#well i could but i don’t have the energy right now

[youreonmymind37]

Your father is quite as old as my father. We were professor and student. I adored him as a teenager girl would. He made me feels important. He had a several different affaires from his students and TAs. I love him more with passed years. But. Now, he can’t fulfill me anymore. His flaccid penis can’t enter my pussy. We tried Viagra, Levitra, Staxyn, mediation and a hooker…. But. None of those worked. For me, dildos, strangers in bars, your father provided me with his TA and a couple of my BBF. I caught a glimpse as you exited the shower, my beautiful boy…. And, I wondered if incestuous sex could be better that my masturbation or hookup with some guy. So. Wanna do you think?”

“Uhhhhh….” I stammered, “You happens to be my mom.”

“Think of this situation; you don’t have a girlfriend. You’re hard at work on your college essays. Your semens caked on your bed linens, on your socks, on my panties…. Believe me. I washed our clothes, Jonathan.”

Jonathan’s mom wore his father’s white shirt. She stripped out of her shirt.

“Look at me, son,” said Emily, “You sucked on my nipples… and, you’ll suck on them today.”

Jonathan jumped out of his bed. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Mom. Hang on.” His white underwear was bulging in the front.

“Either, we go right now on your bed, JoJo,” said his mom, “Or, you’ll going lose this”. She slapped her rump.

“One sec,” trying to keep his cool.

“Whatever,” said Emily crossed the floor and kneeling before JoJo’s underwear. She yanked his brief to the floor.

“Shit,” his mommy, “Motherfucker. It’s huge!”

Jonathan was shocked by his mom’s swearing.

“I can’t fit it in my mouth. Oh, well,” said Emily swallowed his cock in her mouth. She had gone a nanosecond of working his cock and when, his penis sprayed cum all over her face.

“Mmmm. Delicious. I can’t believe you’re ready for a second round. Shove it in wet pussy,” said JoJo’s mother, “You don’t know how? Here.”

She climbed over his bed and she took her sleeping-position. She reached for his cock and guided to her lips. She washed his cock throughly with her juice. She was high on being closed to her son-lover. Her pussy pulled her son’s cock in.

“Keep fucking me, your dearest mommy,” she gave a gutter voice, “Keep on fucking me, son. Your cock has energy to hump my ass. Oh, yeah.” JoJo’s mom was moaning,

“Son, I need you to squeeze my tits. Oh. Motherfucker.” She screamed out her organism. Emily crashed on his pillows. 

Jonathan were white with fear. “Can I take my penis out of your vagina, mom?”

But, semens poured out her crack. And, his shrunken penis came with them.

Emily laughed. A good healthy post-coitus laugh.

“Can I hug you, Mom,” said Jonathan, “Or…”

She was half-asleep and her arm was hunting for her half-naked son. “You do want to cuddle your mom?”

He lays there against her large boobs. His mind was going faster; I had sex…. with my mom! I want to tell my friends about my first time! Will she allow me to fuck her again? She begged me to fuck her. Right? Maybe, next time, we fuck missionary-style or doggy-style. Or, cowgirl-style!

His body was getting sleepy. He placed a kiss on her lips. She was smiling. From their incestuous sex or a dream. Who know? All her son will plan if he doggy-style her luscious ass….

"Up in Arms"

[revelboo]

Poor D-16 is gonna be asking the "Minicon" do many questions and the human is gonna just look at him like "Sir this is a Wendys"

He’ll figure out they’re not a minicon way before that comes up. They’re going to run out of air in their tank and have to remove the helmet sooner or later 🤣

Fight For You Pt 3

D 16 x Reader

• Staring up at him as he gestures excitedly and growl-rumbles in his awful, grating language at you, you’re pretty sure he’s more excited about seeing your teammate than you are. Pointing at the image and then waving the other hand as he yammers. And okay, maybe his energy is a tiny bit cute now that you’re relatively sure he’s not going to harm you. Hopefully. And he grins down at you before reaching to retrieve a glowing cube bigger than your head and offering it pinched between his servos. When you don’t move to take it, he sets it down and nudges it your way while growling gibberish at you. Well. It’s pretty? At a loss, you watch him grab another and pop it in his mouth. Oh. Alien food that will do who knows what to you. Nope.

• Watching him eating, your head tips back toward your cube and to his puzzlement, you push it back his way, chirping at him. Maybe it’s too big for you? Awkwardly pinching a piece off the energon goodie, he holds it out and you back away, head shaking and chirping. “I guess you’re used to premium energon, huh?” Venting, he leaves the cube where he’d put it even though he’s hungry, hoping you’ll relent and refuel. Because if you will only take premium, he’s in trouble. Has no way to get the better grades of energon short of stealing. And you point at the screen again, chirping nonsense. Wishes he could understand you. “I bet Megatronus was amazing. Can’t believe I found his mini-con.” Or that he can’t talk to you, because you must have some amazing stories. Someone who’s been there with the Primes.

• Relaxing when it becomes apparent he’s not going to try and force feed you the glowing, possibly radioactive stuff, you lift up the console attached to your arm. Check your oxygen levels again. And pray there’s air you can breathe, because your tank was never meant for extended use. They’d said 72 hours worth, which had seemed ludicrous at the time for a recon mission that was only supposed to be long enough to take a soil sample and book it back through. And you’re not taking the helmet off until you have no choice in case there isn’t air. Because one way or the other, you’re going to find out the hard way and you want to delay until you have no choice.

• Head snapping up as the dorm lights begin automatically coming on, he snags you and carries you to his storage locker. “I have to report to the mines, but some of the other bots will turn you in if they see you,” he says when you squirm in his hand, chirping in alarm when he places you inside. Like the darkness frightens you. Had your previous owner kept you not only bound, but in the dark? Fury coils through him as he tries to calm you. “It’s just for a bit, okay? You’ll be safe here, but you have to stay quiet.” Pressing a servo to his lips, he startles when you shakily mimic him with an unhappy chirp. “Good. That’s right.” Retrieving your uneaten energon goodie, he puts it in with you and secures the locker. And feels guilty about it, but Red Alert would turn you in on sight.

• Heart racing, your head tips up. There are slots high above you that let in some light, but otherwise you’re in the dark. Aside for the brightly glowing, probably poisonous thing he’d tried to feed you. Shivering you sit down to wait, tensing when you hear thumps, voices and noises from outside your hiding place. How many of them are there? He’d hid you. Which makes you think some of those others are a threat to you. You hold your breath until the noises dies down and flip up your console display again. Watching the oxygen level steadily tick down.

Previous

[lvnleah]

west end star | leah williamson.

You were lounging on the couch, Leah sitting beside you with your legs draped over her thighs. Today was the day you could find out if you had landed your first major West End role, the one you’d been dreaming of since you were a kid.

Your whole life had been dedicated to musical theatre. From performing in summer recitals at age six to moving all the way to London from Manchester for Musical Theatre college, your whole life had revolved around it. Sure, you had done a few ensemble parts here and there after college but nothing like a major role. 

A few months ago you had auditioned for Sophie Sheridan in Mamma Mia the Musical on the West End. You had poured everything into that audition. Every note, every step, every ounce of emotion you could muster had gone into your performance. 

Sophie Sheridan in Mamma Mia. Even saying it to yourself felt surreal, but it was what you’d been dreaming of for as long as you could remember.

The callback process had been gruelling. Weeks of singing, acting, and dance workshops, surrounded by people who were just as talented and hungry for the role as you were. You’d tried to stay grounded, but deep down, you knew you wanted this more than anything.

Leah had been your rock throughout the process. She’d spent countless nights helping you run lines, watching you practice choreography in the living room, and reassuring you when the self-doubt crept in. 

“You’re going to get it,” she’d said every time you worried. “I can feel it.”

Now, here you were, sitting on the couch, staring at your phone like it might explode. Leah was gently tracing patterns on your shin, pretending to scroll through her phone but clearly keeping an eye on you.

“You know you’re allowed to breathe, right?” she teased, glancing up at you with a small smirk.

“I am breathing,” you shot back, though it felt like your lungs were only half working.

Leah rolled her eyes. “Barely. It’s going to be fine, love. Whatever happens, you’ve done everything you could. You were incredible in that audition.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, your phone buzzed on the coffee table. Both of you froze.

Your agent’s name lit up the screen, and your heart started pounding.

“Don’t just stare at it, woman!” Leah said, her voice suddenly serious. “Answer it!”

With trembling fingers, you picked up the phone and pressed it to your ear. “H-hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart, it’s Miranda,” your agent said warmly. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” you managed to say, though your voice cracked slightly. Leah gave your leg a reassuring squeeze. “Do you have… um… any news?”

Miranda let out a little laugh. “I do. I just got off the phone with the casting director, and they were absolutely blown away by you. They said your energy was perfect, your vocals were spot on, and well, they want you for Sophie.”

The words hit you like a wave. You sat there, frozen, as Miranda’s words echoed in your ears. “I what—wait. I got it?”

“You got it!” Miranda confirmed, laughing again. “You’re going to be Sophie Sheridan on the West End. Congratulations, sweetheart. You deserve this.”

Tears filled your eyes as you tried to process the moment. “Oh my god, I—Thank you, Miranda. Thank you so much.”

“Go celebrate,” she said warmly. “You’ve earned it. I’ll be in touch soon with all the details.”

The call ended, and you slowly lowered the phone, staring at it like it might suddenly disappear.

“Well?” Leah asked, “Babe, talk! You know, use words?”

You turned to her, the biggest smile breaking across your face. “I, um, I got it,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Leah, I got it.”

Leah let out a cheer, pulling you into her arms so quickly that you nearly toppled off the couch. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, kissing you all over your face as you laughed and cried at the same time. “You’re going to be Sophie! On the West End!”

“I can’t believe it,” you said, burying your face in her shoulder. “This is actually happening.”

Leah pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands framing your face. “You worked so hard for this, and you deserve every bit of it,” she said before attacking you with more kisses. “I’m so proud of you, babe.”

You smiled, giggling as her kiss attacks stopped. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’ve been my rock through all of this.”

“And I’ll be your rock through everything else, too. Now,” she said, standing up and pulling you with her, “we are celebrating. Whatever you want, dinner, drinks, dessert, name it, and it’s yours.”

You laughed, wiping your tears. “Can we start with some champagne?”

“Absolutely,” Leah said, already heading to grab a bottle. “Only the best for my West End star.”

Your debut arrived quicker than you ever expected. Weeks of rehearsals and costume fittings flew by in a blur. The nerves hit as soon as you woke up that morning, a constant flutter in your stomach that didn’t ease, no matter how many times Leah reassured you.

“You’ve got this,” she said that morning, handing you a cup of tea as you sat at the kitchen table, staring into space. “You’ve worked so hard for this, and everyone’s going to see how incredible you are.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Leah asked, sitting across from you after a few moments of silence. 

“Just… everything,” you admitted. “What if I mess up? What if everyone hates me?”

Leah smirked and reached for your hand. “If anyone doesn’t like you after tonight, they’re either blind or tone-deaf. You’re going to be the best Sophie Sheridan that stage has ever seen.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You’re biased.”

“Absolutely,” she said. “But I’m also right.”

She was the steadying presence you needed that day, texting you little messages throughout your pre-show prep: You’re a star, babe. Don’t forget to breathe. Save some talent for the rest of the cast, yeah?

When the curtain finally rose that evening, the nerves melted away, replaced by the joy of being on stage that you always had. The music, the lights, the energy of the audience, it was everything you’d ever dreamed of. By the time the final bows came, the roar of applause felt like it might shake the building.

When you finally emerged from the stage door, your breath caught. There Leah was, standing with Amanda and Berny, a bouquet of flowers in her arms. Leah’s face lit up the second she saw you, her grin wide and proud. She stepped forward, holding out the bouquet, but before she could say anything, you launched yourself into her arms.

“You were amazing,” she whispered into your ear, holding you tight.

“Thank you,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were sparkling with pride, and the sight made your stomach flip.

Amanda stepped in next, wrapping you in a warm hug. “That was incredible, sweetheart. I was in tears during ‘Slipping Through My Fingers.’ You’ve got such a gift.”

“You were made for this role, darling,” Berny added, smiling warmly. 

“Thank you, both of you,” you said, overwhelmed by their kindness.

As the four of you walked toward a nearby restaurant to celebrate, Leah squeezed your hand. “You know,” she said softly, so only you could hear, “watching you up there… I’ve never been so proud in my life.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Stop it. You’re going to make me cry.”

“Good,” she said with a grin, “because I cried. Twice. And if I have to admit that, you can at least tear up.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though your smile betrayed you.

“And you’re brilliant,” she said, leaning over to kiss your temple. “Don’t forget it.”

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter VI

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.928 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW (p in v, unprotected, implied m!masturbation); Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

OMG Bonnie what is that? A JJ chapter? Yeah, maybe I went insane. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

JJ takes a slow step forward, his shoulders rolling back, his fingers still coiled tight around the handlebars of his bike. There’s a heat rolling off of him, a barely contained energy that makes your stomach twist.

His gaze drifts over to you. The rage burning through his eyes as he climbs down, drifting through Rafe’ arms, how they wrap around you, how close he’s holding you to him. – What’s going on, huh? – His voice is taught, barely restrained. You think of the hiss a rattlesnake makes before pouncing, the barely restrained violence simmering under each sound. – What are you doing here?

– I could ask you the same thing, Maybank. – Rafe hums. You call his name, trying to reel him back before it gets dangerous, but he seems entertained more than anything. – We’re a little far from the salvation army. Not much for you to do around here.

– Rafe!

The kook holds your hand to his chest when you push him, smiling down at you like it’s the funniest thing in the world. – I’m just having a little fun with him, that’s all.

– Get off of her, Rafe.

He’s looking at you with a focus that’s never a good sign, but don’t miss the way his eyes flick to where Rafe’s hand still lingers at your waist. The moment stretches, thick with the weight of his anger, but you can’t bring yourself to move first.

Rafe doesn’t bother hiding his grin. If anything, it grows, slow and deliberate, like this is the most fun he’s had all night. – Why? You scared she won’t come back when she realizes there’s more to life than being leeched off of by her brother’s friends?

– Rafe, this isn’t funny.

– JJ must think it is, it’s the only thing he does well. – Rafe drawls, tilting his head as he finally steps back from you—but not without dragging his fingers along your side, a pointed reminder. – Right, JJ?

JJ’s lips press into a thin line. His fingers flex around the handlebars, his nostrils flaring as he exhales hard through his nose. His gaze cuts to you now, sharp and demanding. – What the hell are you doing with this asshole?

His voice grates you. Every word echoing in your head like nails on a chalkboard.

– This is none of your business, JJ.

He doesn’t even pretend to hear you. – Kie told me what happened at work. We were all worried about you.

You open your mouth, but Rafe hums before you can speak, stepping in again, loose and easy, barely putting in effort but still commanding all the space between you. – Worried? Were you worried that you’re finally gonna have to get a job and deal with your own shit?!

– You don’t know what you’re talking about, okay?! Shut the fuck up!

– Or what? Are you gonna freeload off of me too?

JJ moves before you can stop him. His bike crashes to the pavement as he lunges, fists already clenched, fury twisting his face. Rafe barely shifts, like he’s been expecting this all along, like he’s been waiting for the moment he can finally push JJ over the edge.

– THIS SHIT ISN’T ABOUT YOU RAFE!

You step in fast, hands catching JJ’s arm before he can swing, your pulse hammering. – JJ, don’t. Fuck off. Don’t fucking do this right now.

– He’s the one who needs to fuck off! We’re talking right now, it’s none of his fucking business! – His breath is ragged, his muscles stiff under your grip. But Rafe just grins, smug and taunting, eyes alight with something dark. – Tell him to go away.

– You can’t tell me that yourself? Is that how much of a bitch you are, JJ?

JJ lunges, nearly pushing you into the asphalt by mistake. Rafe’s the one that catches you, his hand steadying you as you hold JJ back. – LET GO OF ME!

– JJ step the fuck back, I’m not even kidding you.

– He started it!

Rafe whistles lowly, laughing just under his breath as his arm wraps around you again. – Your brother really knows how to pick them, doesn’t he?

– Not helping, Rafe.

– I’m just trying to enjoy myself while you talk him down from his tantrum. I’m great.

– Stop fucking talking to her like that!

– Or what? You gonna hit me? – He muses, tilting his head, like the thought actually amuses him. – Go ahead, man. Take your shot. I bet it’ll feel real good.

JJ’s jaw tightens, his arm twitching under your hold. You can feel the war inside him, the barely restrained urge to throw that punch, to finally give Rafe the fight he’s clearly asking for.

But you don’t let go.

And JJ doesn’t swing.

For a second, the only sound is the thick silence between you.

Then Rafe sighs, exaggerated and disappointed. – Shame, – He mutters, stepping back, shaking his head like JJ’s let him down. – I was really hoping you’d play along, JJ. It’s been what? A week since you last got arrested? Has it ever been so long? I bet they’re missing you down at the station.

He flashes a grin at you, sharp and knowing, before brushing past, hands moving over your back like he owns you. – Y’know what, baby? We should really get going. I’m getting kinda bored.

– You’re out of your fucking mind if you think she’s going anywhere with you.

– JJ. – You warn, but he doesn’t seem to hear you.

– She came here with me, buddy. Maybe you wanna look around you. – He glances at you, blue eyes gleaming as he takes you by the arm. – C’mon. It’s getting late, right? Your brother’s probably struggling to figure out the oven right now.

– You don’t know what the fuck your talking about. – JJ growls.

– You’re gonna go home with this pogue? –The question comes out in a hum, almost condescendingly. His laughter thrills up your spine like a shiver of fear. – You’re gonna let him strongarm you like this?

You swallow, breathing in deep.

Rafe’s grip on your arm tightens, fingers warm against your skin, but you don’t move. His smirk twitches—just barely—before he tilts his head, watching you with curiosity, even if the smile he’s giving you doesn’t seem too pleased.

JJ notices too. He exhales sharply, barely holding himself together. – You’re not leaving with him.

His voice is low, coarse. And he’s clinging, moving his arms within your hold like a whiny kid. But it’s not a plea. It’s a demand.

Rafe hums under his breath, low and pleased, like this is all going exactly how he wanted. – She’s not staying for you, JJ. – He flicks his gaze over, like he’s looking at something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. – You have John B’s useless ass to thank for her not leaving with me right now.

JJ clenches his jaw so tight you swear you hear his molars crack. – Shut the fuck up, Rafe.

Rafe grins, slow and knowing. – I will if she makes me. Right, baby? Maybe you can give me a goodnight kiss before I go.

JJ takes a step forward, but you press a hand to his chest, stopping him. He seethes, nostrils flaring, but you shake your head. – Just go, Rafe. Please. – Your voice isn’t sharp—it’s tired, annoyed.

And that’s exactly why Rafe thrives on it.

He tsks, squeezing your waist in his hold on you before pulling his keys from his pocket. – That’s okay. We’ll have plenty of time for that tomorrow, right? – He leans in, voice dipping lower. – You can make it up to me.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. – Rafe—

– You’re cute when you get all flustered. – He laughs, tapping your chin with his knuckle. – I’ll call you later.

JJ lunges, and it takes everything in you to shove him back.

Rafe just whistles, all relaxed amusement, stepping back with an easy grin. – Damn, Maybank, you’re really gonna let her hold you back like that?

JJ is shaking in anger, chest heaving.

Rafe doesn’t wait for an answer. He shoots you a wink and a lazy salute before finally turning away, tossing over his shoulder, – Don’t miss me too much, baby.

JJ exhales sharply, shaking off your hold. His head drops for a second, his hands clenching at his sides before he looks at you, eyes blazing. – What the hell was that?

You swallow hard, the weight in your chest pressing down heavy. – JJ—

But he shakes his head. – Nah. No way. You don’t get to brush this off. – His voice is rough, disbelief coating every syllable. – Tell me you’re not— He stops himself, exhaling sharply again before taking a step back, shaking his head like he’s trying to make sense of it. – Tell me you’re not seriously falling for this shit.

You don’t know what to say.

Because maybe you don’t have an answer he wants to hear.

– Oh my God. – You don’t know what exactly in his face shifts, but you feel the air around you thicken. – You are, aren’t you?!

– Spare me the outrage, JJ. I’m not in the mood for your lectures.

– The guy is a fucking psychopath! There’s no fucking way you do’t see that! He’s insane!

You roll your eyes, a sigh falling from your lips before you can think of it. – You say that like you’re some sort of model of normalcy.

– I can’t fucking believe you!

– I don’t fucking need you to believe me, JJ. Clearly you fucking don’t. It doesn’t matter what I say, you already have your pitchfork ready! So what exactly am I supposed to be getting out of this?! Huh? Tell me. – A beat of silence lingers between you, as you turn your back on him. It’s long past 6 PM. The sky is pitch-black. – Can we just go? I don’t wanna do this.

You can see the gears turn in his head when you speak. His eyes soften, jaw unclentching. – I’m trying to look out for you. – You scoff. – Look, I know you’re stressed and all, but you don’t need to be taking it out on me, okay?! Chill out.

– Thanks, Mother Teresa. I feel much calmer now.

– Can we just put down the boxing gloves, right now?!

– I don’t know JJ, can we? I can’t put my guard down with you for a moment. Because that’s what you do. You tell me I should calm down, and when I do, you come up with some insane shit to piss me off all over again!

JJ watches you, chest still rising and falling like he’s trying to catch a breath that won’t come. Then his expression shifts—like something clicks into place, like he’s realizing something he doesn’t like.

His lips curl, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek. – Are you serious? – His voice is quieter now, almost disbelieving. – This is where we’re at?

You shake your head, swallowing back the lump in your throat. – I don’t want to do this right now, JJ.

– Oh, that’s rich. You don’t wanna do this right now? – He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. – You wanna pick a better time? Should I make an appointment? Because it’s like you never have time for me these days! You’ll speak your mind, talk all the game you fucking want, but when it’s time to talk about my feelings, suddenly you’re too tired to deal!

Your stomach twists.

JJ scoffs. – You know, I keep trying. I keep trying to get through to you, and you just— He stops, shakes his head again, shoving a hand through his hair like that’ll help get rid of some of the frustration bleeding off of him.

– Trying to what, JJ? What is it that you’re trying to get through to me so much? That I can’t even talk to people while you go around fucking whatever girl you want? – The words come out before you can stop them.

– That’s funny, I don’t remember leaving with your mortal enemy!

– And I don’t remember kissing your best friend after leaving your bed, JJ. But here we are!

JJ goes still.

For a second, neither of you speak.

Then he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve just confirmed something he was trying not to believe. – There you go again, – He mutters, half in laughter, half in scorn. – You’re insane. Like. You’re actually sick in the fucking head. You and Rafe are perfect for each other. Maybe that’s why you’re here right? I was too normal, so you got bored. And that’s why you’re here in the Country Club, fucking that psychopath!

