and megumi all blurt out, “no.”

the unity, the instinctual synchronization — it’s like you’re all on the same wavelength, for better or worse. soul-level understanding, or something. 

what the hell is happening right now?

with a polite smile and a “let’s never speak of this again” nod, you three finally leave the principal’s office. megumi, looking more bored than reprimanded, flicks at a speck of lint on his uniform, while you and toji attempt to navigate the hallway swarming with concerned teachers and worried front-desk ladies. and by “concerned” and “worried,” it’s more like they’re curious about toji’s parenting style and, let’s be honest, probably toji himself.

“oh, mr. fushiguro!” one particularly invested teacher coos, “we heard about the incident. is everything all right?”

toji, of course, laps up the attention, chuckling low and throwing in a wink here and there like he’s starring in some kind of action-movie dad role. the ladies are practically falling over themselves to get a response from him, their questions barely veiled as they assess you with raised brows and sideways glances, a classic “who’s she?” written all over their faces.

“and you are...?” one of the front-desk ladies finally asks, voice all sugar-coated and sharp.

toji slides in smoothly, cutting off whatever half-formed, awkward introduction you were about to stammer out. “oh, she’s a colleague,” he says, his tone effortlessly suave, like introducing a perfectly respectable coworker and totally not the author of his last, extremely explicit audiobook project.

you’re almost grateful until it hits you — this is the same guy who made a whole production of calling you “princess” in the recording booth just yesterday. 

as if he hasn’t played one of your absurdly corny dragon kings in all his full-throttle intensity. 

and now he’s here, all casual and cool, giving you a proper, respectable title like he hasn’t spent hours voicing content these people probably keep hidden under their pillows at night.

but at least he didn’t out you as the actual author of those… creative pieces. 

that’s something.

toji is out here, doing his social service to society. and no, it’s not about lending his voice to steamy audiobooks, thank you very much. 

today, he’s serving the community by providing these teachers with a generous five minutes of his attention, which they’ll probably be replaying in their heads until the next parent-teacher meeting. and — oh, what a surprise! — that’s exactly what they’re talking about now, circling back to how he must come to the next one for a “serious discussion” about megumi.

toji’s stance? why bother? if the kid’s acing his tests, staying out of trouble (mostly), and keeping a lid on the whole “honor” thing, why does he need to sit through hours of polite lecturing from the pta?

while he’s busy justifying his lack of parental enthusiasm, you feel a pair of eyes on you. glancing down, you meet megumi’s steady, curious stare. 

it’s oddly intense for a kid his age, but you’re not one to back down from a challenge. you narrow your eyes, feigning a critical, assessing look, and he visibly falters, going slightly pink around the ears.

ah, kids.

as you three make your way out of the building — toji still being all socialite with the staff and probably postponing that pta date indefinitely — you suddenly find yourself in a mini interview  with megumi. it’s as if this eight-year-old has appointed himself the gatekeeper of his dad’s life and has decided you’re the latest applicant.

“so… what’s your favorite color?” he asks, with an unblinking, serious stare.

“uh…” you pause, realizing the weight of your answer here. “blue. like, uh, light blue.”

he nods, considering. “good answer.”

a pause. “favorite superhero?”

“batman?” you try, glancing at him for a sign of approval.

“hmm. fine. but iron man would’ve been better.”

noted, you think, as he then moves to cereal brand, favorite animal, and even your preferred subject in school. you navigate each question as best as you can, almost feeling the burn of a final exam.

then, in a moment of quiet, just as you think the quiz is over, megumi looks down and asks, voice barely a whisper, “did i… do the right thing? defending my… my hone-er?”

“your… oh, honor?” you say, a smile twitching at the corner of your mouth as you catch his wide-eyed, earnest gaze.

he nods, cheeks tinting a bit as he scuffs his sneaker on the ground.

“megumi,” you say, kneeling a little to get on his level, “defending your honor is important. just… maybe don’t go for all the punches next time? sometimes words work too.” you give him a playful nudge.

he nods, seeming satisfied with that answer, then glances over his shoulder. “and don’t tell daddy i asked.”

“your secret’s safe with me,” you whisper back, giving him a conspiratorial wink.

toji’s arms were crossed, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched the little interaction between you and megumi. 

he was always careful about the people around his kid, fiercely protective to the point that very few in his line of work even knew megumi existed. the only ones who had ever met him were gojo and geto — and that was already a stretch.

but something about how you handled the kid’s questions, actually entertained them with the same patience he’d usually summon up himself, caught him off guard. the way you knelt down to answer him, even kept a straight face through the hard-hitting topics of favorite superheroes and cereal brands... it was surprisingly nice. 

almost… reassuring?

ugh, what was he even thinking? you were still the same girl who’d written, and he mentally cringed as he remembered the line, 

“dragons may have claws, but they’re nothing compared to the grip i have on your…” 

yeah, yeah, he really didn’t need to finish that thought. the memory alone had him chuckling under his breath, shaking his head.

of course, that earned him a suspicious glance from both you and megumi.

“what’s so funny?” you asked, brow raised.

“yeah, daddy, why’re you laughing?” megumi chimed in, clearly puzzled.

toji waved a hand dismissively, realizing he’d just blown his cool for no reason. 

“nothin’, don’t worry about it. just thinkin’,” he mumbled, aware he’d probably looked a little unhinged just then. 

maybe he really needed to work on his awareness — or maybe he just needed to get a grip, period.

toji’s mind was doing somersaults, genuinely debating if he could manage both you and megumi tagging along for the afternoon. megumi’s insistence didn’t help; kid was determined that toji should keep you both company for the rest of the day, despite having school hours left. 

“you’ve got work, right?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious. “aren’t you supposed to be off doing big, important actor things?”

toji only smirked, whipping out his phone with the sort of confidence that made it clear he had a workaround for everything. he tapped open a message to gojo, fingers moving fast.

you [11:31 am]: hey. kid’s dragging me to the arcade. need a few hours off. gojo s. [11:33 am]: need or WANT, toji? ;)) you [11:31 am]: like i said, KID is dragging me. gojo s. [11:33 am]: oh sure, blame megumi. what, does he have you wrapped around his little finger or something? you [11:31 am]: think whatever you want, but you’re handling my schedule for the rest of the day. gojo s. [11:33 am]: wait, are you with...the AUTHOR? ;)) you [11:31 am]: quit smiling through text, it’s creepy. gojo s. [11:33 am]: i’ll allow it. but only cause i’m such a good friend.  gojo s. [11:33 am]: tell megumi uncle gojo says hi  gojo s. [11:34 am]: and he owes me 20 bucks. you [11:35 am]: he doesn’t owe you anything. gojo s. [11:35 am]: fine, but bring me something from the prize counter.

satisfied, toji pocketed his phone and shrugged. 

“all right, kid. we’ll hang out for a bit. but i swear if you drag me into any embarrassing games —”

“arcade!” megumi interrupted, not even giving him a chance to finish. “i can show you both that i’m the best at every game! daddy taught me how to play, so you better watch out!”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at the kid’s enthusiasm.

“all right, let’s go. but you better not make me look bad, kid,” toji said, smirking down at his son, who was now practically vibrating with eagerness.

“arcade!” megumi yelled again, nearly bouncing as he grabbed your hand and began to lead the way.

megumi barely lets you settle into the leather of the passenger seat before he’s bouncing in the back, practically vibrating with energy as he plugs toji’s phone into the aux. you’re trying to wrap your head around being in toji fushiguro’s car, the man who not only voices the romantic lead in your steamiest, most dramatic book but also owns a luxury car that could probably pay off your loans twice over.

"so, uh... passenger princess, huh?" toji smirks, catching you in mid-thought.

"i… what?" you stammer, feeling the heat creep up as he settles a hand on the wheel with all the nonchalance in the world. “i, uh —” but you’re cut off by megumi excitedly blasting his choice of artist: korn.

"your son listens to korn?" you blurt out, giving toji a mix of awe and disbelief.

toji just raises an eyebrow, deadpanning, “yours doesn’t?”

ouch. okay, fair point. 

because no, you do not have a kid, or a husband, or even a boyfriend…or any romantic prospects, really. 

toji’s question leaves you fidgeting as you try to muster a dignified response.

meanwhile, megumi is full-on screaming to the lyrics of "freak on a leash," and you catch snippets like “something takes a part of me!” which, yeah, relatable — korn is honestly hitting the mood. but of course, toji catches you staring out the window, attempting to look casual as he throws you a side-eye.

"so, what’s got you without a boyfriend?” he asks, way too casually, as if this was a natural segue from whatever korn-fueled karaoke session is happening in the backseat.

you practically choke on air. "what, me? no, i’m...," you laugh awkwardly, shifting in the passenger seat. “besides, i don’t meet many guys. i'm just… you know… doing my thing.”

megumi, pausing his headbanging just for a moment, turns and looks at you with an exaggerated ‘yikes’ face, as if being single was the worst possible fate in his young, eight-year-old eyes. 

but then he shrugs, clearly uninterested in this adult drama and goes back to screaming, “feeling like a freak on a leash!”

toji, still watching you, smirks, “so, doing your ‘thing’ includes no boyfriend, no husband... what, are you just swearing off men?”

"uh, no!” you say quickly, too quickly, and feel your face heat up. “just haven’t... y’know, met anyone worth dating. been busy.”

toji gives a low chuckle, clearly entertained. “busy doing what, writing your ‘torrid love stories’?”

you make a face, biting your lip. 

“they’re not that torrid.” but even as you say it, you hear the echo of a particularly cheesy line you’d written for his character in your novel, which, mortifyingly enough, involved the phrase “my darling flame, you set my very soul alight.”

toji chuckles, as if reading your thoughts. “maybe i’ll get to hear one of those lines in real life someday, princess.”

“can we not call me that while megumi’s in the car?” you mutter, glancing back, only to find megumi fully engrossed in his self-proclaimed vocal talents.

“noted.” toji snickers, shooting you another mischievous look as korn plays on, megumi happily singing about “breaking down” in the back.

“but hey,” toji says smoothly, hand resting on the gearshift, “just so you know, even my son knows a good band when he hears one.”

you roll your eyes at him, managing to mumble, “at least one of you is a bit mature.”

the porsche pulls up to the arcade with enough fanfare that heads start turning even before the engine purrs to a stop. not that the onlookers were ready for what steps out next: a towering, chiseled man looking like he’s on his way to a modeling photoshoot, a cute kid in full confidence mode, and, well… you.

still feeling a little dizzy from the korn concert that just took place, you barely register megumi bolting out of the car with a grin, leaving you and toji to get your bearings. his energy’s practically crackling by the time toji pays for the play card, and you’re pretty sure if he has to wait even one more minute, he’s about to combust.

“okay, okay, slow down, megumi,” you say, trying to keep up as he yanks you to the nearest neon-lit game. 

but the kid isn’t hearing it. he’s already dragging you to one machine, and then the next, moving faster than you can process where you even are. each one is seemingly more intense and blinding than the last, and you’re hit with a sensory overload of neon lights, retro game sounds, and the feel of the arcade carpet sticking just a little too much to your shoes.

toji’s watching the whole ordeal with a bemused smirk. you and his kid are like a whirlwind of neon and laughter, barely stopping to catch your breaths between games. the sight is somehow… comforting. like a scene from a life he hadn’t planned but couldn’t help finding strangely compelling.

but then he catches himself. seriously? 

he shakes his head. this is not the time to get all sentimental over his kid’s new ‘playdate’ or whatever. 

he’s just here because megumi insisted, and maybe he thought it’d be amusing to watch you get dragged around by an eight-year-old with zero restraint. that’s it. 

nothing more.

yeah, right. his internal grumbling comes to an abrupt stop as he watches megumi take your hand and pull you over to a classic claw machine. the kid’s looking up at you with the widest eyes you’ve ever seen, all excitement and pure innocence, like winning one of those knockoff plush toys is the pinnacle of existence.

“you got this?” you ask, grinning at him as he lines up the claw with intense concentration.

“of course! my dad showed me,” he declares, like he’s about to go pro in the claw game league.

toji, watching from a distance, feels a twinge in his chest. 

yeah, he’d shown megumi how to play this game ages ago, more to give him an edge over the other kids than anything else. it was a dad-and-son thing, just the two of them. but seeing megumi look up at you with the same pride and excitement makes him feel… something. 

and he doesn’t know if he likes it.

you’re so focused on megumi’s moves that you don’t notice toji’s slight frown, nor do you hear his quiet mutter of, “this is ridiculous.” 

but when he sees the way your eyes light up as megumi successfully nabs a cheap stuffed animal — a lopsided dinosaur, of all things — and the way you celebrate like he’s won an olympic medal, he feels himself relax, just a little.

he chuckles, shaking his head and crossing his arms as you high-five megumi, both of you beaming over a prize that probably cost less than the game itself. but toji doesn’t move. 

he stands there, rooted, as you two bounce from game to game, his thoughts too jumbled to focus on anything else.

but maybe… maybe that’s okay for now.

toji’s phone buzzes just as he’s leaning against the side of a vintage racing game, watching you and megumi practically lighting up the whole arcade with your laughter. he glances down to see satoru’s name pop up on the screen, already feeling a headache brewing.

gojo s. [12:20 pm]: so, arcade? 😏 you [12:20 pm]: yeah, i just told you. gojo s. [12:20 pm]: nah, i mean WHY the arcade? what are we celebrating here, toji? ;)) you [12:21 pm]: why does it matter gojo s. [12:21 pm]: CUZZZZ gojo s. [12:21 pm]: lemme guess, megumi's there with her now, right?  gojo s. [12:22 pm]: bet they’re having the time of their lives, while YOU gojo s. [12:22 pm]: you’re just there all moody on the sidelines😔

toji glances up at you and megumi, who’ve now moved on to a skee-ball machine, both cheering as you score a perfect 50-point throw.

you [12:23 pm]: like i said, work stuff. gojo s. [12:24 pm]: HAHA. work stuff, right.  gojo s. [12:24 pm]: work stuff that has megumi running around grinning like that.  gojo s. [12:25 pm]: bro gojo s. [12:25 pm]: you’re terrible at lying.  gojo s. [12:26 pm]: she’s a keeper if she can deal with YOU you [12:26 pm]: keep dreaming.

he slips his phone back into his pocket, unable to shake off the grin creeping onto his face as he watches you high-five megumi. the kid’s happier than he’s seen in ages, and he…

well, he can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed watching anyone just being with his kid.

toji stands back, taking in the moment — megumi’s laughter echoing through the arcade, your smile as you lift him up with an ease that has the kid giggling uncontrollably — and for some reason, his mind has turned the whole scene into a rom-com montage.

you are the dancing queen…

it’s absurd, really. 

he doesn’t even like abba. but there it is, the stupid song playing in his head, all set to the image of you holding his son, twirling him like he weighs nothing, both of you in fits of laughter.

young and sweet, only seventeen…

and for a split second, his heart does this awkward little stutter. 

he chalks it up to the neon lights. 

or maybe the greasy smell of the arcade food messing with his senses. but as he watches you hold megumi up, almost as if he’s flying, he can’t ignore that ridiculous, cheesy pull in his chest.

feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah...

oh god. 

is he seriously catching himself grinning at the way you’re both trying to get him to join in? megumi’s little hand reaches out, beckoning him over, and you’re giving him that smile, that “come on, get over here, big guy” look.

you can dance, you can jive…

the song hits that soaring note in his head just as he finally gives in and starts to walk over, and his pulse actually picks up, as if he’s not just at some run-down arcade but in the middle of some ridiculously sappy rom-com finale.

having the time of your life…

and then megumi is shrieking again, calling, “dad, hurry up!” like it’s life or death, and you’re beaming at him with that mischievous, encouraging look.

toji sighs, shaking his head at himself. 

just great. 

the two of you have officially dragged him into your world, soundtrack and all.

toji's trying his best to lock in. 

but as he walks out of the arcade — juggling not one, but four oversized plushies, two fancy new lego sets, a slinky, a bouncy ball, some glow-in-the-dark slime, and a rainbow slap bracelet — he can’t help but snort at the sheer ridiculousness of it. 

between his loaded arms and megumi curled up fast asleep in yours, it’s a scene straight out of one of those cheesy family movies.

he shakes his head, trying to push down that weirdly warm feeling creeping up on him. 

stay focused, toji. 

he doesn't need any sappy feelings right now. he's a single dad with a kid and a job, not some washed-up rom-com character, damn it. 

but watching you gently adjust megumi as he drools onto your shoulder, snuggling deeper into the crook of your arm as you carefully slide into the backseat, it’s hard not to feel that tug again.

ugh, he thinks, climbing into the driver’s seat as you buckle up up front, giving him a soft, tired smile. 

