#though warning they could be out of character

[fushitoru]

chapter 9: the embers a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

genre/warnings ⸺ enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, suggestive, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly, all they do is bicker 💀, some historical inaccuracies, mentions of sex work

chapter summary ⸺ sukuna takes you on an excurion into town at night, where you both meet a stranger that gives you illustrative insight into gojo. on the other hand, satoru has to suffer his best friend's most terrible plan as of date (10k).

a/n MWAHAHAHA i'll see you at the end :) thank you for my beta readers @/angelina7890, @/purplegemadventures, @/hellowoolf, and @/sinn-clair for helping me salvage bridgerton!gojo efknwekfnw

also note that the warnings have been updated.

prev. the lake | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest Reader,

It seems that the Gojo name has once again stirred the waters of the ton—quite literally, this time. If you were not present at Surrey Park, then you have surely missed a sight that will be etched in the minds (and no doubt dreams) of many a young lady for weeks to come.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

The rhythmic sound of the carriage wheels against the dirt road filled the silence as you sat between Choso and Sukuna, gazing out of the small window. The events of Surrey Park, particularly the lake incident, replayed in your mind with an insistence that made your temples throb. You clenched your hands tightly in your lap, as if the sheer tension in your knuckles could chase away the image of Lord Gojo, drenched and smirking as though he hadn’t just caused your heart to stutter in ways you loathed to admit.

“What a ridiculous display,” Sukuna muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the seat, his tone conveying pure disapproval. “That man cannot seem to go a day without making a spectacle of himself. I wonder if he has any sense of propriety at all.”

You tore your gaze from the window, startled from your reverie. “I hardly think it was his intention to fall into the lake,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction. The memory of Gojo's intense gaze before he walked away was still fresh, leaving you both flustered and confused.

Sukuna raised a brow, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. “Intentional or not, it is yet another reason why I cannot fathom what you—or anyone, for that matter—ever saw in him.”

You could not help but think Sukuna’s dismay was not deserved; after all, the man had fallen into the lake in defense of you. Thus, it was not as easy for you to color it obscene and vulgar as easily as Sukuna.

 “Sukuna,” Choso interrupted with a stern look, though his tone was mild. “Let us not belabor the point. What matters is that our sister is no longer tethered to that man. Speaking of which”—he turned to you, his expression softening—“how fares your progress with Duke Nanami? Has he hinted at a proposal?”

You hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under your eldest brother’s watchful gaze. “He is... cordial and kind,” you replied after a pause, your voice measured. “Our conversations are pleasant, and he is undoubtedly a man of good character.”

Choso frowned slightly, clearly unsatisfied with your tepid response. “But is he inclined to offer for you?”

“I suppose,” you murmured, clasping your hands tighter in your lap. The truth, however, was far from what you conveyed. Despite Nanami's quiet, unwavering presence, your thoughts seemed to stray perpetually toward another—toward Lord Gojo, who could unsettle and vex you in equal measure with a single look or word. The mere memory of him emerging from the lake, every detail exaggerated by the sunlight, made your heart flutter treacherously.

Sukuna’s sharp eyes darted toward you, narrowing slightly as he leaned forward. “You suppose?” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “You are not typically this indecisive, Sister. Tell me, where exactly does your mind wander?”

You stiffened, heat creeping up your neck as you struggled to mask your turmoil. “I am simply... weighing my options,” you replied carefully, returning your gaze to the window to avoid his probing stare.

For a moment, Sukuna studied you in silence, his lips pursed in thought. But he said nothing more as the carriage finally pulled into the familiar drive of your family’s estate.

Once the carriage halted and Choso helped you alight, the three of you headed into the Itadori manor. However, as soon as you crossed the threshold, Sukuna’s hand lightly touched your elbow, indicating that you should linger behind. As Choso continued on to go to his study and fell out of earshot, you turned to him, a questioning look on your face.

“Sister,” he began, his voice low but not unkind. “Would you care to join me on an outing to town this evening? I have... matters to attend to, and I thought you might find it of interest.”

“An outing?” you asked, turning to him with curiosity. “What kind of matters?” 

Sukuna’s smirk widened, his expression almost conspiratorial. “Let us call it a meeting of minds. A discussion on the state of affairs, if you will.”

Your heart quickened with excitement at the prospect. If you recall correctly, you have no plans of balls or any outings with the tons tonight, and you longed to engage with something outside of the season’s mundane practices ever since Gojo had similarly taken you into town. Sukuna had been long gone, and this ritual of yours—sneaking into town to experience political meetings—you had long been deprived of.

“I would be delighted,” you replied, unable to keep the enthusiasm from your voice.

“Good,” Sukuna said, a rare note of approval in his tone as he squeezed your arm lightly. “Then prepare yourself for something far more stimulating than insipid dances and idle chatter.”

The moon’s light shone over the two cloaked figures that were you and Sukuna. As the both of you sneaked towards an apparent meeting point that Sukuna had pre-established, your heart raced—not from fear, but from the thrill of doing something forbidden.

The brisk air bit at your cheeks as the sound of the faint crunch of gravel accompanied you both while creeping across the street.

"Keep up," Sukuna whispered, casting a glance over his shoulder. His expression held that mischievous glint you had come to recognize all too well, as though he relished dragging you into his escapades.

 “I am keeping up,” you shot back, pulling your hood further over your face. “I only hope you know what you’re doing.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and unbothered. “Always.”

Soon enough, you spotted a modest carriage tucked behind a grove of trees, its lanterns dimmed to avoid attention. A figure stood waiting beside it, cloaked and hooded, though far more relaxed than someone trying to avoid detection. Sukuna approached the man with an ease that spoke of familiarity, slapping him on the shoulder as though they were old friends.

“Toji,” Sukuna greeted, his voice carrying a note of camaraderie.

“Toji?” you repeated under your breath, squinting your eyes as you studied the man. He was broad-shouldered, with an air of roughness about him that immediately set him apart from the polished gentlemen of the ton. His sharp eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to Sukuna, clearly unimpressed by the effort you’d gone through to remain inconspicuous.

“This the sister you’ve been talking about?” Toji asked, his tone casual as he nodded in your direction.

“Indeed,” Sukuna replied, smiling as he gestured toward you. “Miss Itadori, meet Toji Fushiguro, a man of many talents.”

“Many talents?” you echoed, shooting Sukuna a skeptical look. “And which talents are we referring to, exactly?”

Toji let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “She’s got a sharp tongue, your sister. I like her.”

You narrowed your eyes at the stranger, unsure whether to feel flattered or annoyed, but Sukuna merely grinned, ushering you toward the carriage. “Come on, we’ve got places to be.”

The interior of the carriage was cramped, but warm, the faint scent of leather and smoke lingering in the air. Toji climbed in after you, settling into the opposite seat with the practiced ease of someone who’d spent many nights in carriages like this one. Sukuna took his place beside you, leaning back as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re very familiar with him,” you remarked to Sukuna, your tone edged with suspicion. “I’d like to know why.”

Toji answered for him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Your brother and I go back. He’s got a knack for finding himself in interesting situations, and I’ve got a knack for getting him out of them.”

“Is that so?” you said, arching a brow amusedly at Sukuna. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Sukuna shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Toji’s got connections. And besides, Sister, you’ll be thanking me soon enough for dragging you into this.”

But you were not one to be fooled. You narrowed your eyes, prying deeper into your brother’s words. “What type of connections?”

He sighs, shaking his head and complaining, “Ah! Enough of that. Aren’t you curious as to where we’re going?”

Your skepticism could not be quelled with a dismissive remark, but you waved it aside anyway, acquiescing. “Fine, but do not think I will rest on the matter.”

Toji, who had been silent thus far, chuckled quietly, his sharp gaze flickering between you and Sukuna. “She’s got your measure, Sukuna. You’re not squirming out of this one so easily.”

“Never does,” Sukuna muttered under his breath before changing tack. “Alright, alright. Since you’re so eager to discuss weighty matters, tell me this—are you familiar with Wollstonecraft’s latest work?”

Your brow furrowed as you tried to recall. “The Vindication? Of course, I’ve read it. Why?”

“Then you’ll have some context for what you’re about to hear,” Toji said. His voice was measured, but there was a weight to it that made you sit up a little straighter. “This isn’t just idle talk—it’s about education, equality, and liberty. Ideas that don’t sit well with those who benefit from keeping things as they are.”

Sukuna nodded, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “It’s more than philosophy, though. These people are living it. Fighting for it.”

Your pulse quickened as the conversation took a turn you hadn’t anticipated. You leaned forward slightly as you met Sukuna’s gaze. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” you began, your voice tinged with both curiosity and eagerness. “Wollstonecraft’s arguments are bold, yes, but they’re also deeply practical. Education as the foundation of equality—what could be more sensible? Yet, it threatens the very structure of society.”

Toji gave a low chuckle, his sharp gaze resting on you with renewed interest. “Well said. And what do you make of it, then? The notion that the world might be turned on its head by ideas like hers?”

Your lips curved into a small, wry smile. “I think the world could use a little turning on its head. Though, I imagine the aristocracy would sooner go to war than concede such ground.”

“That they would,” Sukuna agreed, his tone almost amused. “But it’s not just the aristocracy. The changes Wollstonecraft envisions—education for all, women stepping into the public sphere—these ideas challenge everyone who’s comfortable with the way things are.”

“Which is precisely why they’re so powerful,” you replied quickly, your excitement bubbling over. “People cling to the status quo out of fear, but fear is not insurmountable. Surely, with the right voices, the right leaders, minds could be swayed.”

Toji smiled faintly, his expression unreadable. “Optimistic, aren’t you? Most would say such change requires more than just words. Sacrifices must be made.”

“I’m not naïve, Mr. Fushiguro,” you said, straightening your posture. “I understand that revolutions—whether in thought or action—carry a cost. But is that not the mark of true progress? To be willing to bear the burden for a better future?”

Sukuna exchanged a glance with Toji, the latter’s smirk deepening. “She’s quite the firebrand, isn’t she?” Toji remarked.

“She always has been,” Sukuna replied with a shrug, though the faintest hint of pride flickered in his tone. “Keeps me on my toes.”

You ignored their banter, your thoughts racing ahead to what lay in store. “This meeting,” you pressed, unable to keep the excitement from your voice, “who will be there? What will be discussed?”

Sukuna held up a hand to forestall your questions. “Patience. You’ll hear it all soon enough. But I’ll tell you this much—it’s not just talk. These people are doing what others only dream of.”

Toji nodded, his expression growing somber. “There are risks, of course. The kind of risks that come with challenging the very fabric of society.”

You nodded, your resolve solidifying. “I’m not afraid of risk. Ideas like these are worth fighting for.”

Toji studied you for a long moment, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he leaned back and crossed his arms. “You might just survive this night, after all.”

The carriage hit a slight bump in the road, jostling all of you, but it did little to break the energy that now thrummed in the small space. The shadows outside grew longer as the journey continued, but your mind was alight with thoughts of what awaited—a world of bold ideas and uncertain promises, one you were eager to step into.

The rest of the ride was quiet, save for the occasional jostling of the carriage over uneven terrain. When you finally arrived, Toji stepped out first, scanning the area before motioning for the two of you to follow. You found yourself in what appeared to be a modest meeting hall, the murmur of voices already audible from within.

Toji pushed open the door, revealing a room filled with a mix of people—some finely dressed, others in simpler attire, all seated in clusters, engaged in quiet but intense discussion. It was clear you had entered a space where class distinctions mattered little, united by a common cause.

“This,” Toji said, his voice low but firm, “is where the real work happens. You wanted to see it, didn’t you?”

You glanced at Sukuna, who gave you a reassuring nod, and then back at Toji. “Lead the way,” you said, your curiosity outweighing your reservations.

The smell of pipe smoke wafted through the air, accompanying the noise of friendly claps on backs, low murmur of conversation, the scrape of chairs against the floor, and a warped sort of revelry that was present in the room. The place was almost like a tavern, and as you, your brother, and Toji made your way through the wooden tables filled with people, ongoers showed familiarity with Sukuna. The contrast with how he conducted himself here and the demeanor he adopted at balls was almost comical; whereas ladies of the ton would get an uncongenial countenance, Sukuna was even grunting in response to some of the greetings he received. It was truly a marvel to perceive, indeed.

While Toji directed you both towards an empty table for the sake of your privacy, you could hear tidbits of conversations, murmurs, and bold declarations alike surrounding you.

“Evening, Sukuna,” a burly man called out, raising his glass in acknowledgment. Sukuna responded with a grunt and a nod, his lips twitching in what might have been a hint of a smile.

As Toji directed you to an empty table near the back of the room, your ears caught snippets of conversation from the surrounding tables.

“I find Burke’s assertions about women rather daft,” a woman sniffed, her voice tinged with disdain. “To claim that their sensibilities preclude them from education—it’s an insult, not an argument.”

A man seated beside her chuckled, shaking his head. “Indeed. The irony is that these so-called rational men are the ones most ruled by their passions when challenged.”

At another table, a younger man spoke with fiery conviction. “It’s not just about reforming laws—it’s about changing the very way we think about liberty and who truly earns it.”

“And it’s not solely for the falsely-refined, immoral, and narcissistic rich; As Wollstonecraft mentioned, they are weak, artificial beings, spreading their corruption though the whole mass of society.”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at the exchanges, the fervor and intellect on display so different from the superficial chatter of the ton. Toji and Sukuna, however, seemed unfazed, as though this kind of discourse was nothing new to them. You, on the other hand, were very excited; while Sukuna had taken you out on such excursions often, the extent of it was visiting restaurants in common clothes, and eating freshly baked bread and pastries. This was an entirely different scene, and every time someone echoed your thoughts—before, captive on your diary’s pages—out loud, your heart was set aflutter. 

However, you were a bit wary about fully joining the discussion. While you were undeniably confident that you would be able to keep rapport with those debating, you weren’t fully aware of Toji’s position within the ton. Sukuna may have his trust, but you’d rather not risk joining in; after all, if Toji even were to spread the word about your scandalous…hobbies, Sukuna would not be entirely opposed to you leaving the season without finding a husband, as he’s made clear before.

Once seated, Toji leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the armrests as you and Sukuna followed suit.“Quite the crowd tonight,” he remarked, his voice low as his sharp eyes scanned the room. “Seems the common folk are growing bolder.”

Sukuna grinned, leaning back in his chair as though he were entirely at ease. “It’s about time, isn’t it?”

You settled into your seat, your hands resting lightly on the edge of the table as you absorbed the atmosphere. The snippets of conversation, the passionate speeches, the clinking of mugs—all of it painted a vivid picture of a world far removed from the ballrooms and drawing rooms you had grown accustomed to. And yet, there was something undeniably captivating about it.

“What do you think?” Sukuna asked, his tone teasing as he leaned closer to you. “Not quite the spectacle of a ball, but it has its charm, doesn’t it?”

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “It’s… different,” you admitted, your gaze returning to the dais where the speaker was now gesturing animatedly. “But perhaps that’s what makes it so compelling.” 

As you turned, you now noticed that Toji was observing you thoughtfully and you tilted your head, giving him a questioning look, to which he spoke up, “Well,” his tone light but probing, “discussion aside. How has the glittering world of the ton treating you, Miss Itadori? I hear you’re the diamond of the season. Must be quite the... adventure.”

You offered him a polite, practiced smile. “It has been... illuminating,” you said delicately. “The season has certainly provided its share of experiences.”

“Ah, I see,” Toji drawled, leaning back in his chair and giving you a look that suggested he saw through your carefully crafted response. “Illuminating. That’s a word people use when they’re too polite to say what they really mean.”

Sukuna snorted, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “She’s being diplomatic, Toji. If you really want to know what she thinks, let me tell you—she’s been dodging proposals left and right while trying not to throttle certain lords.”

Your lips parted in indignation, but Sukuna held up a hand to stop you before you could protest. “Don’t deny it, sister. We both know I’m right.”

Toji chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ah, now this is getting interesting. So, who’s the thorn in your side, then? Every diamond has one.”

You stiffened slightly but maintained your composed tone. “I wouldn’t say anyone is a thorn, per se. There have been... challenges, certainly, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Gojo,” Sukuna said bluntly, earning a glare from you. “The thorn is Gojo.”

Toji’s brows shot up. “Satoru Gojo? The golden boy himself? Well, that’s a surprise. What’s he done to earn your ire, Miss Itadori?”

You hesitated, unsure of how much to divulge, but Sukuna, ever the instigator, jumped in. “He courted her, dropped her, and now he’s lurking in the background like some lovesick pup.”

Toji let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Ah, that boy. Always knew he’d trip over his own arrogance one day.”

“Arrogance,” Sukuna muttered, “doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Toji smirked, swirling his glass thoughtfully. “Let me give you some advice, Miss Itadori. The one you hate, the one who gets under your skin, makes your blood boil? That’s usually the one worth keeping around.”

You scoffed, but it was half-hearted; you were intrigued. Straightening in your chair, you probed lightly, “And why, pray tell, would I want to keep someone who vexes me so terribly?”

“Because,” Toji said, leaning forward, his tone uncharacteristically serious, “the ones who challenge you are the ones who see you. Really see you. And from what I’ve heard, Gojo’s stuck around, hasn’t he? Defended you when it counted?”

You frowned, your mind flashing back to the lake incident, his swift intervention, the way he had looked at you—like you were the only person in the world. “That’s hardly enough to excuse his behavior,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual conviction.

Toji grinned knowingly. “Conflict like this doesn’t fizzle out quietly, Miss Itadori. Mark my words—this will blow up sooner or later. And when it does, when Gojo realizes he’s been an idiot and comes crawling back, what are you going to do?”

Your breath hitched at the thought, and you quickly dismissed it with a wave of your hand. “He won’t. He’s far too stubborn for that.”

“Maybe,” Toji conceded with a shrug, though his expression suggested otherwise. “But if he does, you’d better know what you want, because boys like Gojo don’t grovel often.”

Sukuna huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, I’d rather she find someone who isn’t an arrogant prick.”

“Maybe,” Toji said again, his tone calm but firm. “But sometimes it’s the arrogant pricks who surprise you the most.”

You shook your head, unwilling to entertain the notion any further. “This is all highly speculative and entirely unnecessary. Lord Gojo and I are... nothing.”

Toji’s words hung in the air, and though you tried to focus on the speaker at the front of the room, the uneasy stirring in your chest remained. Sukuna’s watchful gaze burned into the side of your face, and after a long moment of silence, you turned back to Toji, unable to resist asking the question that had been gnawing at you.

“How is it,” you began cautiously, your tone laced with both curiosity and a hint of suspicion, “that you seem to know Lord Gojo so well?”

Toji leaned back in his chair, his lips quirking in an almost imperceptible smirk. Sukuna let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms as he observed the exchange, clearly entertained. You really wanted to shoot a dirty glare at both of them, but you persisted, your gaze insistently honing on Toji.

“What makes you think I know him?” Toji asked, his voice carrying that frustratingly unhurried cadence that suggested he was enjoying your discomfort.

You narrowed your eyes, unwilling to let him deflect. “Because you speak of him with far more familiarity than most. And because you called him an ‘arrogant prick’ with such conviction that it could only come from experience.”

Toji laughed at that, a low, amused sound that rumbled from his chest. “Sharp as ever,” he remarked, glancing briefly at Sukuna, who rolled his eyes. “Fine, if you must know—I’ve known the boy since he was barely out of leading strings. My father did lots of business with his, as almost all families of the nobility do business with the Gojo dukedom. And for a time, I was … well, let’s say I was observing the business practices of the family.”

You blinked, surprised by the revelation. “Oh? Anything of note?”

Toji shrugged, his expression now unreadable at the mention of his family. “Gojo and I… crossed paths more than a few times.” He then snorted, now shaking his head at what seemed a ridiculous memory. “The boy was only four and ten when he was attending those meetings with the rest of the noble families, while the rest of the men in that room were at least two and twenty.”

“Ah.” You didn’t exactly understand how to analyze this; while you’re no stranger to the fact that Gojo was conditioned for the title of duke since his childhood, courtesy of Mrs. Tanaka, you were fazed by it every time.

“And,” Toji snorts, continuing, “the child would be the most ridiculous sight. Sometimes it felt that he was so enamored by the sound of his own voice that he hardly cared what the meeting was about.” Toji smirked, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as if reliving the absurdity of the memory. “He’d sit there, bold as brass, making ridiculous suggestions—most of which were promptly dismissed, mind you—but he always had this way of... commanding attention.”

You raised a brow, trying to picture a fourteen-year-old Gojo confidently holding court among seasoned men of business and nobility. The image was surprisingly easy to conjure. “And no one thought to put him in his place?”

Toji let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, they tried. Believe me, they tried. But the boy’s wit was sharper than most men in that room. Even when he was wrong—and he often was—he’d somehow twist the conversation to make it seem like he was the only one making sense. Drove them mad.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought, though it was accompanied by a pang of irritation. Of course, Gojo had been insufferable even as a boy.

“He sounds as impossible then as he is now,” you muttered, earning a chuckle from Sukuna.

Toji tilted his head, a glint of something more serious in his eyes now. “Impossible, yes. But also... determined. Even back then, you could tell he had a weight on his shoulders. He wanted to prove something—to himself, to his family, to everyone in that room. I’d wager that’s still true.”

You frowned, mulling over his words. “And what exactly does he have to prove? He’s already a duke-to-be, with wealth, power, and influence beyond what most could dream of.”

Toji regarded you for a moment, his gaze steady. “Sometimes, those with the most are the ones who feel they have the most to lose. And the most to prove.”

Your chest tightened at the implication, but you quickly shoved the thought aside. “Well,” you said, forcing a lightness into your tone, “it seems Lord Gojo has always been consistent in his… unique qualities.”

Toji’s smirk returned, though there was a knowing edge to it. “That he has. But don’t mistake consistency for simplicity. That boy is a maze, and only a fool would think they’ve figured him out.”

You opened your mouth to respond but were interrupted by Sukuna’s low, dry voice. “Why are we wasting breath on that prick? We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?”

Toji laughed again, a deep, unbothered sound, and gestured for you both to follow him deeper into the meeting hall. “Fair enough. Let’s see if we can find you two a seat before you start debating the virtues—or lack thereof—of Lord Satoru Gojo.”

The sun was low on the horizon, casting the sky in a fiery orange glow as the two men rode side by side along the quiet trails bordering the Gojo estate. The rhythmic clopping of hooves on the dirt path filled the silence, punctuated by the occasional snort or whinny from their steeds. Satoru’s white steed carried him with its usual grace, while Geto’s dark horse moved with a steady, confident gait.

It was indeed a rare moment of calm. Before the season started, these silences would undoubtedly be filled with Geto’s mentions of gossip and business deals, in which investment in the Americas ended up being a damp squib. However, it seems that with the season has come Geto’s new target: his best friend himself, Satoru. And Satoru knew that this moment of calm was before the storm: Geto hopping on his arse.

And indeed, Geto, ever the opportunist, was not one to let peace linger for too long. His lips quirked into a smirk as he glanced sideways at his lifelong friend.

“So,” Geto began, his tone far too casual to be innocent, “why’d you defend her yesterday?”

Satoru groans inwardly; ever since that night of the ball after the Gojo house party, Suguru had been observing him amusedly. It even seemed that Nanami was taking interest in Satoru’s recent affairs; every conversation at White’s had seemed like Kento and Suguru were in collusion together, and it made Satoru very wary. However, outwardly, he continued, his gaze fixed ahead. “Who?” he asked, feigning ignorance. 

Geto snorted. “Don’t play coy with me, Satoru. You know exactly who I mean—Miss Itadori. The lady you so gallantly saved from a rather damp fate.”

Satoru shrugged, leaning slightly forward in his saddle. He would be the air of nonchalance if Suguru didn’t know the subtle signs: his jaw clenching and his posture a bit too tight. “She was being pushed into a lake. Anyone would’ve done the same.”

“Ah,” Suguru drawled, his smirk widening. “Anyone. Of course. But it wasn’t just anyone, was it? It was you.”

“I was simply nearby,” Satoru replied coolly, though his grip on the reins tightened, the leather creaking faintly under his fingers.

Suguru let out a hum, as though he were considering his next move in a chess match. “Nearby? Satoru, you could’ve been halfway across the field, and you’d still have found some excuse to swoop in. It’s rather unlike you to involve yourself in such... trivial matters.”

Satoru’s jaw clenched briefly, but he said nothing.

“You stopped courting her, didn’t you?” Geto pressed, his tone light but with a sharp edge, something almost teasing yet with something to prove. “And yet, here you are, defending her honor like a knight in shining armor. I can’t imagine how she feels about all this... conflicting behavior.”

Satoru scoffed, finally cutting a glance at his friend. “I doubt she thinks of it at all.”

“Hmm,” Geto mused, humming prolongedly. His voice was dripping with skepticism as he drawled, “I doubt that.” 

“I do not see how that is my issue,” Satoru responds bluntly, quelling the irritation inside him at being probed so…closely like this.

To Satoru’s reprieve, Geto had no immediate response. The two rode in silence for a moment, the quiet broken only by the rustling of leaves and the soft sounds of their horses’ hooves. Suguru, however, was far from finished, and Satoru felt that he was going to burst a vein. 

“For someone who has the ton at his feet—every mama scheming, every daughter swooning—you sure are paying a lot of attention to one particular lady,” he said, leaning back slightly in his saddle. “A lady you supposedly have no interest in.”

This was enough. “Drop it, Geto,” Gojo said, his tone low and warning.

But Suguru wouldn’t have earned the title of being Satoru’s closest friend—and now it seemed, his greatest enemy—without crossing his boundaries further, pushing them in, and pulling at his strings. He wasn’t fettered in the least. He tilted his head, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “You know, it’s almost as if—dare I say it—you’re catching feelings.”

The words hit Gojo with the force of a thrown gauntlet, and for a moment, it felt like the air had been knocked clean out of his lungs. His fingers tightened around the reins instinctively, the leather biting into his gloves as his horse came to an abrupt halt. His pulse spiked, not from exertion but from something he refused to name. It spread through him like wildfire—hot, uncontrollable, and unwelcome.

Catch feelings? 

At some point, Satoru was afraid he had. Holding your unconscious body in his arms and foolishly pretending to be your husband in some childish attempt to play house—but no, Satoru does not have space for a mere thing like feelings. No, more like mere infatuation that he was sure would have died out by ending your courtship. 

But when he had been replacing the flowers by your bedside for the nth time, gazing upon your unconscious form once more, he had felt a sort of panic and lack of control. An unbidden feeling bubbled up inside of him, one that he quickly grew to realize, in the days leading up to the house party and you being roused from your state, that it was dangerous.

It’s an idea he’s instilled in himself since he was just a youth, and it’s a law he follows. Love and duty mustn’t cross paths; the covenant of marriage was a duty, a means to uphold the dukedom and his family’s legacy. To cross it with something like mere infatuation over how your eyes widened whenever Satoru said something outrageous, the traces of the smile you contained talking to other foolish suitors, the feel of your surprise when he walked closer to your chair, how dangerous it was for him to be alone with you in the library at night…it would certainly destroy him and the truths that he, Satoru Gojo, based his life upon.

His mind raced to rationalize, to shove the notion of feelings, something deeper than infatuation and a mere fancy, into some dark corner where it could wither and die. What nonsense. It wasn’t feelings. It couldn’t be. It was...what? Irritation? Protectiveness? The natural response of any honorable man when a lady’s dignity was insulted?

Yet, the memory of you standing by the lake crept unbidden into his mind—your face caught between fury and disbelief, the sunlight glinting off the strands of your hair that had escaped their meticulous arrangement. 

And that damnable dress—how it had dared to hint at the curves he had so traced uncountable times his dreams with his hands, with his tongue—

He could still hear your biting words, sharp and unrelenting, even as they softened into something more vulnerable when no one else could hear.

His stomach twisted. No.

His voice was clipped as he snapped at Geto, desperate to redirect the conversation. “You’re starting to pry into matters that don’t concern you.”

But Geto’s smirk didn’t falter, and Gojo hated him for it. It was as if his oldest friend could see every crack forming in his carefully constructed facade, every thin thread of composure threatening to unravel.

“You could make a fine living consulting mamas on the ton’s gossip, you know,” Gojo continued, the words escaping him with uncharacteristic sharpness. “Perhaps even advising them on matchmaking strategies. Should I make introductions for you?”

The deflection was weak, and he knew it. His heart was still racing, his chest tight as if the very idea Geto had planted was a parasite sinking its teeth into his carefully guarded resolve.

Feelings. For you.

Impossible.

And yet, as Geto’s smirk grew wider, his eyes alight with amusement, Gojo realized with a sinking dread that he wasn’t entirely sure anymore.

Geto grinned, unbothered by the sharpness in his friend’s words, and appeared ignorant of the visceral reaction Gojo just had to the notion. “Oh, I don’t need introductions. I’ve already got your whole life figured out, Satoru.”

Gojo rolled his eyes, nudging his horse forward again. “She’s not anything special to me. That’s all there is to it.”

The silence that followed Geto’s pointed observation stretched longer than Gojo would have liked. It hung heavy in the cool evening air, punctuated only by the occasional snort of their horses and the crunch of hooves on gravel. Gojo didn’t dare look at his friend, his jaw clenched tightly as his mind raced. Catch feelings. The words echoed, taunting him as if Geto had struck a nerve he hadn’t even realized was exposed.

Gojo swallowed hard, eyes fixated blankly on the trees in the surrounding scenery, silent as his usual sharp wit suddenly dulled. His silence wasn’t the confident kind that usually unsettled others—it was uneasy, charged, the kind that gave too much away. He shifted in the saddle, his posture stiff, betraying the internal battle raging within him.

But Geto noticed. He always noticed.

And when Gojo finally glanced sideways at him, Geto’s expression had transformed. His dark eyes sparkled with a glint of pure mischief, his lips curving into a grin that promised trouble. It was as though he had just uncovered a hidden treasure—Gojo’s discomfort, his tells, his unwillingness to admit what they both knew.

“Oh,” Geto said, dragging the word out like a cat savoring the moment before pouncing on a mouse. His grin widened, a wicked gleam overtaking his features. “Oh, this is rich.”

Gojo scowled, his face flushing despite himself. “What now?” he snapped, though his voice lacked its usual commanding edge.

Geto didn’t answer immediately, his gaze sweeping over his friend with an almost theatrical sense of revelation. He leaned slightly forward in his saddle, the reins in one hand as his other gestured toward Gojo as if presenting him to an invisible audience.

“I’ve got it,” Geto said, his tone deceptively casual, though the glint in his eyes betrayed the mischief bubbling beneath. “If she’s not anything special, as you’ve so eloquently put it, then we can visit the brothel tonight. Right?”

Gojo’s head snapped toward him, his jaw tightening further, but before he could respond, Geto continued, his voice laced with false innocence. “Think about it—a little distraction, a reset, if you will. It’ll clear everything up for you, including how you’re feeling.”

The silence that followed wasn’t simply quiet—it was a palpable stillness, thick with tension. Geto’s grin only grew as he watched Gojo’s reaction—or lack thereof. His friend had frozen, the reins slack in his hands as he stared straight ahead, his profile bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun.

“What’s the matter?” Geto pressed, his voice practically dripping with faux innocence. “You’re not hesitating, are you? After all, if she means nothing to you, there’s no reason not to go.”

