#you know. something she also would have gone through

[victusinveritas]

Story below the cut to avoid a paywall.

There was no explanation, no warning. One minute, I was in an immigration office talking to an officer about my work visa, which had been approved months before and allowed me, a Canadian, to work in the US. The next, I was told to put my hands against the wall, and patted down like a criminal before being sent to an Ice detention center without the chance to talk to a lawyer.

I grew up in Whitehorse, Yukon, a small town in the northernmost part of Canada. I always knew I wanted to do something bigger with my life. I left home early and moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, where I built a career spanning multiple industries – acting in film and television, owning bars and restaurants, flipping condos and managing Airbnbs.

In my 30s, I found my true passion working in the health and wellness industry. I was given the opportunity to help launch an American brand of health tonics called Holy! Water – a job that would involve moving to the US.

I was granted my trade Nafta work visa, which allows Canadian and Mexican citizens to work in the US in specific professional occupations, on my second attempt. It goes without saying, then, that I have no criminal record. I also love the US and consider myself to be a kind, hard-working person.

I started working in California and travelled back and forth between Canada and the US multiple times without any complications – until one day, upon returning to the US, a border officer questioned me about my initial visa denial and subsequent visa approval. He asked why I had gone to the San Diego border the second time to apply. I explained that that was where my lawyer’s offices were, and that he had wanted to accompany me to ensure there were no issues.

After a long interrogation, the officer told me it seemed “shady” and that my visa hadn’t been properly processed. He claimed I also couldn’t work for a company in the US that made use of hemp – one of the beverage ingredients. He revoked my visa, and told me I could still work for the company from Canada, but if I wanted to return to the US, I would need to reapply.

I was devastated; I had just started building a life in California. I stayed in Canada for the next few months, and was eventually offered a similar position with a different health and wellness brand.

I restarted the visa process and returned to the same immigration office at the San Diego border, since they had processed my visa before and I was familiar with it. Hours passed, with many confused opinions about my case. The officer I spoke to was kind but told me that, due to my previous issues, I needed to apply for my visa through the consulate. I told her I hadn’t been aware I needed to apply that way, but had no problem doing it.

Then she said something strange: “You didn’t do anything wrong. You are not in trouble, you are not a criminal.”

I remember thinking: Why would she say that? Of course I’m not a criminal!

She then told me they had to send me back to Canada. That didn’t concern me; I assumed I would simply book a flight home. But as I sat searching for flights, a man approached me.

“Come with me,” he said.

There was no explanation, no warning. He led me to a room, took my belongings from my hands and ordered me to put my hands against the wall. A woman immediately began patting me down. The commands came rapid-fire, one after another, too fast to process.

They took my shoes and pulled out my shoelaces.

“What are you doing? What is happening?” I asked.

“You are being detained.”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean? For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

That would be the response to nearly every question I would ask over the next two weeks: “I don’t know.”

They brought me downstairs for a series of interviews and medical questions, searched my bags and told me I had to get rid of half my belongings because I couldn’t take everything with me.

“Take everything with me where?” I asked.

A woman asked me for the name of someone they could contact on my behalf. In moments like this, you realize you don’t actually know anyone’s phone number anymore. By some miracle, I had recently memorized my best friend Britt’s number because I had been putting my grocery points on her account.

I gave them her phone number.

They handed me a mat and a folded-up sheet of aluminum foil.

“What is this?”

“Your blanket.”

“I don’t understand.”

I was taken to a tiny, freezing cement cell with bright fluorescent lights and a toilet. There were five other women lying on their mats with the aluminum sheets wrapped over them, looking like dead bodies. The guard locked the door behind me.

For two days, we remained in that cell, only leaving briefly for food. The lights never turned off, we never knew what time it was and no one answered our questions. No one in the cell spoke English, so I either tried to sleep or meditate to keep from having a breakdown. I didn’t trust the food, so I fasted, assuming I wouldn’t be there long.

On the third day, I was finally allowed to make a phone call. I called Britt and told her that I didn’t understand what was happening, that no one would tell me when I was going home, and that she was my only contact.

They gave me a stack of paperwork to sign and told me I was being given a five-year ban unless I applied for re-entry through the consulate. The officer also said it didn’t matter whether I signed the papers or not; it was happening regardless.

I was so delirious that I just signed. I told them I would pay for my flight home and asked when I could leave.

No answer.

Then they moved me to another cell – this time with no mat or blanket. I sat on the freezing cement floor for hours. That’s when I realized they were processing me into real jail: the Otay Mesa Detention Center.

I was told to shower, given a jail uniform, fingerprinted and interviewed. I begged for information.

“How long will I be here?”

“I don’t know your case,” the man said. “Could be days. Could be weeks. But I’m telling you right now – you need to mentally prepare yourself for months.”

Months.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

I was taken to the nurse’s office for a medical check. She asked what had happened to me. She had never seen a Canadian there before. When I told her my story, she grabbed my hand and said: “Do you believe in God?”

I told her I had only recently found God, but that I now believed in God more than anything.

“I believe God brought you here for a reason,” she said. “I know it feels like your life is in a million pieces, but you will be OK. Through this, I think you are going to find a way to help others.”

At the time, I didn’t know what that meant. She asked if she could pray for me. I held her hands and wept.

I felt like I had been sent an angel.

I was then placed in a real jail unit: two levels of cells surrounding a common area, just like in the movies. I was put in a tiny cell alone with a bunk bed and a toilet.

The best part: there were blankets. After three days without one, I wrapped myself in mine and finally felt some comfort.

For the first day, I didn’t leave my cell. I continued fasting, terrified that the food might make me sick. The only available water came from the tap attached to the toilet in our cells or a sink in the common area, neither of which felt safe to drink.

Eventually, I forced myself to step out, meet the guards and learn the rules. One of them told me: “No fighting.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” I joked. He laughed.

I asked if there had ever been a fight here.

“In this unit? No,” he said. “No one in this unit has a criminal record.”

That’s when I started meeting the other women.

That’s when I started hearing their stories.

And that’s when I made a decision: I would never allow myself to feel sorry for my situation again. No matter how hard this was, I had to be grateful. Because every woman I met was in an even more difficult position than mine.

There were around 140 of us in our unit. Many women had lived and worked in the US legally for years but had overstayed their visas – often after reapplying and being denied. They had all been detained without warning.

If someone is a criminal, I agree they should be taken off the streets. But not one of these women had a criminal record. These women acknowledged that they shouldn’t have overstayed and took responsibility for their actions. But their frustration wasn’t about being held accountable; it was about the endless, bureaucratic limbo they had been trapped in.

The real issue was how long it took to get out of the system, with no clear answers, no timeline and no way to move forward. Once deported, many have no choice but to abandon everything they own because the cost of shipping their belongings back is too high.

I met a woman who had been on a road trip with her husband. She said they had 10-year work visas. While driving near the San Diego border, they mistakenly got into a lane leading to Mexico. They stopped and told the agent they didn’t have their passports on them, expecting to be redirected. Instead, they were detained. They are both pastors.

I met a family of three who had been living in the US for 11 years with work authorizations. They paid taxes and were waiting for their green cards. Every year, the mother had to undergo a background check, but this time, she was told to bring her whole family. When they arrived, they were taken into custody and told their status would now be processed from within the detention center.

Another woman from Canada had been living in the US with her husband who was detained after a traffic stop. She admitted she had overstayed her visa and accepted that she would be deported. But she had been stuck in the system for almost six weeks because she hadn’t had her passport. Who runs casual errands with their passport?

One woman had a 10-year visa. When it expired, she moved back to her home country, Venezuela. She admitted she had overstayed by one month before leaving. Later, she returned for a vacation and entered the US without issue. But when she took a domestic flight from Miami to Los Angeles, she was picked up by Ice and detained. She couldn’t be deported because Venezuela wasn’t accepting deportees. She didn’t know when she was getting out.

There was a girl from India who had overstayed her student visa for three days before heading back home. She then came back to the US on a new, valid visa to finish her master’s degree and was handed over to Ice due to the three days she had overstayed on her previous visa.

There were women who had been picked up off the street, from outside their workplaces, from their homes. All of these women told me that they had been detained for time spans ranging from a few weeks to 10 months. One woman’s daughter was outside the detention center protesting for her release.

That night, the pastor invited me to a service she was holding. A girl who spoke English translated for me as the women took turns sharing their prayers – prayers for their sick parents, for the children they hadn’t seen in weeks, for the loved ones they had been torn away from.

Then, unexpectedly, they asked if they could pray for me. I was new here, and they wanted to welcome me. They formed a circle around me, took my hands and prayed. I had never felt so much love, energy and compassion from a group of strangers in my life. Everyone was crying.

At 3am the next day, I was woken up in my cell.

“Pack your bag. You’re leaving.”

I jolted upright. “I get to go home?”

The officer shrugged. “I don’t know where you’re going.”

Of course. No one ever knew anything.

I grabbed my things and went downstairs, where 10 other women stood in silence, tears streaming down their faces. But these weren’t happy tears. That was the moment I learned the term “transferred”.

For many of these women, detention centers had become a twisted version of home. They had formed bonds, established routines and found slivers of comfort in the friendships they had built. Now, without warning, they were being torn apart and sent somewhere new. Watching them say goodbye, clinging to each other, was gut-wrenching.

I had no idea what was waiting for me next. In hindsight, that was probably for the best.

Our next stop was Arizona, the San Luis Regional Detention Center. The transfer process lasted 24 hours, a sleepless, grueling ordeal. This time, men were transported with us. Roughly 50 of us were crammed into a prison bus for the next five hours, packed together – women in the front, men in the back. We were bound in chains that wrapped tightly around our waists, with our cuffed hands secured to our bodies and shackles restraining our feet, forcing every movement into a slow, clinking struggle.

When we arrived at our next destination, we were forced to go through the entire intake process all over again, with medical exams, fingerprinting – and pregnancy tests; they lined us up in a filthy cell, squatting over a communal toilet, holding Dixie cups of urine while the nurse dropped pregnancy tests in each of our cups. It was disgusting.

We sat in freezing-cold jail cells for hours, waiting for everyone to be processed. Across the room, one of the women suddenly spotted her husband. They had both been detained and were now seeing each other for the first time in weeks.

The look on her face – pure love, relief and longing – was something I’ll never forget.

We were beyond exhausted. I felt like I was hallucinating.

The guard tossed us each a blanket: “Find a bed.”

There were no pillows. The room was ice cold, and one blanket wasn’t enough. Around me, women lay curled into themselves, heads covered, looking like a room full of corpses. This place made the last jail feel like the Four Seasons.

I kept telling myself: Do not let this break you.

Thirty of us shared one room. We were given one Styrofoam cup for water and one plastic spoon that we had to reuse for every meal. I eventually had to start trying to eat and, sure enough, I got sick. None of the uniforms fit, and everyone had men’s shoes on. The towels they gave us to shower were hand towels. They wouldn’t give us more blankets. The fluorescent lights shined on us 24/7.

Everything felt like it was meant to break you. Nothing was explained to us. I wasn’t given a phone call. We were locked in a room, no daylight, with no idea when we would get out.

I tried to stay calm as every fiber of my being raged towards panic mode. I didn’t know how I would tell Britt where I was. Then, as if sent from God, one of the women showed me a tablet attached to the wall where I could send emails. I only remembered my CEO’s email from memory. I typed out a message, praying he would see it.

He responded.

Through him, I was able to connect with Britt. She told me that they were working around the clock trying to get me out. But no one had any answers; the system made it next to impossible. I told her about the conditions in this new place, and that was when we decided to go to the media.

She started working with a reporter and asked whether I would be able to call her so she could loop him in. The international phone account that Britt had previously tried to set up for me wasn’t working, so one of the other women offered to let me use her phone account to make the call.

We were all in this together.

With nothing to do in my cell but talk, I made new friends – women who had risked everything for the chance at a better life for themselves and their families.

Through them, I learned the harsh reality of seeking asylum. Showing me their physical scars, they explained how they had paid smugglers anywhere from $20,000 to $60,000 to reach the US border, enduring brutal jungles and horrendous conditions.

One woman had been offered asylum in Mexico within two weeks but had been encouraged to keep going to the US. Now, she was stuck, living in a nightmare, separated from her young children for months. She sobbed, telling me how she felt like the worst mother in the world.

Many of these women were highly educated and spoke multiple languages. Yet, they had been advised to pretend they didn’t speak English because it would supposedly increase their chances of asylum.

Some believed they were being used as examples, as warnings to others not to try to come.

Women were starting to panic in this new facility, and knowing I was most likely the first person to get out, they wrote letters and messages for me to send to their families.

It felt like we had all been kidnapped, thrown into some sort of sick psychological experiment meant to strip us of every ounce of strength and dignity.

We were from different countries, spoke different languages and practiced different religions. Yet, in this place, none of that mattered. Everyone took care of each other. Everyone shared food. Everyone held each other when someone broke down. Everyone fought to keep each other’s hope alive.

I got a message from Britt. My story had started to blow up in the media.

Almost immediately after, I was told I was being released.

My Ice agent, who had never spoken to me, told my lawyer I could have left sooner if I had signed a withdrawal form, and that they hadn’t known I would pay for my own flight home.

From the moment I arrived, I begged every officer I saw to let me pay for my own ticket home. Not a single one of them ever spoke to me about my case.

To put things into perspective: I had a Canadian passport, lawyers, resources, media attention, friends, family and even politicians advocating for me. Yet, I was still detained for nearly two weeks.

Imagine what this system is like for every other person in there.

A small group of us were transferred back to San Diego at 2am – one last road trip, once again shackled in chains. I was then taken to the airport, where two officers were waiting for me. The media was there, so the officers snuck me in through a side door, trying to avoid anyone seeing me in restraints. I was beyond grateful that, at the very least, I didn’t have to walk through the airport in chains.

To my surprise, the officers escorting me were incredibly kind, and even funny. It was the first time I had laughed in weeks.

I asked if I could put my shoelaces back on.

“Yes,” one of them said with a grin. “But you better not run.”

“Yeah,” the other added. “Or we’ll have to tackle you in the airport. That’ll really make the headlines.”

I laughed, then told them I had spent a lot of time observing the guards during my detention and I couldn’t believe how often I saw humans treating other humans with such disregard. “But don’t worry,” I joked. “You two get five stars.”

When I finally landed in Canada, my mom and two best friends were waiting for me. So was the media. I spoke to them briefly, numb and delusional from exhaustion.

It was surreal listening to my friends recount everything they had done to get me out: working with lawyers, reaching out to the media, making endless calls to detention centers, desperately trying to get through to Ice or anyone who could help. They said the entire system felt rigged, designed to make it nearly impossible for anyone to get out.

The reality became clear: Ice detention isn’t just a bureaucratic nightmare. It’s a business. These facilities are privately owned and run for profit.

Companies like CoreCivic and GEO Group receive government funding based on the number of people they detain, which is why they lobby for stricter immigration policies. It’s a lucrative business: CoreCivic made over $560m from Ice contracts in a single year. In 2024, GEO Group made more than $763m from Ice contracts.

The more detainees, the more money they make. It stands to reason that these companies have no incentive to release people quickly. What I had experienced was finally starting to make sense.

[notsodelirious]

Good boy — Jason todd

synopsis: you fuck your boyfriend and then take care of him <3

notes: reader is mentioned to have a dick but you can entirely imagine it as a fem!reader with a strap and she takes it off when she cleans herself up in the bathroom — NSFW MDNI 💛

tags: smut like pure smut, aftercare, anal, subspace (not named), aftercare, established relationship, 1k words, no use of y/n, sub Jason (idk how subby I can make that man before it becomes ooc)

(also I’ve written like 3 drabbles in 3 days and I think I might be deceiving people as to how much I’m actually capable of writing but enjoy <3)

Your hands wrapped around his waist as you pulled him back onto your cock, over and over again, revelling in the sound of his soft, punched out moans. The grind of your hips against his ass was slow, methodical, as you made sure to brush against his abused prostate over and over again.

The desperate whine that had left his throat was glorious.

You had been at this for hours now. While he was patrolling, he kept one comm-line channel open for his family, and the other one for you, a temporary cure for his loneliness as he patrolled his streets. He’d been complaining about how wound up he felt, the stress of work and the thought of the world existing around him. As soon as you had gotten your hands on Jason, you undressed him and pushed him into your bed with a promise to fuck his brains out like he’d never had before, to make him forget he’d ever been stressed in the first place.

And now 3 hours later and 5 orgasms deep, Jason was shaking and panting on your sheets, clutching at the covers. You knew his entire body was oversensitive—you took pride in your work: his throat and chest were covered in hickeys, nipples puffy and ridden with bite marks from your abuse and his cock was barely half-clubbed but you were determined to pull one more small climax from his overspent body.

You continued to fuck him at an infuriating pace, knowing that if he had the words for it, Jason would be cussing you out for taking so long, for teasing him, not giving him what he wanted—but the blubbering, crying mess you had reduced him too was too far gone for words. The only words on his lips were your name and his pleas.

“What a good boy,” you said softly, as you brush your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head as your other hand runs over the large expanse of his back. There was something thrilling about having such a powerful man shivering in front of you like this—over 200 pounds of muscle and anger, capable of wielding more weapons than you can name, hands that have killed more people than you’ve ever met; and he was sobbing and begging you for something only you could give him.

You felt good.

And you wanted him to feel better.

You sped up ever so slightly, letting the hand on his back dip down to fondle his balls swinging temptingly between the two of you as he rocked back and forth.

“Want to cum again, big boy?” you cooed softly as you started to fondle him gently, rolling them in your palm before moving to wrap your fingers around his cock. He nodded eagerly, tilting his head to look up at you pleadingly. Dried tears streaked across his face, and there was drool on his pillow, all a testament to how truly gone he was.

He near screamed as you sped up, fucking him firmly into the mattress. His cock twitched valiantly in your hand as you jerk him off.

“You love it, don’t you?” you said softly as he moaned, loud enough that your neighbours would probably complain. Again. “Such a smart boy, going stupid for cock. You like being fucked stupid, don’t you?”

You weren’t even sure if he understood what you were saying, the only response to your words being a litany of “please, please, please,” tumbling from his lips as you felt him draw closer and closer to the edge.

“Cum for me, babe, let go.”

It wasn’t as explosive as his first couple of orgasms; he keened, burying his face in the pillows, his cock offering a pathetic spurt of nearly clear cum, adding to the already soaked sheets below him. You fucked him slowly through his orgasm, helping him ride it, before he tapped the space beside his head, drawing you to a halt. His skin was smooth beneath your hands as you rubbed his back for a quiet minute before you pulled away from carefully.

He whined as the overstimulation got to him; the soft squelch of the lube made you smile when you finally released yourself from him. You resisted the urge to run your thumb along his puffy rim, simply admiring how stretched out he was, appreciating how sore he’d probably feel in the next couple of days. You pat his hip, and gently manoeuvre him to lie on his side, away from the cuddle puddle.

“I’ll be right back,” you promised him in a quiet voice before you’re slipping out of the room to the adjoining bathroom. You made sure to be quick, dreading the thought of leaving Jason alone for too long after having put him through so much.

You cleaned yourself up before coming back to him with a damp, warm cloth. He shuffled closer to you as you wiped him down, careful of areas you knew were sensitive.

“Better?” you asked as you set aside the towel and brushed his hair out of his hair. Bright green eyes stare up at you, just about regaining their spark as he slowly comes out of his dazed headspace.

“Stay?” he croaked as he reached out to clasp your arm. You huff a small laugh, leaning forward to place a peck on his lips.

“Eat and drink something for me first, okay?”

He grumbled but sat up with your help, taking the offered water bottle with shaky hands. You reminded him to take small sips as you settled beside him on the edge of the bed, taking the bottle from him when he pulled away and offering him an open granola bar instead.

He pulled you into his lap as he chewed on his bar, an arm around your waist to make sure you weren’t going anywhere.

“Feel better?” you said as he dropped the empty wrapping on the bedside table to be cleaned up tomorrow.

He nodded before he was manhandling you despite still shaky limbs, until you were cuddling appropriately to his taste, his head on your chest and he practically laid on you.

“Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice, “For taking care of me.”

“Always, big guy,” you ran your hand through his hair, twirling his silver strand around your finger, “Thank you for trusting me with your body.”

“Only you.”

[animamii]

Junior year rolls around and ohh has highschoolsweetheart!Eren changed.

You hear him before you see him—his voice cutting through the morning hum of students catching up after the summer break. It’s familiar, unmistakable, and yet, when you turn around, your breath catches in your throat.

Oh.

This was not the Eren Yeager you left behind in sophomore year.

Gone was the lanky boy who used to trip over his own feet during gym class, the one who wore those wrinkled short-sleeved button-downs with the same rotation of black skinny jeans and scuffed Converse. The Eren standing before you now was… different.

Taller. Broader. The summer had done something to him—his arms, his shoulders, his entire build had filled out in a way that made your brain short-circuit for a moment. His hair, once perpetually messy but in a boyish kind of way, had grown out just enough to curl at the ends. He still had that same wild energy, the same excitement in his eyes as he grinned at you, but there was something undeniably new about him. And he was pretty. Not that he wasn’t always attractive—he was, and you’d never denied it to yourself. But this? This was unfair.

“y/n!!” He reaches you in a few easy strides, completely oblivious to the way your brain is currently buffering. Before you can even react, he’s throwing an arm around your shoulders like it’s nothing, pulling you in for one of those classic Yeager side hugs, all warm and familiar and way too casual for the internal meltdown you’re having.

“Dude, I haven’t seen you all summer!” he exclaims, ruffling your hair in that annoying way he always does, like you’re still kids and he doesn’t look like he walked straight out of a teenage coming-of-age movie. “Why’d you ignore my texts? I was about to file a missing person report.”

You blink. He’s looking at you like he hasn’t changed at all, like he isn’t standing there all tall and golden, like he isn’t suddenly one of the hottest guys in school. And you? You’re still standing there like an idiot, trying to piece together a response.

“I— I was busy,” you manage to say, and it’s only half a lie. You had been busy, but you’d also needed space. Space to sort out the mess of feelings that being best friends with Eren Yeager had turned into over the years.

Eren, being Eren, doesn’t notice your internal crisis. “Pfft, busy. You mean ghosting me?” he teases, nudging your side. “I should’ve just shown up at your house.”

You scoff, regaining some of your composure as you roll your eyes. “Like my mom wouldn’t have loved that. She’s still convinced we’re secretly dating.”

Eren barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he tosses it back. “She’s been saying that since middle school. At this point, I think she’s just manifesting.”

Your heart lurches at his words, but you shove the feeling down. This is Eren. Your best friend. The same guy who used to perform Justin Bieber songs in the middle of the quad for you. He might look different now, but he’s still him. Even if the way people are starting to stare at him—at you two together—is making your stomach twist in a way you’re not quite ready to admit.