“never held a kid before, huh?” he teases, eyes glancing from the road to the rearview mirror, where megumi’s still dozing, soft breaths muffling against your arm.

“nope,” you shrug, but there’s a softness to your voice as you gently rub megumi’s back, “first time for everything, i guess.”

toji’s heart does that weird skip thing again. 

oh god, he thinks, gripping the wheel a little tighter as he tries to ignore the sappy old man vibe overtaking him.

the air in the car feels... charged, but it’s not like either of you are exactly leaning into the tension. instead, you both sit in this weird, awkward silence, save for the quiet hum of the radio, like you’re suddenly too aware of just being there with each other.

and then, as if the universe wanted to toy with you, iris by the goo goo dolls starts playing. 

oh, god. you immediately wish you could just evaporate into the passenger seat.

“...and i’d give up forever to touch you…” the lyrics croon, filling the silence, and you can practically feel the heat crawling up your cheeks.

toji clears his throat, obviously catching it too. “radio’s on a roll, huh?”

“yep,” you say, managing a weak laugh. “i mean, this is classic… everyone listens to goo goo dolls in, uh, total silence in the car with their coworker, right?”

he glances at you, a rare, subtle smile ghosting on his lips. “totally normal.”

“and i don’t want the world to see me… ’cause i don’t think that they’d understand…”

you glance out the window, eyes focused anywhere but on him, biting back a laugh at how the song somehow keeps getting more dramatic. like, who’s writing this scene, seriously?

“just tell me where to turn,” toji says, breaking through your internal monologue, and you do, mentioning a landmark close to home, hoping he’ll take the hint.

but toji only raises an eyebrow. “near it? nah. i’m dropping you at the door.”

“oh, no, that’s really fine —” you start, but he’s already shaking his head.

“don’t worry about it,” he insists, a smirk in his voice. “besides, i remember where you live. from, you know… last time.”

wait. last time? as in… when you were embarrassingly, unapologetically wasted that night?

you want to crawl under the seat as the lyrics continue, “when everything’s made to be broken…”

so when toji pulls up in front of your apartment, there’s this odd feeling hanging in the air. you catch yourself wanting to... linger, just a little longer, even if you’re home. 

and lowkey? 

so does toji. 

it’s like the two of you have hit this weird teenage crush level of awkward — just leaning, leaning, like there’s some invisible string pulling you closer.

he’s looking at you, and you’re looking at him, and you’re both just… stuck there. you can’t even bring yourself to reach for the door handle, and it’s the same for him.

but right as the moment peaks, a tiny, innocent voice cuts through from the backseat. “are you two going to kiss?”

megumi’s question hangs there, blunt and childlike, breaking whatever spell had you both frozen. you both jolt back, blinking as if you just woke up.

“what? no!” you blurt, practically tripping over your own denial. 

your face feels like it’s about to catch fire.

toji coughs, rubbing the back of his neck, just barely suppressing a chuckle.

“kid’s got a helluva imagination,” he mutters, eyes anywhere but on you.

as you finally reach for the door handle, ready to slip out and say your goodbyes, you hear a little sniffle from the backseat.

“wait…” megumi’s voice is tiny, almost shaky. you turn around, and to your surprise, his face is scrunched up, his eyes glistening with tears that he’s trying so hard to hold back.

“hey, hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, twisting around in your seat to face him. “i’ll see you again, kiddo.”

but his lower lip wobbles, and suddenly he bursts into full-on tears, clutching the giant plushie he won at the arcade. “b-but i don’t want you to leave!” he sobs, voice cracking. “can’t you stay just a little longer?”

toji’s eyes widen; he looks genuinely shocked. 

“megumi, you’re fine, she’s not going anywhere forever. what’s gotten into you?” he tries to keep his tone steady, but there’s an undercurrent of surprise. 

megumi doesn’t cry. 

ever. 

this is new territory.

megumi just shakes his head, burying his face into the plushie. “but she’s nice,” he mumbles, muffled but insistent. “and she plays games with me and —” he peeks out from the plushie with red, teary eyes. “and she talks to me like you do.”

you feel something stir in your chest at his words, this overwhelming urge to hug him even though you’d sworn up and down just an hour ago you didn’t know how to handle kids.

“aw, megumi,” you say softly, reaching over and giving his little hand a squeeze. “i’ll still see you, i promise. maybe we can even play again sometime, okay?”

“but you’re leaving now,” he says, his voice quivering, clutching your hand with a desperation that tugs at your heart. 

“and daddy didn’t even kiss you.”

the absolute silence that follows is deafening. 

you feel your face go redder than it’s ever been, and a glance at toji shows he’s equally flustered, mouth opening and closing as if he’s trying to find some way to steer this conversation back to normal.

“whoa, hey now,” toji says, forcing a laugh as he clears his throat. “that’s, uh — that’s not how it works, kid.” he ruffles megumi’s hair a little too hard, clearly floundering. “and hey, don’t go crying over someone just leaving for the night, you’re stronger than that.”

“i don’t care,” megumi sniffles, clutching your hand tighter. “i like her. and she makes you smile.”

toji freezes, the color draining from his face for just a split second. 

makes him smile. 

he doesn’t even realize he’s been smiling, maybe more in one day than he has in months. he glances at you, brow furrowed like he’s trying to make sense of it himself.

“well…” toji’s voice is softer now, almost cautious, like he’s testing out words he hasn’t said in a long time. “

maybe… maybe she could come around again. if she wants to, that is.”

“i do.” you answer without thinking, your gaze drifting to megumi’s tear-streaked face, which immediately lights up.

“really?” megumi’s eyes shine, practically bouncing in his seat. “you promise?”

“i promise,” you say with a smile, giving him a reassuring nod. “as long as it’s okay with you and your dad, of course.”

“’s fine,” toji grumbles, running a hand over his face to hide his slight grin. “besides, someone’s gotta teach you a lesson or two at the arcade next time.”

“is that a challenge, toji?” you quip, smirking. “because if i remember right, megumi here got more tickets than both of us combined.”

“that’s because i taught him everything he knows,” toji scoffs, rolling his eyes as if he can’t believe he’s even entertaining this.

megumi sniffles one last time, his eyes practically glowing with happiness. “then… you’ll come over soon, right?”

“absolutely,” you say, warmth bubbling up in your chest as you meet his hopeful gaze. “but only if you promise to keep practicing at the arcade. gotta keep that winning streak going, right?”

megumi grins, finally letting go of your hand as he settles back with a contented sigh. “deal.”

toji just shakes his head, muttering something about the “drama” gene clearly skipping a generation, though the smile tugging at his lips says otherwise.

as you unbuckle your seatbelt, ready to say goodbye, you feel the car click with the unmistakable sound of the child lock. you glance back at megumi, who’s nodding off against his plushie pile, and back at toji, who’s already climbing out to walk you up to your door. 

gentlemanly of him, sure. 

though, the way his eyes linger on you… there’s more to it than that.

“i could’ve walked myself, you know,” you say, falling into step beside him as you head up to your building. “it’s not that far.”

“maybe i just felt like making sure you didn’t trip and embarrass yourself,” he shoots back, smirking as he nudges your shoulder.

“very chivalrous, fushiguro,” you reply, rolling your eyes but grinning anyway. “honestly, you’re like a walking textbook definition of ‘gentleman.’”

“yeah, well,” he clears his throat, looking just a bit smug. “maybe i was raised right. or maybe,” his voice drops a little lower, “i just wanted an excuse to stick around a little longer.”

you blink, caught off guard by the soft rasp in his voice, the way his eyes are just a bit darker under the porch light.

“oh,” is all you manage, though your heartbeat’s doing a little somersault. “well… uh. here’s my door.”

“guess it is,” he murmurs, eyes glinting as he takes a step closer, leaning against the doorframe like he’s meant to be there, like he’s settled in the idea of being right here, with you. 

“y’know… not a bad place to end the night.”

“yeah,” you say, feeling the words catch in your throat as you gaze up at him, taking in every detail, every shadow. “definitely not bad.”

the two of you are just standing there, a little too close, the space between you narrowing with every unspoken word. he glances down at your lips, and your pulse spikes — he’s thinking it too, right? but just as the moment seems to reach its tipping point, toji smirks, a flash of mischief in his eyes.

“you know,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “still can’t believe you’re the same girl who wrote that… what was it again?” he chuckles, clearly remembering. “oh, right — ‘her legs wrapped around him like a vice, his name spilling from her lips like honey’.”

your face goes nuclear. 

that line. 

of all the lines, that one?

“you… you remember that?” you manage, mortified.

“’course i remember,” he says, that smug smirk firmly in place. “you think i just skimmed through your stuff?”

“well — i — ” your words are a mess, barely coherent. “i mean, i just thought —”

“nah, i’ve been reading it all.” his voice is low, almost a whisper as he leans just a little closer, his fingers lightly brushing your arm. “you’ve got quite the imagination.”

“s-shut up,” you stammer, unable to meet his gaze. “i was just… doing my job.”

“i know,” he says, voice soft but unyielding. “you’ve got talent.”

there’s a beat, silence stretching between you, the weight of his words settling over the both of you.

“...and you’ve got this whole heartthrob thing going for you,” you blurt out, finally meeting his eyes with a nervous laugh. “kind of makes it hard to believe you’re my colleague.”

“heartthrob, huh?” he smirks, voice dipping lower as his fingers drift to your chin, tilting your face up. 

“so that’s what you think of me?”

“i — i mean…” you stammer, your heart racing as you look into his eyes, feeling your cheeks burn. “maybe a little. just… a tiny bit.”

“tiny?” he murmurs, his lips barely an inch away. “could’ve sworn you looked a little more than just ‘tiny’ interested.”

“oh yeah?” your voice is a whisper now, almost breathless as you feel his breath on your skin, his gaze never wavering. “what if i was?”

“then i’d probably do this,” he mutters, his hand sliding up to cradle your face, and before you know it, his lips are on yours, soft and warm and impossibly gentle.

your breath catches, and instinctively, you lean into him, letting his kiss deepen, his hand tracing slow, lazy patterns against your cheek. it’s everything you’d imagined and somehow even better, his presence grounding and electric all at once.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his eyes soft but searching. “so… do i still get to be a heartthrob?”

“only if i still get to be the girl with the cringe smut,” you murmur back, grinning like an idiot.

“deal,” he says, chuckling as he pulls you in for another kiss, his lips brushing yours like a promise.

ah, shit.

as toji slips back into the car, he barely manages to close the door before megumi’s voice hits him like a lightning bolt.

“daddy kissed the pretty lady!” megumi shrieks, pointing an accusatory finger from the backseat. “i saw it! you have that weird face on!”

toji’s eyebrows shoot up. “weird face? what weird face?” he tries to play it cool, adjusting the rearview mirror, but the ghost of that kiss is still painted on his lips, his pulse betraying him with every beat.

“that smile,” megumi says, wrinkling his nose in a perfect mirror of his dad’s usual expression of disdain. “you look like a… like a…” he pauses, searching for the right words. “...like a love puppy!”

toji chokes, stifling a laugh. “a love puppy? where the hell did you get that from?”

“it’s a thing, daddy,” megumi huffs, crossing his arms. “you have that goofy look, and your face is all soft. you only look like that when you’re being weird.”

“me? weird?” toji glances in the mirror, catching megumi’s glare. “kid, i think you’ve got this all wrong.”

“no, i don’t!” megumi insists, practically bouncing in his seat. “you were all ‘goo-goo eyes’ and ‘smoochy-smoochy’ and ‘mwah mwah mwah!’” he makes exaggerated kissing sounds, complete with squished-up lips and hand gestures, utterly scandalized by his dad’s sudden transformation.

“alright, alright, enough with the ‘mwah mwah.’” toji tries to suppress a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “you’ve been watching too many cartoons.”

megumi shakes his head, his expression serious. “nope. i knew it. i knew you liked her.” he narrows his eyes, as if seeing through toji’s very soul. “so… are you gonna marry her?”

toji’s eyes go wide. 

“whoa, whoa, hold on. nobody said anything about marriage.”

“but if you kiss someone, that means you wanna be with them forever, right?” megumi asks earnestly, looking way too wise for his age.

toji stares ahead, caught off-guard by the kid’s earnestness. 

that kiss… he didn’t plan it. he didn’t even know he was going to do it until he’d leaned in, felt the spark pull him closer. but now? 

yeah, the idea of just walking away feels… wrong. he tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his mind racing.

“kid, sometimes people just… feel things, okay?” he says, his voice softer, more introspective. “even if they don’t really know why.”

megumi tilts his head, watching his dad closely. “so you do like her, then?”

toji snorts, pulling the car out onto the road. “alright, detective, settle down back there. no more snooping.”

they drive in a comfortable silence for a moment, but the radio has other plans. 

as if on cue, the familiar, aching chords of iris by the goo goo dolls come through the speakers, and toji swears he could feel the universe laughing at him.

“and i don’t want the world to see me, ’cause i don’t think that they’d understand…”

toji clenches his jaw, feeling the lyrics press into him, each line stirring something restless and warm in his chest. he’s always been a guy with his walls up, always knew the stakes were too high to let anyone in. 

but tonight… tonight, he let his guard down. just for a second. 

he kissed you, tasted the softness of your lips, and the spark left him reeling.

“when everything’s meant to be broken, i just want you to know who i am…”

“daddy?” megumi’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “do you think… maybe you could see her again? so she could come play with us?”

toji blinks, glancing at megumi in the rearview mirror. “you really like her, huh?”

megumi nods vigorously. “yeah! she’s… nice. and fun.” his face softens. “and… she made you look happy.”

toji’s heart gives a strange, unfamiliar twist at that. 

happy, huh? 

he’s been around the block long enough to know that happiness isn’t exactly his best friend. but sitting here, listening to megumi, feeling that residual warmth from your kiss… it makes him wonder. 

wonder what life could look like with you in it.

but he pushes the thought away, focusing on the road. doesn’t change the fact that you’re just his colleague. right?

“and i’d give up forever to touch you…”

ugh.

he shifts uncomfortably, hoping megumi doesn’t notice his knuckles going white on the steering wheel. 

that kiss wasn’t just some fleeting thing — he’d known it the second he felt the warmth of you linger even after pulling away. the idea of letting you go now feels… impossible. something’s tugging him back, making him want more.

“hey, daddy,” megumi pipes up again, breaking toji’s brooding. “you got that look again.”