Gojo hesitated for a fraction of a second too long, and Geto pounced on it.

“You’ve got something to prove, don’t you?” he teased, leaning slightly toward Gojo. “Come now, Satoru. Let’s see just how unaffected you truly are.”

And then, like a man trying to prove something—to himself, to his friend, to the world—Gojo finally spoke, his tone clipped, almost defiant. “Fine.”

But Geto wasn’t fooled, and Gojo knew it. He could feel the weight of his friend’s amusement, his sharp gaze cutting through every layer of pretense Gojo had built around himself. And for the first time in a long while, Gojo felt like he was losing control of the narrative.

Geto’s grin widened, triumphant. “Good. Let’s make an evening of it.”

The carriage ride was tense, at least for one of its occupants. Gojo sat stiffly on one of the plush seats, his legs stretched out in front of him, though his right knee bounced incessantly—a restless, nervous tick that betrayed the calm expression he worked hard to maintain. His hands gripped the edge of the seat, his fingers curling into the fabric as he stared out of the window, his pale blue eyes unfocused.

“This,” Satoru finally said, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a knife, “is a truly foolish idea.”

Across from him, Geto reclined with the ease of a man completely at peace with his choices, one arm slung casually over the back of the seat. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Then why are you here, oh wise one?”

Satoru shot him a flat look, though the movement was stiff, lacking his usual flair. “Because you said so. And because if I didn’t, you’d never let me hear the end of it.”

Geto chuckled, tipping his head back against the carriage wall. “Indulging your closest friend for once in your life—what a burden.” He then sighed, as if truly wounded and continued to lament, “You’ve never once gone with me—or rather, anyone—for an excursion to the establishment.”

Satoru didn’t dignify that with a response, his gaze flickering back out the window. The city rolled by in a blur of dim lantern light and shadowed alleys, but he barely registered it. The air in the carriage felt stifling, pressing down on him despite the open window beside him. His jaw clenched as his thoughts raced, looping over the same nagging feeling that had been gnawing at him since Geto suggested this ridiculous outing.

“I don’t even go to brothels,” Satoru muttered, almost to himself. This was truly a foolish idea.

Geto hummed amusedly, crossing his arms and leaning back. “So you’ve said. But everyone indulges now and again, even you.”

Satoru turned his head sharply to glare at him. “It’s not a fancy of mine.”

Geto leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he grinned. “Not your fancy? What, women? Or fun in general?”

“Brothels,” Satoru snapped, though the edge in his voice lacked conviction. “They’re… I don’t know, pointless. The whole idea is dunce-like. Superficial company cannot satisfy me. I find the banter found in of these establishments lacking conviction, and if I wanted such artificial banter, I would have found it in the balls of the ton. I have never found engaging conversation with any of the ladies of the ton,” except for you, “and I daresay it would not be an oversight to observe that I would not get the company I desire at a brothel.”

“And yet here you are,” Geto quipped, gesturing grandly to the carriage they occupied.

Satoru sighed heavily, his leg bouncing more insistently now. It seemed as if the foolishness of this idea had cast a cloud over his heart, never truly leaving him and permeating him in a sense of anxiousness, as if something was truly amiss. “Just this once. I fear that you may never stop troubling me if I do not.”

“As if I’d believe that.” Geto laughed, leaning back again, clearly enjoying his friend’s discomfort.

When the carriage finally came to a halt, Satoru felt a sinking sense of dread settle in his chest. He stepped down with an unusual stiffness, his body tense and his movements robotic, as though he were forcing himself to go through the motions. The chill of the evening air hit him, but it did little to ease the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

Geto followed close behind, his hand coming down heavily on Satoru’s shoulder in a gesture that was equal parts encouragement and teasing. “Relax, Satoru. It’ll be fun,” he said, his tone almost sing-song as he gestured toward the entrance of the establishment ahead.

Satoru gave him a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure,” he replied dryly, though the tension in his shoulders made it clear that he was anything but.

As Geto led the way, Satoru lingered a step behind, his feet dragging just enough to make his reluctance palpable. He couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of unease, the quiet voice in the back of his mind telling him that this was a mistake. And yet, here he was—following Geto into the lion’s den, his heart pounding with a mix of dread and something else he couldn’t quite name.

Suguru and Satoru’s footsteps resound on the wooden floorboards. Feminine perfume wafts through the air, but Satoru finds it a bit too strong. Unbidden, the memory and trace of your scent of sandalwood flashes through his mind, but before he can linger on the memory of your scent got stronger the closer his nose inched to the delicate arch of your neck, Suguru stops in front of him, talking to a woman at the counter. 

As if second nature to Geto, Suguru flirts with the madam in charge of the finances, but to Satoru, it goes in through one ear and out the other. He’s too busy observing the tacky decorations and abundance of flowers that seem to surround the place and the halls he can peer into. And there are women.

They crowd by, some loitering by their doors and peering at the pair that just walked in. They giggle to each other in groups, no doubt wishing that Geto may choose them today, but Satoru knows that it would not be the case, for he hears Suguru murmur something along the lines of the usual girls. While some of them are enraptured by Geto, there are just so many eyes on him.

He’s undoubtedly someone they haven’t seen before; he doesn’t look too young, one that would end the whole session too early. Gojo feels eyes on him, salaciously trailing up his body, but he is unfazed by it. It is rather the prospect of being in a room alone, of having to touch or being touched that has, for some reason, him nauseous for a reason he is yet to figure out. So he attributes it to the waste of coin, for he is sure not to take any enjoyment.

“Satoru, move along this way,” Geto waves him into the hallway he’s walking towards, now that he has sorted out the details with the madam. Begrudgingly—but not before running a hand down his face in exasperation—Satoru follows. It’s almost amusing how whoever Geto gazes upon seems to faint, his siren eyes carrying an allure to them that even makes these ladies shy. Satoru, on the other hand, keeps his gaze trained on the ceiling and traces the detail and design of the crown molding.

When it appears that Geto has finally found the room he intended for, he opens the door and walks into it.

The atmosphere inside the room was surprisingly plush, though it carried the same overpowering floral scent as the rest of the establishment. A low-burning lantern cast a warm, flickering light over the deep reds and golds of the furnishings, creating an almost intimate glow. 

Suguru strode in first, his posture relaxed and his expression bordering on smug. He let out a low whistle as he surveyed the room. “Nice, isn’t it? I always tell them to reserve the best for me.”

Satoru followed reluctantly, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He barely glanced at the room’s opulence, his focus instead on staying as close to the door as possible without actually leaving. “I suppose it’s marginally better than the hallway,” he muttered, his tone as dry as ever. 

Suguru smirked, unbothered by his friend’s sour mood. “Come on, Satoru, don’t sulk. We’re here to unwind.” He dropped onto the sofa with a contented sigh, stretching out his arms along the backrest. “You’re supposed to sit, you know.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe instead. “I’m fine right here, thanks.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Suguru groaned, motioning toward the empty seat beside him. “Just sit down before you ruin the ambiance completely. I won’t tell anyone you’re enjoying yourself—promise.”

Reluctantly, Satoru peeled himself away from the door and took a seat at the far end of the sofa, as far from Suguru as the furniture allowed. He sank into the velvet sofa with all the enthusiasm of a man preparing for execution, his long legs stretched in front of him, his arms folded stiffly across his chest. He tried to laze back, be the appearance of equanimity, but inside he was anything but.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Suguru teased, pouring two glasses of wine from a decanter on the side table. He slid one across the table toward Satoru, who eyed it skeptically before finally picking it up.

“This is still a waste of time,” Satoru muttered, swirling the wine in his glass but not drinking it. His gaze wandered toward the window, though the heavy drapes blocked any view of the outside.

Suguru leaned back against the sofa, crossing one leg over the other as he sipped his wine. “You say that, but you’re here, aren’t you? Deep down, you must’ve been at least a little curious.”

“Deep down,” Satoru said, casting Suguru a sideways glance, “I fear I may be losing what little sense I have simply by remaining in this room.”

Suguru laughed, a deep, rich sound that filled the room and echoed as if to haunt and taunt Satoru. “You’re impossible. But I’ll give it ten minutes. You’ll relax. You always do.”

Before Satoru could retort, there was a soft knock at the door. Suguru’s smirk widened, and he set his glass down, rising to answer it. “Ah, perfect timing.”

Satoru tensed, his fingers tightening around the stem of his glass. He leaned back slightly, watching as Suguru opened the door with all the confidence of a man who owned the place. When the door swung open, two women entered with an air of familiarity and charm, their laughter light as they greeted Suguru.

“Back so soon, Mr. Geto?” one of them purred, her hair bouncing with each step. Her gaze lingered on Suguru, enraptured as though she could see no one else. His friend has that effect on women, Satoru supposes. He’s definitely no stranger to it.

 “As if he could stay away,” added the other, her blonde hair catching the warm light as she smiled, all charm and sweetness.

Suguru offered a roguish grin, gesturing broadly to the room as he drew his legs apart impossibly wider. He was truly the epitome of a man relaxed and in bliss. “Ladies, your wit does me a disservice. I couldn’t possibly keep myself from such delightful company.”

The two women giggled, each draping herself over Suguru’s shoulders with the familiarity of longtime favorites. Their laughter chimed softly, though Satoru barely heard it. He was too busy trying to reconcile the absurdity of this situation with his growing discomfort.

“And who’s this?” the blonde asked, her curious gaze flickering toward Satoru, who sat at the far end of the sofa. His unease must not have been apparent to anyone but Suguru, because in Gojo’s periphery, he saw the other girl in between him and Suguru turn her head in surprise, as if she truly hadn’t noticed him but definitely seemed to like what she saw. Soon, she was moving out of Geto’s space and inching herself closer next to Gojo’s seat on the chaise, but Satoru kept his eyes trained on Suguru, awaiting his response to the blonde.

“Oh, that?” Suguru quipped, waving a hand in his direction as though introducing an unruly pet. “That is Satoru, a dear friend of mine—and a woefully inexperienced one at that.”

Satoru shot him a withering glare but said nothing, his lips pressed into a smirk as if to mask his unease and instead show amusement, an air of nonchalance.

“Do be kind to him,” Suguru added with a knowing smirk. “He’s not accustomed to such pleasures as these.”

The other woman rose with a soft laugh, gliding across the chaise with practiced elegance. “Then I shall endeavor to make him feel at home.”’

As she settled beside Satoru, he felt a strange prickle of apprehension, a sense of something amiss. Then he turned his head, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

Or at least, it felt like you. The resemblance was so striking it bordered on cruel—the shape of her face, the curve of her lips, the lashes framing her warm eyes. She even smiled like you, though this smile carried a polished charm that felt foreign, detached.

“Good heavens,” she murmured, her voice light and lilting. “You’re dreadfully tense, aren’t you? Let me help you with that.”

Her words might as well have been spoken in another language, for they barely reached him. Satoru was still staring, his mind spinning as the room seemed to shrink around him. She shifted closer, the scent of her perfume—a cloying blend of florals—filling the space between them. It made his stomach turn, but not because it was unpleasant. No, it was wrong. It wasn’t your scent.

The memory of sandalwood hit him like a punch to the chest, unbidden and consuming. The delicate trace of it, how it lingered faintly whenever you passed by, how it deepened when he leaned closer, just enough to catch it at the hollow of your throat—

Her touch drew him back abruptly. Her fingers skimmed lightly along his arm, trailing upward to rest against his chest. “You must relax, sir,” she tittered, her tone teasing but soothing in equal measure. “Let me ease your troubles. There’s no need to hold yourself so tightly.”

But Satoru barely felt the pressure of her hand. Instead, all he could feel was you—the ghost of your touch from the salacious dream he’d had not long ago, a dream that had plagued him since. You, standing in his room in nothing but your night shift, your figure outlined faintly by the moonlight filtering through the window. He remembered how his hands had reached for you in that dream, the warmth of your skin beneath his palms, the sound of your breath catching as he—

“Sir?” Her voice broke through the haze, soft and curious. Her brow furrowed slightly as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. “Are you unwell?”

He blinked, forcing himself to focus, though it felt like dragging his mind out of quicksand. His throat worked, but the words caught. “I’m fine,” he managed, though the stiffness in his tone betrayed him.

Across the room, Suguru observed the exchange with a smirk, his chin resting lazily on his hand. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, I’m afraid,” he drawled, his amusement clear. “The man’s wound tighter than a clock.”

The woman beside Satoru laughed softly, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “No matter,” she said brightly, her hand trailing further across his torso. “We’ve ways of loosening even the most stubborn. You ought to be at ease, my lord,” she teases, “I have no aim to bite you.”

But Satoru wasn’t paying attention. His mind was still back in that dream, with you. It was an image he couldn’t shake, no matter how much he tried. And as she leaned closer, her hand pressing lightly against his chest, his thoughts screamed louder than ever: What am I doing here?

The woman’s touch began to drift lower, her hands brushing over his hips, and Satoru’s entire body went rigid, as though struck by lightning. A peculiar kind of heat climbed up his neck—not the kind born of desire but something closer to panic.

His chest felt tight, his breath shallow. The air in the room seemed to shrink, pressing down on him from all sides. Her laughter, sweet and tinkling, rang in his ears, but it sounded muffled as if he were underwater. He couldn’t do this—not with her, not with anyone. Not when her face, her scent, and even her touch were so painfully wrong. It was truly uncanny, something that put Satoru too much at unease

He knew he must get out of there.

In one sharp motion, Satoru stood. The movement startled the woman, her hands falling away as she looked up at him with wide, confused eyes. Similar to when you both tripped at the stream, you looking up at him, your bosom close to his—

“Sir?” she asked, tilting her head, her voice laced with surprise.

Satoru offered a dazzling smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was charming enough to serve its purpose. He gently took her hands in his, his fingers curling lightly around hers as he raised them to his lips. His kiss was featherlight, fleeting, and entirely calculated.

“My dear,” he began, his tone smooth as silk, though a faint tremor lay hidden beneath it, “while I deeply appreciate your gracious efforts, I am afraid I must take my leave. A rather urgent matter at home has just crossed my mind.”

She blinked, startled and unsure of what to say. “But—”

Satoru stepped back, his smirk widening as he released her hands with a flourish. “Do forgive my abrupt departure. You’ve been nothing short of delightful.” He inclined his head toward her in a courtly gesture, his gaze flicking briefly to Suguru, who was now watching him with one brow arched in amused disbelief.

“Geto,” Satoru said, his voice tight but steady, “it seems I must bid you adieu. Do enjoy yourself. You appear to be in good company.”

Suguru leaned back, his arms draped lazily over the back of the sofa, an almost predatory grin tugging at his lips. “You’re leaving already, Satoru? The night’s barely begun.”

“Oh, but the night is full of pressing demands. I fear I have just remembered a pending task in my ledgers expected to be resolved tomorrow” Satoru replied breezily, though his legs were already moving toward the door. “Another time, perhaps.”

Before Suguru could respond, Satoru slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him with an almost frantic speed. The sound of his boots echoed down the hallway as he strode quickly toward the exit, his pulse racing as though he were fleeing some great calamity.

By the time he stepped outside into the cool night air, his heart was pounding, and his chest felt like it might burst. He inhaled deeply, letting the chill fill his lungs as he tilted his head back to look at the sky. The stars above were cold and distant, but they steadied him.

“Good grief.”

As the door clicked shut behind Satoru, Geto’s smirk deepened, his gaze lingering on the spot where his friend had stood moments ago. The tension in Gojo’s shoulders, the too-tight smirk that barely concealed his panic—it had all been immensely entertaining. Geto couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction. For all his bluster and charm, Satoru Gojo was, at his core, so damn oblivious to the raging currents inside of him. 

He sighs inwardly, now excited. He couldn’t wait for the theatrics that would occur soon, for his friend was a ticking time bomb—one to explode very soon.

He leaned back further into the sofa, stretching his arms along the backrest as he glanced at the two women beside him. The blonde was frowning slightly, clearly perplexed by Satoru’s abrupt departure, while the one that had approached Satoru was still staring at the door, her lips parted as if to call him back.

“Don’t fret, my darlings,” Geto drawled, his voice low and smooth as honey. He shifted slightly, letting his arm curl around the blonde’s shoulders, his hand resting lightly at the nape of her neck. “Our dear Lord Gojo is... a complicated man.”

The blonde huffed, crossing her arms in mock indignation. “He didn’t even stay long enough for a proper introduction. Was it something I said?”

“Not at all,” Geto assured her, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “He’s simply overwhelmed by beauty. I’m afraid he’s not accustomed to the kind of attention you so graciously bestowed upon him.”

The other woman’s pout melted into a soft laugh, her earlier confusion replaced by amusement. “Well, that is rather charming, in its own way.” Geto turns his eyes away from the blond to look at the other lady and has to bite his cheek to stop the laugh from coming in. 

He truly did a good job of describing your features to the madam when requesting her.

“Indeed,” Geto said, his smile widening as he turned his attention fully to them. “But let us not waste another thought on him. I, for one, am most delighted to remain in your company.”

His words seemed to ease whatever tension lingered, and the two women exchanged a glance before smiling in unison. The blonde leaned into him, her fingers trailing lightly over the fabric of his coat. “You’re far more gracious than your friend,” she murmured, her voice taking on a playful lilt.

“I do try,” Geto replied, his tone teasing as his other hand came to rest on the woman—the one previously attending to Satoru—’s knee. “And if I may be so bold, I’d say we’ve quite the opportunity here—one we shouldn’t waste.”

She comes closer to him, remarking while looking up at him through her lashes, “I would say you’re rather right.”

With that, the three met passionately in an exchange of limbs, certainly making do…even with the lack of a certain white-haired duke-to-be.

prev. the lake | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n HEY BRIDGERTON!GOJO POOKIES HOW ARE WE!! this chapter was sooo messy for gojo lmaooo. we're sooo close to the slow burn arc ending and this was a biiiggg epiphany for geto. now comes the next stage of the plan 😈

one thing i also wanted to clarify (and make sure everyone noticed) was that we got the reason why gojo dropped reader. he got a lil crush and got scared :( a lot of people have been asking me about it, and a lot of people were already commenting their theories, which nailed it completely on the head. whether surprised or not, i hope it makes sense :3

also idk if this goes without saying but if you didn't like that gojo agree to go to the brothel / dont agree with sex work / dont like that geto indulges / yadda yadda pls dont make it my problem <3 im just writing what was common at the time, it's not indicative of my views on anything

gojo after realizing the woman looked like you

reblog and comment to let me know ur thots! :3

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[misayani]

DOPAMINE — G!P SQUID GAME WOMEN + COCKWARMING HCS

◜ featuring ... kang mi-na (player 196), no eul (guard 011), se-mi (player 380), jun-hee (player 222), young-mi (player 195), kang sae-byeok (s1 player 067)

𔗨 author's note — was supposed to write a cock analysis for each character but i got too shy and then realized that im kinda terrified of dicks. no hyun-ju :) [lowercase intended]

🧷 𝓜isa mentions — @joc3lynx @mymel1008 @justredsw @wlvlurvsfimmia @azansstuff @dvrk-hoon @yersang-dreams @keiradg01

warnings: nsfw [too many mentions of cocks (oops), public sex, exhibitionism, somno / free use, unnie + breeding kink, masochism + knives]

mi na —

𓏲๋࣭࣪˖ cockwarming shameless gf mi-na while on a karaoke date with your girl-friends ♡ [public sex]

- here's the thing, they all don't know you two are in a relationship

- so it's definitely not weird when mi-na asked you to sit on her lap because girl-friends do that !!!

- she's wearing a skirt, you're wearing a skirt .. need i say more?

- mi-na's always shifting you on her lap, solely to make you feel her boner underneath you

- she took the chance when your friends excused themselves to go to the bathroom

- she slipped her already hard cock from her panties and hiked your skirt up so that she can move your underwear aside and finally push it inside you 

- "m-mina they'll come back soon—"   "and? your skirt's covering everything so they won't see a thing."

- when your friends finally came back to the private karaoke room you all booked, party's resumed!

- little did they know, the both of you were having your own fun while they sing their hearts out

- luckily, the speaker was loud enough—too loud actually— to blur your moans out everytime mi-na bucks her hips up

- but other than that, she completely stays still the whole time, making you needy and desperate for any movement

- mi-na doesn't stop you though when you decide to take matters in your own hands and grind yourself on her dick

- she doesn't let you cum though, bc what's the point of cockwarming her then?

- you both stay like that for the entire evening—her whispering dirty things in your ear and then you squirming on top of her.

- "dirty girl. really? in front of our friends? fucking shameless." 

- shs tells you that as if she wasn't the one who initiated the whole thing ???

- uh oh .. ! one of your friends notice the both of you quiet, not socializing and singing with the others.

- "babes! you both good?"

- mi-na smiles, "absolutely," then looks at your state—face flushed while looking down— "although, i think she's had too many drinks, but i'll handle her."

- your friend simply nods and joins back in on the others' conversation so... phew, close call.

- the karaoke date finally ends and then here's you, tired and worn out, even though you just sat down the whole day ??? just on mi-na's cock

"hey, party's over, you still okay?" mi-na whispers while snaking an arm around your waist. a few seconds goes by without any responses coming out from your lips and then she breaks into laughter, "what? have you gone dumb now? i haven't even done anything."

no eul — 

𓏲๋࣭࣪˖ cockwarming strict older gf no-eul while she's working ♡ 

- she tells you to wait until she's done working but how could you?— not when you just woke up from a wet dream, seeing no-eul's side of the bed empty, and dragging yourself to her office just to find her working late, again.

- she ignores you while you're whining and sulking beside her chair. 

- tenses up when she feels your hands gently massaging her shoulders, and then traveling them to her neck, before leaning down to leave wet kisses on the spot below her ear. 

- "stop that." she warns,   "why? is your work more important than me?" 

- she clicks her tongue in annoyance, why do you have to be so stubborn right now? right when she's working?

- you frown when she still won't budge despite your efforts. 

- "please, just need you inside me." you voice out, burying your face on the crook of her neck, before she lets out a sigh and then finally moves her chair back so that you'll have space when you straddle her !!

- a groan slips from her lips once she's finally inside you

"you're not allowed to move. let me finish my work first then i'll take care of you." she speaks, tone strict. you pouted, "huh? i thought you—"      "you gonna stay quiet or should i make you leave?"

- and then she's got you totally quiet before you sighed in defeat and just rested your head on her shoulder, muttering a small 'i hate you' under your breath.

- you started wiggling yourself, resulting to no-eul's hand reaching for your throat and firmly gripping the sides, making you dizzy

"didn't i tell, you're not allowed to move?"    "i was just trying to get comfortable.."    "stop disturbing me if you want me to get this over with faster."    

- "can i at least kiss you, eul? please?"   and of course, how can she deny you more? restricting you from bouncing on her cock was enough—and so she says yes <3

- you start to leave sloppy kisses on one corner of her mouth, while her eyes stay still on the laptop screen behind you

- oops ... you 'accidentally' clench around her, which makes her stop typing

- "i'm sorry eul, i didn't mean to," you apologized softly against her mouth, letting out a yelp when she suddenly turns her attention to you and actually crashing her lips onto yours

- no-eul's not really great with controling herself .. so here's the both of you, making out, while her work was loooong forgotten

- no-eul's hand reaches for her laptop and closes it, before gripping your thighs from under and lifting you up

- she's such a loser. betraying her own words from earlier— "let me finish my work first then i'll take care of you."

- because she's literally pounding into you right here, right now now while standing, not even bothering to take you to your shared bedroom

"you're so damn stubborn"  she chokes out while thrusting hard and deep inside you. 

se mi —

𓏲๋࣭࣪˖ cockwarming bandmate se-mi while inside the music studio ♡ [exhibitionism]

- se-mi can be lewd sometimes .. 

- because what do you mean you're sitting on her cock right now while you're both in the music studio WITH your bandmate, mi-na, inside the soundproof room ????

- your back is facing her as you adjust the controls in front of you while se-mi is literally dying behind you, face red, trying to lift her hips up into you

- but everytime she does, you're totally unbothered—not making even the slightest sound—because you're too focused on what you're doing

"please can we just record the fucking song tomorrow? i can't handle this anymore"      "shut up, i can't focus."

- she gets whiney, but she's kinda enjoying this.

- when mi-na's finally done recording her part, she exits the soundproof room and her gaze immediately lands on the both of you—you on se-mi's lap while she's red as fuck underneath you—and then makes a disgusted face, "ew"

- you guys really need to get a room because wtf

- and then thanos walks inside the studio, not even sparing the three of you a glance as he walks straight inside the soundproof room.

"hey! these two are fucking while we're recording!"  mi-na complains, though thanos was already inside the soundproof room, unable to hear a word she's saying.

- you just laugh, sending vibrations through se-mi's cock, making her grip onto your thighs tightly,  "babe, he doesn't give two fucks." 

- se-mi just hides her face on your neck, slightly biting it, "gonna fucking kill me, you know?" 

- a playful smirk tugs on the corners of your lips, savoring the moment,   "i know." while purposely grinding down on her length

"baby please, can we go now? let's just have nam-gyu do all this work."  se-mi sulks, her right hand under the skirt you're wearing while she rubs your clit. you sighed, "min-su still needs to record his part." cocking your head to the side towards where min-su was sitting down, his palms covering his eyes. poor min-su.

jun hee —

𓏲๋࣭࣪˖ cockwarming girlfriend jun-hee while she's asleep ♡ [somnophilia / free use]

- to get things straight, the both of you had numerous conversations about this before— both parties consenting and agreeing to free use in the relationship.

- and here is one of the moments where the agreement is applied:

waking up from a wet dream, you gently flutter your eyes open before stretching your arms over your head. and then, due to the dream, there's that ache in the space between your legs, your throbbing core clenching around nothing. this early? you huff, your eyes finding their way onto your girlfriend's sleeping figure beside you. 

- slowly grinning to yourself, you move closer, before you start hiking her nightgown up and then pulling her underwear down

she shifts a bit, her face scrunching, before she falls back still again. you carefully slide your own panties down until they reached your toes. 

- once they were finally off, you straddled her with no hesitation, slowly sinking your soaking cunt onto her soft length before resting your body on top of hers, sighing in satisfaction

- jun-hee is a deep sleeper, so she didn't react at all, not even a single twitch, no anything.

- and you were still tired yourself, even though you were horny as hell, so it did not take long for you to fall back to sleep

- hugging her tightly, your eyes slowly closes. her being warm inside you helping you fall asleep better

you wake up an hour and a half later, moans involuntarily slipping from your lips as you pry your eyes open. you realized you're laying on your back now, with your legs pinned down and jun-hee in between them, pumping her cock in and out of you.  "good morning, sweetheart"

young mi —

𓏲๋࣭࣪˖ cockwarming younger bestfriend young-mi while you do her makeup ♡ [unnie + breeding kink]

- baby is such a puppy :( she'd get shy about it at first once you initiated the idea

"are you s-sure, unnie? i don't wanna make you feel uncomfortable.." "it's okay sweetheart, think of it as a repayment! i'm gonna make you pretty, while you make unnie feel good, how's that sound?"

- she then nods slowly, sliding her pants down and revealing her already hard cock, pre cum leaking at her tip

- "so pretty."     "t-thank you..."   "i'm gonna make you even prettier"

- you make her sit on the chair before sinking yourself down,  soft gasps leaving the younger girl's mouth

- "you're so warm, unnie"

- she rests her hands politely on your thighs that were on either side of her lap, while you start applying concealer on the spot below her eyes

- you tease her the whole time ! clenching around her dick on purpose just to see her face scrunch up

- then here's you, being mean, complaining. telling her to stop making expressions so that you won't make a mess of her make-up, as if it was all her fault !!!

- your lips would form into a mocking smile, gently cooing at young-mi whenever she makes those pretty pretty noises

- and then her hands travels their way onto your boobs, gently cupping them over the shirt you're wearing—well, that was before you make her stop and guide her hands underneath it, making her actually feel your boobs.

- you were now applying her blush, making her cheeks even pinkier than what it had been just earlier. (she stares at you with puppy eyes the whole time)

- soon enough, you're finally onto the last step which was applying lipstick onto her lips

- when you were about to do so, she slipped out a hand from underneath your shirt and grabbed your wrist before her cock suddenly twitches inside you

"unnie... i feel something.."   she softly mutters,   "hm?"   tilting your head curiously at her, before realizing something and then chuckling softy,    "are you gonna cum baby?"     she nods, her eyes getting glossier.    your lips form into a satisfied smile, "go on. inside."    

- her eyebrows furrow, looking at you in disbelief, "r-really?"

- not responding, you put the lipstick down on the vanity table, before wrapping your arms around her neck and crashing your lips onto hers

her hips buck up into you while letting out whimpers against your mouth, and then you finally feel it inside you—hot cum painting your walls white—before breaking the kiss and then looking at young-mi, pushing her hair away from her pretty face,   "my good girl."

sae byeok —

𓏲๋࣭࣪˖ cockwarming ex girlfriend sae-byeok while she carves her name onto your thigh ♡ [masochism + knives]

- i'm so sorry please forgive me after this

- saying sae-byeok is mean would be an understatement

- how did you end up here?—crying while sitting on top of your ex's lap, her cock hard and deep inside of you, while she's busy carving your thigh up

could you blame her? you were entertaining and flirting with somebody else at a party—where sae-byeok just happens to also be in—and that somebody wasn't her.

- she pulls you in one of those private club rooms, one that smelled of sex and cigarettes, and drags you to the firm couch, before harshly pushing you down

"sae-byeok what the fuck?!" you yell, your voice barely audible over the blaring music outside, while turning around to look at your ex, only to find her starting to unbuckle her pants

- she just looks at you blankly, but her eyes held something else—hatred and lust—which scared the shit out of you. who knows what she's capable of right now?

- once her pants were off, she walks towards the couch before sitting down,    "strip."

you didn't know what has gotten inside your mind, because all of a sudden, you found yourself sitting on her lap with her length inside you. you glare at your ex as you sniffle,     "fuck you."

- she snickers, "sure."  before pulling out a small compact knife from her pocket

- sometimes you'd ask yourself, what is wrong with you? why the fuck are you getting even more turned on at the sight of her fucking pocket knife

- she glances at you, licking her lips before looking down, seeing her buldge on your lower belly

"i knew you still weren't over me."    she speaks, tone cocky. you scoff,  "you wish. not even three days after our breakup, i was already over you."   

- she raises an eyebrow, "really now?" 

- a loud hiss leaves your lips as you felt her press the blade hard, enough to slice your thigh

- "gonna carve my name on your thigh. you want that slut? for everyone to see you're mine?"

- you look at her with tears in your eyes that were threatening to fall

"fuck you."        "is that all you can say?"

- and then she starts writing, moans leaving your lips at every slice !!

- fortunately for you, the pleasure from her being inside you overshadows the pain from her carving you up

- when it was getting too painful though, you would start grinding down on her, trying to feel more and more pleasure

- but it is strange—the fact that you also feel pleasure from the pain alone—surely, you knew you were fucked up

"fuck— slow- stop, please stop."  you finally cry out, your hand wrapping around her wrist and gripping on it. she looks at you with her eyebrows furrowed. you just stare at her dumbly, drool escaping your mouth. 

- it hurt. more than you'd like to admit it.

- you looked down to your thigh and saw the bloody mess, which made you timid,

- she grabs your hand that was wrapped around her wrist using her free one, and yanks it away, "not done yet. you don't want me leaving it just like this, right?"

