#THE EYES REMINDED ME OF CHAOS ART BUT I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST ME BEING INSANE

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[loverangels]

all mine

pairings: luke castellan x fem!reader

synopsis: luke won't hesitate to show anyone you're all his.

The clang of metal on metal echoed across the training grounds, mixing with the laughter and grunts of kids sparring under your watchful eye. You had been tasked with teaching the younger campers swordsmanship, and while you loved the challenge, it was more like wrangling a group of overly energetic kittens than training warriors.

Leaning against a wooden post, Ryan from the Apollo cabin stood nearby, his bow slung casually over one shoulder. He was in charge of teaching archery to the same group of kids, and your breaks often overlapped, giving you time to chat while the campers practiced—or in most cases, ran amok.

“Looks like someone’s been promoted to babysitter,” Ryan teased, his sun-kissed face breaking into an easy grin as he nodded toward a pair of kids wildly swinging their swords at each other. “Think they’re trying to joust or something.”

You sighed, shaking your head with a laugh. “It’s like herding cats with weapons. They’ve got more energy than sense.”

Ryan chuckled, his golden hair glinting in the sunlight as he leaned a little closer. “Well, if you ever want a break from that chaos, I can offer a much calmer lesson. How about trying archery? No wild sword flailing involved—just focus, patience, and a bow.”

You gave him a skeptical look, crossing your arms. “I think I’ll stick to swords, thanks.”

“Oh, come on,” he pressed, flashing a boyish grin that always seemed to get the younger campers giggling. “The kids won’t mind if we borrow a bow for a minute. It’ll be fun! Besides, you’re already teaching them something—why not learn a new skill yourself?”

Before you could protest, he was already grabbing a spare bow and quiver from the stand nearby. “Here,” he said, pressing the bow into your hands. “Let me show you.”

“Ryan, I don’t think—”

“Relax,” he interrupted, stepping behind you. “Just hold it like this.” His hands guided yours to grip the bow properly, his fingers brushing against yours. “Straighten your arms a little. Good.”

Your heart skipped slightly at the proximity. His voice was low and smooth, close enough that you could feel his breath on your ear as he adjusted your stance. “Now, draw the string back,” he said, his hand brushing your arm, then settling lightly on your waist to steady you.

Your face warmed as you tried to focus on his instructions, convincing yourself this was just part of the lesson. He was just being helpful, right?

“Okay, aim for the center,” Ryan continued, his voice encouraging. “And... release!”

The arrow soared through the air and hit the target dead center, earning a chorus of cheers from the kids nearby.

“Yes!” you shouted, throwing your arms up in triumph. Ryan grinned widely, his excitement mirroring yours. “I told you, you’d be great at this—”

Before he could move closer or even finish his sentence, a firm arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a familiar chest.

“Luke?” you breathed, startled, recognizing the familiar warmth of his touch immediately.

You blinked, suddenly reminded of what he’d been doing not long ago—working with the kids in the Arts and Crafts cabin, helping them string beads for their camp necklaces. You’d passed by earlier, stealing a glance as he patiently worked with a group of little campers, his usual sharp edges softened by the way he guided their hands with practiced ease. Seeing him in that light had made your chest feel oddly tight, a mix of admiration and fondness that you couldn’t quite shake. And now, here he was, standing behind you, but with none of that softness in his stance.

Before you could say anything else, his lips crashed down on yours in a deep, possessive kiss that sent your thoughts scattering. His hand rested firmly on your hip as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss with a confidence that made your knees weak. The world around you seemed to blur until there was only him—his warmth, his touch, his undeniable presence.

When he finally pulled back, you stared at him, dazed and breathless. “What... what was that for?” you stammered, your cheeks burning.

Luke’s brown eyes burned with intensity as he glanced at Ryan, who stood a few feet away, frozen in awkward silence. “Just making sure there’s no confusion,” Luke said smoothly, his arm still wrapped securely around your waist.

Ryan cleared his throat, his expression tense as he gripped the bow tighter. “I, uh... I should check on the kids,” he muttered, his jaw tight as he turned on his heel.

“Yeah, you should,” Luke said sharply, his voice dripping with finality.

“Luke!” you hissed, glaring at him as Ryan stormed off, fists clenched at his sides. “Was that really necessary?”

Luke turned to you, his jaw still tight, though the fire in his eyes softened slightly. “Did you see the way he was looking at you?” he demanded. “And how close he was? His hands were all over you!”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to him. “He was just showing me how to shoot, Luke. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was to him,” Luke muttered darkly, his arm tightening around your waist as if to prove a point.

You sighed, shaking your head before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down into another kiss. This one was softer, slower, meant to reassure him as much as to silence him. When you pulled back, his lips lingered against yours, his brown eyes locked onto you.

“Luke,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the way your heart raced. “You don’t have to worry. I’m yours. Always.”

The tension in his shoulders eased as a slow, confident grin spread across his face. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low and smug. “All mine, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes again, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as his grip on you remained firm, his eyes gleaming with pride. You might have been exasperated, but one thing was certain: Luke Castellan never left any doubt about how much he cared for you.

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

I'm the anon who requested the tipsy reader I apologize for that! Instead could I request Shadow x Artist!Reader who's really into this painting for Shadow and he can't see it yet cause it's a surprise and it ends up being a painting of Maria at least from how Shadow described Maria to Reader? Once again I apologize for the other request, have a good day! ❤️

“A Special Gift for you!”

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Artist Reader

Requested: Yes (by an anon).

Description: Art was always something that made you happy. Hopefully you can share that happiness with your partner.

Notes: This one is cute! And no need to apologize, mistakes happen and I appreciate you coming back with another request! Hope you like this one, anon!

(Reader will be gender-neutral.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

“What are you doing?” you hear a voice say from behind you.

You stop your painting, turning your head, seeing your confused partner, Shadow, standing next to you with his head tilted.

“Oh, hey Shadow!” you say with a smile. “I’m just painting.”

“What are you painting?” he asks.

“Cream’s pet chao, Cheese and Chocola,” you reply. “I thought it would be a good birthday gift for her.”

“Oh,” he mutters. “Thank you for reminding me that’s coming up.”

“No problem,” you say, returning to your painting.

But as you get to work, that gets you an idea.

Sure, Christmas is a couple months away still, but nothing wrong with a surprise gift beforehand!

But first…Time to finish painting these chao.

After doing so, you set the painting aside, putting a new canvas on your easel, Shadow being long-gone, off doing his own thing.

Good thing he left the room, actually.

Because this next painting was a surprise for him.

You get out your pencils and a drape to put over the canvas should Shadow arrive unexpectedly or should you have to leave the painting unattended.

You think to yourself for a moment how you want this to look.

Shadow likes simple things, but she was really special to him, so…Ugh, conflictions!

Okay, got it.

Simple background, but detailed painting.

That’ll make Shadow happy.

To be fair, anything positive regarding her would make him happy.

Hopefully not make him cry.

Yes, tears are healthy, but seeing him sad makes you sad.

…Okay, now you just sound like a bad person.

Nevermind that thought.

Regardless, you want this to look good.

You start with a rough sketch, the sound of your pencil being the only thing in the room.

After that, you polish up the sketch, again with your pencil. Looking good!

Now to decide on a background…

Ah, of course! Space and stars!

You get out your black, blue, and purple paint, along with the white and yellow for later.

But hearing the door open, you quickly put the drape over the canvas as Shadow walks in.

“Hey Shadow! What’s up?” you ask.

“Just wanted to let you know it’s getting late,” Shadow states. “Don’t stay up too long.”

“I won’t, I’ll be in bed shortly,” you tell him.

Shadow nods before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

You suppose you could start with the paint tomorrow, you are kind of tired after all.

You set all of your paint down near the easel, making sure the drape is on snugly before leaving the room.

A few days pass, and with extensive work, the painting is done. And a good few days before Christmas at that!

You sign your name at the bottom of the painting as you usually do, in white, making it look like a constellation.

Now to bring it to Shadow.

You pick up the painting and exit the room, with the back facing outwards so Shadow can’t see it.

“Shadow! I have a surprise for you!” you say in a cheery sing-song voice.

“A surprise?” Shadow asks. “But it’s not even Christmas yet.”

“It doesn’t have to be a holiday for you to get a gift, silly,” you say. “Now, close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

Shadow sighs but does so, and you place the painting to him with the painted side towards him.

“Okay, now open!” you say excitedly.

Shadow opens his eyes, and his pupils immediately dilate to a small size as he carefully puts a hand on the painting.

“You…you made this for me?” he asks quietly.

“I did,” you reply. “Now you can see her whenever you want.”

Tears start to fall from his eyes and you move to wipe them away as he sets the painting aside, hugging you.

“Thank you…” he mutters.