The first day of junior year had barely started, and yet, you already felt like you were walking through some alternate reality. Eren was still draped over you, arm slung around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world, completely oblivious to the way people were looking. Correction: the way people were looking at him. It was impossible to ignore. You could hear the whispers as you walked down the hallway together, the way heads turned when he passed.

You roll your eyes, scoffing as you nudge him off you, but the warmth of his arm lingers on your shoulder. “Yeah, well, she’s gonna have to give it up eventually. We’re not dating.” You don't know if you say it to convince yourself that there is no possibility it would become reality.

Eren grins like a bad little kid, his eyes glinting in that Eren Yeager way that usually spells trouble. “Not yet.”

Your heart does this annoying little skip in your chest, but you quickly shove him with more force this time, scowling to hide the smile that forms against your own will. “Shut up.”

He just laughs, dodging your next attack like the menace he is. “Damn, I missed you,” he grins, and there’s something about the way he says it—casual, easy, genuine—that makes your stomach flip. You hate how easily he gets under your skin. How he annoyingly burrowed his way into your heart.

Before you can retaliate, a group of girls passes by, whispering not-so-subtly behind their hands. You recognize some of them—volleyball girls, cheerleaders, a couple of girls from your English class—but they barely spare you a glance. Their eyes are all locked on Eren. And he knows it. The worst part? You know he knows it, too.

One of them, a tall blonde with perfectly curled hair, flashes him a bright smile. “Hey, Eren,” she says, twirling a strand around her finger like it's a damn high school movie. You're usually a girl's girl, but right now you were shooting daggers at her.

Eren, to his credit, doesn’t look phased. He just tilts his head, grinning in that annoying way that makes your blood boil. “Hey.”

That’s it. Hey. And yet, the girl giggles, and you want to die. It’s like some cruel joke. Last year, nobody would have given him a second glance. He was your Eren—goofy, loud, a little dorky, always getting himself into trouble. Now? Now he’s on the varsity football team, his arms are looking a little too good in that fitted black tee, and suddenly he’s the guy every girl is looking at.

You hate it. You don’t even know why you hate it, but you do.

Eren barely acknowledges them, turning back to you like nothing happened. “Anyway,” he says, slinging an arm over your shoulder again like it’s nothing, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. “What class you got first?”

You shake yourself out of whatever weird haze you’re in, clearing your throat. “Uh—math. Mr. Moblit.” Your eyes scan over the salmon pink piece of paper that held your class schedule, and Eren leans in just a little too close to read it.

He groans, dramatically throwing his head back. “Ugh, lucky. I got stuck with Mr. Shadis.”

You snicker. “That sucks.” You can't help but smile when you see the same characteristics from Eren. Even if he did look fine ass hell, oh so different from last year, he still acted the same.

“I know, right?” He sighs, dropping his head onto your shoulder in fake despair. “If I fail, just know it’s because Shadis has it out for me.”

“You fail because you never pay attention,” you remind him. You've had plenty of classes with Eren, with him always sitting next to you. He would be doing anything but pay attention.

“Okay, but, like, who even uses calculus in real life?” Eren squints his eyes, and you can feel every little movement he does as his head rests on your shoulder.

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you for the second time, ignoring the way your skin tingles where his head was resting. “Come on, dummy. We’re gonna be late.”

He groans again but follows after you anyway, falling into step beside you like always. Like nothing’s changed. Except everything has changed. And you’re starting to realize you have no idea what to do about it.

Lunch rolls around, and you find yourself dragging your feet through the cafeteria, still processing the weirdness of the morning. You’re not sure what to make of Eren’s sudden glow-up—or the way your chest does this annoying little flutter every time he looks at you like nothing’s changed. All the effort of trying to get over your little crush on Eren was wiped clean, the boy really had a grip on your heart now.

You end up at your usual lunch table, the one you share with Ymir and Historia, Sasha too but she was going to the culinary club's welcome party because duh, Sasha isn't going to miss out on extra free food. The two of them are already sitting, bickering about something stupid, but the moment you drop into the seat next to them, it’s like they both sense something’s off. They can feel the energy radiating off of you, the look on your face when something is bothering you. Ymir eyes you with a raised brow, and Historia’s gaze flickers to the door, where Eren is walking in, looking effortlessly cool, chatting with Armin as they make their way toward your table.

“Oh, boy,” Ymir mutters under her breath. “You’ve got that look on your face. What’s going on with you and Yeager?”

"How do you know it's something between me and Eren?" You raise an eyebrow, a little frustrated that she knows you so well.

"It's always about Yeager," Ymir and Historia say in unison, giving you that look of obviousness.

You roll your eyes. “It’s nothing. We’re fine.” A deep sigh still escapes your lips as you open the bottle of apple juice your lunch came with.

“Mmmhmm,” Ymir hums skeptically, but she doesn’t push it. Historia, on the other hand, flashes you a concerned smile. Her brows perch up with sympathy.

“You sure? You’ve been acting… different.” Her voice is soft, almost too knowing, but it’s enough to make you squirm.

“Seriously, I’m fine,” you say, the words coming out a little sharper than you intended. But it’s not like they’re wrong. You have been acting weird. And it’s all because of Eren, damn that boy.

Your thoughts are cut short as Eren plops down next to you, his familiar arm slinging around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Yo! What’s up, guys?” His voice is as loud and cheerful as always, but there’s something in the way his eyes linger on you that makes your stomach twist. Ymir raises an eyebrow, but Eren doesn’t seem to notice. Historia’s gaze flits between you two, but she stays quiet, focusing on her lunch.

“Hey, y/n,” Eren says, his voice a little softer now, and you feel your heart race. “You doing okay?” Your eyes flicker to him, seeing his pretty face in a concerned look as he stares at the side of your internally panicked face. It's enough to make your insides ache, enough to make your heart beat a thousand times faster.

“Yeah, just… tired,” you reply, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal, even though your mind is anything but calm.

“You sure?” His expression softens, and for a second, it’s like the world fades out, leaving just the two of you. His hand, warm against your back, feels like it’s burning right through your shirt. “You don’t look fine.”

You can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks. “I’m fine, really.”

Eren nods but doesn’t look convinced. He leans in a little, lowering his voice so only you can hear, “If you say so. Just know, if you need anything, I’ve got your back, yeah?”

Your heart stutters at his words, the genuine concern in his voice tugging at something deep inside you. But the moment is interrupted by the loud cackle of a voice from across the table.

“You hear that, Historia?” Ymir teases, her grin far too knowing. “Eren’s looking out for y/n. Makes me wonder if you’ve got competition, huh?”

Eren laughs, unbothered, and flicks Ymir’s ear. “Shut up, Ymir. You know it’s just—” He looks at you for a moment, his grin faltering, then shrugs it off. “Just what we do. We're best friends. Nothing weird.”

You feel your heart drop a little, but you brush it off. “Right. Nothing weird.” It's almost as if you're trying to reassure yourself, which, let's be honest, you really were trying to. Trying to convince yourself that it's all in your head.

But the way Eren’s smiling at you, like he knows more than he’s letting on, makes your pulse race. His eyes linger a little too long, and you wonder if he’s trying to figure something out, too. The tension is palpable, thick enough that even Ymir and Historia seem to sense it. They share a glance, but neither of them says anything. Instead, Ymir kicks you under the table—hard enough to make you wince.

“Aye, stop thinking too much,” Ymir's expression says, clearly reading you like an open book. She doesn't even have to say anything for you to understand what she's trying to say “Just enjoy the moment. Eren’s not going anywhere.” And for the first time today, you almost believe her.

The conversation drifts as you try to settle back into the easy rhythm of lunch. But the moment is short lived. The clatter of trays and the loud chatter of students fills the air, and before you can catch your breath, a new wave of noise arrives.

Reiner, with his usual cocky grin, leads the pack of jocks toward your table. His broad frame and confident swagger draw attention the way Eren’s used to, but this time, you can’t help but notice the way the girls at nearby tables watch Reiner too. He’s got that easy, good-looking charm, but there's something about Eren that just hits different, even now, when the jocks are slowly taking over the cafeteria’s social pecking order.

“Yo, Yeager!” Reiner calls, leaning over the back of your seat, making you jump in surprise. “You ditching us for the weirdos?”

Eren’s arm drops from your shoulders as he shifts his attention to Reiner, but not without a small, teasing grin. “If you’re calling them weirdos, I think you’ve got the wrong table, man.”

A few of the other guys laugh, though it’s more because it’s Eren, and he’s got that goofy, unpredictable humor. The girls now huddled around your table all stand up a little straighter, their eyes darting toward Eren, and you feel a sudden, sharp pang of frustration deep in your chest. You try to ignore it, to keep the casual mask in place, but something’s different now. The subtle tension between Eren and you—it’s like it’s palpable to everyone but the two of you.

Reiner, not one to let Eren off easy, takes a seat beside him, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Come on, man, we’ve got practice in an hour. I’m dragging you back, and we’re gonna talk strategy, not... whatever this is.” His eyes flick over to you, and you swear you catch a hint of amusement in them. It’s like he knows something you don’t.

Eren glances back at you, his expression a little unsure, like he’s debating whether to stay or go. For a brief moment, his eyes soften, but then, in typical Eren fashion, he shrugs and grins, looking more at ease than you feel. A part of you hopes he'll choose to stay, just to reassure you that things really didn't change.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go. But only because you’re begging.” He stands up, brushing his hands off as if he’s wiping away the conversation, like he doesn’t even see the way your heart drops when he stands a little too far away from you now.

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but the words get stuck. All that leaves your mouth is a disappointed huff of a breath. Eren turns back toward you, like he’s about to say something, but then his attention shifts to the group of jocks calling him over.

“Later, y/n!” he calls, throwing a casual wave over his shoulder. “Don’t miss me too much, alright?”

You’re left frozen, your hand still halfway raised as you force a smile, though it feels more like a grimace. Reiner slaps Eren’s back in that overly friendly way he always does, and Eren just laughs, falling into step with him as they make their way to the other side of the cafeteria. You hate the way your stomach twists watching them go. It’s like they’re speaking an entirely different language—one you’re not part of. The table around you is quieter now. Historia looks at you, her expression sympathetic, but Ymir—well, she looks way too smug for your liking.

“Wanna talk about it?” Ymir teases, but it’s not unkind.

You sigh, dropping your gaze to your lunch. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Uh huh,” Ymir replies, that knowing smirk still lingering on her lips. “I’m pretty sure Eren’s just trying to keep his cool in front of the jocks. You’ve seen the way he’s been around you lately. He likes you, trust me.”

You frown, not sure how to respond. Eren might be acting like nothing’s changed, but everything has changed. And the worst part? You’re not sure if he even knows it yet.

“Don’t worry,” Historia sympathetically adds, her tone reassuring. “He’ll figure it out eventually. You’ll figure it out.”

You give a noncommittal hum, not sure if you're ready to figure anything out just yet. But as you glance across the room, watching Eren laugh with Reiner and the others, you can't shake the feeling that something’s coming. Something big. Some type of shift. You spend the rest of lunch pushing food around your tray, pretending not to notice the way your eyes keep flickering toward the jock table.

Eren looks good—annoyingly, frustratingly good. He’s leaned back in his chair, laughing at something Jean said, that lazy grin plastered across his face like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. His long fingers drum absentmindedly against the table, and when one of the cheerleaders—Annie’s friend Hitch, you think—leans in to whisper something to him, your stomach twists.

You snap your gaze away, cursing yourself. Why are you even watching? You’re not his girlfriend. You’re his best friend. And best friends do not sit there like jealous exes just because other girls are realizing what you’ve known for years—Eren Yeager is stupidly, effortlessly attractive.

“You’re making it too obvious.” Ymir’s voice is flat and teasing. You don’t even have to look at her to know she’s smirking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, shoving a bite of food into your mouth just to have something to do.

“Mm. Right. And I’m straight.” Ymir leans on her fist, watching you with open amusement. Historia sighs, nudging her in the ribs before giving you a softer look.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Historia offers, “he hasn’t actually looked at her once.”

Your eyes dart up before you can stop yourself, and— Historia’s right. Eren’s nodding along to something Reiner’s saying, but his gaze keeps drifting. He’s scanning the cafeteria, like he’s looking for something. Or someone. And then, just like that, his eyes find yours. For a second, time stutters.

Eren’s lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting to catch you staring, and for a fleeting moment, something flickers across his face. Something unsure. Something vulnerable. But then Reiner nudges him—too hard, probably on purpose—and Eren snaps out of it, laughing as he shoves him back. And just like that, the moment is gone. You exhale sharply, turning away. You hate this. The push and pull, the way he makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—there’s something more, only to act like nothing’s changed the next second. Maybe nothing has changed. Maybe the only thing different is you.

“You should talk to him,” Historia says gently.

You scoff, picking at your food. “And say what? ‘Hey, Eren, just wondering if you’ve realized you’re hot yet and if that means you’re too good for me now?’”

Ymir cackles, hands drumming on the lunch table as she childishly kicks her feet. “I mean, I would pay to see you say that to his face.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “This is a nightmare. It's never been this complicated with Eren before.” It had always been complicated, but not this complicated.

Historia opens her mouth to say something else, but before she can, the cafeteria doors swing open, and the familiar screech of a whistle pierces the air.

“Football team! Practice starts now!” Coach Smith stands at the entrance, arms crossed, his stoic expression already promising death if they don’t get to moving. The jock table groans, but they all start standing, grabbing their trays. Eren stretches as he gets up, his shirt riding up just enough to show a hint of skin, and you swear you hear one of the volleyball girls sigh dreamily. You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts.

Eren turns, catching your expression, and grins. “What’s that look for?”

You school your face into something neutral, a deadpan almost. “Nothing. Just wondering if you’ll survive an entire practice without getting distracted by your fan club.”

He blinks, then laughs—like really laughs, loud and unfiltered. “Pfft, fan club? Yeah, right.”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, but then you stop. Because—he’s serious. He really doesn’t see it. All the stares, the whispers, the way girls—entire groups of them—are looking at him like he hung the damn moon. He doesn’t even notice. Eren’s still just Eren, in his own head. You should be relieved. Maybe you are. But mostly, you just feel confused and overwhelmed.

“Well, try not to get tackled into the ground,” you say instead, grabbing your drink to take a sip.

Eren grins, nudging you lightly as he starts to walk away. “Aw, you worried about me, y/n?”

The drink nearly chokes you, the cooing tone of his voice making you feel uneasy and bashful. “Not even a little.”

He just laughs, throwing one last lazy wave over his shoulder before jogging after Reiner and the rest of the team. And you? You watch him go, stomach twisting, hating the way his absence already feels like a weight pressing down on your chest.

The late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows over the football field. The team is mid-drill, running play after play under the sharp bark of Coach Smith. Eren is breathless, sweat slicking his skin, but his mind isn’t really in it. Not fully, anyway.

Because you’re sitting on the bleachers, and you’re laughing at something Historia just said, and it’s distracting as hell. His gaze keeps flickering toward the bleachers, toward where you’re sitting with your friends. You look relaxed, leaning back with one knee pulled up. He can’t hear a word from this far, but that doesn’t matter. He knows your expressions by heart—every little eye roll, every laugh, the way your lips purse when you’re pretending to be annoyed but aren’t really.

He’s staring again.

“Yeager! Focus!” The loud shout of Coach Smith jolts him out of his trance, but it’s too late. Whooosh.

Eren barely ducks in time to avoid a pass he wasn’t paying attention to. Jean groans in exasperation, throwing his head back and smacking his hands on his pads. “Dude, wake up! What the hell are you even looking at?”

Eren shakes his head quickly, clearing his throat. “Nothing,” he lies, trying to mask the way his heartbeat kicks up. Grabbing the football that he failed to catch, slackly tossing it back to Jean.

Jean, of course, is already following his gaze, his eyes landing exactly where Eren doesn’t want them to. The smirk that stretches across Jean’s face is almost unbearable. “Right. Nothing.”

Eren scowls, shoving Jean as he jogs past. But before he can settle back into formation, something shifts near the bleachers—movement that immediately snags his attention. Someone’s walking up to you. Eren’s brows furrow as he squints. The guy is tall, lanky, his bright red hair messy in a way that seems purposefully unkempt. He’s wearing a ripped band tee, chains dangling from his jeans, and—oh, great. Floch Forster.

The guy moves with a swagger that makes Eren’s teeth grind. Ripped jeans, faded punk band tee, chains dangling from his belt loops—he looks like he just crawled out of a basement concert. Floch has always been a talker, a surprisingly smooth one at that, and judging by the way he leans in, he’s in full flirt mode. Eren watches, growing tenser by the second. He expects you to roll your eyes, wave him off, something. But you don’t. You tilt your head slightly, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips. Why aren’t you moving away? Eren’s jaw tightens. Then Floch takes another step closer. That’s it.

Eren doesn’t even realize his feet are moving until Jean grabs his jersey. “Dude, where are you—?”

“I’ll be back,” Eren mutters, ripping himself free and jogging toward the bleachers before anyone can stop him.

You hadn’t expected company, least of all from Floch Forster. Historia had just nudged you, muttering something about incoming trouble, and before you could even react, there he was—Florian “Floch” Forster, king of misplaced confidence, leaning against the railing like he had all the time in the world. You don’t hate Floch. You don’t like him, either, but he’s harmless enough. He’s always been a little too flirty, but in a way that’s more for show than anything else.

“Well, well,” he drawls, his signature gaudy smirk already in place. “If it isn’t the prettiest girl in the bleachers.”

You exhale through your nose. “Oh, god.”

Floch grins, clearly unfazed. “What? That’s a genuine compliment. You’re breaking my heart here, y/n.” His tone is cocky, almost annoying.

You tilt your head, unimpressed. “Do you even have one?” A grin forms on your face, it felt kind of good to banter and maybe knock him down a peg.

“Oof.” He presses a dramatic hand to his chest, cheesing way too hard. “Harsh. But hey, I like a challenge. Y’know, if you ever wanna find out, I could show you—”

“You couldn’t,” you cut in. It's a little abrupt, shocks Historia a bit at the snappiness, but it just comes out.

Floch laughs, plopping down beside you with zero hesitation. “Alright, alright, I’ll cut to the chase.” He leans back on his palms, eyes flicking toward the football field before settling back on you. “How long are you gonna keep pretending your best friend isn’t in love with you?”

You choke on your drink, sitting up straighter now as you sputter a cough. “Excuse me?”

Floch just raises a brow, looking entirely too smug for your liking. “Come on, y/n. The guy stares at you like you hung the goddamn stars. It’s actually painful to watch.”

Your face burns, but you force a scoff. “You’re delusional.”

Floch shakes his head, watching your reaction closely. “Am I? He’s been in love with you since, what, forever? But the dude’s an idiot, so I get why you’re waiting. He’s probably still convinced you’re out of his league.” Out of his league?

Something about that statement makes your stomach clench. That’s not true. Right? Floch doesn’t miss the flicker of doubt in your eyes. His smirk stretches a little wider, sensing an opening.

“But y’know,” he continues, shifting closer, voice dropping just slightly, “if he’s not gonna make a move, maybe you should let someone else have a shot.”

Your lips part, caught off guard. “What?”

Floch leans in just enough for the air between you to thin, to start smelling like his axe cologne. “I’m just saying,” he murmurs. “Maybe you should let someone who actually sees you take you out sometime.”

Oh, you think, heartbeat stuttering slightly. Although your mind was still half focused on what he said about Eren. Before you can formulate a response, something shifts in the air—sharp and tense.

“Oh, hell no.”

The voice is unmistakable. Your head snaps up just in time to see Eren—sweaty, breathless, and looking pissed—hopping the railing in one effortless motion.

Floch doesn’t move. He just smirks. “Well, speak of the devil.”

Eren doesn’t respond, his fists clenching at his sides. His green eyes—usually filled with something bright, warm—are now dark with irritation.

“What the hell are you doing here, Forster?”

Floch tilts his head, all mock innocence. “Relax, man. Just having a friendly conversation.”

Eren’s jaw ticks. “Yeah? Well, have it somewhere else.”

The tension is thick, electric with an almost uncomfortable tension. You glance between them, unsure if you should intervene. Maybe you should, but all you can do is look up at Eren. The way some strands of hair stick to his forehead, the way his thick brows are furrowed. The way he almost seems territorial over you.

Floch exhales, shaking his head like this is all some kind of joke. He shifts his gaze back to you. “Really? You’re just gonna let him chase me off like that?”

You hesitate. And that hesitation is all Floch needs.

He incredulously chuckles under his breath, standing up and dusting himself off. “Man,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

Eren’s jaw tightens. “See what?”

Floch flashes one last cynical smirk before turning to leave. “Nothing, man. Nothing at all.”

And just like that, he’s gone, his chains jingling as he strolls down the metal steps like he hadn’t just stirred up a storm. The silence he leaves behind is suffocating.

You exhale, crossing your arms as you finally shake out of your daze. “That was so unnecessary.”

Eren scoffs, finally looking at you. “He’s a dick.”

You narrow your eyes. “He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Eren looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a split second, something unreadable flickers behind his eyes. His lips part like he wants to say something—something important—but instead, he just shakes his head.

“Forget it.”

And with that, he turns, hopping back over the railing and jogging toward the field without a second glance. But you know better. It wasn’t nothing. And now, you don’t know what to do about it.

Eren doesn’t look at you for the rest of practice. Not once. It’s infuriating. From your spot on the bleachers, you watch as he throws himself back into drills like he’s got something to prove, pushing harder than necessary, muscles taut with tension. His jaw is tight, brows furrowed in concentration—but you know him. You know when he’s actually focused and when he’s just using the game as an excuse to run from something. You also know what—or who—he’s running from.

You exhale, frustrated. It’s not like you wanted Floch’s attention. Hell, you would’ve been fine never speaking to him again. But Eren had stormed over like he owned you, like it was his problem to handle, and now he won’t even look at you? It was all too confusing.

Eren misses a catch from Bertholdt, taking off his helmet and throwing it to the ground with an audible 'fuck!' that echoed around the football field. Running a hand through his sweat drenched hair, the frustration in his face is super evident.

Historia, sitting beside you, hums in amusement. “That was deliciously messy,” she murmurs, sipping from her water bottle. "The whole situation. Possessive Eren, the little bicker, everything."

“It’s annoying.” A scoff leaves your lips and you can't help but stare at Eren with a confused and irritated expression.

“Oh, it’s both.”

Ymir snickers, her sunglass covered eyes looking at the way Eren is still pouting. “Dumbass is jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “He is not jealous.”

Ymir glances at you with an expression so patronizing you want to shove her off the bleachers. “Right. He just lost his entire mind over Floch flirting with you for no reason at all.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because—yeah. The thing is, Eren isn’t the jealous type. He’s never been possessive over you before, never given you any reason to think he cared about who talked to you. He’s always been the annoying one—flirting playfully, ruffling your hair, teasing you about your nonexistent love life like it was all some big joke. And maybe it was. Maybe he was just messing around, just playing into the dynamic you’d always had. But today felt different. And that scared you more than anything.