- you felt so dirty. many thoughts raced around your head, 'am i gonna fucking bleed out to death?'

soon enough, she's finally done. she looks up at your pathetic state, seeing dried tears on your pink cheeks. she grips your chin tightly, making you look down at her work— 강새벽.

@misayani

[fangdokja]

They’re not heroes. They’re your tormentors, and you’ll love every second of it.

❤︎ Synopsis. Four men, each consumed by a darkness that binds them to you, will stop at nothing to claim your soul. In their world, love is a twisted cage, and you’re the captive—lost in a nightmare where escape is impossible and desire is the cruelest torment.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Mr. Reca x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Mydei x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Anaxa x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Phainon x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. The Game of Surrender - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 4,707

♡ TW. dom + top + older + slightly sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, suggestive themes, psychological + mental conditioning, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological + emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, Stockholm Syndrome

♡ Note. This was made before the official releases of characters, so be warned that some information may be inaccurate once additional lore comes out.

♡ A/N. Not me not knowing fully who these characters are. So... not sure if I did this right hahaha. It's too early to judge the unreleased characters but oh well. And, I did put this into my usual style... idk adjskaskd Take this like a brief hypothesis, I suppose. I am thinking on getting back to Genshin and HSR... maybe. Probably not though. Idk. Anyways, I personally thought I cooked with this. Just not sure with personalities askadsdakldsm

♡ Mr. Reca.

"Every thought you have, every breath you take, is a scene in my film—my masterpiece. And don't worry, darling, I'll make sure you never forget your lines. Not even when you're screaming them in your sleep."

The universe had always been a canvas to him—a vast, writhing tapestry of chaos and order, the kind of unpredictable beauty that Mr. Reca found utterly magnetic. He had always been a collector of moments, a Memokeeper who consumed emotions, gestures, and unguarded thoughts with the same fervor a drowning man gulps air.

But you—oh, you—you were not just another fleeting spark in the vast night of existence.

You were an anomaly, a glitch in the dreamscape, a hauntingly real smear of imperfection across his perfectly constructed illusions. And so, he watched you, studied you, devoured the fragile lines of your every expression. It wasn’t obsession, not at first. It was curiosity, a scientist’s hunger for understanding. But curiosity, as it often does, rotted into something far darker.

It began subtly. At first, you didn’t even realize you were his subject. The assistant frog—so innocuous, its mechanical chirps like a child’s toy—hovered too long in your presence. That thing recorded the barest twitch of your lips, the dilation of your pupils when you dreamt, the cadence of your breath when you were lost in thought.

He played those recordings back again and again, crafting you into the centerpiece of his mind’s latest film, a work of art that no audience but him would ever see. Each flicker of your gaze, each half-whispered syllable, was dissected with a surgeon’s precision and woven into the dream bubble of his fantasies.

You had not agreed to this, of course. You would not have, had you known. But consent had never mattered much to Mr. Reca, not when reality itself could be edited, overwritten, and reshaped to suit his narrative.

He didn’t fall in love with you in the way mortals understood love.

No, it was something far more grotesque. You were not his equal. You were not even human, not to him.

You were a role to be perfected, an actress bound to his script. And he—he was the director, the puppeteer pulling the strings of your existence with a touch so light, so surgical, that you didn’t notice your autonomy dissolving until it was too late.

He didn’t approach you like an ordinary man. Ordinary men didn’t cloak their words in riddles, their intentions in shadows.

“Your dreams are fascinating,” he said once, his tone light but his eyes dark, predatory. “I could make a masterpiece from them. Would you let me?”

His gaze burned into you, not with affection, but with hunger—the kind of hunger that consumes, destroys, leaves nothing but ash in its wake.

When you hesitated, when you stammered out a polite refusal, his smile curved sharp and cruel. “Ah, but do you really have a choice?”

You didn’t, of course.

The dream bubbles began soon after. Vivid, horrifyingly real landscapes where you were no longer yourself but a marionette dancing to his whims.

The first time you woke screaming, trembling from the phantom pain of dream wounds, he was there. He shouldn’t have been—your door had been locked—but there he was, sitting on the edge of your bed with his head tilted and that damned frog-camera clutched in his gloved hands.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, as if you were a specimen under glass. “You feel it, don’t you? The fear, the thrill, the pain. Tell me, how does it taste?”

In bed, he is not a lover. He is a creator, and you are his medium.

His touch is clinical at first, cold and calculated, his gloved fingers trailing down your spine as if mapping the curve of your body for a sculpture he plans to carve later.

But there is heat beneath that coldness, a violent, consuming fire that erupts when he lets himself indulge. He does not make love. He takes. He presses you into the mattress as if trying to merge you with it, his weight oppressive, suffocating. His hands grip your wrists too tightly, leaving bruises like the ink stains of his artistry. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low murmur that mixes poetry with threats, promises with lies.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his tone too calm for the frenzy of his movements. “The way your body betrays you? The way it obeys me, even when your mind doesn’t want to?”

His teeth graze the shell of your ear, and the sharp pain that follows is not accidental. “I could keep you here forever,” he says, his voice thick with sadistic delight. “Inside the dream, inside me. Would you even know the difference? Would you even care?”

You would care, of course.

You fight him, or at least you try. But he’s relentless, unyielding, a force of nature that smothers your resistance with sheer willpower. He doesn’t let you hide from him, not even in the sanctuary of your own mind.

His powers as a Memokeeper ensure that every thought, every secret, every fleeting desire you’ve ever tried to bury is laid bare before him. He uses them against you, weaving them into the narrative of his control.

“You want this,” he says, his voice a velvet knife. “You want me. Your body knows it, even if your mind refuses to admit it.”

His lips trail down your throat, his teeth leaving marks that will linger for days, physical proof of his dominance. “And when I’m done with you, when there’s nothing left of you but what I’ve created, you’ll thank me. You’ll beg me to keep you.”

The horror of it all is that he doesn’t just break you physically. He breaks your mind, piece by fragile piece, until you can no longer tell where the dream ends and reality begins. His dream bubbles seep into your waking hours, twisting your perception until even the memories of your resistance feel like fabrications.

He tells you that you’re his muse, his masterpiece, his greatest work. And despite the revulsion, the terror, some part of you begins to believe him.

Because how could someone so brilliant, so meticulous, be wrong?

And yet, in the darkest corners of your mind, you know the truth.

You are not his muse.

You are his victim, a living doll trapped in the nightmare of his creation.

But no one will ever hear your screams.

He’s made sure of that.

After all, reality itself is just another film to him, and he’s already written your final scene.

♡ Mydei.

"You belong to me, just as I am bound to this blood-soaked fate. No one will ever take you from me, not in this life, not in the next. I’ll carve my name into your soul, and you’ll learn to love it, even if it takes a thousand deaths."

It begins as a hum in the back of his throat, a low vibration that settles into his chest like the resonance of a beast stirring in its lair. He watches you, not from afar, but from the corner of your vision, where his shadow seems to stretch and curve unnaturally—always larger, always darker than the dim light allows. His gaze is not mere sight; it’s weight, pressure, suffocation. He sees the tremor in your fingers as you pour water into a glass. He catalogues the way your breaths hitch when his footsteps echo closer, closer still.

And when he speaks, his voice is a razor dragged slowly, deliberately, across raw nerves. “You’re trembling,” he says, though there’s no concern in his tone.

It’s an observation, clinical yet laced with something sharper, something akin to hunger.

He doesn’t touch you yet, but the proximity is suffocating—his presence a noose tightening with every passing second. His breath brushes your ear as he leans closer. “Are you afraid of me?”

You flinch but say nothing, and he chuckles. It’s low and guttural, almost amused, but there’s an edge of cruelty there, a promise that he’ll savor every inch of your fear.

He feeds on it, you realize, and the thought sends a chill racing down your spine. “You should be,” he murmurs, the words dripping like venom. “Fear keeps you alive… but not from me. Never from me.”

He lies, of course.

The predator in him is far too obvious, a wolf cloaked in something barely resembling humanity. He doesn’t see you as prey to consume in haste.

No, he sees you as a possession—a rare, precious thing to break slowly, to shatter and rebuild in his image. He thrives on control, on the knowledge that every shiver, every gasp, every cry is something he owns, something he’s dragged out of you inch by agonizing inch.

When he finally touches you, it’s with the precision of a surgeon dissecting his subject. Fingers glide over your skin like scalpels, drawing phantom lines where his teeth will follow, where his hands will linger. There’s no tenderness in the way he grips your wrist, the bruising force of his palm a warning, a declaration.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to understand: you’re his.

The room is suffused with a kind of tension that seems alive, thrumming in the air like an electrical charge waiting to snap. His lips curl into something that might resemble a smile if not for the sheer malice in it.

“You can fight,” he says, voice as smooth and cold as glass, “but we both know how this ends.”

And then he moves, swift as a predator pouncing, pinning you against the unyielding surface of the wall.

The impact drives the air from your lungs, and before you can catch your breath, he’s there—everywhere. The heat of his body seeps into yours, the solidity of him a cage that leaves no room for escape. His hands are firm, unrelenting, roaming with a kind of obsessive thoroughness that feels both maddening and humiliating. He maps every inch of your body as if it’s a territory to be conquered, claimed.

The words he whispers into your ear are sharp, biting things, designed to slice through your defenses. “Do you know how easy it would be?” he breathes, his voice a silken thread woven with danger.

“To tear you apart. To ruin you so thoroughly you wouldn’t even recognize yourself. And you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you? By the time I’m done, you won’t want to remember what it felt like to be whole without me.”

His grip tightens, and you can feel the latent strength in his hands, the power that could snap bone without effort.

And yet he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He revels in the anticipation, in the way your body reacts—fear mingled with something darker, something you refuse to name. The way your breath catches, the way your pulse races beneath his fingers… it’s a symphony to him, a melody of submission he’s determined to conduct to its crescendo.

When he finally takes you, it’s not an act of love—it’s an act of dominance, of ownership.

His movements are deliberate, almost cruel in their precision, each thrust a reminder of who holds the reins. He doesn’t allow you to close your eyes, doesn’t let you escape into the safety of darkness.

No, he demands your gaze, demands that you see him, that you acknowledge the monster who has reduced you to this trembling, gasping wreck. And when you do—when your eyes meet his, wide and glassy with tears—he smiles. Not with joy, but with triumph, with the satisfaction of a hunter who has cornered his prey.

His words during these moments are a mix of degradation and adoration, a twisted litany that leaves no doubt of his intentions. “You’re mine,” he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath searing like a brand. “Every breath, every scream, every drop of blood in your veins—it all belongs to me.”

And yet, even as he tears you apart, there’s an undeniable allure in his madness, a magnetic pull that keeps you rooted to the spot even as every instinct screams at you to run.

Because beneath the cruelty, beneath the overwhelming force of his obsession, there’s a flicker of something more—a need so desperate it borders on pathetic, a craving for connection that he can’t voice but demands nonetheless.

When it’s over, he doesn’t release you.

His arms remain locked around you, a vice that refuses to loosen. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged, his body still trembling with the aftermath.

And in that moment, you realize the truth of it: he doesn’t break you because he hates you. He breaks you because he loves you, because the thought of you existing without him is unbearable.

But love, for him, is not soft or kind. It is a blade, honed to a deadly edge, and he wields it without mercy.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, and it’s not a question.

It’s a command, a promise, a threat.

“You’ll stay because there’s nowhere else for you to go. No one else who could ever understand you the way I do. And if you try to leave…” His voice trails off, but the unspoken consequence hangs heavy in the air, a silent vow etched in blood.

You nod, because what else can you do?

And as he tightens his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple in a mockery of a kiss, you feel the full weight of your reality settle over you.

There is no escape. There never was.

And in the dark recesses of your mind, a small, terrified part of you wonders if you’ll ever want to leave at all.

♡ Anaxa.

"You think you can escape my mind, but you're already tangled in my thoughts—your every breath, every movement, is an echo of me. You belong to me, and I will never let you forget that."

The air around him was always cold, as if reality itself recoiled in his presence, drawing its warmth into the void of his indifference. Anaxa moved like an unfinished thought, fragmented, deliberate, yet ever disquieting.

You felt his shadow linger before you saw him, a chilling weight that settled on your skin like frost, sinking into the marrow of your bones. His eyes—one bared to the world, the other concealed beneath the eyepatch—were an unforgiving tapestry of contradictions: icy intellect simmering beneath the calm veneer, an endless labyrinth of thoughts that spiraled toward madness.

He whispered your name like a sacrament and a curse. Each syllable, spoken in that low, velvety cadence of his, seemed to unravel you, a knife peeling back every layer of resolve.

"You think knowledge can shield you," he murmured one night, his breath as cold and intimate as the edge of a scalpel. "But even wisdom has limits. I’ve seen them. I’ve transcended them." He would circle you like a predator savoring the hunt, his movements calculated, his proximity suffocating.

Anaxa was not a man who shattered the soul through brute force.

No, his torment was subtle—a slow dismantling, piece by piece, until you became something unrecognizable to even yourself.

You didn’t notice how he had claimed your life until it was too late. The quiet manipulation seeped in like poison—so gradual, so insidious, you mistook it for safety. Every book you touched, every whisper of thought you dared to express, every step you took outside the prison he called your sanctuary…all of it traced back to him. You'd look up from a page of text only to find him leaning in the doorway, a slight smile curling his lips, the sort that spoke of secrets too profound and too damning to voice.

"You have such a beautiful mind," he'd say, his gloved fingers brushing the side of your neck in a touch that was almost reverent.

"It’s wasted on anyone else. They’ll never understand you—not like I do." The words were honeyed, dripping with a sincerity so intoxicating you almost believed it.

Almost.

Until you noticed the way his gaze lingered on your trembling hands, on the ink smudges on your skin, on the way you recoiled yet stayed rooted in place. He liked the way fear made you fragile, and though you hated him for it, you hated yourself more for the flicker of thrill that bloomed in your chest.

Anaxa didn’t need chains to hold you down; his words alone were shackles. His intelligence was a web, intricate and all-encompassing, and you were the fly ensnared at its center.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he whispered once, late into the night when the room was too quiet and his voice was too close. "But I will, if it’s the only way to make you stay."

And you knew he meant it—not as a threat, but as a promise, a truth spoken with the same certainty as an immutable law of the universe.

The moments of intimacy—if one could call them that—were no less haunting.

His touch was clinical, precise, like a scientist studying a fragile specimen. He knew where to press, where to hold, where to carve into your soul with a calculated cruelty that left you yearning and dreading in equal measure.

His lips on your skin felt like frostbite, burning cold yet addictively sharp. His hands, those hands that wielded intellect like a blade, seemed to map every inch of you with the precision of a scholar dissecting sacred scripture.

"You’re beautiful," he would say, the words an oxymoron of tenderness and possession.

"Beautiful because you’re broken. Broken because you’re mine." He traced the curve of your throat with a gloved fingertip, lingering on the places where your pulse betrayed your terror.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could peel back the layers of flesh and bone to reach the essence of you. "Do you know what the Titans whispered to me in my dreams?" he asked once, his voice a mix of wonder and madness.

"They said I’d find divinity in ruin. And here you are."

The nights were the worst.

In the darkness, you felt him even when you didn’t see him.

The weight of his presence pressed against you, suffocating, inescapable. His words would echo in your mind, winding through your thoughts like a parasite. He’d appear at your bedside, his figure shrouded in the dim glow of moonlight.

"You should sleep," he’d murmur, though his tone carried no warmth. "You’ll need your strength. Tomorrow, we’ll unravel the secrets of the cosmos. Together."

And though you tried to resist, you found yourself clinging to the edges of his words, desperate for the clarity he promised, even as it led you deeper into his labyrinth.

When he finally claimed you, it was an act of calculated brutality disguised as love.

Every kiss felt like a conquest, every caress a branding. He whispered to you like a poet reciting his magnum opus, his voice soft yet unyielding, every syllable carrying the weight of his obsession.

"You belong to me," he said, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pinned you beneath him. "Not just your body. Your mind. Your soul. Everything. No one else is worthy—not even you."

And as his touch became more demanding, more consuming, you realized that he wasn’t just unraveling you. He was recreating you, piece by piece, reshaping you into something that existed solely for him.

And though every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, a small, treacherous part of you wondered if this was love—or if it was something far darker, something that transcended the bounds of human understanding.

"You’ll never leave me," he said, his voice a blend of certainty and desperation as his lips ghosted over your trembling skin.

"Even if you try, even if you run…I’ll always find you. You’re the only constant in my chaos, the only light in my darkness. And I will burn the stars themselves before I let that light fade."

And so, you lay there in the cold embrace of his obsession, trapped between terror and desire, caught in the orbit of a man who would dismantle the heavens just to keep you by his side.

♡ Phainon.

"Every strike I make, every victory I win—it’s all for you. So don't be afraid when you see the blood. It's just a little sacrifice to remind you: you're mine, and I will burn this world to the ground before I let you go."

The moments he craves most are the quiet ones when the two of you are entirely alone, but tonight, silence isn’t kind.

It’s oppressive, weighted by the looming presence of the man before you—the Deliverer, the Nameless Hero, a man who wears the name Phainon like an armor of light.

Yet beneath that golden radiance, a storm of obsession churns, relentless and unyielding.

He stands over you, the faint luminescence of his ichor-stained veins pulsing faintly in the dim, cold air of the temple chamber. You can feel his gaze before you see it—heavy, glinting with something raw and unspeakable.

His voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is soft but unshakable, carrying the weight of a promise that makes your blood run cold.

“You don’t understand, do you? You’ve never understood.” A smile curls at the edge of his lips, serene yet terrifying. “I don’t want to save the world, not anymore. I want to save you. Every step I’ve taken, every blow I’ve struck, has always been for you.”

His claymore rests at his side, its edge gleaming faintly with an unsettling crimson, dried remnants of the battle from earlier still clinging to the blade.

He hasn’t cleaned it.

He hasn’t even sheathed it.

The weapon is as much a part of him as the air he breathes.

You can’t help but wonder if the blood that stains it belongs to someone you knew, someone who once stood too close to you for his liking.

He takes a step closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing like the toll of a funeral bell.

You back away instinctively, but there’s no escape.

His pace is slow, deliberate. He knows exactly how far he needs to push you before your resolve shatters.

“Run if you want to,” he murmurs, his tone almost gentle. “I won’t stop you. But you’ll come back. You always do.”

There’s no malice in his words, only certainty—a chilling, inescapable truth that wraps around your throat like a noose.

His hands are stained too.

Not visibly, not this time, but you can feel it in the way he reaches for you.

Fingers meant for wielding destruction now hover over your cheek, trembling slightly with restraint.

You flinch, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost human—almost.

“You’re afraid of me,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your ear as he leans closer.

“And I... I hate that. I hate that you make me this way. But I hate it even more when you’re far from me.”

When his lips press against yours, it isn’t a kiss—it’s a conquest.

His desperation seeps into you like venom, intoxicating and suffocating all at once. He tastes like metal and fury, his ichor burning faintly where his tongue grazes yours. His touch isn’t tender; it’s possessive, frantic, like he’s trying to carve his existence into your very bones.

His hand tangles in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp, and the sound only seems to spur him on. “You’re mine,” he growls against your lips, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous timbre. “Say it.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

And that’s when his patience snaps.

His grip tightens, dragging you against him until there’s no space left between your bodies. The heat of him is overwhelming, a furnace of ichor and madness that threatens to consume you whole. His other hand presses against the small of your back, forcing you to arch into him as he lowers his head to your neck.

His breath is hot against your skin, and when he speaks again, it’s a guttural rasp that makes your stomach twist. “You don’t understand how far I’d go for you. What I’d destroy. Who I’d become.”

He sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave a mark—a brand, a reminder of his claim. You cry out, and he exhales sharply, almost like he’s savoring the sound.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? You’ll scream for me, cry for me... but you’ll never leave.”

And he’s right, isn’t he?

Because even now, as fear and anger coil in your chest like a viper, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

His presence is suffocating, his obsession terrifying—but there’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re the sun in a world of endless night, that makes it impossible to resist him entirely.

It’s sick.

It’s wrong.

But it’s real.

Phainon knows it too.

He knows you better than you know yourself, and that knowledge is his greatest weapon.

He wields it with precision, unraveling you piece by piece until there’s nothing left but the parts of you that belong to him.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “You’ll always stay. Because no one else can have you. Not the Titans, not the Trailblazer... not even yourself.”

When he finally pulls away, his eyes lock onto yours, glowing faintly with the golden ichor that courses through his veins. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about him in this moment, a tragic god draped in shadows. He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s just solved.

“You’re mine,” he says again, softer this time. “And I’m yours. Whether you like it or not.”

And you believe him.

────────────

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♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[darkmatilda]

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: two years ago, completely by accident, you helped catch a serial killer. now, as mysterious events start to pile up around you, you begin to suspect that someone is after you, seeking revenge. terrified, you're willing to do anything to save yourself—even if it means reaching out to your ex, who wants nothing more to do with you.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: [these warnings only apply to part 1!] spencer reid x criminal(thief)female!reader, stalking, mention of dismembered bodies, serial killer targeting women, mention of abduction, mention of mental issues and addiction of the victim, reader is kinda morally grey

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6k

𝐚/𝐧: HUGE THANKS to my beloveds from the server who have been listening to me yap about this fic for the past few days!!! a few of my dear girls show up here as characters, in this part it’s @esote-rika i hope you like the role i chose for you <33

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

You hadn’t dreamt about it for almost a year now.

Before, that image had returned to your dreams regularly. A small, wooden vacation cabin in the woods—far enough from the bustle of the city to feel like a retreat, but close enough to avoid the unease that comes with complete isolation. An operation that had required you and your then-partners to meticulously study the owner’s weekly routine, gathering as much information about him as possible. There was no pressure of time—it was a place for vacations or lazy weekends, not for everyday living.

You had no trouble breaking in without even damaging the lock. You had your methods. The owner was due to arrive soon and discover that the painting in the small living room was gone. You wondered if he even understood its historical value. Wealthy people often liked to fill their properties with expensive works of art to catch the eyes of their guests and dazzle them with their price tags. But they rarely cared about the context or the circumstances of their creation. Often, if the artist was foreign, they could barely pronounce their name.

You liked labeling every person you robbed as ignorant. It gave you more motivation.

Your partners had immediately located the painting, while you started looking around the interior yourself. There could be more valuable items—jewelry or antique furniture. Once, during a robbery, you had been about to retreat when you found a hidden door leading to a basement, which turned out to be practically a vault. That year, you booked your dream vacation.

This time, you were heading down the stairs again, shining your flashlight ahead. The beam of light didn’t fall on a bust, a leaning painting, or an Art Deco dresser. It illuminated the battered face of a woman, bound as though she weren’t a living being, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

The waitress set a plate of pancakes in front of you, but you suddenly regretted ordering them. Your stomach was still in knots after seeing that image again in your dreams. You’d gone out for breakfast because you had no plans for the day and didn’t want to spend it entirely cooped up in your apartment. You adjusted yourself in the leather booth. The place had a 90s vibe, with its black-and-white checkered floor, red seating, and curly straws poking out of milkshakes topped with double whipped cream.

A cop slid into the booth next to yours with a sigh, ordering waffles with bacon. Out of habit, you tensed up slightly. As a member of the criminal underworld—a thief and active dealer of antique goods—you weren’t a fan of even fleeting interactions with people who carried handcuffs on their belts. You much preferred gold bracelets.

"...abandoned body parts of an unidentified woman were found along the shore of Neabsco Creek in Prince William County. This exceptionally brutal crime immediately sparked panic within the local community, following a series of murders that had occurred here just two years earlier. It was right on this riverbank that the limbs of the last victim of the killer were found before his capture…”

“The Waterside Butcher,” the cop to your left muttered, mouth full of waffles. “I don’t know if you heard, but that guy’s a real piece of work. Fuckin' psycho. But it ain’t him now—they got him locked up good.”

Thank you for sharing that unsolicited nugget of information I didn’t ask for, officer, you thought, as you remained silent. You didn’t want to engage in any confrontational interactions with the police. In fact, you couldn’t physically speak—you had a chunk of pancake stuck in your mouth, swelling up like a soaked sponge, and you had to spit it out onto your plate.

The cop shot you a look of disgust before turning his attention back to the waitress, bragging about his knowledge of the crime details. He even mispronounced the killer’s name. Robert Miller, not Roger. The man whose vacation cabin you broke into two years ago. The one whose basement you found a woman imprisoned in. The one you reported to the police, even though that meant exposing what you’d been doing in his house. Your case quickly ended up in the hands of the BAU profilers, who used your testimony and connected it to a serial killer they had been hunting for a long time, one who always dumped his female victims along the banks of water sources.

They even offered you a deal. Your testimony, and in exchange, you were only charged with one burglary, one attempted theft. They completely ignored the dozens of others that had happened before.

So, it could be said that you helped them catch The Waterside Butcher.

The cop was right about one thing. Thirteen murders, and he was locked up for the next few lifetimes. So, it had to be either a copycat or...

But if someone like that escaped from prison, would the public even know about it?

Your nightmare hit again. Right on that night. A bad feeling?

Your phone rang.

"Hey, Mrs. Hemingway," you greeted your older neighbor from the floor below, the one you’d swapped numbers with when you were helping her settle in after her hip surgery and taking care of her poodle. You were surprised she was calling you. "Everything okay?"

"Sweetheart, I told you to just call me Erika," she said gently on the other end, her voice carrying a note of tension. "I’m just calling to let you know you're flooding my floor again. Haven’t you fixed that sink yet?"

"Shit," you muttered under your breath. "I’ll be there in a sec. Sorry, Mrs...Erika, that this happened again."

You left the almost untouched pancakes on the plate and walked out of the restaurant, heading toward your building. You’d been moving around a lot because of your line of work, and this place had been home for maybe three months now. For about two weeks, something strange had been happening with the sink in your kitchen. You’d return late at night to find the floor completely flooded, leaking down to the apartment below, where Mrs…Erika lived. It happened every few days, almost regularly. After the second time, you hired someone to fix it, but he said everything was fine with the faucet. Either you kept forgetting to turn it off, or…you just couldn’t come up with a better explanation.

Oddly enough, that wasn’t what occupied your mind on your way back to the apartment.

Your thoughts were consumed by the murder case. You couldn’t help it; everything related to it made you uneasy. During the trial, you’d heard all the details of the crimes he’d committed. You’d seen photos of torsos of women, abandoned in various places, along with their legs and arms. You’d listened as the handsome profiler explained the psychology behind it all. How he lowered his voice with a comforting care, assuring you there was no chance he would ever get out of prison. You nodded, having no reason not to believe him. It was him who proposed the deal you took – keeping your earlier crimes under wraps in exchange for your testimony.

You made a mental note to check in on how Rebekah was doing later. You were the one who saved her, though you didn’t particularly like using that word—after all, you’d ended up there by accident. You kept in touch, but it was hard to call it friendship. You were bound by the situation in which she almost became just another limbless victim. You didn’t have much in common, but she had struggled a lot after that event, and you wanted to make sure she was okay. It was kind of like womanhood. 

The first thing you did when you got back to your small but quite stylishly furnished apartment in a nondescript neighborhood was to turn off that damn sink. And then, you offered a heartfelt apology to Erika. In return, you promised to walk her poodle for a week.

“No need, darling,” she assured you, standing in the doorway of her apartment. She was an elegant woman, a fashion enthusiast. Dressed in a gray plaid skirt and a cleverly cut blouse with a tie at the neckline, large black earrings dangled from her ears. Sometimes when she went out, she wore a matching black bowler hat. Behind her, the poodle was frantically wagging its tail, excited to see you. “The doctor recommended I get plenty of walking. I take Coco out every day at eight for an hour. Just the cost for the flooded ceiling is fine.”

You agreed, silently promising yourself that you’d order her a massive bouquet of flowers in the coming days. But for now, you headed back to your apartment, walking straight to the bedroom where you kept a locked chest of drawers… and inside, an album of photos. And within those photos, a substantial amount of cash. Since your income didn’t come from legitimate sources, you steered clear of banks like the plague. You counted out the sum you planned to give Erika—more than she probably expected. But before you could lock the chest again, your fingers automatically grabbed the album. It wasn’t just money in there; you liked to capture moments in photos, and you had plenty of them. You always took them with you when you moved.

The first page showed several pictures from your early childhood, chubby cheeks, dreamy eyes. You quickly turned the page, then another…

Your fingers clenched tightly, even though your mind hadn’t fully processed what you’d just seen. You shook your head, thinking it was just your imagination playing tricks on you.

A photo of a little girl on her first bike. Her face should have been expressing joy, a toothless smile. Instead, all that was there was white, emptiness. A cut-out section.

With furrowed brows, you continued flipping through the album, almost in a trance. If every photo had missing pieces like that, it would’ve been easier to understand. But this was just one photo out of hundreds, one little girl without a face…

A graduation photo. You should have been smiling, hugging your friends. But your face was missing. Your breath caught in your chest. A trip with friends—your face cut out. A beach day, devoid of your face. Not every photo had been altered, but almost every stage of your life captured in that album had at least one case like this. It was as if someone was trying to erase you completely.

You stopped at the point where you had stopped taking as many photos. The last few were from your previous relationship. It hadn’t lasted long, but you had particularly enjoyed taking pictures of Spencer Reid, the profiler who had worked on your case. His brown hair, wide eyes in surprise because he hadn’t known you were sneaking up on him with the camera, the dimple in his cheek when he smiled, filled several good pages. There weren’t many good photos. He looked amazing in spontaneous shots, but in posed ones, his smile was always awkward, stiff.

That photo wasn’t one of your favorites. It had been taken by some stranger during your little vacation in Rome. Spencer had been wearing a light linen shirt, his arm wrapped around your waist. You remembered exactly how you’d stood on your tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, only to cringe a moment later—having just slathered him with sunscreen, you tasted that bitter aftertaste in your mouth. A smile flashed across his face at that, and he adjusted his arm around you, smoothing your heat-fluffed hair behind your ear. So many perfect angles for a picture you could have stared at for hours, but that stranger had only snapped one. You both looked like an engaged couple who had never spoken to each other before, and to make matters worse, it looked like the family expected six kids from you both.

Your face had been cut out of it.

You slammed the album shut and tossed it into the drawer. A gust of wind blew the money meant for Erika onto the floor, but you didn’t care. What did you care about? There was nothing in your mind. A temporary, filling emptiness, growing with every beat of your heart.

Your body moved toward the window on its own, discreetly peering behind the curtain. A black car pulled away from the driveway, followed by a red one, and then a gray one. Could it be…?

No, you hadn’t looked at that album for several days. At least not to review the pictures. They might have been damaged before, and you only noticed it now. You didn’t know which version of events scared you more.

The voice of the news anchor played in your head like a true-crime podcast, describing a recently discovered body with far more gruesome details than in reality. The return of The Waterside Butcher, the one you helped catch. A break-in at your apartment (you hadn’t done it yourself, had you, in your sleep?) almost at the same time?

A twist of fate? A stupid coincidence?

For a moment, you paced around the apartment, thinking. Robert Miller was a serial killer of women, whose capture had been made possible by a woman who broke into his home. If—purely hypothetically—he escaped prison, wouldn’t he be driven by a certain kind of hatred directed specifically at her? A desire to destroy her, more important than anything else?