“No need to thank me,” you tell him. “I just wanted to see you happy.”

And he couldn’t be happier; he was glad to have a caring partner like you by his side.

[lovrre]

Agreement prt1

Art Donaldson x Fem black reader

Warnings: cursing, infidelity(kinda), slight smut (fingering) sub ish Art. Slight he loves her more trope, needy Art and probably some other stuff

Word count: 2k

Summary: Despite being engaged to one of the top and richest tennis players in the US, you feel unfulfilled. But everything changes when you transfer schools and meet Art Donaldson, who just can’t quit you.

Author note: GUYS GUYS, PLEASE DON’T KILL ME. MY WRITERS BLOCK HAS BEEN SO BAD YOU DONT UNDERSTANDDD, But I’m finishing all my requests and unfinished fics soon so stay tuned. 😚

Sitting on the bed in your brand new silk pajamas, you found yourself distracted, just like you had been the day before and the day before that. You played with The edge of the book you were attempting to read,mindlessly repeated the last sentence over and over in your head trying to retain anything. The loud television and the whirring of the ceiling fan only added to the chaos. Plus the freezing cold air conditioning of the hotel room made it impossible to concentrate.

In a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of focus, you clumsily reached for the remote, hoping to silence at least one of the distractions. your eyes falling on your fiancé who was sleeping peacefully, his dark hair all messy, in his crisp white t-shirt that matched perfectly to the expensive hotel sheets, he looked so sweet,so innocent. You thought if he slept more, maybe everything could work out

Mike slept while snuggled into your side. Like he often did when you two shared a bed, You had attempted to remove him several times but every time he ended right back at your side so you gave up, In any other scenario his action would seem romantic but they only made you feel worse than you were already feeling. In an effort to relieve some guilt you liked to reminded yourself your engagement was never out of love but business. But then again the line did blur in the beginning of your relationship. Before you left for Stanford, you and Mike got caught up in the act of pretending be in love.

After that you could never really tell real from fake with him, he didn’t like you talking to other men. He’d shower you with really expensives grift but then leave town and not answer your calls or text for days. But when no one was watching he’d try to hug and kiss you. The whole thing was confusing, You had known idea how he persived your relationship but you knew You Felt guilty, without all the technicallys, you knew that you still lied,

The people ate up the role you and Mike played. occasionally you’d have to leave campus and go out in public holding hands or sharing kisses in the rain. But it was all for show, at least on your end. Your Dad made sure to reminded you That, it was the love sick tennis player in love with his coaches daughter that sold tickets. kept the stands full of women hoping to catch the world win romances in action. Also Brought in a large number of his clientele. He promised It wouldn’t be forever unless you wanted to be. And Really how could you complain? 20 years old engaged to One of the wealthiest and most talented tennis players in the world and he wasn't bad looking either. Before all this, you weren't too keen on love anyway, so what were you really missing out on?

~~~

Ten months before

Patrick serves but Art's attention is elsewhere. The ball zooms past Art for the second time, prompting Patrick to turn around and finally see who's behind him. His gaze lands on you, playing tennis alone on a smaller court. The sun shining off your smooth, glistening skin, and your pink tennis dress gracefully flowing with each jump and run.

"Oh, I get it," Patrick chuckles, glancing back at Art. "She's hot. You should talk to her, maybe offer her a lesson. She could use it," Patrick suggests, looking back at you as you let another tennis ball from the machine fly past you . "I think I've seen her somewhere before," Patrick mutters, tapping his racket against his leg.

Still in a daze, Art jogged over to your court. "Oh, you're serious," Patrick murmured watching as he went over to you following closely behind him. "Hi," Art greets, slightly out of breath walking up to the net. "Hi?" you respond, slightly confused, giving him a small wave.

"Are you new here?"

"To the school or the court?" You ask

"Both."

"I'm new to both” you say a little breathless wiping sweat from your forehead.

“I just transferred," you explain.

"Where did you go before?"

"A small community college in Virginia."

"What about tennis?"

"You have a lot of questions," you laugh, tapping your tennis racket against your leg.

"Im just curious “Art jokes.

"I'm just doing this because my fiancé is a tennis player. I thought I'd try to learn," you reveal.

“Finance?” Art questions.

“Yep”

“ how old are you like 20?”

“ actually 19, I turn twenty in a couple months”

“And you're getting married?” Art asked clearly dumbfounded

“Yes” you laugh at his forwardness

", is he a pro or college?", Art asked, assuming the answer would be college.

“Pro," you replied, letting your curls fall freely from your hair tie. Art couldn't help but admire how beautiful you were,too young to be tied down

"Anyone we would know?" Art asks following you as you walk over to the bench with your tennis bag. "Hmm, maybe," you hum, sitting down to tie your shoe. "Mike Fitts."

"Your fiancé is Mike Fitts!" Patrick exclaims a little too loudly. "Mhmm," you confirm, starting to tie your other shoe. "If Mike Fitts is your fiancé, why are you here?"

"Are you referring to the court or the school?" you ask, looking up at both Art and Patrick.

"Both," Art and Patrick respond in unison.

You chuckled as you stuffed your tennis racket into your bag. "Well, whether I'm engaged or not, I always planned to graduate college. And Mike is too busy right now to teach me, so I'm trying to teach myself."

The two of them nod in understanding as you stand up. "It was really nice meeting both of you, but I have class," you announce, throwing your tennis bag over your shoulder. "By the way, it would be great if you guys could keep the whole fiancé thing on the down low. I'm trying to keep it as quiet as possible for now."

"Yeah, no problem," one of them replies.

"Of course," the other adds.

"Thanks, I really appreciate it," you say giving them a small smile before turning around to leave the court.

just as you're about to walk away, Art calls out after you, "Wait! You said you're trying to learn, right? we could coach you if you want” Patrick gives him a look and Art ignores it waiting for your response.

You pause, considering the offer.

”the both of you?” you asked gesturing between them. Art gives you a nod. at that moment The risk didn't seem too big so you said

. "Sure," with small shrug

"How about tomorrow at 12:30?" you suggest, checking the pink Bvlgari watch Mike got you.

"Perfect," Art responds with a shit eating smile

“Ok see you guys ” you laugh walking out the court

~~~~~~

“Yeah see” Patrick says reading a newspaper. “Olympic coach, Dylan yLn, Daughter engaged to Olympics gold medalist Mike fitts” Patrick reads next to a photo of you and Mike smiling as you showed off your huge

engagement ring. “She wasn’t bull shitting”

“Let me see” Art says grabbing the newspaper. “She didn't have on her engagement ring when we saw her...” Art trails off

“You can't be serious” Patrick laughs

“What?”

“She’s engaged Art, not to anyone either,” Patrick leaned in on the table so only he could hear. “she’s engaged Mike Fitts!”

“I didn't say anything,” Art defends

“ you don't have to” Patrick says stealing a fry off Arts plate plopping it in him mouth.