You wait for him by the locker room. It’s a stupid idea. You know it’s a stupid idea. You could’ve gone home, could’ve ignored the way your pulse has been pounding ever since practice ended, ever since he stormed off like you did something wrong. You could’ve pretended it didn’t bother you—the way he looked right through you for the rest of practice, the way his body went stiff when you so much as moved in his direction, the way he threw himself into drills like he was trying to hit something that wasn’t there.

But you’re still here. Waiting.

The late afternoon sun is sinking lower in the sky, drenching everything in a honey-gold glow. It should be pretty, peaceful even, but the knot in your stomach makes it hard to appreciate. The air is thick, humid from the lingering heat of the day, and your skin feels sticky, uncomfortable. The locker room door swings open in intervals, groups of players filtering out, laughing, talking about parties, weekend plans, things you can’t bring yourself to care about.

Then—finally—he steps out. Eren.

You feel his presence before you even see him, your body going still, your heart stuttering in your chest. He looks good. Unfairly so. His hoodie is loose over his shoulders, damp hair falling into his face, a few strands curling at the ends. His skin is still flushed from exertion, the glow of the sunset catching on the sharp lines of his jaw, the hollow of his throat where the collar of his hoodie has slipped down just enough. He’s effortlessly attractive, in a way that makes your stomach twist with something you don’t want to name.

He notices you immediately. Stops in his tracks. Something flickers across his face—something unreadable—but then it’s gone, replaced by a carefully neutral expression, like he wasn’t just throwing a damn fit over you and Floch thirty minutes ago.

Your arms cross tightly over your chest. “You ran off.”

Eren exhales, looking past you, jaw tight and thick brows furrowed. “Didn’t run.” His voice is flat, clipped. You know him too well to miss the way his fingers twitch at his sides, the way his shoulders are tense even though he’s trying to look casual.

You take a step closer. “Eren.”

His jaw ticks. “What?”

That’s all he says—short, sharp, like a blade cutting through the space between you. It makes irritation flare in your chest, a spark igniting beneath your ribs. He’s the one who lost his mind over nothing. He’s the one who got weird. And now he’s acting like you’re the problem?

You grit your teeth. “Are you seriously mad at me?”

His head snaps toward you so fast it nearly startles you. “Mad at you?” He lets out a dry, humorless scoff, running a hand through his hair, making the damp strands even messier. “I’m not—Jesus, y/n. I just don’t get why you were even entertaining that guy.”

Your stomach drops. The word entertaining rubs you the wrong way, makes your irritation flare into something hotter. “I wasn’t entertaining anyone,” you snap, voice tight.

Eren exhales sharply, shifting his weight like he’s trying to hold something back. “He was all over you.” yeah, he was dragging it.

Your lips press together. “And?”

His eyes darken, flickering with something upsetting, something raw. “And I didn’t like it.”

It’s barely above a whisper, but it slams into you like a physical force. Your breath catches. The words linger between you, heavy, charged with something neither of you can name but both of you can feel. Your heartbeat is erratic, hammering against your ribs. You’re staring at him, searching his face for answers, for clarity, for anything—but he’s already looking away, already forcing his expression into something unreadable, like he didn’t just say something that made your entire world shift on its axis.

He knows. You know he knows. And that terrifies both of you.

He inhales sharply, like he’s about to say something else—but then he stops himself. A muscle in his jaw twitches before he shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“No,” you say quickly, stepping forward, voice urgent, desperate. “Eren—”

But he’s already turning away. Already walking. And this time, you don’t try to stop him. Because the truth is—You’re just as scared as he is.

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at the space he left behind. Minutes? Seconds? It feels longer than it probably is, but the weight in your chest doesn’t go away. You don’t get it. You’ve had arguments with Eren before. Dumb ones. Stupid ones. He’s annoyed you a million times, and you’ve annoyed him right back. But this? This hurts in a way you don’t know how to process.

Because it felt real. Because it felt like something cracked open between you—something undeniable. And because deep down, in the part of you that you’ve tried to shove away for years, you know the truth: You don’t want him to be okay with other guys flirting with you. You don’t want him to treat you the same way he treats every other girl. And if today proved anything—if the way he reacted, the way he looked at you was any sign—maybe he doesn’t want that either. Maybe he never did.

Eren’s hands are clenched into fists as he walks, barely registering the conversations around him. His heart is still pounding. His body is itching with leftover adrenaline, but it has nothing to do with practice. What the hell was that? His own words play back in his mind, over and over. "I didn’t like it." What the fuck was he thinking, saying that out loud?

He’s been reckless before. He’s flirted with you for years—always playfully, always in a way that he could pass off as a joke. But that? That wasn’t a joke. That was raw, unfiltered, stupid.

Because he can’t have you. Because you don’t see him that way. Because even if you did, he’s not good enough for you. You’re y/n. You’re his best friend. The girl who somehow makes everything in his life feel a little easier, a little lighter, just by being around. The girl he’s been in love with since he was old enough to understand what love is.

And you deserve someone better. Someone who isn’t just figuring out his place in the world. Someone who isn’t Eren Yeager—impulsive, reckless, always getting himself into trouble.

But even knowing that—Even knowing he should stop—He still turns around, just for a second, just to look back. Just to see if you’re still standing there. And when he sees you—arms crossed, head slightly bowed, looking like you’re caught up in your own spiral—It fucking kills him. Because if he wasn’t such a coward, he’d tell you the truth. That he doesn’t just like you. He’s yours. He’s always been yours. But it’s too late now. And it’s all his fault.

[myjjongie]

CHAPTER THIRTYTHREE.ᐟ ── MEN AINT SHIT

SYNOPSIS: you and jay have been at each others throats for the whole time you've been enrolled at decelis university. the reason for the rivalry in question? the #1 rank on the academic leaderboard in the university. you went through your whole high school life being #1 on the academic leaderboard. you meet jay, who also had the same upbringing in high school. things then start to turn into a constant battle. leaving you constantly in second place and jay in first place every rank update.

word count; 1,192

exiting the bathroom you spotted keeho and the others standing by the door. the crowd long gone, only leaving a few stragglers in the venue. taking hold of ningning’s hand, you quickly walked over to them.

“okay i’m ready!” your voice was cheerful—excitement evident in your body.

you weren’t a hundred percent if jay truly did feel the same way as you. but as you recalled everything up until this moment. there was no way he wasn’t. or at least jay might have something for you.

leaving the venue you headed straight for the backstage exit. laughing with your friends distracting yourself from your growing nervousness. before reaching the exit area you stopped everyone.

“okay. to run over the plan. i’m gonna tell jay that jake is taking sunghoon home. so there’s no room for me to fit in the car. i’ll then ask jay for a ride home cause of that. that sounds reasonable right?” you slowly began to overthink your excuse.

“you’ll be fine. i’m sure he won’t even think too much on it.” keeho replied.

“ugh. i’m so nervous!”

“girl. i’m nervous for you!” ningning excitedly clung to your arm.

“just know if he says no. i’m aiming a nuke straight on his forehead.” ningning looked at you seriously, causing you to laugh.

“oh i’m so so loved!” you exclaimed hugging her this time.

chatting a bit more before focusing back on the task, you notice a familiar head of blonde hair. excited to see beomgyu, you ran up to him.

“beomgyu! you guys did so well!”

beomgyu turned around flashing you a big smile. “yn! i’m so glad you got to come. and thank you! it means so much to me!”

“oh before i keep talking. these are my friends! keeho, jake, ningning and sunoo!”

“it’s nice to meet you all!” beomgyu flashed everyone a cheeky smile before focusing on you again.

“uh real quick. do you know where jay is by any chance?”

“hmmm yeah. he should be back stage still. you can enter by the way. don’t worry about getting flagged down, i don’t think the staff will mind.”

“thank you so much! everyone else if inside as well right?”

“yeah they should be.”

you smiled at beomgyu once again, before leaving for the stage entrance. before leaving, the others were quick to reassure you they would be fine. they all wished you luck before you entered the back stage.

walking through the hallway, you were a bit lost. that wasn’t until you bumped into taerae.

“taerae!”

“hey yn!” he happily called out to you.

“i just saw beomgyu outside but again i just wanna say, you guys were awesome!”

“thank you! it was honestly so surreal. so what brings you back here?”

“um. i’m actually looking for jay!”

“ooh i see.” taerae raised an eyebrow at you. his reaction caused your cheeks to heat up. you waved your hand at him denying what he was thinking. even though he was probably right.

“beomgyu said he was back here. but i don’t see him.” you let off a soft pout.

“oh he’s actually at the stage. packing away his oh so precious guitar.”

“thank you taerae! we’ll chat more later okay?” you were quick to bolt off to the stage before taerae could respond. not wanting to waste another second.

once you made it past the curtains, you immediately recognized the light washed jean jacket jay wore. guitar in his hand, while the case was settled behind him on the stage. your cheeks rose as a smile grew on your face.

before you could even make it down the steps, you noticed a girl talking to him. you hesitated for a second as you watched them. she had beautiful ash blonde hair, styled in a way that made her adorable even from far away. for some reason she look familiar, yet you were too focused on the both of them. you couldn’t help but eye the way she smiled at him, to then notice the way he smiled back at her.

your heart ached at the feeling. you were subtly confused on why he was talking so earnestly to another girl. did you misunderstand his actions? you quickly denied your thoughts as a simple overreaction, but then you saw something else. jay handed his phone to her. you felt your heart drop.

you then saw the girl type in her number on his phone. that’s when you fully realized what was going on between them. not wanting to witness another second of it you turned away, immediately bolting down the hall to leave. as you ran you bumped into someone, the person happened to call out your name. yet you drowned out everything, only the scene of jay and that mysterious girl lingered.

luckily jake and the others were still outside—taking the chance to get to know beomgyu. the first person to notice your distress was jake. stopping his conversation, he walked up to you. hands placed on your arms to help you catch your breath.

“what happened. i thought you went to—“

you quickly cut jake off. “i wanna go home” was all you could breathe out. your head hung low as bit back the tears forming. jake watched you, heading turning to the others utterly confused.

“yn what happened—“ this time keeho was the one to speak up.

“can you guys. please. please just take me home…” your voice subtly cracked this time. noticing this, they all said their goodbyes to beomgyu. except for you.

to caught up in your own head to even acknowledge him, all while tears threatened to fall from your eyes. you faintly heard him ask about you. jake replied to him, telling beomgyu you would reach out later. not wanting to stress you out anymore than you looked, beomgyu let you go.

the walk to the car was silent, no one wanting to ask what happened. not in fear of how you reacted earlier, just worried that maybe jay did reject you.

even when you reached your apartment you didn’t say anything. you felt like you got rejected without even trying to tell him. as you excited the car, you weakly waved bye to everyone. before walking away from the car, keeho called out to you.

“yn.. are you okay? what happened?” you looked at keeho, eyes tired as slight tears pricked the corner of your eyes.

“i. i’ll tell you all later. i need a couple hours to myself..”

keeho’s smile held worry in it, scanning your face once more. “just. please reach out to us. we’re all worried…”

“i will.” you tried your best to smile. yet it felt so insincere, maybe it looked insincere too.

turning away from the car you headed up to your apartment. your steps were heavy, as if you were dragging yourself along. finally making it inside you headed straight for your bed. still in your outfit, you crawled into the bed. pulling the comforter over yourself as you curled up.

then slowly the tears began to form. the rest of that night you softly cried to yourself over everything you saw.

prev | m.list | next

a.note; now before you come at me with pitch forks and shit. just think about how i warned yall. i told yall i was gonna be evil. and i did just that. but dw, it won’t be for long :3

fighting for first taglist (open) ...

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©myjjongie 2024

[22ayla21]

Nooo I read the miscarrige fic wdym that was so sad :((( AND I'M HERE FOR MORE ANGST! What is their wife passed away after child birth? How would the other children react? Would the dads try to comfort them? How would they themselves react?

Without her

Her last birth was difficult. She died leaving her husband a widower, and her children orphans without one parent.

From the Author: perhaps this was the hardest fic for me... And all because I was in the place of these children, and my dad was in the place of the Amphoreus men. I also lost my mother and this pain cannot be described in words. In the future, I ask you not to bring up the topic of the death of one of the parents. I have not yet recovered from the death of my mother, although soon it will be a year since her death...

The house was quiet. Not the cozy, evening peace when the aroma of tea spreads through the kitchen and the children, lazily settled in armchairs, whisper to each other, trying not to wake their mother. No, this was a different silence - heavy, suffocating, filled with something invisible, but all-pervasive.

Mydei sat on the edge of the bed, next to the swaddling clothes in which no one had yet managed to wrap the baby. He looked at the empty space next to him and knew that it would never be filled again.

The door creaked carefully.

The eldest son entered first. He was still too young to be an adult, but also too old not to understand. His face was stony, his lips were tightly pressed, but pain splashed in his eyes. He approached his father, stood next to him and lowered his head. Mydei hugged him by the shoulders, and the boy trembled.

The middle daughter appeared next. She was silent, but her eyes were already red. She clenched her hands into fists, as if trying to hold on, but when she came closer, her legs gave way and she fell to her knees in front of the bed. She threw up her hands, as if she wanted to grab something elusive.

- She promised, - her voice trembled. - She promised…

The youngest daughter stood in the doorway. She wasn’t crying. She looked at everyone with wide-open eyes, full of emptiness. She didn’t fully understand yet, but something inside her had already realized: Mom wouldn’t come back.

Mydei stood up. He went up to the youngest and knelt down in front of her.

- Daddy, - her voice was so small.

He took her hands, squeezed them in his palms.

- Mom’s gone, - he said quietly. She nodded. - But she wanted you to be happy.

Tears flowed like a river. He held her close, tightly, and felt the other two children pressed against him as well. They were shaking, clinging to each other, clinging to him. He didn't say it would be okay. He didn't promise the pain would go away. He was just there. And he would be. Always.

The house, once filled with her warmth, now seemed strange, too empty, too quiet. Anaxa looked at the children standing before him, not knowing where to put his hands, how to breathe properly in this new, scary world. He knew he needed to say something, do something, but his chest was empty, as were their eyes.

The eldest daughter stood with clenched fists, her lips trembled, but no tears flowed. She tried to be strong, like her mother, like her father, but it hurt him to see her shoulders shaking from the inner struggle. The second daughter pressed her mother's thing to her chest - her cloak, soaked in her scent. Her eyes, full of childish hope, searched for answers in him that he could not give.

The youngest son was trembling. He clung to the sleeve of his clothes, as if he was afraid that his father might disappear too. His lips moved, but there were no words. Only wet traces on their cheeks, and a lost look in their eyes. He was too young to understand the depth of this loss, but his heart already knew pain.

Anaxa dropped to one knee, hugged them all, pulled them close, letting them hide in his arms. He felt his own heart breaking, but he couldn’t let himself break. They needed him now more than ever.

The silence stretched on for a long time. Only their breathing, only the weight of loss.

The children didn’t speak. They simply held on to him, as if he were the only thing that remained unchanged in this world.

He ran his hand through their hair, remembering how their mother did the same when they were upset. He knew it wasn’t enough. He knew tat no words could fix what had happened. But he promised himself that he would keep her in them – in their memories, in their hearts.

And when a quiet sob was heard in that darkness, he simply hugged his children tighter.

The house, once filled with laughter and warmth, was now enveloped in silence. The air seemed heavy, as if it refused to move. The room, where only a few hours ago the voices of their wife and mother were heard, was now silent, broken only by the barely audible cry of a newborn child.

Phainon sat by the bed, holding the hand of his wife, who would never squeeze his fingers in response. His gaze was empty, but inside everything was screaming. He was used to fighting, to overcoming any obstacle, but this battle was lost. He could not save her.

The children stood nearby, not believing what was happening. The eldest sons clenched their fists, their shoulders trembled with suppressed emotions. They had seen their father strong, unshakable, but now he looked as lost as they were. Their youngest sister did not understand what was happening, but she felt someone else's sadness. She held his hand tightly, as if hoping that her touch could bring back the one who had gone.

But she was gone.

Phainon closed his eyes and ran his hand over his face, taking a deep breath. He couldn't let himself break. He was the only one who could protect them now, comfort them, help them through this nightmare.

He rose carefully, hugging both his sons, holding them tightly to him. They didn't resist. One buried his face in his shoulder, the other simply clutched his father's cloak, barely holding back tears. Their youngest sister, still not understanding why their mother wasn't waking up, pressed herself tighter to his leg.

He picked her up and, feeling her small arms wrap around his neck, closed his eyes.

- We can do this, - he whispered, even if none of them could believe it.

[lilghostiequinni]

What'd Ya Know

Main Masterlist Lestappen Masterlist

Pairing: !female reader x Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc

Warnings: Fluffy, None

Summary: Some things are better than others, especially when all three of you have the same idea of surprising each other with flowers and favorite little gifts.

Requested: NO / yes

Your boys have been gone on a triple header, and you've been running around for those three weeks.

The first week, you had many meetings for your job.

You owned a few small businesses when you fully owned two, and co-owned another few to help the people who did run and own them as a financial backer to give them the support of being able to have their business and not worry about cost losses.

It was how your father started his business, and you were due to take over his business/businesses within the next year or two, and he wanted to make sure you knew how to do what he did.

So, for that first week, you did meetings for your businesses and you stood in for your father at some of his and also shadowed him in others.

The second week, you were less busy, but when you were going to try to go with your boys, your friends led you to a night out.

You got sick from something you ate, almost too weak to leave your bed to do anything because you felt like you were on your deathbed.

In the third week, you had to attend to a few things for your mother's fashion company.

You were a spectator for the first couple of shows, then a model in the rest of the shows that she had after that.

On your way home, you were stopped and saw a flower shop where you were stopped, but you didn't stop then because traffic had started moving.

You then found a different flower shop a few blocks away, so you stopped and went in, getting two bouquets, one for each of your boys.

You got the two that called to you, the ones that fit each of them.

That suited them perfectly in a bouquet.

After the races, Charles and Max had to go to their own team headquarters, so they weren't together when they landed in Monaco.

Charles made the first stop on his way back to the apartment to be a flower shop, knowing that even though he loves you and Max, harsh words were exchanged between him and Max.

For Max, he wanted to get flowers for both you and Charles, but he didn't make it his first stop.

His first stop was to get a few things he knew you would like, then to shop that carried things that he knew Charles liked.

Then he went to his favorite flower shop to get flowers for you and Charles.

When the two men got back home, they saw each other's gifts, having arrived at the same time, then they went into the apartment and saw what you had gotten them.

You saw what they got you.

The three of you clearly made for each other, with all of you having the same idea to get flowers and little meaningful gifts.

A/N: First in the 400 Follower ship poll.

Tags: @llando4norris @mcmuppet @issi-loves-dannyric @ellen3101 @barcelonaloverf1life @charli123456789 @amz824 @taetae-armyyyyy @hadids-world

If you want to be removed from a tag list, let me know so I don't keep tagging you. If you are striked through, I don't know if you want to be tagged, but just let me know if you want me to continue or stop

[causeimcrayzeebee]

In defense(?) of Tamba Ruiko with the trajectory of chapter 5 so far and what the YouTube comments have been looking like, im seeing very mixed feelings about tamba, so lemme become a defense attorney real quick and give some of my thoughts on her!

now obviously, tamba isn’t everyone’s cup of tea so I totally understand people who just don’t like her. reminder that people do not need very deep reasons (or any at all tbh) to not like a character, people can not like a character for whatever reason n that’s valid!! id just like to give my thoughts n insight into her actions for people to consider (and ofc im not von so this is my interpretation).

yes, tamba was an asshole for exploding at hiroaki. accusing him of faking his apology, of planting the threat, and proceeding to tell him every moment of the killing game he was a shitty person? kinda insane to do, especially when hiroaki has genuinely been trying to get better. not to mention how she pointed out him passing his punishment onto others while she herself did that exact same thing.

but the thing is that episode was tamba calling out hiroaki for shit that she likely knows is a fault of her own as well. tamba and hiroaki clash because they're two sides of the same coin. they are loud, obnoxious, hypocritical people who have looked out for themselves and tried to find someone to blame. they're both flawed people. the difference right now in their stories is that hiroaki has been improving, and tamba hasn't gotten to that point.

let's also remember that hiroaki's outward development hasn't been happening for too long. of course, us as the audience who has seen his growth know he's been struggling in the kg as much as anyone else, and is really trying to be better. ojima, yanagi, and wada especially know that. but those who haven’t been close to him don’t; hasegawa doesn’t understand him as he’s seen the same ups and downs that tamba has. like trial 4, hiroaki has had some regression at some points (which does not discount his general upwards trajectory!!) but out of curiosity, i do want to know why i saw hardly as much of criticism towards hiroaki when he said shit at wada…. im super confused about that. I think it's understandable for tamba to assume what kind of person he is. she hasn't seen what he's gone through. she's upset because she seen him be a dick countless times and assumes he sent the threat because he's the only one left who has been like that towards her.

tamba isn’t as level headed like everyone else has been. she lets fear n paranoia get the best of her, and can you blame her? she is surrounded by people who are all able to solve murders and conduct plans of escape, and while she's tried her hardest to do that too, she isn't as good at it. what she is good at is not something that she can use to contribute to the group, so she feels useless. tamba has said that she doesn't even know how she's still alive and if she even deserves it. with the last trial approaching till the game is supposed to end, i think she's absolutely allowed to be that worried over the threat-- who says she won't be killed for the sake of everyone else's escape? I still have no idea who sent the threat, and I don't think it was hiroaki, but she's in no way overreacting. tamba has been paranoid, especially recently, because she, just like everyone else, doesn't want to die, and knows she'd be an easy victim. while her paranoia has pushed her to do things that would cause her to be even more of a target, it's clear she's just really stressed out about being next. that doesn’t justify trying to look for a scapegoat, but it makes sense as to why.

tamba hasn't gotten the chance to live her life to the fullest. her life has revolved around gymnastics and numbers on a scale. it didn't matter to her parents that she wanted to play soccer, cause "she didn't have the body for it". she couldn't be in theater cause it was too much of a commitment that would take away from gymnastics. she hasn't had agency over her own life, so she has been trying to start doing things on her own. she finally does something about it and rejects hayashi's help.

this doesn't discredit hiroaki's life and what he has/hasn't done, neither does it discredit any other student. it's just human nature for someone to prioritize their life over others in a life or death situation. tamba is trying to make sense of a situation that makes less and less of it.

everyone is exhausted. a month of being trapped in an underground school forced to kill strangers and watching them die one by one? that'll kill you (literally). tamba is just someone who is cracking under the pressure.

of course, if I misinterpreted or missed something, please let me know! my understanding isn't the objectively right one or anything LMAO so please lmk if I am thinking about things the wrong way. thank you for reading ^^

[strawb4kdior]

~ PRISON WIFE II ~

pairings: vi x FEM reader

tw: alot of angst - im sorryyyy

summary: you go to find vi, only to discover where her feelings truly lie

a/n: hey darlings here's part 2 :)) also i was wondering two things: 1. Should I make a lil series of a different vi story?? 2. Should I write part two of Caitlyn x Rhea??

taglist: @ren-ren23 @aubs-243 @sweetbcgs 🫶🫶🫶

part 1 >

The first thing you noticed when you stepped out of Stillwater was the smell. It wasn’t mold, sweat, or the metallic tang of blood—just fresh air. Something you had been denied for two whole years. You inhaled deeply, rolling your shoulders as the heavy steel gates groaned behind you.