“what look?” toji mutters, trying to focus on anything but the goofy grin creeping back onto his face.

megumi smirks, mimicking toji’s soft expression. “that ‘i kissed a pretty lady’ look!”

toji laughs, shaking his head as he glances at megumi in the rearview mirror. “alright, alright. i guess you caught me.”

and as he drives home, the final notes of iris playing softly through the car, he can’t shake the feeling that this… whatever this is… isn’t something he’s ready to let go of.

ah, shit.

as soon as toji sets megumi down on his bed, tucking him in amongst the mountain of ridiculous plushies he’d somehow won at the arcade, he heads back to his room. sliding his phone out, he finds himself doing something he never thought he’d do: texting gojo. of all people.

with a reluctant sigh, he taps out a message, feeling a pang of embarrassment he can’t shake.

you [8:47 pm]: how long’s her contract with gojo sonic?

a moment later, he watches the screen, regretting even reaching out. but, of course, gojo wastes no time with a reply.

gojo s. [8:50 pm]: ohohohohooooo her contract???  gojo s. [8:50 pm]: i knew it. you’re smitten. you [8:51 pm]: don’t start. gojo s. [8:51 pm]: too late! c’mon, dish it out, big guy.  gojo s. [8:51 pm]: you guys had a moment, huh? the chemistry finally snapped? what’d ya do, kiss her?

toji clenches his jaw, hesitating before typing back. his thumb hovers, wondering how much grief he’d get for saying yes. finally, he mutters a curse under his breath and just goes for it.

you [8:53 pm]: ...yeah, i kissed her. happy?

he can practically feel gojo’s cackle vibrating through the phone.

gojo s. [8:53 pm]: WHAT???  gojo s. [8:53 pm]: WAIT.  gojo s. [8:53 pm]: oh, i need details.  gojo s. [8:53 pm]: full play-by-play.  gojo s. [8:53 pm]: like was it one of those slow, cinematic moments?  gojo s. [8:54 pm]: or was it a grab and smooch kinda deal??

toji rolls his eyes, fighting off a grin he refuses to admit is there. of all the reactions, he’d been prepared for gojo’s nosiness, but it’s still as annoying as ever.

you [8:55 pm]: shut it. i already said too much. gojo s. [8:55 pm]: pfffff as if i’m letting you get away with that tidbit and no context.  gojo s. [8:55 pm]: did she look at you all wide-eyed?  gojo s. [8:55 pm]: did you do that thing with your voice??  gojo s. [8:56 pm]: or was it just an accidental, “oh no, we tripped into each other’s faces” sorta thing?

toji rubs his temples, trying to block out how much his stupid heart rate picks up just remembering the way you looked up at him, the softness of your lips, the way it all felt so natural. he shakes his head, forcing the memory aside.

you [8:57 pm]: none of your business, and it’s private.  you [8:57 pm]: don’t you dare send any of this to suguru. gojo s. [8:57 pm]: oh relax! suguru’s not that nosy.  gojo s. [8:57 pm]: okay maybe he is.  gojo s. [8:58 pm]: but he’s a romantic.  gojo s. [8:58 pm]: think of it as getting free relationship coaching!! you [9:00 pm]: i swear to god satoru i’ll leave the company if you spill this.

there’s a pause, and for a second toji hopes that maybe he’s scared gojo off. 

but, predictably, the next message makes his blood pressure spike.

gojo s. [9:05 pm]: ohhhhh no no you’re not getting off that easy.  gojo s. [9:05 pm]: i’m calling dibs on being the flower girl at your wedding. suguru can be the maid of honor.  gojo s. [9:06 pm]: no nvm he’d wanna be the best man gojo s. [9:06 pm]: I’LL GET MEGUMI TO CARRY THE RINGS gojo s. [9:06 pm]: genius.

toji practically growls at his phone, already regretting every second of this conversation.

you [9:07 pm]: i’ll delete this whole damn thread. this never happened, got it? gojo s. [9:09 pm]: aww, toji bear, don’t be like that. i’ll take care of your little love story for you, promise. consider me your personal wingman.  gojo s. [9:10 pm]: now tell me this — when’s round two of smooch central happening? you [9:11 pm]: goodnight, satoru.

and with that, he shoves his phone onto his nightstand, rubbing his face with a hand. he can still feel the lingering warmth of that kiss, the way his heart skipped, the unexpected tenderness that’s lodged itself in his mind. 

stupid.

he shouldn’t have even told gojo.

but as much as he regrets letting it slip, he doesn’t regret the kiss itself. 

not even a bit.

as soon as you slam your door shut, you just… stand there for a minute, heart racing, and press your fingers to your lips like it’ll somehow reverse what just happened. 

you kissed toji fushiguro. 

the toji fushiguro.

colleague extraordinaire, with biceps that could probably benchpress your entire life’s savings, and that smirk… oh god, that smirk that had you in a daze.

but the problem? 

there was a mini him there. 

a little him with matching black hair and a sharp gaze. 

you thought he was, like, the cool uncle? but… he’s a dad? 

and if he’s a dad… does that mean he’s married? are you the other woman?!

you pace around, practically stomping into the carpet. 

“okay, okay, let’s think this through,” you mutter, putting your hands on your hips. 

“he… he could be a single dad, right? it’s 2024, it’s not that weird for people to have kids without, like, commitment commitments. but then again, he does look like the type who’d… i don’t know, maybe be exclusive? probably?”

your brain is racing, and you’re spinning yourself into circles. 

“i mean, i haven’t seen a ring on his finger… but maybe he just doesn’t wear it?” you plop down on your couch, practically sinking into it as you cover your face with both hands.

ugh.

“did i just kiss a married man? or worse… what if he’s, like, engaged? or has a live-in girlfriend? or — oh my god, what if he’s in some high-profile relationship and i just stepped into the middle of it? —”

you groan, flopping back. “but he… he definitely leaned in first. i’m not hallucinating. he did! but then, if he’s that willing to kiss me, does that mean he’s… a cheater?”

you sit up and shake your head, wide-eyed. “okay, no, i refuse to believe that toji fushiguro, mr. brooding and brooding-er with a kid who listens to korn, is a cheater. there’s no way… right?”

your own voice is almost pleading as you try to convince yourself, pacing again. 

“i mean, maybe he’s just… really, really committed to… being mysterious. yeah, that makes sense. he’s keeping everything a secret, so that just leaves me spiraling about him… perfect. just perfect.”

you smack a hand against your forehead. “why couldn’t i have asked literally any of this earlier?” you shake your head. “right, because i was too busy kissing him.”

you throw yourself back onto the couch and stare at the ceiling, the whole thing replaying in your head. 

that look he gave you, the warmth of his hand on your back…

stop.

but it’s too late. your brain keeps running with it.

“what if… what if he has no idea i’m freaking out?” you frown. “oh, he probably doesn’t. and here i am, making a whole drama out of one kiss.” you let out a deep sigh.

you flop onto your bed, heart still pounding, and stare up at the ceiling, fingers absently grazing your lips. 

burning loins, they said. melting from one kiss, they said. 

well, no one exactly said that — except every steamy novel you’ve ever read or written, but that’s beside the point.

you groan, kicking your feet up in frustration. this isn’t one of your own novels! it’s supposed to be real life! but now here you are, in the aftermath of what was arguably the best kiss you’ve ever had, practically combusting at the memory of it.

“if one kiss with toji — no, any man — can get me this hot and bothered, how am i supposed to handle it if i ever… you know…” your voice trails off, and you turn over, burying your face into the pillow as if it’ll smother the absurd train of thought. 

but then, just as you start to get your mind off it, his face pops back up in your head.

“oh god,” you mumble, pulling the pillow over your face. “this is pathetic.” you roll over again, laughing helplessly to yourself. 

if this is what one or two kisses do to me… what’ll happen if we actually have sex?

your eyes snap open. “okay, no. no! i didn’t mean toji, i meant, like… any guy! any guy at all! but, oh god, why is it always him?!”

you stare at the ceiling, huffing as your brain keeps looping back to him. 

his stupidly attractive smirk, the way his hand was firm but gentle on your back, how he looked at you as if you were his next breath. 

girl, get a grip.

“this is ridiculous,” you mutter, swatting at your face like it’ll erase his image from your mind. but it doesn’t work; he’s right there, all hot and smug in your imagination. ugh, this isn’t fair!

it’s like all those countless hours you spent spinning erotic fantasies are coming back to haunt you — and in the most inconvenient, infuriating way possible. you scrunch up your face, realizing with mild horror that maybe… just maybe… you wrote this scenario into existence for yourself.

“oh no… is this karma?” you groan, curling up and swatting the air in helpless embarrassment. “girl, this is not supposed to happen in real life. or with toji.”

but there it is: his face, and your wildly racing heart, and the undeniable, excruciating heat pooling in your belly that refuses to quit.

but even with the spiraling, there’s one thing you can’t deny: as much as it’s driving you crazy, as much as you’re practically scaring yourself into thinking you’ve just made the worst mistake of your life…

you kinda don’t regret it. and that’s the scariest part.

ah, shit.

you step into gojo-sonic, clutching your bag with a little more intensity than usual, and it’s as if you’ve entered an alternate dimension. 

the energy is somehow… different. you expect to be greeted with the usual casual nods and waves, but instead, gojo is practically skipping toward you, arms spread wide like he’s welcoming the new queen of the recording studio.

“there she is! our star of the show, our resident heart-throb wrangler!” he coos, louder than necessary. his grin is blinding, and you’re caught between the urge to backpedal out of the building or dive under the nearest desk.

“uh… good morning?” you reply, more like a question than a statement, glancing around to see if anyone else is picking up on his hyperness. it’s like he’s had twelve cups of coffee or ten bags of skittles. “gojo, you’re… kind of extra today.”

“extra? extra?” he throws a hand over his heart, eyes gleaming. “honey, i’m never just ‘extra.’ i am exactly the right amount of gojo for the occasion.”

“and what occasion is that, exactly?”

“oh, nothing much, just a certain someone having an… enlightening encounter last night,” he says with a wink so exaggerated it looks like he’s trying to shoo a bug off his face.

you stiffen. “wait, how do you…?”

“oh, come on,” he waves it off, laughing. “you think you can keep something like that from me? i mean, i might be blessed with an enormous amount of talent, looks, and charisma, but i also happen to have eyes and ears everywhere.” he taps his temple, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

“seriously?” you glance around, your stomach sinking a little, looking for any sign of smirking coworkers or curious eyes, but everyone’s just… normal? going about their business, not sparing you a second glance. relief washes over you, only to be swept away by gojo’s piercing stare.

“oh, don’t worry. i haven’t shared your scandalous rendezvous with the world. only i am privy to this delightful information — for now,” he adds, wagging a finger. “and don’t look so shocked! nothing juicy stays hidden from me for long. i know all the company secrets.”

you feel heat rise to your cheeks, equal parts exasperated and embarrassed. “gojo, it wasn’t even that big of a deal. it’s not like…” you trail off, realizing he’s hanging on to your every word, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“uh-huh,” he drawls, drawing the word out. “not a big deal, you say? then why do you look like you’re about to start sweating bullets?”

“i’m not sweating bullets,” you say through clenched teeth, then give in and sigh. “look, we just… it was just a… i mean, we’re colleagues, and things got a little… friendly. it doesn’t have to mean anything!”

gojo gasps, mock-horrified. “oh, but darling, this is precisely why it’s so interesting! you, of all people, getting caught up with toji fushiguro? and here i thought you’d sworn off office romances.”

“it’s not an office romance,” you insist, voice practically a whisper. “we just… kissed. once. or twice. maybe. but it doesn’t mean anything!”

gojo leans in, conspiratorially. “and yet you look ready to combust from the inside out just talking about it.”

you huff, throwing him a half-hearted glare. “maybe it’s because someone is making this into a bigger deal than it actually is.”

“you wound me!” he presses a hand dramatically to his chest, giving you an exaggerated pout. “but don’t worry, your little secret is safe with me. i only told you so you’d know that i know. and, you know, to make things extra awkward in case mr. heart-throb walks in.”

“oh, so you’re really just out to make my life difficult?”

he grins, all teeth. “precisely.”

just then, as if summoned by some cruel twist of fate, toji strolls in. he’s the absolute picture of normalcy, no hint whatsoever of last night’s… moment. 

in fact, he gives you a polite nod, a polite nod, as if he hadn’t had you pressed against your own door just hours ago.

“morning,” he says casually, voice smooth, tone nonchalant. he doesn’t even so much as smirk.

you nearly choke. polite nod? normal greeting? did he forget the entire thing? 

“oh, morning,” you manage, clearing your throat, feeling like you’re about to combust again.

gojo, however, is having the time of his life. he’s practically vibrating next to you, watching the exchange with glee.

“morninggg, fushiguro,” he greets toji, voice syrupy with unrestrained glee. “any exciting news today?”

toji raises an eyebrow, shooting him a confused look. “uh, no? everything’s pretty normal.” his eyes flick over to you, calm, almost neutral, as if he hadn’t kissed you senseless just last night.

you clench your jaw. is he really going to act like this? you nearly feel like gaslighting yourself into thinking last night never happened. maybe you just dreamed it, right?

toji’s gaze flicks away from you, unperturbed, as he moves over to get his things ready for the day’s recording. and that’s when gojo leans over and mutters under his breath, “you sure you don’t want to just… remind him?”

“i hate you,” you mutter back, trying not to smile, knowing that he’s secretly rooting for you to fall flat on your face with this whole ordeal.

“i live for your misery, my friend,” he replies with a wink.

meanwhile, toji was absolutely in another dimension of romcom chaos himself, feeling like some kind of high school kid who just had his first crush. he woke up grinning, actually giggling as he got dressed. 

giggling. when was the last time he did that? 

he nearly skipped out the door, and on his drive to work, he found himself humming, humming, to his car stereo like some lovestruck fool. and he didn’t stop there. oh no. 

by the time he reached gojo-sonic, he’d already run through a few extra vocal warm-ups in the car — something he never did this early. he cleared his throat and ran through his usual lines twice, even testing his pitch a bit. no, not because he wanted to be extra smooth today, of course not. he was doing it for the… for the paycheck. 

definitely.

but as soon as he walked into the studio, and he saw you standing there beside gojo, looking all kinds of pretty and polished… he practically heard violins. except no, it wasn’t violins. 

it was, somehow, worse.

his mind cued up dancing queen.

“no. nope. nope.” he muttered under his breath, trying to swat the ridiculous soundtrack out of his mind. but it wouldn’t stop. 

“dancing queen, feel the beat from the tambourine, oh, yeah….”

why, in the name of all things sacred, was his brain doing this to him? he was toji fushiguro, not some idiot falling over his own feet for a girl at work. he gave himself a good shake, squared his shoulders, and tried to keep his composure. yet every time he caught your eye, his chest did a little flip — and dammit if he didn’t want to just pick you up and give you another kiss right then and there.

“morning,” he forced out, nodding as casually as he could.

and there you were, gaping back with that hint of nervousness, looking like you might combust from just a regular “good morning.” 

god, it was almost cute enough to make him actually laugh out loud.

“she’s just a colleague,” he reminded himself, over and over again, as he worked to keep the grin off his face. “a colleague. not some romcom lead you just made out with in front of her apartment.”

yet the way dancing queen kept droning in his head, as if mocking his every move? toji was seriously questioning whether he’d woken up in some kind of alternate reality.

and he just knew gojo was watching the whole thing with a smug look, likely dying to crack a joke, or worse, belt out dancing queen if he somehow figured out what was in toji’s head. 

and knowing gojo? he probably already had.

the studio door clicked shut as gojo swept out with an exaggerated bow, holding up his finger in a silent “one minute” before he launched into his call with suguru in a voice loud enough to be heard two floors down. gojo was probably already going on about the “incredible chemistry” between his favorite team members, or whatever nonsense he’d decided on for today. 

and with him out of the room, it was just you and toji. 

alone. 

in silence.

you shifted on your feet, eyes darting everywhere except directly at him, yet somehow landing right back on him. it was like your brain had a toji magnet switched on, and no matter how hard you tried to look elsewhere, you found yourself glancing back at him.

finally, the quiet got so charged that you both ended up blurting out at the exact same time —

“are you single?”

you both froze, then looked at each other, wide-eyed, like you couldn’t believe you’d just asked that out loud.

“uh,” toji coughed, scratching the back of his neck. “well. yeah, i am. single, that is.

“oh.” you tried to act cool, but it came out as a slightly breathless squeak. “good to know.”

“and you?” he asked, voice low, almost cautious, as if bracing himself for an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

“also single,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. “which… is also good to know.”

there was a beat of quiet where you both just kind of looked at each other, a half-smile creeping onto his face as you kept shifting on your feet, practically melting under the intensity of his gaze.

“so…” you cleared your throat, your hands fidgeting a little as you gathered the nerve to ask the next thing. “didn’t know you had a kid.”