”I know you,”

~~~~~

After that day, everything seemed to blend together. Art and Patrick dedicated themselves to training you throughout the weekdays for three entire months until you got tired of it and decided on once a week. You told Mike you found a coach but never told him who. Since they were kinda the only people you knew in the entire school, the three of you grew close fast. You started going out to bars and parties together. you had your most memorable college moments with the two of them. And then, your birthday arrived. Patrick had left for some torment and it was just you and Art.

You two were just having so much fun that night. On thing led to another And before you realized it, the two of you were constantly having “fun together”. It didn't matter where - in the dorm, in the shower, or even on the floor. It was bad, but you two couldn't stop

Trying to clear your mind you Let out a sigh. you carefully remove Mike from your side sitting up to taking a sip of you're water on the nightstand. Trying to ignore the ache of your core. This is how you spent every night away from him, needy, uncomfortable. You heard a knock at the door which almost caused you to spill water on yourself. You Quickly put your drink down and run to answer it before the person could knock again careful to be quiet not to wake up Mike.

You swung the door open to find Art standing there, hair slightly damp, with huge smile on his face. "Are you out of your mind?" you whisper, stepping out of the room and shutting the door quietly behind you. You can't help but notice his thin athletic hoodie and gym shorts. Slightly wet clinging to his skin as if he just stepped out of the shower.

"It's past one ,"Art huffed out , his voice filled with urgency and desire as he leaned in for a kiss. his hand gently cradling the side of your face in the process.

When the realization of what was happening washed over you, you pulled away, but still stayed close enough to feel his breath against your skin. "Art," you breathed out, eyes darting down the hall to check if anyone saw. Your hand instinctively found its place on his strong chest, you savored the feeling and the look of your manicured nails there, not knowing when you be able to do it again.

"I like these," Art hummed, playing with the hem of your pajama shorts. He rolled the fabric between his fingers, his big hand gracing you thighs in the process. The little touch sent shivers down your spine. You somehow composed yourself pushing him away gently with your index finger, creating some distance between you two.

He looked at you with sad eyes like a rejected puppy. "Mike’s sleeping inside," you whisper, worried someone could hear. "What does that mean?"

There was a long pause as you carefully choose your next words. Art stared at you intently, trying to decipher your expression. "You slept with him?” Art asks, as if he already knew the answer.

"No, I didn't sleep with him!” You whisper yelled, “He just showered and fell asleep," you explained,

"What's bothering you then?"

"I feel guilty."

"You didn't feel guilty at Stanford."

"Mike wasn't at Stanford."

“You care about Mike's feelings now ?" Art's asks furrows his brow, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and hurt.

" I don’t know… he’s been nicer lately and were supposed to be married in three days”

“You’re actually thinking about going through with it?” Art asked the hurt now evident in his voice.

“There’s nothing I can do now, I signed contracts, this isn’t just about us anymore I’ve told you this”

“What about the private investors?”

"That's just a 'what if,' a perfect 'what if,' but we don't even know if he's seeing someone."

“ If I win tomorrow?”

“Art If you win are lose tomorrow it doesn’t change anything, my Dad expects me at the alter on Sunday regardless, nothings gonna change that”

“But you don’t love him ”

“ I could” your words come out more a question, maybe a hope. “I loved you?”

“You love me” Art corrects

"There's too much at stake now, Art. This is my father's career. We don't come from money, this is all he has."

“You honestly believe this will ruin his career?”

“It could” you reply with a small shrug your voice cracking slightly.

“It won’t” Art response

“You don’t know that”

“ Don’t do this ” Art whispered closing the small space between you. He sounded so tortured, like he was pleading with you.

you hadn't realize it but tears welled in your eyes Threatening to spill any moment. When You blinked an a tear fell down your cheek. Art tenderly brushed it away with his thumb. The stress of the last two weeks had finally caught up to you. “it wasn’t supposed to be this hard” you murmured, your voice barely audible, tears streaming down your face as Art wiped them away.

“Do you love me?” his questions sounded genuine but you knew, he already knew the answer. ”more than i’d like to” you joke, using the back of your hand to dry your eyes.

“Then let me make you feel better,” Art whispered leaning down so he was directly above your ear.

“You’re right about what you said earlier, Mike wasn’t there at Stanford”. He paused for a second moving a piece of your hair out the way, “I was,” he hummed brushing his face against yours “just me and you” he whispered leaving a trail of kisses on the outside of your earlobe down your neck. Causing Your breath catch in your throat .“We had fun right?” Art question, his voice deep and breathy causing you to instinctively press your legs together as you leaned back against the door. “Art” you mumble trying to shake the sexual haze that was swirling inside you.

“I missed you” he whispered his free hand slinking up the side of you short griping your thigh, hiking your leg up slightly. “So bad…All day”

“we can't” you manage to breathe out unconvisingly.

“I’ll beg,”

“Art” you warned

“I’ll do anything baby” he mumbles leaving slowly kisses on your neck. “Anything you want me to” he says kissing under your chin. “ I need you” he hums kissing down your neck, ”don’t you need me?” Art asked kissing below your ear. You don't respond giving small nodd biting the inside of your lip. “Can I hear it?” Art asked, the way his voice sounded so desperate, Damn near whiney had you looking for friction. ”I need you so fucking bad” you basically moan pushing your body against his.

“I love you so much you don't understand” Art said smiling against you cheek. sliding his free hand down the front of your shorts. He rubs his fingers through your folds collecting your wetness on his fingers. You throw your head back with a quiet moan, quickly biting your lip to silence yourself. “Fuck your so wet” Art groans before pulling his hand from your shorts, sucking his fingers clean like it was second nature. You clenched around nothing at the sight.

“I missed that taste” he groans returning his hand to your heat. “Can I make you cum right here” Art huffed out peeping down the hall.

"Yea,” you breathed out, nodding your head feverishly. He could have asked you to drive to the moon in that moment, and you would have said yes. Art slowly pushed two fingers inside of you creating a medium pace before bringing his thumb to rub your clit, you moan lifting your hips to meet his fingers. “Fuck I could eat you out right here” Art groaned watching you Practically fuck yourself on his fingers. “Promise me you won't ever let him see you like this” Art goans leaving kisses on your collar done. “this is mine”

”You can bearly hear a word he's saying the feeling of his thumb on your clit and finger damn near touching you cervix was too much to bear. “I’m gonna cum” you moaned out grabbing Arts shoulder hard in an effort to ground yourself. “I can feel it,” Art breathed pressing his forehead against yours. He presses down harder on your clit causing you to buck into his fingers, letting out a loud moan You cum. his movement don't falter, he continues to pump them in and out while still rubbing your clit until he feels like you've finally had enough.

he removes his fingers from your pussy returning them to his mouth. “I’ll never get tired of that” Art laughs leaning in for a kiss, you return it, taste yourself on his lips. He gently places you leg back on the floor and you stumbled slightly grading his shoulder for balance. He instantly goes to your waist holding you steady. “You ok?” Art ask slight consern on his face. You don't respond afraid of what your voice would sound like after an orgasm like that.

You nod with a smile and Art led you to the hotel room directly next to yours, pulling out a key card from his pocket with a grin.

“You didn't,” you exclaimed as he opened the door.

“I did,” he replied, motioning for you to enter.

“How did you even know our room number?” you ask, stepping inside.

“I have my ways,” he answered, closing the door behind you.

“How did you afford this?” you asked, looking around.

“Are you going to keep ask questioning or are you going to take of your clothes” Art laughs , watching as you sit on the bed.

“You first,” you countered, settling back .

“Yes ma’am,” Art chuckled, starting to undress.

~~~~

Morning arrives and you found yourself back in your original room. Mike was in the bathroom getting ready while you fix your dress in the mirror of the bedroom. As you adjust the straps, you notice a hickey you hadn't seen before, one you forgot to cover up after coming back last night. You laid your hair over it and walk towards the bathroom to retrieve your makeup bag, slightly tripping as your sore legs gave out on you. "You good?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I think I'm just sore from tennis practice," you say, reaching past him to get your makeup bag.

"You know no one expects you to play," Mike laughs while drying his hair with a towel. "I'm not doing it for anyone, I want to learn," your words come out more offended than you intended. "I just mean you could spend your time doing something else."

"Like what?" You respond plainly, walking out of the bathroom back to the mirror. "Like calling your dad and asking him what time he'll be here," Mike says from the now open bathroom. "Is your phone not working?" You asked rhetorically, pulling out your concealer . "I don't want to fight today, okay," Mike Replies sternly, looking at you through the reflection of the mirror. "This is a big match," he mumbles while running his toothbrush under the water.

"I thought you said it was going to be 'nothing,'" you chuckle dryly, applying the concealer as his face was turned. "It is, but from what your Dad's been saying, he's been getting good. So I'd like to be on my A-game and not have you trying to start shit."