You stare at him, heart still pounding, but there’s something else gnawing at the edges of your mind now—something off. Something you didn’t notice in the heat of it all.

The country club.

You’re not at your job.

You’re not at home.

You’re not even on your side of the island.

Your stomach twists again.

– JJ, – you start, voice quieter now.

But he doesn’t hear it, or he doesn’t care. He scoffs again, throwing his hands in the air as he turns away, pacing. – I should’ve known. I should’ve listened to John B. He always said you were fucking twisted! But leave it to me! It’s my fault or thinking you could act like a person for once!

Your pulse stutters.

You don’t even register his words.

You don’t remember telling him where you were.

Your job isn't anywhere near the Country Club. You didn’t text him. You didn’t call him.

So how did he find you?

Your skin prickles as you stare at him, the words barely coming out. – JJ... how did you know I was here?

– What?! – He laughs, like you’ve just said something stupid, but you’re not gonna let him do this. Keeping your face neutral, even while your blood runs cold, you repeat:

– How did you know where I was? – He looks at you for a moment, frozen in place. You don’t even see him breathe. But the thoughts run wild behind his eyes, his mouth hanging open, unable to keep up with the speed at which his mind is running. – Answer me. How did you know I was here, JJ?

– I— He swallows, looking between each of your eyes frantically. – I was gonna pick you up at work,

– At a quarter to seven PM? You know I get the bus. It leaves at 5:20. You know that.

– Why are you making a big deal out of this?! I was driving to the wreck and I saw you here—

– No you weren’t. The wreck is East. To get here, you need to be going West.

He’s quiet again.

– Are you following me? How did you even— Realization dawns on you. JJ and John had your phone all day after you left. The notification you saw when you finally got it back, was from your maps app, which you’ve never opened in your life. You pull your phone out of your pocket. The location is on, but you don’t remember activating it. You open your messages. The latest contact is JJ. But you haven’t texted him in days. The chat is empty. – You sent my phone location to yourself, didn’t you? You and John are fucki— Your voice dies within your throat. The hair at the back of your neck standing. – John doesn’t have my password, though.

– You’re acting insane.

– How the fuck did you figure out my password, JJ? It’s a thousand characters long. I expect that shit from Pope, but— You stop again, opening your settings. A second fingerprint is set there, next to yours. – What the fuck is wrong with you?

– Don’t turn this around right now!

– That’s rich, JJ! And I’m the one who’s insane?! You’re a fucking stalker!

JJ scoffs, but it’s different now—less angry, more… wounded. Like you just slapped him in the face instead of uncovering something deeply fucked up. He shakes his head, stepping back like he needs distance from you.

– Are you serious right now? – His voice is quieter, rougher. – After everything?

You stare at him, blood still thrumming in your ears. – After everything? JJ, you just—

– No, you don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it. – He lets out a breathless laugh, dragging his hand down his face. – I knew something was off. I knew you were pulling away. I knew you were sneaking around, lying to me—

– I’m pulling away because you’re messing around with Kie!

– I’m not! Baby, I— He’s slapping himself, pulling out his hair. – I was trying to make you jealous, okay?! I just want you to pay attention to me! But you’re either glued to your phone talking to Barry, or you’re around John B, doing everything for him, everything I want you to do for me!

– What the fuck are you talking about?! He’s my fucking brother, JJ!

– BUT HE DOESN’T DESERVE IT! – He screams, the vitriol burning against his lips like acid. – He was always horrible to you, and I was there! I was there! I wanted you!

– What are you talking about?! You’ve hated me since we were kids!

– NO! I— I wanted you to look at me. I just wanted you to—Please. Just look at me, okay? I don’t want you sneaking around with Barry or with Rafe, or whatever! I want you here! With me!

– Sneaking around—JJ, you broke into my fucking phone—

– Because you wouldn’t fucking talk to me! – His voice cracks on the last word, and it throws you for a second—because the anger is still there, but there’s something else now, something desperate. His hands are in his hair, gripping like he’s holding himself together. – Do you even hear yourself? Do you even care? Or are you just gonna act like I’m some fucking psycho and not the guy who’s been there for you? The guy who—who has wanted you since I was kid?!

Your breath catches.

JJ exhales sharply, jaw clenching like he hates himself for saying it, for letting it slip out in the middle of this.

– You were there for me. – He continues. – When your brother couldn’t be. When my dad started— When he drank. You remember that, don’t you? You took care of me. You always took care of me. John B couldn’t get that! Even if he tried, y’know, who knows, maybe he did! But he was always this golden boy! Your dad, he— He treated him like he could do no wrong— He’d never get it. But you did! You always got me!

You’re quiet. Because you remember.

You remember taking a beating for JJ the day John sent you there to give him his surfboard. You remember laying there on the floor, his dad pulling you by the hair, because you stood there while JJ ran. You remember the face he made when his dad threw you out.

How he fell apart in your arms.

How you remained there, holding him, as he bled through your clothes.

And it tears you apart.

Because the way he spoke to you before, is exactly the way his father used to speak to him.

– But yeah. Sure. I’m the stalker. I’m the crazy one. – He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. – You’re so fucking worried about me following you, but you don’t care that you’re running straight to him! – His eyes flash with something sharp, something dark. – You think he gives a shit about you? You think Rafe fucking Cameron isn’t watching your every move, waiting for you to fuck up so he can sink his claws in? Like Barry did? – He steps forward, voice lowering like he’s telling you some ugly secret.

Your heart jumps in your chest at the mention. JJ knows this is a low blow. – You don’t know anything about Barry and me.

– I know he hurt you. – He’s almost pleading. – He hurt you because you were with him, when you should’ve been with me.

– JJ—

– I did this to protect you. Let me protect you. Like you protected me.

There it is. The flip.

You feel like you might faint.

JJ exhales shakily, his fingers flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. The anger is fizzling out, but what’s left is somehow worse—smaller. He looks at you, really looks at you, and suddenly it’s like all the fight drains out of him.

– I can’t keep doing this. – His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. He shakes his head, eyes flickering away like he’s embarrassed, like you’ve just torn him down completely. – I don’t—I don’t know how else to prove it to you. How else to make you see that I just wanted to keep you safe.

His shoulders drop. He looks exhausted.

– But you don’t believe me. You won’t ever fucking believe me, will you? – He laughs, but it’s hollow, broken. – It doesn’t matter what I do. Doesn’t matter that I would literally die for you—Jesus Christ, I would, and you don’t even fucking see it. I’d do anything for you, and you’re just standing there, looking at me like I’m a fucking monster.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

– I mean—fuck, what am I supposed to do? Huh? – His voice cracks. His eyes are glassy now, but he swipes a hand over his face before anything can fall. – You want me to apologize? I will. You want me to beg? Fine. – He laughs breathlessly, shoulders shaking as he sinks down onto the curb like his body just gave up. – I’ll fucking beg.

Your stomach twists.

– Just— he exhales, hands clinging to your hips. – Can we go home? – His voice is so quiet now, so defeated. – Please. I don’t wanna fight anymore. I don’t wanna—fuck, I don’t even care. Just let me take you home. That’s all I want.

He looks up at you, and for the first time tonight, he looks fragile. Worn down. Like he’s carrying something too heavy for him, and the only thing keeping him from collapsing is you.

And God help you, part of you wants to believe him.

– JJ. – Your voice is sharp, but your hands are shaking. – This isn’t about that—this isn’t about you wanting to take me home. This is about what you did—

– I know! – he cuts in, his breath coming too fast, too uneven. His hands fist in his hair, like he’s trying to hold himself together by sheer force. – I know, okay? I fucked up, I fucking know— He stumbles over his own words, gasping, like the weight of it is physically pressing down on him. – But I can’t—

His voice breaks.

– I can’t lose you over this. Over Rafe fucking Cameron and his bullshit.

The air between you shifts. Something inside him just collapses.

– Please. – His chest is heaving, his eyes wet, his whole body trembling like he’s about to snap. – I don’t—I don’t know how to make you stay. I don’t know how to fix this. – His voice cracks again, and this time, his knees buckle.

You barely have time to react before he’s falling into you, grabbing fistfuls of your clothes, his breath hitching against your belly. His whole body is shaking.

– I’m sorry. – His words spill out in a frantic, broken rush. – I’m so fucking sorry. Please—please don’t go. Just—just let me take you home, baby, please—

His arms tighten around you, like if he holds on hard enough, he can force you to stay. And God, you shouldn’t. You should push him away, make him listen, make him answer for this.

But he’s crying.

JJ Maybank—loud, reckless, impossible JJ—is sobbing into you like a little kid, like he’s breaking apart right in front of you.

You inhale shakily, your hands hovering before you finally give in, falling before him on the ground, wrapping your arms around him, pressing your cheek against his hair.

– It’s okay, – you whisper, even though it isn’t. Even though nothing is.

But it’s all he wants to hear.

JJ exhales sharply, his whole body collapsing into yours with something like relief. – Don’t leave me.

– I won’t.

And maybe you mean it.

Maybe that’s the scariest part.

You let him fall apart against you, his body wracked with silent tremors as he clings to you like a lifeline. His breath is uneven, ragged, hot against your skin, and his fingers fist into your top, desperate, like letting go isn’t an option. He presses closer, his whole body sinking into yours, like he’s trying to disappear inside you, like that’s the only place he might be safe.

And you let him. You hold him as his shoulders shake, as he fights to keep from outright sobbing, as the weight of whatever broke him presses down so hard you swear you can feel it, too. He’s unraveling in your arms, piece by piece, like he’s been holding himself together for so long that the second you touched him, he lost the strength to keep pretending.

So you kiss the top of his head, soft but steady, and something in him shifts.

JJ exhales, a long, shuddering breath against your skin, like you’ve reached inside him and pulled all that tension from his chest. His body, wound so tightly, begins to loosen—his grip on you eases, but only enough for his hands to smooth over your back instead of clutching desperately. He leans into you now not just from pain, but from something quieter, something softer.

You feel it in the way his breathing slows, in the way the tremors start to fade as your fingers trace slow circles over his back. His arms tighten around you again, but it’s different this time—not frantic, not desperate. Just… needing you. Needing to be here, against you, in your warmth, in this small, quiet moment where he can finally let go.

His face stays buried in the crook of your neck, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse but steady.

– I’m sorry, – He murmurs, again and again, lips moving against your skin.

You shake your head slightly, your fingers still stroking his back. – It’s okay.

And maybe for him, it actually is. Maybe just for a moment, with your hands in his hair and his body wrapped around yours, he feels something like peace. He doesn’t let go—not yet. He holds on, reveling in the comfort you offer, pressing into you like he never wants to leave. Like you’re the first real breath of air he’s had in a long time.

You stay like that, until the silence grows too heavy and you sigh. – We should go.

JJ doesn’t argue. He pulls back slowly, blinking, his eyes still red-rimmed but calmer, softer. His fingers linger at your waist before he finally steps up, exhaling like he’s reluctant to leave the space you created for him.

The drive is quiet, with him pulling your arms tighter around him everytime he gets the chance. You don’t protest. For a moment it's almost comforting, sitting on the back of his bike, without a word being spoken between you. But the feeling sits there, in your chest, that shiver you got when you realized he’s been following you.

It's not just caution.

It's not strangeness.

It's fear. A real, tangible fear of what he did, of what he can still do. Of what he might have continued doing had you not realized it. —It curls up around your throat, that fear. Pressing against your windpipe. You almost struggle to breathe.— You remain there, arms fastened around him as he slows down, pulling the brakes just before your house, even when he finally stops.

JJ leans back into you, breathing deep, clutching your hand to his chest, his body completely relaxed against yours. You’re still wondering. Mind still running.

How long had he followed you for?

Had he been trailing you? Close behind, just out of reach, or had he stared at your location, waiting, watching you without seeing you?

You don’t know which is worse.

– John B’s with Sarah tonight. – JJ mumbles, his head thrown back against your shoulder, the ends of his hair tickling your face. – I saw him sneak out. He’s probably gonna sleep there. – You hum, not really sure of what to say. – Pope and Kie are gone too. – His thumb brushes over the back of your hand slowly, his voice growing deeper, lower. – It’s just the two of us now.

You don’t say anything.

You don’t know what to say.

JJ looks back as you throw your leg over the other side of the bike, and climb down. He still clings to your hand like he’s got you on a leash: you have to remain there as he pulls the key from the ignition, as he sets his things in the top-box, as he leans back against the seat, pulling you in for a kiss.

You meet his mouth briefly, close-lipped, his fingers interlocking with yours as he pulls you in for another, and another, and one more. – I missed this. – He whispers, eyes barely open, already leaning in again.

– It’s been two days. – You remind him, but JJ only laughs.

– Two too many.

You don’t resist when he pulls you closer. His hands find your hips, sliding beneath the waistband of your jeans, calloused fingers pressing into the small of your back like he’s trying to mold you against him. He kisses you again—deeper, messier, his breath warm and tinged with something desperate.

JJ doesn’t just want this. He needs it.

That's what you like about him. He takes like he can’t get enough. He begs, and he grasps and he clings and he needs you like he needs air to breathe.

His hands are restless, traveling up your ribs, down your waist, over your thighs, like he’s trying to make up for lost time, like touching you might steady him, might ground him. But it doesn’t. The more he touches you, the more insatiable he gets. He’s humming against your lips, sighing into your touch, a little frantic, a little unsteady.

You pull him inside, but JJ can’t seem to break the kiss. He takes your hands to the hem of his shirt, tugging impatiently, his lips dragging from your mouth to your jaw to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin between whispered pleas.

– Touch me, – he breathes, his voice cracking like the weight of everything is still right there, lingering beneath the surface.

Your fingers slip into his hair, threading through the strands, and JJ shudders. He melts against you, knees almost buckling as he exhales a sharp, shaky breath.

– Fuck, – he mumbles, almost laughing, giddy and drunk on your touch. He’s clinging to you now, pressing his body into yours, murmuring against your lips, deeper, please, until you give in, kissing him the way he wants. The way he needs.

He moans softly, hands gripping your waist, pushing your top up just to feel your skin against his palms. He’s lost in this, lost in you, smiling against your mouth in that dazed, breathless way, like nothing else exists beyond the way your body fits against his.

Like everything is fine.

Even it isn’t, not really.

You lead him to your room, kicking the door behind you as he falls back on the bed, tearing his shirt off of him as if it were burning. He doesn’t even give you the time to think before he’s pulling you on top of him.

You try to guide him through the motions, letting his hands explore, letting him pull you closer, letting him bury his face in your neck, all while your mind is somewhere else. Detached. Floating.

Because underneath it all—beneath the heat of his mouth and the weight of his body and the way he pleads for you like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart—there’s that feeling.

That cold, creeping thing at the back of your mind.

That fear.

It wraps around your throat, pressing tight, squeezing, reminding you of what he did. Of how long he must have followed you, watching, waiting, just out of reach.

Of how much worse it could’ve been if you hadn’t noticed.

JJ doesn’t see it. He doesn’t feel it. He only sees you, only feels your hands, your lips, the comfort he’s so desperate to take from you.

– I missed this, – he murmurs again, voice slurring slightly, hands still moving, still searching. – Fuck, baby I missed this so much.

You swallow hard, exhaling slowly, before finally answering.

– I know.

And you let him keep touching you, let him revel in this, let him have this, because maybe if he does, he’ll calm down. Maybe if he does, you’ll feel safe again.

JJ exhales against your skin, his body completely unwound, pliant beneath your hands. – Take it off. – He groans, hands shaking against his breeches. – Take it off of me, baby. Please. I just want you to be on me. I need it. Please.

You don’t need to be told twice.

He watches, almost breathless while you strip him bare, moaning at every touch, hips bucking every time you brush against him.

That doesn’t last long though.

It isn’t enough that just your hands are on him. So he drags you onto his dick, still clothed, and he grinds himself into you, eyes rolling back.

There’s something raw about the way he touches you—like he’s savoring every inch, like he’ll be going through withdrawal unless he doesn’t hold on tight enough. His fingers dig into your sides as he pulls your hips into his, his laugh breathy, almost delirious.

– God, I fucking love this, – he mutters against your shoulder, his hands slipping beneath your top, his thumbs brushing lazy circles over your skin.

This.

Not you—this.

The warmth. The closeness. The way you let him touch you, take what he needs. – You love this too, right baby? Your hips— He moans, head thrown back when you roll your hips against his cock, the fabric of your jeans giving just the friction he needs to work himself up. – You're so fucking good at this.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he kisses up your throat, his lips tracing familiar paths, his breath hot and unsteady. He hums when you card your fingers through his hair again, pressing into your touch like he’s melting from the inside out.

He's getting wilder, humping you with this reckless abandon he never seems to shake off. But you can see him unraveling. Just the friction isn't scratching the itch.

He needs more.

– Take it off, baby. Please. Please. – he sighs, voice catching, eyes blown out. – Fuck, give it to me. Just ride me.

You hesitate. Your fingers still against the nape of his neck. The sounds he makes, strangled, anguished. Like he’s going mad.

You actually hear him whine when you lift your hips, and his hand flies down to palm himself while he watches you pull the jeans down.

He tilts his head up, catching your mouth again, dragging you deeper into him. His hands slide down, gripping the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer until he's practically in you.

But you don’t let him sink in just yet.

It's more fun when you drag it out.

When you move against him, teasing him, watching him twitch and moan and plead with nothing but the wetness, the softness, the warmth.

There’s a slow, creeping sickness curling in your stomach.

Because you’re leading this. Because you know what he needs, and you’re not quite giving it to him. Because you’re letting him press closer, letting him unravel, letting him forget—for just a little while—that anything is wrong at all.

And a part of you wants to forget too.

It feels good.

It doesn’t matter what he did, what he would do, because he needs you. He can’t get enough of you. He won't leave.

– Please. Please. – He repeats it like a mantra, writhing beneath you, clutching you so fucking tight. His hips go rogue, bucking wildly. – Please let me fuck you. I need to fuck you. Please. Fuck, I can't take this anymore!

The laughter that falls from your lips almost seems to stoke the flames.

He groans out loud when tip pushes into you, and for a second, his entire body just collapses against yours, heavy, needy.

Then his hands slip under your bra again, tugging at the fabric, his breath hot and desperate against your skin.

– Let me see you, – he murmurs, voice thick, rough. – G-Go ahead, baby. I need you to move. Please.

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his lips kiss-swollen, his expression open in a way that makes you ache.

JJ wants you. That much is obvious.

But more than that—he wants to disappear into you.

To sink into your warmth, your touch, your body, and let it drown out whatever’s eating him alive from the inside.

Your stomach twists.

His fingers have long stopped tracing slow patterns against your ribs, now he's bruising you, nails digging in, shaking, waiting. Pleading.

You could give him what he wants. It would be easy. So, so easy.

But for the first time since this started, you wonder if you should. – And who said you deserve that, JJ?

– Huh?

– Because with the way you talked to me before, I don’t think you do. – You move, just slightly, and he folds, back arching. – I think you’re gonna have to convince me.

– Please. Baby, please.

– You think I'm pathetic. – You tsk, your hips rolling so slow his eyes flutter when they roll back. – I'm not the one who’s begging, though.

– Please! – He's screaming now, and you’re moving faster. The bed creaking beneath you. – I need it! Faster, baby. Faster!

He's splayed out, a puppet with the strings cut loose, yet he's anything but relaxed. You can feel him tensing, hands fisting the sheets so tight his knuckles have gone white.

He screams.

Almost yelping when you start going at the pace you know he likes. And it still isn't enough. He still grabs your hips, pulling you closer, and closer, again and again, banging against that soft spot within you like it's the only thing that can relieve him from this torture.

And you let him.

You ride him like a bronco, as if he’s trying to fuck you off instead of closer. As if he isn't begging for it. Screaming for it. – MORE, BABY, PLEASE!

You want more too.

At some point you lost yourself in trying to punish him, and it started to feel good. You're biting him, teeth dragging against the skin at the crook of his neck, the spot that always makes him shudder, that always makes him writhe.

Your nails have mapped half his body over.

He's red. —His face, his eyes, his lips, his scratches.— He’s gasping. Shaking. His whole body trembling, his eyes rolling back. You can’t even make sense of what he's saying anymore.

The only thing that leaves his mouth are these incoherent pleas, these oohs and aahs that make you laugh, humming to yourself as you ride into your orgasm, feeling him fall apart.

– F-uck, fuck! Don’t stop! Feels so fucking good baby, so fucking good! – He pushes it in faster, but it's still not enough. He needs more, he was going mad! Grabs you by the waist, tosses you on the bed, rutting like a wild dog, head thrown back, eyes rolling upwards. – Fuck! Fuck! Feel s-feel so fucking good!

All that was heard was your laughter, the pleased little gasps that escape your mouth as he fills you up over and over and over again, animalistic and heaving, laughing as well, but out of his mind, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure, by the building release. He crashes against you, once, twice, getting careless. But by then he couldn’t hold it in. More! More! is all you heard from him.

And then you felt it.

His body shudders all over again, still rutting like his life would end. – God. God! I need to cum— fuck! I need— I need— Keep going! Don’t fucking stop baby, don— FUCK! FUCK!

You felt him coat your walls, white, hot, and endless. By then, you were shaking as well, the waves of your own climax washing over you as you arch against him.

He collapses over you, trembling and crying as he smiles, moaning your name in that shaky, adoring voice, eyes clinging to you in utter joy as he pumped lazily, through your climax and his, he still needed more of you. – It won-won’t stop. Fuck, there’s so m-much of it. – Laughter. Yours, his.

Your mind is blank.

He's heavy, heaving, still inside you.

JJ's breathing is ragged, each exhale a shaky whisper as he remains, still there, still trembling with the aftershocks. His hands wander aimlessly across the sheets, his body warm and heavy, as though he's been consumed entirely. His eyes are half-lidded, unfocused, and a soft whimper escapes him as he reaches for your hand.

– Baby... can you...? – His voice is slurred, broken, as if he’s still caught between the pleasure and the exhaustion of it all. His hand gently tugs at your wrist, his fingers brushing against your skin. – Just... touch me. Please... softly.

There was that, too.

He was always sweeter when he was done.

You give a soft, reassuring smile, your fingers gently grazing his messy hair, pushing the strands out of his face, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, lingering for a moment before you speak in the same soft, soothing tone. – I’m here, JJ. I got you.

He hums in response, his eyes fluttering closed, a content sigh escaping his lips as you run your fingers through his hair, the action slow and comforting. – I’m... Fuck— Laughter buzzes against your skin as he presses his lips on you again. – I'm never getting used to this... I’m not used to this, – he mumbles between shaky breaths, his hand coming to rest on your arm, the weight of his touch grounding him. – Feels... too good. I need you to... keep me close. Just... just a little longer.