You were free.

But freedom didn’t mean anything. Not yet.

Not until you found Vi.

She was supposed to do this with you. Serve your sentences together, bide your time, get out, and start fresh. She had promised. She had told you, over and over, through whispered words in the dark corners of Stillwater’s cells, her hands wrapped around your waist, her lips against yours:

"I won’t leave you. I swear it. We’ll get out together."

But she had left.

She had been bailed out by Caitlyn, the enforcer she always spoke about with that mix of admiration and guilt. You should’ve known. You should’ve seen it coming, but you had been blinded by her—by the way she held you, by the way she made you feel like you were the only thing keeping her sane inside those walls.

And then she was gone.

No letters. No visits. Nothing.

She had left you to rot.

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to start walking. You had spent the last two years simmering in rage, planning what you’d say, what you’d do when you saw her again. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream at her, hit her, or pull her in and kiss her like she hadn’t broken you. Maybe all three.

The streets of Zaun were the same but different. More rundown in some areas, better in others. You pulled your hood up and moved fast, heading to the one place you knew would have answers: The Last Drop.

THE LAST DROP

The bar was crowded, neon lights flickering above as people drank, laughed, and fought. The air was thick with the scent of liquor, sweat, and the ever-present stench of desperation that clung to Zaunites trying to survive.

You pushed through the crowd, heading straight for the bar. The bartender was a familiar face���some guy who had been working there since before you were locked up. You leaned over the counter.

"Where’s Vi?" you asked, your voice sharp, demanding.

The bartender gave you a once-over, his brows lifting. "Well, shit. Didn’t think I’d see you again. You’re out, huh?"

"Yeah. Now where the fuck is she?"

He hesitated, wiping his hands on a rag. "You sure you wanna do this? I mean, word is, she’s different now."

Your jaw tightened. "Where. Is. She?"

A sigh. "She’s in Piltover. Been living there with her little enforcer girlfriend. Working with the cops now. Fancy apartment and all."

The rage that had been simmering for years turned white-hot. Piltover. She had abandoned you for Piltover. For her.

You turned on your heel without another word, shoving past bodies as you stormed out of the bar.

She had some fucking explaining to do.

VI & CAITLYN’S APARTMENT

Piltover was too clean, too bright, too polished. It made your skin itch. The second you reached Vi’s apartment complex, you knew you were in the wrong place. Gilded railings, pristine cobblestone walkways, expensive lanterns illuminating the street—it was everything Vi had told you she hated.

And yet, here she was.

You pounded on the door. Hard.

A few seconds later, footsteps. Then the door opened, and there she was.

Vi.

Your breath caught, just for a second. She looked different. Healthier. Softer. She wasn’t in a prison jumpsuit, wasn’t bruised or bleeding. She was dressed in casual clothes, a tank top and loose sweatpants, her hair a little longer, her face clean. She looked… comfortable.

Happy.

The realization made something inside you snap.

Vi’s eyes widened when she saw you. "Holy shit."

You shoved her back, stepping into the apartment. "That’s all you have to say?"

Vi stumbled slightly but didn’t push you away. She looked stunned, guilty even. "I—shit, I didn’t know you were out yet."

"You didn’t know?" You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "That’s funny, because I spent two years wondering if you even fucking cared!"

Vi winced, rubbing the back of her neck. "Listen—"

"No. You listen." You stepped closer, your voice shaking with anger. "We were in that hellhole together. We had a plan. And then you left me there."

"I didn’t have a choice!" Vi shot back, her own frustration bubbling to the surface. "Caitlyn got me out. She gave me a second chance. What was I supposed to do? Say no?"

"Yes!" you shouted. "You were supposed to remember what we had. You were supposed to fight for me, Vi. But instead, you just—what? Walked away? Forgot I existed?"

Vi’s jaw clenched. "I didn’t forget."

"Bullshit," you spat. "You never even came to see me. Not once."

She opened her mouth but closed it again, unable to argue. The silence was deafening.

Your voice dropped to something quieter, something more broken. "You told me you loved me."

Vi’s eyes flickered with something—regret, guilt, pain. "I did love you."

The past tense hit you like a punch to the gut.

You took a shaky breath, blinking rapidly. "Right. Of course. And now what? You love her?"

Vi hesitated, and that was all the answer you needed.

A bitter smile twisted your lips. "I should’ve known. Should’ve fucking known that I was just a mistake you wanted to forget."

"That’s not true," Vi said quickly. "You weren’t a mistake."

"Then why did you leave me?" Your voice cracked. "Why didn’t you come back for me?"

Vi swallowed hard. "Because I was scared. Scared that if I came back, I’d never leave. That I’d get sucked back into that life and never get out. Caitlyn gave me a chance to be better, and I took it."

You stared at her, feeling your anger start to crack under the weight of exhaustion and heartbreak. "And what about me?"

Vi exhaled slowly. "I didn’t know how to face you."

"You’re facing me now," you whispered.

A beat of silence. Then Vi stepped closer, her voice softer. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"You did anyway."

She reached for you, but you stepped back. She froze.

"I don’t even know why I came here," you muttered. "Maybe I thought you’d have some explanation that made it all make sense. But you don’t, do you?"

Vi’s face twisted with something like regret. "I wish I did."

You nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yeah. Me too."

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at each other, memories flickering between you like ghosts. Then you turned toward the door.

Vi didn’t stop you.

And that, more than anything, told you what you needed to know.

[mirrorballpages]

Azriel leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as Cassian poured himself another glass of wine—his third bottle, at least. The conversation had dragged on for hours, moving in circles around the problems in Windhaven. Azriel had already gathered all the necessary intelligence, and Rhys had already made his decision, but Cassian, fueled by both frustration and alcohol, needed to vent.

It had been days since Elain’s vision, and Azriel was no closer to finding answers on the vines that surrounded her. He hated that. Hated that no matter how many books Clotho searched for, he still didn’t know exactly what was happening to her. The clock chimed nine, and a whisper curled against his ear.

She has moved to the kitchen.

Azriel barely resisted the urge to exhale in relief. The conversation at hand had shifted to Nesta, a discussion he wanted no part of. "I just don’t understand why she had to move out," Cassian grumbled, frustration thick in his voice.

Azriel pushed his chair back, standing smoothly. "You should ask her yourself," he murmured, already walking away. Rhys gave him a knowing glance but said nothing. His shadows trailed ahead, slipping through the townhouse like dark silk. She’s alone, they whispered.

Where were Nuala and Cerridwen? He assumed they had retired for the night, but he also selfishly didn’t care. The truth was, he wanted to be alone with Elain. The only times they had to themselves were those quiet, golden mornings in the garden, or the occasional late evenings once everyone else had gone to bed. Those hours before the rest of the house stirred, before duty or expectation pulled them apart.

He had learned her morning routine as intimately as he knew his own. She would wake just before sunrise, stretching lazily beneath her blankets before padding downstairs in a linen dress, her braid loose and sleep still clinging to her voice. She would grab a plate of breakfast, then head to the garden, humming softly as she worked. Azriel would always be waiting, perched on the garden bench or leaning against the wall, a fresh cup of tea already in hand for her. She always smiled when she saw him.

And that was why he left each morning before the others rose. Even if he slept in the House of Wind most nights, his mornings were with her. To keep it theirs. To keep this… whatever this was, private. Safe.

But tonight, alone in the kitchen, no one was here to witness them. When he stepped through the doorway, he saw her at the sink, the sleeves of her dress rolled up as she washed the last of the dishes. She turned when she heard him, smiling.

"Where are the twins?" he asked, reaching for a plate to dry. The dish towel felt almost foreign in his scarred hands—he was so used to using magic for small tasks like this. But if it meant more time with her, he’d dry every dish in the house by hand.

"I told them to go home. They work too much as it is," she said, glancing down at the soapy water. A small, hesitant pause. "Oh, I’m glad you’re here. I have a meeting tomorrow morning with a women - sorry, female - and her grandfather. They tend to a community garden in Riverbend Quarter, and it was damaged during the attack. I’m going to see if I can help."

A strand of hair slipped from her braid, curling against her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear, still looking at the water. "Do you mind showing me where it is? I haven’t been there before. If you’re too busy, I understand. I can ask Feyre—"

"Of course," he said before she could finish, careful to keep his voice even.

Inside, though? Fuck.

He could already see it...the way she’d look in the early morning light, her apron tied neatly over a soft linen dress, her hair woven into a braid but curling slightly at the ends. The way she’d hum as they walked, the city still quiet around them, her hand resting lightly on his arm, her touch sending warmth through his leathers and straight into his chest. She would stop to admire something, a bird, a patch of flowers, the way the light hit the rooftops just right. She always noticed things others didn’t. And he would watch her, pretending he wasn’t committing every little movement, every glance, every flicker of sunlight in her eyes to memory.

And if he were a luckier male…

He would pull her close, tilt her face toward his, and press his lips to hers, slow. His hands would be careful, tracing over the curve of her waist, memorizing the shape of her, the warmth of her. She would be soft beneath his touch, softer than anything he’d ever known, and he would hold her as if she were spun from the morning mist, something delicate that might slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful.

She would sigh against his lips, her breath warm, her fingers clutching at his leathers, pulling him closer. He would press deeper into her, his heartbeat hammering like war drums, his wings flaring slightly to balance himself—to ground himself—because touching her like this, having her like this, would unravel him completely.

He would whisper against her ear, his lips brushing that delicate skin, telling her how beautiful she was, how utterly magnificent she was. How he had spent centuries in darkness, but she—she—was the first light he had ever truly known. That she was more than just lovely, more than just kind, that she was extraordinary—the most divine thing he had ever beheld.

And she would look up at him with those soft, brown eyes, wonder pooling in their depths. She would smile, the kind of smile that could unmake a male, and it would be for him. Only for him.

He would kiss her again and again, pressing himself into her as if he could somehow etch himself into her soul, as if he could keep her forever. As if, for once in his life, he could have something good. Something his.

But then the vision would slip away, reality clawing its way back in, cruel and unyielding. Because he wasn’t that lucky.

Because she wasn’t his.

And so, instead of pulling her close, instead of tasting her, instead of worshipping her the way he ached to, he would keep his distance. He would let the silence stretch between them, his hands tightening on the dish towel instead of on her. And he would do what he always did—watch her from the shadows, longing for something he could never have. Because she deserved better than a male like him.

A timer dinged.

“Oh, the cookies are ready!” Elain sang, moving toward the oven, the soft swish of her dress brushing against the cabinets. The scent of oatmeal and melted chocolate filled the kitchen, warm and familiar. It was the kind of smell that made a place feel like home.

Azriel inhaled deeply. “Cassian’s favorite,” he murmured with a small smile.

Elain slid the baking sheet onto the counter, its edges gleaming in the dim kitchen light. “Don’t worry, I also made a few of yours,” she said, setting the tray down with a soft clink.

And there they were—two dark chocolate chip cookies, separate from the rest. For him. Azriel’s stomach tightened. It was such a small thing, insignificant to anyone else, but the fact that she had remembered, that she had thought of him as she baked—him, of all people—sent something warm unfurling in his chest.

Read The Rest on AO3

[slaymitchabernathy]

Million Dollar Man

| "...it isn't that hard, boy, to like you or love you? i'd follow you down, down, down, you're unbelievable. if you're going crazy, just grab me and take me, i'd follow you down, down, down, anywhere, anywhere..." | a companion to 'Off to the Races' |

| this drabble contains sexual content ;) |

Coriolanus lasts about a month into the school year before he breaks.

It's almost embarrassing how difficult it's been for him these past few weeks, trying his best to ignore her and his feelings about her. He blames it all on that kiss, that stupid, sweet, sneaky kiss that Soarynn Nightingale planted on his cheek right in front of their parents.

If she had done it in private, if she had done it during one of their little sexual rendezvous, then he wouldn't have thought much of it. He kisses her all the time when they have sex, he kisses her, fucks her, and says dirty things to her. Nothing is off the table when you're fucking someone against a table.

But she did it in public, in front of their parents, in broad fucking daylight, and that had to mean something. He thought about it all the time, when he would fall asleep he would think about it, gently pressing the tips of his fingers against the very spot her soft lips pecked his skin.

Anyone who saw how besotted he was about her would've thought that he was madly in love with her, that she was his one true soulmate but some parts of him still truly couldn't stand the girl.

Yes, she was beautiful, funny, and smart. But Soarynn could also be very annoying, always acting like she was above everybody else including him. She would always be below him.

Snow lands on top after all.

It also didn't help that she kissed him in front of his mother, a woman who has always believed in true love and has always fought for young love. She married father when she was young and Coriolanus knows that she expected the same thing of him, father did as well.

He needed to marry a nice Capitol girl, from a good, prominent family who knew her place in the world.

But could that be Soarynn?

He didn't doubt that she knew the manners that came with being a Capitol wife, the girl was born and bred to live a comfortable life by her husband's side. But he's seen how feisty she can get, how she can throw it right back at him and it worries him. If he's going to marry this girl, he needs to reel her in, tame her, train her.

But their latest interactions at school have proven to be very difficult for him to continue his facade of indifference towards her. For starters, they haven't had sex since the races. Perhaps losing to her left a sour taste in his mouth but he hadn't sought her out since that hot afternoon and she hadn't either.

To make matters worse, they have almost every class together. Most likely, this is due to the fact that they'll graduate in the spring and classes have become more and more specific as the years have gone by. It's torture to be forced to sit in a classroom less than ten feet away from her. He usually sits in the back row with his friends, making it easier to take a nap or have a quiet conversation.

But Soarynn being the teacher's pet she pretends to be, always sits in the front row. He watches from the back as she twirls her long blonde hair around her dainty little finger, how she laughs at Perspehone's jokes, and how brightly she smiles at Ms. Feathernest when she walks into the classroom.

Then he has to see her in the hallway, stopping by her locker to collect her books, and holding hands with her friends as they weave through the crowds. It gets even worse at lunch. The weather is so pleasant that most students take their lunch out to the courtyard, Coriolanus and his friends included. Soarynn and her friends also eat in the courtyard, only one table away from where he eats.

This is when she'll shrug off her Academy jacket, showing off the perfectly tailored button-up shirt that every girl has to wear along with the mandated red skirt. The shirt itself is nothing special but when it's on her, it's something else. She also loves to leave the top few buttons undone, showing off some skin which drives him mad.

Between being sexually frustrated and emotionally frustrated, he's fucked.

He'd done his best to avoid her, to take different routes to their classes, to leave the library if she came inside but he could only run for so long. Soarynn is growing suspicious, giving him hard stares, and whispering to her friends. She'll confront him about his odd behavior sooner than later which is why after a month of hell, Coriolanus has finally decided to be honest about his feelings towards her.

Coriolanus Snow has a crush on Soarynn Nightingale.

He can see the headlines now. Their school has a student-run newspaper and this will be sure to make the front page. Being the important, popular man he is, Coriolanus has his pick of the litter when it comes to dating girls at their school. But he's never been interested, never seen or felt the need to tie himself down to anybody.

Sure, he's had a few flings, strictly sexual but he's only human. But now he needs something else, something different, something more.

He needs Soarynn.

Coriolanus strides into their first class of the day with a determined look in his bright blue eyes. He'll approach her after class ends, confess his feelings, and then, then she'll tell him that she feels the exact same way. If she doesn't, he'll go home and kill himself.

Easy.

Coriolanus finds that Festus and Felix have already arrived, slouched in their chairs like always. Neither of them are morning people and they often sleep right through their first class.

He drops his satchel on his desk, startling them awake with the noise, "Good morning," he greets them, sinking down into his chair. Festus lets out a yawn, stretching his arms and almost hitting Coriolanus in the process, "Morning," he mumbles sleepily, "you seem to be in a good mood."

Coriolanus shrugs, he's already decided to keep his big plan a big secret. Festus has a big mouth and looser lips, he doesn't want Soarynn to find out about his plan before he puts it into action. And Festus is officially dating Persephone Price, which means he often tells her things that he shouldn't be telling her.

While Coriolanus spent the first month mulling over his feelings about Soarynn, Festus put his feelings right out in the open, confessing to Persephone about how he really felt. It was admirable really, to see someone be so honest with themselves and their partner.

They've gone on six dates since and Festus has already talked about officially courting her.

There's dating and then there's courting.

Dating is simple, anyone can do it. Dating means going on little dates here and there, talking at school, simple things. Nothing is set in stone and it allows for people to get to know one another without committing to anything too serious.

Courting is serious, it's official, and only the upper class participates in courting. It means you're exclusive, that you intend to go further than a few giggles, hugs, and dates. It means that two individuals see an actual future with one another and wish to pursue it further.

Every Capitol girl dreams of courting and every Capitol boy dreads it because courting can not be done without asking the girl's father for permission. It's old-fashioned, yes, but it's the proper way to do things. Coriolanus won't be the one to break tradition.

His parents courted for years before getting engaged.

If you don't start now, then you'll be painfully behind by the time everyone else is getting married.

Coriolanus cannot afford to be left behind.

"It's a new week," he casually replies, craning his neck to see if Soarynn has arrived yet but her seat is empty, so is Persephone's.

Felix grunts, rubbing his eyes, "Yeah, a new week of assignments and exams, don't forget we have that lab due in Dr. Gaul's class today." Coriolanus ignores anything Felix says the moment Persephone walks into the room because Soarynn is always right behind her.

Except she's not.

Persephone sets her things down before walking towards them, greeting Festus with a kiss on the cheek, "Good morning," she says sweetly, completely oblivious to Coriolanus and his current dilemma.

"Where's Soarynn?" He asks, not caring if he sounds rude. Both Festus and Persephone give him questioning looks. He's always voiced his distaste for Soarynn to Festus who has always nodded his head and pretended to listen. This is a shock as big as any.

Persephone's eyes dart between him and Festus before answering, "She's with Titus."

Coriolanus almost falls out of his chair.

The Capitol is known for its odd names, his name is certainly no exception but there is only one Titus at their school. Titus Fenton is probably the one boy he inherently hates. He's tall, boastful, arrogant, cocky.

Sounds like someone he knows...

But to hear that Soarynn is with Titus is more than enough to further his hatred for the man. Like clockwork, Soarynn appears in the doorway, hand in hand with his number one sworn enemy. Titus looks all too smug while holding her hand, nodding along to whatever she's saying. Not only is Titus annoying, but he's also an idiot which is why he isn't in any of their classes.

But he can still walk Soarynn to hers.

Coriolanus watches with a cold, deadly stare as Titus leans down and presses a kiss to her lips. The lips that Coriolanus has fantasized about for weeks now, the lips that are exclusively his lips to kiss.

He's going to have to kill Titus for this, or at least badly injure him once he's safely gotten Soarynn to his side because this is just unacceptable. Titus is upper middle class at best!

Soarynn finally parts ways from that forlorn creature and approaches their small group in the back of the class, a smirk plastered across her lips. "How was your weekend?" Persephone asks her, giddy with excitement. Soarynn looks down at Coriolanus, far too proud of the hole she just tore in his heart, "Oh, my weekend was wonderful," she tells Persephone, "Titus is just oh-so attentive to my every need."

Coriolanus clenches his jaw, far past caring if she sees how it affects him or not. When they started having sex, they agreed to remain exclusive, mostly for the sake of cleanliness and also because he's slightly obsessed with her.

Persephone giggles, resting her hand on the back of her boyfriend's chair, "You certainly look well rested." Coriolanus doesn't even want to know what she means by that, because he can think of a couple things they might be talking about. The thought, the sheer thought of someone else touching Soarynn, kissing Soarynn, feeling Soarynn is enough to put a permanent scowl on his face.

Festus notices immediately, nudging him with his elbow, "What's up with you Snow? Just a minute ago you were looking forward to a brand new week."

Coriolanus glares at his friend, it's bad enough that he's dating Soarynn's best friend, but calling him out just won't do. "I didn't sleep well," he grumbles.

Soarynn sighs, placing her hand on his desk, drumming her perfectly manicured nails against the hardwood surface, "Oh, that's a shame, I slept wonderfully this weekend. Best sleep I've ever had in my life."

Coriolanus gives her such a cold look, he's surprised she hasn't turned to stone yet, "Yeah, I bet you've just been sleeping all over the place." That knocks her down a peg. Her smirk disappears and a scoff is thrown in his general direction, "Come on," she says to her friend, "class is going to start soon."

Persephone leaves Festus after one more kiss on the cheek, it's enough to make Coriolanus feel as though he might violently throw up at this public display of affection. He burns holes into the back of Soarynn's head the entire time they're in class, wishing he could grab that sleek ponytail she chose to wear today and tilt her head back, crashing his lips onto hers the way he's done so many times before.

By the time class is over, he is over the entire day, wanting nothing more than to go home and feel sorry for himself.

Is he too late? Has he befallen the same fate as his father? Will he not get the girl?

Will Snow finally not land on top?

꧁ ꧂

After spending the next three hours sulking and feeling sorry for himself, Coriolanus came up with a plan, a logical route of action.

He was going to beat up Titus in the boy's locker room.

Childish, yes, but not anything new between the boys who have duked it out before. Usually, they fought over petty things like sports or grades, it was a good way to let their anger out. Coriolanus is aware that he's an angry person, some might even say an evil person but at least he's self-aware.

That's half the battle in his opinion.

They all have the same physical education class right before lunch, which means the girls and boys go their separate ways to change into their gym clothes, red athletic shorts, and white athletic shirts for the boys, and the girls wear skirts instead.

Coriolanus glances over his shoulder at the group of girls shuffling towards the locker room, Soarynn bringing up the rear with her friends. They're all laughing like nothing else matters in this world but he only focuses on her. Focuses on her shiny blonde hair, how she chose to tie it up with a ribbon instead of an elastic band.

She looks behind her and for a split second, their eyes meet.

He expects her to glare at him, or scowl, even when they were secretly fucking, they still hated each other in public, always doing a good job to keep up that preferred image. But instead, her eyes soften, almost as if she's trying to convey a message.

He's herded into the locker room before he can do anything else, the doors shut behind him. He shakes himself out of it, he has to focus right now. He scans the large room for Titus, ignoring the rest of his classmates who are shouting and hollering, messing around like they always do. A few boys have already taken off their shirts, admiring their physiques in the mirrors along the walls.