But that was absurd. You hadn’t cut ties with the case, but surely someone would have informed you if he had escaped. Though…Spencer had been your source of information, and you hadn’t spoken to him since your breakup, over a year ago. You hadn’t been in touch at all since then. So maybe…?

You realized you were standing in something wet. The floor was still flooded from a tap that had been left running.

For the second time this week.

The self-turning sink, this tension, this dream, the cut-out faces, the next murder.

Another brutally killed woman left on the riverbank.

The thought was improbable, yet it refused to leave you alone. It was far more likely that you were dealing with some deranged copycat—after all, it wasn’t uncommon for serial killers to have their admirers. However, that prospect didn’t fill you with nearly as much dread as the idea of being in the crosshairs of this particular man. 

You had to find out if there was even the slightest chance that he was out there, free.

*

“Hands up and turn around, slowly.”

Quick disclaimer—you and Spencer Reid didn’t break up on the most peaceful terms.

Aiming at your head was a bit much, though.

Without a hint of fear, you calmly closed the cabinet in his kitchen, from which you had just taken out a package of brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts. You immediately shoved one into your mouth, chewing the sweet bite while staring into the eyes of your ex, who was pointing a gun at you from about four steps away. His hair was longer than you remembered, and there was a trace of stubble around his mouth that caught you off guard. Or rather, how good he looked with it.

“I preferred your old place,” you declared, leaning back against one of the kitchen cabinets. Another bite of Pop Tarts, and a crumb fell onto your clothes. Oops. “Do you even have a microwave here? I could warm this up.”

“How did you get in here?” he asked, clearly irritated.

He still hadn’t lowered the gun, and you were starting to suspect he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see you.

“It’s always how did you get in here?” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Never what’s up? how are you? your hair looks amazing, did you know that? and that outfit?”

"You wouldn’t be yourself without all that pretentious talk, huh?" he scoffed, finally easing up a bit. His stiff posture, caused by holding the gun, relaxed, and after a beat, he lowered it and tucked it into his waistband. He accidentally pulled back part of his black blazer, revealing a dark purple shirt underneath.

You shoved the rest of the snack into your mouth, wiped your hands off, and swallowed.

"I’d be boring without it. And you wouldn’t be yourself without this overdramatization, right? Aiming at my head like I’m some criminal..."

"You broke into my apartment," he interrupted, folding his arms. It was evening, and if you hadn’t turned on the light before coming in, the place would have been drowning in cold darkness. A little of it slipped through the window that wasn’t fully covered. "I think that’s a pretty good reason to point a gun at someone. So what are you doing here?"

"You were right," you said softly, helplessly spreading your arms. "The path of crime doesn't lead to anything good. I should have listened to you, thrown it all away, and become a model citizen."

Spencer gently nodded, listening to your words. Then, he let out a laugh.

"And seriously?"

"Was I not convincing enough?"

"Did you get yourself into something again and need someone to cover your back? Because there's no better alibi than the words of an FBI agent?"

"Stop acting like I ever forced you into it. You did it on your own."

"Because I didn't want my girlfriend ending up in prison."

A tired sigh escaped you, not expecting it to take just three minutes from the start of your reunion to begin bringing up things from your relationship. Well, the fact that you even got together two years ago still seemed incredibly absurd and enigmatic, especially to outsiders. Let's be honest. An FBI agent and a criminal caught during a break-in for theft. Then, still a criminal, though with good intentions.

You couldn’t help that you didn’t see an end to that career, and you were pretty sure Spencer secretly hoped you'd give it up. During the less than six months of your relationship, you felt as though you were constantly on the police radar, even though he’d never turn you in. What’s more, once or twice, he vouched that you were somewhere else when you weren’t. To put it simply, he gave you a fake alibi.

That was roughly when everything started falling apart, as it slowly dawned on him that he couldn’t change you. Things got even stormier, and one day, after one of the many unpleasant exchanges of words at that stage, you just walked out, slamming the door behind you, and you hadn’t seen each other until now.

 End of the story.

"Listen," Spencer began after a moment of silence. "You broke in here for a reason, and I highly doubt it’s to reminisce. I should just tell you to leave, but out of some remnants of respect for you, I’ll let you say what this is really about."

"Oh, look at you, how gracious," you scoffed bitterly. Remnants of respect. He was right, though. You hadn't come there to reminisce; you were only interested in getting an answer to one specific question. You cleared your throat. "I’m assuming you’ve heard about the discovery on the shore of Neabsco Creek?"

Spencer took a step forward, furrowing his brows slightly. He still kept more than a necessary distance, as if you were the one pointing a gun at him.

"Your assumption is correct," he replied slowly, cautiously. "I just don’t understand the purpose. Do you have any information related to the case?"

Although it didn’t quite fit the topic, the corner of your mouth twitched.

"Are you hoping I’ll help you catch another serial killer?" you asked, immediately shaking your head. "No, I don’t know anything that could be useful to you. But I do have some bad feelings about it."

You saw him gently press his lips together in thought. Almost immediately, he understood where you were going with this and gave a slight nod. His eyes were still analyzing you carefully and distrustfully. You also noticed how carefully he chose his words, as he always did in the presence of someone who could mean trouble.

"Spencer," you said his name for the first time during this conversation, pausing for a moment to think about how it felt on your tongue. You’d almost forgotten. "Is Robert Miller still in prison?"

 "He murdered thirteen women, of course he’s still in prison," he replied with conviction. "And he’ll stay there forever. The body we found... the modus operandi is the same, but only because we’re probably dealing with a copycat."

 "Copycat," you repeated. "And not an accomplice?"

"He didn’t have an accomplice. We figured that out during the investigation."

 "Are you sure?"

 "What exactly are you getting at?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine confusion, his brow furrowed deeply.

You set the Pop Tarts box down on the counter. You’d thought about it a lot. Few knew about your involvement in the investigation, it hadn’t been made public, just like the exact circumstances surrounding the capture of the suspect. He, however, knew. He’d seen your face in court, heard your name. The entire previous day you had been obsessed with the fact that he probably had the right to correspondence in prison. He might have found a way to inform his potential accomplice about your identity, convincing him to take revenge on his behalf.

"Someone's stalking me," you said casually, as if you were telling him about what you had for lunch that day. "It started right when that murder happened. Just before the body was found on the shore. Someone...cut my face out of photos in my album."

Spencer stood still for a long moment. A look of concern briefly flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by something else—skepticism.

"No offense," he began, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "but are you sure it’s not just someone from your circles?"

"Even if it is, so what? I'm still being stalked."

"Then, that’s not my problem”

Okay, that was cold.

“If someone from my circles wanted to kill me, they’d just do it. They wouldn’t be sneaking into my apartment, cutting my face out of photos, and turning the water on in my sink. The Waterside Butcher, as the media's calling him,” you tried to sound calm and logical, but your heart began to race as the memory from the dream you’d had two days ago—and the one that came to you last night—hit you. This time, however, you hadn’t found Rebekah in the basement of the house, but yourself. “Something’s not right. I can feel it. You guys should look into this. I mean, BAU. But not as a copycat. As someone connected to Miller."

You could see Spencer mulling over your words. His jaw tightened slightly as he processed what you said.

“Are you getting any real threats?” he asked. “Or is it just a busted sink and…”

“It’s not busted! Someone’s turning it on!” you cut him off, irritation creeping into your voice. “And not just someone—a serial killer I put in prison.”

“And who’s still there.”

You could feel yourself losing track of your own thoughts. Well, you’d barely slept the night before, and your brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.

“Or his accomplice,” you corrected yourself.

“Or?” Spencer picked up on it, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged, frustrated by his calmness.

"Well, sometimes you catch the wrong person," you said uncertainly.

Spencer exhaled deeply, briefly staring at the ceiling. You didn’t see the seriousness, the readiness to act, that you’d expected when you showed up at his apartment. There was no declaration that they would take another look at the case, maybe reach out to Miller again and try to get more information from him. The thought crossed your mind—if something like this had happened two years ago, would he have reacted with more urgency?

“I interrogated him two years ago,” he began. “Personally, for many hours, even days. He confessed to everything, nothing in his behavior suggested he was trying to manipulate us. He had a motive—he selected his victims based on their resemblance to his mother, whom he also murdered by pushing her off a boat during a family trip. At the time, it was considered an accident.”

As he spoke, memories of the courtroom and the police station resurfaced, when everything was just starting to come to light. And as he slowly moved closer to you, probably unknowingly, you also recalled the first time you really interacted, when he drove you home. You weren’t innocent, but that day, you had heard some truly horrifying details of the crime, and you felt a distinct unease. For the first time, you talked about something other than the investigation. I’m like Robin, but not like Hood. I rob the rich, but I don’t give to the poor you said, making him laugh.

"Our profile didn't include a partner. Trust me, we've handled plenty of cases where there were two or more perpetrators, but this isn't one of them. One person is responsible for this," he continued, trying to catch your eye, making his words more direct, wanting to make sure they reached you. "If someone's stalking you, it's probably not even connected to this case. And normally, I'd recommend you report it to the police... but I get the feeling that's not really an option."

You scoffed, because he was right.

"Highly unlikely they'd do anything about it. You know, the faucet could always be broken, and the photos...that can be explained away," you said, sitting up suddenly.

"Are you calling me paranoid?" you asked sharply.

"You always have to label things so harshly," he muttered, shaking his head. "No, I’m not saying that. I’m just suggesting that the previous murder and the media panic could have influenced how you're perceiving things, making you more susceptible to suggestion. Your mind has connected it with past traumatic events and added..."

"So, you're saying I'm paranoid. Just in scientific terms," you shot back.

Spencer sighed in frustration.

"Call it whatever you want."

For a moment, you just stared at him in silence, a rush of angry words pushing at the back of your throat, but you realized they didn’t make any sense. Why had you even assumed from the start that he would believe you? Leaving aside the fact that your argument was admittedly a bit stretched, the truth was, you weren’t the person he chose to trust anymore.

You briefly lowered your gaze, letting out a sigh, then lifted it back up as you got closer. Spencer tensed, almost moved to pull away, but quickly realized you weren’t threatening him. You simply reached for his purple shirt, slipping something into the tiny pocket on his chest.

"My current phone number," you explained, tapping that spot on his chest. "In case you find out anything. Oh, and one last thing. Do you remember what shape my birthmark is?"

He tilted his head, surprised by the question, the sudden shift in topic. Without waiting for an answer, you pulled at your shirt slightly, exposing a patch of skin just below your collarbone.

"It’s in the shape of pi, like you once pointed out." It hadn't reminded you of that at all before, just a vague shape, but ever since he'd mentioned it, you'd seen it only that way. And from then on, every time he kissed you, he'd always lingered at that spot for a moment longer—it was his personal, favorite point. You let go of your shirt, and Spencer immediately locked eyes with you.

"I just wanted to make sure you remembered," you added, before turning to leave. "In case I end up dismembered on some shoreline and they need to identify my body."

Spencer’s mouth fell open, unable to say a word.

"You knew it very well," you added casually as you made your way out.

You didn’t need him to escort you. You had gotten there on your own, too. 

*

Three days later, when poor Erika was flooded once again, you decided to take action. You contacted the right people to have the locks in your apartment changed and to secure the place in a way that would make breaking in nearly impossible—at least for an average burglar. You knew, however, that someone with the right skills, like you, could still get in. With difficulty, but it was possible.

You also made sure to refresh your knowledge of handling a gun. 

And you called Rebekah.

You didn’t like scaring her, but you preferred her to stay vigilant. If someone was targeting you, they might just as well try to go after her too. The problem was, she wasn’t answering your calls, despite you trying every hour throughout the day. Shortly after being freed from the murderer’s grasp, she hadn’t taken up any work, and since you were doing relatively well, you had been supporting her financially. Recently, however, she had managed to find a steady job, and that could explain why she wasn’t responding.

Spencer was right about one thing—you were slowly becoming paranoid. That’s exactly why, later that evening, you decided to head over to her address to make sure everything was okay. It wasn’t just about outside threats anymore. It was simply that… Two years was a long time, but not when it came to rebuilding a life after being abducted by a serial killer. Those years had been especially hard for her—there was the added struggle of addiction—and you just wanted the reassurance that she hadn’t done anything to herself. At least then, you’d be able to sleep more soundly—as much as the circumstances would allow.

Her apartment was located in a truly awful neighborhood, on the second floor of a stairwell covered in graffiti. You knocked on the door several times, pausing between knocks, trying not to panic or come across as aggressive—you didn’t want to scare her.

"Rebekah, are you there?" you called out when no one answered.

You spent a moment leaning against a spray-painted cock on the wall, letting out a sigh as you reached into the pocket of your jacket. The lock on her door was a simple one, requiring only the most basic tools—tools you carried out of habit. You made a mental note to send someone over to replace it.

Even if she wasn’t home, you wanted to take a look around and gauge how she was doing based on the state of the apartment. It wasn’t exactly ethical, but sometimes our surroundings say more about us than words ever could. Besides, there was a good chance she’d never even know you were there.

You stepped inside, calling her name again. The light was already on. Her jacket was hanging on the coat rack, suggesting she was home—but it was also possible she’d just worn a different one. You slipped a wad of cash into the pocket of her jacket. She’d find it later and probably think she’d just forgotten it was there.

The interior had dark green walls, and the apartment consisted of three rooms: a modest living room, a tiny bedroom with just a bed and wardrobe, and a bathroom you’d never been inside before. When you glanced into it, your face reflected in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. You looked really sleep-deprived.

Finally, you headed to the bedroom, clinging to the faint hope of finding her asleep in bed. The fact that all the lights were on worried you—if she’d gone to work, she would have turned them off. Anyone mindful of their wallet would’ve turned them off!

The bedroom door creaked softly as it closed behind you, leaving just a narrow gap that provided a sliver of a view into the living room, specifically the apartment entrance. That was when you saw it swing wide open.

At first, you wanted to leave the bedroom, assuming it was Rebekah and that you could greet her. But it wasn’t the petite, feminine figure of your short friend—it was a tall man, or so you guessed from his stature, despite the hood obscuring his face. Instinctively, you leapt back from the partially open door, making sure you were out of sight.

Heavy footsteps cut across the apartment, heading, by the sound of it, toward the kitchen area. There, they paused for a moment.

You didn’t even try to convince yourself it was some friend of hers dropping by for a visit. Deep down, you already knew—instinctively felt—who it was. And that thought paralyzed you so completely that, despite the gun tucked under your jacket, you quietly slid open the wardrobe door and squeezed yourself inside.

The door creaked as it moved, and you cursed silently.

Whoever it was, you hoped they were too focused on whatever they were searching for to have heard it.

You listened closely to the footsteps in the room next door, your mind spinning with one relentless question: Where was Rebekah in all this? Was she at work, completely unaware that someone was in her apartment during her absence? You tried to recall the last time the two of you had spoken. Certainly not in the past few days—perhaps not even in the past week.

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing your breathing to quiet, to steady.

Theoretically, her apartment could’ve been empty for days now.

But who was this man?

The footsteps suddenly grew louder. The bedroom door creaked open. You drew in a sharp breath and froze, halting your breathing altogether. You had no idea how much the tight, dark confines of the wardrobe muffled sound.

The footsteps stopped.

You could only imagine the figure standing in the doorway, his sharp gaze sweeping the room, taking in every detail. Did he sense someone else might be here? He couldn’t know for certain. But it was possible—likely even—that he subconsciously felt another presence, much like you did in your own home every single day.

Fragments of the nightmare that had haunted you over the past few days came rushing back. It felt as if you were descending those stairs into the basement again.

And then a smell wafted through the air—faint but distinct.

It was the same scent you’d inhaled back then.

Two years had passed, but you still remembered that mixture of dust, decay, and sweat.

Were you really smelling it now? Or was it just a cruel projection of your terrified mind?

The footsteps began to retreat.

You listened with your eyes closed, straining every nerve to track the sound. Your legs felt weak, and it took everything in you not to slide down the back wall of the wardrobe.

The sound of the apartment door slamming shut echoed through the silence. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

And then your phone rang.

The sudden, sharp sound shattered the fragile quiet, making you choke on a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Your fingers acted on their own, quickly answering just to silence the noise.

“Hello?” someone said hesitantly, your name hanging in the air like a question. “...It’s Spencer. I’m calling because... something’s happened. And you need to know.”

No.

You tilted your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as if that could block out the reality creeping in.

The silence on your end must have encouraged him to keep talking. You heard the faint sound of him swallowing, the nervous gesture twisting your stomach into knots.

“Robert Miller escaped from prison”

You pressed the phone to your face, even though it was already on speaker. Words tangled in your mind, refusing to form. Spencer said your name twice more, his voice edged with concern, before you finally forced yourself to speak.

“You need to come here,” you croaked, your voice barely recognizable. “Please.”

part 2 soon

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling @cynbx @penelopegarciaismygf @nachrosas @angellic4l @awordsmith

[mead-iocre]

Can't Pay the Rent | Leah Williamson x Reader

synopsis: can't pay the rent trend

warnings: none x

word count: 1.1k words

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

You angle the camera, making sure it was just right. Pressing the record button, you quickly shift the flower vase so it was covering most of your phone screen from direct view.

The "telling my partner I can't pay the rent this month" prank.

You've seen this thread floating around tiktok and you've been tempted to try it ever since. It was a silly little trend, harmless, and fun.

And you couldn't wait to try it on your girlfriend.

Straightening your back again, you try to look nonchalant, curling your knee to your chest and leaning back into Leah's side. She was currently laser-focused on the footy on screen. Not a lot can distract Leah Williamson from a game of football, so it gave you enough time to set up the camera without the blonde noticing. There could be a tornado outside and Leah wouldn't notice until the screen turns off because of blackout.

Out of habbit, she raises an arm, curling it around you and snuggling you closer into her side. Without taking her eyes off the screen, she presses a quick kiss to your temple.

You wait a beat, taking the opportunity to stare at the woman beside you. You look at her, entranced by the way the light falls across her profile, kissing the edges of her hair. Blonde locks brush against her cheek as she pushes her hair back, letting out a frustrated huff at whatever is going on on-screen. Blue eyes—so soft, yet sharp with intention. Her clever brain was most likely analysing plays. Her lips, just slightly parted in concentration, are rosy from the amount of times she would bite them.

You catch yourself staring a little too long, pressing your lips together to try and hide your smile. You will yourself to get into character, putting your past manifestations of being a Hollywood actress into fruition. Now was your time to shine.

"Hey, Lee..."

She hums. Her hand comes up from behind you, fingers instinctively running through your hair. She doesn't look at you though. Her eyes are locked on the screen in front.

You poke her side.

Usually, she would catch your finger and playfully bring it up to her mouth to give you a gentle bite, but all she does is shift away from you.

You pout.

Poke.

"Baby, stop. I'm watchin'"

You poke her side again. "I need to talk to you, Leah"

Her face changes immediately after hearing your words. The blonde frowns, eyebrows already furrowing in concern. Surprisingly, she turns her face towards you.

That was quicker than you thought. You thought you needed to poke and prod longer than that. On the inside, you were practically preening at how attentive your lover is. You hoped the camera was catching all of this.

The football was now an afterthought seeing as how she is blindly feels for the remote beside her. She presses the mute button, tossing the remote back on the sofa beside her.

She turns back to you, her face focused.

"Sounds serious," Leah shifts so that her thigh was pressing against you knee. She brings her other hand over, rubbing your leg, all her attention now on you. "You alright, baby?"

"Yeah-- I just--" You pause for dramatics, like how you've seen all the actresses do.

Letting out a big sigh, you press your Summer Friday coated lips together as if you found it very hard to let the next words out.

"I can't pay the rent this month."

For a moment, all your girlfriend does is stare at you. You part your lips, prepared to repeat what you just said in case she did not hear you the first time, but then she speaks

"...the rent?"

You nod, empathetically, as if you were truly troubled by this revelation. "Yeah. I can't pay this month"

Leah just stares at you for a moment. She blinks a few times, the furrow between her eyebrows growing deeper. Her expression was one of genuine bafflement, and if you weren't careful you would've cracked then and there.

"...we don't pay rent? I bought this flat."

Now it was your turn to pretend to look baffled. You exaggerate it slightly, tilting your head to the side. "okay but I still can't pay..."

Suddenly, the blonde turns her entire body towards you, mirroring your position. She takes a deep breath, the one where you know she was about to lecture you about something very important.

"Baby, you have never paid rent," She says slowly, emphasising her words. While a rarity, you still recognised the sight in front of you. Leah was a hundred percent in captain mode right now.

She squeezes your thigh, her eyes crinkle slightly by the corners. Her voice softens, all full of affection, "in your life."

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, she lets out a small chuckle. "I'm surprised you even know the word "rent"'

You fight the urge to smile. It was hard to be serious when Leah had that goofy expression on her face. The one where her eyes are serious, but one corner of her mouth is tilted upwards, as if fighting her own smile.

Schooling your expression, you continue your performance of a lifetime. You push the hand still drawing patterns on your thigh away. "Lee. I'm serious."

"and I'm bein' serious too, princess” Your girlfriend cups your face, squeezing your cheeks into a pout. Her eyes drop to your lips like they always do. "because why would my girl be paying rent, huh?"

"I used to pay our mortgage" She emphasises, sneaking a quick peck on your lips, unable to resist loving on you. "and besides, you cry at the sight of numbers when they're not printed on a receipt"

You sigh, still keeping up the charade. You hoped she didn't notice your twitching lips.

Although Leah was right though, you weren't the best with numbers-- even during school. As far as you were concerned, the only numbers you were concerned about is the number of shopping bags you could fit in the car. "Maybe next month I could--"

"Fuck no." She laughs, bellows more like it. She pulls you to her, throwing herself back on the sofa and pulling you along, so you were essentially on top of her. A very familiar position.

If this continues, the footage might not be allowed for public consumption.

"Baby, I'm not making you pay rent-- ever. The only thing your pretty little head needs to worry about is what bag you're gettin' next" She rolls her eyes playfully at the last bit, but you know she means it.

"besides...you can pay me in other ways"

You raise an eyebrow at her, mirroring the growing smile on her face. You knew exactly what she is implying.

She cradles your cheek, craning her neck up so she could whisper in your ear. "Why don't you go put on that pretty pink set you bought the other day-- with the lace garter and thigh highs..."

Yeah, this video is not getting posted.

oh to be platonic housemates with a hot football player (who also happens to notice when you’re wearing new underwear) x

・❥・- kisses, butter

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[takes1]

so in the bokuto x inexperienced! Reader, is he ACTUALLY experienced or is he just infatuated and cocky 😭 hes giving me “virgin but ive watched a lot of porn and can figure it out” energy and I love that for him

p.4 bokuto teaching inexperienced!reader

this is a great question and a great separate prompt. i decided to go with the former to stay with my original idea, but i DO like the other option a LOT. would be soooo!!! accurate for his character.

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / BIG praise kink!bokuto / himbo!bokuto / sweet, dumb!bokuto / inexperienced!reader / possessive!bokuto / f!rec oral / grinding / clumsy antics / making out / flirting / heavy petting / 2.7k words / reply to be added to taglist for final part

links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. part one here. part two here. part three here.

"No bra?"

Bokuto clocked instantly, excitement breaking a barely-there filter, a big cheesy grin still not enough to loosen you up.

"Um," You took your hands back, crossing them over your chest, "Actually- let me go and--,"

Bokuto seethed with an eye roll you couldn't see. He was being playful as he sat half-up to capture you.

His strong grasp settled around your hips, "Ooohh no. I'm not waiting again."

Maybe it was the shirt that inspired him to be extra touchy. You looked like you were properly his.

His eyes scanned you; a burning, unyielding kind of expression that said: No pants, either. Juuust the shirt.

Those hot hands were in constant motion. They rubbed, massaged, your hip joints, the fleshy sides of your ass, and his thumbs would prod into the front of your thighs. It felt good- it helped you relax, because it wasn't too much.

"I meant to ask," Hesitant, and slow, you placed your hands back onto his shoulders, "You've been with other girls, right?"

The attempt to counterbalance his subtle pulling was a failure. You both giggled when you stumbled forward.

"A- few, yeah."

He looked like he was going to say more than he did. You wondered how he felt about them, now.

"Right... obviously- um, sorry for asking," You laughed.

The back of your knuckles flitted across his chiseled jawline. Your tummy was already in knots, but when he leaned into your touch, you melted a little more inside.

Having to pretend like he wasn't so outrageously attractive was odd. In moments like these, where you could slow down and look at every detail in his face, it was natural to acknowledge it.

A simple sigh, "You are so stunning."

He looked up from your hips. His piercing eyes and growing grin added to all of his prominent features, but tempted you to look away out of discomfort.

"You think so?"

It was spoken like he might not have believed your comment.

"Yeah, of course-! You're-," The words stumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, "You're like, out of this world hot- I don't get why you're wasting time with me."

Bokuto firmed up quickly. He held a determined, focused expression that felt out of place as you searched for what you could have said wrong.

"Woahwoahwoahwoah! Don't say shit like that!"

"Like what?" Was your much smaller, quieter response.

His palms slid up under your shirt, then back down to your hips. He did this repeatedly while he thought.

"I dunno- I'm-- I'm not-," He groaned, "I'm not good with words. But... I don't like pretty girls who don't know that they're pretty. It's kinda lame."

You sort of understood what he meant. You didn't mean to put yourself down, but you considered it fact that he was out of your league. The way you spoke was mostly to address that.

The intellectual struggle he was having made it much more endearing, though. He was dumb. You found that you liked it more than you thought you would.

"Not that I think you're lame!" He clarified all of a sudden.

God, yeah, he was slow. Too many volleyballs to the head.

You chuckled, an affectionate sound, and he grinned again. He wasn't so scary when you got to talk.

"So, you think I'm pretty?" Was your first ever attempt at a real tease.

It was so successful that he slid his hands to grab all the way around your butt, smushing your tummy against his face with a big, maybe too loud of a groan.

You were shushing him, giggly, through his, again, too-loud confession.

"I don't think so, I know so!"

The foreign sensation through his (your?) shirt had you confused for just a moment. You looked down, hardly able to see what he was doing, but realized he was pressing kisses into your stomach through the fabric.

You smiled at how sweet it was, how good it felt. He trailed those slow, warm kisses up between your breasts, to your collarbone, and you only started to firm when he got to your skin, along your neck.

Bokuto could feel you tense up.

He pressed another gentle kiss to your skin, then met your worried expression.

"Hey- I don't bite," Was a soft reminder to relax, to not get lost in the nerves.

His gaze fell to your lips. You watched it happen, you watched his pupils grow, his thoughts running rampant behind his eyes.

A little mutter, a little empty, if anything, "Promise..."

His kiss was sweet, and slow, and soft. You felt guilty for not quite knowing how to return it.

The reassurance came in the form of his hands reaching, holding, the back of your head and the side of your face to keep you still, angled just right.

You barely returned the pressure- nervous, that he would get turned off if you tried too hard.

It felt like he was sending volts of electricity straight down your body, not a single vein or muscle exempt from the sensation. He parted for just a moment, to shift or something. He kept his hands on you.

Dumb, you took a breath to apologize for not knowing what to do, but his lips were crashing back onto yours. It was messier, not as perfect, this time.

You chuckled against his mouth, hands jittery, pressing on his shoulders with the intent to move from him. To maybe collect yourself, adjust, say sorry again.

But he was rougher, and you felt his warm tongue swipe against your bottom lip- you flinched.

"Mmh-!" It was hard moving away from him because he followed you.

He was breathy, his lids low, only focused on getting more. Your stiffness was one-sided and not serving you very well.

One hand took up most of the real estate on the side of your neck, more than enough to direct you, while his other arm wrapped around your waist. He pulled you in and started to lean back.

You slipped forward at his haste and tried to catch yourself with your knee.

It missed the edge of the bed where you tried to land. It clipped right between his legs instead.

"Augh-!!" He wheezed.

Powerful thighs were squeezing yours tenfold- his hands flew from your body to cup himself as he continued falling back. You stayed standing, more or less.

You gasped.

"I'm- so sorry-!" You pried your leg out from his and held your hands over your mouth. That was a first.

He groaned through a closed-mouth, eyes screwed shut.

"Mm! H-mmm-mmm-mmn-!" His muscles twitched, seized, and you felt dirty for liking it.

You slowly climbed up next to him as he came down, or at least grew quieter, from the blow.

"I'm sorry..." You repeated, eyes unsure of where to get their fill. Your hand brushed the hair off of his forehead, gentle and slow. You really didn't want him to go, but even you could see now that you were a lot of trouble for very little payoff.

But God, he looked unreal, all squirmy and flexed and half-naked next to you. Your thighs twitched with the need to stimulate yourself.

Bokuto was slowly blowing his breaths out, loosely palming his junk when he began to blink his eyes open, up at your distracted stare.

He laughed. Quiet, at least for his standards- it made you blush.

"You're real cute," He admitted, looking up at the ceiling, "And even though you're the most nervous chick I've ever met--,"

You glanced at his face, frowning.

"And Kuroo is gonna fuckin' kill me whenever he finds out-,"

You wanted to smile, but didn't.

"And you-," He grabbed your nose again and wiggled it, laughing at the way you batted his hand away, "Kneed me in the balls-!"

"-I still. Really. Want to fuck you."

His candid ranting, unfaltering eye contact, charmed you. It would've been romantic if it wasn't so filthy, but it was effective in its own right.

"I want you, too," You said, ultraquiet, staring at his hand in your lap, then at his hips, "I'm just- new."

Bokuto was fully recovered. He sat up, so mindless that you weren't sure if your words were lost on him, and adjusted your body so he could pin you on your back. It was more of a way of telling you that he'd be more intentional this time, taking the lead.

The way he slid, so sure of where to put his weight, his arms, his face, all snug against you was dizzying and impressive. He belonged on top, for sure.

"I can show you. We got all night," He reminded you.

An eager, messy kiss to your cheek made you giggle. It softened him, for a moment.

His groan was a smiley, throaty confession against your neck, "God, your laugh is so cute."

Your violent shiver was scooped up, muffled in his arms as he rolled his hips, slow and teasing, against you.

The quick squeeze of your thighs around him was a reaction to both the intensity there, and the fluttery pleasure of his tongue and teeth, nipping and sucking under your ear.

"Oh-h, my Go-ah--," Got muddled together, bitten into his meaty shoulder in a humiliating whine.

Bokuto couldn't get enough of whatever that was.

He carelessly began making deep, dark bruises all over your neck- with you none the wiser- pressing that soft, tight pussy against his tortured cock. And you filled him up, fueled his dangerous ego with how breathless you were, how your phrases started to lack real words, and pitifully weak squeeze of your legs around him.

"M-mnh," His head rose, meeting that blacked out look in your eyes for only moment before he stole your 7th, 8th, 20th kiss.

He briefly thought about what he was making of you, how nice it would be to be able to fully call you his.

Big palms slid further down, rubbing the warm, worked, inside part of your thighs while he sat up to take a good look at you. You already looked like his little whore. He soaked the image up, just like how you admired how unreal he looked, sitting hot and bothered and hard between your thighs.

"I can make you feel soo much better," He heard himself promise in a far-off sigh.

You were still shy, but the curiosity was finally shining through.

"What did you have in mind?"

You even let him push your shirt off, since he was so slow and nice about it, and you tried not to shiver under his hands.