You hate the way your heart skips.

But you love the way he says it.

The way his voice brushes against your skin when he pleads, so softly, so sweetly. Like he could never do you harm.

You shift slightly, pulling him into your chest, the warmth of his body a constant reassurance. His hand rests over your heart, the frantic pace of his pulse now slowing, but his face is still pinched with that lingering tension, a mix of exhaustion and need for reassurance. He lets out a soft groan as you press your lips to his temple, whispering, – I’m right here. You’re okay.

His breath evens out, and as the minutes pass, you keep stroking his hair and kissing his head, each kiss lighter than the last, until his body relaxes fully, his grip on you loosens. – Love you.

You feel yourself tense up.

It’s not the first time he says it.

But it might be the first time you know he doesn’t mean it.

Still you smile down at him anyway, pressing another gentle kiss to his forehead before whispering back, – Sure you do, baby. Go to sleep, okay?

He doesn’t need much encouragement.

JJ's never been easy to tire out, but when he does, it's immediate. His ear is pressed to your chest, to your heart, and you wonder what kind of dreams he’ll be having with that soundtrack, but it doesn't take long for his breath to even out.

The house is quiet.

Completely so.

And though you're glad John wasn't there to hear it, laying there, without his snoring to lull you into even halfway into reality only means that it crashes against you like a bucket of cold water a soon as JJ is out.

The day dawns on you, as it has done several times, but still the loathing blooms in your chest and spreads through your body faster than your mind can process.

You're broke.

You're jobless.

The girl you thought was your best friend is a snake.

The boy that's sleeping on you is a stalker.

Your best prospect right now is famously the most spoiled and volatile person on the island. That, because your best friend, the person that could actually get you out of this, has faded away after abandoning you, and you have no idea if he’ll even come back.

What's funny is that this is the thought that hurts you most —Not that you're unemployed, that your now previous boss could ruin you forever, that your relationship with only family member is as unstable as your financial situation, or that the people you thought you could trust don’t care about you— that Barry is gone.

Something he has been plenty of times before.

You lie there in the stillness, the weight of JJ's body pressing against yours. The sheets feel too warm, too much, a world you can’t find a way into. JJ’s steady breathing is a lullaby of sorts, pulling you toward the edge of exhaustion, but it’s not enough to quiet the thoughts tumbling relentlessly in your head.

Barry's absence gnaws at you —You know he’s not gone forever, not really. Or at least you hope so. He’s done this before, pulled away just long enough for you to convince yourself it doesn’t matter. And yet, it hurts like it does. Like it’s different this time.

You turn your head to glance at him—JJ, still sleeping soundly, unaware. His face is soft, the usual edge to his features dulled by exhaustion, but even now, with him so vulnerable in your arms, you feel the invisible distance between you grow. He’s a comfort, but only in the way a warm blanket can make you feel safe when the storm is too loud. And it is too loud. So loud you can barely breathe through it.

Your fingers trace patterns along his skin, but it’s absent, mechanical—the world outside the room, the boy in your arms, the life that’s slipping from your fingers, and the ghost that won’t stop haunting you, and you don't even know why.

Barry.

You know, deep down, that it’s not about him being gone. It’s about the fact that, despite what JJ has just tried to convince you of, Barry actually is the one person that was there for you.

When your father went away, he celebrated with you. When he was declared missing, he comforted you, even if you said you didn't care. Even if you didn't even know you needed it.

And maybe that's the problem: He saw you better than you saw yourself. He knows you. Really knows you.

But does he now?

So much has changed in two days.

You can’t even tell yourself it was real anymore because everything you thought you knew about him, about you, is shifting—becoming something else you can’t identify.

There’s no way to put a name to it, though, is there? That dull ache you’ve learned to live with. Not quite loneliness, but not contentment, either. Just an empty space where hope used to live, and you're so used to it now that you don’t know what it would feel like to fill it.

You let your gaze fall to JJ again, watching the way his back rises and falls with the easy rhythm of sleep. Maybe this is it—this is what you have now. A boy who doesn’t even know what he’s asking for when he whispers his need into the quiet night. And you, too tired to push him away, too lost to turn to anything else. You can almost convince yourself it’s enough, and for a second, you do.

But then, Barry’s face flickers in your mind again, like a ghost.

You wonder, just for a moment, if you would’ve been able to say anything if he were here. If you would’ve told him how much you needed him to help you, how much you needed him to be here, not just physically, but with you in the way that only he ever did.

But he’s not here.

And you’re not sure when he will be again.

The buzz of your phone slices through the silence. You freeze. What's the likelihood that he would call you right then, when you needed him most?

You slide from under JJ, and he grumbles, hands reaching for you even deep into sleep, but you don’t see it. All you see is the unknown number flashing on your screen amidst the darkness, and your heart races as you bring the phone to your ear. – Bee? – The word falls from your lips almost fearfully. You don’t want to know where he's been, what he's doing, or how much of what he had to take to call you like this, in the middle of the night. But you’re impatient to hear his voice, you just want to know if he's okay. – Bee, is that you?

The line scratches softly, the familiar sound of skin whispering against the microphone echoing in-between the two phones. Your pulse thrums against your ear. – Not bee. – You finally hear. – Are, actually.

– “Are”? Barry, what are you talking about? What did you take?

– It’s not Barry, baby. – The edge of his words resounded even through the distance. Pleased, but not quite satisfied. – It’s Rafe.

You let go of a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

– Oh, “R”. Okay I got it.

He chuckles, a long, breathy noise. His breathing is heavy. – Did you put the cry-baby to sleep or is he still up whining?

JJ turns in his sleep. His arm, still lying, lax, over your lap shifts, and he pulls himself closer, brow brushing against your thigh. – JJ is… gone.

– Good. Thought I was gonna have to call CPS or some shit. – He scoffs, turning, in bed, you gather, since you hear the squeak of furniture.

– How considerate.

– Well, baby, I'm nothing if not considerate. – He hums. – What are you doing awake?

Regretting your life decisions, pondering the benefits of suicide. – Thinking of you. – It was meant to be a joke, but it didn’t sound like one as it slipped from your lips.

There's half a second of silence from him before you hear that laugh again, like you shocked him.

Rafe Cameron was shocked.

That's definitely a headline.

You can almost hear the smirk on his face. – I was thinking about you too, baby. What are you wearing?

You scoff, almost rolling your eyes. – Rafe.

He laughs again, even breathier. – Sorry. Was that too soon? – His bed creaks again. – You don’t seem like the kind of girl who needs a lot of foreplay.

– Hilarious.

– I was really hoping you'd give me a taste of what you’re wearing tomorrow, though.

You look down almost unconsciously. The only thing covering your skin is sweat. – Definitely not what I'm wearing right now. Unless you're hiring for a job other than personal chef.

Rafe’s quiet again. He moves around. You can hear him breathing. – Maybe I am. What kind of job are you thinking?

– Well, aren’t you the little hiring agency? Should've met you before. There’s some things on my resume I'm definitely not proud of. – He laughs with you now, though there's something strange in his tone. – Did you talk to your governess, or that other guy you said you didn't know the name of?

– Did. We'll be waiting for you.

– Well, you call and I come. – He laughs at the double-entendre, another noise escaping his lips. – What time should I be there?

– How's 10 AM sound?

– Perfect, Rafe. Thank you. Again, really. I can’t thank you enough.

– You're welcome, baby. You really are. – He groans, the bed creaking. JJ moves around again, his head on your lap, hands around your knees, and he mumbles something unintelligible. – What was that?

– Sorry, uhm. Just… thinking out loud.

You swallow, but Rafe doesn’t miss a beat. – And what are you thinking about?

– About… What I'm gonna wear. – Improvising was never really your forte.

Rafe hums, a long stretch of the M, then something smaller, a sound you can't quite catch. – That skirt. – He sighs. – The blue pleated one.

You pause.

– What?

– It's pretty. – Is all he says, then a groan, or a purr. The phone falls on his pillow, you can hear it scratch against his skin as he moves. But the way he says it, as if he’s seen it a thousand times in the two days you've known each other, as if he can picture you wearing it right in front of him. – Fuck, baby. You’re so pretty.

The compliment grates at your ears.

How does he know your clothes?

You think of the skirt. Your blue pleated skirt. It's been ages since you've worn it. It's way too short. You’ve outgrown it a while ago. – What else, baby?

– Hm?

– What else are you wearing for me?

His bed creaks again, over and over, and he doesn’t say anything for a minute, he just sighs.

– I, uhm. I don’t know. – What even is this conversation?

– Far as I'm concerned you don't need to wear anything. You can come— He laughs, low and unsteady, a strangled “yeah” cutting through the word. – Come as you are.

You feel a trickle of repulse run down your back. You don’t wanna talk to him anymore. You don’t want to talk at all.

– Talk to me, baby. – He groans, again.

– I, uhm. – You kick the nightstand, the noise echoing loudly around your room. – Shit, uhm. Sorry, that's my brother. I'll see you tomorrow.

You kill the line before he can say anything else.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @sassyvillaintrophy @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 4

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

"I still can’t believe that you aren’t freaking out!?"

Lizzie didn't even bother to open her eyes at that question.

She was laying sprawled out on the massive garden swing her father had built nearly two decades ago, with Mara curled up on her stomach like a massive judgemental heating pad. It helped some against the muscle aches that her latest seizure had left her with, and not really at all with the the feeling of tiredness and like she had been hit by a bus. 

Which was the reason why she was laying around on the garden swing and not actually help her father and Tasha’s mother with their…weekly gardening. 

Tasha poked her and Lizzie just sighed. 

 Tasha was completely and utterly unapologetic about interrogating her and Lizzie wasn't in the mood to actually answer her best friend slash pseudo sister slash whatever the heck you called the daughter of your godmother when your father was also her godfather.

Their little family it was, even when it wasn't the most normal one. Lizzie's father and Aunt Lou had grown up down the street together...had gone to school together, later on to university...and had been best friends all throughout that. They had each gone on to get married, and had Lizzie and Natasha weeks apart. Tasha's father had been died when she had been 2...and Lizzie's parents marriage had spectacularly imploded by the time she was 6 and after that...well. It had always been just the four of them.

"Because I'm not freaking out," Lizzie finally said with a deep sigh. She was trying to take another nap, but Tasha's incessant questions weren't exactly helping.

"You should be freaking out," Tasha said, completely disregarding Lizzie's need for peace. "Lando Norris, formula one driver, is reading your book!“

"And he's probably just reading it as a curiosity," Lizzie said, trying to rationalize things. She didn’t think that lando was actually going to finish the book. Romantasy was not the kind of things that a guy like Lando Norris would read for fun��and maybe that would make their eventual break up easier.

Even when there was a part of Lizzie that was melting about the fact that he had wanted to get Mara a gift for her birthday.

Still.

She drew her fingernails through Mara’s short chocolate brown fur. 

Tasha, however, wasn't having any of it. She gave Lizzie an unimpressed look. "Did you miss the part where Oscar Piastri is also reading it, because his girlfriend loves your series?"

Lizzie opened her mouth to respond but Tasha wasn't done yet. "We are talking about two formula 1 racers, who probably have tons of friends and maybe even more formula 1 drivers who are reading you book! They might even recommend it to the rest of the grid! And you don’t care! Who are you and what have you done to my Lizzie?!"

Lizzie couldn’t help but laugh at that, opening her eyes to look at Tasha energetically gesturing, blonde hair flying around as she twisted to look at Lizzie. 

"Maybe I am freaking out a little bit," Lizzie admitted drily. “I just don’t have the energy to get all animated right now.”

Tasha harrumphed. “This is like the most interesting your life has been in years!“ Tasha said brightly. “First cafe guy, now F1 drivers that read your books! How is cafe guy by the way?”

"Fine," Lizzie said vaguely.

Tasha noticed and raised an eyebrow. "Just fine?" Lizzie could see the beginnings of a smirk in Tasha's eyes, and she already knew where this was going.

“He’s traveling for work,” she answered truthfully. It wasn’t a lie…and she wasn’t ready yet to admit to exactly who she was dating. She was pretty sure that Tasha was going to have a heart attack if Lizzie came around the corner with “Oh, you know the guy I am seeing? It’s Lando Norris.”.

“He saw me posting for Mara’s birthday and is now insisting that he’ll get her a gift,” Lizzie said softly. 

Tasha's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, seriously? He's buying a gift for your dog’s birthday? That’s the cutest fucking thing I have ever heard."

Lizzie nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, can you believe it? It's kind of sweet, actually."

"It's definitely sweet. So sweet that I am gonna throw up," Tasha agreed, a knowing glint in her eye. "And it definitely doesn't sound like just a fling to me."

Lizzie pressed her lips together at that.

“Uh oh,” Tasha said drily. “What’s going on in that head of yours Lizzie Lou?”

Lizzie sighed. “It’s not like it matters.”

“Why wouldn’t it matter?”

Lizzie hesitated again, scratching Mara’s ears as a distraction. “It’s just… my mum left when she couldn’t handle my epilepsy. If she couldn’t stick around, how can I expect anyone else to?”

Tasha’s whole face scrunched up in immediate protest. “First of all, fuck her. Second of all, that’s not on you.”

Lizzie shrugged. “Maybe it’s not fair to put that on someone else, though. What if I love someone, and then they realize it’s too much?”

Tasha poked her in the forehead. “Then they don’t deserve you.”

Lizzie let out a humorless laugh. “You say that like it’s that simple.”

“It is that simple.” Tasha flopped onto the swing beside her, throwing her legs over Lizzie’s lap. “Look, I stick around. Mara sticks around. Your dad sticks around. My mum sticks around. We don’t do that because it’s easy. We do it because we love you.”

Lizzie slumped against the swing cushions. "I know, I know. You all love me. But that's different."

Tasha rolled her eyes, reaching down to whack Lizzie on the head. "Don't be an idiot. It's not different. Not one bit. We love you, and that's why we stick around."

"But it's just you guys," Lizzie argued, her voice muffled against the pillow, she buried her head into."Family is different. This is like, romantically sticking around."

Tasha scoffed. "Oh, so family love is stronger than romantic love? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

Lizzie lifted her head to give Tasha a look. “No, you idiot. It’s just...it’s different, alright? Family is supposed to stick around. It’s like...a given. Romantic love...is supposed to be fun, and easy, and not have all these...issues.”

Tasha rolled her eyes. "Oh, right. Because the perfect relationship is one where nothing ever goes wrong and everything is sunshine and roses. That sounds like a load of horseshit to me.”

Lizzie groaned, burying her face into the pillow again. "You know what I mean. Obviously, relationships aren't always going to be easy. But...epilepsy isn't just a minor issue. It's a pretty big deal. A lot to handle."

Tasha ran her fingers through Lizzie’s hair, her touch surprisingly soothing. “Look, I’m not going to pretend like epilepsy doesn’t complicate things. Of course it does. But you’re acting like you’re some kind of burden, like you’re less deserving of love than anyone else. That’s bullshit, Lizzie. And you know it.”

“It’s just a shitty deal for anybody to take,” Lizzie mumbled. “He could have any other girl, any other girl that doesn’t get seizures, that doesn’t need a service dog.”

Tasha smacked her upside the head again, harder this time. “Shut up. God, you’re so bloody stupid sometimes.”

Lizzie winced, rubbing the spot where Tasha had hit her. "Ouch, that hurt."

Tasha snorted. "Good. Maybe it’ll knock some sense into you."

Lizzie huffed, shoving Tasha’s legs off of her lap in retaliation. “I’m just being realistic here.”

“No, you’re being pessimistic,” Tasha retorted. “You’re basically assuming that this guy is going to run away as soon as things get difficult.”

“Well, what if he does?” Lizzie asked, her voice small. “What if he realizes that I’m not worth it?”

Tasha rolled her eyes. “Then he’s a total idiot, and he doesn’t deserve you anyway. And there is a million other good guys out there who would happily take his place.”

“I don’t want a million other guys,” Lizzie grumbled, feeling like a petulant child. “I want that one, I think.”

Tasha gave her a sympathetic look. “I know you do. But you’re sabotaging yourself before you’ve even given him a chance. Give him credit, yeah? Maybe he’s not as shallow as you think.”

Lizzie sighed, knowing that Tasha was right, but still feeling scared. "But what if he doesn't get it? What if he can't handle it when I have a seizure?"

Tasha shrugged. "That's a risk you take with any relationship, epilepsy or not. But you won't know until you give it a chance."

Lizzie opened her mouth to protest but Tasha cut her off. "Shut up. Don't give me any more of your stupid reasons. You just need to let it happen, alright?"

Lizzie rolled her eyes, but deep down she knew Tasha was right. "Alright, fine. I’ll try. But if it all goes to crap, I’m blaming you."

Tasha grinned. "Oh, I’ll gladly take the blame if that’s how it goes. But I think it’ll be fine. This guy already sounds way nicer than any of the guys you’ve dated in the past."

Aunt Lou’s laughter rang through the garden and Lizzie turned to watch her father and aunt laugh about something or other. They looked younger like that. Carefree. Unburdened.

“You think they’ll ever figure it out?” She asked Tasha with a sigh.

“Nah. They’ll be living in denial in 40 years when we visit them in their old people’s home,” Tasha said drily. “You know. Still having biweekly scrabble nights and making each other playlists filled with love songs…and sharing a vegetable garden.” 

“Girls! What are we thinking for dinner?!” Her father called loudly as he helped aunt lou to her feet.

Tasha shot Lizzie a small grin, her eyes glittering with amusement. "Think we can con them into ordering takeaway?"

Lizzie snickered, the tension in her shoulders relaxing at the familiar banter. “Worth a try. You do the talking.”

“Always do,” Tasha said with a mock salute. She hopped off the swing, grabbing Lizzie’s hand and tugging her up as well. “Come on. Let’s go get some pepperoni pizza.”

[sos717]

Hey again,

First I want to preface by saying, I am amazed at the response from my last post. I’m so happy to see so many messages that say it helped them understand it better, butttt…

Since the last post had gained allot of attention, so did my inbox lol, and the asks. I’m going to try and go over the main points I saw allot of you guys asking me and hopefully we can move on from there and clear things up.

A really big question I got funny enough was,

“okay I understand but how do I manifest”

lol you guyssss, I’m not gonna bash anyone because I really do understand the drastic change from dropping the reliance we have on the way things APPEAR to be, and swapping it to relying on ourself for trust, but I will say, what I write is what I’ve already lived through, I wouldn’t give anyone this information if it hadn’t worked for me, and that’s means I’ve shown myself the way this all works, HUNDREDS of times, with an insane variety of topics and aspects of my life, so when I say, please please try to READ the content and truly recognize what it means, I mean it in a way that is with complete certainty, because I’m not just telling you a practice that you pick up at one point of life and either get it or don’t get it.

I’m showing you reality

(oooo I’m already getting excited)

So, how can manifestation be explained?

Let’s take a look at all the aspects of experience when we talk about manifestation, because after all, we are here to choose our experience, but this is actually where our first point starts, you are always choosing the experience. Let’s look at this section first.

We all know, whether we come from LOA (Both kinds) or just have the general idea of manifestation/energy, etc, there is always at some point the topic of source.

And what you’ll notice is, every practice, method, technique, ritual, ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS puts YOU as the focal point. Do you truly think this is coincidence? Is it a coincidence that a vision board is something that you look at? Is it a coincidence that affirming or visualizing is something YOU do? Is it a coincidence that scripting, writing a note, whispering in the air, everything you could possibly think of always has to be something you initiate? No absolutely not.

What I just described is incredibly important for you to understand, and yes I will get to the aspect of feelings how to move forward in life while activating new stories and ideas, but when I say I regret not taking the time to truly understand how IT WAS ABOUT ME BEING SOURCE, I really mean it.

We get so caught up in experiencing and needing and feel overwhelmed by the shit everyone has programmed us to believe which always ends up being limiting.

But one thing that is so badly flawed is that there is never and in depth look at what it means to be source.

I mean this should be the main focus of manifestation, the fact that you are source, but because we become so focused on the world, we turn away from the most important aspect of experience. What I’m about to explain actually goes far beyond right now, it goes ALLLLL the way back…

There is only one source, going back to the beginning of the entire universe, can you try to imagine what’s there? You’d probably come up with just a vast nothingness, but at the same time, you’d be able to recognize that there had to have been something to introduce all of experience right?

Well let’s do this together, let’s imagine the moments before the universe was initiated, in this formless, void, yet no dimensions, no description, no sign of anything actually, but definitely something, some type of thing that has to be here, from which reality takes course.

I think you can see where we’re going, all that is there, is this presence, no identity or sign of personality, but absolutely there. This is source. “Wait then how am I source” you might askkkk, well okay let’s find out how you ARE this source.

When I ask “are you aware” and you of course say yes, I need you to go ahead and find out where the answer yes came from. And not just, “it came from me”, yes we know, but find it, trace the idea back to its origin.

Your going to come up with what you can’t describe

The answer of you being aware of your own existence comes from, a formless nondimensional space, it has no identity, it has no name, it has no appearance, no attributes at all, you could almost mistake it for a void, but as you sit there, coming “face to face” with this empty space that all of your claims, all of your ideas, all aspects of your identity come from, there’s something that is present. It is a presence. It is not a thing, but from this comes absolutely anything and everything that you claim to be true about the world, about experience, about your identity, etc.

That silent presence is source, but more importantly it’s your true identity, the real you.

So what is all of this then? How do we explain the experience part of this?

Let’s speed this up a bit

Now, this part might get a little complicated if you don’t take some time to understand it, like pleaseeee take your time and re-read it a hundred times if you have to.

So, there are a few aspects that stem from source, one of these being perception, and another being sensations, we don’t need to get into the details too hard for these to so I just want you to understand it as “Sense-Perception”. This is just a fancy way to describe the WAY we experience reality, NOT REALITY ITSELF, VERY IMPORTANT.

Feeling, Tasting, Touching, Seeing, Hearing, Smelling, and whatever else you can think of (I think that’s all) ARE FILTERS. It is through the limitations of this filter that you experience your own being, conciousness.

I need you to imagine source, there is no perceiving no attributes, just a vast nothingness, it is full of life and energy which is the starting point for all of existence, but it is not a singular thing.

This is knowing. The very simple effortless thing that you are. From knowing comes absolutely everything and anything.

Let’s take white teeth as an example. So you now know, “white teeth”. However, this is just that, just knowing it, not perceiving it, not touching, not hearing, none of that. But I need you to know that this is infinitely more above any sense or really just anything to ever exist for that matter because it’s source, it’s you.

Now here comes the magic

What would be the result if we added Sense-Perception into/onto knowing? If you not only knew “white teeth” but also saw it? Also heard it? Also could smell, taste, touch, it? Could feel it?