Coriolanus finally pins down Titus, in the back corner, perfect.

He has to play his cards right, make it look like he was attacked, and not the other way around. There aren't any cameras in the locker rooms for obvious reasons but they have more than enough eye witnesses. Everyone will be questioned after this goes down.

Coriolanus slowly approaches Titus, stopping at the bench, and begins unbuttoning his white shirt, he wouldn't want to get it messy. Titus pays him no mind, opening his assigned locker and that's when Coriolanus spots a photo of him with Soarynn and a few of their other classmates.

It's not necessarily a photo of just Titus and Soarynn, but the fact that he took the time to put it in his locker is more than enough to anger Coriolanus.

Coriolanus blows out all the air in his lungs through his nose, perhaps he's acted too rashly, he could always just talk to Soarynn like a civilized human being instead.

"Something bothering you, Snow?"

Fuck being civilized.

Coriolanus straightens up, he's only a bit taller than Titus, and they're around the same size when it comes to muscle and weight. Titus is, unfortunately, a worthy opponent. He shakes his head while folding his shirt neatly so there aren't any wrinkles, "Nope, nothing's bothering me, Fenton."

Titus cocks his head, and that shit-eating grin spreads quickly across his entire ugly face. Titus isn't ugly per se, but Soarynn could do much better.

She could be with him instead.

"You sure about that? You looked pretty heartbroken this morning when I dropped Soarynn off."

Oh, so he knows. Did Soarynn tell him? Do other people know?

Coriolanus thought they had agreed to keep this between them but maybe she's set on ruining his reputation to make hers better. He'll have to talk to her about it after he beats the shit out of Titus.

"I'm great," he lies, forcing a smile onto his lips, "it's you I'm worried about, following her around like some lost puppy. You know how girls like her can get." His words have the intended effect on Titus who immediately stiffens and slams his locker shut, drawing more attention to them.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Titus spits out, taking a step toward Coriolanus. If he wasn't so confident in his own strength, Coriolanus would feel very intimidated to be starting something with Titus.

Coriolanus shrugs, acting as if he's suddenly bored, "Oh, nothing, just thought you should know." Coriolanus goes to turn around but Titus reaches out, grabbing his shoulder.

Ah, there it is, the first point of contact.

Coriolanus looks over at Festus, his number one supporter and eyewitness. He gives him a wink.

"Let go of me Titus," he says loudly, loud enough to garner everyone's attention in the locker room. Titus looks around at their newfound audience and scoffs, "Don't act so fucking innocent Snow, I know you're fucking her."

Coriolanus feigns innocence, widening his bright blue eyes, "Fucking who? I'm waiting until marriage Titus, as any good man should be doing."

Titus sneers, Coriolanus is no actor, but he knows that what he says is imperative for him to walk away from this unscathed. Well, for his reputation to walk away unscathed, he might get a few bumps or bruises but that's more than fine.

"Fucking Soarynn, everyone knows she's been sleeping with you."

Coriolanus looks around the room at their captive audience, "Everyone knows? Who have you been talking to Titus and why are you spreading these vicious rumors about a young lady at our school?"

Whenever Titus gets mad, he gets physical, Coriolanus knows this because he often gets the same way. The only vice he's recently discovered has been having sex...with Soarynn. Looks like they've both been left high and dry for far too long.

He can see it now, how his muscles tense, how his jaw ticks, how his eye twitches. Titus is about to swing.

"Don't play these fucking head games with me," Titus growls, "I know she's sleeping with you because she's sleeping with me!" A few of the boys laugh, Festus included. Soarynn is the queen bee of their school, out of all the boys she could choose to sleep with, Titus would be the last on her radar. Which leads Coriolanus to wonder what she was doing with him in the first place.

Oh, well, he can ask her about it later.

"Lying is a terrible thing to do Titus," Coriolanus tells him solemnly, "now please let go of me before I have to defend myself."

It takes all of ten seconds for Titus to unhand Coriolanus, turn around, ball his hand into a fist, and come back swinging. Thankfully, Coriolanus is more than used to fighting this imbecile and intercepts the punch with his forearm, it hurts like a bitch but it's much better than a concussion.

The boys immediately start shouting, and jeering as Coriolanus swings back, in self-defense of course. A few people even start banging on the lockers, stirring up quite the racket, professors and coaches will be here in minutes.

Which means he has about one minute to show Titus what happens when you fuck with Coriolanus Snow.

He balls his own fist and swings at Titus, aiming for his stomach. He lands the punch and hears Titus groan in pain, getting punched in the stomach fucking hurts, he knows what it feels like and how disarming it can be. He punches him again as Titus doubles over from the blinding pain, this time in the side of the head, against his temple. Coriolanus feels his knuckles split and hears the doors opening, professors spilling in and shouts coming from outside.

In a last-ditch attempt, Titus lunges at Coriolanus, screaming as he wraps his arms around his torso, tackling him like some lunatic. Coriolanus lets out a shout of surprise, not expecting to be slammed to the ground. The two boys tussle and roll on the floor, exchanging blows and very vulgar words.

Coriolanus is the first to be pulled off the floor, by Coach Sickle who looks baffled by this display of violence. There are always fights in the locker rooms but they do a good job at keeping quiet. Coriolanus doesn't put up a fight though, he surrenders easily, holding up his hands, ignoring the throbbing in his head and how much his hands hurt.

"Off the floor Fenton!" Another male professor shouts, running onto the scene and grabbing Titus by the collar of his shirt, "Straight to the Dean's Office for the both of you!"

Titus is led out first, the growing crowd parts for him to pass by, listening to him shout more profanities at Coriolanus who does his best to look shaken up by this whole ordeal. "I...I need to put my shirt back on," he whispers to the Coach, "I don't want any of the girls seeing me shirtless."

The biggest lie he's ever told, these abs don't come at a cheap price.

But he looks so believable right now, his nose might even be bleeding. "Sure," Coach says, nodding at the bench, "go ahead and get dressed, then I'll take you to the Dean's Office. The rest of you, outside on the track!"

Everyone slowly shuffles out into the gymnasium, grumbling about how that was barely even a fight but Coriolanus did what needed to be done. That's all that matters.

"What uh, what happened in here?" Coach Sickle asks, scratching the back of his neck while Coriolanus gets dressed, frowning when he gets blood on his white shirt. "Titus was saying some very vulgar, untruthful things about Soarynn Nightingale," he easily says, "then when I confronted him about it, he got violent."

Now he's not only the victim, but the hero.

"Ah, well, given his track record, that's not surprising. You'll still need to give an official statement, explain yourself to the Dean, parents will have to be called."

Coriolanus nods, clearing his throat, "Of course, sir, I apologize for the trouble this has caused you." Coach sighs, shaking his head, "Boys will be boys, unfortunately. We'll question a few of the boys as well, just to make sure you've got your story straight."

Coriolanus smiles, "Of course."

꧁ ꧂

Two hours later, Coriolanus is allowed to return to class.

He walks out of the bathroom wearing a brand new shirt since he asked his mother to bring one with her after he called them to come to the school to speak to Dean Highbottom. Father wasn't too pleased to be called out of work, mostly because he hates Dean Highbottom, although Coriolanus doesn't know why.

Mother, of course, fussed over Coriolanus for a good twenty minutes, complaining about his bruised temple, split knuckles, and bruised forearm. Apparently, it could affect their family portraits but it could always be edited out.

She always focuses on what's most important.

By the time they got here, everything had been sorted out, Coriolanus told his side of the story, the truth and nothing but the truth. They all believed him, especially because it sounded like something Titus would do.

Father pushed to have him expelled, but at the end of the day, it was up to the school.

"What on earth did you get into the fight about darling?" Mother asks, dusting off his Academy jacket as he slides it back on, wincing when she pats too hard. "He said some very nasty things about Soarynn," he tells her, "and I couldn't allow a man to talk about a lady like that."

Mother nearly swoons at his chivalrous act, "How sweet. Isn't that sweet Crassus?" Father doesn't look too over the moon about any of this but he nods, "Did you win?"

Coriolanus snorts, "Of course, I did."

"Then that's all that matters," father decides, checking his watch, "now, I have to go back to work and your mother has a tea party to attend. We will see you this evening."

Coriolanus nods, he never expected to be taken out of school early, nor did he want to. Now that he won a fight, he's a celebrity and everyone will want to ask him about it and why he did it.

"I'll see you tonight," he promises mother with a kiss on her cheek. She looks so hesitant to leave her baby boy behind but father is quick to usher her through the front doors, not wanting to waste another moment in the halls he once roamed as a teenager.

"Funny thing seeing your parents together."

Coriolanus jumps at the sound of Dean Highbottom's voice, scaring the shit out of him. "I recall your father chasing after a different girl during our Academy days," he says, staring off into the distance, "it seems you've fallen under her spell as well."

Coriolanus takes one step to the right, just to be safe, "Her spell?"

Dean Highbottom nods, giving Coriolanus a pitying look, "The Nightingale girl, I remember her mother, beautiful as they come and her daughter is a spitting image of her, although, I explicitly recall her choosing Glen Nightingale over Crassus Snow, what a scandal that was back in the day."

Coriolanus frowns, he's already heard this tale from his father, he doesn't need to hear it again, and not from an outsider's perspective.

"It seems that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Highbottom notes with a snide tone, "good luck with your senior year Mr. Snow, and please, try and stay out of my office for the rest of it."

Coriolanus wisely remains silent, he doesn't want to end up on this man's bad side too, but he can't help but wonder how amazing Cera Nightingale was before she settled down and got married. From what he'd heard, she was beautiful, kind, funny, sweet.

Is Soarynn worth the chase people put up for her mother?

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus strides into the courtyard, soaking in all of the attention he's immediately given by his peers. Several of his friends rush towards him, asking to see his battle scars, patting him on the back for a job well done.

"I think he was crying," Festus says with a laugh, jostling his shoulder, "Coach grilled me about the fight, but I'd never give you up."

Coriolanus rolls his eyes, betraying a friend may not be that big of a deal in the Districts, he knows for a fact that they're filled with liars and thieves, people who would gladly cheat you out of the clothes on your back if it could get them a step further than you.

But in the Capitol, that type of betrayal is taken as a serious offense, severing friendships and relationships at the head of the problem. He sometimes wonders what led to the severance of Highbottom and his father's relationship.

Maybe it was a girl, maybe it was Cera Nightingale.

He scans the courtyard for the one person who's truly responsible for all of this mess, the person he so valiantly defended, the girl he would gladly cut off a friendship for. She's already looking at him, her hair shines under the sun as she sits on a bench, watching more students ask him questions.

"My father wants him expelled," Coriolanus says over the chatter, his eyes still on Soarynn, "but it's up to the Dean."

"Coriolanus, is it true you broke his nose?"

"Coriolanus, did you get an infraction on your student record?"

"Coriolanus, were you fighting without a shirt on?"

Soarynn stands up at the last question, dusting off her skirt, taking her time like the primadonna he knows her to be. She slowly makes her way through the crowd, and if she were anyone else, he'd go to help her, but people gladly make a path for Soarynn Nightingale who smiles so sweetly as they step aside.

By the time she reaches him, he still doesn't know what he's going to say to the girl he beat somebody up over.

She bats her lashes up at him, an action that normally drives him crazy but it does even more since they haven't had sex in weeks. "I heard you got into a fight over my honor," she purrs, "how noble of you, Coriolanus."

He swallows, maybe he shouldn't have buttoned his shirt all the way to the top because it feels like he's choking. "Yes, well, well I'm very noble," he tells her and she laughs, softly and sweetly, like music to his ears. She reaches out and takes his hand, his hand, in public! In front of everyone!

He can already hear gasps and jealous whispers from both girls and boys, "Why don't we go somewhere more private to talk?" She asks, already pulling him with her and he gladly follows. If hurting people means she'll talk to him again, he'll do it every day.

He lets her lead them out of the courtyard and into one of the emptier hallways. Coriolanus can already feel himself growing excited, growing more and more restless to have his hands on her again, his lips on her lips.

So when she pulls him into an empty classroom and not a supply closet, he's very disappointed.

"So why'd you do it?"

She lets go of his hand, leaving him dumbfounded. Coriolanus watches Soarynn hop onto the nearest desk, kicking her feet back and forth. She tilts her head like a puppy, sweet and innocent but he knows that she's neither of those things.

He knows better than to believe that.

"Do what?"

Soarynn's eyes drift down his body, coming to a stop on his split knuckles. He went to the nurse once his parents arrived, got the cuts touched up, and was given a pat on the back once he was done.

"Why did you beat up Titus Fenton?"

"He said bad things about you, sexual things about you."

A cruel smirk curls across her lips, "You say bad, sexual things to me all the time, what's the difference?"

She's got him there.

"I...I don't know, I just, I didn't like that it was him."

Her smirk turns into a frown, "You wanted it to be you saying those nasty things about me?'

Coriolanus groans, rubbing a hand over his face, he hates it when people put words into his mouth.

"No! No, I didn't want to be saying those things about you, I...I wanted it to be me walking you to class, and kissing you. I want it to be me and I don't want to see you with anybody else, I don't care if I'm selfish, I know what I want. And I know what you want, you want a boyfriend, someone to take care of you and be there for you, and please you. And who better than me? I'm a Snow, I'm smart, tall, handsome, I'm the best you'll ever have and you know it Soarynn."

For once, Soarynn is at a loss for words.

He takes a step towards her, then another, then another until he's right in front of her.

"If you don't want it to be me," he says quietly, "just tell me. Don't string me along like your mother did with my father, okay? Just tell me. I know I'm not easy, and maybe it is hard to like me but I know I'm the best one for you."

Soarynn looks up at him and he nearly loses his breath, he's looked into her eyes hundreds of times, but always clouded with lust. This time, they're clear as day, blue and gray.

Beautiful.

"It isn't that hard to like you," she tells him, grabbing his hand, intertwining their fingers, "or love you."

His heart skips a beat, he hasn't ever thought about the possibility of love, he's always known that he was destined for greatness, for fame, and fortune. Love has never been on the agenda.

But maybe it's on Soarynn's agenda.

Maybe that's why her mother didn't pick his father.

Maybe for once, he needs to drop the Snow mentality and put someone else on top.

Put her on top.

"I like you," he admits, squeezing her hand so tight he's scared it might break, "I've liked you for a long time and I thought that just having sex without strings attached would be easy but it's just made things harder. So when I heard you mention sleeping with Titus I just lost contr-"

"I never had sex with Titus," she cuts him off, shrugging her shoulders as if Titus didn't have to go to the hospital after getting drilled by the Dean. "I knew it would get a rise out of you to see me with him so I went on one date with him this weekend, and asked him to walk me to class. I just didn't think you'd get into a fight over me."

Now Coriolanus is at a loss for words.

She didn't sleep with Titus? She lied? She played him like a fiddle?

Coriolanus doesn't know if he should either feel upset or impressed that she managed to get him to play directly into her hand. Soarynn is more than used to getting what she wants but he didn't know that applied to him as well.

But that means she wants him.

She. Wants. Him.

"So, so you wanted me to get jealous?"

Soarynn nods, tilting her head up at him, "Mhm. I mean, we stopped having sex and I just...I don't know, I kinda missed you. I thought after kissing you on the cheek that you'd get my hints but I forgot that teenage boys are total idiots."

Ouch.

"I thought you kissed me to embarrass me in front of everyone," he mumbles, looking down at their intertwined hands, "then I got angry." Soarynn chuckles softly, leaning forward, "You're always angry," she points out, "but I like that about you. I like boys who know what they want. And you're right, I do want a boyfriend, I want a husband who can give me everything I want."

He looks down into her eyes, alluring, enchanting, addicting.

Soarynn is a drug he could take for the rest of his life and he'll be damned if anyone else gets their hands on her.

"I thought it was sweet," she continues, "that you felt the need to beat someone up for me just to get my attention."

Well, at least she isn't upset, and if she's not mad, then he doesn't need to be either. Coriolanus finally allows himself to smile for the first time today, he feels like the king of the world right now, he won the fight and got the girl.

What could be better than that?

"Sweet, huh?" He asks, leaning down, even sitting on a desk she's shorter than him, and he likes it, likes that he's bigger than her, stronger than her, likes that he can protect her from any harm.

"Yeah," she whispers, leaning into him, "really sweet."

He closes his eyes and their lips come together in a passionate kiss, a kiss that they've both been dreaming about for months now, maybe even years. He can't believe it's finally come together, that he got the girl everyone wanted him to get.

Once again, Snow lands on top.

꧁ ꧂

One week later and Coriolanus is no longer sore or bruised from his fight with Titus Fenton, a delinquent child who was recently expelled after his appalling behavior, at least that's what mother tells everyone.

Coriolanus could honestly care less about what she has to say when it comes to Titus, now that he's out of the picture, he has nothing to worry about.

Nothing but his pretty little girlfriend.

He's roaming the halls trying to find her, eager to feel her, to kiss her, to be near her. They've only been dating for one week and he thinks he might be in love. Soarynn has hinted at courting but he still needs to ask her father, and that's a daunting task, even for Coriolanus Snow.

But she deserves the best, his girl, including his best efforts to secure their relationship as a Capitol couple.

It didn't come as a surprise to anyone when they started dating last week, it's always been expected and it was only a matter of time. Now they're the King and Queen of the Academy, stronger together than apart. He can't even remember what it was like when they were at odds with one another.

And right now, the King needs his Queen.

He finds her walking down the front hall, her heels clicking on the marble floors while she carries what looks like files in her hands. Coriolanus comes up behind her, wrapping a hand around her ponytail to give it a tug. She gasps when he pulls on it, craning her neck back to look up at him, her stormy eyes wide until she sees that it's him.

Soarynn relaxes but rolls her eyes, breaking free from his hold, "Should've known it was you," she says, "aren't you supposed to be in class?" Coriolanus shrugs, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "Class is boring, and besides, I'm in the bathroom right now, not breaking any rules," he explains, wiggling his eyebrows which makes her laugh.

He loves that, loves hearing her laugh, seeing her smile.

He peers down at the files in her hands, curious as to what they contain. Soarynn spends this class period as an office aid since she's so sweet and helpful, Persephone is an aid as well, those girls do everything together.

"What're those about?"

Soarynn sighs, leading them around the corner towards the old gymnasium, it's no longer in use since they got a new one built last year, paid for by Strabo Plinth after his idiot son, Sejanus, almost got expelled. They're District born which automatically makes them scum in his eyes, no matter how much money they have.

"It's for the Hunger Games," she tells him, "next year's the first Quarter Quell and they want to use the gymnasium to house the Tributes for makeovers and training." Coriolanus furrows his brows, Tributes in the Academy? Has the world gone mad? Has President Ravenstill lost his mind completely?

"Sounds like a recipe for disaster," he concludes, "mixing District with Capitol, someone could get hurt, one of them could escape." He immediately tightens his grip on Soarynn, imagining a wild Tribute breaking out of the gymnasium and running into her classroom, attacking her and killing her.

His most precious rose.

Soarynn doesn't seem to be too bothered by this development, "Does it even really matter? We graduate before the next Games." She's got a point. Coriolanus chuckles, pressing a kiss to her temple, "It's just a bad idea is all, they should be kept far away from Capitol citizens until they're locked away in that arena."

Soarynn snorts at his idea, pushing open a frosted glass door that leads to the front office, Persephone smiles at them from behind the front desk, "You sound like a future Game Maker," Soarynn notes, pulling away from him which causes him to frown, "you should pitch those ideas to Dr. Gaul."

Coriolanus watches her file away the documents, chatting with Persephone about the Spring Saturnalia, a party the University throws every year. Senior students from the Academy are allowed to attend and even though it's months away, the girls have already started planning what to wear.

But he thinks more and more about what she said, he's always been gunning for an important place in society, and perhaps a Game Maker could be the route to go, Head Game Maker sounds much better though.

President sounds the best though.

President Snow and his First Lady.

"...a trip to Four next weekend," Soarynn finishes and he snaps back into action. A trip? To the Districts?

"What? You're going to Four?" He asks, gripping the edge of the desk, Persephone looks uncomfortable but she's not his girlfriend, that's between her and Festus. Soarynn nods as if it's not a big deal, "Mhm, my father has to travel there for business and he's letting me come with him."

Coriolanus can think of about a million reasons why taking Soarynn out of the Capitol is a bad idea. He used to think that Glen Nightingale was a sensible man but now he's starting to question this man's decision-making skills. If he couldn't save his wife from dying, then who's to say he can save his daughter from a terrible fate as well?

Father might have had to watch the girl he once wanted fade away into nothingness, but Coriolanus will do no such thing.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? It could be dangerous, I won't be there to protect you."

Soarynn smiles, walking up to him until they're toe to toe and she wraps her arms around his neck, tugging him down to her level, "You know, up until last week, we weren't even dating so I don't think he took my big, scary boyfriend into account when planning this trip for work."

He scoffs a laugh, "I'm not scary."

Soarynn raises a brow but doesn't contradict him, "I'll be fine, you won't even know that I'm gone," she promises with a kiss on his nose. Coriolanus blinks several times after she pulls away, disappearing to another room while he's left to think about every terrible thing that could possibly happen to her on this trip.

He has to do something, has to protect her, keep her safe.

Doesn't he?

꧁ ꧂

"I want to go with Soarynn and Mr. Nightingale to District Four," Coriolanus announces that same night during dinner with his parents. Their reactions are the same, stunned that their District-loathing son would ever want to willingly step foot in the Districts.

And he doesn't, but what he wants isn't important right now, this is about Soarynn and keeping her safe.

Putting other people's feelings before his own. Who has he become?

Father sets down his fork, his face placid like always, "Why do you wish to accompany the Nightingales to District Four, Coriolanus?"

He swallows, he was hoping mother would be the one with all the questions, but at the end of the day, father's word is law. "It's dangerous out there," he tells him, "and Mr. Nightingale will be preoccupied with meetings and work, I don't want something to happen to Soarynn."

The girl's not an idiot, if anything, she's quick as a whip, smarter than most girls her age but that doesn't mean that some District leech won't try and take advantage of her.

Mother sighs at his reasoning, tracing the rim of her wine glass with her finger, "They're always like this at the start Crassus, infatuated with each other, can't stand to be apart for more than five seconds."

Coriolanus scowls, that is not true.

Father grunts, picking his fork back up, "Yes, it seems our son has fallen under Ms. Nightingale's spell." He can say whatever he wants about Soarynn or how Coriolanus acts around her, but he remembers the pride that flashed across his father's eyes when he said they were dating.

At least one of them got the girl.

"So, can I go? If Mr. Nightingale allows it then can I go? It's only for the weekend."

Mother looks across the table at father, a silent conversation takes place right in front of Coriolanus and he doesn't speak the language. "I'm not paying for any son of mine to galavant through the Districts," father says definitively, "unless Glen offers to pay for the ticket and hotel, you'll stay here. Where you belong."