"Whatever you want honey" you respond, quietly laughing in disbelief. He had resorted right back to his old ways,How could you ever agree to marry someone like him, someone so vastly different from the man you spent the night with.

~~~~

soon as you and Mike were finished getting ready, your father called you to come downstairs to join him for breakfast. You and Mike both stood in line, slightly overdressed, picking out your favorite breakfast items. Mike only getting French toast, disregarding his strict diet. Suddenly, you heard a familiar laughter and turned around to see Art chatting with your father near the entrance. Your heart sank as your father motioned for you both to come over. After dropping off your plates, you and Mike walked towards them, feeling Mike's hand slip around your waist.

"I'd like you to meet someone," your father announced with a smile, putting his arm around Art's shoulder. "This is Art Donaldson," he introduced, "the man I'm competing against today." Mike stated extending his hand for a handshake, and Art reciprocated. Your stomach churned at the sight. "This is Mike, you know him, he's also my daughter's fiancé." Your father says with a smile.

"Stressful, huh?" Art jokes. "Oh, you have no idea," your Dad replies, laughing. "You're both at the same college, right? Stanford?" your Dad asked, nodding towards you. “maybe you could try your luck at training her because I just can't get through," your dad jokes. Art's eyes rake over you, as if looking at you for the first time. "It be my pleasure" Art smiles, looking directly at you. You to discreetly warn him with your eyes but You notice Mike's grip on your waist tighten, clearly not pleased. "Actually, I've been training y/n already, she's improving every day," Mike says, planting a quick kiss on your head.

"Really?" Art inquires, trying to keep up the act to the best of his abilities. "Monday through Friday," Mike replies with a smug grin. “How do you manage with your Busy schedule?” Art asks tilting his head to the side slightly in the process.

“You find time for the people you love,” Mike says with a fake smile. You had to physically hold back your laugh. But you played it off as wiping your face. He had taken a line straight from media training. Silence filled the air as the two have a silent conversation with their eyes.

“Well I wanted to introduce all of you, as I will officially be coaching Art starting next fall,"

Your Dad says in an attempt to break the tension. But it only makes it worse, Somehow Mike's grip on you tightened even more, now you were concerned he’d leave a bruise . "When did you make this decision?" Mike asked, his face showing no emotion but you could tell he was angry. "two weeks ago, and I've been waiting for the right moment to properly introduce you two. I know the timing is awkward with the match, but it's better to do it now than later."

Mike doesn’t say anything giving an expressionless nod. There was another awkward pause before you decided to speak up. "It was nice meeting you…Art?" you trail off , purposely sounding unsure. He nodded with a knowing smile. "But our food is getting cold," you joked, trying to escape the suffocating tension. "I wouldn't want to keep the couple from their food," Art said, while a smiling again only looking directly at you. You wanted to scream, he was being so obvious and the way Mike was already acting, you knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it. "You two eat, I have to go handle some things, I won’t be long" your father said, gesturing for you and Mike to sit at the table before walking off with Art.

Once the two of you sit back at the table you feel caught. "I don't want you near that guy," Mike says, taking a sip of his coffee. You roll your eyes and stab at your scrambled eggs. “He was basically eye fucking you the whole time, and it doesn’t help that your dress is so tight”

“I think you forget sometimes this isn’t real,” you reply, taking a bite.

"Lower your voice," Mike warns, glancing around to see if anyone heard.

"You didn't care about it being real when you accepted the gifts," he scoffs, "or in Virginia."

"It was once, Mike. And every day, you make me regret it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You don't get to control me just because you buy me shit. Anyone can buy me shit."

“I told you i’m not doing this with you today” Mike laughs dryly standing up from the table. "I'll see you later, okay babe?" he says a bit louder, forcing a fake smile as he plants a kiss on your head before walking away. You try your best not to flinch when he touches you. Once he's gone, your phone buzzes, and you glance down to see an unsaved number. It's a text from Art.

“meet me at the restaurant next door in 20, alone.”

Author note : GUYS FEEL FREE TO COMMENT I LOVE READING COMMENTS

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

Part 1 - Cool Girl Is Game

Introduction / Next Part

I never thought I’d be the type of girl to join a sorority, but here I was, standing in the middle of Delta Nu’s impossibly pink common room, surrounded by girls who looked like they belonged on a Vogue cover. Mariel and I had just moved into our new room at UPenn, fresh-faced freshmen, and after weeks of plotting, we had somehow made it into the most sought-after house on campus.

“Can you believe we are here?” Mariel asked, plopping onto her bed with a dramatic sigh.

“Can you believe how long it’s gonna take me to defrost my fake smile?” I shot back.

To get in, I had to fake it till I made it. I wasn’t their first choice—not even close. Delta Nu girls had a certain effortless glow, and I was… well, I was a computer science major who spent most of time trying not to collapse. But with just the right amount of preppy outfits, carefully curated small talk, and a convincingly chirpy “Oh my god, totally” at rush events, I had squeezed my way in.

Before we could even start unpacking, Missy Houghton, our sorority president, breezed in with her perfect blowout and clipboard in hand.

“Ladies, welcome to Delta Nu! Just a quick reminder of your very busy Initiation Week schedule,” she said, handing us a printed itinerary. “Tonight, we have the Ceremony & Oath, Tuesday is Welcome to Pilates, Wednesday is New Me Conference, Thursday is our Fundraiser, and of course, Friday is our Newbie Initiation Tradition—which is a total surprise, so don’t even try asking.” She winked before twirling out of the room.

Mariel and I exchanged a look. What did we get ourselves into?

After taking a short walk from the house, we went our separate ways—Mariel to her graphic design classes, and me to my Introduction to Computer Programming lecture.

The moment I walked in, I knew this class was a walk in the park. The professor started going over variables and loops, and I could barely keep my eyes open. Then, just to make it really fun, he handed out a pop quiz on basic programming concepts.

I finished mine in record time, turned it in, and went back to doodling in my iPad. A few minutes later, I caught the professor glancing at my paper, then back at his computer. After class, he called me over.

“Miss (Y/L/N), right?” He adjusted his glasses, scanning my student file. “You’re this year’s full scholarship?”

I nodded.

“Hmm. Well, judging by this quiz, this class might be too easy for you. Have you considered taking a level test to skip ahead?”

It wasn’t a bad idea.

Following his instructions, I went to Student Service’s to request a level test—and, as expected, I placed two levels above. That meant I’d be in classes with sophomores now.

That night, as Mariel and I debriefed in our dorm about our day, she threw a pillow at me.

“You just got here, and you’re already skipping classes? How do you do it?!” she groaned.

I caught the pillow and tossed it back. “I didn’t do anything. I bet everyone was gushing over your art skills today.”

“Shut up, Miss Genius.” she interjected my explanation.

TUESDAY - 7 AM

The following morning, I walked into my new classroom with a printed letter from the department in hand. The professor beamed as I handed it over.

“And here she is,” he said dramatically, turning to the class. “Our newest addition! Not only is she here on a full scholarship, but she’s also skipped two levels, meaning she’s already putting you all under pressure!”

I gave a small, awkward wave. The room was silent.

Then it hit me.

I was the only girl in the room.

Great.

I sighed, found an empty seat, and tried to ignore the stares. It wasn’t my first time being in a male-dominated space, and it wouldn’t be my last. I tuned them out and focused on the lecture.

Or at least I tried.

After class, as I packed up my stuff, three guys walked over. One of them looked… familiar.

“Hey,” the curly-haired one said, tilting his head. “This might sound bad, but where do I know you from?”

I turned fully to face him. Thick eyebrows. Curls. That annoying but weirdly cute smile.

Memories flooded back.

I smirked. “Wow. You really do have a terrible memory, Jonas Brother.”

His friends lost it. One practically doubled over laughing.

“Ohhh,” one of them wheezed. “Dude, she got you.”

Luigi blinked, then finally connected the dots. “Oh shit. Nationals.”

“Took you long enough.”

His friends were still cracking up. One of them clapped him on the back. “Dude, you always know the hotter girls.”

I rolled my eyes.

“So what, you’re in this class now?” another one asked. “Why haven’t we seen you before?”

“Freshman,” I said, shouldering my bag.

Luigi was still looking at me, amusement playing at the corners of his lips. “So, you just happened to land in a level 3 class, huh?”

“Tragic, really,” I deadpanned.

“Seriously, though,” another chimed in. “You should come to one of our frat parties. Now that you’re officially in our class, you are one of us.”

I barely held back an eye roll. Of course they were in a frat.

“Cool,” I said vaguely, already looking at my phone. “Noted.”

Then I noticed the time.

“Crap. I gotta go,” I muttered, swinging my bag over my shoulder.

“Where to?” Luigi asked.

I sighed. “Pilates.”

One of the guys perked up and whistled. “Nice.”

I cringed.

I turned to leave, but as I walked away, I heard Luigi’s voice behind me.

“See ya around.”

Without looking back, I just raised a hand in a half-hearted wave.

“Okay,” I called over my shoulder.

WELCOME TO PILATES