You get what we call the world, no?

You see, the ways we perceive source/ourself is like a VR headset, or glass, or a sheet, and once it’s added to the equation, whatever it is that source is activating/manifesting as, is then experience by source THROUGH/WITH perception.

The part that can be confusing is addressing what currently is perceived. Well, it’s incredibly simple.

We’ve been conditioned into thinking that the senses activating knowing, this is literally just false to begin with because we don’t require senses to know.

For example, you opening your bank account and seeing a balance IS NOT THE REASON to activate the idea “I don’t have enough money” or “I’m can’t overspend”, don’t believe me? then explain why your able to think the same things without looking at your bank account?

If it truly was seeing your bank account that validated the idea, then why are you capable of even knowing anything related to your money story without looking at your bank statements?? It should not be possible without the validation of the senses right?

You shouldn’t be able to think about how poor you are when you’re in the shower, at work, before you sleep.

But it’s possible because what you know is in no way associated or reliant with what is seen. And having the information about what source is should make you hesitant to ever activate a story that doesn’t please you again. You are too comfortable in the cycle your in. I’m sorry if that’s a little harsh.

If we go back to perception being the filter that source experiences its own activity with, you realize that the only thing that ever changes is what’s known. The world is a SIDE EFFECT of VIEWING whats known, LET ME SAY THAT AGAIN.

YOU ARE SOURCE, YOU CREATE, THE WORLD IS WHAT HAPPENS AS A SIDE AFFECT OF PERCIEVING WHAT YOU ARE.

This has absolutely nothing to do with making or forcing things to change, the only thing that changes is you! This is about the way reality works. Not a how to guide on “getting it all”.

Now for the next part, THIS DOES NOT TURN OFF.

When I say that the senses do not create but, YOU DO, that means always!!! So looking in the mirror and complaining about your skin or eye color or nose is not going to ever activate any idea, BECAUSE YOU ARE DOING THE ACTIVATING. Don’t you see?? ITS COMING FROM YOU.

The senses CANT create, they SENSE, they perceive what reality is being! They perceive what IS KNOWN.

They can never ever ever be the cause for what is known. Looking at your teeth cannot create the knowing “my teeth are so yellow” BECAUSE YOU DO. YOU CAN DO THE SAME WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED YOU CAN DO THE SAME UNDERWATER, IN THE SHOWER, IN BED, IN THE E.R, WHATEVER IT IS YOU KNOW IS WHAT REALITY IS, AND THIS IS WHATS PERCEIVED, The side affect of percieving “my teeth are yellow”?? Well you tell me what that would be? EXACTLY.

Understand it like this, if the story or idea I’m about to activate right now could be seen, heard, touched, or just perceived in any way, what would it look/sound like? Do you see what this is now?

When you realize that you are source, allot of things start making more sense, the teachers and videos saying it’s all about you, start making sense, but they make it sound like the world is something you CHANGE as if it exists on its own, NO!

The world is the result of what KNOWING is, when it’s perceived.

At no point does this stop being true, so when you go “my teeth are white” this is reality, this is what will be perceived, but if you decide to go into habit and activate “my teeth are yellow”, there is no different process, this is what will be perceived. There is no bias to reality.

The starting point will always and can only be what’s known, the rest is automatic, as it’s always been, the only difference is, you have been activating things that you don’t like, and because this is source, all that will be perceived is what you know, so if it’s about money, or love, business, school, understand, THE MOMENT, you know something, IT IS REALITY!!!! IM NOT EXAGGERATING.

Don’t confuse the world as if it is its own entity or source, no, it’s a side effect or perceiving, NOT something you’re trying to control.

I want you see it for yourself, this information will not be of any use if you don’t see for yourself.

Please please remember. What’s perceived is not a story, it is not an idea, it’s not telling you what reality is, it’s only that, perception, it’s the same thing as looking at a brick wall for information, it cannot and will never be source, notice where the stories activate when you react to the world, and recognize that it’s something that you know, a feeling cannot stop knowing, NOTHING CAN, ITS SOURCE!

Okay, I’m sorry if this is a bit confusing at first, this is a very alternate view of the way we’ve been taught what reality is, and I know you might have allot more questions, I’m more than willing to answer them, but till then, please read this post or my past post again

(Yes im rambling, im very sleep deprived rn)

[magnagaruzenmon]

Hybrid Theory III/0

New Neighbors

Tags: threesome, hybrid,

A little birthday gift for our collab writer who loves Sakura and Mina

Koby had just finished his morning workout when he heard the commotion outside his apartment. He grabbed a towel, slinging it over his shoulder as he opened his door to investigate.

Two girls stood in the hallway, surrounded by boxes, a few suitcases, and what looked like a partially unwrapped gaming chair. One of them—a petite woman with dark cat ears poking through her hair—was attempting to balance a heavy-looking box on one knee while typing something on her phone. The other—a woman about the same height with strikingly pale feathers dusting her arms—sighed, adjusting her grip on a large suitcase.

Koby leaned against his doorframe, raising a brow. “Moving in or staging a takeover?”

The cat hybrid’s ears twitched as she looked up. “Oh, hey. You live next door?”

“Yeah,” Koby said, crossing his arms. “You two need help, or are you just gonna wrestle that box all day?”

The owl hybrid sighed in relief. “That would actually be amazing,” she said. “I’m Mina, and this is Sakura. We just moved in, and, well… we underestimated how much stuff we have.”

Sakura flashed a grin. “More like she underestimated how many Lego she owns.”

Mina shot her a look before turning back to Koby. “Excuse me Mrs game addict. Anyway, if you’re free, we could use an extra pair of hands.”

Koby glanced at the mess of boxes, then back at the two. “Yeah, alright. But you owe me dinner.”

Sakura smirked. “That a move, neighbor?”

He chuckled. “Nah, just a fair trade.”

Mina shook her head with a small smile. “Deal.”

Just Being Nice… Right?

Koby smiled before rolling up his sleeves, helping the girls move the rest of their stuff in. He was surprised by how nerdy they were. It all started when Sakura noticed his Tifa shirt and practically gasped.

“Oh, are you a gamer?” she asked, her cat-like eyes sparkling with interest.

Koby nodded, and before he could say anything else, Sakura’s entire face lit up like a kid in a candy store. “No way! Okay, what’s your take on FF7 Remake? And don’t tell me you’re one of those people who hates it because they changed stuff.”

Koby blinked, thrown off by her enthusiasm. “I mean… it’s great. The combat system’s fun, and I actually like the changes.”

Sakura beamed, stepping closer. “Finally, someone with taste!” She playfully nudged his arm, lingering a little longer than necessary. “You’re gonna love having us as neighbors, Koby.”

Before Sakura could start a full-on discussion about the entire Final Fantasy franchise, Mina, ever the composed one, put a hand on her shoulder. “Later,” she said with an amused smile. “We need to finish unpacking before you start interrogating him.”

Koby chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted another heavy box. As he worked, he found himself liking them more and more. They were easy to talk to, charming in different ways—Mina had this quiet, refined grace, while Sakura was all energy and playful mischief. They made the normally dull task of moving strangely enjoyable.

Still, despite their friendliness, Koby reminded himself to stay cool. He’d given up on dating for a while now—ever since Jeewon, the sweet cow hybrid he’d been talking to, told him she had fallen for a wildebeest hybrid named Isaac. It wasn’t like she had rejected him in a harsh way—she was lovely about it, actually—but Koby had just gotten tired of gearing up for romance only to have it fizzle out. He figured life as a lone wolf… or, well, lone stag-alligator-African hound wasn’t so bad.

But his body? His instincts? Those weren’t as easily convinced.

Every time Mina bent down to pick something up, Koby had to look away and take a deep breath, forcing himself to think about anything but how smooth her movements were, how her thighs looked in those leggings, how her soft feathers framed her body just right—stop.

And then there was Sakura, who stretched way too often for Koby’s sanity. Every time she raised her arms, exposing that toned midriff, he felt his pulse quicken. She was teasing him, right? No, no, they’re just friendly girls. Stop overthinking it.

Despite trying to stay composed, Koby couldn’t help but feel their presence in a way that made his instincts stir. It wasn’t just their looks—it was their personalities, their casual touches, the way they included him so naturally, as if he had already been part of their world.

As they wrapped up, Sakura leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Koby with a smirk. “You know, you’re kinda great to have around. Maybe we should ‘accidentally’ break some furniture just so you have to come help us again.”

Mina, sitting on one of the now-unpacked chairs, took a sip of water and gave him a teasing glance. “Or we could just invite him over instead of causing unnecessary damage.”

Koby laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “You two are… something else.”

“Is that a good something else?” Sakura purred, stepping just a little closer.

Koby’s brain short-circuited for half a second before he coughed and looked away. “I—uh, yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Mina exchanged a knowing glance with Sakura, a small, satisfied smirk on her lips.

By the time they finished, Koby felt like he was on the verge of going into rut just from spending an hour with them. But, like a good neighbor, he held firm.

Barely.

After they finished moving the last box into place, Sakura flopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Finally! Time to eat.”

Mina, ever the practical one, was already scrolling through her phone. “I’ll order something for all of us. Koby, you like Korean food, right?”

Koby blinked. “Huh? Oh, uh—yeah, of course.”

“Great,” Mina said smoothly, already tapping away. “I’ll get samgyeopsal, some kimchi stew, and a few extra sides. That should be good.”

“You guys don’t have to do that,” Koby said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sakura grinned. “Oh, but we want to. Think of it as payment for your hard work.” She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm as she added, “Besides, we like spoiling people we like.”

Koby felt his throat go dry. He wasn’t sure how to take that comment—was she just being nice, or was that flirting? It had to be just her personality… right? Mina was the more reserved one, and even she had been oddly attentive toward him all evening.

Realizing he needed a moment to collect himself before he said or did something dumb, he quickly stood. “I, uh—I should shower. Worked up a sweat moving all that stuff.”

“Take your time,” Mina said with a knowing smile.

As Koby disappeared into his apartment, Sakura stretched out across the couch, staring at the ceiling with a pleased hum. “He’s so into us.”

Mina chuckled, sipping her water. “Obviously.”

Sakura rolled onto her side, tail flicking lazily. “You think he even realizes it yet?”

Mina smirked. “Not a chance. He’s overthinking everything.”

Sakura laughed. “Poor guy. We’re probably driving him insane.”

Mina leaned back in her seat. “He’s sweet, though. Strong, helpful… and did you see the way he was checking us out when he thought we wouldn’t notice?”

Sakura purred. “Oh, I noticed. And I liked it.” She twirled a strand of her hair, then gave Mina a curious glance. “So, what do you think?”

Mina arched a brow. “About?”

“Sharing,” Sakura said bluntly, her smirk widening. “You know, if it comes to that.”

Mina exhaled, considering. “It’s… not the worst idea.”

Sakura grinned. “You mean it’s a great idea.”

Mina rolled her eyes but didn’t disagree.

Meanwhile, in his own apartment, Koby stood under the steaming shower, hands braced against the tiled wall as the water cascaded down his back.

He was screwed.

Not just because of how insanely gorgeous both Mina and Sakura were, but because of how easily they’d slipped past his defenses. He liked them. A lot. And they were so casual about being close to him—teasing him, touching him, joking like they’d known each other for years.

But were they flirting?

Were they just being friendly?

Was he reading way too much into everything?

Koby let out a groan, running a hand down his face.

This was gonna be a problem.

After showering Koby heads back to Mina and Sakura’s apartment. He arrived to see them already eating dinner. Koby happily joined them and sat in the open chair.

Koby sat across from Mina and Sakura at the small dining table in their new apartment, picking at the takeout they had ordered. The place still had that just moved in feel—boxes stacked in corners, some furniture not quite in place—but the atmosphere was warm. Maybe too warm, Koby thought, shifting slightly as he tried to focus on his food instead of the two stunning hybrids sitting across from him.

Mina, elegant as ever, ate with quiet grace, while Sakura had already stolen half of Koby’s fries when he wasn’t looking. They made an interesting pair—one reserved, one mischievous—but both were too good at getting under his skin in the best possible way.

As Koby reached for his drink, Mina’s sharp silver eyes flickered toward his forearms. He paused mid-sip, following her gaze. He realized too late that the sleeves of his hoodie had slipped up, revealing faint, almost iridescent scales running along the underside of his arms. Mina, ever composed, simply tilted her head, but there was something calculating behind her expression.

“Your antlers are interesting,” she said, voice smooth as silk. “But I have to ask about… the scales?”

Koby stiffened. He had been through this conversation before—usually with people gawking at him like a science experiment gone wrong. But Mina’s tone was different. Curious, not judgmental. He exhaled and set his drink down.

“I was part of the Ginis experiments,” he admitted, keeping his voice even.

Mina’s gaze didn’t waver. “Which ones?”

Koby blinked, surprised at the direct question. Most people either stammered awkwardly or asked what the hell does that mean? He hesitated before answering, “The trybrid ones.”

For the first time, Mina’s lips quirked into something almost resembling a smirk. “Huh,” she mused. “I researched those a while back.”

Across the table, Sakura choked on her drink, quickly covering her mouth as she turned to Mina with a knowing look. She mouthed, You’re such a tease.

Koby caught the exchange but didn’t quite understand its full meaning. What did she mean, researched? And why was Sakura looking at her like that? His heart was already working overtime just being near these two, and now Mina was watching him like a predator sizing up her next meal.

“You must be… interesting, then,” Mina continued, resting her chin on her hand, her gaze never leaving his. There was something too intentional about her voice, the way it dipped slightly in amusement, the way her piercing eyes seemed to pick him apart.

Koby swallowed hard, feeling heat creep up his neck. Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink it. Don’t—

Sakura, barely holding back laughter, nudged him with her foot under the table. “Careful, Koby. Mina’s got a thing for unique hybrids.”

Mina just sipped her drink, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

Oh, I’m so screwed.

Koby pushed back his chair abruptly, clearing his throat. “I, uh, gotta hit the bathroom real quick.”

The moment he was out of sight, he leaned over the sink, gripping the edges as he took a deep breath. His reflection stared back at him, flushed and flustered.

“Pull yourself together, man,” he muttered. “They’re just being nice. That’s all.”

But deep down, something primal in him wasn’t so sure.

Koby practically fled to the bathroom, closing the door behind him a little too quickly. Mina and Sakura watched him go, the sound of the faucet running soon following.

Sakura immediately turned to Mina, a sly grin stretching across her face. “You are such a tease,” she whispered, leaning in.

Mina took another sip of her drink, her expression unreadable. “I was just making conversation.”

Sakura snorted. “Please. ‘Oh, I researched trybrids a while back~’” she mimicked in an exaggerated version of Mina’s smooth, sultry tone. “You might as well have said, ‘I think you’re fascinating and I’d love to see how you—’”

Mina gave her a slow, unbothered blink. “Finish that sentence, and I’ll make sure your alarm mysteriously fails to go off next time we have morning schedules.”

Sakura just laughed, stealing another one of Koby’s fries. “Come on, though. You totally enjoyed watching him squirm.”

Mina didn’t answer right away, instead idly tracing the rim of her glass. “He’s… interesting,” she admitted finally. “And he clearly doesn’t know how to handle being pursued.”

Sakura wiggled her brows. “So you are interested.”

Mina glanced toward the hallway, where the faint sound of water still ran. “Maybe,” she murmured. “But I also like seeing how long he can last before he realizes what’s happening.”

Sakura leaned back in her chair, smirking. “I give him another week, tops.”

Mina hummed in thought, tapping a manicured nail against the glass. “You’re underestimating him.”

Sakura grinned, tail flicking playfully behind her. “Wanna bet?”

Mina merely smirked, taking another slow sip of her drink.

In the bathroom, Koby splashed cold water on his face, staring hard at his reflection. They’re just being nice. They’re just being nice. They’re just—

His gut told him otherwise.

Sakura grinned, flicking her tail. “I give him another week, tops.”

Mina tapped her nails against her glass, considering. “You’re underestimating him.”

Sakura snorted. “Please. He’s practically short-circuiting every time you so much as look at him.”

Mina tilted her head slightly, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “That’s because he’s waiting for a clear sign.”

Sakura blinked, her ears perking up. “Oh?”

Mina leaned in just slightly, her lips curling at the corners. “If he won’t take the hint… maybe we should just give him one.”

Sakura’s eyes widened before she broke into a slow, mischievous grin. “Now that sounds fun.”

The two exchanged a glance, silent agreement passing between them just as the bathroom door creaked open.

Koby stepped out, rubbing the back of his neck, still visibly flustered but trying to play it cool. “Uh… sorry about that. Just needed a second.” He is surprised when he notices the girls are not at the table. He looks around and finds them relatively easily.

he finds the duo sitting on their couch in their lingerie. Koby blinks repeatedly staring at the duo as they look at him expectantly. Mina purses her lips giving him her best “fuck me” eyes

“Is this a clear enough sign for you?” Koby felt his instincts take over as he lifted his shirt over his head.

Mina smiled at him, a little too sweet. “Oh, don’t worry, Koby.” She rested her chin on her hand, eyes gleaming. “We’ll take good care of you.”

Sakura hid her grin behind her glass, while Koby stood there, blinking like a deer in headlights.

He was so screwed.

He approached Sakura first who’s wide eyes and seductive look pushed him to her first. She smiled as she eyed him possesively.

Koby kissed Sakura as her arms wrapped around him uncontrollably she clawed into his back. Koby groaned and glared at Sakura. Sakura was lost in the moment saying “you are mine,” repeatedly. Koby turned to face Mina who merely smiled before bringing him in for a kiss, but then he felt Mina’s gaze and presence . It was soft at first until it quickly became overwhelming. His heart rate tripled silencing the Deer and bringing out the hound and the gator. He turned to Mina who was fully nude. Her milky white skin shined in the evening light. She smiled before beckoning him to her. Sakura pouted as Mina pounced (metaphorically) on Koby. She sank her talons into him as she cooed into his ears.

“Make me yours,” she encouraged and the predator listened he brought Mina in for an intense kiss that left them both breathless. Mina whined with pleasure as she wrapped her delicious pale creamy thighs around his waist as she followed suit with her arms. She brought Koby in close and lightly nipped him.

Koby enjoyed the love bite but found it strange because avian hybrids typically don’t mark. He couldn’t think on it too deeply as Sakura whispered in his ear. “Stuff her slutty pussy with your cock,” Koby’s mind blanked as he gave into his urges. Without warning he slammed his cock into Mina. She groaned as his cock kissed her excited womb. Mina could barely breathe as Koby fucked the air out her little body. Sakura watched as her roommate lost her mind only focused Koby fucking her into oblivion.

Mina’s breath hitched as Koby bottomed out again.

“You’re so big inside of me,” Mina moaned as Koby kept railing her Sakura tired of waiting began to play with herself watching the two while spouting words of encouragement to Koby and Mina

“You two are so hot when you fuck,” she moaned as she gave into her own pleasure. Mina moaned intoxicated by the euphoria before she came. Her walls clenched Koby as her breath ran even more ragged as she took him in and out of her.

When she calmed down finally she looked at Kolby. She still saw the lust in his eyes then turned to Sakura who was moaning how close she was. She leaned into Koby and whispered “fucking finish her.” Koby groans as his cock hardens harder at the thought, before walking over to Sakura who’s a hopeless moaning mess. Her eyes are shut so she’s surprised when she’s railed by Koby’s cock. Overstimulated Sakura cums all over Koby in that instant. Mina watches with predatory lust and appreciation.

“You know what Kura? I think we can share him.” Mina says sensually

[glasvera]

Bittersweet

Adam Warlock x Fem!Reader

Description: Recent attacks on your home town have slowed down business at the cafe you work at, but your day gets a lot more interesting when three of the Guardians of the Galaxy walk through the door.

Warnings: Rocket waving around a firearm, Star-Lord being an insufferable flirt... uh... other than that it's just cutesy shit.

A/N: Listen, I had to get around to the dreaded coffee shop trope at some point. Also, I mainly specify fem!reader because this may become a multi-part fic...? depending on how I'm feeling...? and a lot of the cutesy behaviors were written with a more feminine reader in mind.

Word Count: 2.8k

There were many things in your life that you could be thankful for: you had a job, you could afford rent (barely), and it hadn’t rained on your walk to work this morning. Though, that did mean you had to deal with the thunderous and grating sounds of construction during your commute.

Work had slowed down recently, but that wasn’t at all surprising. You were a barista at a fairly popular cafe downtown, and normally there would be a constant stream of customers in and out of the door. Unfortunately, when some idiot supervillain comes around town and decides to cause havoc and destruction up and down Main Street, fewer people feel safe enough to venture out for a cup of coffee. Really, the cafe shouldn’t be open at all. But the owner was a hardass, and rent and groceries don’t pay for themselves.

Still though, at least it was slow right now. Death and destruction sort of kills the mood to make lattes.

With your cheek smushed against your hand, you lean on the counter and drum your nails against the hard surface to the beat of the smooth jazz your boss always played, waiting impatiently for your shift to be over. Thanks to the lack of business, it was just you and one other employee right now, and you really weren’t in the mood to talk about the most recent episode of the current K-drama she’s been watching. Way too high energy for you right now.

Unfortunately, fate has decided to give you the big middle finger this afternoon when a boisterous trio walks through the door. You couldn’t even hear the chime of the door’s bell over the way two of them bickered back and forth. Snapped out of your mind’s pointless wandering, you stand up straight and take a good luck at your new clientele.

One of the ones arguing looked normal enough. Average height, messy dirty blonde hair… though he was definitely not wearing anything from this planet. It looked like some sort of strange space jumpsuit with a blue coat thrown over top of it. He’s looking down and practically shouting at a… bipedal raccoon? You blink your eyes before rubbing them, making sure you were seeing things clearly, but no. That was definitely a bipedal, talking raccoon wearing clothes and carrying a very large gun. Said gun seemed to be the root of their argument as the blonde guy gestures wildly at it.

“You can’t just bring that in here, Rocket! These are normal, human people! You’re gonna scare them!”

“Why should I give a flark? I ain’t leaving myself unarmed if any bad guys show up. You saw how torn up the streets were out there!” the raccoon replies, flinging his paws about even as he holds the gun. Your coworker has long ducked out and disappeared to the back.

You don’t know how to react. You don’t even know where to begin. Quite frankly, you were willing to ignore open carry laws if it meant you didn’t have to be on the receiving end of that. But all of the tension in your body, hell, everything else fades into the background when you see him.

A man, seemingly made of pure gold and with matching gorgeous golden locks, stands behind the other two with his hand on the back of his neck. A mantled red cloak rests on his shoulders, but otherwise it seems he’s completely shirtless, and you can see lines etched into his skin that contour his defined muscles perfectly. Well, perhaps you can ignore multiple rules today. Pupilless, milky white eyes meet yours, and he gives you an apologetic smile.