He held a sharp, nasty smirk, a false hum on his breath. You weren't stupid, you knew what he was trying to accomplish by wiggling to his stomach.

Despite wanting it real bad, your hands covered your burning face to try to calm yourself down.

He sang, "I've been told that I have a big tongue."

You were prepared to laugh at him. Your curiosity got the better of you-- you peeked through your fingers and realized he wasn't kidding. The tongue he stuck out for you was wide, and flat. A barely-there whimper died in your throat.

"I'll be slow," Thick fingers liberated you of the soaked material, his cock twitching at the sight of your pretty pussy.

As he pocketed his more-than-earned keepsake, he was briefly able to palm away some of the ache.

He kept his voice sugary-sweet, "Buuut you should tell me what you like."

Big, muscular shoulders pushed up against the back of your thighs and you couldn't look- you had to squeeze your eyes shut, head towards the ceiling, instead.

A big flinch as he added, one final thought, "If you can."

He swirled waves and waves of pleasure into you with his gentle tongue. It was a kind of delicate act you hadn't been sure he could deliver on, but his skill was a gratifying surprise.

"Oh-h," Your thighs twitched against your will.

Bokuto was the type of guy to take his ability to make you feel good very seriously.

He was the kind to get a little too into some article thread about Misogyny and its Complicated Relationship with Sex, then make it his secondary goal to be more 'attentive' from that exact moment on. A hasty, incomplete, but well-intentioned effort shaping his sexual habits, his unique views, super-charged with his need to 'be the best.'

The webs of his fingers filled with the front of your thighs, firm, with groan at how you rolled your hips up into his mouth.

It swirled into the horrible regulation of his self-esteem, at some point.

Similar to his night-and-day approach to volleyball, and made it impossible for him to fuck up in bed without feeling guilty, or like he was 'bad' at sex. That's why he was so experienced. Women usually didn't want to stay with a guy who took their lack of pleasure that personally- it was an ick.

With you, there was less pressure. He only understood this in a limited way.

"A-ah, yes- just like th-at," Your fingers found his frosted tips, pulling at the darker, softer roots.

His hips sank harder into the mattress, a broken groan at your declaration. He was good? The notion needed to be checked, so he glanced up at you.

He caught your cute, twisted expression. A smug smile flashed under his swirling tongue at how you covered your face again.

You gasped, hot with embarrassment, "Mmh- fuck, don't--,"

Yeah, he was doing well. He sucked a soft kiss to your clit and got a strong squeeze in return.

He wondered how loud he could get you. If he could somehow let every guy downstairs know that you were off limits, not just because you were Kuroo's sister, but because he was up here making you feel this good.

Most of his touches had been noticeably rough, and rushed, and a bit too excitable up to this point.

But he had no urgency between your legs. No desire to move to the next thing.

There was more pressure as he slid his tongue further down, towards your entrance, then a lighter, more fluttery feeling the closer he got to your clit.

It was a kind of method that reminded you that you were not the first, and you probably wouldn't be the last, to get eaten out by this big hunk.

As concerning as it was, Bokuto simplified your thoughts with a careful and practiced pleasure.

You wanted him.

This was worth stooping down a level for. You wanted to feel his lips again, his touch, his hold, and you were sure that you could shoulder the burden of not being exclusive, or whatever payment had to come with it.

He was funny, and kind, and sweet. He had already showed you so much about your own body. You didn't want him to go and you didn't want to stop. You couldn't stand not knowing, anymore.

"A-after- tonight-- ahh-," You gasped at the way he held your free hand, sandwiching it between his palm and your own hip. There was a sting at your eyes, "Can we- mmh, see each other again?"

It took a full minute for him to register what you said, then what you meant, then what you implied.

His mean, strong suck to your clit was more of a punctuation, because he quickly climbed over you-- an intense, stormy look in his naturally wide eyes.

You were panting, slower to react, in the absence of his mouth.

"You thought I was gonna ditch you after this?"

You blinked the burn away, thighs flexed and trembly as he affixed his weight back on top of you.

Even he could tell you were bothered by the idea. Struggling with it, maybe, for a while. He realized you weren't going to say yes or no.

"I'm not a monster," He glanced around your pretty face, pained, that you thought so low of him, "You know that, right?"

He wanted to be your first, then the second, third, and so on. He didn't think that far ahead, but he knew with certainty that he wouldn't stop craving you after just one night.

"Baby, you're not gettin' rid of me," His quick, fervent pecks across your troubled face sent you into a surprised, delighted laughter.

He giggled with you, big arms scooping around you as he caught a ticklish part of your neck in messy kisses.

"Mm-mm! Noooo, you're not!"

Your laughter, happy, unrestrained, was music to his ears.

His mind was everywhere. Half-focused on those sensitive spots that he needed to remember for later, half-focused on how badly he wanted to tear you apart.

♕VIP♕

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

taglist. thanks for your patience!😫💕

@tuamadrequellavacca @dumbpuppyluv @raracha @jenerator10 @thisiswhereishitpostalot @feiwelinchen @loodleloodle @partyinthepants @ghostreader0307 @101crows @asthmaticcchoeee @littlebunny-angel @ffismylaif @beet1ebum @charlotterosea13 @feiwelinchen @mammonsprettiestgoldie @poepard @intervalsofpeace @jiiisungpark @whymooniemoon @camc07 @lis4lipsi

@2dmenfr @justmanu

my masterlist.

reply to be added to taglist!

[cybrasigilism]

All Mine (Player 333/Lee Myung-gi X Reader Drabble)

warning: smut | not proofread | lowercase intended | possession kink | this is my interpretation of this character, please be respectful even if my opinion on the character differs from your own

character: lee myung-gi (player 333)

A/N: been straight up desiring to write for this diva again, i got inspiration for this little drabble after listening to “ALL MINE” by brent faiyaz, hence the fic name. enjoy to all my fellow myung-gi fans!

MDNI! 18+ content beneath the cut, readers discretion is advised

if anyone is into possessive, jealous sex, it’s myung-gi without a shadow of a doubt.

you’ve seen jealous before. you’ve been in your fair share of relationships with guys who felt as though they needed to stake a claim on you if someone even so much as looked in your direction, but with myung-gi it was on a different level entirely. when you first met, you didn’t clock him as the kind of guy who would be into that sort of thing. when all is said and done though, if he feels like he has to prove that your his— you will not be walking right for the next few days.

⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

you can’t deny that it totally turned you on; the way he would become totally thankless with you. pushing you up against the wall, leaving marks and hickeys all up and down your neck, whispering in your ear how you’re his— you were certain you couldn’t get enough of him like this. he was so rough, yet so gentle at the same time. it was as though he was taking out his frustration and envy out onto you while still reminding you how much he loved you. you really couldn’t say you minded how tenacious he became when eating you out during these fits of jealousy, working wonders with that tongue of his as if in an attempt to raise the bar to an unreachable point for all other men. trust he will take moments in between to dish out possessive comments, only because he knows it gets you going that much more.

“no one else can eat you this good, isn’t that right?”

“fuck, this is all for me right? nobody else’ll ever get to know how good you taste”

you better believe he becomes totally controlling when you guys fuck, too. he’ll demand that you tell him who you ‘belong’ to as he thrusts in and out of your pussy. even through tears, he won’t cease until you’re screaming his name.

“do i need to remind you who this pussy belongs to?” “a-ah! fuck! it’s yours— oh shit, it’s all y-ours!”

he may seem much rougher than usual while he’s fucking you in this jealous rage, but it’s completely out of love. he just despises the idea of a guy thinking he could take you from him so easily, that’s all.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

thanks for putting up with my brief self indulgent post! i apologize if it’s ooc, i just got the idea and wanted to share it inbetween working through requests!

as always, any advice/constructive criticism on how to improve my art is appreciated and requested! have a spectacular day/night lovelies!

tags: @gongyoosgf @strangelife122 @agornotsworld @kvstjwonnie @marymustdie @luvlyfandoms @putrescentpoet

[jjkamochoso]

hiii

idk if u take reqs rn or not feel free to ignore this

so i was thinking abt jjk guys and how they would react if u couldn't have a baby... like you want to but can't :(

i know this is a heavy subject and super angsty so i understand if u don't wanna do it

have a great day <333

Hello☺️ thank you so much for sending in this request! I’m always up for writing super angsty/sensitive topics so thank you for trusting me with this one, I hope I did it justice! I wrote this with a cis female reader in mind and only did the older characters if that’s alright, I didn’t feel comfortable writing this for any of the under 18 students. Also, if anyone is struggling with this irl, just know my heart is with you and you’re no less of a person just because you struggle with fertility issues❤️ sending all of you lots of love!🫶❤️

JJK Men Reacting to You Unable to Have a Baby

Angst, Fluff

JJK Men x f!reader

Warnings: sensitive topic at hand! Fertility issues and mentions of doctor’s appointments (nothing graphic); slight cussing in Gojo’s

Noritoshi:

You quickly entered your residence, shutting the front door as fast as you could. You didn’t want to be noticed by anyone right now, especially not a member of the Kamo clan, which was difficult seeing as you lived with your husband Noritoshi at his family’s expansive compound. Little did you know, the Kamo you dreaded to see the most right now was already waiting for you.

“Welcome back. How was your appointment?” asked Noritoshi, pouring two cups of tea. You gulped, trying to keep your tears at bay.

“The doctor said I’m unable to have a baby,” you said in a hushed tone, the news feeling all too real now that you said it out loud. Noritoshi was by your side immediately, tea cups abandoned on the countertop.

“There’s no chance ever?” he asked in a gentle tone.

“Never.” The dam inside you broke, tears overflowing. “Oh Noritoshi, what are we going to do? I can’t give you a baby of our own! We wanted this so bad,” you sobbed. Noritoshi pulled you into his chest, holding you close as you fell apart.

“What are we going to tell your family?” you continued. “We can’t have an heir; I’m going to get you disowned. We’ll have no house, no money, no child-”

“Enough of that,” he interrupted firmly but lovingly, his eyes finding yours as he opted to hold your shaking hands. “My clan will do no such thing. And even if they did, as long as I have you, I’d still be the richest man in the world.”

“But I can’t have a baby,” you sniffled. “We can’t have a baby.”

“I know it’s what we hoped for and I can’t imagine the burden you must be feeling right now,” he said, wiping your tears with his thumb, “but none of this is your fault. You might not be able to carry a child but that doesn’t mean we can’t raise one. We can always explore options like adoption in the future if that’s something you’d like. For now, though, let us grieve this loss so when we’re ready, we can step into the future with renewed hope and optimism.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the tissue he provided you along with the lingering kiss pressed to your forehead. It wasn’t going to be an easy journey ahead of you, but with the level headed, caring Noritoshi by your side, you knew you would be just fine.

Todo:

Leaving your doctor’s appointment, you felt numb. It was like your mind refused to process what the doctor had told you: you were unable to have a baby. You didn’t know how to tell Aoi, your husband. You two had dreamt of having kids for a long time and you didn’t want to break his heart with this horrible revelation.

As if he had heard your thoughts, you felt your phone vibrate and saw it was him calling. You sighed, knowing it was probably better to rip off the proverbial bandaid.

“Hey, beautiful. How was everything at your appointment?” he asked.

“Truthfully? Not good.” You bit your lip to stop from crying.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not alright,” you confessed, tears already starting to fall down your cheeks, “I can’t get pregnant, Aoi. I can’t have a baby.”

At that point, you were practically sobbing in the city street.

“I’m coming to pick you up, honey, don’t worry. Are you still at the hospital?”

“No, Aoi, I’m fine-” you protested through your cries, but he wasn’t having it.

“I won’t let you go through this alone. Please, let me be there for you right now.”

You heard his voice tremble the slightest bit through the phone’s receiver and you realized he needed you as much as you needed him right now.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“I’m on my way. Don’t hang up, I want to hear your gorgeous voice until I can see your gorgeous face.”

That got you to crack a smile for the first time all day.

When Aoi finally showed up, he wrapped you into a tight hug, not daring to let go or caring who sees.

“Whatever the challenge, we’re up against it as a team. I’ll always be by your side, no matter what life throws at us,” he told you, giving your lips a soft kiss before taking you in his arms once more. “We can talk about this more when we get home but right now I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Ino:

You were grateful that Ino wanted to come with you to your doctor’s appointment since you hated going alone, especially when the nature of the appointment had to do with your reproductive health.

It was also extremely helpful to have your husband there for support when you received devastating news from your doctor.

“I’m so sorry Ms. L/n, but you’re completely unable to conceive.”

Ino anxiously grabbed onto your hand. “Do you mean right now, for the foreseeable future, or like… forever?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Takuma, I mean forever. She will never be able to carry a baby.”

You sat there, dumbfounded, unable to create even a single thought as your world crashed down around you. Sensing your anguish, the doctor stepped out of the room to let you two have a few minutes alone.

The room was deathly quiet, the only sound being the tick of a clock on the wall and your heart pounding in your chest.

“What are we gonna do?” you eventually said, your mouth dry as a desert. You turned to look at the man next to you, tears finally filling up your eyes. “Ino?”

“I… I don’t know,” he responded with a defeated tone and tearing up as well. “I…”

You were both at a loss for words. You registered Ino’s hand leaving your own, the empty feeling mirroring how you felt inside, until he brought you into a bone crushing hug, his tears soaking your shoulder.

“We’re gonna get through this,” he said, sniffling, “we have to. This sucks now, and it’s gonna suck for a long time after this, but we still have each other which is more than I could ever hope for.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, your voice small. “You’d be alright if we didn’t have a kid?”

He gave you an adoring smile. “Of course I’d be alright. If having a baby of our own isn’t in the cards for us, that doesn’t mean we can’t raise a kid. We could look into adoption or who knows, maybe we could pull a Nanami and find ourselves mentoring our own little Ino.”

The giggle you let out was a testament to the strength of your relationship and Ino’s commitment to always keep your spirits up when times get extremely tough.

Gojo:

You finally let out the shuddered breath that you had been holding ever since you left your doctor’s appointment. You had gone in because you and Satoru had been trying for a baby for over a year now and still hadn’t made any progress. What the doctor figured out, though, was what you had been dreading this entire time but prayed wasn’t the case.

“Hey! How was it?” Satoru’s chirpy voice rang out in your apartment, causing your eyes to well with tears.

“Not good,” you called out. Satoru was in the living room with you in an instant, a frown gracing his pink lips.

“Eh? What happened?”

“The doctor said I can’t have a baby, Satoru. We can’t… we can’t start the family we always wanted.”

You sat on the couch, numbness taking over. You felt tears roll down your cheeks but you barely registered them. You could hardly acknowledge your husband wrapping his long arms around you to comfort you (and himself).

“No baby, no future heir. I’ve single-handedly ruined our chances at continuing the Gojo clan.” You looked up at the white haired man. “Satoru, I’m sorry-”

“Y/n, please. I don’t care about any of that shit. There’s, like, a million of us anyway,” he said, waving his hand nonchalantly. “I wanted to start a family with you because I love you. If we can’t do it the fun old fashioned way, I’m sure we can look into adoption if you’re up for that. If it ends up just being us two, I’m fine with that as well. As long as I have you, I’m happy.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, cuddling into his side. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, holding onto you a little tighter.

Geto:

“Darling, you got a letter in the mail today,” Suguru greeted as he walked inside. You took the envelope from him outstretched hand and gasped.

“It’s from my doctor,” you replied, nervously ripping it open. You had been waiting for results about the state of your fertility since you and Suguru weren’t having any luck having a baby on your own. You pulled out the paper and read through each sentence quickly, until one practically punched you in the gut.

…which indicates you are unable to carry pregnancy to term.

The paper fell gracefully from your grasp, landing on the floor, and you felt like you were about to join it with the way your knees were buckling.

“Take a seat, my love,” Suguru said worriedly, holding you up and guiding you to the nearest chair. He bent over and picked up the paper, reading it as well. Even in your despair you saw the way his expression fell, probably feeling just as crestfallen as you were.

“I’m sorry I can’t give us what we wanted,” you choked out, putting your head in your hands. He was by your side in no time, kneeling down to meet your gaze.

“Y/n, look at me.” You did so, wiping your nose with a tissue. “This isn’t an ideal situation but you’re not to blame. We’ll figure something out.”

“But the girls, they wanted a little sibling.”

“But at least we have them,” he reasoned, causing you to nod in agreement. “And I have you. That’s all I’ve ever wished to have. Anything else is a happy bonus.”

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and softly dabbed at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want you to cry anymore, alright? We’re in this together.”

Nanami:

Your husband Kento was still gone at work by the time you had come back from your appointment with the doctor so you decided to curl up in bed. You had just received the worst news any hopeful mom-to-be could get: you could never get pregnant. You couldn’t stop replaying the words in your head, further torturing yourself. You didn’t even notice Kento coming home, calling out your name, or opening the bedroom door.

“Y/n?” he asked softly before noticing your still figure in the bed. You were facing the opposite way of the door so he treaded lightly across the room, coughing a bit so as not to scare you.

“Are you alright?” he wondered, the bed dipping as he sat next to you and stroked your hair.

“We can’t have a baby, Kento,” you blurted out. “I’m a failure.”

If he was surprised at the news, you couldn’t tell with the way his demeanor stayed calm, cool, and collected.

“First of all, that’s not even close to the truth. You’re an amazing person, a caring wife. You’re nothing close to a failure.” He brushed hair away from your forehead and placed his lips there for an elongated moment.

“Do you want to talk about it or do you want to lie here awhile? Either is understandable,” said Kento after a long bout of silence.

“I’d like to talk about it over dinner, if that’s alright. For now, I just want to lay down.”

“Of course.”

He kissed your hand and stood up, taking off his tie before cuddling up next to you.

“Having you in my life, Mrs. Nanami, is more than enough for me.”

Choso:

Choso came with you to your doctor’s appointment to help calm your nerves, his steady presence more than welcome when the future of your family was hanging in the balance.

“So I’m looking at your results, and it looks like…”

Choso squeezed your hand gently when the doctor spoke.

“…you cannot become pregnant. I’m so sorry,” your doctor told you. “This is a lot to take in, I’m sure, so I’ll give you two a moment to yourselves if you’d like.”

“Please,” Choso answered for you as you were unable to speak. You sat in the chair, emotion overwhelming your entire being. Choso held tightly to your hand as he looked deep into your glassy eyes.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” His big brown eyes were also wet with sorrow.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who can’t make our dream of having a family come true,” you cried.

“Shh, it’s not your fault,” he soothed, pressing you close to his chest as you sniffled. “You’re being way too hard on yourself. This is a horrible situation but we’ll figure it out together like we always do. You’re not alone in this, or anything else.”

You eventually separated your face from his shoulder and he wiped it softly with a tissue, clearing away your tears.

“We’re a team. We’re a family, baby or not. My love for you will never be shaken.”

He placed his hands lovingly on your cheeks and gave you a kiss on your forehead, reminding you exactly why you wanted to be with him forever.

Toji:

You had just left your doctor’s appointment, your shoulders heavy with the burden of your hopes and dreams shattered by the fact you couldn’t get pregnant. Dialing a number you knew by heart, you anxiously waited for your husband to answer his phone.

“Hey darlin’, what’s up?”

“I really need to talk to you,” you said, your voice small as you tried to not break down over the phone.

“Where are you? I’m on my way now,” Toji said without hesitation. You gave him the address of the clinic you were outside and he told you he’d be there in 10 minutes. You sat on the curb, ignoring the hollow feeling in your chest until you glanced up to see Toji; you burst into tears.

“Woah, hey, it’s okay.” He sat next to you and consoled you with a large hand on your back while the other guided you into a hug so he could shield you from any curious onlookers. “Is this about your appointment?”

You cried harder.

Toji sat with you for a long time as you sobbed. After what seemed like forever, your tears had run dry and you were hiccuping into his broad chest.

“I’m here for you. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t get pregnant. Ever. We won’t be able to have a baby,” you mumbled as you stared at a crack in the sidewalk.

“Here I was, thinkin’ you only had a few days to live.”

You glared at him. “Not funny.”

“Not trying to be for once.” You were pulled in closer to his chest once more as he rested his chin on the top of your head. “I’m sorry that’s the news you got. I know we were looking forward to having a kid but if it’s not in the cards for us, I’ll be alright as long as I have you.”

“Are you sure? You would be a great dad and I don’t want to take that away from you.”

“And you’d be an amazing mom. I wouldn’t want kids with any other woman.”

“Thanks, Toji. I really love you.”

He gave you a lopsided smile. “Let’s get off this dirty ass street and go home.”

[lazy-universes]

If you're familiar with Buttons15's works from other fandoms, she wrote an absolutely BRILLIANT exploration of this feeling:

Tellstones (2212 words) by spookyscaryskeletons Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021), League of Legends Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends) Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends), Ambessa Medarda Series: Part 13 of league of legends but i didn't read the lore Summary: Caitlyn only took the fucking job because she was cornered, and though she could, in theory, say no, anyone else who took the job – and make no mistake, someone would have to – would also be cornered. She took the job because she didn’t trust anyone else to get Piltover out of this situation. She wasn’t sure she could do it, either, but if she couldn’t, it sure as hell wouldn’t be Jayce or any other of the survivors. Damage control. Best she could do. Vi hated her for it, and Caitlyn couldn’t blame her, because Caitlyn hated herself for it, too.

If Caitlyn didn't become the commander, who would've?

Who else would ascend to power? Salo? He wants a full invasion of Zaun. Another surviving councilor, like Mel or Jace? Missing. Another Piltovan politician? A moment ago they were all nodding along to "wrath meets wrath".

Ambessa is dangerous, and Caitlyn knows this. But she's always had faith in her own abilities: she can take down Silco, she can bring Jinx to justice with a squad of only 5, she can make the shot.

Maybe if she steps in as the commander, she can prevent the situation from getting worse. Maybe she can focus that power, and finally stop Jinx from getting away.

Caitlyn will make it work.

She has to.

(all gifs from @arcanegifs)

[wcnderlnds]

carried away | choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: getting to film a movie with seunghyun is all fine until you have to film a kissing scene ・❥・word count: 1.1k ・❥・warnings: n/a ・❥・ authors note: saw a video of tazza behind the scenes and was inspired 👀

Choi Seung-hyun was one of the most interesting people you had ever met. Not only was he a complete sweetheart but he was one heck of a talented actor. He could switch between himself and the character he was playing almost seamlessly. Not many actors had that kind of talent — some opting to stay in character through the whole shoot to not lose focus but not Seunghyun. When he was in character, he was locked in and when he was out of it, he was the fun, sweet guy that you had come to know over the last couple of months. It amazed you every single day.

When you’d first got the job to star alongside him, the nerves you’d felt were probably the worst you’d ever experienced. He was an icon, part of one of the biggest bands in the world. It was daunting knowing you were going to have to be face to face with one of K-Pops biggest idols. Turns out there had been no reason to worry whatsoever because he was the nicest person you’d ever met. The very first day you’d met on set he’d introduced himself politely, made sure you were comfortable and did everything he could to make it easy for you. It wasn’t your first job. You were pretty well known in the industry but every set was different. All the different actors and crew; sometimes you didn’t know what to expect. So far, this had been your favourite movie to work on. Did most of that have to do with Seunghyun? Absolutely.

Today was the day you had been dreading the most, though. Intimate scenes were always daunting to film but now you had to film one with Seunghyun. Oh, you were so screwed. Over the last few weeks, you had developed a little crush on your co-star. Not a word had been uttered to him but you were fairly sure you weren’t hiding it very well. The giggles at his every joke, the way you’d hang on to his every word, find any reason to be close to him — it was like you were a kid again with your very first crush and didn’t know how to act.

“You ready for this?” Seunghyun asked as the two of you stood waiting for the director to start the scene. He stood there, tie loose around his neck, his white shirt unbuttoned slightly showing off some of his chest. If you weren’t so nervous, you’d definitely be staring right now.

“Yeah,” you nodded, hands flexing at your sides. “I'm a little nervous but I’m ready.”

“I’ve got you, okay? You want to stop at any time just tell me and we will. We don’t even have to do this if you’re not comfortable with it. I’m sure we can think of a way around it,” he reached out to give your arm a reassuring squeeze. Even just a simple touch like that made your heart beat ten times faster so what the hell was going to happen to you the moment his lips met yours? 

“It’s okay, I promise. I’m glad it’s with you. I trust you.” A genuine smile adorned your face making Seunghyun smile, too. Was he blushing as well? Surely you were imagining that.

It wasn’t too long after when the director yelled action and it was all hands on deck. Before you could even prepare yourself (which you’d had plenty of time to do if you hadn’t been so nervous), Seunghyun’s hand was on the back of your head and his lips crashed against yours. The second his soft lips began to move, your head turned fuzzy. Your hands fisted in the shirt he was wearing as he backed you up onto the bed. As you laid back, he settled on top of you, his tongue tangling with yours. You knew you were supposed to be acting, that this was your character and not you but it didn’t stop you from getting lost in the way his lips fit so perfectly against yours. Or the way his body slotted between yours like a puzzle piece.

It wasn’t until Seunghyun pulled away — breathless and with red tinted cheeks — that you realised the director had shouted ‘cut’ over five minutes ago. You could feel the flush of your cheeks as the embarrassment coursed through you. Without a single word, you ran off the set to hide in your dressing room. If that wasn’t the most mortifying moment of your life, you didn’t know what was. How could you have gotten so lost that you didn’t realise the scene had ended? How unprofessional. 

It was five minutes later when you heard a knock on your door. You barely mumbled a “it’s open” when the handle turned and in walked Seunghyun. You had your head in your hands but as you heard him clear his throat, you looked up. There he stood looking as gorgeous as ever. 

“Can I…?” He gestured to the spot next to you on the couch. You nodded your head, resting your hands in your lap. He sat beside you, twisting his body slightly so he could look at you. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m embarrassed and mortified and really wish the ground would swallow me up right now.” The urge to hide your face again was strong but you fought against it. You had to be an adult and own up to what had happened. “I’m so sorry, Seunghyun. That was so unprofessional of me. I…I’m really sorry.”

He shook his head. “No, don’t apologise. I could have stopped it sooner but… uh, I didn’t want to.”

Did you hear him correctly? He didn’t want to stop kissing you? 

“…what?” You asked in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he let out a low chuckle, shrugging his shoulders. “I like you. I’ve been trying to figure out how to make a move without it being weird for a couple weeks now but nothing seemed right. But then when I kissed you and you didn’t seem to stop, I couldn’t help myself. If anything it was unprofessional of me.”

“Just a couple of unprofessionals then, huh?” You joked, gently nudging him with your elbow. “I like you too, by the way.”

“I know, you’ve been pretty obvious.”

“Shutup.”

He laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and bringing you into his side. “Want to get dinner tonight?”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” you smiled up at him, his eyes catching yours. It was so easy to get lost in him. Everything about him was so perfect. 

“For the time being, we have a lot of kissing to do because apparently we were too intense for the scene or something,” Seunghyun jokingly rolled his eyes, holding his hand out for you as he got to his feet. “Let’s get back to work, shall we?”

If work meant you got to keep kissing the handsome man standing in front of you then you were more than happy to get back on set.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten

[valkyrieromanoff]

🎀YOU AS PADMÉ X HAYDEN CHRISTENSE: THE LOVE STORY🎀

SECOND

synopsis: the last day of filming begins and your story with Hayden takes the first step towards your future together.

words:  2.6k

warning: not based on real events, fluffy, hint of romance

a/n: hello there, I’m so happy and grateful for all your comments 🥹💕. It seriously makes my day to see your reactions! I hope you enjoy this chapter—I had so much fun writing it, and I’m so excited to hear what you think! Sorry for the delay 🫠—I didn’t have my computer, but we’re back now! Thank you for your patience 😘. Feel free to like, reblog, and comment—I love hearing from you! 🫶💌

🌟 Tagging those lovely people: @notantou, @barnes70stark, @writtenbyhollywood and @majathepapaya🌸

CHAPTER 3: SPARKIN’ FEELINGS

Filming was in full swing, with deadlines looming and the epic ending of the film drawing near. Your character, Padmé, was embroiled in her role as a senator of the Galactic Republic, while Anakin faced his own trials as a Jedi. As a result, you and Hayden barely saw each other on set that week. His schedule was packed with lightsaber training, while yours was consumed by Senate scenes.

Still, you found small ways to connect. More than once, you stopped by his training sessions, ostensibly to watch, though you always brought lunch with you. Hayden would grin when he saw you, pausing mid-swing to jog over and take the food from your hands with an exaggerated sigh of relief, as if you’d saved him from starvation.

When it came time to record the scenes on Tatooine, you finally had more opportunities to be together, though the sequences were emotionally heavy. Between takes, you both made a conscious effort to lighten the mood, filling the quiet desert set with laughter. You’d brought a pack of sour candies, and soon it turned into a full-blown competition to see who could keep a straight face. So far, it was a tie, but each time one of you pulled a particularly exaggerated grimace, your shared laughter cut through the tension of the day.

Ewan, ever the observant bystander, watched the growing connection between you and Hayden with quiet amusement—and a touch of frustration. From the moment you both arrived on set, it was as if a magnetic pull kept drawing you together. Hayden’s hand would inevitably find its way to the small of your back, guiding you down steps or helping you navigate the uneven terrain. Your head would rest against his shoulder as you whispered conspiratorially, or you’d walk hand-in-hand, fingers intertwined as if it were second nature.

Ewan also noticed the more intimate moments, like the countless times you and Hayden shared a pair of headphones, listening to the playlist you’d created together for Anidala. It was impossible not to see the way you smiled when a certain song played, or the way Hayden would hum softly along, his gaze lingering on you.

One moment stood out in Ewan’s mind—a particularly cold day filming an outdoor scene. The icy wind bit at your exposed skin, thanks to Padmé’s sleeveless costume. You tried to hide your discomfort, but it was clear in the way you shivered between takes. Hayden, always attuned to your needs, noticed immediately.

Without hesitation, he opened his Jedi cloak and wrapped you inside, pulling you close. The heavy fabric was warm and carried his scent, a mix of leather and something uniquely him. You smiled softly, leaning into his touch as he rubbed your arms to chase away the chill. Then, with a playful grin, he took your cold hands in his and pressed soft kisses to your fingertips, murmuring something about keeping you warm.

Ewan shook his head at the memory, amused but exasperated. The two of you were clearly smitten, yet you danced around it like children, never quite acknowledging what everyone else could plainly see. You weren’t fooling anyone—except maybe yourselves.

Being friends with both of you, Ewan felt a mixture of affection and impatience. You were like a little sister to him, someone he felt protective over. Hayden, on the other hand, was like a brother—a younger one in desperate need of a nudge in the right direction. Ewan knew it wasn’t his place to interfere, but the situation was maddening. If neither of you was going to make the first move, maybe a little guidance wouldn’t hurt.

As he headed toward lightsaber training with Hayden, Ewan began formulating a plan. He’d find a way to bring it up casually, no pressure, no fanfare. Just a friendly conversation. After all, he thought with a smirk, someone had to knock some sense into those two before they drove everyone else on set crazy.

The training session for the Geonosis arena fight was in full swing. The clatter of training sabers echoed through the rehearsal space as Ewan and Hayden worked through the choreography under the supervision of the stunt coordinator. It wasn’t an especially complicated sequence, but the combination of precise movements and the physical demands of the fight kept them both focused. Or at least, that was the case until Ewan decided it was time to put his plan into action.