Coriolanus slouches, ignoring the look he gets from mother who is always adamant about good table manners. "Why can't I pay for my own ticket? I have the money," he counters. This earns him a sharp look from father, "Because no son of mine will be seen paying to enter the Districts. Especially not following some girl."

Mother nods much to his dismay, "He's right darling, you're a Snow, unless Glen offers to pay, you'll just have to sit this one out."

So now it's up to Glen Nightingale, great.

Coriolanus doesn't push the topic any further, it'll only lead to father taking back anything he just said. He'll just have to play his cards right.

After dinner, Coriolanus calls the Nightingale townhouse, he's done this every night since they started dating. The phone rings once before Soarynn picks up, she has a phone in her bedroom, very fancy.

"Coryo? What did they say?"

Coriolanus nearly slides down the wall in despair, he's out in the hallway since the only other phone in the penthouse is in his father's study, and he steers clear of that room at all costs. "They said I have to be invited, my father refuses to spend a cent on me visiting the Districts."

Soarynn makes an aggravated noise on the other end of the phone, "Ugh, your father can be such a windup sometimes. Whatever, I can talk to my father about it tomorrow morning, butter him up. He likes you a lot so it shouldn't be too hard."

That makes him feel a little better to know that Mr. Nightingale likes him.

If he ends up going on the trip, maybe he can talk to him about courting Soarynn. Coriolanus has heard of couples that wait months before courting but he doesn't want to waste a single second.

"Alright, did you already have dinner?"

"Yep, I'm just playing with Petunia."

Petunia, is Soarynn's cat. He's only seen a thousand photos of this cat since they started dating. She's white, fluffy, and mean-looking. She's got this snarl reserved for everyone who isn't Soarynn so of course, Soarynn loves her, says she's the sweetest angel on earth. Coriolanus has yet to meet Petunia but he doubts they'll become fast friends.

"Well, give her my regards," he says, looking both ways down the hall before saying the next part, a bit softer too, "I miss you."

Soarynn giggles, she's probably rolling on top of her bed with the phone cord wrapped around her finger, along with him. "You miss me huh? Me or my cunt?" Coriolanus smirks, as polite as she can be in public, she's an absolute slut in private and that includes phone calls that anyone could hear.

"Your cunt," he drawls, thinking about how tightly it was wrapped around him the other day. His other hand involuntarily slides down to his zipper, pulling it down swiftly, "What're you wearing right now?"

Her breath hitches, they've never done this before.

"Just a silk nightgown," she answers, her voice more sultry, "and some lingerie underneath."

"Yeah, what color?"

"Blue, same shade as your eyes."

His hand slips under the waistband of his boxers.

"Take it off," he instructs, tilting his head back against the wall, "take it all off for me Soarynn." He hears her fumble with the phone and the sound of something hitting the floor, "It's off," she says, out of breath.

Coriolanus doesn't really know how he feels about Soarynn touching herself, that's his job, no one else's.

"Good, good, now take your fingers and rub them around your nipples, just like I do it, baby." Soarynn whimpers at the petname. He calls her 'darling' but other petnames get different reactions depending on when and where he uses them. In public, it's endearing, in private, it's erotic.

Either one works for her, she's as dirty-minded as he is.

Coriolanus begins to stroke his cock up and down, imagining that instead of his hand, it's Soarynn's dainty one, and she's on her knees in front of him. With his head on a swivel, Coriolanus gives himself a handjob, glad his parents have retired to their bedroom for the evening and that he's in a dark hallway.

"Now what Coryo?" The nickname drives him towards the edge, it used to be something his friends called him when they were little and had a hard time pronouncing his full name. But Soarynn always held onto it, using it to taunt him up until last week, now, it's sweet and only reserved for her.

"Now rub your fingers up and down your clit baby," he grits out, stroking his cock faster and faster, listening to her soft moans through the phone, "keep going, don't stop until I tell you to." Soarynn mewls in pleasure and he can picture her now, spread out on her sheets, her hair strewn around her face, naked in all her glory.

"Please," she whines, he can just picture her contorted expression, her eyes fluttering, her soft lips parted, her rosy cheeks flushed.

Coriolanus quickens his pace, wanting them to finish together, even if for the first, they aren't together.

Is this what it will come to? Phone sex while Soarynn is vacationing in the Districts?

"I'm close," she pants, bringing him back to the present moment. And it's at this moment that he's glad neither of them have siblings or nosy parents. Father rarely ever seeks him out and if mother comes to his room, she always makes sure to knock. Glen seems like the type of man to give his daughter distance, only helping when asked since he most likely has no clue what he's doing.

"Let's cum together," he grunts, rubbing the angry red tip of his cock with his thumb, "let's come together, baby."

They both let out a quiet moan, not wanting to draw any attention to themselves since they should be getting ready for bed, not fucking over the phone. Soarynn's mewls of pleasure spill into his ear while he rides out his high, mostly likely staining a perfectly good pair of trousers.

This might be payback from two days ago when he fingered her under their desks while Professor McDinnon played them an educational film since she didn't actually want to teach. It was something else to be buried knuckles deep in Soarynn's cunt, listening to her moan under her breath and watching her squirm in her chair.

She chewed him out for it afterwards but he'd just smirked and kissed her hard against the lockers. She liked it as much as he did, and he'd never purposely put her in an uncomfortable position.

They both collect their thoughts and their breaths, and not a moment too soon. Coriolanus hears a knock from Soarynn's end of the phone, "Be right there," she calls out to her father, "wow, have you ever done that before?"

Coriolanus laughs, shaking his head even though she can't see him. "Phone sex? Absolutely not, but I've never had a sexual partner before."

He's never had a girlfriend before.

Soarynn hums, rustling comes from the background, then a meow.

Did Petunia witness the whole thing?

"I've gotta go," she says quietly, "but I'll talk to my father about the trip, okay?"

Coriolanus tightens his grip on the phone cord while zipping back up. "Don't pressure him too much," he advises, "don't want him to think I'm controlling you."

Soarynn snorts at the suggestion that he could ever control her, "Sure," is all she says.

"Well then, goodnight darling, I'll come pick you up tomorrow."

Soarynn used to walk to school but now, Coriolanus picks her up. He walks her to all her classes even the ones they don't have together and he always carries her books and satchel.

Soarynn will never want as long as she's with him.

"Goodnight Coryo, sweet dreams. And don't worry about the trip, it'll all work out."

He nods again, she's right, against all odds they've made it this far and that has to count for something.

"Snow lands on top," he says.

She doesn't miss a beat.

"Snow lands on top."

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

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[kazuko-stuff]

A Wish

Caleb x reader

LNDs and XXXholic crossover

Summary: Caleb encounters a strange store and meets a strange woman who could possibly help him with his situation with you. However a price must be paid in return.

Warnings: possible spoilers and could get OOC with xxxholic due to being a long time from my last time reading of xxxholic and Tsubasa Chronicles

The young colonel was walking around Skyhaven, going to the headquarters of the Fleet. The more missions he does for the Fleet, the more the woman he loves would be safe for a time being.

Just then he noticed a strange looking shop that he swore never was there before. As he was about to scout the area of the shop for more information , his feet started to walk towards the shop’s door, as if he was under some sort of control. He attempted to fight against it but was fruitless as he was already inside the shop when the door opened.

The doors closed behind him and noticed the interior had an old traditional Japanese style. As he looked around, he noticed a lanky teen boy with dark hair with glasses sweeps the floor. For some reason, he slowly reminds him of Zayne but with blue eyes.

The boy looks at the colonel up and down as he greets him, “ Hello young man, you must be here for Yuko”.

“You must be mistaken. I don’t know what your owner is thinking but if this gets to the Fleet of unauthorized selling of Protocores, I swear I won’t let you get away with it” Caleb threatens in an attempt to scare him into submission.

“Ara Ara, such a threat comes into my shop” an elegant but amused voice breaks in. It was a tall woman with floor length dark hair who was wearing an oriental kimono, holding a smoke pipe in one hand. She blows into it as it puffs smoke.

“WHO ARE YOU?” he asks as he puts his hands on his gun on his holster. He looks at the strange woman, trying to analyze her but for some reason he gets a feeling he shouldn’t mess with her. As if she was already expecting him.

The woman has an amused smirk, looking straight at his eyes and soul. “Isn’t this an interesting way of starting an order of business?” not fazed at the slightest at his attempt to get an answer from her.

The colonel attempts to activate his gravity evol but for some reason no gravity isn’t summoned.

“Ah, your abilities that you called Evol, don't work in this panel of existence, my dear” she explains.

“What’s going on” he asks in anger

“There is no such thing as coincidence. Everything is Hitsuzen.” The woman explains as she comes closer to inspect the young man in front of her. She notices his pendant on his neck and notices how worn it looks.

“What’s your name” Yuko inquired despite knowing the answer

“I don’t have to tell you that” he snapped. He is suspicious of the strange woman but at the same time he senses something different about her.

“I have seen many incarnations of you. The current version of this world’s time has gone through Deepspace to see many and found many alternate worlds that led you to rise into Colonel within a short few months…” she purposely stops seeing him confused about how she knows about this.

“You are quite known as a trailblazer. Exploring other worlds and finding pathways. How is it you get to be in place of all dimensions? Xia Caleb or should I call you… she trails purposely knowing his Philos self that has yet to be known to him, sensing that presence is still dormant within him but is slowly awakening.

“What is this place?” he asks THIS time in a more curious tone. Looking around the shop, it wasn’t a Protocores black market but rather unique items that weren’t from here. Some were tarot cards, staff and even a bird cage.

He knew that there were other worlds but never did he hear about a shop in between all dimensions. What was his reason for going here? This woman mentioned this isn’t a coincidence of him going to this shop. She’s up to something but what is it?

“Who are you exactly?” he inquired back slowly

“You may call me Ichihara Yuko. I am also better known as the Dimensional, Space-time witch” she introduces herself to him. “That’s how I felt about your gravity based abilities. So strong, yet capable of causing destruction through a black hole”.

“But witches don’t exist…” but Yuko interrupts him with her laughter

“I call myself a witch, since of my magic abilities and if I recall, there is magic in the dimension you’re from. However it seems you aren’t exposed much to Magic. After all, Magic is more of a spiritual base than that of Evol” Yuko explains, aware of Lumerian culture and Magic.

“…”

“Anyway, you were summoned here because you have a wish” looking at a man who has so many questions but won't be asked due to information overload.

“If my wish is to create a utopia for me and the person I love the most…” but was stopped as Yuko looked at him displeased.

“That is a desire that was created by that main wish you have with other conundrums you faced. A paradise isn’t what you truly desire and it’s more of an escapism for you when you face the heavy feelings and burdens you have been holding up until now.” She looks at him with sad eyes, knowing he went through much for the one person he loves the most. It reminds her of a couple she had known who had to deal with horrible fates, that even she knew that wasn’t preventable and in some way had her hand in it.

“What is the wish that really drove you here in the first place” she asks the man, as Caleb looks deeply into himself of what he truly wished for.

“What I wanted is reassurance that I could truly protect y/n. I can’t let her know these burdens because I fear that she may get herself caught up into their plans. I knew what she went through. The aether core, the adoption…” Caleb’s stops realizing he is crying.

“But now I have a chip in my brain, that is preventing me from being able to love her properly. I hurt her, I betrayed her trust and yet I don’t know what to do now.” He stops in between trying to get out all the emotions that were pent up.

“I’m not sure I’m even human anymore…with my left arm being bionic and slowly turning me into a machine. I just want someone to tell me what should I do and how do I handle this” he finally let out these thoughts that had been consuming him for so long.

“Now I know what your true wish is, shall I grant it”. Yuko asked

Caleb just nods in agreement

“The price is the pendent you are wearing”

Caleb looks at the pendent that you gave him. He looks at it and wonders if it’s too late to take it back. But if Yuko would be able to grant some abilities to protect her, maybe it’s for the best. He holds onto the pendent for one last time and traces the engraved words, ‘when you come home’. He wondered if he truly had fulfilled this promise and realizes that home is where you felt known and loved. He gives the pendent to Yuko and she puts it into a oriented box. A girl with pink hair then puts it into the storage room.

“Watanuki, prepare something special for our customer, would you like something special Caleb ?”

“I should get going I have a meeting to attend” Caleb protested

“As of this moment you are between dimensions, so my shop isn’t affected by time”

Caleb accepted the invitation and simple asked for apples and braised chicken.

Watanuki returned with food and sake for Yuko and Caleb ate some apples to tell what happen in his childhood, especially the lab rat experiments he went through with you and how you two got out and lived with Josephine afterwards.

“After the explosion, I was in the hospital and then EVER took advantage of the situation and made me their test subject once more. I join the fleet in hopes that EVER wouldn’t bother her again. But I know it’s only temporarily.”

Caleb looks at Yuko, “ I just want to protect her from them. I couldn’t bare watching her die endlessly and only to be revived. I fear if the chip takes over, my memories of her would disappear and if she loses her memories, I know I could still protect her…”

“ let me tell you something. When one sacrifices oneself to help another, it could be actually painful to the person being helped, especially is of importance to them”

Caleb looks down, feeling guilty. What could had happen if he was honest from the get go. “But if I don’t do something, she would suffer from the Aether core in her heart…”

“There is no such thing as coincidence, on Hitsuzen-the inevitable,” Yuko explained. You were meant to come here, as a place of healing from the burdens you held”.

Then of all of a sudden, it hits him that he didn’t get any migraines from heavy emotional response due to the chip, as well as he left hand being able to feel the heat of the cup holding the tea he had.

“What just happen..” he looks at his clenched his hands and shakes his head in wonder.

“I removed the literal bargaining chip in your head and managed to have the bionic arm to sense physical sensation just that of a real one”

“Thank you, so much. I don’t know how to repay you” Caleb bows in respect and relief.

“You already had. However while I cannot stop the flows of certain destined, especially with EVER, I can reassure you can end the story the way you wanted. However the only advice I can give you is that to fight with your lover as equals in time of peril. The rest is up to you.” Yuko replies

With that Caleb’s vanishes, this time with renew strength

Yuko smiles as she sees the man fighting against his fate. Yuko already knew you, as you visited the store time and time again. She knew of the timelines you were in and the power you carried was that of an anomaly. While she couldn’t remove the power, as that would create a severe imbalance, she knew one way that could help you with your wish.

Your price that you gave was not only a sliver of the Aether Core’s power but but that your memories of the past would be incomplete in some sort, in exchange of being able to meet the people you loved once more.

[decayanddecorate]

you guys REALLY liked the rosnag so here's some headcanons/plotpoints about how I think their relationship progresses!

in the beginning, there's a lot of tension I think. ros is sorting herself out and focused a lot of building the castle. everyone is pretty busy doing other things, grinding, getting stronger, and while ros is too, it's pretty clear her priority is making the castle. I like to imagine sneeg, working on his smithing in the castle, in his tiny alcove, gets some pretty standard one on one with her. especially when she wakes up early and comes and goes with little odds and ends. tea of her own making, some bread, making sure everyone in the castle that's there is well fed and taken care of, because that's just who ros is.

sneeg catches feelings pretty early, but I hc that ros and foolish have a lavender marriage to validate her rule as the queen, so he doesn't think anything can come from it in the official sense. they can't marry, they can't be anything that I feel like sneeg would want. so he just focuses on protection, on getting stronger.

when foolish dies for the first time, losing all of his lives and being reset, this is when things really pick up. clown is around for this bit too, but it's hell. they band together to protect the queen and get stronger, together. clown, too. this is around the time that I personally believe ros starts to think more than just platonically of sneeg. she becomes a little more attentive to him.

by the time that the owen situation happens, sneeg is in deep but he won't admit it. because it'll go nowhere, and he makes me think of someone who would want to get married. eventually. settle down into a quiet life, even if he doesn't particularly care about that right now. he wants to be a wife guy. ros is also in deep, but she's dealing with a million other things, and it's getting hard to even rationalize herself, let alone think about feelings. she doesn't get the chance to completely process, or act on anything. neither of them do.

that is, until the ball. she's going with aimsey, someone she cherishes, but at some point in the few days before it happens, they kiss. neither is sure who initiated it, just that its quick and pressed, and they're both reeling afterwards. ros is overjoyed, sneeg is terrified. she takes his hands in hers and tells him that they'll talk once the ball is over, because she wants to give him the space and time and she can't when all her focus is all the ball. he agrees, and for a good minute, they sit in the fact that this real and happening.

is it love? is this what they've gathered in their chest for weeks now? months? hidden away and only letting the feelings shine through cracks in their hands.

they don't get the chance to answer that question, unfortunately. one moment ros is there, laughing. their eyes meet across the room, warm and bright and full of hope of a future. the next, she's gone. he's yelling from the yellow faction table, screaming with foolish and trying to logic. trying to reason and rationalize at why it isn't fair. why they need to bring ros back. why they can't do this. but he knows it has nothing to do with all of that, and everything to do with a future that was ripped away.

when ros comes back, something is very very wrong. she's different, scared. she doesn't remember, but he's familiar. losing himself slowly to the sculk under his clothes, but she's back and he's so glad. even if she's different. sneeg doesn't care about all of that, and ros is grateful to have someone who isn't trying to change her into a person she was before. when they kiss again, in the months that come, it's earnest. it's hesitant but full of love and hope. sneeg treats it as the first, and to ros, it is the first.

some point after this, weeks, months, even a year or so, ros and sneeg decide they're together behind closed doors. it isn't safe to be more, that is, until ros gets pregnant. it's a scare and a shock to them both, and it takes him several tries to calm her down and clutch her face so delicately in his hands to tell her that he wants this. wants this child and loves ros. that they deserve, for once in their lives, to be happy and okay. to have peace.

foolish is all too pleased to dissolve their marriage to bless theirs. everyone is caught off guard by it, unexpected but delighted, and they dress in their finest.

they gut a house far from spawn and the kingdom to raise this kid together, and even if their colors will always be yellow, they'll always be ready to answer the king's summons, they decide it's time to put the weapons and armor down. ros deserves peace, and sneeg? sneeg can stop being the number up guy for a while, especially if it means the daughter they bring into the world can live happily and in a house full of love.

been watching SO MUCH of the realm recently that I'm thinking about my blorbos...

thinking about how much comfort tr!sneeg provided for tr!ros during all of the drama with tr!owen. how comfortable she must have felt around him, because he's the one who reached out, who told her to talk to him, who as soon as he realized, didn't care about the quests, the kingdom, or anything else. he pulls her away and gives her a space to talk.

thinking about how in touch with her emotions ros is, how she's in tune with herself and even though she's anxious, she worries, she's definitely a crier, sneeg brings stability into it. he gives her a place to logic, of strong foundation and rightful anger. of solutions and safety.

thinking about how righteous hand of justice sneeg is, how logical and focused he can be. how he's intent on getting stronger, because he wants to do so by his own means, and how ros? ros? how she gives him something worth protecting. he isn't overly emotional, but when she's near him, he can be. he can set the justice down, the solutions, the logic - and he can just be.

they don't try to change each other, but they simply exist together. they grind levels, they work hard, they laugh and carry on. they're safe to exist, safe to be logic and emotion. they meld together and blend so well? they soundboard back and forth, or they just exist together in a way that simply is. fuuuuuck, I gotta write this.

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I Know You? Part 18

Synopsis: Red Hood makes an appearance again. Jason’s sorry about it.

Note: Red Hood is back for a minute, baby. Also, just putting this out there, this is like if one of the sex-pollen fics backfired. Is there a kiss? Maybe. Is it the one you guys wanted? I guess you’ll just have to read and find out, lol. Enjoy!

Masterlist

A month later, as the days grew warmer, you finally felt like yourself. Mostly. You had nightmares on the nights Jason didn’t stay with you, which was more often than not. Apparently, while he did make his own schedule, most jobs were done at night. You thought it was weird but didn’t think any harder about it (you did think harder about it, but it made you open The JarTM and remember similarities you weren’t happy about, so you closed it all up again and ignored it).

You had decided that you liked liked Jason. He took you to the Gotham Zoo on one of the warmer days and told you all about his little brother, who loved animals. He actually told you about his family unprompted. So, you just quietly walked with him and listened. Seeing him open up to you about something that he was usually so closed off about, well, you felt delighted about it.

You wanted to tell Jason how much he meant to you, but you still had a worm in your ear telling you he was just being nice. You argued with yourself about it a lot. It had been two months since the warehouse incident (and your subsequent fight with Red Hood). If Jason was playing nice because of that, then he would have stopped by now. Unless he’s just playing with you, the worm would add. You had come to the consensus that you wouldn’t do anything unless Jason said otherwise.  

You became somewhat of an insomniac when Jason didn’t stay at your apartment, leading you to scroll on your phone in the middle of the night. It probably didn’t help, but you would at least get out of bed and do it in the kitchen, so your brain didn’t get confused about where phone time should be done. As you liked a group of posts from Steph (she had gone skiing with Tim and some other friends. Seriously, how rich were these people?) when you thought you heard something, a racketing outside.

You stop to listen but don’t hear anything else, so you go back to scrolling when you hear it again. You brush it off as some of the cats getting into a fight, but then you hear a squeak. You tense up, hand curling around your emergency alert locket on instinct. You turn and watch as Red Hood practically falls through your window. Red Hood, who you hadn’t seen since you blew up at him. Your chest squeezes.

“Red?” you ask, rounding the island but pausing at the edge of it, a mountain of emotional turmoil interjecting itself into your veins. His head snaps up to look at you, and you instantly feel like something is wrong, aside from the fact that you have no idea why he’s here. His helmet is missing, nowhere in sight. His chest heaves like he can't quite catch his breath. Even though you can't see his eyes, you can feel him staring a hole through your skin.

He doesn’t answer you. So, you take a few more cautious steps closer. His fists clench at his side as he leans against the wall next to the window. Closer, you can see his face is flushed, and you wonder if he’s sick, and if he’s sick, why would he come here? You don’t have time to ponder the question because he takes a step forward, and the rest of him follows quickly. Startled by his speed, you trip backward on your own feet and squeak as you fall, body tensing, waiting for the pain. It never comes because he’s on you as you fall, hand curling on the back of your scalp to stop you from hitting your head as you land on the ground with a shocked huff.

You stare at him hovering above you, but you don’t have time to whisper out a thank you or say anything because his lips are pressed against you, hard. Your eyes widen and remain unmoved in shock. He moves only slightly as he kisses you, head tipping this way and that. You break out of your stupor when he shifts to nip at your lip, and your hands press at his shoulders to push him off of you, unsuccessfully. Instead of pulling back, he just moves to your neck to press closed-mouth kisses there, more nuzzling your neck than anything else. You’d think it ticklish if you weren’t so confused.