“oh, yeah.” toji chuckled, a hint of fondness lighting up his expression as he thought of his son. “he’s my kid, alright. handful and a half, that one.”

“he’s adorable.” you smiled, thinking back to the mini toji who had totally stolen your heart. “how old is he?”

“eight.” toji’s voice softened, a rare warmth in his tone that you’d never heard before. “he, uh… he means a lot to me. not that i’d ever tell him that, though. don’t want him thinking he’s got me wrapped around his little finger or anything.”

you laughed, picturing the little boy with his big grin and fearless energy. “something tells me he already knows.”

“yeah, probably.” toji laughed too, and for a moment, there was an ease between you, a shared warmth that made the whole moment feel so… natural.

“so… um, are you, like… a single dad?” you asked, careful with your words, not wanting to pry too deeply.

“yeah.” his answer was simple, but there was a weight to it. “just me and the kid. been that way for a while.”

“that’s…” you bit your lip, not sure what to say without sounding weirdly sentimental. “that’s admirable. megumi’s lucky to have you.

“i don’t know about all that,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the praise but unable to hide a small smile. “just doing what i can, you know?”

“still,” you said, feeling a swell of admiration you hadn’t expected. “it’s impressive. and honestly… seeing you with him yesterday? it was… kinda heartwarming.”

toji looked at you, eyes softening in a way that made your heart stutter. 

“thanks,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. “means a lot, hearing that.”

the two of you stood there, closer than you realized, in this weird bubble where everything felt warm and intense and perfect. just as you felt that strange magnetic pull drawing you closer, like maybe you’d just close the gap and —

the studio door banged open.

“don’t stop on my account!” gojo sing-songed, practically sashaying back into the room, a smirk plastered across his face.

you both leaped back, clearing your throats and suddenly finding the walls, the floor, anything else in the room utterly fascinating.

“alright, lovebirds, let’s get this recording started, shall we?” gojo grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked between the two of you, not even pretending he hadn’t just caught a whole moment.

toji settled into the recording booth, leaning back in the chair with the script in hand, his voice dipping to that low, gravelly tone that made every line sound like an invitation.

“so,” he began, speaking as the dragon king to the main character in the script, his words practically dripping with intensity, “you think you can resist me? i see right through you… even the bravest warriors have trembled at my touch.”

your breath caught as he delivered the line, eyes wide as you watched him through the glass. 

you couldn’t help it — his character was practically staring into your soul, voice thick and slow, practically wrapping around each word.

“do you know what happens to those who challenge me?” toji continued, his eyes narrowing as he held the script in one hand, his gaze piercing. “they are forced to surrender… one way or another.”

outside the booth, you practically felt yourself melting, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks as you fidgeted with the edge of your shirt. 

toji’s voice, his delivery — it was all too much. how was it possible for him to sound that… that intense? it was like he was actually speaking to you.

“ah, beautiful.” gojo, standing beside you, broke in with a theatrical sigh. “our dragon king sounds magnificent, doesn’t he? i could practically faint!”

you shot him a quick glare, barely masking a smirk. “keep it down, gojo. he’s in the middle of it.”

“oh, i’m just here to appreciate the artistry,” gojo whispered back, feigning innocence as he leaned in to watch, hands clasped together dramatically.

“the choice is yours,” toji went on, his voice softer now, laced with something tender that made it impossible to look away. “join me… or keep pretending this —” he emphasized the word, letting it linger “ — isn’t exactly what you’ve been wanting.”

you swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his gaze even through the glass. 

was he delivering that line as the dragon king or as… well, toji?

but then —

“ohhhh!” gojo chimed in loudly, clutching his chest as if he’d been struck by an arrow. “the passion! the romance! our hero’s heart is pounding!”

toji paused, rolling his eyes as he looked at gojo through the glass. “you really gonna keep interrupting, gojo?”

“oh, don’t mind me,” gojo said, waving a hand. “i’m simply enjoying the magic in the air! please, carry on. do go on.” he pretended to dab at his eyes. “so moving.”

toji gave a small sigh but threw you a barely-there smile before settling back into character.

“and when you finally stop running…” his voice softened, a quiet urgency threading through it. 

“i’ll be here, waiting… because you belong to me, whether you admit it or not.”

your heart skipped a beat, and you found yourself leaning in, hanging onto every word, caught up in the sheer pull of his voice. 

you didn’t know if it was his talent as a voice actor, the lines he was reading, or him, but every word was drawing you in deeper, bit by bit.

“ah, what is it like to be so passionately claimed by a dragon king? how riveting!” gojo murmured dramatically, as if providing a play-by-play to an audience. “she’s helpless, entranced! they both know she’s falling!”

toji cast a pointed look at gojo, barely concealing a smirk. “you done yet, gojo?”

gojo merely grinned, shrugging. “hey, i’m just here to make sure the romance shines through. and oh, don’t worry — it’s definitely shining.”

toji rolled his eyes but kept going, lowering his voice to a rumbling murmur. “if you don’t know where your heart lies, then i’ll show you.” 

he paused, his words lingering in the air like a promise, like he was speaking directly to you.

by now, the studio felt suffused with tension, thick enough to cut with a knife. it didn’t help that every time gojo piped in with another comment, it only made you feel more painfully aware of every detail: the way toji’s gaze kept flickering your way, the way your own pulse raced faster with each line he spoke.

“the truth is right in front of you,” toji continued, his voice dropping low, rough, something smoldering behind each word. “all you have to do is reach out… and claim it.”

“gorgeous! breathtaking!” gojo burst out, clapping his hands loudly. “i can practically see the sparks flying! ah, young love!”

toji finally broke character, raising a brow at gojo with a look of pure exasperation. “you gonna let me finish or not?”

gojo waved a hand. “fine, fine. but for real — if you two don’t kiss after this, i might have to stage a re-shoot.”

both you and toji threw your hands up simultaneously, voices raised in exasperation. 

“gojo, would you please stop interrupting!”

“yeah, seriously, man,” toji added, shaking his head as he glanced over at you with a shared look of pure frustration.

“okay, okay! sheesh!” gojo shrieked, actually shrieked, as he staggered back in mock terror, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “all i wanted was to witness some workplace romance! is that so wrong?”

“yes, gojo, very wrong,” you shot back, rubbing your temples. “this is literally supposed to be professional — you should know that.”

toji snorted, crossing his arms as he smirked at gojo. “for once, i agree. you’ve got all the dramatic flair of a middle-schooler.”

“excuse me,” gojo replied, flipping an imaginary hair strand over his shoulder. “i’ll have you know my artistic eye is very advanced.” he let out a huff, but from the grin on his face, you could tell he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

you shook your head, exasperated. “look, can we just get this recording done without any more —”

“interruptions,” toji finished for you, raising a brow as he glanced over at gojo.

“fine, fine!” gojo finally backed off, dramatically sliding into a chair in the corner, arms folded in mock offense. “i’ll be silent as a stone. a beautiful, thoughtful stone.”

you exchanged another look with toji, both of you sighing in unison. 

something told you both that it was going to be a very long day, especially with gojo’s creative direction…

toji, after finishing a solid block of recording, had ended up chatting with the sound techs, leaving you flipping through your phone while you waited. 

gojo, in his usual meddling fashion, suddenly brightened up and declared, “oh! why don’t you have a little chat with suguru? i told him you were here. he insisted on saying hello!”

you raised an eyebrow. “uh, sure?”

gojo sent you a link to join the video call, and soon suguru’s face popped up on the screen. his calm expression softened slightly when he saw you. “well, hello there. gojo wasn’t exaggerating when he said he had a new ‘star’ at the studio.”

you laughed, feeling a bit flustered. “thanks, geto! i hear you’re a partner at a... famous wine company?”

suguru gave a modest shrug. “yeah, it’s called persephone. it’s a small project that grew bigger than i expected. i handle a lot of the sourcing and marketing — keeps me away from here most of the time.”

“persephone? i’ve heard great things about it!” you said, genuinely impressed. “the way gojo talks about it, it sounds like a pretty big deal.”

he chuckled, glancing to the side as if recalling memories. “i started it with a... friend, actually. she was passionate about wine and had a vision that i couldn’t help but support. i guess i have a soft spot for her, and i... well, care about her a lot.”

you felt your heart warm a little at his sincerity, and the slight hesitation when he spoke of his partner. “it sounds like you two have something special going on,” you said, offering a supportive smile. “i’m sure she appreciates everything you do, especially with how involved you are. and honestly? best of luck. that kind of partnership sounds really meaningful.”

suguru gave a small nod, a faint, appreciative smile on his face. 

“thank you. i think she’d like you. maybe one day, if you ever make it out here for one of gojo’s wild wine-tasting parties, we can all meet up.”

“i’d love that!” you replied, already imagining how intriguing that partnership might be. and as you finished up the conversation, it struck you that you’d gotten a glimpse of a different side of suguru — one he clearly didn’t reveal often.

toji hadn’t meant to get distracted, but the second he saw you on a video call with suguru, laughing over whatever he was saying, he couldn’t help it. he’d been halfway listening to the sound tech drone on about waveform patterns, but all of that faded when he caught sight of you smiling on-screen. 

who exactly were you talking to like that? why did you look so happy?

the tech was still talking beside him, but toji’s focus was elsewhere. 

suguru. 

that damn calm, collected face of his. 

the same suguru who he’d seen only sparingly around the company, mostly through gojo’s random updates, but who was still one of the few people gojo actually respected.

toji squinted, his jaw tightening as he took a few steps toward you and pretended it was a casual stroll.

why was he doing this? it wasn’t like he had any claim on you, right? 

sure, there was that one kiss — or, well, those two kisses, actually. 

but still. 

he was a grown man, not some jealous kid. yet here he was, feeling like he had to size up suguru over a damn screen.

before he even realized it, toji had closed the distance. without asking, he leaned over your shoulder, practically shoving his face into the camera view as he met suguru’s face.

“hey, suguru,” he drawled, and the way his voice came out a little gruff didn’t escape him. “didn’t know you were interrupting a busy studio day here.”

you blinked, wide-eyed at his sudden closeness, but toji kept his eyes on suguru, ignoring your flustered reaction. suguru looked almost amused, raising an eyebrow at toji’s unannounced intrusion.

“toji. i’m just saying hi to the new talent here,” suguru replied with a smooth smile, clearly unfazed. “i’m sure you wouldn’t mind me meeting one of satoru’s top finds.”

“top find?” toji scoffed, feeling a weird pang at the words. “i’m the one doing all the work here.”

you shot him a look, somewhere between surprised and amused. “toji —”

but he just grunted and kept going, ignoring your attempt to intervene. “so, suguru, been busy with all that wine business, huh?” he went on, as if suguru’s whole life story had suddenly become his priority.

“pretty much,” suguru replied, a slight smirk in his tone. “it’s been keeping me busy, and i have a…close partner who keeps me grounded. speaking of which,” he turned his gaze to you with an amused smile, “she was the one who started persephone. i’m really just there to support her vision.”

“sounds convenient,” toji muttered, but suguru just chuckled.

you nudged him with your elbow, giving him a warning look. “toji, come on,” you whispered, as if he was the one being out of line here.

he let out a low sigh, then pulled back slightly, looking at you as if he’d just remembered himself. “what? ’m just makin’ sure you’re not getting dragged into any fancy wine scams or whatever.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide a smile. “geto’s company is doing fine, toji. it’s called persephone.”

toji folded his arms and gave a dismissive shrug. “well, just saying. i know people.” 

the whole room seemed to go a bit quieter, and toji cleared his throat, looking away from suguru's patient amusement.

“nice meeting you, toji,” suguru added, with a slight tilt of his head. “take care of our new ‘top find’ there, alright?”

toji clenched his jaw a little at the words, then nodded, pretending he wasn’t glaring at the camera. “yeah, yeah. we’re all set here.”

as the call ended, you turned to him, eyebrows raised, clearly wanting an explanation. “what was that about?”

toji scratched the back of his neck, trying to look casual. “just, y’know…making sure you weren’t getting yourself in with shady people.”

“oh? like, you?”

he let out a bark of laughter, realizing he’d backed himself into a corner. “hey, i’m not shady — i’m just thorough.”

you raised an eyebrow. “thorough? right, that’s the word you’re going with?”

“yeah. and what — you mad at me for caring?”

at that, you went quiet, a faint blush touching your cheeks. 

and toji? well, he could only think of those two kisses again, and how stupidly close he’d just gotten to the camera just to… what? size up suguru? 

he mentally groaned. what was wrong with him?

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[obxsummer]

selfish // ghost of you

navigation -- series masterlist

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader (she/her)

summary: covering the 18 months after el dorado, the pogues are home and are attempting to work through life back in kildare. you're dealing with your trauma setting in, and jj's usual reckless decisions are not helpful in the slightest. oh, and it's time to treasure hunt. again.

warnings: s4 spoilers! for episode one, violence, cursing, the usual obx. heavy mentions of trauma/depression/anxiety/ptsd.

-- So, you might be wondering. What happens after you find the lost city of El Dorado, get blown up, two of your parents die, and you’re stranded in South America with a sack full of gold? Let’s catch up.

First, you catch a ride back home, and you sleep for like three weeks. And then when you finally get back, you make peace with the fam… or not really. And after all the loose ends are tied up, the gold.

$1,172,549…Enough money to get you back on your feet and taken care of after what had been the most insane chase of your life. Pope was the mastermind that pieced together a plan and after a heated, overpriced auction, you stood in front of the old Maybank property that had been transformed into a dream. A surf shop, JJ’s new boat, a dock, and a house full of love and friendship.

Granted, things got iffy and your plethora of money dropped quickly (no thanks to JJ’s poor budgeting), and you were already tight in terms of keeping the business alive. So, you were laying low and helping where you could.

While you were glad to be home and no longer on the run, it didn’t keep away the haunting memories that followed. This was the first time since John B went missing that you’d been able to sit with your thoughts and try to process everything that happened. And it wasn’t easy.

“Hey there, sweet thing.”

You glanced up from your spot on the hammock, having been dozing in and out of sleep for a few minutes now. JJ stood in the doorway, his cutoff shirt framing his tanned skin nicely as you smiled up at him.

“Hi.”

He moved to meet you, lips pressing against yours in a warm, feverish kiss. The two of you had just spent the weekend away in Savannah, Georgia while the other Pogues placed the finishing touches on the property and store for opening. They were more than happy to send the two of you off for time away since you were both more touchy and lovey than you had been in a while. It was the vacation you needed and deserved.

“You coming to the race?” JJ’s voice was raspy and he sat on the netting next to you. It was the annual Kildare Enduro, one that JJ loved to get involved in and you loved to watch, but after his last biking accident, you were a bit nervous.

Your fingers messed with the hair behind his neck as you hummed in agreement, pulling him back down to your lips. “Not happy about you racing on that bike but yes, I’m coming.”

One of the few things you all allowed was for John B and JJ to pick out a new dirt bike, given the fact that you only had the Twinkie as reliable transportation. Now all three of the boys had their own, so as long as the van kept running, the six of you had a fair chance.

“You love me on the bike, baby.”

You chuckled at JJ’s words, giving him another kiss before rolling off the hammock to prevent yourself from falling asleep. “I love seeing you on the bike, J. Don’t love you racing on it.”

The beach was slammed with bikes, trucks, and tents for the racers and crowd of the day when you all arrived. You and Kie business yourself grabbing lemonade as Cleo and John B made sure JJ’s bike was ready to go. 

“How was your trip?” Kie asked as she shoved her reusable straw into the lemonade cup after politely declining the plastic ones the cashier had offered. 

You pushed your sunglasses up and sipped your drink as the two of you started walking back to where the Twinkie was parked. “So nice and peaceful. We didn’t do too much but it was a welcomed change in the chaos.”

Your eyes caught sight of Topper Thornton in his red racing gear, no doubt having a stare-off with your boyfriend. The thought of JJ out there racing against Kooks who clearly had a bone to pick with you guys didn’t help your anxiety.