The air in the studio was thick with the scent of lavender-scented disinfectant and the soft hum of an upbeat playlist. Mariel and I sat on our mats, stretching, surrounded by a dozen other Delta Nu girls. Apparently, as bonding activity we had to sign up for at least one group fitness class.

Honestly? The politics of this house were exhausting. But if faking enthusiasm for Pilates was the price I had to pay to stay in Delta Nu, so be it.

Mariel groaned as we attempted another core-strength move. “This is a requirement? What kind of sorority is this?”

“The type that values toned abs over GPAs,” I muttered, wobbling slightly.

She snorted. “At least you’re suffering with me.”

We both struggled to hold our position when I casually dropped, “Oh, by the way, guess who’s in my new class?”

Mariel barely glanced at me, too focused on not collapsing. “Unless it’s the ghost of Steve Jobs here to give you a job at Apple, I don’t care.”

I smirked. “Luigi”

She blinked. “Mario?”

I chuckled quietly, my arms shaking from exertion. “The Jonas Brother.”

Mariel’s eyes went wide. She lost balance completely, flopping onto her mat. “OMG, this is destiny,” she whisper-screamed.

I shot her a look. “What?”

“Be honest,” she accused, regaining her composure. “Did you move from Cali to be close to him?”

I rolled my eyes. “Callatee.. you know why I chose UPenn over UCLA. And you came with me, remember?” (Shut up)

She laughed. “I’m kidding.” Then she tilted her head. “Wait… what’s his actual name again?”

I paused. “Luigi… I don’t know his last name.”

From my right, another girl—blonde, toned, and effortlessly balanced in the Pilates pose I had given up on—leaned in slightly and whispered, “Sorry, are you talking about Luigi Mangione?”

I turned to her. “Not sure.”

“Curly hair? Italian? STEM guy?”

Mariel and I exchanged a look. “Yeah,” I said.

She grinned knowingly. “Ohhh.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

She giggled, lowering herself gracefully into the next pose. “Just don’t let Missy stop you. She’s been trying for a year.”

I nearly dropped my balance again. “Stop me? From what?”

Mariel and the girl—who I now realized was named Kaylee—both gave me the same amused look.

I blinked. “What?”

Kaylee just shook her head, still smirking. “Nothing.”

Mariel’s smirk was even worse.

Between boys and core training, I wasn’t sure which task I sucked at more.

WEDNESDAY - NEW ME

Blah blah blah

THURSDAY- FUNDRAISER BOOTH

Pink. So much pink.

I glanced around at the Delta Nu booth, which looked like a sorority version of Mean Girls—pink banners, white ribbons, pastel decorations. It was all very on brand, and all very not me.

The only thing remotely acceptable in my wardrobe was a pair of white shorts and a band tee. Missy was not pleased.

“Don’t you have anything pink that is actually cute?” she asked, looking at me like I’d personally insulted her ancestors.

Mariel, clapped a hand on my shoulder. “She can borrow something of mine!”

I shot her a look. “Girl, where is my ass gonna fit in your clothes?”

She grinned. “Don’t insult your Latina hips.”

I laughed, but it didn’t change the fact that I was still stuck in a Blondie tee while everyone else looked like they’d walked out of a Tampon commercial. Whatever. It wasn’t like I’d chosen this sorority for the aesthetic.

We finally made it to the booth, where Missy explained the actual reason we were here—raising money for charity.

Noble. Love that.

Then came the catch.

Next month, Delta Nu was hosting a fashion show, and each of us had to raise money. The girl who raised the most money would win the ability to keep her own outfit from a designer catalog. Meanwhile, the rest of us? Our outfits would be chosen for us by our highest donor.

I blinked. “What the hell?” I muttered under my breath.

Did I accidentally join a brothel?

Mariel choked on a laugh next to me.

Students stopped by our booth throughout the afternoon, reading about the charity and looking at the fashion show details. Most were supportive. Some donated out of actual generosity. Others… not so much.

Cue Gym Bro.

This dude—overly tan, protein shake in hand, and all biceps—strolled up and made a significant donation. Not for charity, of course. No, he had one goal.

“To see her in lingerie,” he said with a smirk, nodding in my direction.

If looks could kill, Gym Bro wouldn’t just be dead—he’d be erased from history.

Before I could tell him exactly where he could shove his donation, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Well, well, not only is she smart, but she’s into the crazy life.”

I turned to see frat bros approaching the booth, all smug grins and easy confidence. Damien, was the one who spoke, looking at me like I’d just confirmed a long-standing theory about my secret double life.

“Surprise,” I deadpanned. “Delta Nu.”

Luigi smirked. “I should’ve predicted it from the Barbie Dreamhouse.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That Barbie Dreamhouse kicked your ass.”

He tilted his head, amused. “Now you’re coming for my reputation?”

Before the tension could build further, Mariel cut in.

“Damn, Jonas Brother, you got tall.”

Luigi glanced at her, clearly recognizing her face but not placing the name.

He snapped his fingers. “St. Trinity. Right?”

Bingo.

His friends took the opportunity to introduce themselves, wanting to get ahead of the game. Gross.

They asked about the charity, and we explained.

Of course, their intrigue had nothing to do with charity and everything to do with the fashion show. Free sorority girls on a runway? Predictable.

I sighed. “You’re late. Jerk-face over there already donated a lot to see me in lingerie.”

The guys gushed among themselves, clearly entertained.

Damien grinned. “Damn, we can’t surpass that.”

“You could’ve saved me,” I said dramatically.

“Too late now.”

“At least I can mentally prepare.”

Before they could continue their antics, Missy appeared out of nowhere, her signature flirty smile locked in on Luigi.

“Hey stranger” she greeted, voice a little too smooth.

He responded politely, but I could tell he wasn’t particularly invested.

“What brings you here?” she asked, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, just saying hi,” he said, nodding at me.

Missy’s eyes narrowed slightly as she turned to me. “Ohhh, you guys know each other?”

I shrugged. “Old foes. And we have the same coding class.”

Missy blinked. “Right. So, are you coming to the show?”

He hesitated. “I think I have lab hours.”

Missy pouted slightly but played it cool. “No prob, we can talk later.”

Mariel and I barely held in our laughter.

Missy got called away, leaving the rest of us in her wake. The moment she was gone, Mariel and I mocked her voice in unison.

“So nice to see you,” we mimicked, fluttering our eyelashes.

The guys chuckled, clearly enjoying the show.

But then, Luigi checked his phone. “We should head back to our booth.”

As they started walking away, he turned back, smirking at me.

“I guess next class, we’ll see who’s the better coder.”

I smirked right back.

Yeah, you better run.

FRIDAY - INITIATION

By the time sun sets, I was already regretting my life choices.

Mariel and I sat cross-legged on our beds, nerves sitting like lead in our stomachs. We were under strict orders to come straight back to the sorority house after classes, no questions asked.

At 6:50 p.m., the call came.

“Newbies, to the living room!”

Mariel shot me a wide-eyed look. “This is it. We’re either going to become legends or complete social pariahs.”

“Maybe both,” I muttered, standing and smoothing down my jeans.

We shuffled into the living room where the superior sisters, Missy, and the house mother were lined up in matching black caped robes, holding envelopes like they were about to announce a Hunger Games death match.

Missy’s smile was almost predatory. “Welcome to your Initiation.”

A nervous murmur rippled through the room.

Missy stepped forward. “This is a scavenger hunt. You will each have five hours to complete a series of tasks. Some will be… challenging.”

That should’ve been the first red flag.

She continued, “For proof, you’ll need to take pictures and submit them before midnight. Fail to complete the list, and you risk losing your spot at Delta Nu.”

The room collectively stiffened.

“The prize?” Missy’s smile sharpened. “You stay and earn the respect of your sisters.”

I didn’t care about the “respect” part. I did care about my scholarship. I needed to stay in Delta Nu to keep it.

She handed out envelopes. “Good luck, girls.”

I opened mine and scanned the list.

Some were easy. Others? Not so much:

• Collect a pair of boxers from a frat president and have him sign it

“What the hell?” I whispered to Mariel.

“I’m not touching any guy’s used underwear,” she hissed.

“Me neither,” I said. But we both knew that wasn’t true. I had to complete this.

When the timer started, we all scattered.

I powered through the easy ones first:

✅ Apply a full face of makeup to a campus statue? Done.

✅ Selfie with a Professor? Easy.

✅ Steal a traffic cone? On my arm.

Then I hit the wall: the boxer situation.

I sat on a campus bench, scrolling through my phone, looking up the frat presidents. Maybe this was my end. Not knowing how to seduce a guy out of his panties.

And there it was.

Luigi Mangione - Phi Kappa Psi.

Of course he was president. Because the universe hated me.

I opened Instagram to look him up. Luckily for me his profile was public and his latest story showed he was at the school gym.

“Great,” I muttered. “Guess I’m about to enter my villain era.”

I took a breath and ran to the gym, showing my student ID to the desk clerk, who barely glanced up before waving me through. Apparently, they were used to sorority girls losing their minds during initiation week.

I spotted him almost immediately, walking toward the showers with a towel over his shoulder.

I froze. My heart pounded.

I could leave. I could figure something else out.

But the timer was ticking.

Nope. I’m doing this.

I marched toward the men’s locker room. A couple of guys gave me side-eyes as I walked in.

“Sorry! Emergency!” I said, which only made it more suspicious.

My heart was practically pounding out of my chest as I stopped outside the shower stall. I knocked on the wall.

“Kinda busy, man,” Luigi’s voice called. “There are other showers.”

I took a deep breath. “Oh, I know that.”

There was a long pause. Then:

“…hi?”

Luigi’s head peeked out from the stall, water dripping from his curls. He blinked. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