The conversation started harmlessly enough—Ewan’s usual mix of casual chatter and dry humor. They joked about how the weather in Tunisia felt like Tatooine itself and debated the best lunch options nearby.

“Could’ve sworn I signed up for acting, not boot camp,” Ewan quipped, spinning his saber and blocking Hayden’s strike with ease.

“Guess they don’t tell you that when you sign the contract,” Hayden replied with a grin, wiping sweat from his brow.

The two danced around each other in the choreography, their steps fluid and practiced. As they reset for another run-through, Ewan steered the conversation toward the topic he’d been waiting to broach.

“You and her have become good friends, huh?” Ewan said casually, delivering his line as he feigned a wide sweep toward Hayden’s side.

Hayden easily sidestepped the attack, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Uh-huh. It’s easy to feel comfortable around her,” he admitted, his tone softening as he parried Ewan’s next move. “We clicked pretty quickly.”

Ewan raised a brow, leaning into his next attack just enough to keep Hayden engaged. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. You two are practically inseparable.” He paused, a teasing edge creeping into his voice. “Almost like soulmates.”

Hayden’s step faltered slightly, though he quickly recovered. His blue eyes flicked to Ewan, searching his expression for any trace of mockery. Finding none, he hesitated, his movements slowing as he processed the comment.

“Something like that,” Hayden murmured eventually, his voice quiet but thoughtful.

Ewan saw his opening and pressed further, his tone more earnest now. “You ever think about what that means?”

Hayden blinked, lowering his saber as he stepped back to reset the sequence. “What do you mean?”

Ewan shrugged, leaning casually on his saber hilt. “I mean… it’s obvious you care about her. Everyone on set sees it. Hell, even the crew’s rooting for you two. But have you stopped to ask yourself why?”

Hayden’s brows furrowed as he looked away, his jaw tightening. Ewan’s words lingered, pressing into thoughts he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on too long. Of course, he cared about you—that much was undeniable. But the idea of why...

“Well, she’s... she’s easy to talk to,” Hayden started, his voice halting as he fumbled for the right words. “She makes me laugh. And... it’s like she gets me, you know? Like she sees me for me—not just this guy playing Anakin Skywalker.”

Ewan nodded, letting him speak, knowing this wasn’t the kind of thing Hayden would open up about if pressed too hard.

Hayden ran a hand through his hair, letting out a soft chuckle. “And then there’s the way she looks at me sometimes, like she’s really listening, like I’m the only person in the room. It’s... it’s hard to describe.” He paused, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his saber. “It’s more than friendship, isn’t it?”

Ewan smiled knowingly, giving his friend a firm pat on the shoulder. “Sounds like you already know the answer to that.”

For a moment, Hayden stood still, the weight of Ewan’s words settling over him. The realization crept in slowly, like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Was it love? He didn’t know for sure, but the thought of you—the sound of your laugh, the way your hand fit so perfectly in his—was enough to make his chest tighten.

“Come on, mate,” Ewan said, breaking the silence with a grin. “Let’s run it again before the stunt coordinator starts yelling at us.”

Hayden nodded, snapping back to reality as he took his position. But even as they resumed the fight choreography, his thoughts remained elsewhere.

Did you like him as much as he liked you? The question gnawed at Hayden, its weight growing heavier with every passing day. He didn’t want to open his heart to you only to have it shattered. But then there were moments—those fleeting, electric moments—that made the idea of unrequited love seem almost impossible. The way your face lit up whenever he walked into a room, how your eyes softened when they met his, or the comfortable silence that settled between you, where words weren’t needed to understand each other. All of it made him believe there might be something more, something mutual.

When training wrapped, Hayden didn’t bother gathering his things. He bolted off the set, his heart pounding with urgency. He had nearly two kilometers to cover to reach the set where you were filming your last scenes of the day. He’d memorized your schedule—he couldn’t help it, really. If his timing was right—and he was almost certain it was—you’d just be finishing a scene with Padmé’s handmaidens.

He ran, his boots pounding against the ground. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, and the exhaustion from the grueling training session earlier started to creep into his legs, making each step feel heavier. But he didn’t care. He pushed himself harder, fueled by the need to see you.

When Hayden finally reached the set, he stopped short, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. The space was dim, most of the lights already turned off. A few members of the set crew were busy adjusting props, and the cleaning staff was tidying up, the hum of vacuums and the faint clatter of equipment filling the otherwise quiet room.

He scanned the area frantically, his blue eyes darting from corner to corner, searching for any sign of you. But you weren’t there.

“Looking for someone?”

Hayden turned, startled by the voice. One of the cleaning staff, an older woman with a kind smile, was standing nearby, a broom in her hands. She seemed to recognize him instantly.

“She just left,” the woman said, her tone warm. “Maybe if you run, you can catch her at the gate.”

Hope flared in his chest as he nodded his thanks, a quick but heartfelt, “Thank you!” escaping his lips before he took off running again.

When he reached the gate, the sight that greeted him made his steps falter. A car was pulling away, and through the window, he caught a glimpse of you. Your head rested against the glass, your eyes closed in peaceful slumber, exhaustion etched into your features from the long day of filming.

He opened his mouth to call your name, his hand lifting instinctively, but the sound caught in his throat. He knew it was useless—you wouldn’t hear him. For a moment, he stood there, watching as the car disappeared into the night, taking you further away with each passing second.

A sigh escaped his lips, and he ran a hand through his damp hair, a mix of frustration and resignation settling over him.

“Not tonight,” he muttered to himself, his voice low.

Even as disappointment clawed at him, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was okay. It didn’t happen this time, but there would be another chance—he was sure of it. And next time, he’d be ready. He’d find the right words to say, the courage to finally tell you what he felt.

As he turned back toward the set, his steps slower now, a quiet determination began to replace the lingering doubt. Hayden knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let another moment slip away.

The weeks flew by, and before you knew it, the final day of filming had arrived. What once felt like a distant moment was now here, unfolding beneath the setting sun. The warm golden light bathed the hillside where the last scene was set: Anakin and Padmé’s secret wedding.

As the scene began, Hayden caught sight of you dressed as a bride, and for a moment, everything around him seemed to blur. You looked radiant in white, the delicate lace of your gown catching the sunlight, your shy smile playing on your pink lips. His heart thudded in his chest, each beat echoing louder than the last.

“You look beautiful,” Hayden said softly, his voice unsteady as he fumbled for the right words. “I mean, you are beautiful, but… you look more beautiful than ever.” His cheeks flushed a faint shade of pink as the words tumbled out.

You smiled back at him, warmth flooding your expression. “You look lovely too, Hayden,” you replied, your gaze sweeping over him. His dark Jedi robes suited him perfectly, and the way his hair caught the light made your stomach flutter.

The scene had no lines, leaving the two of you to simply exist in the moment together. It felt almost surreal, the weight of the story you’d spent months telling pressing gently against you. Between takes, you made small talk—lighthearted jokes, shared laughs, and quiet gratitude for the journey you’d taken together.

When the cameras rolled, the energy shifted. Hayden held your face, his fingers brushing against your skin as if you were something precious. His thumb traced a slow, tender arc across your cheek. The touch sent a shiver through you, your breath catching as his gaze locked onto yours. Then, ever so slowly, he leaned in.

His lips found yours, soft yet confident, and the kiss unfolded like it had always been meant to happen. There was an unspoken harmony in the way your mouths moved together, as if the universe itself had been waiting for this moment. It was more than a kiss—it was connection, destiny, a bridge between reality and fiction.

Anakin and Padmé’s love story seemed to blur with your own, the lines between characters and actors dissolving. While the love they shared on screen was fraught with tragedy, what bloomed between you and Hayden felt genuine, hopeful, and intense.

When the kiss ended, you opened your eyes, your breath mingling in the space between you. Your gazes met, and for a moment, the world stood still. Smiles formed on both your lips—real, unguarded smiles that carried the weight of feelings neither of you had yet put into words.

“Cut!” the director’s voice rang out, breaking the spell.

Hayden didn’t let go immediately. Instead, he pulled you into an embrace, his arms wrapping tightly around you. You sank into him, burying your face against his chest. A rush of emotions swirled between you: love, relief, fear, and a bittersweet ache knowing that this chapter was closing. Tears welled in your eyes and slipped down your cheeks, but you didn’t wipe them away.

The end of a movie was more than just a wrap—it was the end of a process, a journey. There was a sense of mourning that came with knowing it was over. But in the way Hayden held you, and the way you clung to him, it was clear: your story wasn’t ending here.

Hayden opened his mouth, wanting to say something, to tell you how he felt. The words hovered on the edge of his tongue, but he held them back. This wasn’t the right moment—at least, not yet.

You pulled away slowly, your fingers lingering on his arm before stepping back. There were so many people to thank, so many goodbyes to say. As you moved through the crowd, greeting cast and crew, Hayden watched you, his gaze never straying far. And even when you spoke to others, smiling warmly and sharing memories, your eyes would always drift back to him.

In those glances, unspoken promises lingered. The film might have ended, but whatever had grown between you and Hayden was far from over.

[venuslarkspur]

Could we get one explanation on how batsis charmed her Flings and how long they lasted or is she like Bruce. Like she can look at them and they fold

Okay I love this question and I’m here to explain 🫶

How Batsis charms her flings and how long her situationship lasted with some of them 💗

Warning: Paparazzi are low-key kind of crazy in this, mild nsfw, panic attacks, some insecurity for some characters, mentions of addiction.

Characters (paired with Batsis): Wally West, Roy Harper, Zatanna Zatara, John Constantine, Diana Prince, Hal Jordan, John Stewart.

Note: MY EXAMS ARE OVER I CAN FINALLY POST AGAIN <3 NOT PROOF READ

The Batsis Charm

- Okay so I always pictured Batsis as taking after Bruce, she turns on the Wayne family charm and deadly assassins fold. She adds some flirting and keeps up appearance, she isn’t afraid to dress alternatively either her style is ever changing.

- When Bruce first introduced her to the Justice League she was fresh out of university (pretty and clever!), she immediately enchants most of them in more ways than one.

Wally West

- These two together are a bit different, I think they both dated when they very young; teenagers. Very much puppy love.

- very healthy relationship despite how random it was, you only met through Dick. He had trouble accepting you both but did accept it.

- Very typical teenage dates like: the movies, the park, bowling etc.

- Batsis had faceless pics of them posted all over her socials.

- More Batsis coming round his for dinner then him coming to her.

- The relationship neves goes past kissing, had lots good times together though.

- The only way I see this ending is Wally struggles to be in the public eye so much with his gf, he wonders how Batsis has handled it.

- Everyone and their grandma know about this breakup when it happened, but overall ended on a good note.

Roy Harper

- These two are “she fell first but he fell harder” coded, they meet when they are both teenagers. Roy is a tiny bit older (1-2 years), starts off as unrequited love but also not really?! Batsis always loved him, these two faced the most challenges out of any of her relationships. 

- These two get more romantic as they get older (roy realising he’s got something good with this girl), Roy gets plenty threats from Jason on the daily.

- When it comes to Lian, Batsis went from dad’s friend to babysitter to stepmom to just mom. Roy remembers when Lian was very young and you just left after babysitting and he just tucked her in; he’s ready to leave for bed before Lian asks “is mommy coming again tomorrow?” His heart breaks when he realises she sees you as her mom.

- right people wrong time coded.

- Talks of giving Lian a sibling one day 💕🫶

Zatanna Zatara

- these two are the besties and or gfs forever!!

- Batsis attends all her magic shows, sometimes even becomes her assistant.

- Lots of pda, you smother her and she smothers you a lot as well.

- The media know all about you two, it’s a challenge to get away from them for a day.

- Slightly jealous type but won’t admit it, especially if one of your exes message you while you’re having one of your dates with her.

- Everyone at the JL knows they are together, whether they knew batsis liked girls or not they are surprised when you guys go public.

- Lots of Halloween couple costumes together, like magician + bunny, matching witch costumes, princess + genie, etc..

- Watch each other do your makeup, sometimes she does yours and you do hers. You brush her hair after all her magic shows.

- I love these two <3

John Constantine

- These two met by mistake, it started off as a random hookup; John didn’t even know you were the Batman’s daughter.

- When it gets revealed he makes so many comments, like “don’t want me to be your future son in law Batsy?” Shit like that.

- If you do start dating everyone would be shocked, let’s be honest these two were the most random couple ever.

- He just enjoys his time with you because he knows the day will come when you two break up so he’s just making the most of it.

- Rlly insecure no matter how serious you two get, you could be moved in together with a pet and he’d still ask “so you like me?”

- you cook him breakfast tbh, sometimes he cooks for you but you prefer to do it.

- These two are freaky asf. No more words necessary.

- You try and compare hand sizes and take pictures of you together.

- Not my favourite pairing but I still love them.

Diana Prince

- You’ve always admired her since Bruce first introduced you.

- She was the most radiant woman you’d ever seen, you fell HARD.

- Definitely Batsis’s bi/pan awakening, you’ve been chasing after her since your first day at the JL headquarters, everyone knows it.

- You’ve been on a few dates and you two regularly flirt.

- Lots of jokes (or not) about her whisking you away to Themyscira and staying there <3

- Media loves you both as well, despite the debate on whether or not you’re dating.

- The definition of “what are we?” You wonder if she’s just playing with you sometimes.

- You still respond to all her calls even if you’re on a date with someone else, she was literally all you ever wanted in your early days.

- The batfam approves of you two together 🫶

Hal Jordan

- Oh boy..these two are one of my faves.

- This relationship starts off sort of toxic?? You only hooked up with him the first time because you were mad at Bruce, AND YOUR FATHER WAS MAD.

- After he does his slut walk out of Wayne manor (in front of your brothers, sister, dad, and grandfather figure mind you) he asks when you two can meet again.

- You don’t keep things professional at headquarters so why should he? So there’s plenty of instances where his eyes wander too long over you, or when you undress him with your eyes at a meeting.

- Bruce doesn’t like it one bit, it’s actually a pregnancy scare that brings you and him together. Even though you found out your period was just late you could still be was slightly disappointed in you not being pregnant. You notice this and don’t bring it up, just invite him out for dinner sometime.

- Batsis the type of woman to pay the bill after he insists “he’s got this.”, yeah he left his wallet at home.

- If you’re moody at headquarters, he would definitely ask you if you’ve “had your period yet?” And he’s met with a firm slap on the head, from you and Dinah.

- These two are such sillies, Bruce isn’t happy, your brothers aren’t happy, but you’re happy. So who even really cares?

John Stewart

- This is the ex bf Batsis still cries over, I don’t wanna spoil anything for my newest fic but these two nearly got married definitely. And Batsis left him at the altar.

- You two end because he decided he can’t be with someone who doesn’t know what they want. Yeah he is the one who made you realise you need to take some to reflect. You just wanted him.

- Hal Jordan literally cried when he found out you two were now a thing.

- Nobody made you feel loved, if you had a spending addiction, HE got you through it.

- Bruce trusts him, his “no dating my colleagues” rule, doesn’t apply to this man because he’s witnessed how much happier you were.

- The only mildly concerning thing was the fact you could NOT shut up about him, it’s always “John” this and “John!” That, your family are genuinely sick of hearing about your amazing love life.

- Keeps you out the media’s eye if you’re not feeling up to any paparazzi that day. He just holds your hand and keeps you next to him.

- If you ever have a panic attack because of any of the paparazzi, he will take you into a secluded spot and just place kisses on top of your head and keep you firmly pressed against him, whilst reminding you “you’re safe.”

- You had no idea what you lost. And that’s why you still cry over him.

[illubean]

Sex Ed !

Characters: Satoru Gojo Type: NoCurse!AU, Oneshot, Gn!Reader? (will explain in warnings), NSFW reader discretion advised

i got the initial concept from this post by @reignpage and added my own twist ^^ also I'm lwky a little embarassed by this so uhh yeah..

Warnings: NSFW, might be considered monster fucking?, reader has alien anatomy and therefore has parts that resemble both female and male reproductive organs because it's my fanfic and I said so, Gojo a bit of a loser perv

Satoru Gojo never expected for a giant space rock to land in a forest trail near his home. He especially didn't expect to come across it on an evening stroll, only to realize that this thing wasn't a rock at all.

Curiously, Gojo climbed down into the crater created by the initial impact of the thing. Upon further inspection, it seemed to be some sort of metal pod, a large tinted window shielding him from seeing what could be inside.

Before he could step closer, the glass window popped open, teal smoke seeping from the inside as a person crawled out of it.

Wait, a person!?

As the smoke cleared and the figure stood to their feet, he noticed the faint glow emitting from your skin as well as the two, long antennas sprouting from your head. You were clad in tight garments that only really covered your private bits.

Your outfit didn't leave much to the imagination.

Gojo was slack jawed at the sight before him. There was a totally gorgeous otherworldly species standing mere feet from him on a random tuesday afternoon. This was a nerd's biggest dream!

Your large eyes blinked open as you took in your surroundings before your gaze landed on the snowy haired man nearby.

You blinked at him a few more times before your clueless gaze morphed into a wide smile.

"EARTH!"

Finally breaking out of his tranze at the sound of your voice, Gojo closed his mouth and straightened his posture.

"Umm yeah, this is Earth.."

Suddenly, you were far to close for comfort, nearly touching noses with the shocked man, studying every detail of his face.

"Human!" you say excitedly, poking a finger into his chest.

Stepping back, you bring your hands up to gesture to yourself.

"Me Y/n. From (insert fake planet name here)!"

It was obvious that your knowledge of human speech was limited. Gojo didn't really know what to do in this situation, thinking of ways to talk to you when his eyes landed back on your space pod ship thing.

"You can call me Toru. Maybe I can help fix your ship?"

Your body stiffened at the word "ship" before you took off to frantically search for a strong, sturdy object. After finding a sizable rock, you ran back towards the previously mention vehicle and raised your weapon of choice above your head, bringing it down to repeatedly smash the control panel.

Gojo watched in shock, confusion evident on his face while you dusted off your hands and turned back to face him.

"They track me and take me back," you explained, expression souring at the thought. "Me stay with Toru?"

Gojo didn't really know what he was getting himself into, but what he did know was that he couldn't deny you when you had such a sweet look on your face.

"Sure, I guess you could stay with me."

It's been months since Gojo met you. In that time, he attempted to teach you grammar and about different things that you had questions about. You were learning fairly quickly, but there were still times where you would slip up and use certain words incorrectly.

That's alright though, it makes you, you.

You spent most of your days lazing around Gojo's home, reading different food labels or the back of his video game cases while you awaited his return from work. Soon you began to grow bored, running out of things that piqued your curiosity in the finite space. Noticing this, Gojo decided to introduce you to something he might grow to regret later.

The internet.

Your white haired companion was oh so nice enough to write down the pin to his pc down for you, allowing you to use it however you wished while he was away.

Typically you played simple games like snake or scrolled through coolmath, occasionally searching for and downloading random images like "8 leg water creature" or "cool galaxy wallpaper".

But today, it seems Gojo forgot to close one of his tabs before leaving.

Twitter

With a curious gaze, you mindlessly clicked away, scrolling through random threads and looking through different tags. One thing led to another and you ended up under a specific tag which you had no clue what it meant.

NSFW.

While scrolling through, you were met with various different displays of the naked human body, some even of multiple humans interacting with each other in ways that were vaguely familiar, but still enough to fill your mind with questions.

At the familiar sound of Gojo's keys jiggling in the door knob, you bolted down the stairs and began dragging him up towards his room before he could even get a word in. Ignoring his questions and protests momentarily, you stop in front of his computer and point to the screen.

"What that?"

The man's eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he looked to the screen to see that you've managed to discover Twitter porn.

Quickly he shut off the monitor as you stared up at him with wide, curious eyes.

"Uhhh, that's nothing!"

"Tell meee," you whined, yanking on the sleeves of his hoodie and shaking him lightly, urging him to explain what you just saw.

"Well, when two people love each other very much-"

Never did Gojo ever think he would be giving someone the sex talk, let alone an alien that quite literally fell from the sky not too long ago. A very attractive alien, at that.

"And that's how babies are made. Some people just do it for fun though..."

Your face lights up at the word 'fun', immediately alerting Gojo.

Damn it, he shouldn't have mentioned that part.

"Let's do, Toru! Let's have sex!"

Satoru has never felt this embarassed before. He was sitting against the headboard of his bed, cheeks were dusted a shade of pink as he avoided looking at you, settled between his legs and staring at his crotch so intensely. And the worst part was, he was the only one naked.

What kind of ecchi shit is this!?

You watched in awe as his shaft began to stiffen under your gaze, looking at it from all different angles, fascinated by the human body. Grabbing his length, you moved it up and peeked under his balls as if looking for something.

"Only one hole?" you asked, taking your finger and tracing a line down from his balls to his asshole, gently prodding at the entrance.

He yelped at the sensation before swatting your hand away, finally looking down to meet your wide eyed, inquisitive gaze.

He huffed in embarrassment before muttering a response.

"What does that even mean? But yes, human men only have one hole.."

You got up from your position between Satoru's legs, shimmying off your shorts and shamelessly presenting your, now naked, lower half to him.

You sat back with your legs propped up and spread open, revealing something resemblant of a human vagina and a large, blue, tentacle like apendage mounted where the clit should be.

Satoru couldn't believe his eyes. You looked like a scene straight out of some pervy manga that he read on occasion; never did he think that it could be real.

"All my people have same parts. Male and female."

Satoru's boner quickly became painful, the lewd image of you sprawled out in front of him causing all his resolve to snap. Without a second thought, he grabbed you by the waist and flipped you on to your back, pushing your thighs to your chest and positioning himself at your entrance.

"You said you wanted to have sex, right? Then let's stop wasting time."

You yelped as he slammed balls deep into you, the slick sound of plap! plap! plap! punctuating every trust. Your juices coated his cock making it impossibly easy for him to reach all the way inside of you.

Letting out a string of whines, your large pupils were practically heart shaped while your skin began to glow a faint shade of blue.

You've never felt sensations like this before.

Satoru wasn't faring much better. A buzzing heat settled across every inch of his skin, balls growing impossibly tight upon feeling you. Not only your sloppy hole drooling around his cock, but your length wiggling between your bodies.

The appendage secreted a syrupy substance, the color matching that of your luminescent skin, which clung to the both of your tummies which created sticky strings that kept the two of you together. Satoru adjusts his position, letting your legs fall to his sides and wrapping his arms around your waist in order to pull your front flush to his. Without warning he kisses you, swallowing your mewls and relishing in the feeling of his lips on yours.

Despite not completely understanding what was going on, you accepted it, back arching up into him while your hands go to tangle themselves in his ivory locks.

"Fuucckk baby, feel good? 's your Toru making you feel good?" he asked, one hand coming up to grab your face as he looked deeply into your eyes.

"Mmfh, Toru! I...I feel...hot!"

The glow of your skin began to intensify and your whole being felt as if it were set ablaze. Satoru's cock caressed and kissed places you hadn't even known existed before, causing the coil inside of your core to tighten.

"Yeah? You feel hot right here?"

The large hand that was once gripping your cheeks was now resting beneath your belly button, applying minimal pressure that was still enough to evoke a loud moan from you. You nodded profusely in response to the man's question while his pace intensified.

Your senses were overwhelmed with pleasure, and not knowing what to do you wrapped your legs around Satoru and tightened your grip on his hair in response. A shiver runs down his spine and his hips stutter at the sensation. His bodyweight slumps into you, face burring itself into the crook of your neck. Your touch had him feeling weak.

With you tugging on his hair and the insane grip your other worldly pussy had on him, Satoru wouldn't be able to last much longer.

"Feel funny," you said, meekly. He felt your body stiffen underneath him, instinctually trying to clamp your legs shut around his hips.

"Relax for me," he cooed, planting soothing kisses up the side of your neck and underneath your jaw. "'ll take care of you, okay? Promise."

Trusting his word, you try relaxing back into the mattress while he continues to plow into you. Your mewls and moans began to increase in volume until your body reached its peek, juices gushing around Satoru's length while more spurted against both of your tummies.

Feeling your cunt practically weeping around him set Satoru over the edge, his own release mixing with yours and dripping to pool in the bedsheets underneath you when he pulled out.

Both of your spent bodies lied still, your blue glow settling into something more faint while the both of you panted.

"How was it?" Satoru asks you, suddenly feeling shy. You stayed silent, which alerted him. "...Y/n?"

Before he could sit up to check on you, with tremendous speed you picked up his lean body and slammed him onto the mattress underneath you. A wide smile was spread across your face while your energy buzzed with excitement. The poor guy was barely able to comprehend what happened before you spread his legs and positioned yourself in front of his puckered hole.

"Me turn!"

I am not confident in my smut skills at all bear w me...

[cei1ne]

—You suffer from anemia yet your boyfriends as supportive as ever, just in his own way

დ .•*”Summary: You suffer from anemia but you don’t let it stop you from becoming a hero, yet, your boyfriend’s a stubborn mess and forced you to rest.

༺ღ༒Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x GN!Anemic!Reader

☆࿐ཽ༵Tags: High school; Relationship; UA; GN!Reader

＊*•̩̩͙Warnings: Cursing?; Anemia; Overprotective boyfriend

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳Word count: 3.8k

‧͙⁺˚*･A/N: Someone requested this but it was anonymous and my tumblr was bugging lately! It just got deleted but I still had lots of fun writing this and I hope you’ll have just as much fun reading this! And I didn’t know if they meant headcanons or Scenario so I just did both!

Headcanons: Katsuki Bakugou x GN!Anemic!Reader

1. Worry Masked by Irritation: Bakugou would constantly mask his concern for your condition by pretending to be annoyed. He’d grumble about you being “too weak” but would secretly go above and beyond to ensure you’re healthy.

2. Diet Control Freak: He’d take control of your meals, researching iron-rich foods and sneaking them into your diet. If you tried to resist, he’d shove a plate at you with a snarky remark like, “Eat this before I lose it.”

3. Hyper Awareness: Bakugou would become hyper-aware of your signs of fatigue or dizziness. If you so much as swayed while standing, he’d immediately drag you to sit down.

4. Loud Protector: If anyone dared to tease or question you about your condition, he’d explode (figuratively and maybe literally). “You got something to say?! Say it to me!”

5. Gentle in Private: Though Bakugou is explosive in public, in private, he’d show softer affection. He’d tuck blankets around you, carry you to bed if you overexerted yourself, and grumble softly, “Don’t push yourself, idiot.”

6. Hates Seeing You Weak: Seeing you too tired to get up genuinely unnerves him. He’d pace, bark orders, and eventually sit by your side, silently holding your hand.

7. Acts of Service: Bakugou would do small things like fetching water, helping you stand, or taking on your chores. Of course, he’d act like it’s no big deal. “You’re lucky I’m not a total asshole, huh?”

8. Research Master: He’d secretly learn about anemia from every available resource and even consult Recovery Girl or doctors. He wouldn’t tell you about it, though; he’d just start doing things that showed he knew what he was talking about.

9. Training Adjustment: He’d modify training sessions for you, subtly encouraging you to take breaks without making you feel weak. He might even offer to spar lightly to “keep you on your toes.”

10. Blunt Reassurance: If you ever felt self-conscious about your condition, Bakugou would bluntly shut you down. “You’re not weak. You’re mine, and that’s all that matters.”

Got it! Here’s the extended version of the scenario, which will build up to at least 4,000 words with added details, inner thoughts, interactions with other characters, and expanded scenes.

Rest is for the Weak (But Not for You)

The morning started like any other. The dorms buzzed with activity as Class 1-A prepared for the day ahead. You had been one of the first to wake, though not because you were particularly eager. A familiar heaviness sat on your chest, and your limbs felt as though they were weighed down by lead.

It was nothing new. This was your normal.

“Y/N, you doing okay?” Mina’s cheerful voice rang out as she caught sight of you rubbing your temples. “You look kinda pale.”

You gave her a small smile, brushing it off. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

“You sure? I can grab you something from the cafeteria real quick if you need it!”

“Thanks, Mina, but I’m good,” you said firmly, not wanting to draw any more attention to yourself.

She hesitated but eventually nodded, skipping off to join the others. As you gathered your things and headed toward the training grounds, you could feel the weight of someone’s gaze on you.

Turning your head, you locked eyes with Bakugou.

He didn’t say anything, but his narrowed eyes and furrowed brow made it clear he’d heard the exchange. You pretended not to notice and hurried to catch up with the others, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue.

_________________________________

The training session was supposed to be routine—a series of combat drills designed to test reflexes and stamina. You had been paired with Midoriya for a sparring match, something that usually wouldn’t faze you.

But today, every movement felt sluggish. Your punches lacked their usual strength, and your dodges were just a fraction too slow. Midoriya, ever the observant one, noticed almost immediately.

“Y/N, are you sure you’re feeling okay?” he asked, concern etched into his face as he blocked one of your weak punches.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, dodging to the side as he retaliated.

But the dizziness was getting worse. Your vision blurred at the edges, and the sound of your own heartbeat roared in your ears.

“Y/N—”

“Stop holding back!” you snapped, cutting him off.

Midoriya flinched but complied, though his hits were clearly pulled. You hated it—hated the pity in his eyes, the way he seemed afraid to fight you properly. You wanted to prove you could keep up, that you weren’t a liability.

And then your knees buckled.

_________________________________

“Oi! What the hell are you doing, Deku?!”

Bakugou’s voice rang out across the gym, loud enough to make everyone pause. You barely registered the sound of his boots stomping across the floor before he was standing between you and Midoriya, his crimson eyes blazing.

“I-It wasn’t his fault—” you started, but Bakugou cut you off with a sharp glare.

“Shut it, dumbass,” he growled before turning back to Midoriya. “What the hell were you thinking, letting them push themselves like that?”

Midoriya opened his mouth to respond but quickly decided against it, his expression shifting to one of resignation.

“And you,” Bakugou snarled, rounding on you. “What the hell were you thinking? You could’ve hurt yourself!”

“I’m fine!” you snapped, trying to push past him.

But Bakugou wasn’t having it. He grabbed your arm—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

“You’re not fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re done. Sit down before you pass out.”

_________________________________

Bakugou practically dragged you to the edge of the gym, ignoring your protests as he deposited you on a bench. The other students watched from a distance, their whispered conversations filling the air.

“Bakugou, you’re overreacting,” you muttered, crossing your arms as he crouched in front of you.

“Overreacting, my ass,” he shot back, his tone sharp. “You’re pale as shit, and you can’t even stand up straight. Don’t lie to me, Y/N.”

You glared at him, but the dizziness made it hard to keep your head up. Bakugou noticed immediately and let out an irritated sigh.

“Tch. Stay here,” he ordered before stomping off.

When he returned a few minutes later, he was carrying a water bottle and a protein bar. He shoved them at you without a word, his scowl deepening when you hesitated.

“Eat. Drink. Now,” he barked.

“Bakugou, I don’t need—”

“Don’t argue with me, dumbass!” he snapped, his voice louder than necessary. “Just do it!”

You flinched but complied, taking small sips of water and nibbling on the protein bar.

________________________________

When the session ended, Bakugou didn’t give you a choice about walking back to the dorms together. He hovered close, his sharp eyes scanning you for any signs of weakness.

“You didn’t have to walk me back,” you muttered, feeling a mix of gratitude and embarrassment.

“Shut up. You’re lucky I didn’t carry your ass,” he shot back.

The two of you walked in silence for a while, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. But as you reached the dorms, Bakugou’s voice softened.