Sarah thanked you as you handed her a lemonade before sitting in the back of the van which had been pulled up to the makeshift track so you all could watch. Being in this new rhythm had been so odd for you, especially after you started to make peace with the idea that you would never have this sort of “normal” again.

“Did you know?”

You looked up to see your brother, John B, staring back at you with a frustrated frown on his face. He had pulled on his racing jacket, which added to your confusion, but you could tell he was pissed at something. And just like that, things had gone to shit again.

You glanced at Sarah, who looked just as confused before shaking your head. “What are you talking about?”

John B sighed and stepped closer, crouching in front of you. His demeanor changed when you tensed, not knowing what was happening. “Did you know JJ bet the gold?”

“He what?” Your voice was deep and angry. JJ’s lack of self-control when it came to spending money had become severely frustrating for all of you, especially when he spent so much to reclaim his house when it wasn’t worth over half of it. “Please tell me you’re lying, JB.”

He didn’t answer and instead, got to his feet to grab the handles of his own bike that had been driven over.

“John B!” You set your lemonade down and quickly got to your feet as Kiara started cussing out JJ’s behavior, Sarah mumbling her agreement. “Are you serious?”

Your brother stopped short, his eyes searching yours as if he could say everything without speaking. He knew you were already anxious about JJ racing, and putting both of them in there was slowly becoming a fearful experience for you. It didn’t make you feel any better when Rafe settled into a spot next to Topper on his bike, revving his engine to make a scene.

“I’ve got him, okay? We’re gonna make it work.”

You didn’t say anything else, watching as he made his way to the starting line and leaving you between two heated girls who had their glares set on your boyfriend.

It had been hard for you to adjust after nearly dying multiple times while in South America. You’d had a lot of talking sessions amongst each other as a group to cope with it, making sure everyone aired all their emotions when they needed to. Even as though you were practically adults, life was still scary, and you’d had too many breakdowns to not acknowledge it.

JJ had taken most of the nightmares and sleepless nights you’d been cursed with, talking you through every bit of it until you would fall back asleep. John B did his best to pull you out of your head, clocking the look on your face when you’d get too deep and try to pull away. He meant it when he said he was working on being better for everyone, but especially you.

It was a process, but it was working. Slowly but surely, you were healing. It weighed on you mentally, but you were so appreciative to have the support you did.

So, watching the two boys you loved the most get into a race with people that hated you, was scary. 

“They’ll be fine,” Sarah reassured as she watched her own boyfriend pull his helmet on before adjusting his bandana around his face. “Does JJ ever think before he does anything?”

“No, never,” You were quick to answer, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not even once.”

Kie wordlessly held her joint out to you, which you took with no objection. This was slowly becoming a horror movie as they took off from the starting line, the roar of the bikes overwhelming as sand flew up behind them. You kept your eyes on JJ and John B as long as you could until they disappeared over the hill and into the treeline. 

“We’ve got some serious contact in the brush. Oh, and it sounds like Topper didn’t like Maybank crowding him there. Taught him a little lesson. Stuffed him like a turkey!”

You groaned, burying your face into your hands as the announcer covered the parts of the races you couldn’t see behind the trees. Not only was JJ losing, he was losing badly.

“It looks like they’re turning around the buoy. We’ve got Rafe Cameron still in front ahead of the group of riders. Cameron seems to have things well in hand. No mistakes and he should take home the Kildare Enduro. There’s Maybank bringing up the rear. Tough race for him and oh, he’s down again in the deep sand!”

Kiara groaned loudly this time. “Fucking shit, JJ!”

“Wait, what’s he doing?” You caught on to the fact that JJ wasn’t slowing down to make the left-handed turn that would put him en route with everyone else and instead had set his eyes straight ahead where the inlet met the track. “Are we seriously doing this again?”

Sarah grabbed your hand, squeezing tightly as JJ approached the jump at full speed. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t take your eyes off the scene as he threw himself and the bike in the air, managing to catch the ground just ahead of Rafe.

“Holy shit!” Cleo yelled as JJ pushed forward, everyone bursting into cheers as he held the lead. The remaining racers turned the corner and you caught sight of John B nearing Topper, the two pushing each other for the next spot. 

Rafe managed to catch up to JJ quicker than you would’ve liked as they hit the final stretch. Things were looking up and you fought the glimmer of hope bubbling in your chest that this may all end up in your favor.

Until Rafe’s tire nudged JJ’s and sent both of them flying in the air. 

“Jay!” You were moving before you realized, only to get tugged back by Sarah and Pope from interfering as more racers caught up. JJ was moving though, and that was the only part you really cared about. 

John B came flying into view next, barely stopping in time to miss JJ’s crumbled form that was in the sand, which gave Topper the door to win. You couldn’t even care about that though, and as soon as the bikes cleared you were flying forward to your boys on the track. You made it to them as John B pulled JJ from the ground, your boyfriend shoving your brother angrily as he mouthed off. 

“Hey!” You yelled and grabbed JJ’s arm to move him as he tossed his helmet aside angrily. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

JJ shook his head and continued separating himself from the group. “I don’t want to hear it right now.”

“Then you’re going to fucking hear it later, JJ!” You shouted after him, anger overtaking your anxiety as the adrenaline wore off. So much could’ve gone wrong and you could’ve lost more than the money. You glared at him, angry tears burning your eyes as he continued to walk away as if it didn’t matter. 

“Hey, hey.” John B’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, tugging you back into his chest as he turned you away from the sight of your retreating boyfriend. “He’s fine, we’re fine. That’s all that matters.”

“Get used to it.” A raspy voice cut off your response to your brother as you shifted to see Rafe pulling himself off the ground next to you. 

“What’d you say?” John B’s hold disappeared from around you before he moved forward to confront the older Kook with a shove. “Nah, man. What’d you say?”

Rafe hit John B back, both boys ready to start a fight instantly before Sarah jumped in between them. “Hey!” 

“This is forever, alright?” Rafe screamed, backing up a few paces. His face was burning red with anger and you feared he would lash out right in front of you. “Y’all don’t get to win.”

You shook your head, placing your hand on John B’s shoulder to keep him back. “We never get to win, Rafe. In case you haven’t fucking noticed.”

“You could’ve killed each other!” Sarah yelled back at him as she continued to force her brother away from your group. 

Rafe pulled himself out of her grip and shook his head. “Yeah, like you give a shit. You gonna kill me like you killed Dad?”

Your eyes widened as Sarah attempted to defend herself from the comment, but Rafe had already walked out of hearing range. Your friends crowded around the three of you, JJ still in his own head behind the crowd where you left him. 

John B shook his head, running his hand through his hair. The last hour had really wiped him out, physically and emotionally. “We are so screwed.”

Kiara nodded in agreement, the displeasure evident on her face. “Yeah. We are.”

“Why are we screwed?”

The question coming from Pope made you sigh and dig your palms into your eyes in frustration. This was the worst outcome possible for something that was supposed to be fun. 

“Just come on, let’s go.” John B led the group back to the van as Pope pushed for an answer that none of you were willing to give yet. Kie busied herself tossing the lawn chairs in the van, John B taking a seat on his bike and replacing his helmet as Sarah waited for him. 

“Do you want me to get him?” Cleo asked you as she nudged her head in JJ’s direction. You followed her movement to see the boy cussing at himself, kicking sand, and throwing an angry fit.

It broke your heart, but you shook your head. “Leave him, he can come home once he’s calmed down.”

That was another thing that had taken a lot of time to figure out, was how to separate yourself from everyone’s emotions. You were such an empathetic person that you wanted to solve the problems and help everyone, but it had taken its own toll for so long that you needed to end the habit. JJ included. As much as you wanted to run over and hug him and tell him it was fine, it wasn’t. 

It wasn’t until you guys were back home, John B and Sarah following the van on his bike, that Pope approached the subject again. “Someone better tell me what happened before I lose it.”

Shoving the passenger door open, you forced yourself out of the car, knowing the rage was coming quickly. “JJ bet the last of the gold on himself for the race.”

Silence echoed for a moment. 

“What the fuck!”

--

The rampage of Pope Heyward was well deserved. The poor boy had done so much to try and extend the gold payout as best as possible and lost in every way. So when JJ resurfaced at Poguelandia 2.0, all hell broke loose. 

“I said it. I said it once, and I said it again. I said don’t touch the last of our nugget. That was it. That was the last of our savings! Do you not care?”

JJ spun around in a fury, his body scratched and dirty with sand from the crash. “Pope, you saw what happened, man! He stole it, okay? He cheated and he stole it. That’s not my fault, Pope.”

“Do you know how selfish you sound?”

JJ laughed, which just pissed everyone off further. “I sound selfish? I was trying to help us.”

“You helped us, you just cost us everything. Thank you!”

You curled into the sleeves of your sweater as you watched your boyfriend pace. How he thought none of this was his fault was crazy. “Jayj, why are you making it sound like you had nothing to do with it?”

He looked at you and all the anger disappeared from his face, leaving the vulnerable boy you loved so much with tears in his eyes. “Okay, babe. Babe. You know me. Okay? I was gonna bet it all. That’s who I am.”

Kiara scoffed from next to you, “You should’ve talked to us first! It was too risky this time.”

“And what were you doing?” Pope’s anger turned toward John B, who instantly went wide eye at the attack. “You knew he had it and you just let him race?”

“He told me last minute, alright?” Your brother attempted to defend himself but it fell on silent ears.

“John B, look, man. You were supposed to cover-!”

“I did cover!”

The arguing escalated loudly between all three boys until you covered your hands over your ears to block it out. You’d never faired well with yelling since everything happened with Rafe, and hearing it from the people you loved made it worse even if it wasn’t directed at you.

Cleo took one look at you and shut it down. “Hey, enough!” Her voice echoed around the space, effectively chopping the harsh words that were being through. “How bad is it, Pope?”

“How bad is it?” Pope repeated the question as he faced her. “We have a $13,000 property tax payment due in seven days. And we have zero working capital. There is nothing. And you took the last of our savings, so thank you.”

Silence followed the heaviness of his voice before he left you all outside. You winced at the severity of JJ’s actions, knowing these consequences affected all of you and it wasn’t like the hot tub episode at the Chateau where it was a rough purchase. 

JJ called your name, breaking you from your thoughts as you looked up at him. His eyes were still red and clouded with tears. “Baby…”

“I’m going to go for a little bit. I’ll be back before dark.” You didn’t leave room for argument, instead taking off in the direction of the dock where the HMS Pogue was. 

You weren’t trying to give anyone the cold shoulder, but you promised yourself you would try to be better about handling your emotions on your own. You needed to process and take care of yourself alone sometimes.

“Hey,” Pope’s voice was soft as you caught sight of him in the boat, looking out over the water. Seems the two of you had the same idea to come out here. He whispered your name when you didn’t answer or say anything. 

You shrugged, climbing in to sit near him as you pulled your sleeves over your hands. “I’m trying.”

“You’re okay.” Pope’s affirmation sent you into tears. Your knees pulled to your chest as you let out a shaky breath. He didn’t hesitate to wrap you into a hug, letting you cry softly. 

“I’m trying really hard,” You breathed out, hating how weak your voice came out. “It’s like the second a voice raises I shut down and-and-”

Pope held you tightly against him, allowing you to have time to get your emotions out. These panic episodes happened more often than you’d like since you had all gotten home an you felt so embarrassed for your friends to deal with them. 

“Just breathe, I’ve got you. I promise.” 

Pope had become an anchor for you since the moment that was shared on the plane to Orinocco. When it had been revealed that you felt left behind after John B disappeared, he took it personally to help where and when he could. You had always been like a sibling to him and it broke his heart to know you were struggling so much.

The two of you sat there for a few until you caught your breath and recentered. The air was brisk as you drove the HMS through the marsh, taking in the sunset as you did. As much as you loved JJ, you were disappointed he had made this decision on his own. He was trying to help, he always was, but sometimes it just didn’t go that way.

“I’m sorry about JJ,” You said as Pope slowed down for the final stretch before the dock. “I know he means well, but it doesn’t always turn out that way.”

Pope shook his head softly. “I know he does too, but his impulse will be the death of him.”

Unfortunately, you didn’t disagree.

--

The house was relatively quiet as you walked in, quietly thanking Pope before making your way up to your shared bedroom with JJ. You could hear the shower running, the light poking from under the door along with soft music that told you that Sarah was likely inside. The bedroom door creeked quietly as you opened it. JJ’s figure was sitting in your floating egg chair, the one thing you’d asked for at the thrift shop. 

“Hi,” You greeted quietly. He immediately looked up, relief flooding his body at the sight of you as he got to his feet.

“I’m so sorry, I-”

You held your hand up, intercepting whatever he was going to say. “Jayj, I know you are. And I love you, but I really don’t want to talk about this right now. Okay?”

His hope deflated but he nodded regardless. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Um, Kie made salad. There’s leftovers in the fridge. I can… I can sleep on the couch if you want.”

You shook your head softly, giving him a small smile before wrapping your arms around his neck gently. “After today, there’s nothing more I want than to hold you and make sure you’re okay. So no, you’re sleeping here. Now come on, macho. Let’s clean up those cuts and get your ass to bed.” 

And then our luck turned, and the Outer Banks Sentinel wrote about us and our journey. They finally excavated the cave we blew up and suddenly, we’re heroes. It’s pretty weird, to be honest. After the ceremony, this old guy named Wes Genrette came up to us with a request. He invited us to his private estate to discuss his proposition. So, here we are. Eighteen months after finding El Dorado, on our way to Goat Island. Back in the G game, for what we hoped was the last time.

--

navigation -- series masterlist

a/n: and we're back!!! send ideas, send requests, and let the angst begin !!!!

[covenofagatha]

But you're my stepmom! (Part 5)

Word count: 2700

Warnings: super brief mention of smut

Taglist:@stayevildarling @i-just-cannot @hazey-g @buttercandy16 @320viada @evilangels-stuff @rmaximoff @morganismspam23 @aboutcustardcreams @sasheemo @rigglemethat @walkethisway @mommywandas

A/N: I apologize in advance for this one hehe. Next chapter will be more satisying ;)

When you wake up, you are alone with a pounding headache. You roll over with a grunt and reach a hand out to touch the pillow next to you, see if it still has Agatha’s warmth, but doesn’t. You can’t help but feel stung even though you know you’re being irrational. Of course she wasn’t going to spend the night with you. She probably untangled herself from you the second you’d fallen asleep. 

But you remember the way her body felt curled around yours and you sigh. You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart. Her words from the pool last night echo in your head. Last night, they were daring almost, but in the cold light of morning, they are a warning. She is married to your father and twice your age. You can’t be doing this with her, whatever it is. 

You check the time and realize you’ve slept in later than you usually do. You begrudgingly get out of bed and brush your teeth, staring at your pale face in the mirror. Agatha doesn’t want you, you tell yourself. You’re just reading into things. 

More than just a small part of you is disappointed. 

You dig around your closet and are able to find a pair of shorts and a sweater in your closet to throw on. You’re spending the day with Agatha and your dad, still unsure of the plans. 

You check your phone and see five missed calls and 27 texts from Wanda, checking to make sure you were alright. You hadn’t been able to find her before you left the party last night but according to her texts, Rio had seen you get into a car and told Wanda. 

You shoot her a quick text letting her know you’re alive and that you made it home safely. You want to open up to your friend about your night with Agatha but you don’t think Wanda would understand. 

When you go downstairs, the smell of bacon and eggs reaches your nose and you see your step-mother at the stove cooking. 

“Good morning,” you say groggily, taking a seat on a stool at the island. The bacon sizzles and you wince at the noise. She turns around and smiles, always the picture of perfection.

“How are you feeling?” 

You moan in response, dropping your head onto the cool countertop. It feels good and dulls the pain in your head just a little. 

“I remember those days,” she says fondly with a chuckle. And then she places a plate down next to you just a bit too loudly for it to be an accident. 

“Heyyy,” you whine, lifting your head slightly to glare at her. 