Perfection doesn’t exist, shouldn’t exist… So how is it standing before you as he approaches the counter?

“Please, forgive them,” he starts, and even his voice is perfectly soothing. “I asked my friend Pe--Star-Lord, if I could try this coffee I had heard so much about, and this was the only place open nearby.”

“O-Oh, it’s… it’s um, well… if I said it was okay, I’d be lying, but--”

His brows knit together with worry. “If we must take our leave, I understand. It seems as though your town has been through enough already. If only we had been able to minimize more of the damage.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” you respond almost frantically. The last thing you want is for this man to leave, even if the same can't be said for his companions. Once you process the rest of what he said though, you tilt your head to the side curiously and point to some of the wreckage being cleaned up outside the cafe window. “Wait… that was you guys?” you ask incredulously.

The other man halts his argument and shoves Rocket’s face down and out of the way, and the raccoon looks about ready to bite that hand off. “The Guardians of the Galaxy, at your service!” he proclaims triumphantly as Rocket exclaims muffled obscenities. “Or, at least, some of us. At least the best looking one is here!” he clarifies with his thumb pointed into his chest. Ah, the egotistical type. Wonderful.

“I’m so lucky,” you reply dryly as you roll your eyes and massage your temples. It does draw a snort from the golden man in front of you though, and that makes you smile slightly as your attention is brought back to him. His very presence is warm like sunshine and almost as blinding. So much so that you don't realize the other guy is walking up to join him at the counter until he's practically shoving his hand toward you to shake.

“Name's Star-Lord, though you can call me whatever you like, sweetheart,” he adds with a wink. You stare down blankly at his hand, unmoving, and you can practically feel the way he tenses up from the awkward silence that ensues. Being flirted with at work was nothing new for you, and you always hoped there was a special place in hell for those who decided to take their chances with the employees forced to receive their advances. “...Or, uh… yeah. Star-Lord is fine,” he backtracks as he withdraws his hand and brushes it on his pants.

“Right. Cool,” you respond nonchalantly, turning your attention down to the register's monitor. “So what can I get you?”

The golden man snickers behind his hand and Rocket grabs Star-Lord by the hem of his coat. “Sorry. We haven't gotten him fixed yet, so he has a hard time keeping it in his pants,” he jokes as he glares pointedly at the man who had handled him so roughly just moments ago. Okay, that gets a chuckle out of you.

“Hey, what-!?”

“Can it, flark-face. We're gonna wait outside while Goldie gets his fix,” the raccoon interrupts as he starts dragging him outside. “Don't take too long, ya hear?”

“The two of you can return to the ship if you do not wish to wait. I intend to take my time,” the man responds calmly, giving you a soft smile. Rocket grumbles something about not blaming them if he gets lost later, but he doesn't seem to protest as they exit the cafe with a chime of the door’s bell.

“I cannot apologize enough for my companions,” he starts, and he is a little confused when you titter at that. “You… seem to have handled them well, though. I admit I am impressed.”

He's impressed? It's such a simple little thing, just a comment in passing, but you feel a rush of warmth in your cheeks.

“It's nothing, really. Once you get past the shock of a talking raccoon, at least,” you joke.

“I wouldn't recommend calling him that to his face,” he warns with a wry smile.

“Noted,” you reply with a toothy grin of your own that he quickly mirrors. Gorgeous, and good at both conversation and easing the tension? You were done for. But, you still have a job to do, and he was here for a reason.

“So… never tried coffee, then?” you ask as you turn to idly check the different bean blends you had on hand.

“No,” he responds almost sheepishly. You giggle softly.

“It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's not everyone's cup of tea.”

“But… but I thought it would be a cup of coffee,” he says, his voice sounding rather confused and a little worried. Oh. He's adorable.

“Oh! It's just… it's a phrase. Saying it's not everyone's cup of tea just means it's not to everyone's taste,” you explain as you turn to look at him over your shoulder.

He looks positively befuddled, bringing a hand to his forehead and brushing back his hair. “It is so much simpler to say it that way…” he muses quietly to himself. You still pick up on it and chuckle.

“Well, regardless, don't be surprised if you don't like it,” you continue as you grind a scoop of beans from your lightest roast. “A lot of people say it smells better than it tastes.”

It was slow enough, and he seemed quite interested in your explanation sans the confusing turn of phrase. You could take your time. Hell, you were ready to give him the cup for free as payback to your boss for the stupid smooth jazz playlist you'd practically memorized from the amount of times it looped. Your customer waited patiently, taking in every detail as his eyes followed your movements.

“Do you enjoy it?” he asks, breaking the temporary silence. When you turn towards him and blink curiously, he clarifies, “Coffee, I mean.”

The slow, steady drip of freshly brewing coffee begins, and you return your attention to him. “I do, yeah. Definitely an acquired taste, but nothing a little bit of cream and sugar can't fix.” You lean your elbows on the counter and tilt your head to the side. “A lot of people drink it for the caffeine more than anything.”

He blinks those white gold eyes at you, but nods in understanding after a moment. “Yes… caffeine I am familiar with. Some of the Guardians have taken a liking to energy drinks…” His voice trails off, as does his gaze, and you quirk a brow. He looks as though he’s seen terrible things and is suffering PTSD flashbacks right before your eyes… maybe you should move on from that.

“Well,” you start, bringing him back to reality as his head snaps towards you. You grab a cup, slide on its cardboard sleeve, and begin pouring the contents of the freshly brewed pot into it. Sliding it towards him, you watch him cradle it in his hands, seemingly intrigued by its warmth. “Ready to try it? Be careful though; it’s hot.”

“That should be no trouble,” he responds before bringing the cup to his lips. Your eyes widen with concern for a moment, but he clearly speaks truth as he takes a long sip without so much as a flinch. At least, he doesn’t flinch from the temperature of it. The flavor, on the other hand…

“It is…”

He tries so desperately to force a smile. His eyes narrow a bit, and the corners of his lips tug their way towards his cheeks, but it’s tight-lipped, and his nose crinkles in displeasure. You roll your lips between your teeth and try to subdue the laughter bubbling in your throat.

“Don’t force yourself. Here,” you say, holding your hand out to take his cup back. He does so instantly, dropping the facade and immediately regarding it with visible disgust. He looks akin to a cat that is about to smack something that has displeased them. Now you can’t help the chuckle from slipping out. “It can taste better, I promise.”

“I do not believe you,” he states plainly, but pauses when your fingertips brush against each other in the passing of the cup. It’s incidental, fleeting, but he seems to stare down at where your skin touched him, studying it. He blinks twice and meets your gaze. “...Though, I suppose I should relent to the resident expert on this vile beverage.”

“Vile?” you snort as you procure a spoon, cane sugar, and a small pitcher of half and half. “I suppose I can understand though. Even I don’t drink it black--er, without any additives,” you tell him, catching yourself before you confuse him with some other English terminology he clearly didn’t understand. Based on his reaction, you scoop a few spoonfuls of sugar, stirring it and pouring the half and half until the liquid takes on a lighter, cloudier hue. Blonde, you might call it. You slide it back over to him, and he squints at it. You laugh and, nodding at the cup, urge him to try it again.

“If this is some sort of trick…” he replies warily, taking the hot beverage into his hand for the second time. You give him a cheeky smile in return and rest your head on your wrist, waiting patiently for him to take another sip. When he realizes he’s not getting anything else out of you until he does, he sighs and brings it back to his lips. His trepidation is obvious; the liquid scarcely passes through the seam of his lips at first. But then it hits his tongue and his eyes widen in shock. After taking a proper sip then, he sets the cup back on the counter, staring at it as though it were the product of some sort of witchcraft.

“It is still bitter, and yet…” his words trail off as he stares at it before his eyes flicker to yours, full of wonder. “There is a complexity to it. Sweetness to combat the bitter. Cream to compliment the acidity…”

“Hmm, never seen someone turn into a coffee sommelier over the simple addition of cream and sugar,” you tease as he picks up the cup and continues drinking it. There is something fascinating about the utter innocence of it; rare is the occasion that one can witness a stranger’s firsts like this, and he brought an almost childlike wonder to the simple act of drinking coffee. It’s terribly adorable.

He sees the smile on your face and the tenderness in your expression, and he averts his gaze suddenly. The embarrassment doesn’t help his case in the slightest, instead pulling a lilting giggle from your lips.

“I’m glad you like it, really,” you add genuinely. “I would hate for your first impression to be one of just bitter, acrid bean water.”

“My first impression?” he inquires curiously. “I suppose such things matter. Though, truly, my first impression of you was that of a calm, patient, and gentle soul.”

That hadn’t been what you meant at all. You were referring to the cafe itself, not to its humble employee. His words leave your jaw slack and your eyes wide, and you turn away bashfully before covering your face with one hand. “O-oh, that’s--I meant--”

Now it’s his turn to chortle, and it’s a lovely, deep, rumbling sound. “I am aware. Still, I find it pertinent to speak of the truths I see in front of me,” he speaks, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he revels in the flush he feels radiating off of your very being. “Especially when they draw such wonderful expressions forth.”

He was teasing you. Here you were, moments ago, marveling at how naive he seemed to be. Now you truly felt the fool.

A golden hand places a few bills and coins onto the counter. “I look forward to the next time I visit this establishment. You can introduce me to even more of the seemingly vast world of coffee.”

You’re dumbfounded. Next time? And he wanted to see you? He’s moving to take his leave, giving you the softest yet somehow most knowing of smiles, and you feel yourself panic.

“Wait!” you call out suddenly.

He does. Though, there is a somewhat perplexed look about him at your sudden outburst.

“I… I didn’t catch your name. If you’re going to be a regular here, well… I like knowing my regulars’ names.”

That was a load of bullshit and you knew it, but that doesn’t mean he has to. You’d be damned if you didn’t know the name of the perfect, Midas touched man that would be haunting your dreams for weeks to come. At least he regards you with a solemn understanding, giving you a soft “ah” as though it made perfect sense to him.

“I am Adam Warlock. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Y/N,” he responds before, with an effortless flourish of his red cape, he finally exits the door with the gentle chime of its bell.

His voice… your name upon his lips sounded like heaven. Wait, how did he--!?

Oh. Right. Name tag, duh. 

Still though, you knew every shift from here on out would be painstakingly torturous as you waited for that beautiful golden man to walk back through the cafe’s door.

[urge4divinty]

Your ex’s hidden feelings about you ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

pac tarot reading paired with intuition, take what resonates and remember energy can always change readings aren’t set in stone. + their signs or dominant placements

3 cards pulled for each pile ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ gender neutral

Pile 1

the first thing i feel before even pulling cards is warmth, a warm feeling? maybe they felt that with you and it was something they miss deeply they can’t find that in someone else so they might be completely tweaking out about the kind of warmth you brought them. song i’m also channeling is just dance by lady gaga? “wish i shut my playboy mouth—control your poison, babe, roses have thrones they say”

after pulling cards the exs hidden feelings give a very “i need to be soul searching after you”they are alone and possibly becoming independent in a introspective state. dealing with insecurity and trying to understand their inner feelings it confuses them how hurt they are and they never expected to be—they are trying to distract themselves so they might be in a hustling state where they obsess with work/or obsess over material possessions. i’m getting heavy insecurity they’re not able to express how they feel nor do they want to their usually assertiveness is muted, they feel imbalanced like maybe you weren’t giving a even amount? could be hesitant due to past hurts. they’d invest in the connection again if they felt it was safe to right now they struggle with vulnerability. guarded, uncertain, wanting clarity? signs: leo virgo taurus/libra

donut pile what’s teaaaa omg

Pile 2

the first thing i feel is slight annoyance? like very annoyed—it’s this energy of being slightly bothered. the song that came on while thinking of pile 2 was off to the races by lana del rey “god , i’m so crazy baby i’m sorry that misbehaving” oh?? “i need you i breathe you ill never leave you” “i love you forever? not maybe you are my one true love”

After pulling cards their hidden feelings is definitely defeat? like they lost something big? could’ve been married or just a really committed and serious relationship it gives a loving bond, or was loving such a “i wanted to propose to them i wanted marriage” oh they are in deeeeeep dude. but they are trying to seem stoic like they aren’t totally sick but they don’t seem like they’ll openly express any of this. they still think of you as their ideal partner!! but the ending was so painful for them they feel emotionally done and still hold on to the memories of you two. forcing themselves to accept that it’s actually over. signs: aries cancer/pisces gemini/scorpio

Pile 3

this piles energy is so different from the rest? its almost unexplainable it’s like they don’t know what they feel but they definitely know what they lost “i feel stupid” popped into my head.

after pulling cards i’m getting that they are having a lot of thoughts about you they have a strong urge to reach out to say something replaying conversations thinking of what they SHOULD of said or done to make a difference. they might’ve been emotionally detached while with you but after you left they got out of this state with a quickness they stopped ignoring their feelings and now they feel regret—they are becoming aware of what this relationship meant to them lots of self reflection going on for them and they are understanding their role of what happened, they feel pulled towards closure they want to try again tbh. their feelings are active and shifting going from indifference to “oh shit i lost them” they see the relationship in a way they didn’t see before this urge to reach out could be impulsive they are rushing into it to say their piece it’s chaotic and not at all well thought out so it could lead to aggressive communication.

signs: gemini/libra/aquarius cancer scorpio

[gladiaralla]

Supernovae

Mr. Fantastic - Reed Richards x fem!reader (Prof! x student)

I’m already obsessed with Pedro as Reed Richards so I made this. It’s just a one shot, nothing big. (For now)

Warning / Reminder: I'm not studying physics, but educational science and psychology. So I have no idea about this subject. Therefore I apologize in advance if it doesn’t make much sense.

“This interaction between highly energetic particles and the atmosphere is extremely complex, and accurate predictions require even greater complexity. They come from the sun, from supernovae, and from more indeterminate processes. Do you know which processes and mechanisms I’m talking about?”

Reed Richards stopped in the middle of his lecture, leaving the open question hanging in the room. He watched the flickering eyes and silent corners until one of the students began to speak up.

“The sun could produce such energy, right?”

A young man with large glasses and freckles covering his round face stared at Mr. Richards. He was standing before his large, scribbled blackboard, waiting for further pronouncements. He ran his fingers over the unused papers and crumpled the dust of the wooden-colored table beneath his sharp, rough fingertips. His other hand rested behind his back. He looked out over the sea of clueless, tense and young faces. Among them was a young woman who knew how to fight her way through the ambitious minds of the striving. (Y/N)

His scrutinizing gaze met her delicately raised hand and he lowered his head to grant her permission to speak.

“Mr. Richards, I believe that supernovae generate radiation through expanding shock waves.”

He smiled faintly, nodded and began slowly walking again in front of the staring mass.

“Faith is not a part of our science, Miss (L/N), but you do recognize the approach,” his gravelly voice began to fill the room, and young Ron Tugmann looked at the now-smiling (Y/N), who turned back to her sketch and continued to refine it with the smudged lead of her pencil.

“Gamma rays. Extreme explosions are released through their bursts. They accelerate these particles.”

The crowd gasped and winced at the description, whispering afterward about this procedure. “Imagine sitting in a dark room, and suddenly, a light explodes with such intensity, only for the darkness to return.”

The explanation resonated with most, though perhaps not with (Y/N). She didn’t clap at the end of the lecture and instead continued with her drawing.

“My physicist, will you accompany me?” teased the brown-haired classmate beside her, bowing mischievously in front of the young woman. “Don’t be silly, Ron,” she snapped, tucking her papers under her arm while he defensively raised his hands, a playful smirk on his face.

She padded down the stairs, and he followed her almost insistently, until he tapped her impatiently on the shoulder. She gasped, fuming, and turned to face him, showing her irritation at his manner. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Richards. Another time.”Her response was brief but accepted with tolerance from Ron as he raced up the stairs toward the exit of the restored building.

Reed Richards gathered his materials and files, along with his many foundations, and stored them in a cupboard. His white shirt clung tightly to his rather slender figure. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, revealing the dark lines on his face, and the bones of his cheekbones seemed almost to want to cut through his skin. Above them, his eyes were glassy and accentuated by dark rings. It seemed as if he hadn’t found much sleep in recent days. The edges clung to the papers he embraced against his chest.

He stared at her, waiting for the clearing of her throat, which still lingered on her tongue.

“Can I help you, Miss (L/N)?” he asked in a soothing, quiet voice, which barely reached her. She turned her attention to the white chalk writings on the blackboard until he turned as well. “I hope I haven’t frightened you with my theories,” he said with a somewhat amused smile, though (Y/N) shook her head, keeping her posture straight to hide the many questions she had.

“No, I just wanted to inquire about the work I submitted to you.”

He raised his eyebrows, and the sharp, rigid features of his face fell upon the pile of papers in front of him. “Indeed. I’ve had to read through them all night and I was quite surprised by your phrasing,” he began, leaning against the edge of his desk as his gaze fell through the black strands of his hair. He didn’t show any emotions until the girl started clearing her throat. “In what way were you surprised?” She tightened her grip on her papers, stepping back as he crossed his legs in front of her, his hands intertwining in the pockets of his black pants. She could almost hear the rhythmic ticking of his watch against his thin wrist in the ensuing, suffocating silence.

“Your theories are… interesting, but only in theory,” he remarked roughly, tilting his head to study her features.

“Is that good or bad in your eyes? I know it’s madness… probably unthinkable…” her voice trailed off as she tried to continue. The laugh he gave her now revealed his sharp teeth before it faded.

“If thinking the unthinkable is madness, then I’m the craziest thinker there has ever been.” She lowered her head, and with hollow cheeks, she gazed at the smooth floor beneath her feet. She could barely suppress the urge to smile. He tilted his head, briefly stroked his beard beneath his nose, and clicked his tongue. “You seem to have many questions, don’t you? I often see you alone with all those books on campus,” he coughed lightly and smiled at the girl in front of him.

She shrugged, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, I like to retreat and read,” she explained, but she couldn’t get any more words out. He raised his hand and shook his head. “Those who don’t read, don’t learn,” he replied almost seriously, taking a step closer to (Y/N).

As he noticed that she couldn’t find any words, he broke the silence. “When I was a student, I didn’t know people, only every book in the library.”

(Y/N) smiled, recognizing herself in his story, and pressed her papers against her chest as if to hide the fluttering inside. He reached forward, extended his arm and pulled the paper down to see what it contained. It wasn’t formulas, but a drawing. He tilted his head, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Immediately, she wanted to justify herself.

He smiled and looked her deep in the eyes. (Y/N) swallowed and didn’t know where to look. Her cheeks turned a deep red. Reed Richards slowly released the paper, but his gaze lingered for a moment before he straightened up. The faint smile on his lips remained, but his gaze became critical, almost as if searching for an explanation on her face.

“You have an unusual talent, Miss (L/N),” he said finally, crossing his arms over his chest.(Y/N) gently pulled the drawing back and let her gaze briefly drift to the side. “It’s just a habit. I understand things better when I visualize them.”

He nodded slowly, as if considering this thought. “Most of my students think in formulas, not in pictures.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment, Professor?”

A soft laugh escaped his throat. “Call it what you want.”

For a moment, they stood there, and Richards continued to observe her until he broke the silence again.

“Back to your work.”

(Y/N) quickly nodded and straightened up.

He leaned lightly against his desk again, his shirt tightening across his shoulders as he picked up one of his notes. “It’s not criticizable. Just… hypothetical. Your idea that cosmic radiation might be influenced by previously unknown interactions is fascinating. But we lack evidence. You’re operating in the realm of speculation.”

“Every theory was once speculation,” (Y/N) replied. Again, that amused gleam appeared in his otherwise tired eyes. “I knew you’d say that.”

A warm feeling spread in her chest, but she hid it behind a neutral nod.

"Am I that predictable, Professor?" (Y/N) asked and took a small step forward.

She smelled the expensive perfume he had put on and swallowed hard. She was so enthusiastic about him and his work. He always knew what he was saying, what impact it had and he always knew the answers to all the questions students asked. He was a role model, probably even more. She would at least have liked to see more in him, but she knew that reality would not allow it. If anyone was aware of reality, it was the scientists. She realized that she had been lost in her thoughts for a long time and shook her head. He hadn't said anything. Not a word. He had only observed her. She didn't know what he was thinking, but he was well aware of what she was thinking.

"Miss (L/N), I think you still have a lecture, don't you?" he broke the strange spell and she remained silent. She knew what he wanted. Distance. What had she expected?

"Of course," (Y/N) replied dryly and walked past him, out the door.

[idiashroudshusband]

Loading… // Idia Shroud x Reader - Fluff

The dormitory of Ignihyde was silent, save for the soft hum of computer fans and the flickering glow of blue flames that danced in the darkness. It was past midnight—Idia’s favorite time of day. A time when he didn’t have to worry about forced social interactions or the suffocating expectations of the outside world.

And yet… tonight felt different.

You were sitting in his room, curled up on his bed, bathed in the soft neon glow of his monitors. One of Idia’s favorite animes was playing on a monitor, both of you watching it. Idia still couldn’t quite process how this happened. How you happened.

You, who somehow weren’t put off by his reclusive nature.

You, who laughed and payed attention at his ramblings about obscure game lore instead of getting bored.

You, who leaned close enough that he could smell the faint scent of your shampoo, making his heart rate skyrocket like he was facing a final boss with no HP left.

“Idia?” Your voice right next to him pulled him out of his spiral, and he jolted, nearly knocking over his energy drink.

“W-W-What?” He tugged his hoodie down over his face, soft pink flames sparking erratically at the tips. “D-Don’t sneak up on me like that! Critical damage to my heart gauge…”

You chuckled, resting your chin on your palm. “I’ve been here the whole time, you know.”

“Th-that’s even worse,” he muttered, burying his face deeper into his hood.

It had started with small things. You bringing him food when he forgot to eat (that wasnt just energy drinks and candy, though you did buy some for him on occasion), waiting for him outside the mandatory classes he had to attend, even when he insisted he was completley fine going alone, coaxing him out of his shell little by little. And now? Now you were in his personal space, sitting in his room, watching his favorite anime with him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

If this were an otome game, you’d definitely be on the true romance route, and that terrified him.

“…You okay?”

Idia stiffened when he felt your fingers brush against his wrist, hesitant but warm. He swallowed, feeling his throat go dry. His mind screamed at him to pull away, to hide behind his screen where it was safe. But he didn’t.

Instead, he let out a shaky breath and mumbled, “I just… I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you’re here.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Because I want to be?”

“That’s—” His brain short-circuited. “That doesn’t make sense. I mean, I’m not exactly protagonist material. I’m not cool and confident like the other housewardens, I don’t do well in crowds, and I—” He hesitated. “I’m… kind of a pain to be around.”

You frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.” He forced a laugh. “I mean, I literally have a stat debuff in social situations. If this were a dating sim, my affection points would be so low that I wouldn’t even unlock the friendship ending-”

“Idia.”

You said his name so softly, so gently, that it stopped him cold. Before he could spiral further, you scooted closer and took his hand in yours. His entire system crashed.

“I like you,” you said simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. “Not in a ‘background NPC’ way, or in a ‘pity route’ way. Just… you.”

His throat clenched. His fingers twitched in your grasp, as if debating whether to hold on or pull away. The warmth of your touch, so foreign yet addicting, made his head spin.

“B-But…”

“No buts,” you interrupted, squeezing his hand. “You don’t have to be some overpowered anime protagonist. You’re you, and that’s more than enough. I like you for being you.”

Idia’s heart thudded against his ribs, his flames flickering a soft, pastel pink—his face dusted with a soft rosy blush. His mind still screamed that this had to be some elaborate dream, a rare gacha pull that he’d wake up from any second.

But then you smiled at him, patient and unwavering, and suddenly, for the first time in a long time… he didn’t mind the idea of stepping outside his comfort zone.

Just a little.

Maybe.

If it was with you.

I love writing silly cute fanfics about my favorite little guy <3333

[tricoloreddango]

| nice guy | yandere Gojo Satoru

Summary: You don’t know what’s good for you. Satoru had enough of your foolishness and ignorance; enough of the dumb woman always putting herself at risk.

dark content—don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with mentioned topics! / female reader / yandere content / overprotectiveness / slight sexism with mentions of women being mistreated and patriarchy / tickling / violence mentions / forced kiss / non-con mentions / forced pregnancy threats / manipulation / not suitable for minors. word count: 5.7k

When Satoru invited you over to his apartment, you didn’t think much of it. Despite him being commonly rejected by his own surroundings, not willing to fit into a Japanese etiquette in any way, you have never truly minded his presence. Sure, he was constantly trying to get on your nerves, acted all childish and disrespected any authority… but he was a surprising warmth in this entire jujutsu mess. A man willing to do more for kids than entire higher up group, someone who wasn’t constantly grumpy despite difficult situations sorcerers have faced daily—this was something comforting enough for you.

Wasn’t it humor that helped people cope with hardships anyway?

You could have called yourself his friend. At least that’s what Satoru called you. You didn’t spend an absurd amount of time together to be ‘besties’ or anything, but enough to know you enjoyed his company… besides occasional headache he’d cause you.

Which didn’t mean you weren’t feeling self conscious around Satoru sometime. You were a third grade sorcerer, a rank considered to be an average, especially when students he taught were already there. You often questioned why someone as great as him stuck around you, and didn’t even mock you… well, that much. You were still holding a title of a “weakling” (allegedly—affectionately).

Your friend didn’t necessarily brag about money, but you’ve tasted money on him. Not only because of the clan he came from, but simply of what he wore or how much he bought on an everyday basis. That’s why the building you saw when reaching a right address, was just as expensive as you thought it’d be. A glass, modern tower build, in the more quiet area of Shinjuku.

The reception of the building was what allowed to get you up to his floor. Your own place didn’t now more than a box for mail.

Security measures were a bare minimum for such high standard apartment complex, though not that the strongest man in the world had much to worry about his own safety.

Approaching the accurate door based on the number given to you through a text message, all with silly emojis, you didn’t even have to do anything—Satoru was opening the door before you could even touch his bell. Nothing to be spooked about, considering he would have smelled your cursed energy from many miles away. In fact, he must have been anticipating your presence because of that, not simply because the appointed hour of your meeting was coming.

The start of the show stood in the doorway, looking at you with a grin. He was dressed casually—beige long sleeve and black pants. “So you did come here after all.” You noticed he wasn’t wearing any eye cover, no blindfold or glasses, forcing you to see these bright blue eyes. It felt weird if not unsettling. You assumed he kept his apartment dark enough to not have to protect his eyes inside.

“Why wouldn’t I? I said I will,” you said with a raised brow, shaking yourself off the stare at him. “Well, Nanami rejected my offer before, so I thought no one wants to play Mario Carts anymore!” he said with a dramatic whine.

He let you enter after you sighed. In fact, he was gracious enough to put a hand on your back to led you inside his apartment—one ridiculously spacious for Japanese standards. He enjoyed the look of your surprise and envy. Light colors on the wall but not clinical white, mix of traditional with modern; so many of the furniture being rattan or white-leather and then expensive dark floor. The harmony was disrupted only with expensive electronics.

“Don’t need to say it! I know it’s nice,” he teased and shoved slippers for you to put on near your feet.

You were in the living room next, on a couch he gently pushed you on. “Heh, with how tiny your apartment is, far away from school, maybe you should move into mine! I have plenty of space, you know,” he teased with a grin, standing in front of you. You didn’t think much of his words, thinking he’s just mocking and joking.

“I don’t know if I’d be able to deal with you on a daily basis,” you teased back.

He pouted, before he left the room to grab you something to drink from the kitchen. Not that the coffee table wasn’t overwhelmed with all kinds of sweets already… and some salty snacks for you, as that amount of sugar wasn’t a joke for even the biggest sweets fans. You were worried for Satoru’s health sometimes, despite him being the strongest.

Satoru returned and handed you a can of your favorite drink, before plopping himself down next to you on the couch. His arm rested behind your head, his body all spread as always—a struggle of a tall person.

“Thanks,” you muttered, before cracking the can open. You realized what drink it was. You’ve been seeing him only at school and you never brought sodas there, so… “But how did you know my favorite drink? I had never actually told you, have I?” you asked with a small surprise.

Your friend smiled widely, his fingers tapping on the back of the couch, accidentally brushing against your hair. “Come on, you’ve mentioned it once! I just memorized it, like a good friend should have.”

You didn’t remember telling him but you indeed were forgetful sometimes. “You’re lucky to find it, then. That drink is always sold out.”

————

As you two played the game, Satoru’s knee would occasionally knock and bump against your thigh, especially during more difficult rides. You knew he was a tall man who needed a lot of space, but there was plenty of space on his gigantic couch. Though… sometimes it felt deliberate when he kept his knee in place for a second too long.

You pouted when he has won, again. “Not fair. You’re good at everything you do. I’ve been a lost cause from the beginning.”

“Ahaha, should I go easy on you then?” he smacked your shoulder, making you wince. “Hey!” You tried to smack him back but he used his barker. “Tsk.”

“And the answer is no,” you said with a sigh and placed the controller on the table, next to empty packs. “It doesn’t count if you’re letting me win.”

“Fine, fine…” Satoru stood up to turn off the console. He stretched his tall body and looked outside of his window through blinds. It was still somewhat light outdoors, so he decided to spend more time with you; a lot was on his mind lately and he needed to check on you.

“Say…” he started, his voice more serious than usual, which got your attention, “… have you been eyeing some man lately?”

His question confused you, not sure why he’s suddenly interested in your love life. It’s not like you wouldn’t tell him on your own. Was he jealous or something? You couldn’t tell, as he didn’t really show vulnerability. No, it couldn’t be jealousy… he’s never truly flirted with you. He was just extroverted in his speech, despite not having many friends. In fact, you could have been his only friend. Maybe it’s friendship he’s jealous about? “No, not really…”

Satoru was smiling widely again. “Good!” he said cheerfully and was sitting next to you again. “Men nowadays are so awful, you know?” he complained as if he’s been the one dating these men.

You snickered. “Not that they haven’t been awful in the history of the world. But not every man is the same,” you responded in thought. It’s true there was a violence towards women, discrimination and whatnot, but you didn’t want to assume the worst with every man. There’s been some exceptions… like Nanami.

“No, they’re all the same. You shouldn’t trust any other man that isn’t me!” he pointed a thumb at his chest in pride.

“Aren’t you a man too?” you teased.

He looked at you with a mocking annoyance. “Yes, but I’m different. That’s why I’m saying this!”

Before you knew it, Satoru tackled you to the couch and started to tickle you. Involuntarily, you started to giggle uncontrollably. His tall and broad body trapped you under him.

“H-hey, stop—ahahaha—” you begged breathlessly.

“No, admit I’m the only right man,” he teased, still tickling you. But something wicked appeared in his eyes; unfortunately you didn’t notice it through your tickling torture.

“Okay, okay, you’re the best, Gojo!” you yelled out through laughing. Your words were just thrown, not meant, as you were desperate for him to stop.

To your relief, he stopped tickling you. However, he didn’t get off of you yet. As you were calming down your breathing, Satoru wiped few tears from your eyes, his expression more focused than playful. You couldn’t help but feel flustered, to be suddenly touched so intimately by him. However, you felt a weird tension in the air. Why was he so intense all of the sudden?

“Gojo?” you asked, your voice both confused and nervous. “Are you going to let me go now?”

Satoru looked you into your eyes, his strikingly blue eyes now appearing even more scary with the way he stared you down. Seeing him without eye cover was already somewhat uncomfortable, but the look was as if he was facing a curse and not his friend. You were getting really unsettled.

“No,” he said shortly, his tone serious. Now you were actually afraid. Not only he was refusing to let you he free as intending to do more than tickling, there was something wrong with this man. He’s never been like this with you. Or maybe it’s always been him under the mask of silliness to not scare you. In any case, you felt as you imagined curses felt when seeing a last blow being delivered to them… a first and last, really. If it was you being his victim, there wouldn’t be anything left behind—not even a mush of your flesh and bones minced together.

“But… what are you even doing?” you asked with unease, pushing your hands at his chest. He didn’t budge—still on his fours above you, his hands on the sides of your head.

Your question was ignored for him to come up with his own. “Do you know how stupid you are sometimes?” his voice was cold, making your stomach drop. Oh god, he was going to hurt you—

“How am I being stupid? I just want you to let me go,” you forced a smile, a weak attempt to make him softer. His eye twitched.

“You don’t know what’s good for you. You’re weak, Y/N.” No -chan honorific to your name sounded as awful, you not being used to Satoru being so heartless to you who’s not a curse to kill. The fact the living room was so dark with the blinds added to the somber atmosphere.

“What?” you asked, your voice naturally angry at the insult, with the fear still settled in your chest. “Why are you suddenly insulting me?”

“You think I wouldn’t know?” he asked, now angry himself. You had an idea of what he was implying.

“Know what—” “Don’t play stupid with me,” he threatened and grabbed your cheeks between his big palm. It was what terrified you the most at this point—you knew he’d be able to crush your skull with just one movement. “I know you’ve got injured, again. Why didn’t you tell me? I had to drag you here to talk and you still didn’t tell me?”

Something like a hiccup left your mouth. You didn’t know when you’ll start crying, unable to be brave in front of the monster like him. Why didn’t you tell him? The answer was obvious. “B-because… because you’d make fun of me, as always. You always call me weak and turn it into a joke.”

“Except I wasn’t joking. You are weak,” his tone was deadly serious. The words felt like being hit in the stomach. Why would Satoru bully you about your strength level all of a sudden? The fact it turned out him having been calling you weak wasn’t a tease but always a deliberate honesty hurt too.

He pounced on you out of nowhere, threatened you and now is treating you like a speck of dust in the area of his greatness.

He let go of your cheeks when he saw you start to shed few tears, not sobbing yet, and sighed as if in pity. A pity not for your distress but for your weakness, as if you’d break so easily should he continue.

“Why do you care so much? Why are you doing this to me?” you said, your voice strangled. Him still looming over you only made you feel more claustrophobic.

“Because people like you aren’t meant to be sorcerers. At least not the ones out in the field. You can put on veils, maybe you can teach English or Math, but you shouldn’t fight. You should have told me you got injured,” he scowled, “No matter now—I’d always find out.”

You didn’t know if it was Satoru’s attempt at being protective, just a very cruel one; or if it was him genuinely despises weaklings like you. In any case, he was attacking all that there was to you. Screw the fact he was trying to control your life. You had an honor and you’ve devoted your entire life to becoming a sorcerer; and now he was acting as if you’ve only wasted your time, disrespecting any of your hard work and goals.

“And you know and so what? What are you trying to get here at?!” you’ve tried to push him off again. No success.

“Give up,” he said bluntly; not about you fighting him off, but about your career as a sorcerer.

You looked at him in shock, before your hand was flying at his face. If you can’t beat him up, maybe you’ll manage to land at least some form of disrespect… if that only wouldn’t provoke him even more.

Satoru grabbed your hand with ease, before he pinned it above your head; the other hand still on the side of your head. His grip was so strong and flawless you were scared he’ll break your hand. He’d need to apply strength akin to a small wind blow to achieve that. You really did feel like a prey, no matter how many times you thought of yourself as his friend and let your guard down around him, laughed and felt happy. You didn’t know the extend of his infatuation with you. Someone who accepted him in and out was doomed from the beginning.

“I meant it. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. You don’t need to worry about money, if you’re scared of losing a job. Just let me protect you,” his voice was finally softer, something you knew took a lot of confidence from him to sound more vulnerable; however he was on the edge and you knew it when he was watching you like a hawk, his eyes threatening in case you disagree. Being forced to see his eyes meant being forced to see his emotions clearly, and you came to a conclusion would feel less fearful facing a sleep paralysis creature. A vision of bleeding under him soon entered your mind.

Nonetheless, his words got you angry, and yet, scared to the core; you knew someone like him was unstoppable force who could do anything and you wouldn’t be able to stop him.

“I don’t want your protection. I want to protect others instead,” you tried to sound confident and convincing, but his words were making you suddenly insecure. Coming from him, they had to have some meaning and value to them… no, you often thought of yourself as weak too.

This awful man dared to snicker against your face, as if wanting to disable your motivation further.

“And get killed? So many like you have died already. All for nothing. You’re not meant to protect but to be protected,” he said teasingly as if the entire scary aura didn’t exist till a moment ago. He also eyed your lips for a moment, before he looked into your glassy eyes again.

“I don’t care if I’ll die, even just one person being saved is g—” You couldn’t finish the sentence as suddenly Satoru was kissing you. Your body stilled in shock. While he acted clingy (occasionally), never had he acted romantic with you… but, this wasn’t romantic. This was about devouring you and shutting you up especially. What was disturbing was kissing you in this situation, so unfitting, even more when he had you pinned to his couch and was making you uncomfortable.

Your natural reaction was to try to shove him off of you and when that failed again, to kick him in between his legs; all useless as Satoru’s hand pinned your legs to the side, twisting your body in uncomfortable degree. Instead, his lips were kissing on you in a very messy yet harsh way, as if never had kissed before or as if he simply couldn’t contain himself—he clearly wanted to do it for a while anyway. He wasn’t discouraged by you keeping your mouth shut tight to not dare to let a tongue in or kiss back.

Your screams of protests were muffled. You could only feel the warmth and pressure of his lips against yours. They were all over, leaving so much saliva and smacking sounds it was disgusting too.

You’ve never seen Satoru in a romantic light which was enough to make you hesitant in the first place, but the forcefulness was the most unbearable.

When he finally withdrew, you were crying already. After the display of his force, you had another thing to fear about—was he trying to force himself on you?

Blue eyes softened at the sight, but their owner’s breaths being heavy exposed the fact he was physically affected by your body more than your tears. You flinched when he wiped your tears off your face.

“Ah, come on! Don’t cry. I won’t hurt you. I just couldn’t listen to your nonsense… wanting to die as if anyone would care about your death. You think that person you’d sacrifice your life for would care?” he mocked, his voice light. The weight of the words wasn’t light in any way, crushing your heart and making you feel like a worthless excuse of a jujutsu sorcerer. You felt as if people truly didn’t care about you, described as someone who’s just a shadow of greater people; not more than a mere helper.

Seeing you cry harder, Satoru finally removed himself from of top of you. You weren’t free though, as he pulled you into a forced cuddle on his couch. “There, there…” he patted your back.

This time, you didn’t even bother to try to get away from him—you’ve quickly learned he’d push you through what he wants anyway. Feeling his arms around you would have been comforting in any other scenario but now you feel trapped, stuck at his mercy. He pushed your face against his chest to cry into, his grip on you tight. At least that’s what j-dramas have showed him to do.

“Just resign. And if you’re scared, I can talk to Yaga for you,” he cooed.

“I don’t want to quit. I can’t just abandon everything…” you said through sobs, but the seed of doubt has been planted into your head. You knew Satoru was trying to manipulate you, but wasn’t it true that you’re weak than most sorcerers? Statistically you were. These students of his were probably better than you already, when they were much younger than you and inexperienced. “Why do you even care?”

Satoru’s nails dug in your back, making you flinch in pain. You’ve suffered worse pain, but in this situation when you were forced to be sensitive and on guard the pain was bad anyway. “Because I care about you, even if you’re weak. It’s my job to protect weak yet you feel like the only weakling worth the trouble,” he stated calmly, even if his heart was anxious. He wasn’t one to speak about his feelings about things that aren’t trivial. “You don’t try to use me but spend time with me.”

You would have been saddened by how he felt about his role but it wasn’t about him today. “N-no, that’s not care,” you said through a shaken sniffle, your expression pained, “that’s control.”

He didn’t disagree with you. He just saw it in a different context; more dutiful one. “It is control. But sometimes control is necessary for people who are fools and don’t know what they’re doing, or to protect weak. It’s acceptable if I’m doing this for your safety—” “And what about my feelings?!” you interrupted, feeling hysterical at this point. How did your friend turn into your biggest nightmare in a span of few hours?

Satoru looked at you with a frown, as if you sounded ridiculous to him. “Well, it’s not like I ever make you unhappy. You laugh when you’re with me. You’re going to be fine,” he said way too nonchalantly.

But this wasn’t about friendship. It was about your main goal in your life he was forcing you away from. You felt fulfilled when helping people, and lack of freedom and sacrifice in that was bound to make you miserable. The most frustrating part was him not understanding your feelings at all—it was him seeing them as unreasonable and unrealistic.

“So what? You’ll just lock me up here?!” you wanted to sound angry but another sob overwhelmed you. “If I have to,” he said bluntly. With Satoru having distanced himself from his feelings of empathy to not get crushed by his duty, it was hard for him to sympathize with you. Duty was first, feelings later. He might have been softer with you but he was Gojo Satoru first and foremost.

“I refuse, I refuse, I refuse!” you grabbed onto his shirt as if to shake him off of that, in your mind, delusional state. “Me being a sorcerer didn’t matter to you until now!”

“Things have changed, Y/N. There’s been a raise in the number of curses,” he said in patronizing remarks. “Not to mention that you’re a woman.”

You looked at him in shock after you pushed your head back away from his chest, making you stop crying for a moment. Why was your gender suddenly being applied here? “What the hell, Gojo? You’re hating women now?”

He had an audacity to laugh at you in your face. “No, I don’t hate women. I’m just worried about you. It’s not just being a sorcerer that puts you at risk. It’s your own gender that makes you a prey,” he said with disappointment and stroked your cheek. You didn’t even know what to say, so he filled in a gap for you.

“Aren’t women naturally weaker than men? Sure, there are some strong female sorcerers. But males will always have the advantage due to their biology, won’t they? You can kick few men’s asses, but try defeating someone like Nanami…” Satoru didn’t even see his words as a hate thing. He didn’t hate women—he believed in imbalance existing between both genders. He noticed how vulnerable and abused they are within the world, and had this natural assumption that this means women need men’s protection. Especially you. Female non-sorcerers die everyday, women die from abuse everyday… but he wouldn’t let you die.

“Those are exceptions! Someone like Yuki would have defeated him if I can’t! So there’s no rule!” you said with frustration, still pushing at his chest. There’s women that men wouldn’t defeat and vice versa.

“But you aren’t her,” he pointed out. “You’re not a special grade sorcerer. There’s little of us. She can take care of herself, but you?”

You had enough of his twisted logic. There were risks within the world, but you will never be risk free. You take risk with every smallest decision, something so small was enough to cause a butterfly effect, but without a risk you don’t have any life experience; nor can you live without any risks. “That’s not how this works! You just play a savior card! Let me go, Gojo!”

“Then fight me off,” he said with a sudden coldness. “W-what?” you gasped out. There’s no way you can fight someone like him off, but this wouldn’t prove any of his point. Anyone wouldn’t be able to. “That’s not fair! Obviously if it’s you I can’t! And it’s not because I’m a woman.”

“Then I’ll use only a physical strength. No cursed energy. I won’t enhance my natural strength, and I will lower it to an average man’s level. You can’t use any cursed energy either, since it’d be illegal against a non-sorcerer anyway. So come on, try me.”

“You’re insane. This isn’t some game, Gojo!” you said mortified, not wanting to be put in a situation of a man acting like he’d force himself on you. He was suddenly pushing you to do most chilling things, all to act all right and as if he knew you better than you knew yourself. To teach you some messed up lesson.

“No, it’s not. I’m very serious.”

As you struggled against him in his hug, he kept talking to you about the topic, wanting to carve his truth into your mind. “I see women get harassed on the subway everyday. And do you know what happens? When they scare some creep away and go to the station, they get scolded for hurting these men. Only when I act as a witness, they take her seriously. That’s why you need a man. That’s why you need me, Y/N. This ain’t just about you being a defenseless sorcerer. It’s about you being a woman on every day basis where you can’t use jujutsu skill against non-sorcerer.”

You knew an average person wasn’t allowed to know about jujutsu sorcery and with that, you could have used only your physical strength to defend yourself outside of your work. Nonetheless, it didn’t justify this idiot to prove some foul point to his own advantage. “Just snap out—”

“Oh, I’m very lucid. That’s how I know,” he hissed and tackled you to the couch for the second time this day. “So try to remove me from yourself. I’m not using more strength than your neighbor would have. No cursed energy.”

You panicked. How could he put you through something so traumatic as having to fight a man just to prove some delusional point? You were scared of Satoru’s presence and you doubted you’d ever trust him again. Or rather, you shouldn’t have trusted him from the beginning. Why would someone who’s carrying entire world in his palm would be nothing but kind? You weren’t special in the end. He simply liked you more than others, or was just using for his loneliness.

“I-I’m not doing that. This is screwed up, Gojo. You’re scaring me. I don’t want to do this anymore,” your voice trembled and you were near crying point once again.

“Facing a man in a nasty situation would be scary too. I’m only showing you the truth,” he said seriously, going back to that predatory state.

You knew he won’t let you go until you try. However, you didn’t want to prove his point either. Being stuck in the limbo of what part you had to sacrifice panicked you further, and you were frozen under him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Come on,” he muttered. Realizing he wont let you go until your attempt happens, with all strength you could have mustered, you forced yourself to push at him to throw him off of the couch. To your panic, you couldn’t.