I turned my face toward the wall, covering my eyes. “I know this looks like the setup for a cheap porno, but I swear it’s not what it looks like.”

He smirked. “It looks pretty compromising.”

“Trust me, it’ll get worse.” I sighed. “I need a favor.”

He rinsed his face and wiped his hands down his chest.

“Let me get the shampoo out of my eyes, and then we’ll talk.”

“Okay.” I stood there, face still covered.

A minute later, the shower stopped. A damp hand brushed my shoulder.

“You can look now.”

I peeked through my fingers and saw him standing there in a towel, hair dripping. Men’s Health prepared me for moments like this.

“Initiations have gotten cheeky,” he joked.

“I need your underwear,” I blurted.

He raised his brows. “Come again?”

I forced myself to explain the task. He listened, expression somewhere between amused and shocked.

When I finished, he shook his head. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“You realize you’re asking me to walk home commando, right?”

I shrugged. “I’ll be disgusted if that’s your only clean pair.”

He laughed and pulled a pair of blue boxers from his gym bag. “You got a Sharpie?”

I pulled one from my pocket. “Here.”

He grinned and signed them. “So you need a picture, too?”

“Yep.”

He handed me the boxers. “Let’s get this over with.”

I held the boxers up in one hand, stood next to him, and snapped a photo. He smiled—a relaxed, easy smile.

“Be nice to them,” he teased.

“Thanks,” I said, tucking the boxers into my bag.

I bolted out of the locker room, the list and my bag on one hand and the traffic cone on the other, heart hammering in my chest.

I was halfway across campus when I heard someone shout my name.

“(Y/N) wait!”

I turned

Luigi—now dressed—was jogging toward me.

“What else is on your list?”

I showed him the list.

He frowned. “These are easy.”

“Not when you’re under pressure.” I interjected.

“Let me help you.”

“You’re not supposed to help.”

“I don’t see a rule against it.” He smirked. “C’mon.”

I didn’t argue.

We made quick work of the rest:

✅ Try on the campus mascot costume? It stinks.

✅ Steal a UPenn banner? Done.

✅ Buy a random guy a drink at the closest bar? Luigi handled that part.

We talked as we walked between tasks. He told me about his frat initiation—doors locked, food and alcohol flowing, and seniors throwing impossible tasks at them.

“Deadly,” he joked.

“You survived.”

“Barely.” He grinned.

By the time we finished, I had enough minutes to spare.

Luigi walked me back to the sorority house.

“Well, I guess this means you’re officially Delta Nu,” he said, stopping at the steps.

“Yeah.”

“See you in class?”

I smiled. “Unless I skip to recover from this trauma.”

He laughed. “You’ll survive.”

I ran inside, dumped my evidence on the table, and collapsed onto the couch.

Missy’s eyes narrowed. “You got everything?”

“Everything,” I confirmed.

Her gaze shifted from Luigi’s face on the picture to his signature. Her smile tightened.

“So?”

Missy’s smile sharpened. “Alright.”

I just rolled my eyes.

I was safe. That’s all that mattered.

@nosebeers

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

I’m not American and most of my knowledge is from movies and some research. Sorry if it sounds inaccurate to real greek life. But hey it’s fiction .

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲*

Parings → Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings → 18+, NSFW / Smut!! Unprotected sex, Crotchless lingerie, Oral (f receiving), Fingering, Soft dom! Tom, Overstimulation, Praise kink, Birthday sex

Summary → It's Tom's birthday, and of course you have something special for him.

Tom’s family had gone all out this year.

His mum, ever the queen of the kitchen, had baked that chocolate cake, the one with layers so thick and rich it could knock a grown man out. There were streamers taped to the ceiling in a way only mum-decorating could get away with, and somehow, the entire house buzzed with the kind of warmth that only the Hollands could radiate.

Paddy had declared himself the DJ for the night, blasting a chaotic mix of old-school hits and random TikTok audios through an ancient speaker that crackled every time someone turned the volume past 60%.

Meanwhile, Harry and Sam had spent weeks planning an adorable-slash-horrifying slideshow of baby Tom photos. It was a masterpiece of toothless grins, bad haircuts, and one particularly cursed shot of him sobbing in a Spider-Man onesie.

Tom turned beet red and kept muttering “you lot are the worst” while everyone cackled, including you.

But the real moment?

That was when you handed him his gift.

You’d been quiet about it all week, brushing off his questions and giving vague answers like, “It’s not a big deal” which was obviously code for it’s a huge deal, just wait.

So when he unwrapped that slim velvet box and found the vintage Omega watch—sleek, elegant, and something he'd casually mentioned wanting a year ago—his breath actually hitched.

“No way…” he whispered, fingers trembling slightly as he picked it up.

“You remembered this?”

“Of course I did,” you said softly. “You said it reminded you of your granddad’s. I thought… maybe you’d want to wear it on special days.”

There was a pause. One of those thick, full-hearted ones where his eyes glazed just a bit too much for someone not about to get misty.

He looked at you like you’d just personally rewritten the stars for him.

“You already got me the best gift just by being here, you know that?”

“Well,” you smirked, tilting your head, “lucky for you, I’m still full of surprises.”

Everyone clapped and cheered, the night rolled on, and Tom didn’t catch the way your lips curled just a little wickedly as you sipped from your glass.

But he would.

Ohhh, he absolutely would.

------

Hours later, the flat was quiet.

Warm. Dimly lit by the string of fairy lights you’d hung around the ceiling earlier, soft gold that made the place glow like a dream. After all the noise and love and chaos at the Holland house, this felt like the perfect exhale. Just you and Tom, finally alone.

You could hear the bathroom door click open. Tom stepped out, towel riding low on his hips, curls wet and clinging to his forehead. Steam still drifted from his shoulders as he padded barefoot across the floor, fresh from the shower and looking like every sinful summer fantasy rolled into one exhausted, happy boy.

“You comin’ to bed, love?” He called, voice already thick with the beginnings of sleep as he collapsed onto the mattress with a satisfied sigh.

“In a minute,” you replied from inside the closet, your voice calm and careful. “Just… don’t fall asleep, okay?”

“Mmm,” he hummed distractedly, already flopped back against the pillows. His thumbs tapped lazily at his phone screen, scrolling through birthday texts and group chat chaos from Harry and Sam.

He didn’t see the door creak open again.

Didn’t see you step out.

You stood bathed in the gentle glow of the fairy lights, the quiet hum of the flat cradling the moment.

The lingerie you wore had been hidden away for weeks, saved for tonight, black lace and sinful intent woven into every inch. The sheer cups barely hiding your nipples, delicate straps framing your chest like a work of art. Thin straps hugged your waist and hips, leading down to where the true surprise waited.

A string of white pearls lay perfectly nestled in the crotchless opening, pressed right against your bare folds. Each pearl sat flush against your sensitive skin, cool and firm, lined in a single teasing strand that promised nothing but trouble. A tiny satin bow rested just above, a final deceptive touch of sweetness over something utterly filthy.

You looked like a sin wrapped in lace and pearl.

And when Tom looked up from the bed and saw you, his breath left his body like it’d been punched out.

You tilted your head, your voice low and sweet. “Happy birthday, Tommy.”

Tom’s mouth parted, but no sound came out at first. Then.....“F-fucking hell…”

He sat up so fast the towel nearly dropped. His eyes raked over every inch of you like he couldn’t decide where to look first. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You took your time crossing the room, letting your hips sway, your smile just a little wicked. His breath quickened with every step you took.

“Told you I had one more surprise,” you teased.

Tom’s voice was practically a whimper. “This… this is illegal. I think you’re trying to kill me.”

You climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. His hands flew to your waist, eager, but you caught them mid-motion and pinned them gently against the sheets.

“Nope,” you whispered, eyes glittering. “Birthday boys don’t work on their big day. They receive.”

He let out a strangled groan, his head falling back against the pillows, curls sticking to his forehead.

“God, I love you,” he breathed.

You leaned in close, brushing your lips against the corner of his mouth without giving him a real kiss. “I know,” you murmured. “Now lie back, birthday boy… and don’t even think about moving.”

You grinned as you hovered above him, settling on his lap with a slow grind of your hips. The way his breath hitched made you feel like a goddess. He was already hard beneath you, the thin towel between you barely a barrier at all.

“Look at you,” you murmured, trailing your fingertips down his chest, stopping just above where the towel hung low. “So obedient. I might make this last all night.”

Tom’s eyes followed your hands like they were magnetic. “Yeah?” He rasped. “You think you’re in charge now, birthday present girl? ”

You smirked. “Obviously. You’re not allowed to move, remember?”

He groaned, deep and low, like it physically hurt him to stay still. But he kept his hands where you’d pinned them, letting you kiss down his chest, letting you tease him with feather-light touches. You pressed your thighs tighter around his hips, shifting slightly so the pearls dragged across your clit. A soft gasp escaped you.

Tom heard it.

And that sound flipped a switch in him.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered. “But if I go out… I’m going out on top.”

Before you could blink, Tom surged up. In one fluid move, he flipped you onto your back, hands gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head.

Your mouth parted in surprise, but your moan betrayed you.

“Tom—”

He kissed you hard, swallowing your gasp. “Shh. Thought you were in charge, love?” He murmured against your lips, breath hot. “That was cute.”

You squirmed under him, the pearls shifting against your core, driving you crazy. “I was trying to spoil you.”