“Eat up. You’ll feel better.” You grumble and do as you’re told. While you’re eating, she continues talking. “Your father will be home soon. Have you thought about what you want to do today?”

“Is laying on the couch for the next seven hours an option?”

Agatha smirks. “Unfortunately for you, no. But we could watch a movie or something.” She regards the miserable state you’re in. “Do you want me to get you some advil?” You nod pathetically. 

She leaves the kitchen and you hear her footsteps on the stairs. You’re a little hurt that she hasn’t even mentioned last night. Should you bring it up? You scoff at yourself. What would you even say? Why didn’t you stay with me? or Hey, wanna get back in the pool? 

She is obviously trying to set boundaries and you can do that. You can be good. Better for everyone that way. 

And then she comes back in, places two pills in front of you, and casually says, “You talk in your sleep.” 

Your cheeks heat up immediately. “Um, what did I say?” 

She smirks. “Sounded like you were having a good dream.”

“I don’t even remember what I was–” And fuck, your dream comes back to you in flashes. Agatha pushing you against the side of her pool, grinding her thigh up between your legs. Her telling you to hump it like the desperate little girl that you are. Your eyes widen, horrified. Was that the reason she left? You must’ve been moaning, or even worse, did you say her name? You vaguely remember her leg between yours last night before drifting off, were you moving on it? You drop your head into your hands, the flush from your face spreading all down your neck.“I’m so sorry,” you say through your fingers, determined to never look at Agatha ever again. 

She laughs. “Don’t be, it’s not like you could control it. So, who were you thinking about?” You peek up to see her leaning on her elbows over the counter, eyes wide. You definitely don’t notice how her position pushes her breasts up and closer together, giving you a much better look at her cleavage. 

At least you didn’t moan her name in your sleep. 

“Uh-” you say, mind racing to think of literally anyone besides her. Thankfully, that’s the moment you hear the garage open. You’ve never been so excited for your dad to be home. Agatha winks knowingly and takes your empty plate, rinsing it off in the sink.

“My favorite ladies!” Your dad exclaims as he walks into the kitchen. You offer him a tight-lipped smile and Agatha pats his arm when he leans in to kiss her cheek. You tune out when Agatha asks him about his meetings and he starts recounting his trip. You’ve listened to your fair share of boring work stories from him. 

“So, sweet pea, what’s on the agenda today?” He asks, bringing you back to focus.

“Maybe we can watch some Desperate Housewives?” Before the divorce, you and your dad had spent quite a lot of time together watching TV shows, Desperate Housewives being one of your favorites. 

He smiles. “Sounds perfect. Let me go take a shower and then we can start.”

Agatha busies herself by cleaning up the kitchen while you flop onto the couch. Your headache is starting to subside but you still feel gross from the hangover. You close your eyes and float somewhere between consciousness and sleep until your dad finally comes back downstairs. 

“Alright, what season are we watching?” He asks, handing you the remote. Agatha sits down next to you, pulling a blanket over the two of you and he sits on the other side of her. You flick through the episodes, picking one from season 6 at random. 

You had to admit, it is actually nice to sit here with Agatha and your dad. You feel a sense of peace that you usually don’t when you’re at this house. 

And then you remember what episode this is. The one where Katherine realizes that she might have feelings for Robin and has a fantasy about her. A hot fantasy. You swallow and squirm, your leg starting to bounce anxiously. Normally, you wouldn’t be so affected by the scene on the TV, but you’re suddenly hyper aware of the woman sitting next to you. 

Agatha, seemingly having enough of your leg tapping, reaches her hand out underneath the blanket and places it squarely on your thigh. 

You stifle a gasp and freeze. You forget how to breathe when she starts to slowly drag her nails up and down your leg, pausing every time when they reach the juncture between your leg and hip. You can literally feel the wetness pooling in your underwear. 

She continues doing that for the rest of the episode and you just grow needier and needier with every passing second. So you slowly let your legs fall more open. She glances at you out of the corner of her eye so your dad doesn’t notice, the hint of a smirk pulling at her lips. 

Her hand slides to the inside of your thigh and this time you can’t hold back your sharp intake of air. 

“You okay?” Your dad asks, looking over Agatha to check on you. She squeezes your leg playfully, sending jolts of electricity right to your cunt. 

You nod, not trusting that your voice won’t waver and give your state of arousal away. 

Agatha slowly leans into you, mouth pressing against your ear, hand moving closer to the center of your legs, and whispers, “Good girl.” 

An honest-to-god whimper slips out of your mouth and you cover it up with a cough. “I’m gonna go get some water,” you choke out and practically jump off the couch like you’ve been burned. 

Agatha just smirks. 

In the kitchen, you take deep breaths, trying to calm your nerves. You can’t be imagining it now. Whatever Agatha is doing, it is completely on purpose. You can still feel her heated touch on your thigh and your stomach is still in flames. 

You grab a glass of water and head back to the living room, mentally preparing for more of Agatha’s touches. 

You walk back in the living room and stop dead in your tracks. On the couch, illuminated by the glow of the TV, is Agatha and your dad kissing. 

You drop the glass. It’s the fourth thing you’ve broken in their house in the past two days, if anyone is keeping track. But that’s not what you’re focused on. 

They break apart and whirl toward the sound of the noise. Your dad stands up, apologizing, but you don’t even see him. You’re too busy staring at Agatha, who is chewing on her lip, looking back at you. Her gaze is filled with concern and – fuck, is that pity? 

You scoff. Of course it is. You inwardly curse at letting yourself be so stupid, feelings of betrayal and anger coursing through your veins replacing the desire you had just been feeling. 

You turn on your heel and rush upstairs, throwing your clothes from last night that are folded on your bed into a bag. You pick up your phone and scroll through your contact list, hitting the call button. 

“Please pick up,” you mutter to yourself, pacing back and forth. 

Finally on the third ring, she does. “Hello?” Rio Vidal asks, sounding surprised. 

“Hey, Rio. Do you want to go do something right now?” 

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I’d love to. What do you want to do?” 

“Let’s go to a bar and get older people to buy us drinks,” you say, your stomach already protesting at the thought of consuming more alcohol after last night. 

You can tell she feels the same way by her long groan.

“Okay, fine. We don’t have to drink. But we can still go dance and have fun. Please?” 

“Okay. What time?”

You check your watch. It’s early in the afternoon but you can’t stand to spend another minute in this house. “How about in an hour? I’ll pick you up?” 

She agrees and you hang up. And now for getting out of here. 

Both your dad and Agatha watch you as you walk back down the stairs. “Everything okay?” Your dad asks tentatively. 

“Wanda’s kind of having an emergency right now. Would you be able to take me back to Mom’s house so I can go be with her? My car’s there.” You don’t even look at Agatha but you can feel her eyes locked on you.

Your dad frowns. “How did you get here then?” 

You can’t help but glance at the older woman, your brain trying to think of something quick. 

“I picked her up this morning,” Agatha quickly jumps in. “I just figured it would be easier that way if we went somewhere.” You fight the urge to give her a grateful look, rage still curling around your insides. 

“Okay, yeah, sure,” your dad sighs. “I was kind of hoping we could spend the day together.”��

“Me, too,” you say half-heartedly. “Maybe next weekend though? I’m sorry, Wanda really needs me.” 

“Let me grab my keys,” he says, leaving the room. You walk straight to the front door, ignoring Agatha saying your name. 

The car ride home is filled with awkward conversation about school and work. Nothing out of the usual there, though. He pulls into the driveway and parks the car, turning towards you. You can hardly wait for whatever he’s going to say next. 

“How’s your mother doing?” He used to ask you that all the time when the divorce first happened, but not so much anymore. Not since Agatha. 

“She’s good,” you say softly. He nods like he’s glad to hear it. And then you step out of the car and go into your mom’s house to get ready. 

***

Rio swings open the door almost immediately after your first knock. She’s wearing a cute green dress that pairs nicely with your purple dress. 

“You ready?” You ask and she shuts the door behind her, following you to your car. “How was the rest of the party last night?

She shrugs. “It was fine. I threw up a few times. Nat and Marie won like three more games of beer pong.”

“Of course they did.” The rest of the ride is silent. Rio’s not a big talker and you don’t feel like saying much. 

The Hex is the only 18+ bar in Westview and you’ve been a couple times before. You find it slightly disgusting, but you need to take your mind off Agatha. You were being stupid, you realize that now. 

The line is short, on account of it still being pretty early, and not many people are in the bar. You and Rio find a secluded table to sit at and you order some chips and queso and drinks. The two of you fall into easy conversation now, pointing out things about the other people there. You’re both in the middle of giggling when all of a sudden the music turns on and people start to make their way to the middle of the floor that’s clear. 

“Come on!” You jump up and grab Rio, leading her to the center. She rolls her eyes amusedly but comes willingly. You lose yourself in the music, spinning around with Rio until you see someone with long dark hair. You suddenly stop. The woman turns around and it’s someone you don’t recognize. 

You scowl. 

There’s another brunette dancing with a man, arms around his shoulders. They’re kissing and all you can think about is your dad and Agatha. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Rio shouts over the music. She’s stopped dancing now too and is gently touching your shoulder. Before you can even think, you grasp her cheeks with your hands and pull her into a kiss. 

She kisses you back, her hands flying to your shoulders but you can’t get the thought of Agatha out of your head. Rio’s mouth feels good against yours but you just keep picturing that you’re kissing the older woman. 

“Fuck,” you say in frustration, pulling away, realizing that your eyes are welling up. “I’m sorry.” And then you’re storming off to the bathroom, Rio hot on your heels. 

You’re breathing hard, fists clenching the sink, when the door opens. 

“Hey,” Rio says with uncharacteristic gentleness. She strokes her fingers through your hair, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. You turn around, blinking back tears. “What’s going on?” 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, sniffling. “There’s this woman that I like but she’s with someone else and I thought that she might like me but I’m just an idiot.” Venting about it feels good, even if you can’t tell her the exact details. 

Her face softens. “Well, she’s a fool.” You choke out a laugh, wiping the snot from your nose with the back of your hand. 

“Thank you. For saying that, for coming with me tonight.”

She smiles. “Of course.” 

“Could you, um, could you give me a minute?” You ask and she nods with understanding and slips out the door. You take a shaky breath and look back at yourself in the mirror. You have a cute girl out there who likes you. Stop acting pathetic over a middle-aged woman and get your act together, you tell yourself. 

You straighten yourself up and leave the bathroom. You spot Rio across the bar and you’re making your way over to her when someone grabs your wrist tightly. 

“Hey, ouch!” You exclaim, turning to see who it is. 

Now, this time, it’s a brunette you do know. 

And she looks pissed. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Agatha hisses. 

[a-hazbin-reader]

Eeek I love your writing it makes me so 🫶🫶🫶 Can I make a request?

If you do angst to comfort, can you make reader waiting for Alastor to come back (they're married) for seven years? Reader's friends has been pushing them to have a new lover—introducing them to new demons or overlords that the reader might like, but the reader only loves one; which is Alastor. Until Vox made the news that he was back, for months, without looking for the reader. Which makes the reader think Alastor doesn't love them anymore and tries to not be in his attention whenever they meet and pretends to not know him. What will Alastor do? :3 Thank yous!!!

Oh man...that ANGST!!!

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Reader is sad, Suggestive

Description: ☝️⬆️

When Alastor first dissappears, you assume he's just busy and will be back by the end of the day

And then you wake up alone...so maybe he'll be back tomorrow. Tomorrow turns into a week, a week turns into a month...

He's just gone, suddenly ripped away from you without warning and you didn't even get a proper goodbye

So you search for him, you ask everyone if they've seen him or heard about his whereabouts

You even ask Vox if he managed to kill your husband, knowing the TV head wouldn't be able to resist bragging about it

Instead, he looks surprised and uncomfortable with your obvious distress, muttering something about keeping an eye out for you

Rosie is worried too and offers her help but turns up nothing, she does her best to keep an eye on you

You never give up on finding him, knowing that he's alive out there

After the first three years your friends start trying to get you to move on, setting you up with available bachelors

Valentino has offered to help you get over your husband multiple times because he's just such a good guy

You don't give any of them a chance, you had already found the one man you wanted to be with for eternity and married him

He's just not here at the moment

The pain in your heart is just as strong as when you first realized Alastor was missing, crying yourself to sleep nearly every night

The only time you get to see him now is in your dreams, clutching one of his jackets with his scent still on it

You just feel so abandoned...

After the sixth year, your friends try to get you to move or throw out some of Alastor's things but you can't bring yourself to do it

He's going to come back to you, you know it, so you keep your wedding ring on and still present yourself as a married woman

Rosie makes sure you take care of yourself on the days when your sadness swallows you whole

"Wipe away those tears now, have you eaten today? No? I have just the thing for you.."

Seven years go by and nothing has changed for you

You're sad and miserable, running errands when you suddenly pass by an electronics store, seeing Vox on the TV

That's nothing new to you, you almost turn away and keep walking until you hear Vox say something about Alastor

You're suddenly frozen, listening to Vox bitch about Alastor's multiple offenses during these last few months

He's been back...for months..? And hasn't come to see his wife?

You're blinking away hot tears, the air in your lungs going sour and your stomach doing flips

Did Alastor really abandon you like that? You need to go see the one person who you know has been digging into Alastor for as long as you have

Vox literally screams like a child when you're suddenly bursting into his office and grabbing him by his suit

"How long has my FUCKING HUSBAND BEEN BACK!? And why didn't you tell me, Vox!? WHY!?"

"FUCK! Who let you in here!?"

"VOX!" You're shaking him now, making his screen glitch out

"A-at least a couple of months for sure! He's doing something with Lucifer's daughter and a hotel or some shit! I thought you would've been the first to know he was back!"

Vox is relieved when you finally let go of him, fixing his suit before suddenly giving you a cruel grin

"Wait wait wait-don't tell me-he hasn't come to see you this whole time!? You wait all these years for him and he's shacking up with Lucifer's daughter, a porn star and who knows who else!?"

He suddenly stops laughing when you slam his screen into his desk, storming out afterward so he doesn't see the angry tears in your eyes

"Don't get mad at me because he started a new life without you!"

Vox knew exactly which ugly worries to pull out of your head and you let him get to you

But you knew he was right, looking at all the evidence presented to you...it does look like Alastor is starting over

A small part of you is telling you that he's replaced you somehow but you have enough pride to doubt it

But that self pity comes back to bite you that same night, crying harder than you ever have before

By the end of the week, you've convinced yourself that he doesn't love you anymore, that he got bored of you

You still haven't taken off your wedding ring yet

Imagine your surprise when on your way home you bump into Charlie Morningstar, the princess of hell herself

She somehow managed to crash into you and knock down everything you were carrying, making you sigh and bend down to pick it up

"Oh my gosh, I'M SO SORRY!!" 🥺

You mumble something forgiving back to her, still picking up your things when you hear a familiar voice that makes your heart ache

"Charlie, my dear! What sort of mischief have you gotten int-Y/N?"

You're still as beautiful as Alastor remembers, if not even more so

You can hear the surprise in his voice, along with notes of panic and guilt

You just ignore him, gathering the rest of your things before walking in the opposite direction of them, you don't dare look at Alastor

You know you would break down if you did

He doesn't follow you, nor does he follow you the next time you run into him, or the time after that

It hurts you a little more each time, wanting to know if your husband ever loved you at this point

He doesn't know what boundaries to push with you anymore, he just misses you like crazy

Alastor knows he has to do something-

He tries cornering you the next time he sees you, standing in your way

"Y/N, please just let me explain-"

"I don't know who you're talking about, I'm not who you think I am."

He grabs your wrist, eyeing your wedding band with a frustrated expression

"You're wearing our wedding ring..."

"This is the ring my husband gave to me, and I haven't seen him in years."