You believed that if you were facing any other man of the strength Satoru lowered himself to, you’d still be stronger than a stranger after years of training—even with some fear causing you to think less coherently. After all, you’ve faced curses even scarier than men. It’s just facing Satoru that was different—he was so terrifying in every way possible all the strength was disappearing under your distress. A day before, you could have only guessed how everyone else felt being his opponent, never expecting you’d be on the same side. He turned this nightmare into reality.

Still, the situation was an exception, not proving you’d be unable to defend yourself; however, you were still proving him right when you weren’t able to get him off of you.

“Again,” he said coldly. “N-no, just stop this!” you cried out. “I said again.”

The second attempt has failed you as well, making you start sobbing again. You were so frustrated you couldn’t fight him even in his lowest form, worried he’s going to hurt you, and even more afraid your life was over a solely because he has decided so.

“See? You’re weak. Both curses and men can kill you. You’re just a little girl in the eyes of the world,” Satoru said sternly; not hiding a twisted triumph in his blue eyes. His brows were furrowed, a wrinkled crease between them; his mouth pressed in a tight line—all as if he’s been disgusted by how much you fought all for nothing. “You need me.”

Satoru painted himself as a righteous hero you needed, but he only ended up shattering you. He took each part of what made you and painted it to be something useless and counterproductive; leaving you as nothing but a parasite needing to be taken care of. You doubted you’ve ever felt so abused and violated; especially by someone you’ve considered to be a friend at that.

When Satoru deemed his lesson as solidifying in your mind enough, he finally left your body. When you curled your body on the couch, stuck in your distressed headspace, he sat down next to you. He didn’t really want you to cry but if making you hurt was what makes you realize the truth, so be it. From his perspective it was a tough love you needed. He wasn’t harming you but protecting you.

“Come here,” he said after few minutes of letting you cry out the fear and take in the new reality. You didn’t budge, however. Gojo only sighed and gathered you into his arms, them under your body, not stopping when you tried to stay still on the furniture. He forced you onto his lap and held you tightly to his chest. At this point an exhaustion didn’t let you move away. It didn’t matter what you’d try when Satoru was always one step ahead without thinking hard—whether it was in knowing how to stop you and how to make something happen to debunk each of your words and make them look childish.

Satoru rocked your body gently, a motion that’d be soothing if not for his next words, “You’ll stay with me… unless you want me to knock you up so you wouldn’t have a chance to leave. But you’re not going to leave, are you?”

Your face was of utter horror. Your ears ringed, not being to comprehend what he said fully because of how unreal it sounded. It couldn’t be real he’d would have forced you to have a child just to trap you with him.

You were being shoved into submission just to avoid being ruined this way. Having a child would mean losing control entity; not to mention the potential of carrying another Gojo didn’t sound glorious to you.

Seeing you absolutely horrified, some guilt built up in him. He wouldn’t actually do this to you, or so he assumed at least for now, but you were making him desperate to figure out a nasty way for you to stay with him. You weren’t a replacement for a space Suguru had left vacant in his heart, but he still didn’t want to lose his object of affection.

“Right?” he repeated himself. You shook your head, afraid of mentioned possibility. “N-no, I’ll stay,” you immediately responded with desperation.

Satoru smiled widely and squeezed your waist teasingly, in illusion this entire time he’s been provoking you like a silly guy and nothing more, before he laughed as if it all was just a bad dream you woke up from. “Good. You don’t need to worry about anything. Just stay here and you’ll be fine. I’m your friend, remember? Or rather…”

He leaned close to your face, “I’m your boyfriend now, since we kissed,” he teased, as if the kiss wasn’t forced. Neither did you have a choice in starting a relationship.

But what other options did you have? He was Gojo Satoru. You were… well, you. Incomparable, defenseless and vulnerable in front of someone who could destroy entire humanity and only chooses not to. In front of most sorcerers.

All of this burden of knowledge suddenly thrown at you has worn you out. You nodded in fear of being pushed to agree so violently again—to his relief. He patted your head, a condescending praise. “Aren’t you a good girl for me now?”

“I think I like you a lot. Even more after you’ve finally realized your place,” he murmured against your jaw, his lips inching upwards and his white hair tickling your hair. Every thought that buzzed through his head was about how much he adored you; whether feelings were of love or fake idea of affection due to obsession and dependence… and anger at himself about letting you roam world so freely prior to today’s meeting. “A cute girlfriend for me… you should call me Satoru from now on. You did earn it.”

You were being kissed again, this time without you struggling against him. Your boyfriend grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest, wanting you to hear his heart race—it was easier for you to do this than for him to speak his vulnerabilities aloud.

[redicillin]

Hiiii, could you write smth about reader (part of House's team) and Chase teasing and throwing suggestive comments each other all the time until something actually happens?Thanksss

𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬. (𝐫.𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞)

whilst your’s and chase’s relationship was… unconventional, you never crossed any true lines. until you did.

CW | 18+ MDNI. afab!reader, definitely not allowed workplace engagements, unprotected piv, porn with plot

fem!reader ☆ 4.3k ☆ masterlist.

The fluorescent lights hum softly overhead as you flip through the patient’s chart, skimming the details of yet another medical mystery.

A 37-year-old woman with an unexplained fever, muscle weakness, and—of course—negative test results for every common diagnosis. House’s kind of case. Your kind of case.

“Could be lupus,” Chase offers, leaning lazily against the back of his chair.

“It’s never lupus,” you counter automatically, not bothering to look up.

“One day, it will be,” he muses, smirking at you. “And when that happens, I’ll personally accept your apology… preferably over dinner,”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you with the hint of a smirk. “You assuming I’d take you to dinner if you were right is cute. Delusional, but cute,”

“Then I’ll settle for drinks. You can even pretend it’s a pity outing,”

House, who has been listening to your exchange with barely concealed amusement, finally interjects. “I’d tell you two to get a room, but I think you’d rather keep up this foreplay in front of an audience,”

Cameron coughs, Foreman scoffs, and Chase—completely unfazed—shrugs. “If we’re keeping score, I think I’m winning,”

You arch a brow at him, shifting in your seat. “Oh? And what exactly are you winning?”

“The game,” He leans in just slightly, voice dropping enough to sound almost conspiratorial. “You know… the one where you pretend you’re not enjoying this,”

Your pulse jumps for just a second before you scoff, shaking your head. “You wish,”

House claps his hands together, effectively cutting through the moment. “Much as I’d love to watch this unresolved sexual tension play out in real time, we have an actual patient. So unless this is leading to some kind of medically relevant insight, I’d suggest you both channel that energy into something useful,” He pauses, eyes flicking between you and Chase before smirking. “Or at least wait until after work to rip each other’s clothes off,”

Cameron looks deeply uncomfortable, Foreman mutters something about needing new colleagues, and Chase? Well, Chase just winks at you, smug as ever.

Game on.

—

The patient’s condition is getting worse, and House is nowhere to be found—probably off harassing Cuddy or playing mind games with Wilson. That leaves the rest of you huddled around the conference table, sorting through test results.

You tap a pen against your lips, eyes narrowed at the list in front of you. “Her liver enzymes are elevated, but no sign of hepatitis. Negative for Wilson’s disease, negative for autoimmune markers…”

“Could be a parasitic infection,” Cameron suggests, glancing up from her notes.

Chase leans back in his chair, tilting his head toward you. “Sounds messy. I hope you don’t mind getting your hands dirty,”

You shoot him a look. “That depends. Are you offering to be my assistant? Or just my parasite?”

Foreman groans, rubbing his temples. “Oh my God. Can you two just—?”

Cameron nudges his arm before he can finish. “Shh. I have twenty bucks on them cracking by the end of the week,”

You and Chase turn to her at the same time. “Excuse me?”

Cameron shrugs, feigning innocence. “It’s nothing personal. It’s just… kind of obvious,”

Foreman crosses his arms, smirking slightly. “I said a month, but now I’m reconsidering. You two can’t go five minutes without turning everything into an innuendo,”

“You’re imagining things,” you say smoothly, ignoring the way Chase’s knee just barely brushes against yours under the table.

“Yeah,” Chase adds, grinning. “I’d never use a serious medical discussion to flirt,”

You scoff. “Right. Because that would be wildly inappropriate,”

Cameron exchanges a knowing glance with Foreman. “Exactly,”

—

The hospital is quieter at night. The usual hum of activity dulls to an ambient murmur of overnight nurses and the occasional beeping monitor.

You’re in the diagnostics office, reviewing test results while Chase leans against House’s desk, absentmindedly tossing a stress ball in the air.

It’s just the two of you.

“This is the part where I should tell you to go home,” you say, not looking up from the file. “But I know you won’t listen,”

Chase catches the ball in one hand and smirks. “And miss out on the chance to keep you company? I’d never,”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “What a gentleman,”

He pushes off the desk and moves closer, just enough for you to feel the shift in proximity. “I can be, when it suits me,”

The air is different tonight. He’s always been flirtatious, always toeing the line, but this time, there’s something heavier in the silence that lingers between words.

You glance up at him, and for a moment, neither of you speak. It would be easy to close the gap. To push just a little further.

But you don’t.

Instead, you exhale, shaking your head as you look back down at the file. “You should really get some sleep, Chase.”

He lingers for just a second longer before letting out a soft chuckle. “Yeah,” he murmurs, stepping back. “You too,”

As he leaves the office, you find yourself staring at the door for longer than you should.

—

It’s been one of those shifts where the exhaustion settles deep into your bones, where you feel like you’ve been going nonstop for days, even though it’s only been a few hours.

Chase, ever the one to escape stress with some humor, suggests grabbing drinks. The others quickly agree, but you and Chase end up walking out of the hospital together, the others trailing behind.

You’ve worked together long enough to know the difference between casual group outings and just the two of you.

When you get to the bar, the atmosphere is warm, filled with the sound of low conversations and the clink of glasses. You order your drinks, the chatter flowing easily at first. It’s comfortable—like it always is when you’re with Chase—but tonight, there’s something different. The usual teasing that’s exchanged over the complexities of medicine starts to feel like something else.

“Well, you know, if you were paying attention, I did say we should run the ANA panel last time,” you tease, stirring your drink. You catch him watching you, his expression almost smug, but you don’t break eye contact.

“Oh, I heard you,” he replies, his voice low, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “I just didn’t think you were right,”

You tilt your head with a scoff, narrowing your eyes. “But now you do?”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” he replies, taking a step closer. “But I think you like the challenge of proving me wrong,”

You lean back in your chair, trying to act unaffected, but your heart races. The space between you has closed in ways you hadn’t expected. “Not everything’s a challenge, Chase,”

He grins, his voice dropping a little further. “Sure about that? Because if you think I can’t keep up with you, I’m happy to prove you wrong,”

It’s playful. It’s always playful, right?

But tonight, there’s an edge to it. A tension that neither of you have addressed, but both of you are clearly aware of.

The way his eyes follow your movements. The way his smile lingers just a second too long on your lips. You feel the weight of his words like a challenge you don’t want to back down from.

It’s subtle, but it’s there—an almost imperceptible shift. You feel it when his hand brushes against yours on the bar. He doesn’t pull away immediately, and neither do you. For a heartbeat, everything around you fades, leaving only the space between the two of you.

It would be easy. So easy.

You could lean in, and he could kiss you, and you wouldn’t need to say a word. You could blame it on the alcohol, or the exhaustion, or just the chemistry that’s been crackling between you for weeks now.

But then, just as quickly as it started, you both pull back.

You laugh—maybe a little too loud, trying to cover up the moment that nearly shattered the wall you’ve both built around yourselves. “You’re an idiot,” you say, a little breathless, fingers tapping nervously on the edge of your glass.

Chase smirks, but there’s something softer in his expression now. “Yeah, well, it’s a good thing you like idiots.”

He leans back, turning his attention to his drink, and the playful banter resumes—but it’s different. There’s an edge to it now, an undercurrent of something else simmering beneath the surface.

Neither of you acknowledges it directly. Instead, you both talk about the case again, acting like nothing has changed. But you both know. Neither of you is fooled.

For the first time, the game isn’t just a game anymore. And it’s only a matter of time before one of you breaks.

—

The next day is a blur of frantic phone calls, lab reports, and running from one department to the next. The case has taken a turn for the worse, and the pressure is palpable.

Everyone is on edge, moving faster than usual, but the answers still aren’t coming. You and Chase work side by side, your minds racing with the mounting frustration.

The stress is starting to take its toll.

You’re reviewing the latest test results when Chase steps closer, his eyes scanning the board. "We’re missing something. There’s got to be a piece we’re overlooking,”

You feel his breath just a little too close, your heartbeat quickening. "Yeah, no kidding," you mutter, running a hand through your hair. "If I knew what that piece was, I’d have figured it out by now,”

“Don’t snap at me,” he says, voice quiet but teasing. "I’m on your side here,”

You glance at him, frustration flashing in your eyes. "You think I don’t know that?"

The tension between you is thick, heavier than it’s been before, each word a spark in the charged air. The room feels too small, too close, the adrenaline turning everything you say and do into something else—something that doesn’t belong in a hospital.

Chase takes a step back, but the distance doesn’t help. He’s still close enough to make your skin feel tight, still close enough for you to hear the quiet beat of his pulse beneath the surface.

“Sorry,” You sigh, exasperatedly taking your hands through your hair. “I’m just stressed,”

There’s a pause, a breath held in the space between you. Then, without a word, he steps forward, his hand finding your arm.

“You need a break,” he says, his voice low and urgent.

You swallow hard, feeling your breath catch in your throat. “I don’t need a break. I need answers,”

But the words feel hollow even as you say them. You don’t need answers. Not right now.

Before you can think, before you can even process what’s happening, Chase pulls you gently but firmly down the hallway, into a small, empty supply closet.

It’s a tight fit—your back pressed against the cold wall, his body just a breath away. The air in the small room is thick with the same kind of tension that’s been building between you for weeks, but now, it’s palpable. You can feel it in your skin, in the way your breath comes faster than it should.

You give a small laugh. “This isn’t the break room,”

And then, just like that, the moment snaps.

Chase closes the space between you, his lips crashing into yours. It’s not the slow, teasing kiss you expected—it’s urgent, hungry, desperate. All the months of flirtation, the innuendos, the playful jabs, finally culminating in this.

His hands slide to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can’t help but respond, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, and the world outside the closet fades away. There’s only the rush of adrenaline in your veins, the heat of his touch, the way your bodies move in sync, as though they’ve always known this was coming.

His hands slide down your back, pressing you even closer, and for a moment, you forget about the case, forget about everything but this. His lips trail down to your neck, and you let out a soft gasp, heart pounding in your chest.

“Are we really doing this right now?” you breathe, barely able to form the words as your breath hitches in your throat.

Chase pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression intense, searching. “Do you want to?” he asks, voice low, a mixture of desire and uncertainty.

Your mind races, the heat of the moment clouding your thoughts. But you don’t hesitate.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word barely escaping your lips before you pull him back to you.

The kiss picks up again, but this time, it’s more than just passion. There’s an urgency to it—something unspoken that has been building for far too long.

His hands roam, slipping beneath your shirt, and you don’t stop him. Every touch feels electric, igniting something deep inside you. The adrenaline from the case, the rush of being so close, the need to feel something more than just the constant stress of the hospital… it all comes together in that moment.

You don’t think about the consequences. You don’t think about anything except the way he makes you feel.

But even in the haze of desire, the question lingers. What happens after? What happens when the game is over?

Right now, though, you don’t care. All that matters is the way his lips feel against your skin, the way his hands fit perfectly against you. It’s everything and nothing at once.

And for the first time, you don’t pull away.

Chase is driven insane by the smallest things. The way your fingers curled into his belt-loops to tug him closer. The feel of your nails, scraping over his scalp as your hand slides through his hair. The way you breathe his name as he dips his head, mouthing at the hollow of your throat.

Too much. He thinks, as one hand comes up to curl around your wrist, pinning your hand against the door of the closet. Too much but still not enough.

He’s lost the ability for rational thought. It’s been pushed aside for need, for desire. Your name’s a constant on his lips, a hushed whisper as he presses kisses onto your neck. Teeth skimming over your skin, tongue soothing the light sting.

He finally draws back to meet your gaze. His expression is dark, pupils blown wide and his cheeks flushed so pretty. “I want you.” He says it as an absolute truth. As if you don’t already know that by the way his knee is slotted between your thighs.

He watches you. The way your lips part on a breath, an almost involuntary sound falling from them as he draws his knee up. “God, look at you,” He murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, “So pretty already and I’ve barely even touched you,”

His hand slides up the inside of your thigh, his touch almost reverent. The tip of his nose grazes your ear as his fingers dip under the edge of your pants. “Want you. So, so goddamn badly.”

And in contrast to the sweet way he speaks to you, the way he’s touching you is downright dirty. It sets the pit of your stomach on fire as his hand dips lower, cupping you through your panties and giving a slow, testing drag of his palm.

It’s a low, breathy moan that escapes you, your eyes fluttering closed for just a moment and your head thumping lightly against the door. “God-“ he groans, “I’m not going to last.” He hooks a finger around the waistband of your pants and tugs them down just enough for him to get a better purchase on you.

He doesn’t even tease. His hand immediately slips under the soft, black cotton of your underwear, his fingers dipping into you in a fluid motion. “God you’re so hot—“ He asks, his breath hot against your ear. “All this for me?”

Your answer comes in the form of a stifled gasp, your hips moving of their own accord to meet his hand. “Chase.” It’s the only word you manage, and it’s half formed, coming out on a whimper. Like you’re pleading.

It’s that sound and your pleading tone that does him in. His breath shudders out of him in a low sound of want. “You’re killing me.” He mutters, his words punctuated by the sound of his belt unbuckling.

He’s impatient, and it’s evident in the way his hand pushes at the fabric of your underwear. There’s nothing romantic about it, no sweet murmurs of sweet nothings or gentle coaxing. It’s needy and desperate and it’s you and that’s all that matters.

He keeps one hand planted on the wood of the door, keeping you pinned in place. The other dips, and the feel of his fingers is immediately replaced by the head of his cock, already leaking as it stretches out your entrance.

A low curse is muttered, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

He moves with purpose, his hips rolling forwards and pushing his length into you in a single steady motion. Chase gives a quiet grunt, his breath coming in shuddering gasps.

The whole thing feels like it’s happening so fast. Too fast. Neither of you are thinking clearly. But it’s you and it’s him and his face is still buried in the crook of your neck and his cock stretches you out so good that it leaves you whining.

His hand drops from the door, shifting to grip one of your thighs and hitch it over his hip. It gives him a different angle, one that he takes full advantage of.

He picks up the pace, and the hand that he’s gripping your thigh with gives it a firm squeeze. “I’ve thought about this.” He whispers, the words almost lost against your skin, “Can’t get you out of my head.”

He’s babbling now, his words low and punctuated by heavy breaths. And you’re so pretty like this, your eyes squeezed shut and your back arched against the door as he takes and takes and takes.

He can’t remember the last time he came so quickly. All it takes is a sound from you, a breathy sigh of his name and he’s done. He lets himself lose control, giving a loud curse as his hips stutter in their motion, desperately trying to pull out despite the instinct to bury his spend inside you.

Instead, it dribbles down the inside of your thighs, coating your skin and your underwear alike.

The moments after are filled with a tense, lingering quiet. Neither of you speaks immediately, neither of you moves to pull away. Your heart is still racing, your mind spinning with everything that just happened.

Chase stands there for a moment, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you catching your breath. But neither of you says anything.

It’s like a flicker, an electric pulse, that connects you both, and then just as quickly as it began, it feels like a weight pressing down. The weight of what just happened, of the unspoken words, of the fact that everything has changed.

“Chase…” You break the silence, your voice a whisper, uncertain. You don’t even know what you’re trying to say, but the question sits heavy on the tip of your tongue. What now?

He steps back slowly, his hands resting at his sides. He doesn’t look at you directly, his jaw tight. “We shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have…”

But the words trail off, unsaid. He doesn’t finish the sentence, and neither do you.

A moment passes, and the world starts to feel like it’s slowly realigning around you both. The air no longer feels suffocating, but it’s thick with the weight of everything you didn’t say. Neither of you makes a move to break the silence. Finally, Chase gives a sharp exhale. “We should get back to work.”

You nod, a little too quickly, still lost in the aftershock. Your fingers graze your lips, still tingling from the kiss and everything after, but you don’t let yourself linger on it. There’s nothing to say.

Not yet.

—

The next day, you and Chase are back in the diagnostic office like nothing happened. Well, almost nothing. The air between you is a little too thick, a little too aware of the space you now share. Every word feels heavier, more loaded. And whenever your eyes meet, it’s like there’s something you both are trying not to acknowledge.

But neither of you says a word.

It’s House, of course, who does notice. He’s always observant, always sharp when it comes to his team’s dynamics. He watches the two of you from across the room with a knowing smirk, almost as if he’s been waiting for this.

“Is it just me,” House drawls, breaking the silence as he slides into the office, “or does it feel like someone’s been… busy?”

You freeze, and you can feel Chase tense next to you. You don’t want to look at him, not with House’s smirk aimed squarely at both of you. You can’t look at him.

“You two should get a room,” House continues, unbothered by the tension hanging in the air. “It’s honestly like a live soap opera around here,”

Cameron, overhearing from the other room, raises an eyebrow. “What’s going on now?”

“Nothing,” you mutter, barely able to keep your cool. “Nothing happened,”

But House just fakes a sigh, fishing out his wallet and holding out a tenth dollar bill in Cameron’s direction. “I guess I owe you twenty bucks,”

You can hear the amusement in his voice as he takes a seat at his desk, eyes gleaming with too much satisfaction. He’s not going to let this go. Not for a second.

“You guys slept together?” Cameron’s voice is a mix between amusement and mortification as she takes the cash, and you groan.

Chase clears his throat and straightens up, trying to salvage some sense of normalcy. “It’s nothing to write home about,”

“Oh but it is,” House says with an exaggerated smirk, leaning back in his chair. “Talk about a HR violation,”

—

The next few days pass in a blur of awkward silences, quick glances, and sidelong looks between you and Chase. Neither of you brings up the supply closet, not once. Instead, you focus on the case, on everything but what happened behind closed doors.

The chemistry between you both is still there, still undeniable, but now it’s wrapped in layers of unspoken words. It’s the elephant in the room you both avoid acknowledging.

And yet, as you work together—closer than ever before, eyes meeting more often than they should, the energy still humming between you—you both know something has shifted. You’re not sure what it is yet.

At one point, when House pushes you to continue working late on a particularly difficult diagnosis, you end up alone with Chase again. The tension between you both feels just as charged as it did that night in the supply closet, but now, it’s thicker. More complex.

Chase stands next to you, looking down at the patient’s chart, but you can feel his gaze flicking toward you, gauging your reaction. His voice is quieter this time, as though testing the waters. “So…”

“So,” you reply, keeping your voice steady, but there’s a nervous edge beneath it.