“You are.” He dipped lower, trailing kisses down your neck. “By letting me unwrap you exactly how I want.”

Tom’s fingers ghosted over the pearls between your legs, then pressed them firmly against your clit. You whimpered, hips bucking. The cool beads rubbed right against your swollen nerves, and he grinned as he felt you twitch beneath him.

“Sensitive already?” He teased. “God, you wore this just to come undone for me, didn’t you?”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a broken moan.

He leaned in, voice rough in your ear. “Say it.”

“I… I wanted to surprise you—”

Tom pressed harder. “Say it right.”

“I wanted you to fuck me in this,” you gasped. “I wanted to come for you.”

That earned you a growl, low and satisfied. “Good girl.”

He tugged the pearls aside, finally exposing you, then kissed his way down your body. “Keep those pretty hands where they are,” he warned, breath hot against your thigh. “And don’t come until I say.”

Then his mouth was on you.

Hot, wet, devouring. His tongue circled your clit, slow and teasing, before flicking right where you needed it. His fingers gripped your thighs, spreading you open, and when the pearls shifted again, it added a delicious drag that had your whole body trembling.

You arched up into him, crying out his name, but he didn’t let up.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned, mouth slick with you. “Could stay down here all night.”

You were panting, desperate, the pressure coiling fast. “Tom—please—”

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

And when you finally shattered with a gasp and a sob, he didn’t let you come down gently. His mouth kept moving, lips sucking your clit, tongue relentless. The overstimulation made you thrash, but he pinned you in place like a man possessed.

“Too much?” He asked, licking you slow and soft now.

You nodded weakly. “Too good.”

He looked up at you with the cockiest smile you’d ever seen. “Then we’re just getting started.”

You were still shaking, legs splayed open and glistening, the pearls tangled just off to the side. Tom kissed his way back up your body, soft and unhurried, leaving tiny trails of warmth in his wake.

“Look at you,” he whispered, brushing hair off your damp forehead. “All flushed and fucked out already. And I haven’t even gotten my real present yet.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted. “That… that wasn’t it?”

He smiled. Soft. Dangerous.

“No, baby. That was just my appetizer.”

His mouth met yours again, slow and sensual, like he was trying to imprint himself on your soul. His tongue moved lazily with yours, coaxing little whimpers out of you while his hand slid down your stomach, slow, deliberate.

You flinched when his fingers found your center again.

Still sensitive. Still soaked.

But that didn’t stop him.

“Ohh, baby,” he cooed, voice low and velvety. “Still so wet. You came so hard for me, didn’t you?”

Your head nodded instinctively, and he grinned. “Let’s see if I can make you cry this time.”

He slipped one finger inside you, then two. Thick, slow strokes, curling perfectly against your walls. His thumb brushed your clit just barely, enough to make your back arch. The mix of pleasure and overstimulation was intense, but you were drunk on it. On him.

“You’re squeezing me so tight already,” he muttered, watching your face closely, pupils blown wide. “Feels like your body’s just made for me.”

Every slow thrust of his fingers built the tension again, this time hotter, deeper. He never looked away, his free hand cupping your cheek while he worked you open with the other, praising you with every moan that slipped past your lips.

“You’re doing so good, darling. Taking everything I give you, yeah?”

“Tom, I— I’m gonna—”

“Good. Come for me again, love. Let me feel it.”

And you did. Harder this time.

Your body clenched around his fingers like a vice, a broken sob of his name escaping as you came for the second time. He didn’t stop until your thighs trembled and tears welled at the corners of your eyes.

Only then did he kiss your forehead, whispering, “You okay, love?”

You nodded weakly, the aftershocks still pulsing through you. “I need you inside me.”

He groaned at that, actually groaned, and kissed you again, gentler this time, like you were made of glass.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured as he slid the towel off and lined himself up. “I’ve got you.”

He pushed in slowly.

So slowly.

Stretching you inch by inch, letting you feel all of him. His forehead pressed to yours, his eyes never leaving your face as he bottomed out with a long, shaky breath.

“Oh my God, baby,” he gasped. “You feel— fuck—you feel unreal.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. He filled you completely, perfectly, and when he started to move, it was with that same infuriating slowness that made you want to cry and kiss him at the same time.

Long, deep thrusts. Just enough friction to make you burn. His hips rolled against yours like a dance, and the whole time, he was talking to you. Loving you.

“So beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. “So good for me. You take me so well.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, desperate to pull him closer. He kissed you deeply, then trailed down to your neck, your collarbone, your chest—kissing the tops of your breasts, then mouthing around the lace until he found that sensitive skin beneath.

“You dressed up so pretty for me,” he said, licking a slow stripe over your nipple. “Gonna make sure you feel loved for every second of it.”

Every thrust was deliberate. Every word was praise.

You didn’t even realize you were crying again until he kissed the tears off your cheeks.

“I love you,” you whispered.

His hips stuttered. Then he kissed you like the words cracked him open.

“I love you too, darling. So damn much.”

He sped up just a little, chasing his own high now, but never rough, never losing that rhythm that made your body sing. His thrusts stayed deep and controlled, hips rolling against yours like slow waves, the perfect drag of friction inside you. Every time he bottomed out, your breath hitched. Every time his pelvis nudged your clit, your body twitched with need.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Come for me, sweetheart. One more. Just one more.”

You were already so close, overstimulated and sensitive, but his voice, his body, the way he looked at you like you were sacred, it pushed you right to the edge.

Then his thumb found your clit again. Gentle. Precise.

“Come with me,” he murmured against your lips. “Let me feel you fall apart on me, baby. Want to feel you cum while I’m inside you.”

That was it.

Your body tensed, spine arching as the orgasm ripped through you. This one hit like a wave, deeper, fuller, with a cry of his name you couldn’t have held back if you tried. Your walls clenched around him, pulsing, milking him through every aftershock.

That sent him over.

His rhythm faltered, hips stuttering as he groaned, deep, guttural, his hands tightening on your hips like you’d just ruined him. He buried his face in your neck, his body trembling as he finally let go, spilling inside you with one last broken gasp.

“F—fuck. That’s it. That’s my girl…”

He didn’t move right away.

Just held you there, bodies tangled and sticky, his breathing ragged against your skin while your heartbeats slowly synced.

“Still alive?” You teased, breathless.

“Barely,” he muttered, brushing kisses along your shoulder. “I think you might’ve broken me.”

You smiled, curling into his arms. “Happy birthday, Tommy.”

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

[ptej1980]

Any thoughts on this? On Saturday, Nic liked the Netflix post, “Can Colin fight?” And JVNs quote following the London trip a day later that included The lyrics to the Lily Allen song 😭. That essentially said name her, asking us to look up those lyrics. Do you think it’s a subtle way of saying… Luke made a choice with A, it hurt Nicola, she turned to her friends over the summer, and now he’s coming back to her with regrets?

Just thoughts, though I do like to believe Luke and Nic are together. The SAG awards showed him being so enamored with her especially.. it’s just hard to believe if they are together they wouldn’t just come out and be done with it..

Hmmm….Firstly after everything we have seen and know I don’t think we need to look into the above IG activity too hard and over analyse.

I can understand why you may think 🤔 and wonder if it has some greater meaning and honestly if that is your thoughts then I don’t hold it against you as you have been incredibly polite and questions are always welcome.

Nic has put some very obvious signs out there, chaos week in August and then again in October with coordinated posts. IMO, liking a post of herself where she looks smoking hot. 🔥 yes it refers to Colin, however if you go through the IG post it also refers to real life couples. So I think it was just a like from our loveable chronically online Nic

JVN is always a little cryptic we know he likes to serve the tea and he has in the past actually been quite obvious in his posts and suggestions. This song I feel could be in reference to any number of people or situations and because I am confident in my ship this does not bother me.

I like to remind myself of every morsel and crumb that we have been given. And 3 things

1. Polaroid 2 rings 3 proximity, heart eyes soulmate energy.

Polaroid is a grid post, she is also wearing her rings in a Grid Post.

Your main question was “If they are together why do they not come out and just say do”.

Ok so I will first pose the question for the other side of the coin, if Nic or Luke with there adjacent (especially Luke). Why would his PR team work so hard to remove traces of her off his SM, ask her to remove her tags of him, and shut down and remove editable feature on wikerpedia delete all that says he was in a relationship with her? Why is she nowhere on his SM not a story, or a tag for either event he took her to. Why did look miserable at those events and we heard him say “let’s get this done”. If he was in a relationship with her why would he interact with his costar like he does. You know who is in his IG grid a lot ….Nic. Vice versa Luke is the main feature in hers.

There are many theories as to why they may not have gone public. I am a firm ring Truther hard core Lukola shipper who has never jumped so many things have puzzled me.