You rip away your arm and walk away from him, crying to yourself over how much it hurts

You don't see how his ears lay low, and how he watches you with a regretful expression

He wishes he could just tell you everything, wants to run after you and hold you

But his deal doesn't allow it, he wanted to go straight to you when he got back-never wanted to leave you in the first place

But he was also too ashamed to face you, scared to find that you moved on or that you no longer loved him

He hates that he's hurting his wife like this and it sours his mood for weeks afterwards

Charlie and Vaggie start to understand that Alastor's sudden angry attitude always happens whenever he sees you

But they don't know who you are and they're way too afraid to ask Alastor because he's still digging his claws into everything out of anger

Niffty is actually the one who tells them that you're his wife but Husk explains to them that you're probably pissed at him for disappearing

Charlie is crying at the thought of Alastor and his wife being separated, Vaggie having to comfort her

So the two women get to work on finding you themselves, showing up on your doorstep one day and inviting you to the hotel

It takes a lot of coaxing and convincing from them to finally get you to go with them

You're a bit surprised to hear that Alastor is helping with a hotel centered around the idea of redemption

But you figure he's got some sort of angle, he always does

Alastor isn't there when you three arrive, Charlie having talked your ear off about everything Alastor has been doing to help

Which is unlike him, you're immediately suspicious

But you recognize Husk and Niffty, the little woman running to you and crawling all over you in excitement

"Y/N! Y/N! You're here! Are you gonna stay? Is your house messy? Do you have roaches for me to kill~?"

"Hey Y/N, you look like you need a drink.."

You almost start crying then and there, not having realized how much you missed them too, hugging Niffty tight as you take a seat at the bar

It almost feels like old times, the three of you talking late into the night until it's just you and Husker...

He takes a shot and seems to be preparing himself for something, uncomfortable suddenly

"Y/N...there's something I gotta tell you...about your husband..."

You're expecting to hear the worst, to hear that Alastor cheated, to hear that he's seeing someone new

But what Husk tells you is far FAR from that...you don't know whether to be thankful or horrified

Your husband's soul...owned by someone else? Just what did that man get himself into?

You don't even realize you're crying until Husk is awkwardly hugging you, patting your back gently as you cling to him

At some point, you must've fallen asleep because you wake up in an unfamiliar bed, your face buried in Alastor's neck

You almost relax and fall back asleep before your eyes suddenly pop open, jolting up and shoving him away

Even with what Husk told you, you're still mad at him, he never came back to see you

Alastor wakes up fast enough to realize he's falling off the bed, climbing back up with downward facing ears

"We need to talk, darling.."

"What is there to talk about? You don't want a wife anymore, is that it? Is that why you never came to see me?"

He looks so guilty and upset, his smile tense as he looks away, you have to resist the urge to rub his ears

You flinch away at first when he takes your hands before reluctantly letting him hold them, missing him too much to fight it

"I was too ashamed to face you...there's so much I can't tell you and I was...scared that you would be with someone new."

"Do you have any idea how much pain I was in? Alastor, it nearly broke me.."

He has tears pricking in the corners of his eyes, looking away to try and save face as he pulls you in for a tight hug

"Just please...forgive me and let me be your husband again. I'll do everything I can to fix this..."

It doesn't make up for all the pain you felt for seven years but it's definitely a start

You've missed him too much to continue being angry with him, so you just cling to him and cry

You cry until you both fall asleep again, eventually waking up tangled in each other's arms

He's kissing all over your face, ghosting his lips over your eyes, your nose, your forehead, eventually getting to your lips

You suddenly feel so full of emotion, like you could burst with happiness at finally having Alastor again

You had nearly given up hope that you would feel him, taste his lips, or smell his raw scent ever again

You dig your nails into him when he tries to pull away, forcing him to kiss you longer as his hands bruise your hips

You both are panting by the time you pull away, bodies pressed as close as possible out of a need for contact

His voice comes out like static, leaning in for another kiss as gazes at you with loving eyes

"I have missed you...so much..."

You could cry if it weren't for the fact that you were sick of crying, instead rolling yourself on top of him and kissing along his jaw

"You better prove it to me."

His pleased growl followed by claws digging into your clothes answered you well enough

You know he still has a lot to make up for but this is a good start

Sorry this one came out so long!! I hope you like it!!

[deebris]

Between us

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: This would be the first night you and Bruce would spend together as father and daughter, something you had been eagerly looking forward to. Everything seemed peaceful during dinner until the main singer of the restaurant, Bruce's ex-girlfriend from many years ago, decided to show up and stir things up.

Warnings: Mentions cheating, discrimination agaisnt people with physical disabilities (not from Bruce, not from you), a bit of angst, fluff at the end.

Word count: 5.2k

Note: This is part of The Mysterious Visitor universe, but for those who haven’t read it: the reader is Damian’s twin (though there are no physical descriptions of her), and Talia kept it a secret from Bruce even after her son became Robin. The reader began living with the Batfamily at the age of 13.

You smiled as you reached the last step of the staircase and heard the melody of Dream a little dream of me being played. This restaurant wasn’t very different from those you used to visit with your mother, but it was still different in many ways. It was a large hall, full of yellow lights and whispers from the various conversations happening simultaneously, but what caught your attention most was the singer. Her voice was powerful, yet as soft as a feather. Her arms moved gracefully, as if she knew precisely where to guide them.

Today, it was just you and Bruce, but you had barely entered the place before several men in fine suits began greeting him and making jokes, most of which you didn’t understand. Your smaller figure went unnoticed, and you made no effort for this, staying in your personal silence while you admired the chandeliers and walls with wide eyes. The place wasn’t discreet and was obviously very expensive.

You liked observing people. Many beautiful young women were laughing, but what drew your attention were the unique hairstyles and dresses each of them wore. As Bruce tried to follow the waiter to your table, someone would rise from their own seat every few seconds to talk to him. Yet despite all the handshakes, he never let go of your hand. Until an older lady noticed the little girl Bruce Wayne had brought along:

“And who is this young lady, Bruce?” she asked with a warm smile, and you finally stopped looking around to focus on the people your father was conversing with.

“This is my daughter, Ophelia,” he said, calling the woman by her first name with familiarity. Bruce had a certain affection for her, as she had been a friend of his mother when she was alive.

“Oh! Martha would have been so happy to see the two of you.” She placed a hand on her chest and gently stroked your chin. “And where have you been hiding her?”

“She lived with her mother, but she’s staying with me now,” Bruce replied, beaming at the lady, who excitedly called her husband and son, likely around your father’s age, to come greet you. They were among the few people you truly enjoyed meeting.

It didn’t take long for you two to finally reach your table. Bruce pulled out a chair for you to sit, then took his own. The waiter immediately poured wine for him, while your glass remained filled only with water.

“Do you like the music?” he suddenly asked, noticing how you were staring at the musicians.

“I do,” you said, starting to fiddle with the napkins. “I tried playing the flute once,” you mentioned, and Bruce loved when you initiated conversations without realizing it. It made it easier for him to learn more about you, and in a way, it was an endearing trait of your personality.

“Tried? Why did you give up?” He kept the conversation going, relaxed in his chair and entirely focused on every small expression you made.

“I didn’t have enough breath to blow,” you snapped your lips in frustration, remembering how disappointing it was not to be able to play. Your father wanted to laugh internally but did everything to hold it back, knowing it would irritate you. “Do you play anything?”

“I used to play piano, but I’ve had no time, and I barely remember the last time I touched one,” he squinted as he spoke, and you felt sad seeing how much he seemed to miss the instrument.

“Why is there a woman in costume over there?” you asked suddenly, changing the subject entirely, and your father had to turn his head to see whom you were talking about. There was a woman in flamboyant clothes and a white wig talking to a man Bruce recognized as the owner of the establishment.

“She’s the opera singer who used to perform here when it was still a theater.” He got comfortable in his seat again and opened the menu. “She only goes on stage at 10. If you want, we can stay and watch her later.”

“This used to be a theater?” you perked up, scanning the room again, trying to imagine how it must have looked years ago, without all these tables and with an audience facing the stage. Bruce smiled internally, having caught on that your curiosity had been piqued.

“When the old owner died, his son decided to turn the place into a restaurant,” he glanced briefly at you and noticed how you were expecting him to say more. “The boy didn’t live in the city, and when he came back, he thought the business was too archaic. But he decided to keep some of the staff as a tradition.”

“I wish I could have watched a play here,” you said, frustrated, resting your head between your hands. Bruce thought about telling you to take your arms off the table but dismissed the idea.

“You’ve never seen one?” He turned to the next page, evaluating the meals.

“No… Only on TV,” you replied, poking at the edge of the other menu the waiter had left for you but not bothering to open it.

“We can go one day. I’ll take you,” he said after finally deciding what to order, but before calling the waiter, he looked at you curiously. “Have you decided what you want to eat?”

“I…” you hesitated for a moment. “Can you choose for me?” you asked with pleading eyes.

Bruce frowned. He opened his mouth to understand but closed it immediately. He had noticed details about your behavior like this in recent weeks—small, seemingly insignificant things that still managed to catch him by surprise. It was normal for children your age to choose what they wanted to eat, but it seemed Talia had been very strict about your diet. Alfred prepared your meals, and Bruce couldn’t recall you refusing any of them. Fortunately, you seemed easygoing in this aspect.

“Are you sure you don’t want to choose? Something savory instead of sweet?” he suggested, and you thought for a moment but nodded. Bruce knew about your fondness for sweets, which made him sometimes push you to avoid them.

Bruce raised his hand to call the waiter, but suddenly a high-pitched female voice approached from behind. Neither of you had noticed when the singer had finished her song, stepping away from the microphone while the band played without vocals, heading toward your table.

“Bruce Wayne!” she called out excitedly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Your father looked at her, not expecting her to come over, barely noticing the man accompanying her until he also started speaking, though more loudly than her.

“Miss Conti,” Bruce muttered her name uncomfortably. “Mr. Williams,” he acknowledged the restaurant’s owner. After Williams took over the place following his father’s death, Conti was hired as the main attraction. The two had a public affair, something socially frowned upon, but for some reason, the man’s wife tolerated the scandal.

“Mr. Wayne, I needed to talk to you. Are you enjoying the evening?” Williams attempted to start, but he was interrupted:

“Oh, come on, Bruce. You know you can call me Cecilia,” the woman chimed in, rubbing your father’s shoulder with her thumb before removing her hand completely and then noticing you sitting next to him. She opened an even bigger smile, though her eyes didn’t follow suit, widening with curiosity. “And who’s this lovely girl here?”

Bruce let out a small laugh, happy to mention you. “This is my daughter.”

“I didn’t know you had a daughter. How’s Richard doing? Still as confident as when he was a boy? God, he must be a grown man by now.” She made comment after comment but didn’t give Bruce a chance to respond before she started speaking again: “Oh, but you’re such a cute little thing.” She approached your chair, cautiously analyzing your face, running her fingers over your earlobe and then sliding them along your jaw. You had no other reaction but to thank her, feeling uncomfortable with her touch and very confused about who they were.

“You’re very beautiful too, Miss,” you said sincerely. The woman before you was truly stunning. Her blonde hair was impeccably styled in an elegant bun, and her makeup remained flawless, without a smudge. She wore an orange dress adorned with small sparkling stones that glimmered under the lights. Your teenage eyes were captivated by her appearance. She didn’t seem to be more than 40 years old.

“Oh, hearing her speak makes her even more adorable,” she gestured in the air as if wanting to pinch your cheeks, softening her voice the way people often do when talking to pets.

“A really lovely young lady, if I may say so,” Williams added with an awkward smile as he pulled a chair from another table to sit. You looked at Bruce, confused, thinking it would just be the two of you. The woman did the same but, instead of fetching one herself, asked a random man in a staff uniform to bring her one. “Remember what we were discussing at the city library’s grand opening, Wayne?”

“George, forget business for a second. Let’s have some fun,” Cecilia cut him off. “Where did you two come from?” she asked you both.

“We were at the auction,” your father answered, tense at their lack of social grace. If you hadn’t been there, Bruce wouldn’t have hesitated to be rude and tell them to get lost, but in front of his children, he tried to keep that side of him in check.

“Oh! The one the opposing candidate, DuPont, organized?” she added a malicious tone to her voice, as if implying something. “I must say, I never thought I’d see you supporting one of your biggest competitors in Gotham’s mayoral race, Bruce.”

“We’re competitors, not enemies,” he tried to respond lightly. “Besides, I don’t see why we couldn’t end up collaborating.”

"You should have declared support for the current mayor. The citizens of Gotham tend to reelect the same names, as you well know. Carnegie will win again," the other man interrupted. Bruce, impatient, clenched his fists under the table, frustrated with the direction the conversation had taken. He had hoped for a quiet dinner alone with you to get to know you better, but it seemed he had chosen the wrong place.

"Mr. Williams, no offense intended, my only reason for being here is to have dinner with my daughter. Please, let’s put politics aside for tonight." He wished he could ask both of them to leave, but suddenly, Cecilia started talking to you. Bruce, visibly irritated, called the waiter, wanting to finish the meal as quickly as possible so he could leave. After placing his order, he turned to you and asked, "Carbonara?" Seeing you nod, he ordered that too.

"I'll go for an arugula salad with truffles," Cecilia said, her smile becoming increasingly irritating, seemingly oblivious to Bruce's displeasure.

"For me, a lobster ravioli with lemon foam and caviar," Williams added, just to be included, and you grimaced at the thought of caviar.

"What did you think of the auction? Did your father buy something special for you?" Cecilia turned to you at the table, with a noticeable interest in getting your attention.

"It was interesting, Miss Conti," you replied simply, using the surname you remembered your father mentioning.

"Oh, dear..." Cecilia said in a falsely disheartened tone. "Bruce drags you to these boring events? Girls your age usually prefer to go to the movies or something like that."

"I like movies," you said, irritated, not quite understanding what she was getting at. "And I enjoyed the auction. There were some very beautiful paintings there."

"Argh, I hope you’re not talking about those by Isabela Zaragoza." She picked up a wine glass the waiter had served a few minutes earlier and drank. "She can only sell her works at charity auctions." She let out a sarcastic laugh, and Mr. Williams joined in.

You looked at Bruce for a response, but all you saw was a hard look. Your father was hardly looking at any of you, breathing deeply with impatience. You didn’t like what they were doing; it seemed cruel, even though you had no idea who Isabela Zaragoza was.

"Oh, Bruce. You know it's true." She rolled her eyes, and it was clear that Cecilia was the dominant one in the duo, always very talkative and starting conversations. "In all of Gotham City, the only one who buys her art is your father. It must be out of pity; someone who paints with their feet probably won't get very far in their career."

You were shocked by what she said. It was something so unexpected to hear that you froze in place completely. It was absurdly cruel, and seeing your wide eyes, along with Bruce's furious expression, made Williams, who had been laughing with her earlier, become nervous.

"Cecilia!" He whispered her name sharply. "She was just joking. Zaragoza is a fantastic artist." He tried to ease the tense atmosphere, sweating coldly.

"I must say she paints better with her feet than you sing with your mouth, Miss Conti." Bruce suddenly replied in a dangerously low voice, and it seemed to hit a nerve with her, as the calluses that were forming in her voice knocked her confidence. He knew he was wrong to try to humiliate her back; it wasn’t a mature move, especially since he didn’t want you to take that as an example.

You let out a quiet laugh at that but immediately stopped when Bruce looked at you. He had a soft sadness, not of disappointment, but of concern. He regretted his own behavior and knew he would need to talk to you about what Cecilia and he had said later. The woman in question tried to laugh with you at first but miserably failed. It was obvious that Bruce had wounded her ego.

"When we were dating, you praised my voice a lot, Bruce." She suddenly mentioned, and you looked at him in surprise. You hadn’t noticed how your father had almost frozen in place before asking:

"You and my dad used to date?" Your voice carried genuine curiosity, and Mr. Williams beside you seemed uncomfortable with the topic.

"Yes, dear." She looked at you, then turned her face to Bruce mockingly. In the background, you could hear your father clearing his throat, trying to draw your attention away from the subject, but he couldn’t. "It's been many years. It was fun for a few months, that is until Robert found out, of course." She laughed a little too loudly for the setting, taking another sip from her glass.