He sighs, clearly sensing the unease between you. “What do you think? Is this it then”

You hesitate, the words sitting heavily in your chest. This is the question. What happens now? What happens when the game is over?

You take a deep breath, trying to ignore the flutter of uncertainty in your stomach. “I don’t think it’s just a game anymore, Chase,”

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the silence stretches between you both. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—a mix of hope, uncertainty, and that ever-present challenge.

And in that moment, you realise: neither of you has to have the answer right now.

“You’re right,” he says softly, his lips curling into a smile. “Maybe it’s not,”

And so, the game continues—only now, it’s not a game at all. It’s something else entirely, something neither of you is ready to define yet.

But that’s okay.

[alaia777]

HIIII I hope you’re doing good! I just LOVE YOUR WORKS!! And I just saw that your request were open soooo… (It isn’t actually a request at first I just wanted to share a thought I had and you can write something for it if you want or ignore it as well it’s fine too but I just felt like sharing this idea!)

So basically, I was thinking about a Reo x Reader in which the scenario would basically be:

Reader is a friend of bachira, Isagi & Chigiri (obviously reader is chaotic & unserious if friend of bachira) and like Reo rlly likes reader’s vibes and kind of fall in love with her, but he doesn’t allow himself to have these feelings for her because he thinks reader is not from the same world as him and his parents will never accept him dating someone like that.

BUT dot dot dot,

Like a week later, his parents are having like some meeting with others important persons and their children have to be there too bc why not so Reo is here, AND WHO HE FIND AT THIS MEETING? READER!! And then he realises we’re actually from a rich & high status family and he sees us acting way different than we did when he saw us hanging out with bachira, like we are now acting respectful and serious while it was the opposite when Reo first saw us, and basically Reo is like ‘wow, she’s perfect’

THANKS FOR READING MY REQUEST THROUGH ITS NOT REALLY ONE, I just felt like sharing that thought! Remember to eat & drink well, byee!

hellooo!! i really loved your idea, it was so much fun to write! i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed working on it! take care, sending you all my loveeee <333

you’ve been friends with isagi, bachira, and chigiri for a while now. you were first friends with chigiri, who introduced you to them, and honestly, it felt like you fit right in—your personality blending perfectly with the other three.

you don’t like to pick favorites since that can break friendships, but if you had to, bachira might be something close to that. he’s always buzzing with energy—while the other two can have their moments of calm, bachira never seems to run out of battery. it’s like he’s constantly on, always looking for the next thrill, the next laugh, the next game to turn life into.

and you love that—finally getting to cut loose and just have fun. with bachira, it’s always something ridiculous. once, you both convinced isagi and chigiri to have a shopping cart race in an empty parking lot. you pushed bachira at full speed while he screamed like he was in a high-speed chase, and chigiri nearly crashed into a bush because isagi was too focused on winning to steer properly.

another time, you and bachira tried to see how many arcade claw machine prizes you could win in a row, turning it into a full-blown competition. bachira ended up with a ridiculous number of stuffed animals, chigiri kept missing on purpose just to avoid carrying them, and isagi nearly broke the machine by shaking it too hard.

“this thing is obviously rigged,” he muttered.

“or maybe you just suck at it,” you teased, grinning as you pulled out yet another prize on your first try.

even the simplest things turn into adventures with them, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

there has been an addition to your friend group. well, not exactly an addition—they were already friends with the others, but you hadn’t met them before. their names were nagi and reo.

nagi was easy to figure out. he was laid-back, always looking like he was five seconds away from falling asleep, but somehow still keeping up with the chaos you and bachira stirred up. he never tried to stop it—just stood on the sidelines.

reo, though—reo was different.

he was friendly, easy to talk to, always jumping into conversations with a confidence that made him seem like he belonged. but with you, there was something else. something hesitant.

he seemed to gravitate toward you without meaning to, always ending up next to you in conversations, standing just a little closer than necessary. but then, just as quickly, he’d pull away—like he caught himself getting too comfortable. like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to.

and you couldn’t figure out why.

he could figure out why.

he liked you.

your eccentric personality, the way you always seemed to smile—not just around his friends but around him too—made his heart weak. you had this way of making everything feel exciting, like the world was a little brighter just because you were in it. and unfortunately, he knew that whatever he was dreaming of whenever he looked at you was just that—a dream.

you two were from different worlds.

he couldn’t show up to dinner with his parents and introduce you as his girlfriend. not because he didn’t want to—god, he wanted to—but because he knew exactly how that conversation would go.

“who are her parents?”

“what does her family do?”

“does she understand our world?”

and he wouldn’t have the answers they wanted to hear. because, as far as he knew, you were just an ordinary girl from an ordinary life. no name that held weight, no empire backing you, no future that had already been paved out for you like his had.

so he kept his distance. as much as he could, anyway.

except it was impossible. because no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that it wouldn’t work, that it couldn’t work, he’d always find himself right back next to you—laughing at your jokes, getting caught up in your energy, wanting more of you in ways he knew he shouldn’t.

but dreams weren’t meant to last. and this? whatever this was? it was never supposed to start in the first place.

that thought followed him everywhere—at practice, at home, and even now, as he sat stiffly at a round table, surrounded by people who spoke in dull, rehearsed tones.

these events were routine. his parents dragged him to them from time to time, expecting him to sit through dinner, shake hands, and engage in polite, empty conversations. it always bored him out of his mind. the food was expensive, the champagne flowed freely, and yet, it all felt lifeless.

there were other people his age, but they were no better. perfectly mannered, perfectly dull, sticking to scripted pleasantries that never led anywhere real.

he wanted you here.

he wanted to hear your laugh cut through the hum of forced conversation, wanted to see the way your eyes would light up whenever bachira pitched some ridiculous idea.

he could already picture it so clearly. except—

why was he actually seeing someone that looked exactly like you a few tables over?

his breath caught in his throat.

same face. same familiar spark in your eyes. but the version of you sitting there was—classier.

your hair was styled differently, and you wore a dress that looked like it cost more than someone’s monthly salary. it fit you effortlessly, draping over you in a way that made you look like you belonged here, like you were born for this world he’d convinced himself you weren’t a part of.

except it was you.

and reo felt his entire reality tilt on its axis.

he couldn’t stop himself from approaching your table, and when your eyes met his, you greeted him with a sweet smile—polished, composed, a little too perfect compared to the one he was used to.

“good evening, reo. it’s a pleasure to see you again,” you said, your voice smooth and measured.

the words felt so foreign coming from you that he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “why are you talking like that?”

for a split second, your expression wavered, the ghost of your usual smirk threatening to break through. but just as quickly, you reined it in, maintaining the same poised demeanor.

your parents, however, exchanged puzzled glances.

“honey,” your mother asked, her tone curious but polite, “do you know this young man?”

reo’s gaze flickered between you and them, his mind still struggling to reconcile the version of you he knew with the one sitting before him now.

you smiled—again, too polished, too controlled—and folded your hands neatly in your lap. “yes, mother. this is reo. we have mutual friends.”

mutual friends.

reo didn’t know why that made his stomach twist.

“is that so?” your father chimed in, looking him over with the kind of careful scrutiny reo had grown up around. “and what do your parents do, young man?”

reo didn’t answer. he was still looking at you, waiting for you to crack, to drop the act, to laugh and tell him this was all some elaborate prank. but you didn’t.

instead, you tilted your head ever so slightly and gave him that same polite smile.

and reo—who had spent weeks convincing himself that he could never be with you because you were from a different world—suddenly realized he had never known a damn thing about you at all.

reo didn’t give you a chance to react. one moment, he was standing beside your table, and the next, his hand was wrapped around yours, pulling you away from the lingering stares of your parents and the stiff, dull atmosphere of the event.

“reo—” you started, but he didn’t slow down, weaving through the elegantly dressed crowd until he found a quieter spot, a secluded balcony overlooking the city. only then did he let go, turning to face you with narrowed eyes.

“what the hell is going on?” he demanded, breath slightly uneven, whether from frustration or something else, you weren’t sure. “why were you talking like that? why are you here—like this?”

you exhaled, leaning against the cool railing. “because this is my life,” you admitted. “the one i never told you about.”

his jaw clenched. “so what? you’ve been lying to us this whole time?”

“no,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “it’s not like that. i just, i didn’t want this to matter. with you, with nagi, with bachira, with chigiri and isagi—i didn’t want to be this person. i just wanted to be me.”

reo ran a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable. “so you’re telling me you’re rich. like, stupidly rich.”

you huffed a small laugh. “yeah. basically.”

he let out a long sigh, looking away for a moment before glancing back at you. “so all this time, i thought i couldn’t be with you because i was the rich one and you weren’t.” he scoffed, shaking his head. “turns out, i was completely wrong.”

your lips parted slightly. “wait, what?”

he blinked, as if realizing what he had just admitted. his ears turned the faintest shade of red. “nothing,” he muttered quickly. “forget it.”

but you didn’t. a slow smile crept onto your lips. “reo, were you avoiding me because you liked me?”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “can we not do this right now?”

but you were grinning now, stepping closer. “so if i had just told you the truth from the beginning, we could’ve been on a date ages ago?”

“alright, that’s it,” he huffed, and before you could react, he grabbed your hand again, but this time, it was different. slower. more deliberate.

“dance with me,” he said.

you blinked at him. “reo, there’s no music—”

“so?” he smirked. “i bet you’re a good dancer. with all that rich people etiquette training, right?”

you rolled your eyes, but your heart was racing when he pulled you closer, one hand settling at your waist.

“if i take you on a real date,” he murmured, “you won’t run off and hide another secret life from me, will you?”

you laughed softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “no more secrets. promise.”

reo grinned, spinning you under the city lights. “good. because i’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

[jesterscourt-e]

Do You Have to Let it Linger? FINAL

A/N: it feels strange to write this, I just went through the most painful breakup and move of my life but I need to write this to feel some semblance that it will be ok. Maybe not today, maybe not this year but. It will. This is the finale of Linger. There will be more. Eventually. Thank you for everything.

CW: angst, yearning, crying, SMUT 18+ MDNI!!!!!

You step aside to let him in and shut the door behind you. standing by the door staring at him as he walks in and sets his duffel down. Your shock frozen to your face as he looks at you.

“What are you doing here?” You ask again more sternly this time.

He doesn’t respond as he closes the distance between you now and hugs you. Your breath catches in your throat. You can’t help as tears start to well up in your eyes. He holds you tightly as you stand stiffly. The longer he holds you the harder it is to resist his embrace. His strong arms are warm and comforting.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly and steps back to look at you. “At first I thought you were right and space was what we needed, but after a day or two I realized I was a complete dick- I realized I didn’t respond the way I should have, because I was terrified. Truth be told, I'm not a warm, fuzzy guy, I’m not good with serious situations or relationships.” He pauses and looks away.“I didn’t know how to…” he starts speaking but stops. “I was too scared to tell you how you make me feel. I want to be everything you deserve and I want to be what you need. So I let the distance happen because I was scared I may not be ready. But the distance felt worse than just telling you. The truth is having you near makes me a better person, you’ve shown me how to be soft and how to feel. I didn’t know how to tell you everything I want to say and figured I’d rather just show you.” He finished sheepishly. He stood for a second before he cupped your face with his hands and softly kissed your lips. “I don’t want you to get over your ‘stupid crush’”

Your head was spinning the way it did the night you spent together. Your whole body felt like it was vibrating with energy. You looked at his face searching for an ounce of jest or indications of a prank. There was no such tell. You suddenly realized the words he was saying and what they meant. He had been mad because he likes you. His brow furrowed into a worried line, his eyes were welling with the hint of tears. You couldn’t help but grab the back of his head and bring him closer to you to kiss him. His worried expression faded as you two held each other. Your tears stinging your eyes and planting on his cheeks as you kiss.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner,” he whispers into your neck. His words make you cry harder. He pulls away to look at you again. He lets a tear fall down his own cheek as he pulls you back in and wraps you in his arms repeatedly apologizing. You feel limp in his arms as he moves you both to the couch and sits you down in between his legs so he can hold you.

“I thought you hated me,” you choke out. Your sobs are interrupting your words as you speak. You feel like you can’t breathe with how hard you’re crying. Schlatt’s hand on your back, the other on the back of your head holding you tightly. You could hear his heart racing along with yours. As you listen to his heart rate slow with time it helps you regulate yours. He doesn’t let go in the slightest just breathing under you.

“I don’t hate you, I could never hate you,” he says quietly and deeply. You could hear his voice rumble in his chest as he spoke. “I love you, toots. I have for years.” At those words you sit up and look at him. His eyes are red, his cheeks rosy. You reach your hand to touch his face and slowly inspect every bit of it. You let your fingertips feel every bit of his face trying to memorize it. You feel his facial hair, nose, and lips while he watches you nervously.

“Can you say that again?”

“I have for years?”

“No, idiot.”

“I love you?” As he says it quizzically you stare at his lips. The way he says it burns in your core.

“Again?” You plead.

“I love you,” this time he kisses you after he says it.

“Again.”

“I. Love. You.” He kisses you in between each word. The way his voice sounds is like a melody, his New York accent, the tone of his voice, the way his lips move. You feel a shiver go through your body as he kisses you. This time his hands explore you. He sheepishly places his hands on your hips and moves them to your back to move your body closer to him. He moves his mouth to your neck and keeps whispering ‘I love yous’ into your skin. He moves his hands more confidently to your ass to help you straddle him on the couch.

His lips move over your skin slowly following his hands. You close your eyes and let the feeling wash over you.

“I love you, too,” you whisper out. You feel his lips curl into a smile on your skin as he continues placing gentle kisses on your neck. He pulls away to look you in the eyes and places a kiss on your lips.

“I want you,” you say to him in a hum.

“Really? How?” He whispers.

“Every way possible.”

“Sounds like a good deal to me,” he says, smiling widely and chuckling. You slam your mouth against his again and feverishly kiss him. You begin to pick up the pace letting your mouths fully explore each others. His hands can’t sit still as he feels your body all over. Everything you had mourned since you fought melted away and was replaced with pure elation. He was here. And he was yours. And he wanted you. You feel like you can’t contain yourself anymore and pull him closer. It felt like it wasn’t enough, like you could never be close enough. Like the material atoms of your body were keeping you from getting closer to him. You meant it when you said every way possible. You could feel heat rising in you as you feverishly devoured each other.

He held you just as tight as you straddle him. His mouth and tongue moving from yours to your neck, his hand holding the back of it to bring you close. He hungrily licks and bites your neck as he kisses you down to your chest and brings his hands to your front. He pulls away to look at you as he slides his hands under your shirt to your tits. You aren’t wearing a bra because you had planned to have a chill night to yourself. He easily cups and holds your tits as he connects his mouth to yours again letting his tongue dance with yours. You let out a moan as he touches you, his hands so soft and warm. His grasp envelops your body with desire.

He sighs as you moan on his mouth while his hands gently caress you. You can’t help but shiver and shutter and he chuckles at the feeling. He smiles at you as he continues to massage and caress you. His hands envelop your skin and make you feel blissful. You can’t help but grind yourself on him as he kisses and holds you that elicits a moan from him. His moan stirs something deep in your core.

“Fuck.” He practically growls on your neck.

You grip the back of his scalp as you grind yourself on him at his cursing which makes him hold you tighter. Suddenly he yanks your sweater off your shoulders and shortly after he’s pulling your tank top over your head for you. He pauses at the newly exposed skin drinking in your body for his own viewing pleasure. He quickly places his mouth on your freshly exposed tits. As he does you throw your head back and sigh. His mouth is magical. Who knew it was good for anything other than his constant talking and complaining? But fuck was it good. You continue to grind on him as you feel him growing in his pants under you. He bucks up at your core as he leaves marks on your chest. This time you let out a loud moan that makes him stop in his tracks.

He suddenly stands with you wrapped around his waist and moves you two to your bedroom without hesitation. He gently places you on the edge of the bed and looks you in the eyes.

“Is this ok?”

“Oh absolutely.”

“Can I taste you, doll?”

You can’t even speak at that request. You just nod your head and move to take off your sweatpants. He stops you and replaces your hands with his and slowly removes them as you lift your hips for him. He kneels at the end of the bed between your legs where you sit. He softly places his hands on your hips and touches your thighs smiling to himself as he moves. He gently hooks his fingers under your underwear and pulls them off you. His speed is glacial, making you antsy under his gaze. He comes up to meet your mouth again before he begins to leave kisses down your body. He teases you painfully before finally connecting his mouth with your pussy. As he does you can’t help but shutter again. He licks and sucks at your clit and wet pussy already sensitive from him eliciting noises you had no clue you could make. It felt dizzying to have him where you had imagined him before late at night. It was completely different than you had expected in the best way. As he devours you you can feel yourself losing any remaining composure you had left by the second. Panting and moaning you feel him moan at your sounds that send vibrations through your pussy. He comes up for breath and places his thumb on your clit while smirking up at you, his mustache soaked. Fuck he’s gorgeous like this, drunk on your arousal. He slowly places a thick finger at your opening and places his mouth back as he pumps it into you, slowly. The sensations becoming too much you buck up to his face as he adds a second finger and lightly nibbles you. Without warning you cum, unable to give warning. Shaking and cursing as you cum on his face gripping his hair and the sheets of the bed. He moans as you tug on his hair and smother his face. His other hand palming his erection in his pants. As you come down from the high he continues to lick until you tug his hair and pull his head away from your cunt. He reluctantly pulls away panting and grinning like a fucking moron.

“Yes?” He says cheekily.

“Schlatt, come fuck me.”

With that he needs no other invitation, he strips his pants off along with his trousers and climbs onto the bed. You scoot yourself back towards your pillows smirking as you evade him, making him chase you. He stops you by your ankle and grabs the other one and pulls you towards him. Your smirk and giggle fade replaced by primal hunger again. He covers your body with his and kisses your lips again. You can’t help but steal a look at his figure, you glance at his hard member then back at his face. His cheeky slyness is gone, replaced by mind numbing primal arousal. You wrap your legs around him as he guides himself to your entrance. He pauses, “condom? Birth control?”

“Implant, we’re good, unless you want to use a condom.”

“Lady’s choice.”

“I want to feel you.”

That’s all he needs to kiss you and slide himself into you. He goes slowly at first moaning with you as he bottoms out. He doesn’t take long to adjust before he puts your ankles on his shoulders and begins slamming into you with no mercy. His pace is as dizzying as how he hits your every sensitive angle. You can’t help but pant and whine as he hugs your legs to his chest to pull you closer to him. You can feel your second climax quickly approaching, giving him warning this time you practically scream it. He continues at his pace, “cum for me baby.” No other order necessary you clutch the sheets as you shake.

As you come down this time he slows his pace slightly to let your shaking legs off his shoulders to connect his lips with your neck again.

“Flip over.” He orders pulling away.

You begin to move to flip but he grabs you and flips you himself, he positions you with your ass in the air and puts a pillow under your stomach. You’re taken aback at how easily he flips and maneuvers you where he wants you. It only makes your arousal that much greater. He grabs your ass as he lines himself up and quickly slams himself back into you. As he does you let out an involuntary scream. He leans down and kisses your shoulder. He pulls back and picks his pace back up. You can already tell at this angle you won’t last long again. He grasps your hips and ass as he moves. You bury your face in the pillow, but he grabs your hair and pulls your face up and kisses your neck and nips at your earlobe. “Uh uh. I want to hear you, toots. Scream for me.”

This makes you lose all control. Whatever control you had. The noises you make are embarrassing , your throat dry from the panting. He lands a hard smack on your ass that makes you clench and throws you over the edge. As you cum he leans and grips your throat to meet your mouth while he continues to pound you through your climax. You can feel his movements become sloppy and his moans louder as you swap spit.

“Fuck, y/n, baby. You’re so tight you feel incredible.” He moans loudly in your ear as you continue to cum around him. “Fuck baby you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Please- please cum for me. I need it.” You stutter out.

“Where?” He asks.

“F-fuck, fill me.” You beg.

Your words drive his orgasm. He fucks you full. You shutter as you feel him shoot his load inside you. Your last orgasm from this feeling leaves you completely drained.

As he comes down he slowly peels himself away from you to plop down next to you. You look at him through heavy eyes and smile. He looks angelic like this. Sweaty and pink. His perfect teeth shine as he smiles at you. You remain lying in the same position as you admire him in this way. He does the same.

“Worth the wait.” He sighs.

“Very.”

——

The end.

[wingsofaphrodite]

Hello! I hope you’re doing okay! ♡

I’ve felt very drawn to Aphrodite these past few weeks, but this is my first time (possibly) connecting to her, so I wanted to ask for your guidance…

The way (I think) she’s presenting herself to me feels a little darker than how I’ve seen her other devotees describe her. Not “darker” in a way that feels intimidating, but darker in a way that is mischievous and wild—almost like a playfully loving trickster energy… I do personally believe that deities can present themselves differently to different people, and while I do feel very strongly that this is her reaching out, I’m not familiar enough with Aphrodite yet to know.

It’s a sort of “darker” presence I feel when she’s around. It’s a feeling I’ve always been uncomfortable with allowing myself to embody, but an energy I’ve been longing to be more like—especially as I’m going through a difficult time right now. I’m wondering if this might be her reaching out because I need her? Or if it may be a different deity entirely?

Anyway, I would be absolutely honored if you chose to share your perspective as a priestess, but please don’t feel pressured to respond! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this.

— Khaire! I wish you well. ♡

Hi!!

I agree with you wholeheartedly about deities presenting themselves differently, they’re too multifaceted to not. One of the amazing things about having so many surviving myths and stories is that we as Hellenic Polytheists have a glimpse into how the Theoi were seen during the time they were worshipped most. I would suggest researching some of Lady Aphrodites darker epithets if that’s what you feel called too! The first epithet that comes to mind is Aphrodite Areia, or Warlike Aphrodite, but she has a multitude of epithets meaning a multitude of things. Some other epithets I would lead you towards would be Melanis (the dark one - specifically from corinth), Skotia (also the dark one), Androphonus (killer of men), Anosia (unholy), or Tymborychos (grave digger). These are some of the epithets that lean towards her darker nature, but I don’t personally think that it must strictly be one of those, she has so many epithets, and she could present herself with any one of them (I have a list of 60, and I’m still missing some).

I am personally of the belief that the gods will also not present themselves as anything other than who they are, so if you’re convinced it’s Lady Aphrodite, it’s her. I’ve seen her coming to people a lot when they need her most, and I would highly suggest worshipping her. With that said, I recognize that I am biased due to what she has done for me, and blessed me with, but I still think she’s an incredible goddess to work with if you’re striving towards presenting with more of a certain energy, or honestly just need help with any aspect of the self!

I hope this helped, and if you have any more questions please don’t hesitate to reach out!