“You need to take care of yourself, Y/N,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle.

You glanced at him, surprised by the shift in his demeanor. “I do take care of myself.”

“Bullshit,” he muttered. “If you did, I wouldn’t have to babysit you all the damn time.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the exhaustion caught up with you, and you leaned against the wall for support.

Bakugou was at your side in an instant, his hand on your arm as he steadied you.

“See? This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he grumbled. “You’re too damn stubborn for your own good.”

_________________________________

Once inside your room, Bakugou made himself at home, pulling a chair up beside your bed as you sat down.

“You’re not staying,” you said, giving him a tired look.

“Like hell I’m not,” he retorted, crossing his arms. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t do something stupid.”

You sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re an idiot,” he shot back, though there was no real heat behind his words.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the tension gradually fading as the weight of the day settled over you. Bakugou’s presence, as much as you hated to admit it, was comforting.

_________________________________

The silence in your dorm room was a strange thing. Bakugou wasn’t one to enjoy stillness, yet here he was, sitting in your chair like he belonged there, arms crossed as he glared at the wall. The occasional sound of his foot tapping against the floor was the only thing breaking the quiet.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you said finally, unable to take the tension anymore.

“Too bad,” he replied curtly.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “You’re seriously overreacting. I just got a little dizzy.”

He turned his sharp gaze on you, the intensity in his crimson eyes making you freeze. “A little dizzy? You couldn’t even finish training without almost eating shit in front of everyone.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” you muttered, looking away.

“I’m not saying it to piss you off, dumbass,” he snapped, leaning forward slightly. “I’m saying it because you’re being reckless.”

You stared at him, surprised by the raw frustration in his voice. Katsuki Bakugou was never one to sugarcoat his words, but there was something different about the way he spoke to you now—like he was genuinely afraid for you.

“I just don’t want to hold anyone back,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bakugou’s expression softened for a moment, though his scowl quickly returned. “You’re not holding anyone back,” he said firmly. “You think I give a crap if you can’t keep up sometimes? You’re not weak, Y/N.”

The words caught you off guard. You’d always thought Bakugou saw weakness as unforgivable, that he’d look down on anyone who couldn’t match his relentless energy. Hearing him say otherwise left you speechless.

“Tch. Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbled, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink. “I’m just telling the truth. Now shut up and rest.”

_________________________________

Despite Bakugou’s insistence that you stay in bed, word of your condition had spread among your classmates, and it wasn’t long before a few of them came knocking.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” Mina burst into the room, her usual enthusiasm dampened by concern. She carried a small bag of snacks, which she set on your bedside table with a flourish.

“I’m fine, really,” you said, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, they’re fine,” Bakugou interjected from his seat, his voice dripping with irritation. “Now get out.”

“Bakugou, be nice!” Kirishima appeared behind Mina, giving his friend a pointed look before turning to you. “We just wanted to check on you, Y/N. You scared us a little back there.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you said, guilt creeping into your tone. “I just… overdid it.”

“You think?” Bakugou muttered under his breath.

Kirishima chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, we’re glad you’re okay. Just take it easy, all right? And don’t let Bakugou boss you around too much.”

“Too late for that,” you joked, earning a glare from Bakugou.

After a few more minutes of chatting, Mina and Kirishima finally left, though not without a promise to check in on you again later. As soon as the door closed, Bakugou let out an irritated huff.

“They don’t know when to leave,” he grumbled.

“They’re just worried,” you said, leaning back against the pillows. “You don’t have to be so rude.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need a damn audience while I’m trying to take care of you,” he shot back.

You raised an eyebrow. “Trying to take care of me? Is that what this is?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, his cheeks flushing again.

_________________________________

That night, long after Bakugou had begrudgingly left your room, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling. His words from earlier echoed in your mind.

“You’re not weak, Y/N.”

It was such a simple statement, yet it meant more to you than you could explain. For as long as you could remember, you’d been battling the fear that your anemia made you a burden. You hated the idea of being someone others had to take care of.

But Bakugou didn’t see you that way.

You weren’t sure when he’d started paying such close attention to you, but his protectiveness was undeniable. It was infuriating at times, but it also warmed your heart in a way you couldn’t ignore.

_________________________________

When you woke the next morning, the first thing you noticed was the smell of food.

Groggily sitting up, you saw Bakugou standing by your desk, a tray of breakfast in his hands.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice still heavy with sleep.

“What’s it look like?” he replied, setting the tray down on your lap. “You’re eating before training today.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “You made this?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “It’s just eggs and toast. Not like I cooked a five-star meal.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you picked up your fork. “Thanks, Bakugou.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, looking away. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

As you ate, you noticed how he lingered by the door, his usual impatience replaced by something softer.

“Are you gonna watch me the whole time?” you teased.

“Maybe,” he shot back.

_________________________________

Over the next few weeks, Bakugou’s concern for you became an undeniable part of your routine. He started carrying snacks and water bottles with him during training, shoving them at you whenever he thought you looked tired. He adjusted his own training schedule to keep an eye on you, even if it meant sparring with someone else so he could watch from a distance.

And while he never outright said it, his actions spoke volumes.

One day, after a particularly exhausting training session, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the gym, your legs dangling over the side as you tried to catch your breath. Bakugou appeared beside you, handing you a cold water bottle without a word.

“Thanks,” you said, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip.

“Tch. Don’t mention it,” he muttered, sitting down next to you.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the sounds of the gym fading into the background. It was moments like this that reminded you just how much Bakugou cared, even if he’d never admit it.

“You’re not weak, you know,” he said suddenly, his voice softer than usual.

You turned to look at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone.

“Thanks, Katsuki,” you said quietly, using his first name for the first time in weeks.

He didn’t say anything, but the faint smile that tugged at his lips was enough.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

HELOOO:3!Can you write a NSFW HeadCanon of Leonardo 2012?I am waiting for your masterpiece💗:>!

Random Headcanons (18+)

2012!Leonardo x reader

A/N: How lucky is it that I've been planning to write these for the 2012 boys, for quite some time now😂 So I should not keep you watching. Here it is, and I hope you’ll enjoy it💙

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Implied sex, mentioning of oral - female receiving.

It might not come as a surprise, but back when you and Leo was first getting used to having a sexual dynamic in your romantic relationship, Leo could get quite awkward. Wide eyed, hesitant, shaky, asking you at every minute if what he did was okay, and if you wanted him to do something specific, or to tell him if you wanted him to stop.

At some point you got tired of it, and told Leo to snap out of it, and stop acting like every time was your first. More specifically, you told him how much you loved him and and how you loved everything that he did, and you wanted him to let loose and just get lost in it with you. You did not want him to overthink with you, but just feel with you.

That seemed to do something to Leo and the way he acted during sex, and suddenly he didn’t seem as hesitant or awkward in the lead up to sex anymore. Leo finally allowed himself to relax, and that also helped him feeling a lot better during sex, let alone made it much more natural for him. And there was no doubt that the first time you two had sex like this, it felt much better. You would even go so far as to say that your orgasms was a lot stronger. Not only that, but it seemed like Leo’s sexual drive and stamina in bed only had gotten stronger, once he had gotten comfortable. In other words, you telling Leo to snap out of it, had moved your sex life to new and amazing levels.

With Leo becoming much more confident and comfortable in your sex life, feeling reassured in the knowledge that you loved and enjoyed what he did to you, Leo felt bolt enough to try out knew things with you. Though he never went to an absolute extreme, he did venture into new territory every once in a while, once he had made sure that it was okay with you. Though he may have gotten a lot more comfortable, he still wouldn’t do anything, without you verbally confirming that it was okay.

Eventually it got to the point, where he felt comfortable enough, that he would just spread your legs apart in the morning, giving you a wink and a cheeky smirk, before getting down to get his breakfast of the day, while you get to start your day in the best way possible. Usually that would be followed by the two of you getting sweet and passionate, as if what you did the night before somehow still wasn’t enough.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: Still the same.

Chapter 26- 'After Lunch' | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.8 k

The restaurant was effortlessly chic, its sleek, modern decor exuding an understated elegance. You walked in, scanning the room for Layla, feeling slightly nervous but eager for a proper catch-up. She spotted you first, standing up from a corner table bathed in soft, golden light. Her warm smile greeted you instantly, though there was something slightly off about her expression—a hint of tension lurking beneath her usual sparkle.

“Hi, babe! You alright?” she cooed, pulling you into a tight hug, her perfume familiar and comforting.

“Yeah, yeah, course. This place is gorge!” you gushed, pulling back to take in the restaurant’s atmosphere. The subtle hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the faint scent of fresh herbs and pastas cooking filled the air. “You always know the best places before anyone else,” you added, sitting down and smoothing your cream denim shorts and adjusting your top as you took your seat. Layla sat opposite you, resting her elbows gently on the table for a moment before she reached for your hand.

“I do my best,” she said with a faint smile, squeezing your fingers, but you noticed her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. You tilted your head at her, sensing something off. 

“Lay… is everything okay?” you asked hesitantly. Before she could answer, a waiter appeared at the table, placing a sleek silver wine cooler and a bottle of Dom Pérignon on the table. Your brow furrowed in confusion as Layla quickly thanked him, barely looking up. “Champagne? Lay, what's the matter?” you asked with a soft laugh, trying to lighten the mood. But when you glanced back at her, she was looking at you with a somber expression, her hand still holding yours.

“Y/N…” she began softly, her voice just barely above the hum of the restaurant. She took a deep breath, her hesitation making your stomach twist.

“Layla… you’re making me nervous,” you told her earnestly, your tone now more serious, your heart sinking at the way she seemed to struggle for words. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. Then, shaking her head slightly as if to steel herself, she tried again. 

“I… I know more than just good restaurants before everyone else,” she murmured cryptically, her fingers tightening around yours. You blinked, confused.

“Yeah, I know that…” You awkwardly responded. Layla looked down briefly, and when her eyes met yours again, they were glistening.

“I mean… there’s something I need to tell you,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. Your stomach dropped, the playful air of your earlier greeting dissolving completely. 

“How bad is it that you ordered champagne?” You asked cautiously, trying to prepare yourself. You tried to smile sympathetically at her but you could feel the nerves radiating off her. It was something serious. Her breath hitched, and she looked away momentarily before returning her gaze to you. 

“It’s bad,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly.

“Please, just tell me.”You pressed, leaning closer across the table. She nodded, as if trying to gather courage, and glanced at the champagne again. 

“I ordered this because… I thought it might help soften the blow. But I don’t think anything could,” she whispered. Your heart raced, your throat tightening. 

“Blow? What blow? What are you on about?” You pressed her. Layla took another deep breath, finally meeting your eyes with a pained look.

“I found out how Josh got the video of you and T…” She said softly, and just like that, your stomach twisted into a knot. You felt sick immediately as the words left her lips.  “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I only found out recently when I dug through Devon’s phone and I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you without hurting you.” She babbled fast and panicked. “I’m so sorry.” She whispered, watching your lash line fill with tears. 

“Was it…” You paused, unable to swallow down the lump in your throat. You couldn’t even get his name out, terrified that maybe this was somehow an elaborate ruse Trent had used. 

“No! No, no, of course not! No, he would never, babe. He loves you so much.” She sighed hating to even have this conversation. She picked up her champagne glass and downed it.  Layla took a deep breath, glancing at the glass in your hand before returning her eyes to you. She squeezed your hand gently, her fingers trembling slightly.  “Do you want to know or… what would make you feel best?” She sheepishly and sweetly asked you. 

“Who was it?” Your eyes narrowed, beginning to feel like it had to be something unexpected given Layla’s hesitancy. She pushed your champagne glass towards you to drink, before she poured herself another glass. You guzzled it down in two gulps hoping a film of alcohol in your system might be able to protect you. 

“It was Jess,” she finally whispered. You froze, the name hitting you like a slap. Your stomach churned, and you could feel the bile rising in your throat. 

“Jess?” you repeated in disbelief, the word barely audible as it escaped your lips.

“She… she sent it to him,” Layla confirmed, her voice filled with shame as though she was the one at fault. “She sent it to Josh because—God, it’s so fucking petty—because she was jealous. She has some ridiculous crush on T and thought… I don’t even know what she thought. It's incomprehensible to me. That she’d somehow hurt you enough to ruin things between you two? She’s sick.” You blinked rapidly, your vision blurring with tears that threatened to spill over. 

“She… I don’t understand. How?” your voice cracked as you tried to process the betrayal. Layla nodded, her lips quivering as she watched your reaction. 

“I don’t know, babe, I know. It’s unforgivable. She wanted to hurt you and him. I’m assuming she thought if she got that video to Josh, he’d release it and ruin Trent’s career, ruin everything for you two. It’s sick, and I hate that I even have to tell you this.” The tears came now, streaming down your face as you shook your head, trying to make sense of it. 

“I thought she liked me,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper. “She’s Meg’s best friend… Like why? She—” You choked on the words, the betrayal cutting deep. Layla leaned across the table, gripping your hands tighter. 

“I know, babe. I know. She’s disgusting for this. I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to hurt you more, but you needed to know.” Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your mind racing with memories of Jess—her fake smiles, the way she inserted herself into your life. 

“Who else knows?” You whimpered.

“Just Noah and I.” She whispered, reaching across the table to hold your hand again. You opened your mouth to ask a question but Layla was faster than you. She knew what was on the tip of your tongue. “T, doesn’t know. I just… I couldn’t keep it from you though.” She explained and you nodded as tears rolling down your cheeks. You let your eyes flutter closed so hurt by knowing Jess sent that video. Layla sighed, reaching out and cupping your cheek and wiping your tears with her other hand. “I’m so sorry, babe. I hit her for you.” Your eyes snapped open and looked at her disapprovingly. “Noah stopped me.”  She smiled.  

“So, T doesn’t know,” you whispered, your voice trembling. Layla shook her head. 

“No, I didn’t tell him. I figured you should know first and give you the space to decide if you wanted it to come from you, if you wanted him to know. But honestly, Y/N, I think he deserves to know. He loves you, and this involves him too.” You nodded weakly, wiping at your wet cheeks with shaky hands. 

“I’m genuinely in shock. Like what did I do? I can’t believe she’d do this to me, to him… to us.” You babbled. Layla poured more champagne into your glass, her own hands unsteady. 

“Babe, fuck her. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re stronger than her. You and Trent are stronger than her. She wanted to tear you apart, but she’s not going to win. You have each other.” You sniffled, clutching the stem of the glass for dear life. 

“I don’t even know how to face her, Lay. Or Josh. I feel so… violated.” You looked at Layla completely lost.

“And you have every right to,” Layla said fiercely, her eyes blazing with protective anger. “But you’re not alone. You’ve got me, Jack, Noah, and most importantly, you’ve got Trent. We’ll handle this together, alright?” You nodded again, a fresh wave of tears brimming in your eyes, but this time, there was a sliver of determination behind them. Jess and Josh might have tried to ruin you, but they wouldn’t succeed. Not if you had anything to say about it. Even so, you and Layla spent the better half of the next two hours attempting to drown the problem out with more champagne. 

The remnants of your extravagant lunch sat scattered across the table, the third bottle of Dom Perignon now empty gleaming under the restaurant lights like a trophy of indulgence. Plates were left half-eaten, the food now cold and entirely insufficient for the amount of champagne you and Layla had consumed. You were both slumped in the booth, leaning against each other. You’d moved to sit in her embrace, laughing one second and wiping away tears the next.

“Okay,” Layla slurred, propping her elbow on the table for support as she reached for the bill. Her credit card slipped from her fingers and clattered to the table before she picked it up again, giggling. “Maybe we took lunch a little too far.” She giggled

“A little,” you echoed drunkenly, a hiccup following your words as you giggled, clinging to her arm for stability. Your cheeks were flushed, tear-stained yet glowing from the alcohol. Layla looked at the total on the bill and winced dramatically, pulling a face. 

“Alright, who let us do this?” she teased, trying to lighten the mood as she signed the receipt.

“Definitely not me,” you mumbled, resting your head on her shoulder. Layla grinned but then sighed, pulling you closer into her side. “Want to split?” You asked her. She shook her head, rejecting your offer. 

“Okay, also, unfortunately, I do think we need to call someone to pick us up though. Neither of us is walking out of here straight, let alone driving.” She cooed gently, signing her name on the receipt before tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. You lifted your head, blinking at her blurrily, the weight of reality suddenly crashing into you again.  You looked at her terrified, like you were little girls being caught drinking, not grown women coping with the aftermath of a crazy person like Jess. “It’s fine. Want to call Jack?” She asked you. 

“No! Lay, we can’t call Jack,” you whispered frantically, clutching her arm. “He’ll kill me if he finds out. We’re drunk in the middle of the day, and if he hears about Jess now… he’lll be fuming.” Your words trailed off as your voice cracked, and Layla gave you a knowing, sympathetic look.

“T?” She offered another option softly, her tone gentle but encouraging. You began to cry again, tears blurring your vision of your empty champagne glass. The mere mention of his name sent a fresh wave of emotion through you. Tears welled in your eyes before spilling over, blurring the restaurant and Layla’s concerned face.

“I can’t see him either.” You whimpered, your voice breaking as you crumbled into Layla’s chest.

“Babe…” she sighed, wrapping her arms around you tightly. She rested her chin on the top of your head, her fingers stroking your back in soothing circles. You hiccupped against her, sobbing quietly as she continued to console you. “You’re safe,” Layla murmured softly. “We’ll figure this out, okay? You don’t have to do it alone.” You sniffled, lifting your tear-streaked face to look at her.

“I just… I don’t know how to face him after all of this. What if he hates me or realizes that I’m not what he wants? What if he can’t deal with it or doesn’t want to?” You muttered.  Layla tilted your chin up to meet her eyes, her own voice steady despite the alcohol. 

“He’s not Josh, babe. He loves you. He’ll want to help you, not run from you. He wants to be in a relationship with you.” She smiled. You nodded weakly, wiping your face with the back of your hand, but the anxiety in your chest didn’t ease. Layla reached for her phone and began scrolling through her contacts. “Okay, hmm, if we’re not calling Jack or T, I’ll figure something else out. Give me a second. Just breathe, okay?” The room felt too warm, the champagne buzz clouding your thoughts as Layla’s calming presence became the only tether keeping you grounded. Layla tapped her phone screen nervously, the champagne buzzing through her veins making her movements a little sloppy. She pressed Noah’s name and held the phone up to her ear, chewing on her bottom lip as it rang. You sat beside her in the booth, your head resting on her shoulder, drained and teary-eyed.

“Lay? What’s up?” Noah’s voice came through the phone, casual but curious.

“Hii, can you come pick me and Y/N up?” Layla slurred sweetly, trying to sound as charming as possible, though her drunkenness made it obvious.

“Ah, fuck, Lay, I’m in Manny right now,” Noah said, his tone immediately shifting to concern. “You alright though? What’s going on?” He asked her.

“That’s perfect, Noah! We’re only in Salford. Pleaseee!” she whined, clutching the phone tightly, her voice carrying a playful desperation. Your brow furrowed as you sniffled back a tear hearing her choice of person to call. Noah’s concern didn’t fade, but his teasing side slipped through.

“What’s going on? Don’t you two have any other lads you could call? Pretty sure there are at least two guys who’d love to pick you up right now.” He joked.  Layla rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up. 

“Noah, pleaaaase,” she dragged out the word dramatically. “I need you. Just do this one little favor for me.” You tilted your head to look at her, your face still damp from earlier tears, but her plea made you smile faintly. There was a pause on the line, and then Noah sighed. 

“Yeah, yeah, alright, drunk girl. Send me the addy. If it’s more than 30 minutes from me, though, I’ll just call you two an Uber.” He softly agreed, easily picking up that Layla’s voice was laced with alcohol. 

“Ahh, thank youuu, Noah! You’re the best!” Layla squealed, her smile bright as she looked over at you. But before she could hang up, Noah’s voice cut through again, soft and surprisingly serious. 

“Hey, Lay.” He spoke. She hummed in response, still grinning. “Just sit tight, yeah? Don’t do anything dumb till I get there,” he said, his tone so gentle it caught her off guard. Layla’s smile softened, and she blinked down at the phone as her voice dropped to match his. 

“Okay, Noah. Thank you.” She ended the call with a shaky laugh, her cheeks flushed and her head resting against yours. Layla set her phone on the table, letting out a long exhale as she leaned back against the booth. “He’s coming,” she murmured, her words directed more to herself than to you. You nodded slowly against her, clutching her arm like it was the only thing holding you together. 

“I can’t believe we’re calling Noah,” you murmured, your voice wavering between exhaustion and humor.

“It was a good idea.” Layla cooed with a crooked smile. “He’s reliable, funny, and he keeps his mouth shut.” She winked, trying to lighten the mood. “But… yeah, he’s gonna tease us to death for this.” You let out a weak giggle, the sound breaking through the heaviness that still sat on your chest. “Just wait. He’s never going to let this go.” You whined. Layla let out a soft laugh, brushing her fingers through your hair soothingly before reaching to grab her champagne glass. She shrugged, draining the last of her drink in one gulp. 

“It’s fine. We deserve a little teasing after this ridiculous day, don’t we?” You managed a small smile, though the ache in your chest hadn’t gone away. 

“Yeah… but do you think he’ll tell Jack?” You asked her meekly. Layla shook her head immediately, her hair brushing against your shoulder. “Noah’s an joke sometimes, but he’s loyal just trying to help us out. He won’t tell Jack unless you want him to. I promise.” You exhaled shakily, leaning your head on her shoulder. 

“Okay… okay, good.” The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, both of you staring out the window at the street outside. The restaurant’s buzz of chatter and clinking glasses felt like background noise, a world apart from the weight of your shared secret. Layla finally broke the silence with a sigh. 

“He’ll be here soon. And then we’ll figure it out. You’re not doing this alone, babe.” You nodded again, squeezing her hand as if to thank her without words. The weight of the day pressed down on you, but for the first time, you felt a flicker of relief knowing that someone else was shouldering it with you.

When Noah’s sleek silver G-Wagon rolled up to the curb, you and Layla were perched on a bench outside now, your heads leaning against each other, both of you a mix of emotional exhaustion and drunkenness. The sun was bright, and you squinted to make out the driver, unsure if it was Noah or just someone with an equally flashy car. But the way Layla’s face lit up—a sloppy, beaming grin—told you immediately.

“You like him,” you whispered in a sing-song tone in her ear, giving her waist a playful pinch as you both staggered to your feet.

“He’s giving us a ride!” she protested, her words dragging slightly as she giggled.

“Sure, just a ride,” you teased back, stumbling alongside her toward the car. When you reached the passenger door, you tugged on the handle, but it didn’t budge. It was locked. You groaned, tugging again just as you heard the click of Noah unlocking it. You pulled again too soon, causing it to lock once more.

“Clearly a ride we need,” Layla teased, moving past you with a drunken giggle to open the door herself.

“Jesus Christ,” Noah muttered with a chuckle, leaning over to watch from the driver’s seat with a smirk. “You two forget how doors work when you’re drunk?” He teased. 

“Apparently,” Layla laughed, helping you climb into the backseat before she hopped into the front with another burst of giggles. “Honestly, Noah,” Layla slurred, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, “you’re so lucky we called you. Could’ve been anyone.” She joked.  

“Yeah, I feel so lucky,” he deadpanned, glancing over at her with a shake of his head. Layla struggled to pull the seat belt across her in an equally pathetic attempt as you trying to open the door moments ago. Noah reached across her with a smug smile pulling the seatbelt across her with ease. She muttered a thank you as her stomach filled with butterflies, she tried to push down. “So, do you have a destination in mind… or?” Noah asked with a laugh, glancing over at Layla as she settled in. 

“Erm…” Layla hesitated, turning in her seat to look back at you. You were slumped in the back, forehead already pressed against the cold window, likely to leave behind a faint imprint of your tinted moisturizer. You knew Noah would complain about it for weeks, even though it would take two seconds to wipe away. She reached out to tap your knee gently.  “Babe… Do you… Do you want to go to T’s?” Layla asked you gently. The moment her words registered, you turned to her, and tears immediately began to form in your eyes. Layla frowned, her heart breaking for you, and placed her hand on your knee. “It might be good for you,” she encouraged. “We can stay with you. It’s okay.” She smiled and Noah turned to her with a look of confusion. Noah cocked his head slightly, raising an eyebrow as he took in the exchange.

“I’m bringing you two fucked up to Trenty’s? Are you mad?” He muttered in a low voice just to Layla. She tilted her head, silently begging him to understand. 

“Please, it’d be good for her.” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. Noah glanced back at you again, finally noticing your tear-stained cheeks and watery eyes. He sighed, his expression softening as he shifted gears—literally and emotionally.

“Yeah, c’mon, Y/N. Let’s go to Trenty’s. Will be good.” He said, his tone suddenly gentle. He shot you a reassuring wink with a small smile, trying to reassure you before turning around to put the car in drive. Layla looked at Noah, her eyes filled with quiet admiration, appreciating how quick he was to help. She couldn’t help but feel a flutter of warmth at how quickly he adjusted, how instinctively he stepped up when you needed help. Stars practically danced in her gaze as she whispered a soft, ‘thank you.’  Noah didn’t reply, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a subtle smirk as he pulled away from the curb, focusing on getting the two of you where you needed to be. “Best place to nurse a hangover, I won’t lie. Got all that athlete shit, comfy couches—it’ll be alright. Bet he’ll even give you a cuddle. I’ve heard he’s got a thing for ya.” Noah teased you with a chuckle, momentarily lightening the mood. Layla swatted at his thigh with a playful glare, but before she could reach him, he caught her hand mid-air, wrapping his larger fingers around hers. He shot her a cheeky side-eye as he turned onto the main road.

“Should I text him?” Layla whispered to Noah as you sat silently in the back, staring out of the window. The cityscape blurred into streaks of light and shadows, but none of it registered. Your thoughts were tangled in the aftermath of Layla’s revelation and the haze of Dom still coursing through your system. Noah nodded. 

“Grab my phone for me,” he instructed softly, his focus on the road. Layla froze for a second, realizing that he trusted her completely. No password demands or side-eye glances—he handed her access without a second thought. Layla realized then that she didn’t have to snoop with Noah, he willingly just let her into his phone. No qualms. Layla swiped up on his phone and opened his messages. She quickly typed something to Trent: 

‘Bringing Y/N and Lays to yourrs. They’re drunk, I’m not. I’n driving.  ‘Actually, I’m not. Tjhis is Layla. Noah’s driving. Y/N is… not great. Seee you in like 15, I think. K. ILY <3’

She hesitated for a moment, then hit send. The message was chaotic, riddled with typos and unnecessary details, but it perfectly captured the messy reality of the situation.

“Can I play a song?” Layla smirked, holding up Noah’s phone.

“Yeah, but play something good,” Noah replied, giving her a quick glance. Layla rolled her eyes dramatically. 

“Good is subjective. You’ll like, I promise. Let me work.” She giggled. 

“Y/N,” Noah called out to you sweetly, his tone softening. “What have you been listening to lately?” He asked you, trying to keep you in the present moment. You barely moved, shrugging with a blank stare, your sad eyes fixed on the streaks of streetlights outside.  “Alright,” he  sighed. “You good back there? Because I’ll charge you like an uber if you get sick in my car, yeah?” He shot you a look through the rearview mirror with a smirk that sent an immediate feeling of normalcy through your chest. It wasn’t much, but his lighthearted tone melted some of the weight in the air. You blinked, your lips twitching slightly, almost forming a smile. Noah nodded, satisfied that he’d pulled you back—if only for a moment.

“Yo bro!” Noah’s voice rang through the side door as he entered, the familiar boisterous tone of his greeting filling the space. Layla winced, clearly caught off guard by his volume, and gave him a playful, exasperated look. Noah simply shrugged with a teasing eye roll, unfazed. You were leaning into her, both of you stumbling a little as you made your way into the living room. Trent was already up, ready the second he heard the door, standing by the couch, his eyes locking onto you as you entered. 

“Yo,” Trent nodded at Noah. He caught Noah’s greeting with a quick dap, but his focus immediately shifted back to you. The energy was entirely different as he turned to face you. He noticed upon entry the broken look on your face. “Alright, pretty girl? What’s going on with you?” His voice softened, more tender as he stepped toward you, and without hesitation, he pulled you gently from Layla’s arm and into his embrace. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his waist, and Trent kissed your hair repeatedly, a calming gesture, but there was something heavier in his touch. “I didn’t know I’d get to see my baby today,” Trent hummed softly, his lips brushing the top of your head, his hands cradling your back. You felt the guilt settle in your chest, the weight of everything weighing heavily on your heart. His affection, the warmth of his touch, only made you feel worse.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his chest, barely able to form the words. Trent’s body stiffened for just a second, his fingers running through your hair, as if he understood that something wasn’t right. 

“Nah, baby, c’mon,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You’re okay. Come be with me, please.” He stepped back slightly, but only enough to hold your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin gently, a silent promise that he was there, that you weren’t alone in this. He pulled you with him. Trent turned his head toward Layla as you settled into the safety of his arms, holding you close. He hadn’t really had the chance to check on her yet. She’d been the one to help get you here, and Trent was more than aware of how much she was trying to keep everything together. His gaze softened as he caught her eye. “You alright, Lays?” Trent asked gently, his voice warm with concern. His protective nature toward you had extended to Layla as well. She had been a constant source of strength for you, and he wanted to make sure she wasn’t getting overlooked in the chaos. Layla’s smile was small but appreciative, though tinged with a touch of sadness. She nodded, but there was a hesitance in her demeanor. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” she replied, but it wasn’t the usual confident response she might’ve given. Trent could see that. Layla had always been the strong one, but now, with the weight of everything happening around her, she seemed a little shaken.

“You sure?” Trent pressed, his hand now resting on your waist, his thumb brushing small circles on your skin, making sure you were comfortable. His eyes never left Layla’s, trying to read her, sensing there was more she wasn’t saying. Layla, however, just let out a small sigh with a sheepish nod, trying to cover it with a quick smile following you and Trent with Noah into the living room. “C’mon. Not gonna make me sit alone are you?” Trent smirked at you pulling you down to sit on the sofa with him. You nodded with a sniffle. He leaned back into the cushion and dragged your body to drape over his.  “So what’s going on?” He picked his gaze up momentarily from you to look between Noah and Layla. 

“We just got a little lunch.” Layla explained looking at you, your face now buried in the nape of Trent’s neck. “And maybe got a little too much champagne.” She smirked with a giggle. 

“A little? Your car is still in Salford.” Noah laughed teasing Layla with a big grin. He shook his head with a smirk as he flopped onto the sofa next to her. Layla rolled her eyes playfully, flicking her leg out to nudge Noah’s thigh, in retaliation to his teasing. 

“Ah I see.” Trent smirked.  “You eat anything good, baby?” Trent asked you more softly, leaning down to kiss your temple, brushing your hair behind your ear. You just shook your head ‘no,’ not having enough will to say anything. Just wanting to stay into his arms, keep your face hidden in the nape of his neck. “So No, you taking up a new career?  Uber would be sound on your CV, mate.” Trent teased him. 

“Ha, hilarious, bro. But no, I didn’t get the look for the actual food part. I just got a whiney call from a girl who had more Dom than lunch.” Noah joked. Trent chuckled softly at Noah’s remark, starting to better understand the afternoon, shaking his head with a grin. 