“Red Hood, what are you doing?” you ask the question calmer than you expected. You should be more worried about the current events, but you genuinely think something is wrong. You don’t believe he would ever try to do something to you otherwise, despite the two months it’s been since you’ve seen him. He just hums against your skin as his free hand curls at your hip and grips hard enough to hurt.

“Red Hood, you need to stop. Something's wrong.” You can feel the warmth of his forehead against the side of your jaw. He’s burning up, feverish and sweaty. He pays you no mind, just continues his strange kisses to your skin, moving lower to the junction of your neck and shoulder. He clearly wasn’t himself. You understand now that he won't listen to you, that you'll have to stop him yourself.

Your mind goes back to two weeks ago. Jason, on a spiel about you walking home alone, said you needed to learn self-defense. He had taught you a few moves, but if there was one thing he drilled into your head, it was to always go for the balls. The idea had made you laugh at the time, in spite of how serious he looked about it, but now it made sense.

Even though Red had his face practically smashed to your neck, the rest of him hovered over you, his thick thighs straddling you. You could move your legs easily. You weren’t sure if this would do anything, especially if Red wore protection down under, but it was worth a shot. You flatten your knee, then bring it up quick and hard against his backside. He groans against your skin, but it must have been enough to knock him out of his reverie because he rolls off of you and huddles in on himself.

You scramble backwards quickly, standing, and curl your hand around the lamp on the table next to the couch. You point it at him threateningly.

“Stay,” you tell him while you try to fumble with the locket he had given you. It’s supposed to alert all the bats, so maybe somebody can pick him up and help him. He shifts, and your grip on the lamp tightens, but he doesn’t move more than to just stare at you. He’s still flushed, and his hands dig into his legs.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry…” he starts, and then he’s on a roll, muttering about how he never wanted anything bad to happen to you and that he should be better. You think he gets distracted because then he talks about how pretty you look and how good you smell. You don’t notice how much he’s moved towards you until your bum is pressed to the back of the couch and his hand is curling around your calf. Both of your hands tighten on the lamp, but you don’t have the heart to use it. He just looks so distraught.

His hands climb as he talks, up the side of your thighs and hips until he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your stomach. He’s back to mumbling apologies again, but you are far too distracted (more than you’d like to admit) with the man on his knees hugging you. You're stuck staring at him, unsure of what to do, until a voice you’ve never heard before breaks you out of it.

“Am I interrupting something?” the voice is deep but gleeful. Your eyes snap to a fit man in a black and blue get-up. Red Hood’s hold tightens on your waist at the sound of him.

“Something's wrong with him.” You say it quickly, like you're trying to explain the scene he’s witnessing. You're sure it's an odd sight. The big bad Red Hood hugging your waist like his life depends on it and you, holding your lamp in a vice grip above him. The man's lip quirks briefly into a frown.

“This is so not how I wanted to meet you.” He says as he takes a step forward. Red Hood all but growls, his arms tightening enough to make you wince slightly, distracting you from asking what he meant. The man stops moving.

“Take it easy, Little Wing. You know I’m here to help.” He offers you an apologetic smile. “He had a run-in with Ivy. She’s been on a more aphrodisiac spin recently.” It takes you a minute to understand what he’s saying (mostly because you're trying to figure out who Ivy is).

“Why would he come here?” The man’s smile changes into a teasing smirk that you don’t love.

“I’m sure it's nothing to think too hard about.” You feel seriously out of the loop, and you don’t think you want to know. With someone else present, you put the lamp on the couch. Your hands settle on Red’s biceps, trying to gently pry him off of you.

“Come on. It's time for you to go with…” you pause glancing at the other man.

“Nightwing,” he offers, albeit with a scrunched brow, like you should have known that. You squint at the weird name before looking back down at Red.

“It’s time to go with Nightwing. Get you the help you need.” His arms tighten again, and it makes you squirm slightly. “You're hurting me, Red.” His arms loosen, and his face pulls away from your stomach just to prop his chin there so he can pout at you. You can’t believe you’re thankful for his stupid mask. If you could see his eyes, you’re sure it would be game over.

“I can’t help you,” you explain to him, unthinkingly running your fingers through the top of his hair. He shudders and sighs. You decide you're not helping your case, so you pull your hand away.

“Nightwing and whoever else can help you to feel better, right?” You glance over at Nightwing, who is awkwardly looking to the side.  After a moment of silence, he finally looks back at you, realizing you were talking to him.

“Oh, yea. Red Robin and Oracle already have an antidote ready. Just need to get him back to the cave,” he says. You decide you really need to look into the vigilantes of Gotham because you have no idea who these people are. You turn your attention back to Red Hood.

“See. They can help, I can’t,” He grumbles and buries his face back into your stomach. You sigh, already feeling like you're arguing with a toddler, but then he lets go, slow and lethargic. He stands and nearly collapses. Nightwing is quick to catch him, and you feel incredibly useless.

“Sorry about this,” Nightwing tells you, giving a blinding apologetic smile before he’s cramming Red Hood out your window with less finesse than you anticipated, although you think Red Hood fought him the entire time.

****

It’s only after you have locked your window and sat on your couch that it comes to your attention that you were not as freaked out about what just happened as you should be. Red Hood had forced himself on you (respectfully, somehow) but he hadn’t groped you, hadn’t humped against you like a mad dog. The worst he did was kiss you, held your hip a little too firm, and hugged you.

You bring a hand to your lips, tracing them. You hadn’t been kissed in years. If you had been prepared, you think it might’ve been nice. You snap yourself out of your thoughts. You liked Jason. You and him… weren’t dating, per se. You think about kissing him far more than you should. You think about The JarTM in your mind and blame it for why you’re thinking about how nice it was when Red kissed you. This is stupid, you decide, you missed Red Hood but not for kissing reasons.

Seeing him and then him being gone again, your emotions come back. You sag on your couch, preparing to nitpick your mind. You were mad at him again, not that it ever stopped. It had been covered up by the sadness of missing him. First, He got you kidnapped, and you still haven’t forgiven him for that. Second, he never tried to talk to you again (you ignore the fact that you told him to never come back because that clearly did not stop him). And thirdly, he kissed you, unconsented, and, if you hadn’t pressed that button, probably would have done something else (yes, he was drugged. You understand that, but he could at least have said something, or better yet gone somewhere else. Why did he come to you?).

You settle on just being peeved with him and keeping a mental list of complaints to tell him all about the next time you see him. The next time you're kidnapped, or he’s drugged probably, you think. A pointlessly petty thought but whatever. You did not get any more sleep that night.

****

A day later, Jason showed up at your door without warning. He would usually send you a text that he was coming over, but you got nothing. You wouldn’t have even checked who was knocking at your door if you didn’t recognize the way he knocked. You think he may have been sick because when you open the door, he’s sagged against the frame of it. He looks pale, exhausted, and guilty for some reason, weary eyes watching you.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing that leaves your lips. His own quirks, like he finds the question funny.

“Are you?” he asks in return with hint of earnest in knowing the answer. You shrug.

“I’m not the one who looks like the walking dead.” You mean it as a joke, but his lips press into frown and wonder how that could upset him.

You don’t have an opportunity to ask him because the door across the hall creeps open just an inch or so. You spot the brown eyes of your new neighbor. She was an older Italian woman who spoke just enough English to get by. She was sweet, in that old lady sense. A little nosy though, she reminded you of Darla just a bit in that sense.

“Ciao,” you say, the extent of your Italian knowledge, waving at her as you gently tug Jason into your apartment and close the door. He sags against the kitchen counter.

“You know Italian?” he asks.

“Not at all,” you answer as you nudge into his space as he so often does with you and press your hand to his forehead. His eyes close for a moment before he’s blinking at you.

“What’re you doing?” the question almost sounds accusatory, and you start to pull your hand away but his wraps around your wrist, pressing your palm to his cheek (Jason nearly started kissing up on your hand and wrist, leftover side effects of ivy’s new treat, but he managed to control himself).

He sighs into your palm, and you think it’s a new sound that you’ve heard before just not from Jason. The JarTM rattled louder than it had in months. It stuns you enough that your hand twitches, fingers curling slightly against his face. Damn Red Hood, you think, he just had to show up and mess up the way you think. Jason was not Red Hood; it’s a stupid connection that makes no sense. You mentally shove the stupid jar back into its corner (you may have been dissecting yourself in the past month but that would not be a part of that process) because Jason is staring at you, and you find his eyes are greener than usual, nearly sickly.

He still looked exhausted, still looked pale, but he hadn’t felt warmer than he usually did. He did have that stupid look in his eye (stupid because you can’t figure out what it is) as he stares at you. You suddenly remember that he asked you a question.

“You don’t look good,” you say quietly as your thumb rubs against his cheek where he holds your hand. He sags even more and your worry he might collapse in the kitchen if it weren’t for the little smirk that shows itself.

“You always sound so sweet when you insult me, sweetheart.” The heat of his breath skims across the inside of your wrist. You can feel the movement of his lips at the joint there. It throws you off enough to have you tugging your hand out of his hold.

 It’s not that you felt uncomfortable; you know that you and Jason thrive off of physical touch, but you were usually the one that initiated the more… intimate moments. Jason was prone to just tucking your hair, giving you hugs, and pressing a kiss to your temple. You were the one that would drag him into bed or on the couch to cuddle. He liked to stand close to you, but you were the one that would curl your fingers together, not him. Things that bordered the line of platonic and less so.

This moment in the kitchen with his eyes staring into your soul and his lips nearly pressed to the sensitive skin of your wrist has your heart in your throat because, for some bizarre reason, it felt like the least platonic thing that has ever happened to you (despite him having literally bathed you in your underwear).

“I mean you look sick,” your words come out in choked stutter that has an embarrassed warmth spreading up your neck, “and you should lay down.”

You step out of his space because you need air. His body leans forward, following you, enough that you worry he’s going to fall. You steel yourself and get rid of whatever swirl of butterflies Jason always gives you. He had spent nearly two months taking care of you in his own ways. It was your turn to take care of him.

“Couch or bed?”  you ask and his face makes a weird crinkle before he’s full-on smirking at you.

“If you wanted to seduce, babe, you could’ve just said something,” he says.

You sputter, skin growing warmer by the second, “I’m not- that isn’t- shut up and answer the question.”

“That doesn’t work, sweetheart. Either you want me to shut up or you want me to answer the question. I can’t do both.” He teases and you don’t know what to do with yourself.

****

Okay, so, maybe the family was right. Maybe he should have waited another day before coming to see you. Barbara, Tim, and Bruce told him at separate times that Ivy’s newest pollen would still have lasting effects and that, because he had already gone to you before, if he saw you again those side effects might get stronger before they went away. He felt fine when he left (snuck out of) the manor. He didn’t have a fever anymore, didn’t feel like he was going to claw out of his own skin. He was fine and he wanted to see you (less desperate than the night before but still a little desperate).

Then he saw you and you touched him, and he nearly felt like he was on fire. His hands and mouth moving of their own accord. He could tell how surprised you were by it but watching you sputter was doing something to him. Part of him, the more sensible part, was worried, of course, that he was making you uncomfortable (part of the reason he had wanted to see you was because he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t revert back to hermit mode after what he tried to do the night before as Red Hood). However, you hadn’t stepped very far away from him. If Jason wanted to, he could easily wrap his hand around your arm and pull you back into his space.

He didn’t. Instead, he stared at you. You really were pretty, even in your embarrassed state. You hadn’t gone to work today. He could tell because it was 2 in the afternoon, and you were still in pajamas. It made him want to kiss you again. Last night, he had been out of control, most of his urges taking over before he could stop them. Today it would be different, he could stop himself from acting out. He still wanted to kiss you.

You seem so unsure of yourself that he decides to reign it in. You were offering your bed and hopefully that included you in it. He felt exhausted suddenly. The ride to your apartment he had so alert with the fact that he was going to see you but now with you in front of him, close enough that he could smell your shampoo, his energy was gone.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he pushes every ounce of remorse into those two words, especially after he had forced himself on you last night, “I am sick, and I’d like to lay in bed with you if I haven’t scared you off.” Your flustered features relax, and you smile at him sweetly. It nearly killed him how much he wanted to drag you close to his body.

“You don’t scare me, Jay,” you say oh so sugary. Oh my god, he’s going to die, “If anything you make me feel safe.” You point a finger and poke at his stomach. His hand curls around your wrist again, more light, more delicate. Despite all of Jason urges to kiss you (and do a bunch of other things that he’s tucked away in a deep dark hole), they all pause to appreciate what you’ve just said.

He made you feel safe. It surprised him honestly. Jason had been playing hero since he was 12 years old. He had done nothing but try to save people or make life better for people as Robin (which backfired in his face, literally) and then as Red Hood. But here you were, giving him a shy look after your admittance, saying that Jason made you feel safe. Not Robin. Not Red Hood. Jason.

Jason Todd was a ghost in all sense of the word. Technically, Bruce had made him legally alive again and kept it quiet. There was no media story about the second son of Bruce Wayne no longer being dead and he was okay with that. He never liked the flashy life Bruce lived outside of the Bat and it’s not like they were always on good terms. Even both actually and legally alive Jason Todd was still a ghost. He haunted the streets of Gotham City, haunted the halls of Wayne Manor. He wasn’t a real person.

 He was Red Hood. Didn’t have a life outside of it. Focused on saving people, helping people in Gotham and all across the world. until you. You with your queries about his books at the coffee shop (the only guilty pleasure he had). You with your nervous habits. You with your sweet smiles. You changed everything. He hadn’t gone out and around Gotham as Jason Todd since he came back from the dead. He didn’t realize how much of a tourist he was in his own city until he was taking you out. It didn’t matter though, because he wasn’t haunting these places. He was with you. He was alive.

He tuned out his thoughts to focus back on you. You looked worried doing that odd shift on your feet you do. He lets one urge go through and wraps his arms around your shoulder to pull you into a hug, nosing at your hair. A squeak escapes you, but you settle against him, hands moving up and down his back in a soothing manner.

“I lo-” Jason stops himself choking on his own words. His hands tighten slightly as he tries to regain control of his mouth.

“You mean the world to me, sweetheart.”

“You mean the world to me too, Jay.” Your voice is muffled against his shoulder but it’s the clearest thing he’s ever heard.

Jason keeps you there for much longer than necessary, just holding you, until that exhaustion from early creeps into his knees and he’s not sure he can stand much longer. He finally speaks up.

“I’d like to lay in bed. With you if that’s okay?” You pull back to look at him. Your hand comes up to hold his cheek, thumb caressing the scar there. It used to bother him, and it still does when other people stare, but you’re always so soft and sweet about it.

“Course it is, handsome. Whatever you need.” You say softly and a dumb smug feeling erupts in his chest. You only ever call him Jason, Jay, or, within the last week or so, bubs. He’s got a plethora of pet names for you but for you to reach out for something so pleasant… oh, you’ve ruined him.

****

You try to quickly usher Jason to your room because when you had pulled away, you thought he looked even paler than before. You shuffle into your bed and drag him with you settling against the pillows. You think he would be content with how you usually sleep, your cheek pressed to his shoulder, but he tosses and turns for what feels like thirty minutes. You finally sit up with a huff.

“Jason, what do you need?” he gives you a kicked puppy look, and you instantly feel guilty for how irritated you sounded.

“Sorry. You keep moving. How can I help?” He sits up next to you and gestures vaguely at you.

“Can I?” The gesturing and the question tell you nothing, but you trust Jason, so you nod. He gently pushes you down on your back and manhandles you to the middle of the bed. Then he’s hovering over you, legs tangled. You stare up at him, and you hate how your mind thinks of Red Hood. But Jason isn’t even staring at your lips. He’s concentrated on moving around some more. He pauses and meets your eye.

“Is this okay?” you nod because you can't find your voice, because you don’t actually know what he’s doing, because you're pretty sure you would let Jason do just about anything to you and wouldn’t mind. His arm sides under you, making your back arch. You wonder if Jason is putting you in an inherently sexual position on purpose or if you’re just aroused for some reason.

You get your answer (your just horny) when Jason finally lies done on top of you, you huff quietly, not prepared for it. He tucks his head under your chin, wiggles there a moment before finally settling down. You bring your hands up to settle on his back, one curling into the hair at the nape of his neck and he melts against you. It nearly makes giggle if not for the way he instantly becomes a dead weight on top of you, breathe evening. Thirty minutes of him rolling around and he’s out the moment he’s on top of you. Unbelievable.

You weren’t tired but his warmth and weight makes you drowsy. You try to fight, running your fingers through his hair. You give in eventually. Your sleep schedule was already shot. What’s an afternoon nap going to do?

Additional note: There was so much happening in this chapter, its crazy. also shout out to MagandaJinx on Ao3 for giving me the idea of the little old woman neighbor, she will be showing back up later. Anyways, I feel like I went off the rails with this chapter, so please give me some critics if you would like.

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369,  @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @penguimlover23, @herodedicatedblog, @dearghostling, @automaticplant, @alma-ru3, @13fresh

[deusvervewrites]

Izuku Phantom

(I found this AU this morning, and I've already gone through every single post with the tag. I like it)

I saw someone point out that, if Mei were to figure out how cloning works, Power Loader would know no sleep. I agree, it'd be hilarious.

As to how it could happen? Maybe while she's engrossed in her work, trying to do multiple things at once, and she doesn't even realize there's more Meis 'till someone points it out.

Speakin' about multitasking, am I the only one who thinks Mei's dreadlocks could easily be twisted into tentacles in her ghost form? That's a whole lot of extra limbs for making babies.

And last but not least, if you still consider the option of transferring her into the Hero Course:

She gets paired up against Shinsou in the first round. It was imposible to trick him into participating in her sales pitch, and once in the arena, he starts insulting her and calling her inventions "uselss scrap" and things like that. When that fails to get a verbal response out of her, he starts insulting the only student she seems to have a friendship with: Izuku. Calls him stuff like "lazy" and "gifted", and says he's sure "he's never had to work for anything in his life" or something like that. Mei knows the shit Izuku has had to endure. She gets mad, goes full creepy without even meaning to (she swaps forms, her figure stretches and distorts, and the stadium speakers screech with static when she screams), rushes him, and flings him out of bounds (maybe with one of her dreadlocks). He's not badly hurt, but he is shaken.

Upon seeing her outburst, the teachers decide she needs to at least learn control, and she agrees to join the HC as long as she also gets to stay in Support, and gets placed in the same class as Izuku (so that A) Shinsou will be placed in the other class, or B) she can make sure that jerk stays away from her bf (or something more, if you go the IzuMei route))

Sorry for the long ramble

Makes sense; Hatsume is working on so many projects so quickly, that her accidentally making more of herself and not noticing is extremely plausible

Hatsume with prehensile ghost hair is pretty cool

Ooh, her going full poltergeist because Shinsou tried to provoke her is fascinating

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Meant to be His -Aemond T.

Aemond was very close with his Aunt when he was young, realizing at a young age that he had a definite crush, however other than scare off her suitors, there was nothing he could do…not until he was older.

Aemond is finally old enough to be with her and he has to ensure that her husband is gone before her family comes to speak for Lucerys’ inheritance.

Warning: Murder, Targcest, Inappropriate pets (Lions Do Not Belong as Pets)

He’d had a crush on Y/n since he could remember, he was only 3 when he first remembered realizing his feelings but they had always been there. She was the one that was always there for him and he for her, whenever he needed to cry to her over his horrible brother and cousins, or when she was stressed about her days in court and people trying to force her to marry.

He crawled into her bed with her almost every night, snuggling in with her and sleeping better than he ever did alone. Aemond was the one who scared off her suitors, the boy following along when she was strolling through the gardens with one of them, asking a million questions and clinging to her skirts, making sure that the men knew that they were a “package deal” and that they wouldn’t have her without him.

By the time that Aemond was 18 he had clearly figured out what his feelings were as a child and at first he was horrified that he’d fallen for his Aunt, but when he thought about it more he realized how much his Aunt had needed him. He had given her comfort by being with her all of the time and chasing away her suitors while she had done the same for him by being there for him when he had no one else.

She had been married off to Tytos Lannister (a cousin of Jason and Tywin Lannister-twins who served the crown) after the night he’d lost his eye, Aemond no longer fighting for her and leaving her all alone. He hated himself for that. She wasn’t afraid of him, hadn’t judged him and had stayed with him all night that night while he was in agony-and yet still, he’d left her alone…he needed to rectify this and so he would.

He had been told that they were coming, the whole family, including Y/n who had still yet to bear the Lannister a single child-leaving everyone to believe that there was something wrong with her. Aemond did not believe that though, he knew that she was drinking moon tea, she had admitted to him she always would if she was forced to marry a man she did not love.

Aemond left Vhagar behind as he made his way to Casterly Rock, not willing to risk anyone knowing that it was him-even though he was sure as soon as they married that people would always suspect.

It was the middle of the night and the guards were way to easy to get around prompting Aemond to vow guards outside her door 24/7. Sneaking into the main bedroom was simple but he quickly found out that his soon to be wife’s husband did not sleep there-he also realized as he saw her pet sleeping at the foot of her bed, why she didn’t need guards at the door. As he made to go and search for him he was startled by her voice behind him.

‘Aemond?’ He winced, turning to see her in her lovely night dress, she was as lovely as the day he first had her underneath him.

‘You are dreaming Issa Darīa…lay back down-‘ (My Queen)

‘Aemond…what are you doing here?’ She asked, looking down to see the blade in his hand.

‘Y/n…I would have you be my wife…your family will be in the Keep in a weeks time and I would have you widowed and married off to me…you told me you would never give children to a man you hated…you hate Tytos and I know you do. Just go back to sleep and pretend you never saw me…please Issa Darīa?’

She stared up at him for several seconds before standing and moving to his side,pointing to the right. ‘Last door on the left with his little whore. She’s given him 4 kids since we’ve been married and I would love to see all of them in the street when he’s dead…make it look like she did it.’ She instructed, leaning up and kissing his lips sweetly. ‘I would happily give you all of the babies you want from me…husband.’ Aemond’s eye widened at this revelation, honestly having been a bit worried she wouldn’t want his babies either.

‘I will see you in a weeks time and I will have everything planned for a quick wedding. No one but I will ever touch you again.’ Aemond kissed her once more before sneaking from the room and walking down the hall to the last door she indicated, finding Tytos and a sleeping women beside him. Placing his hand over the Lannisters mouth he watched as his eyes flew open. ‘You should have treated my Aunt with more respect-if you had I would have left her alone to be happy but here you are in bed with a whore. I would be honored if all she ever gave me was her perfect body and maybe if you had been content with that she wouldn’t have been drinking the moon tea all these years.’ The man’s eyes widened in shock and Aemond smirked. ‘No matter now. You’ll be dead, your whore will have done it, and your wife will see all of your bastards on the street. You should have been a better husband.’ Before he could even try and scream Aemond had driven the blade through his neck and watched him choke on the blood, wiping some of it into the woman’s hand to make it look like she had done it before leaving the room and sneaking back out of the castle, making his way home quickly and beginning to fix his chambers so that it would accommodate his wife as well.