"Who is Robert?" You asked, your voice dropping, your playful smile now gone due to the strangeness of the conversation.

"Oh, he was my husband." She said it as if it were nothing, and Bruce suddenly stood up from the table, moving to his seat and pulling you to leave. His expression had crumpled like paper as he stood up automatically, still processing what she had said.

"Let’s go." Bruce told you, embarrassed but trying to mask it with an expression of fury.

"But the dishes haven’t even arrived yet, Bruce." Cecilia melodramatically added, placing a hand on his arm, a silent request to stay.

"We're leaving." He repeated more firmly, pulling you by the shoulders away from her. Bruce leaned a bit over the table to face her head-on, and with harshness, he unleashed his anger on her: "I know what you're trying to do, you viper, and you will regret this. Never dare to approach me or her again."

"Did I say something wrong?" She spoke cynically, finally showing an expression that matched her feelings for him: disdain.

"Wayne, we can resolve this." William stood up from the chair, visibly shaken. The meticulous plan he had been crafting for months was crumbling before his eyes. Bruce's funding was the key to expanding the restaurant, and Cecilia had ruined everything. "I'm sure we can forget this incident if Ceci apologizes."

Bruce felt the tension rise in his body, the throb of a vein in his forehead, while the heat of irritation burned under his skin. "Do you think I’m going to accept something like that? In front of my daughter?" He spat the words, struggling to maintain his composure. His fists were clenched, ready for a blow that never came. It was only when you gently tugged on his arm that he made the decision to leave. As you walked out, William's frustrated shouts echoed through the hall, his anger directed at the blonde woman, who was furious at being dismissed immediately.

Bruce's frustration was palpable. The last thing he wanted was to deal with someone as inconvenient as Cecilia, especially in your presence. The shadow of his reckless past still hung over him, an open wound. Women like her were living reminders of the regrets that haunted him, of thoughtless choices he would do anything to change.

Near the exit, you spotted the opera singer again, and the memory of what your father had promised you tugged at your heart. "Aren't we going to stay to hear the opera lady?" your voice carried a twinge of sadness.

Bruce sighed, his fingers gently squeezing your shoulders, but the discomfort was evident on his face. "Sorry, I know you wanted that." The weight of the situation was palpable, and he couldn’t help but imagine what you were thinking about him now.

The chauffeur, caught off guard by the rush, quickly opened the door. Bruce, however, did not wait. He let you enter first, slamming the door shut as soon as he settled in. Inside the car, he exhaled the air he hadn’t realized he was holding, diverting his gaze to you. His focus was on the scenery, his face too serene, but he noticed how you were biting your nails—a small sign of nervousness.

He swallowed hard. What a terrible way to end the evening, right next to you. The silence hung heavy in the air, and he feared asking what was going through your mind. Who would have thought? Bruce Wayne, afraid of the words of a child.

For a moment, he watched you press your cheek against the glass, your eyes wandering over the city lights.

"S/n," he called your name, his voice hoarse. You murmured in response, waiting for him to continue. Bruce opened his mouth, but the words got lost along the way. His expression hardened, and he turned to the window as well, the silence remaining until you arrived at the mansion. And you, very focused on observing the movement of the streets, didn’t mind.

When you arrived at the entrance, Alfred was already there, helping you take off your thick coat at that very moment. The butler was surprised at how quickly the two of you returned. He knew that Bruce wouldn’t take long because of you, needing to sleep early, but he hadn’t expected it to be at this hour.

"Master Bruce, Miss Y/n. Did something happen?" He asked, noticing your silence. For Bruce, this was a common demeanor, but whenever your went out, you returned home commenting on every tiny detail of everything you saw.

"Boring people." You replied with a grimace, using that false tone of indifference that Alfred knew how to identify very well.

"Boring people?" He returned rhetorically while glancing at Bruce, who silently took off his own coat and exited the room without saying goodbye to either of you. He had certainly overheard the brief conversation but was ignoring you two. "There are always a few." The older man said with a smile at you.

“I don’t like going to places with a lot of people; it’s annoying having to give everyone an explanation. But it was nice to go out with Bruce.” You started voicing your thoughts aloud, and Alfred knew you wouldn’t hold back in front of him.

Sometimes he felt like you treated him as a sort of confidant, a diary, but then he realized you didn’t make an effort to hide anything from anyone in particular, except for extremely specific things. Another clear sign of Talia. She must have raised you to be like this, as no other girl your age would likely be so open.

“Did you have fun with him?” The butler continued encouraging you.

“Yes!” You became animated again, just as you had on other occasions. It seemed like all you needed was a little push to break the ice. “He let me place bids at the auction. I even competed with someone.”

“Did you win?”

“Yes!” You repeated the exasperated expression. “In the end, I almost didn’t place a final bid because the money got really high, but Bruce said to keep going.”

“And what did you get?” Alfred asked, guiding you to the kitchen. At some point, you would ask for his hot chocolate, so he preferred to get ahead of it.

“It was a compass from the colonial era.” You followed him and sat in the middle chair at the counter, one of the seats in front of the stove, since watching the butler cook had become one of your hobbies. It happened so often that everyone knew that chair was yours, and only you sat in it. “The money went to the children from the orphanage, so Bruce said I could.”

“Well done.” He replied, very focused on something but still paying attention to every word you said. Just then, Jason entered the kitchen, surprised to see you there, just like Alfred.

“You got back early.” He commented, recognizing the situation, raising his eyebrows at the butler, who gave him a keen look as he watched him head for the fridge. “What happened?” The boy asked, lacking any real interest.

“Bruce argued with a couple at the restaurant after the auction.” You said, resting your head on the counter, and Alfred could feel his ears itching. He had finally arrived at the point he wanted. “I saw a motorcycle like yours when we were coming back.” You added for your brother.

“Bruce argued at the restaurant?” Jason questioned you, ignoring your last sentence, not out of malice, but because he didn’t expect the animated man who had left home earlier to come back with such news.

“It wasn’t really a fight.” You tried to correct yourself, feeling guilty for revealing this since neither of them seemed very happy. “He just ended up discussing.”

Alfred extended an arm toward Jason as if asking for permission to interject in the matter. “Miss Y/n, who did Master Bruce argue with?”

You worried you were saying too much and might upset Bruce later because of it, but the way things happened, you knew the people at the tables around must have seen the scene, even if they didn’t know the context. Sooner or later, they would know who the parties involved were.

“A man named... Williams I think.” You whispered, looking at a random point as you tried to remember his name, losing Jason’s incredulous expression as he recognized the name of the place’s owner. “And a woman named Cecilia Conti.” The last name made Alfred nod silently, as he remembered the woman well.

“What did those two do to annoy him?” Jason dared to ask, looking at the butler with curiosity. The man was good at hiding feelings, but he sensed that Alfred knew very well the last person. The name wasn’t strange, but still, it wasn’t someone Jason recalled being mentioned with any importance.

The delay in hearing your answer made the two of them stare at you again in confusion. You pulled your hands from the counter and joined them in your lap, never meeting their gazes. It was an uncomfortable situation for you, and unfortunately very disappointing, but you knew Bruce wouldn’t want you to go around sharing this. If you were in his shoes, you wouldn’t want anyone to know either. It wasn’t something that should be simply said.

“I don’t know.” You whispered again, looking up to see if they believed you. Obviously, neither of them did, but Jason was clever and changed the subject.

“So you saw a motorcycle like mine, huh?” He moved closer to you, holding a bottle of tonic water he had taken from the fridge. “Which one was it?”

“I don’t understand motorcycles.” You replied with a discouraged huff.

Jason glanced at Alfred and noticed that he was watching you both the whole time. Knowing him well, Jason realized that Alfred would go after Bruce to understand the story since you obviously didn’t want to tell.

“I was going to take a look at the exhaust on mine. Want to come with me?” He asked, remembering how you enjoyed learning a bit more about how the systems worked when he showed you last week. “I’ll let you get your hands dirty this time.”

“Are you serious?” You asked excitedly, smiling when you saw him shrug, but you quickly widened your eyes as you remembered something: “I can’t, I need to sleep. First day of school.”

Your statement made Jason check his wristwatch, looking at the time. He looked at you as if feeling sorry, saying, “Good luck, squirt.” And he headed to the garage of the Batcave, from which you suspected he had just come.

Alfred was happy that Jason was bonding with you. Knowing the boy's genius, the older man thought he would resist developing some kind of relationship, very different from Dick. But apparently, your nature pleased him since he didn’t shy away from spending time in your presence, like now.

Before midnight, you had already washed your hair and were trying to dry it with a hairdryer, but it was a bit difficult to stretch your arm back. You were clumsy, and usually, your mother did that for you, but after a few minutes, you managed. The problem was that everything got messy, and you wanted to sleep so you wouldn’t be tired the next day, but you had to detangle it or it would be worse. You must have been very focused while trying to fix your hair because you didn’t even notice your father opening the door.

“You’ve got everything ready.” Bruce said, analyzing the clothes on your sofa, with his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, having only taken off his jacket. “Excited for the first day of school?” He asked you with a strange tone.

“I think I’m more nervous.” Your response came with a furrowed brow, wondering what the day would be like. You had never been to school before, and it seemed Damian and Tim were really good there, so you felt a bit pressured to at least try not to embarrass them with poor performance.

“I still remember how it was for me.” He continued, watching your uniform with a melancholic gaze, reliving some old memory. Bruce liked how well ironed everything was, and it made him proud to know that you did it all by yourself. “You’ll do fine, trust me. A girl like you won’t have many problems making friends or getting good grades.”

“Alfred helped me choose the shoes.” You pulled out a pair of low-heeled white dress shoes to show him. They were delicate and would certainly stand out against the uniform. “Aren’t they pretty?”

“They are.” Bruce smiled, looking more at you than at the shoes themselves. “Have you eaten?” He asked, concerned.

You grimaced and took a moment to respond, letting out a hesitant “Yes.”

“Did you really eat?” He gave you a disapproving look, not convinced.

“Hot chocolate.” You let out the answer you knew he didn’t want to hear. You ate a bit of everything, including healthy stuff, but your sweet tooth was hard to control.

“You have to eat something besides sweets before bed.” He said, trying not to give in to the remorseful look you gave him. But the feeling of guilt hit him, knowing he should have ensured you had dinner at the restaurant.

“But I already brushed my teeth.” Your mumble made him sigh, searching for words to bring up a topic he wanted to avoid at all costs.

“Sorry... For what happened there.” He took his hands out of his pockets and sat on the bed, extending his arm for you to come to him. “You shouldn’t have had to hear that.” His voice was in an unnatural tone, firm and grave, but your silence notably bothered him.

“S/n.” He called your name, seeing your face look up to meet his. “You can be angry. You don’t have to pretend.”

“Why should I be angry?” Your question was innocent. Although it was disappointing, you didn’t feel angry at him. Besides, before you got to know him for real, Bruce Wayne was already a famous figure. His personal life was constantly in the newspapers.

“I want you to know that back then I was young and stupid.” He ran his hand along your arm as if wanting to offer some kind of comfort. The realization that you could have changed your opinion about him was killing him since you two left there, and he worried about doing something wrong concerning you, as Bruce wanted your trust, and he knew Talia wouldn’t let any mistake slip by before coming back and throwing it in his face. “I’ve changed. Do you understand me?”

“So you wouldn’t do that again?” You asked calmly, and that relieved him.

“No, never again. That was the first and last time.” He placed the hand that was on your arm to gently caress your cheek, suddenly remembering the time. He couldn’t take much more of your time. “There’s something more important I want to talk to you about as well. What Conti said about Miss Zaragoza…”

“It was wrong,” you quickly added, noticing how conflicted he seemed about what had happened.

“And what I said after…” Bruce continued, trying to find the right way to say it, but you spoke up again:

“That was wrong too.” Your soft voice sounded in understanding.

“Smart girl.” He smiled slightly, placing his hand on top of your head. “Can you do me a favor?”

“What?” you asked, rubbing your sleepy eyes.

“Can you not mention Miss Conti to Dick?” Bruce continued looking at you attentively, noticing the silly expression on your face. He felt genuinely grateful to see that the incident hadn’t affected your mood towards him. “Your brother doesn’t like her either.” Bruce gave you a light pinch on your side, which made you laugh.

“Alright!” you murmured as you got up, now excited thinking about the day ahead. “No telling Dick.” You emphasized, already pulling the covers up to lie down.

Bruce had also stood up, going to the switch to turn off the light when your voice sounded again: “Can you take me to school tomorrow? Just to the entrance.”

“I will,” he replied calmly. “And no more sweets for the rest of the week. I won’t go easy on you.” Bruce said finally, turning off the switch and carefully closing your bedroom door.

Tag list:

@aenishas

[ew-selfish-art]

DP x DC AU: Bruce is the one to invite Constantine over, and no, it's not to improve his tenuous working relationship with the asshole. It's the opposite of that.

---

Danny had become a frequent visitor of Wayne Manor in the last few months, and Bruce had to admit that while the kid was certainly a bit ominous for his liking for a partner to Tim, he was a generally kind and happy soul. They'd been dating for a lot longer than the Bats knew of- Kon had been the one to let it slip to Jon who told Damian and so on- and since the relationship was no longer secret, Tim brings him to family functions.

The thing about Danny is... He's dead. More than half of the time. Which again, is not Ideal for Bruce's wishes for Tim's future husband, but it also means that he reviles in being alive. Danny is downright joyous about using his time left on earth properly. He makes Tim eat real food, enjoy real sleep and generally live a more fulfilled life than he had been. The whole family noticed the changes in Tim, and it made them like Danny even more.

So after a particularly grueling day of dealing with Trigon and therefore the JLD's lack of coordination and sensible planning- Bruce gets the idea. John couldn't fucking contain himself admonishing Bruce, and perhaps it was vindictive, but Bruce figures that John should meet Danny. Sans context of course.

...

John is really over dealing with Batman's prissy, over complicated and perfectionist attitude. Come to the Cave he'd demanded, as though John didn't have a favorite bar to get back to, deal with a ghost he ordered like John didn't have other priorities than some random shade.

When walking into the space however, the second his teleportation portal closed, John knew something was deeply, deeply fucked. The shadows were growing longer, the second hand on his watch ticked slower, the air smelled of sulfur and... Red Robin was sitting working at the computer like nothing was wrong. But what was wrong, was the kid was marked by The End. Marked by The Infinite. FUCK.

John knew Death, the Endless, and knew she could pick favorites just like her siblings (Dream's immortal drinking buddy comes to mind). But this wasn't her work, this was something other.

"Mate- the Bat said there was a ghost?" John feels like he might throw up, the eerie atmosphere complicating what should have been a simple request.

"Uh, obviously." The kid didn't even look over from his screen or pause his typing.

John slowly approached, looking over each shoulder a few times, turning in a few circles as the shadows appeared to dance and echo within the cave. He could see his breath, the air became so cold so suddenly. And then, with the gentleness of a pin drop, a new agonizing sound appeared with a Kid walking down the cave stairs. The aura of the room turned dark, every cell in John's body screaming to run, that this was basically the little girl from the ring crawling through the TV as the young man walked down the steps.

"Babe, your grampa says that dinners going to be ready in a second. Oh, uh, hey dude." The creature speaks, turning his eyes to John for only a moment to study him. It feels equivalent to a butterfly being pinned by its wings.

"Y-y-you, you're, you're one of the Endless?" John stutters, his body reacting in fear despite the nonchalant posture of the Beast. The young man rolls his eyes.

"Nah, one of the Ancients but like uh, I'm new in town. And hon seriously don't be late, A made tiramisu for dessert and you're not allowed to have any if you're late and I don't want to deal with you pouting."

"You had me at Tiramisu!" Red stands up from his computer and then turns, "John, what are you doing here again?" Red Robin finally looks over at him, completely confused.

"Just leaving." John mutters, his eyes still trained on the ANCIENT.

---

Bruce could barely hide his laugh when Tim reported the Magician meeting Danny in the cave.

That'll show the asshole to question Batman's knowledge of the occult.