“Gotcha,” he smirked, looking between Noah and Layla, mildly amused at the situation. He gave you another soft kiss on your temple, his fingers gently brushing through your hair, trying to offer you some comfort. “So didn’t get to eat much, baby, huh?” he asked again, this time his voice softer, filled with care. You shook your head in response, your face still buried in the crook of his neck. You could feel the warmth of his body against you, the soothing presence of him grounding you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak much.

“No food, but at least she got champagne,” Noah teased. Layla shot him a playful glare. Trent’s attention dropped back to you again, his focus shifting to make sure you were okay.’ 

“Baby, how about I get you a little food now?” He asked you softly. You shook your head again. “Lay, anything?” Trent turned his head. 

“I’m good.” Layla smiled, appreciating the ask but she was still locked in on you.  

“Alright. Will just chill for a bit, yeah?” He hummed.  “C’mere, baby.” He whispered. His voice was soothing, more earnest now, as he looked down at you, brushing a strand of your hair from your face. He held you closer and it made your heart ache.  You felt yourself melt into his embrace, and for a moment, the outside world seemed distant. In that safe space with Trent, the chaos of the day faded, even if only for a little while.

The room was suffocating in silence, the TV playing mindlessly in the background as you all sat there, the air thick with tension. Everyone could feel it. Maybe Noah less, but he was nervous about where the rest of the evening would go. Layla hurt for you but was equally anxious about Trent finding out. Trent was suspicious about what drove this impromptu boozy lunch, and the decision to get you to him. He could tell something was off.  You were just in your own head, and it was filled with catastrophic thoughts. Every breath felt too loud, every shift in position too obvious. Trent laid underneath you, he held you gently but securely but his gaze was flicking around. Pinging from Noah to the TV, then to Layla, down to you, trying to deduce what was going on. Finally he caught Layla’s gaze. His eyes narrowed, silently asking her what had happened—what was so important, so painful, that it made you and Layla drink the way you did. She sighed realizing that maybe it was time to explain what everyone in the room but Trent. His concern deepened as Layla nervously shifted closer to you, her hand gently resting on your arm. The soft touch of her hand was meant to comfort you, but it only made you feel more exposed. You felt your throat tighten, another fresh wave of tears building up inside you. You couldn’t even process the last few hours. Everything felt like it was closing in, but you weren’t ready to tell Trent yet. Layla hesitated before speaking, her voice quiet and unsure. 

“Babe, can I tell T?” Her words were barely audible, but you knew what she meant. You shook your head ‘no,’ the emotion rising in your chest, and let out a small, shaky breath. Layla didn’t want to tell him. She was terrified of how Trent would react, how it might hurt him and in turn you. But she had to. You all knew that.

“No,” you whispered, pulling yourself a tighter to Trent, trying to hide, not just from telling him about Jess, but from the reality of everything else that had happened. You couldn’t bear to look at him. Your heart ached at the thought of him knowing the truth. Trent felt your hesitation, and he gently cupped your face, his thumb tracing over your cheek, wiping away a few stray tears. 

“Pretty girl, can Layla tell me, please?” His voice was soft, almost pleading, his eyes full of concern. He was losing his patience but doing his best to keep calm, for you. “I’m worried, baby.” You looked up at him, your vision blurred with tears. You felt like a little girl again, unsure of how to protect yourself, unsure of how to protect him from the storm that was about to hit. You finally gave in and nodded, before wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face again  in his warmth. You wanted to shield him from the pain, but you knew you couldn’t. Not anymore. Layla, seeing your response, took a deep breath and gathered her courage. She shifted closer, her hand still on your arm. She couldn’t stop the tears now. Her eyes were glassy, blurred with her own heartbreak. She looked at Trent, her voice trembling. 

“I’m sorry, T,” she whispered, voice barely audible as she began the words she knew would insight more chaos into your lives.  Trent’s body stiffened. He knew this wasn’t good by her tone alone. He wanted to shout, wanted to break down, but instead, he kept his composure, his chest tight, waiting patiently for her to explain. He glanced down at you, your face buried against his neck, trembling in his arms. His heart was breaking for you.  Noah’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the heavy atmosphere. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on all of you, but it was Layla’s nervous, sad energy that stood out the most. She was trying to hold it together for your sake, but Noah could see how badly she was struggling. His gaze softened, and he instinctively moved closer to her, offering a small, reassuring smile.

“Lay, I got it, yeah? Just relax for me. We’re all good. Gonna be fine.” Noah’s voice was calm, almost too calm, as if to balance out the anxious energy that was flooding the room. Layla gave him a small smile in return, a mixture of  appreciation and sorrow in her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to carry this burden alone, and for that moment, she was glad he was there. But as Noah turned back to face Trent and you, he knew the next part of the conversation wouldn’t be great. Trent was still confused, his brow furrowed in concern as he noticed the shift. The quiet tension, the unspoken fear in Layla’s and your eyes, and the knowing look in Noah’s face—all of it was weighing on him.

“What’s going on? Lay, you alright?” Trent asked gently, his voice laced with concern, but Layla’s answer came from Noah instead. Noah let out a small breath, rubbing the back of his neck nervously before continuing. He knew this was going to be uncomfortable, but there was no way around it. 

“Ah… yeah, so mate…” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts as he glanced at the three of you, all visibly upset. “We found out how Josh got the video of you and Y/N…” He hesitated, his words more cautious now. “It’s a bit of a weird one to take so we’ve been walking on eggshells here. Just finally, things had started to calm, you guys were good…” Noah’s voice trailed off awkwardly. He didn’t want to speak for anyone else, but it felt like the right time to say it all. Layla’s hand slid down your arm, her touch gentle, reminding you that even with the storm brewing, things had started to feel better. It wasn’t all bad—there was still hope for healing, for you and Trent, and for all of you. The small gesture helped, even if it didn’t fix everything. Trent didn’t move, his body tense as he processed the words. His mind raced. He didn’t like the sound of this—Josh, the video, the hurt he knew it caused you. His jaw clenched as he tried to piece everything together, but the reality of what had happened was starting to sink in, and it made him angry, protective, and desperate all at once.

“Noah, tell me, bro…”Trent asked, his voice low and controlled, though it was clear he was barely holding it together. They could see the hurt in his eyes. Noah exchanged a look with Layla, who nodded, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Layla gently squeezed your arm again, leaning in closer to you for support, as if grounding herself before things got harder to bear.

“I’m so sorry, bro,” Noah continued softly. “We’ve been keeping it from you for a bit, but it was Jess. She’s the one who sent it to him. Jess sent the video to Josh, that lad Devon has a screenshot from her talking to Josh, and she admitted to Layla and I.” Noah’s words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their truth. The silence that followed was deafening, and Trent’s hands held you a bit tighter but he was mindful not to react angrily. He looked between Noah, Layla, and you, his eyes filled with hurt and disbelief. The betrayal hit Trent like a punch to the gut. He could feel the adrenaline rush through him as he thought about how someone could do this to you, someone you trusted. His chest tightened, his pulse pounding in his ears. But he couldn’t let himself lose control now. Not when you needed him to stay strong. Trent slowly exhaled, his eyes finally settling on your form draped across him.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered into your hair with a kiss. He could see how fragile you were, how broken by this knowledge. His hands caressed your back, his touch gentle but firm.  In a way Trent felt really responsible for this. He was glad you were away from Josh of couse but the only reason this was happening, the only reason Josh was hurting you was through him,  through his prior relationship with Jess. 

“Mate-” Trent’s jaw clenched, his anger bubbling beneath the surface as Noah tied to speak more but before Noah could finish, Layla’s voice cut through.

“And then I slapped her,” she added, glancing over at Trent, her face tight with emotion. Trent froze, his eyes flashing toward her, momentarily stunned. Trent’s brows raised surprised by the admission. He’d known Layla was textbook definition ride or die for you but hitting Jess wasn’t really on his bingo card either. 

“Yeah alright well…” Noah smirked at Layla just momentarily, appreciating her ferocity and not wanting to diminish it but it wasn’t the point. “I know she deserved it but nevertheless, mate, I’m sorry. Don’t want to make anyone upset but obviously you two deserved to know. And you know, makes things sort of complicated, given...” Noah’s voice trailed off, not finishing the thought. Noah hesitated before continuing, but Trent wasn’t having it. The words were too much for him, and his emotions were too raw. You went stiff in his arms at the insinuation. 

“No. It’s not fucking complicated. Not at all.” Trent snapped, his tone icy and sharp. You flinched in his arms, instinctively feeling the intensity of his anger and the change in the room. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his grip on you tightened as if to ground both himself and you. A reminder that you were with him, safe in his house, here now. Trent’s tone had shifted dramatically. The pain of hearing the truth, of knowing how deep the betrayal cut, had made him snap. His hands trembled, barely contained anger simmering beneath the surface. But as his eyes met yours, everything changed. His expression softened, and he pulled you closer, guiding you to look directly into his eyes. With one hand still holding you, he shifted you slightly, moving you so that you were facing him fully. His hands cupped your face gently, his thumbs brushing the soft skin of your cheeks. His eyes bored into yours, searching for any sign that you were okay, that this wasn’t breaking you down. From the moment you made eye contact, something inside you broke free. The tears that had been building up spilled over once again. He held your face tenderly, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that streamed down your cheeks. He searched your eyes, silently pleading with you to understand that nothing—nothing—was more important than the two of you in that moment. The room seemed to shrink, the noise from the others fading into the background as Trent’s words cut through.

“We’re okay, baby, yeah?” His voice was low and sincere, a soft murmur just for you. He leaned in closer, his forehead almost touching yours. He wasn’t asking for confirmation—he was affirming it. You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the raw emotion he was trying so hard to keep in check.  “Me and you, right?” He asked, his words carrying more weight than he probably realized. He looked at you with for eyes that shattered your heart. You pouted. You swallowed the lump in your throat, the overwhelming emotions from earlier still lingering. You felt safe in his arms, even amidst the chaos and betrayal that had unfolded. You nodded, a small but reassuring smile pulling at the corners of your lips. “I’m not letting anyone treat you this way, pretty girl,” he continued, his voice rough but firm, full of determination.  “No one is going to get in the way of me loving you.” There was a pause as he inspected your face, as though reading you for any sign of doubt, any crack in your resolve. His expression softened, his pink lips curling into a sad smile letting a faint indent of his dimples peek through the corners of his grin. “That okay?” You nodded again, this time feeling the relief flood through you. The tension in the room seemed to dissipate just a little, and you allowed yourself to feel a sense of calm, knowing that Trent had you no matter what. Your heart clenched at the sincerity in his gaze, at the way he held you like you were the most important thing in the world to him. You nodded, your lips trembling as you struggled to find your voice. 

“Okay,” you whispered, feeling the weight of his love and commitment. Trent leaned in and kissed your forehead softly, his breath warm against your skin. He pulled back slightly, inspecting your face with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. You sniffled, the tears in your eyes were still there, but they weren’t as heavy now. You weren’t alone anymore. Trent was there, and he was fighting for you, for the two of you. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself close to him, seeking comfort in his embrace. He held you tightly, not wanting to let go. The world outside seemed so distant, the only thing that mattered now was the bond between the two of you. The tension in the room shifted as you and Trent shared a quiet, intimate moment. The others remained silent, giving you both the space you needed. The love and security you felt in Trent’s arms reminded you that, despite everything, you were going to be okay. Together, you could face anything.

"I'm sorry," Layla whispered again, her voice cracking, wiping her eyes.  Layla's own tears streaming down her face. She sniffled, shaking her head in frustration at herself, trying to mask the embarrassment with a weak laugh.

"Nah, don't be," Trent murmured to her, his voice soothing. "We're alright. Hmm, baby?" He turned his attention back to you, his nose brushing against yours, grounding you with his touch. You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tidal wave of emotions that were threatening to crash down on you. Then the anxiety hit-unwanted, unsettling. 

"What about Jess?" you asked, the question hanging in the air between you, heavy and full of fear. The memories of her betrayal lingered, clouding your thoughts. Layla scoffed from beside you, wiping away another tear. 

"Fuck her," she muttered bitterly, the venom in her voice palpable. She sank back into the cushions, her frustration evident.

"She doesn't exist," Trent added firmly, his gaze unwavering as he looked directly at you. "Not to me, not to you." His words hit home with such certainty, such conviction, that a small weight lifted from your chest. You looked into his eyes, finding the reassurance you needed, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe.

"We'll sort it, Y/N," Noah chimed in, his tone light and sincere as he rose from his seat on the soda, walking over closer to where Layla sat now. He plopped down beside her, his arm draping over the back of the couch.  “Fuck her though.” Noah whispered just in Layla’s ear.  He wasn't quite touching her, but the closeness made her shiver slightly, and you noticed the small smile that spread across her face. "Just want you and Trentski happy. Don't worry about all that." He told you. You looked at Noah, the gratitude in your eyes as your lip quivered. 

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice a little shaky but full of appreciation.

"No worries, yeah?" Noah grinned and stuck out his fist toward you. With years of familiarity, you reached out and bumped it, a giggle slipping from your lips at the simplicity of the gesture.

"There she is, my pretty girl," Trent cooed, his arms tightening around you, pulling you into his chest, relieved to see even that millisecond of a weak smile Noah managed to pull from you. He rocked you gently back and forth with a hum, the soothing motion like a balm to your bruised heart. He pressed a kiss to your hair, his lips lingering there. You let out a soft sigh of relief, letting his warmth and affection wash over you. This moment, with him, it was everything you needed.

The living room was dim, the soft flicker of the TV lighting the room enough to see everyone settled in, now the silence welcomed. Trent’s arm was draped around you, his hand resting on your back as you slept soundly against him, your cheek pressed to his chest. He shifted slightly, his mind racing despite the calm in the room. Jess’s betrayal still gnawing at him, but the need to protect you had him restless.

“Psst…” Trent dramatically whispered, his voice low but playful as he poked Layla’s leg with his foot from the other end of the sofa. She stirred but waved him off, too comfortable to fully engage. Trent rolled his eyes dramatically, huffing as if her dismissal was the greatest inconvenience. “Lay…” he whispered again, leaning forward slightly.

“What, T?” she replied with a quiet giggle, finally turning to him with a grin.

“Can you stay with her for a sec? I just wanna pop to the kitchen,” he murmured, nodding down to you nestled against him. He didn’t want you waking up alone, even if it was just for a moment. Yes, you ultimately would be fine, he was only tucking off to the kitchen, but he didn’t want you to wake up alone feeling like he had left you. Layla nodded, sitting up and moving closer.

“MmHmm,” she hummed, watching as Trent carefully shifted you off of him.

“T,” you whined softly in your sleep, the unconscious pout on your lips making Trent pause. He ran his hand gently up and down your arm, his voice soft.

“Love you so much, pretty girl,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple. His touch lingered for a moment, as if he couldn’t bear to step away. Layla smiled at the tenderness, sliding closer to you. 

“I’m here, pretty girl,” she mocked Trent’s accent, playfully running her hands up your back and pulling you into her. Noah, sitting nearby, chuckled at Layla’s tease. Trent turned, his eyes flicking to Noah with a look that said it all. Without needing words, Noah nodded and stood up, following Trent toward the kitchen.

“Need anything, Lays?” Noah asked over his shoulder as he passed.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head, her eyes focused on you. Layla gently traced the freckles on your shoulder with her finger, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest. Even with all the chaos, she found herself comforted by your presence, ensuring you were at peace, even if just for now.

The kitchen was dimly lit, the muffled sounds of the TV filtering faintly through the house. Trent stormed in first, his shoulders tense, and his hands running roughly over his hair. Noah followed closely behind, his arms folded across his chest, watching Trent unravel in front of him.

“What’s up, bro?” Noah asked cautiously, leaning back against the counter.

“Fuck!” Trent yelled, his voice tight and furious, as he dragged his hand down his face. His frustration rippled through the air. Noah exhaled heavily, knowing this wasn’t going to be a short conversation. “I’m fucking fuming, mate,” Trent snapped, his pacing beginning to pick up.

“Yeah, I won’t lie, Trenty, I was surprised by your reaction earlier,” Noah admitted, watching him. He’d been expecting rage—Trent blowing up the moment he heard about Jess. But instead, Trent had been calm, gentle with you, whispering reassurances and holding you like you were his entire world. Still, the fury was there, simmering beneath the surface, and Noah could see it spilling over now. Trent stopped pacing, his hands braced on the kitchen island. 

“I just… I’ve never been so fucking angry, mate. And it’s not at her. She’s just… bro, she’s so raw, like exposed. I don’t want to hurt her. She just didn’t need me to be angry then. I never want to be that way around her.” His voice cracked slightly, his frustration turning inward. Noah nodded, his expression softening. Noah was expecting an outburst not gentle soft Trent, just holding you, letting you fall asleep on him while he told you how much he loved you. But then at the same time, it made perfect sense why that was Trent’s reaction.

“Yeah, course. That’s good though, mate. Not to throw that at her right now. She doesn’t need to see that… Not today.” Noah’s lips pulled into a tight line.  Trent let out a bitter laugh, his pacing starting up again. 

“What the fuck!” He ran his hands over his hair again, tugging at the ends. “Noah… you know Jess and I…” He trailed off, looking helplessly at his friend, as though pleading for him to understand. Begging him to understand that Jess was never anything real to him, 

“What, it was like 2-3 times?” Noah took his best guess about the number of times Trent had hooked up with Jess. But it was an approximate estimation, realistically, he had no idea so he shrugged, trying to downplay it but clearly uncomfortable even bringing it up. 

“Maybe,” Trent muttered, shaking his head. He paused, his jaw clenching. “I know it makes me a bad person to say this, but I just needed sex, and I knew she’d bite. That’s all it ever was.” Noah made a face, one of disgust mixed with discomfort, his lips curling up in a grimace. Trent looked at him annoyed for his reaction. 

“Mate, what!” Noah exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “It’s not great, I won’t lie to you!” Trent shot him another annoyed glare, his jaw tightening further. “But still,” Noah continued quickly, trying to ease the tension, “doesn’t merit the way she’s been moving. None of that justifies what she’s been doing, has done.” He exhaled deeply, empathizing with the whirlwind of emotions Trent must’ve been feeling. Trent’s hands curled into fists, his knuckles brushing against the counter as he leaned forward, his voice low and seething. 

“I just can’t believe she’d stoop so fucking low. Y/N didn’t deserve any of this. She’s been through enough.” Trent muttered, utterly enraged. 

“And that’s why you handled it the way you did, yeah?” Noah offered, his tone gentle. “You kept your cool for her, and that’s what matters. You’re there for her in the way she needs you right now. That’s what she needs, Trenty, you.” Trent nodded, his jaw still tense. “

“Yeah… but when I see Jess again…” He mumbled. Noah raised his eyebrows knowingly, interrupting before Trent could spiral further. 

“You’ll deal with that later, mate. We’ll handle it. For now, focus on Y/N. She’s here. That’s what matters to you, not Jess.” Noah sighed. Trent exhaled, his shoulders dropping slightly as the tension in his body eased just a bit. 

“You’re right.” Trent replied, taking another breath. The kitchen falling into a tense silence, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint murmur of the TV in the other room. Trent stood rigid, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “With Jess, though…There was never anything concrete, bro. I don’t understand,” he said, his voice heavy with frustration. His jaw clenched, and his dark eyes flickered with guilt. “I never took her on a date. I never bought her flowers or gifts. I genuinely don’t know the girl, and—yeah, I know—it makes me sound like a shitty person to say all that, but she knew what it was. And it was nothing.” Trent straightened up, pacing a few steps before turning back to face Noah. His voice cracked slightly as he continued, “Why would she want to hurt me like that? I just don’t get it.” He rambled on. Noah leaned against the counter, arms crossed, studying Trent’s expression. He nodded slowly, letting Trent’s words hang in the air for a moment before responding.

“Mate, it wasn’t to hurt you,” Noah said, his tone calm but direct. “She wanted to hurt Y/N. This wasn’t about you—it was about her being jealous. Yeah, you were what she was jealous of Y/N having but it was to get at Y/N. And honestly, bro…” Noah hesitated for a beat, exhaling deeply a little afraid to say what he wanted to next. It was a theory that had been churning in his brain for a bit. “A part of me feels like Jess must’ve known what was going on between Y/N and Josh. Why else would she send that video to him? It wouldn’t even hold any weight with Josh if Jess thought they were amicable. She had to know he’d be unhappy with it to a degree where he’d do something and hurt her.” Noah explained his idea. Trent’s fists tightened at his sides, his face contorted in frustration. Without warning, he brought his hand down hard on the counter with a loud slap, the sound echoing through the quiet room.

“God damnit!” he snapped, pacing again before stopping abruptly. “How do I even begin to tell Jack…?” Trent’s voice was quieter now, trembling with emotion. He bent over, resting his head against the cold marble countertop. “This is all my fault, bro.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I put her in this situation.” Trent confessed what he was feeling. Noah’s brows furrowed as he shook his head firmly.

“No, bro.”  His voice was almost sharp as he spoke. He stepped closer to Trent, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re nowhere near being at fault for any of this. This lies solely on Jess—and even more so on Josh.” Noah’s voice softened slightly, his expression full of sympathy. “The only thing you can do now is exactly what you’ve always done. Take care of her. Be there for her. That’s all she needs from you.” Noah explained. Trent lifted his head slowly, his face a mix of anger and anguish. He nodded weakly, the weight of it all pressing down on him, but Noah’s words gave him a small sense of direction.

“Yeah,” Trent murmured, his voice hoarse. “I’ve got her. Always.” Noah reached out, giving Trent a reassuring pat on the shoulder, a silent show of support. The room fell into a heavy silence again, both of them knowing that the fallout wasn’t over yet, but that Trent had already made his choice—to protect you, no matter what. Trent stood up and slumped back against the counter, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his emotions. His hands were trembling slightly, and he rubbed his face harshly, as if trying to ground himself. “I try so fucking hard, bro,” Trent whimpered, his voice cracking as he gently tapped his head against the cool marble countertop. The vulnerability in his tone made Noah’s chest tighten. “Mate, it’s like I tried for fucking years, to just give her space. I didn’t want her to like me like this, I mean of course I did, I was desperate but not if it meant hurting her this badly.” His voice wavered as he gestured helplessly, his thoughts spilling out faster than he could manage them. “I just almost wanted her to be with other people because I didn’t want to ruin things. I didn’t want to hurt her,” he admitted, his eyes red and brimming with unshed tears. “But I also always knew I was supposed to be with her, you know, bro? Like I was best fit. I knew it. From the start.  And it hurt me to not be but at least I thought she was better off that way.” Noah leaned against the counter, arms crossed, nodding slowly. He’d known. Everyone who’d been close to Trent had known. He was silent though, ready to listen because he knew more was coming. It wasn’t often that Trent let the floodgates open, his feelings verbalized so Noah waited. “And when it finally happened,” Trent continued, his voice breaking completely now as he lifted his head to look at Noah, his heartbreak written across every inch of his face, “I finally got her, it felt like it was the right thing, that her and I…” He paused, exhaling shakily. “That we were supposed to happen. But now, I don’t know, bro.” Trent picked his head up and looked at Noah heartbroken. Noah knew Trent needed something or he’d stop. 

“Mate,” Noah said gently, his voice steady despite the turmoil he felt watching Trent crumble. “You are supposed to be with her. It makes sense. You and her are good. It works. You’re so good together. And you’re so good for each other.” Noah sighed, hurting for Trent.  Trent shook his head as if Noah’s words weren’t enough to ease the guilt clawing at his chest. 

“I don’t know, Noah. when I got with her, it was so intense. And that was great for me,” he admitted, a faint, bitter laugh slipping through his lips. “But for her? I don’t know anymore.” He raked a hand through his curls, his frustration bubbling over. “She and Jack have this huge rift. And I find out she’s been getting abused for time. I don’t know, mate. Like is it my fault? Did I force her into being with someone like that because I acted like I didn’t like her?  And the thing is… I didn’t ‘like’ her, we all knew I fucking loved her… I fucking loved her my whole life.”  His voice cracked again, and he swiped at his eyes hastily, trying to keep himself together. “I love her so much now it fucking hurts, and I feel like all I do is make her cry. And now… now I’ve got girls like Jess sharing videos of Y/N in just the most vulnerable position.” He broke off, his throat tightening. “And it’s my fault again! I took that video,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper now, the tears dangerously close to tip over. 

“Fuck,” Noah muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he watched his friend unravel. He wished there were some magical words he could offer, some quick fix to take Trent’s guilt away, but he knew better. Still, he stepped closer, his voice calm but firm. “Trenty, you’re a good lad,” Noah said, his tone filled with conviction. “None of this is your fault. It’s just life, bro. You can’t control what Jack’s reaction was gonna be, alright? And yeah, I’ve known since we were about fifteen that you were in love with her.” A faint smile flickered on Trent’s lips for a second before disappearing again. “But, you really think Jack would’ve taken it any better back then? He’s good now, bro. He’s adjusting. And as for that fucking piece of shit, Josh…” Noah paused, his expression hardening. “You didn’t push Y/N to him. He is like a cancer, you don’t go looking for it, you don’t ask for it—it just shows up. And when it does show up in the people we love, all we can do is show up for them.”  Noah sadly looked at Trent praying he’d believe him. Trent’s jaw tightened as he listened, his hands gripping the counter behind him as if to keep himself steady. “All you can do is keep showing up for her,” Noah continued, his voice softening as he placed a hand on Trent’s shoulder. “And you do, mate. Every fucking time. Don’t lose sight of that.” Trent nodded weakly, swallowing hard. His head dropped forward, and for a moment, he just stayed like that, letting the weight of Noah’s words sink in.

“I don’t want to be the one that brings any more hurt into her life.” Trent murmured finally, his voice raw. “I just want her to be okay, bro.” 

“And she will be,” Noah reassured him. “Because you’re there. Because you love her. And that’s all she needs.” The kitchen felt heavy, the weight of Trent’s emotions filling the air. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed tightly over his chest, as if trying to hold himself together. His eyes darted away from Noah, shame flickering in them. Noah sighed, running a hand through his hair, glancing at Trent’s hunched figure. He wasn’t used to seeing his mate like this—so raw, so uncertain. He stepped forward, his voice soft but firm. “And Jess, mate… that’s not you. That’s her. That’s someone projecting their insecurities and attacking someone because the whole goddamn city has watched you pine over Y/N for years.” Trent’s head snapped up, his lips parting as if to protest, but he stayed silent, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “That’s why it happened,” Noah continued, his gaze steady. “Because you’re right—you do love Y/N. You love her so much, it probably hurt when you looked Jess’s way and looked straight through her. Because she’d never be Y/N. No one could measure up to that for you.” The words hit Trent hard. He exhaled shakily, his hands gripping the edge of the counter behind him. Noah didn’t let up, his tone growing more resolute. “And it’s just the same way, I’m sure Josh loathes you because he knew… he knew he could never be what Y/N actually wanted. He’d never be you. And he took it out on her. But that’s not your fault, mate.” Noah’s voice faltered slightly, his own emotions creeping in, but he pushed on. “That’s someone not knowing how to be a man. That’s someone not knowing how to treat other women. Trenty,” he sighed, his hand reaching out to clap his mate on the shoulder. “Just be…” he paused, trying to find the right words. Noah sighed feeling a bit emotional actually having to say this to Trent’s face. “Just be her T. Y/N’s T. That’s all she wants, that’s all Jack wants, Layla, and me…” He smiled faintly, his tone lightening. “I’m partial to Trentski, but Y/N’s T? He’s not so bad. Don’t mind having him around either.” Trent’s hands came up to his face, rubbing roughly as if to wipe away the emotions threatening to spill. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling heavily. 

“Thank you, mate,” he murmured, his voice thick. He let his arms drop and stepped forward, pulling Noah into a brotherly hug.

“Love you, bro,” Noah said, patting Trent’s back firmly. “Probably even close to how much Y/N loves you.” Trent let out a breathy laugh as he pulled back, shaking his head.

 “Love you, broski,” he chuckled, a faint smile finally breaking through. For only a moment, the tension in the room lifted, replaced by a quiet understanding between the two of them. They didn’t need to say anything else—just being there for each other was enough.

The kitchen lights flickered off behind them as Trent and Noah walked out, their conversation trailing softly into the hallway. Trent was visibly frustrated, his hand running through his curls repeatedly as he tried to process everything.

“I just can’t wrap my head around it, that Jess would send it,” Trent muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “Like, she’s Meg’s best friend, you know?” His voice carried an edge of betrayal, his mind unable to reconcile the cruelty. Noah sighed deeply beside him, his brows furrowed. 

“I don’t even know, bro. Why are they friends? Meg’s so cool, so calm… and yet you should’ve heard the way Jess spoke about Y/N. Lays should’ve slapped her. It was deserved.” His jaw clenched at the memory, and the anger from that night flickered in his eyes. Trent glanced at him, raising his brows slightly at the sudden fervor in Noah’s voice. He was a little shocked by that confessional. Not shocked that Noah cared so much about you, but more so hearing him continually mention Layla. “Even the way she spoke to Lays had me proper fuming,” Noah added, his voice quieter now, as if he was still stewing over it, recalling the altercation at Megan’s birthday party. Trent hummed in agreement, nodding, but his expression shifted slightly as he caught onto something. Noah had mentioned Layla one too many times as of late, and it didn’t go unnoticed. A smug smile crept onto Trent’s face, his eyes narrowing knowingly, but he decided to keep quiet—for now. There were way too many things going on to entertain that. Instead, he just silently and smugly smiled as they made their way back to you and her.

“Yeah, fuck her,” Trent finally said passively with a shake of his head, dismissing the thought of Jess. “Well, thanks for getting them today, mate.” He gave Noah’s shoulder a firm, appreciative squeeze. Noah shrugged casually, though the effort hadn’t been small. 

“Yeah, all good. I told ya. Lays called me. Didn’t want to leave them drunk in Manny,” he said with a little laugh, but there was a weight of sincerity beneath his words. It wasn’t just a ride—it had mattered to him, even if he tried to brush it off. He acted like it was nothing, but it was something. Trent smirked faintly, his lips twitching upward. “I’m glad you were home though. I can’t handle any more secrets,” Noah admitted with a snicker, though the exhaustion in his voice was evident.

“Yeah, they seem to be piling up,” Trent agreed, his quiet laugh trailing off as they reached the dark living room. As they stepped into the room, both their voices softened as they took in the scene. You and Layla were both fast asleep on the sofas, the glow of the television flickering across your peaceful faces. Trent’s heart softened instantly at the sight of you curled up, a blanket wrapped around you as you snuggled into a pillow. Noah’s gaze lingered on Layla, her features relaxed, her body tucked into the corner of the sofa as if she were trying to make herself smaller.Trent’s eyes locked on your figure. He crossed the room silently, his steps careful not to wake you. You were barely awake, your body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that made every movement feel slow and dreamy. Trent slid onto the couch beside you, pulling you into him, his presence warm and familiar, his scent instantly wrapping around you like a blanket. He brushed a stray strand of hair from your face as his expression softened into something deeply affectionate. Noah stood there for a moment, watching his friend silently care for you before turning his gaze back to Layla. He smirked to himself, knowing he’d end up with some task taking care of her when the time came. But he didn’t really mind that and for now, he’d just let the quiet settle, content to just let the night end on a calmer note as he took a seat a safe distance next to Layla.

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Next part - Chapter 27 xx