News of his “Uncles” death reached them and none of them cared but Aemond who told his mother that Y/n would be remarrying him. She had refused at first but when he threatened to take Vhagar and burn the whole of Casterly Rock and everything the Lannisters have, she gave in.

He saw her again for the first time in the throne room. She walked in with her sister and nephews and right beside her was the Lannisters house sigil, a large lion that didn’t seem at all bothered by anyone around them. He had heard that the Lannister idiot had gifted his Aunt a male lion cub for their wedding (having seen it sleeping in her bed instead of her husband) and it seems that she had trained it quite well as it strolled beside her, not looking at anyone who jumped away from it, terrified. Every person who was brave enough to speak to her was growled at, though the lion did not lunge at anyone, only stepping forward when a man got too close.

As they stood across from their family Aemond moved forward, standing in front of Y/n and bowing, holding out his hand and taking hers, planting a kiss on it, all without her pet making a single sound. Though he was staring at Aemond intently.

‘I was very sorry to hear of your loss, Aunt Y/n.’

‘Sure you were…’ Jace mumbled under his breath.

‘Despite that, I am very happy to see you again. It has been too many years since I’ve set my eyes upon your lovely face.’ She blushed a dark pink shade and he was proud that he could make her feel like that.

‘Don’t you mean eye?’ This time it was Luke who mumbled and as Y/n kicked him in the ankle, the large beast beside her looked over and bore his fangs at Luke whose eyes went wide as he stepped back, the lion stepping closer before Y/n pet him softly, the rough looking fur making Aemond curious, only having seen these creatures in Lannisters cages (which is where she was meant to keep it but she raised it from a cub and the cub was entirely subservient to her, completely eager to please her).

‘His name is Aera. Would you like to touch him?’ She offered and Aemond looked up from the animal in surprise. ‘I don’t offer that to just anyone, keep that in mind.’ Aemond couldn’t help his smile as he nodded his head.

‘I would be honored.’ She took his hand into hers and pet Aera with her other hand before placing his hand onto the beasts head. He was right, the fur was rough and course but still somehow soft and softer still when she moved his hand under the lions chin to scratch him making the animal rumble out a happy noise. ‘He’s amazing. You’ll have to come out with me and meet Vhagar tonight. I promised you a flight-‘

‘I don’t think that would be appropriate actually brother. Y/n’s husband has just passed and a Targaryen princess her age with no children is…coveted to say the least. We are trying to find a new match for her and her being out alone with her Uncle would not help that matter.’ Rhaenyra explained and it made Aemond scoff.

‘And yet, you are not in charge of my lovely Aunts care, my mother is. We shall go flying tonight my love. You have my word.’ He promised making Y/n smile.

‘I look forward to it, Nephew.’ She stated, Aemond bowing once again before going back to his spot beside his sister.

It took several moments before the meeting started however just as Aemond had requested, his mother announced the proposal first. ‘Before we begin this meeting I must address the tragic passing of Tytos Lannister, husband of our own Y/n Targaryen. A Targaryen that has been left unmarried. It has come to my attention that my own son has agreed to take Y/n to wed, a wedding that will be held in 2 days time and I am sure you will all join me in wishing them the best of luck in marriage and for children.’ Many people were stunned, however none of them were family members, all of their family was seemingly expecting something like this.

‘Well, if this is the way of it then I believe it would be more appropriate that I stand with my betrothed.’ To say that Aemond was pleased would be an understatement-he was ecstatic. Finally, after all these years, he was finally getting the one thing everyone tried to convince him that he could never have.

Y/n moved to stand beside him, Aera moving with her and sitting between him and Helaena. While the inheritance was dealt with and Vaemond said his peace, Aemond watched as Y/n had knelt to the ground and stopped Jaehaerys and Jaehaera from touching Aera without her permission, instead having the lion lay down and allow the children to pet him, telling them never to go near him without permission but happily letting the twins pet Aera-who seemed quite content to be scratched as Y/n stood back up just as the King entered the throne room.

‘Are they safe?’ Aegon asked, looking down at his twins petting the large beast.

‘So long as they don’t poke his eyes or put their hands in his mouth, and of course I don’t tell him to attack them, then yes, they’re perfectly fine.’ She responded, allowing Aegon a sigh of peace.

‘If there is nothing more to be dealt with then this matter is closed-again!’ Viserys stated with great difficulty.

‘Actually Father, there is. Since my sister has been widowed it seems that the Queen has taken it upon herself to betroth Y/n with her son Aemond instead of to another house.’ Rhaenyra told him like a toddler tattling to their mother, the King looking to Alicent.

‘After all this time, the Princess has not brought forth any children of her own. My son is young, ready to have children and a younger man may make it more likely that she bear children. Aemond and Y/n have always been close, it just seemed to be the smartest decision husband.’ She explained to him and Viserys seemed to agree fairly quickly.

‘It does seem to make sense. We shall all be praying for grandchildren.’ With that the King was helped down the stairs and everyone was paying attention to him.

‘You will make a wonderful mother in a few months.’ Helaena stated quietly to her before ushering her twins out of the throne room and to their lessons.

‘She’s right you know. You will make a wonderful mother and I promise you to give you children as soon as I possibly can.’ Aemond swore, taking her arm and leading her from the room as well.

‘And I promise that I will never drink moon tea again.’

The both of them spent the next hour until dinner strolling around the castle and talking about their lives and what they want them to be here in the Keep.

‘Promise me one thing?’

‘Anything, my Love!’ Aemond swore, taking her hand in his as they walked into the dining hall and stepped towards the end of the table.

‘Promise me that should our daughters not have dragons that they will be trained to defend themselves-at least enough. I want to know that if I have daughters that they are safe…I know it isn’t normal but please, Aemond?’

Aemond considered this as he looked into the eyes of his betrothed and saw how much this meant to her. ‘Should you bless me enough in this world to give me little girls, I will train them myself. You have my word-dragons or not.’ Aemond watched as tears welled up in his brides eyes and she leaned closer to him, pulling him down to her height by his neck and kissing his lips sweetly.

‘Thank you Aemond.’

Dinner was eventful as was to be expected. Y/n at least tried to keep her betrothed from fighting her nephews but as Jace made a comment about how she would be a terrible mother when she has the kind of judgment that chooses Aemond as a husband, she was no longer willing to hold Aemond back-not that she could have anymore once he saw the tears in his brides eyes. Aemond lunged forward and took Jace to the ground, beating his face in until both Daemon and Criston Cole both got ahold of his arms and pulled him off of the idiot.

Y/n knew that her family wasn’t happy with her decision to marry Aemond but she decided that they would get over it in time-and time is what it took it seemed.

9 months after their wedding (technically 9 months after that horrible dinner) Aemond and Y/n welcomed their own set of twins into the world, 2 boys called Maelon and Maelor before having a daughter nearly a year later called Elaena. Elaena’s birth wasn’t an easy one like the twins was and after the scare that it gave him, Aemond forbid her from having any more children-instead he put a regiment in place where Maester Orwell brewed her moon tea every Sunday to ensure no more pregnancies. Many people disagreed with this and were adamant that a woman should have as many babies as possible however Aemond had broken more than one man’s face for saying such things in the presence of and Gods forbid actually saying to his wife!

Aemond and Y/n led a happy life from then on after removing themselves from the war, Aemond refusing to allow his family to use him and Vhagar as weapons-needing to stay with his wife and babies. They stayed on Dragonstone after that, Rhaenyra getting to use the idea of Vhagar being on their side as long as she kept her sons and step children away from Aemond.

After the quick war they lived out the rest of their lives with their children in the Keep, both Aemond and Y/n getting everything they wanted in the end-even if it took them a while to get there.

Aemond T. Masterlist

[phyllocnistis]

♦️♣️the grand prize♠️♥️

femme sub gets offered up as a prize for their butches poker night<3

casey's pov:

pulling you from a peaceful sleep, the familiar feeling of a warm presence behind your body awoke you. you smiled groggily into your pillow as the hands explored you and squeezed you, pinching your nipples and dragging nails across your skin.

two fingers gently pressed against your clit and you shuddered, excited to be used. suddenly, the fingers and the warm body behind you were gone, replaced by an empty space that you fell into. with a jolt, you felt a firm grip on your ankles as your partner, shay, pulled you to the edge of the bed. you stared up at them, making your eyes look as big and needy as possible, obviously already worked up.

"i have some things you're really going to like, darling."

this made you perk up. her voice was delicious and clear, you could drink it up like water, gulp it down until you could no longer breath, until it consumed you.

you sat up onto your elbows, puzzled about what she was up to, half dressed. before you could ask, she produced a black bag with a nice, ribbon handle.

"gift number one, my love."

you pulled the sheet around you, covering yourself as you reached for the bag. inside was a sexy, short dress; something you wouldn't have bought for yourself, but liked more the longer you looked at. tiny red spades and diamonds created an alluring, timeless pattern across the fabric. you were eager to try it on, knowing it would be revealing and that shay would eat it up.

"ah, there's more," they said, arms crossed and eyes hungry. you turned back to the bag, reaching inside to find a set of black lingerie, strappy and see through. your eyes lit up and your heart pounded as you shot out of bed, eager to put it all on and show your butch how good you could really be. how good you wanted to be. she was practically drooling watching you.

"no panties, please," they said as you stood up. you felt their eyes glued to you as you walked past.

the dress fit you perfectly, hugging you in all the best places; your hips looked delicious, your cleavage looked extra tender in the new bra, and the dress covered your ass just enough. excited to go show off and please your lover, you pranced out to her making sure your titties bounced, hoping she'd get worked up.

they gasped and let out a quiet, "fuck," when you walked by them. staring at you with their mouth open and eyes steady, you gave them a show, strutting back and forth across the living room. as you walked by, they reached out with both hands and pulled you into them forcefully. their hands were tight around your hips and you arched your back, looking over your shoulder to see their face. this did it for her, though, and unable to contain herself, shay shoved your face towards the ground, bending you over. your dress rode up as you bent over and with a delighted moan from shay, a tongue pressed into your pussy.

she knew exactly how to please you and how to torture you. as large hands spread your cheeks open, their tongue glided around your cunt, licking your folds and gently rolling over your hole, taunting you. her wet tongue swirled around your clit and she left bite marks on your inner thighs, marking you as her own.

as quickly as it had started, it was over. they pulled you up by the neckline of your dress and fixed your hair, ignoring the desperate, pleading look on your face.

"panties now, please. and get ready to go out for the night."

you wanted to beg for more, you needed more, but you knew they were scheming something and you also knew they couldn't get enough of you, despite your years together. so instead, you did what you were told, pussy throbbing and dripping as you walked to the bathroom to clean yourself up. you put the new panties on, spritzing shay's favorite of your perfumes on your neck and behind your ear. you found a pair of black tights and red heels that matched the highlights in the dress beautifully and grabbed a plain cardigan for the cold.

the two of you left the house soon after, the chilly evening causing your nipples to grow hard. you could see shay staring at them as she held the door for you. the warm car was a nice reprise and while you had just cleaned yourself up in the bathroom, their hand on your inner thigh threatened to undue the progress. your favorite music played quietly over the speakers as you drove and you felt your pussy aching as her hand got closer, slowly inching their way from your knee to the outline of your panties. she didn't go further than that though, refusing to break past the elastic band. she knew what she was doing; she had you completely soaked through the new lace panties by the time you pulled up to their.. friends house?

"what are we doing at quinn's place, baby?" you ask, confused. you had assumed you were going out dancing, maybe to dinner.

"you'll see soon enough," they replied.

trying to shake your desperation and lust, you got out of the car, pulling the cardigan around you tightly to brace from the cold and hide the revealing outfit you wore. your legs were shaky as you walked up the walkway, shay's arm wrapped around your waist. they were dressed nicer than normal tonight, wearing black fitted jeans your favorite leather boots. a silk shirt hung off them, unbuttoned and chest exposed where a gold chain sat around their neck, moving gently as she leaned forward and knocked loudly. looking down at you with desire still in her eyes, she smiled. what was she playing at here?

quinn opened the door dressed just as well as shay was. they wore a long sleeve shirt under a green vest and corduroy pants, cartoony socks peeking out from the floor. they looked pleasantly confused by the sight of you, but pulled shay in for a hug nonetheless.

"shayyyy! you're the last one here, man. and what god has graced us with casey's presence, tonight?" they asked, pulling your hand to their lips to kiss it. you blushed looking to shay for reassurance and found it in the form of a huge, knowing smile.

"she's my good luck charm tonight! you'll see, just watch." shay said excitedly.

the two of you entered the house, closing the door on the frigid night behind you.

"can i get you something to drink?" quinn asked as several voices could be heard chatting from the floor below them.

"yeah, i'll take a beer actually," you answered first. shay shot you a smirk and looked you up and down while asking for their own. you bent over to fix one of your heels and your cardigan split open, revealing plenty for both shay and quinn to stare at. you loved getting them worked up in public, especially around such caring and sexy friends.

grabbing your drinks, you followed the two of them down a nicely furnished staircase, boisterous laughter and smoke filling the air as you descended. you took your time, careful as you maneuvered the steps in your heels. the anticipation grew in your stomach; you were excited to know what they had planned for you.

they stepped down first, the two of them waiting on either side of the stairs to help you down like royalty. in front of you, you saw several familiar faces and one that you did not recognize. mutual friends, mostly shay's, sat around a gorgeous wooden table, ornately carved. there was a large red shag rug on the floor and it smelled of cannabis and cologne. as you took your final step into the room, you felt the energy in the room shift. like a record scratch, the talking stopped, save for a few gasps, and at once, everyone's eyes were on you. you felt vulnerable, but not scared. shay wouldn't put you in a situation you wouldn't like, not on purpose. you braced yourself and smiled, shedding your cardigan and handing it to quinn, who hung it up for you.

as you turned to walk towards the group, the only sounds being soft music and your heels clicking on wood, you really started to take in who all was here. there were three people seated, one you did not know, and two you recognized as mutual friends, people you'd partied with before. you also noticed how different you felt.. everyone here was incredibly butch. you were the sacrificial femme lamb. sage, one of the friends you knew, sat with his arms crossed and a denim vest hanging off of thick muscles. tattoos covered his exposed skin and you would be lying if you said you hadn't thought about him before bed once or twice. for the first time since you entered the house, you felt your cunt throb. you noticed jo, another friend, puffing a joint and blowing smoke into the partially lit room. you felt so sexy strutting by and pulling a chair up right at the center of the table. as you took a seat, crossing your legs, the unfamiliar face spoke up.

"holy shit, shay. can't believe you really did it," their voice was gruff and their jaw twitched as the spoke.

a flannel shirt draped across them with the sleeves rolled up and they wore several silver rings on their hands. it was now that you realized the table was covered in stuff and the hands covered in rings held cards. puzzling over it, it only took you a few moments to realize it was a poker game. of course! it was friday. shay usually went to poker on fridays! you were suddenly even more intrigued by what was going on now.

"i said i would, didn't i?" shay said, springing you from your thoughts. they moved across the room and stood behind you, warm hands rubbing your shoulders. you stared up at her and asked,

"would what, baby?"

a false innocence crept into your voice as you began to put the pieces together. you stared out at the group as she leaned down to you, lips almost touching your ears, and whispered quietly enough that only you could hear her.

"you're the grand prize."

the words sent a shiver down your back. your eyes widened and your head fell back as you squeezed your breasts together with your forearms for everyone to see. you were speechless, all your thoughts seemingly misplaced.

you had talked about this before with them, expressing your desire to be used by their friends, to be offered as some sort of trophy. it had always just been a fantasy, you'd never expected it to come to fruition. but right now, with all 4 of them staring back at you with thirsty, lustful eyes, you wanted nothing more than to offer yourself up to be used in any way they wanted.

taking a sip of your beer, you looked each of the players in the eyes, shay included.

"you better start the game then."

shay's pov:

you couldn't wait to see her on display. the dress fit her perfectly, her stomach showing in the skin tight dress. she had black fishnets on and your favorite pair of her heels were strapped up her ankles. she looked so goddamn sexy.

she had told you about this fantasy of hers months ago, just a little conversation in passing. you hadn't been able to shake the thought of her on her hands and knees, splayed out on the poker table for your closest friends, getting pleased by one of them. you had planned it carefully, making sure your friends were all on board before finding the perfect outfit for her. last week, you paid for her nails and hair in preparation, telling her it was "just because you loved her," not because you wanted her to feel her best for this.

the game started slow. soft music played from quinn's record player and the whole room enjoyed smoking and drinking, relishing in each others company. you introduced shay to ash, the only friend of yours she hadn't met yet. she was dressed in a white tank top, nipples visible through it. casey noticed and took a liking to it, staring at her frequently. everyone got on well and after you let casey in on the secret, she was flaunting herself for everyone, fetching drinks and bending over to set them down. she knew what she was doing.. halfway through, it was safe to bet everyone in the game was ready to spread her open and her for their own.

you felt yourself getting worked up just watching her, your briefs growing wet as she rubbed jo's shoulders and ran her fingers through ash's hair. she ran her hands across quinn's chest, whispering in their ear before taking a moment to sit on sage's lap, arms wrapped around his neck. the sight made you squirm, but not out of jealousy; you just loved seeing her be such a good girl.

you could tell everyone was having a hard time focusing on the game too, trying to give it their all to win such a coveted prize.

you thought about what it might be like if you abandoned the game; threw the cards and chips to the floor and put her up on the table, she would be so easy to turn into a soaking, whimpering mess. you were so lost in your thoughts, you didn't even notice it was your turn.

casey's voice interrupted you, pulling you back to reality.

"baby? do you want to do that?"

"i-i'm sorry, ha. i was daydreaming. do i want to do what?"

the group laughed, amused by your response.

"well, i just think it would be fair if everyone got a turn," casey answered, apparently having just read your mind.

you weren't sure exactly how things played out from there, only that it was almost identical to your own fantasy. chips and cards flew off the table as a cacophony of moans and whimpers rang out.

sage's arms flexed, veiny and thick, as he tossed casey onto the table like she weighed nothing. quinn and jo joined in immediately, pulling her panties down together.

in no time at all, sage's face was buried in your girlfriends cunt, his arms wrapped around her thighs, holding them together tightly. casey's face was pressed against the table and her arms spread out like she was on a cross. she smiled at you wildly before breathlessly begging,

"please, sirs.."

sage took his time exploring casey's pussy with his tongue and rubbing his thumb on her squished up, swollen clit. he left her fishnets on, tearing a larger hole in between her legs for easy access. he sucked on her cunt and licked her whole pussy, front to back and slid his fingers into her, causing her eyes to cross. during this, quinn left and returned, pulling a strap onto their legs as they did. walking up to her and pulling her head up by her hair, quinn stuffed the strap into casey's mouth. she stared up at them, choking on the thick cock in her mouth, desperately trying to take as much as she could. using her hair, quinn fucked her face, spit dripping down her chin and onto the table.

after sage had his fill and casey's moans sounded like beautiful music, jo stepped in. they pulled her off the table and naturally, casey dropped to her knees and began unbuckling jo's belt.

"that's it, pretty girl," jo said.

you knew this would make casey melt, she loved being praised. casey's eyes widened as she pulled her pants and boxers down revealing a rock hard, warm cock. she didn't even wait a second before she spit on the tip of it, shoving it down her throat. she swirled the tip with her tongue and rubbed their balls with her hands while she gargled and moaned, her eyes watering. jo's head fell back as she firmly pulled casey's hair into two pigtails, using them as handles to thrust her cock in and out of her mouth.

"that's it princess, you're doing so good,"

you said. her eyes shot to yours and you could tell she was in heaven.

quinn stepped in then, pulling casey up by the hips and unzipping the dress from the top to the bottom, her ass jiggling and shaking as it fell out. in one motion, quinn sat down and sat casey on their lap, their strap deep inside her. she screamed out in a way you recognized; the same way she always screamed when she got that first thrust. quinn grabbed her hips and controlled her body, rolling their hips against hers, making sure she felt every inch of their cock. their arm wrapped around casey's chest, hand firmly placed on her throat. she whined and moaned as quinn's hips thrust back in forth inside of her, her tits bouncing beautifully in the bra you'd bought her. jo walked up then, positioning herself in front of casey and quinn. quinn shoved her face down and like the good girl she was, she took jo's cock in her mouth and quinn's cock in her pussy.

without even knowing you were close, your body shuddered and you came in your underwear, your eyes rolling back at the sight of her. you gasped and moaned, the group turning to look at you. casey was especially delighted by the sight.

quinn used her up, fucking her hole and burying their strap as deep into her sweet, precious cunt as they could. she was shaking and screaming by the time they were done and ash figured it was time for her to step in.

lifting casey back onto the table, she leaned back onto her elbows, breathing heavily as she stared down ash who was kissing her thighs. she kissed her stomach and hips, her hands exploring casey's breasts and pulling the lace bra to the side. she sucked casey's nipples, licking them and biting them. you had to get in on the action, approaching casey and kissing her forehead as she laid there, spread out. ash's fingers slipped inside casey's pussy as she sucked on her breasts and she let out a gasp, her legs shaking aggressively. ash fucked her hard, taking turns curling her fingers inside your girlfriend and slapping her clit. casey looked so overstimulated as ash's fingers pulsed in and out of her and with a moan of pure delight, casey squirted violently, soaking ash's white tank top.

immediately, ash shoved her face into casey's cunt, sucking up all the juices and spit she could from her.

"does it feel good baby? do you want more?" jo asked, pushing ash out of the way.

"mmhmm, yes please, yes ma'am. please,"

casey whimpered, on the verge of tears.

jo pushed casey's legs back, her knees held up by her ears. she pressed the tip of her cock into casey's cunt slowly, letting out a growling moan as she did. holding her legs down still, she thrusted her hips desperately, the fat cock sliding in and out with a delicious, wet sound. moments into it, casey was making the hottest "uh, uh, uh" sound, with each pulse, obviously reaching her limit.

"i'm gonna come," casey said breathlessly, "can i come?"

"not yet baby, good girls wait," jo answered, still fucking her brutally.

with a deep "fuck," jo pulled herself out of casey, shaking and rubbing her cock, on the edge.

like the princess she is, casey wasted no time flipping herself around and taking jo's cock in her mouth, licking off her own pussy juices. pulling her hair to keep her face still, jo came into casey's throat, quivering and shaking as they did. when they were done, casey practically melted off, falling back into the table like a shaking, used up mess.

her eyes were watery and mascara ran down her cheeks as she stared at you, smiling ppwith bliss in her eyes.

you pulled her into your lap, stroking her hair while she composed herself. sage brought water to the group and quinn had prepared beds for everyone already, so you felt no rush. she shook and quivered, ruined in your lap, for several minutes until finally she turned to the group of worn out, sweaty butches in front of her and asked,

"how'd i do?"