1. NDA/PR is the most common reason that fandom has speculated. I feel that this plays a big part in why they may not have launched. They are following the stipulations of a contract and keeping the personal lives private.

2. Professional credibility. There love is literally art imitating life. Luke and Nic built a solid friendship both admitting they are best friends that have a great love for each other. The delay in launch may be simply because they want to be taken seriously as actors.

I think it may be a combination of the two. They both have worked so hard and to have it judged as just besties falling in love would be hard, they also seem to have to overcome some hurdles and navigate this new chapter of their life with their family. The hurdle might be annoying but it is providing privacy.

I hope this helps alleviate any concerns or confusion. Thanks 🙏 for the ask 💛🐝

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 1

Gadriel x Childhood Friend OC

Inspired by @beckyninja ' Titus x Reader fics and @hatsubara-8chan' s Titus x Theia art. Thank you guys for giving me the confidence and inspiration to finally do something with my own oc :)

I know x reader stuff is my forte, but it would mean so much if you guys checked this series out too. It was super fun to write and I think you all will really enjoy it.

As always, apologies for grammar and spelling mistakes. While this part is sfw, some future parts will be nsfw but I'll note that up the top. Typical 40kness and violence, also I've just gone and made up an entire og backstory for Gadriel lol.

Hope you guys enjoy! And thank you so much for reading xoxox

Love, Memestrider :)

Ellicent sobbed into his shoulder, soaking his collar and staining it dark. She'd been like this for ages; she didn't know how many, but it was enough that the grimy windows in front of them had darkened to black slabs with the disappearance of the sun and rolling in of night. She felt embarrassed by it. Ashamed. Kids down here lost their parents all the time, and her Dad had been sick for a long time. Knowing that should've made it easier, but it didn't. Her heart was still shattered. Her soul split in half by a stake of grief and anguish. She sobbed like a baby. Like a weak thing that the Underhive should and would eat alive.

But he didn't seem to mind.

His grip was as gentle as it was tight, as if he were trying to wring the sadness from her very being. He stroked her hair, rubbed her back, let her hide her face in the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he said. He'd said it many times before, but this one was no less genuine or earnest. Ellicent's throat ached too much to reply, so she only shook her head.Tentatively, he drew away from her. Not enough to break their embrace all together: just enough so he could look her in the eye.

"You know we have to leave him here, right?"

Swallowing another sob, Ellicent nodded. Down here, there were no medical services or law enforcement to collect the dead: there were only scavengers and cannibals. They'd find her Dad eventually, but if they kept her Dad in here, he might stay safe for a little longer.

"I know," she said. "But... but what about me? I can't- I can't stay here."He answered without hesitation or thought. "You can come stay with me."

"Wha- what?"

"I know Mum will let you. And if she says no, I'll make her. But she won't say no. I know she won't."

A dozen questions sat on Ellicent's tongue, but she was either too tired or too sad to ask. Sinking into his arms again, she wiped her eyes on his shoulder. "Okay."

"It'll be okay, Ellie. I promise, it'll be okay." Ellicent closed her eyes.

"Thank you, Gadriel," she whispered.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Remind me," Chairon says, using the box so he could be heard over the rumble of the Thunderhawk. "Which xenos is our target supposedly allied with?"

Gadriel checks the slide of his bolter for the umpteenth time.

"The dark eldar," he replies. "Specifically, the pack that has made this planet their favoured hunting ground."

"What about the necrons?"

"What about them?"

"Did the briefing not state that Severus' gang often makes use of necron technology?"

"It did," Gadriel says. "But that technology is stolen. Pillaged from only the Emperor knows where."

Through the static of the vox, Chairon's scowl sounds particularly vicious. "Damned heretics. Have they no pride or dignity to speak of at all?"

"Of course they don't."

Gadriel looks to his left where Titus sits beside him. Like his and Chairon's, the face of the lieutenant's helm is cast as a mouthless, red eyed glare. Somehow, though, Titus' glare appears even more intimidating.

"Creatures like Severus are among the worst kind of heretic," he says. "Chaos can corrupt the unwilling. Mutancy can affect the innocent. But to work with the alien? To turn one's back on their own species? That is a choice. One that is made willingly, without coercion or subterfuge.

"An uneasy silence settles across the vox. For a long while, the only sound comes from the roar of the Thunderhawk's engine and the collective of the three Astartes' power armour. Eventually, Gadriel is the one to break it by clearing his throat.

"Forgive me for saying so, sir. But, it sounds as if you speak from experience."

Titus turns his head towards Gadriel. The dim bar lights lining the Thunderhawk's interior reflect sharply off the golden laurels welded around his helmet's crown.

"You remain as sharp as ever, brother," the lieutenant remarks. "And you would be right. Severus' gang is not the first group of xenos collaborators I've encountered."

He pauses for a second. "As I said, they are the worst kind of heretic. Worse than political dissenters or atheist zealots. By a long, long way."

Silence falls once more. This time, however, it is morose. Sober. Behind his helmet, Gadriel chews the inside of his cheek in thought. It's a habit he's had ever since he was a boy- one so innate, not even Astartes re-education could snuff it out. He's reviewing the mission briefing in his head. Specifically, the intelligence regarding their target. Archibald Severus- a rogue trader turned planetary crime lord. Typically, such a man would not be a concern for the Astartes- such things were usually handled by the Inquisition alone. But Severus has been particularly problematic; almost all of his people wield necron weaponry and his Drukhari allies have all but brought the planet to its knees. Also, the Ultramarines just so happened to be in the area. Fortunate for the people who live here, though not so much for Severus. The last thought amuses Gadriel enough to make him smile. Yes. Very unfortunate for him indeed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Thunderhawk drops the fireteam amidst the exterior district of a hive city. The street upon which it lands is wide, dusty and long abandoned. Blade and plasma scars line the walls of every surrounding building, reminders of the countless dark eldar attacks the city has endured over Severus' tenure here. The Astartes quite literally hit the ground running. Bolters in hand, their objective's location marker pulsing in the top centre of their heads up displays. The objective in question is a warehouse- once a hangar for Imperial Guard aircraft, now just as abandoned as the rest of the district. Severus will supposedly be there, though the exact reasons why are unknown. But that doesn't matter to Gadriel. If the man is there, he will die. As surely as the blood of the Primarch flows through Gadriel's veins, that traitorous xenos-sellout will die.

The warehouse in question emerges from around the next street corner. It looks like a giant concrete brick dropped in the middle of the district block. Gadriel falls in behind his brothers, covering the rear while Titus leads the way and Chairon covers their flanks from the centre. But the area is empty. As if the entire district had been evacuated or disappeared. Considering what this place has endured over the last several years, that is probably not far from the truth.

"Gadriel," Titus says over the vox, breaking Gadriel's reverie. "Auspex."

The team halts against a nearby wall. The warehouse is now directly in front of them. Moving in perfect unison, Gadriel switches position with Chairon. He sidles up beside Titus, takes one hand off his bolter to extract the Auspex scanner clasped to his belt. He holds the device up and studies the screen for several seconds.

"Motion detected," he reports. "Ten hostiles, one hundred and fifty metres ahead. Baseline, by the sizes of the pulse."

"One must be Severus," Chairon says.

"Hopefully," Gadriel replies.

"But not certainly," Titus says. The lieutenant says nothing more, but Gadriel hears his unspoken order nonetheless: maintain your guard.

Despite their size and weight, the Astartes move like panthers on the prowl. As it is still light outside, they stick to the shadows where they can. Reaching one of the warehouse's walls, the fireteam lines up, Gadriel in front with time with Titus and Chairon covering him.

"We will breach the wall here," Titus says. "Overwhelm them with speed and surprise."

Chairon and Gadriel both acknowledge the order with a curt "yes sir". Internally, however, Gadriel is somewhat amused by Titus' choice in tactics. *One would be forgiven for thinking we were White Scars. All we're missing are the jet bikes.*

Chairon moves in between his brothers. He holster his bolter to his hip before reaching for his belt and extracting a fist-sized breaching charge. He plants the explosive on the wall, primes it with a button press, then motions for Titus and Gadriel to stand clear. Gadriel crouches down on one knee. His secondary heart joins his primary in beating, flooding his body with adrenaline. He looks between his brothers. Both give him nods of acknowledgement. Chairon touches his forearm, ready to activate the charge. As his fingertip brushes the button, however, Gadriel's Auspex let's out a chime.

"Hold," Gadriel says before pulling up the scanner. He furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

"What is it?" Titus asks.

"The Auspex has changed. All but one of the pulses have vanished."

"Vanished?" Chairon asks.

"That's what I said."

"But how?"

"I do not know."

"It matters not," Titus growls. "Chairon, blow the charge n-"

Before he can finish giving the order, the wall explodes on its own.

The shockwave slams into Gadriel with the force of a meteorite. It throws him backward, knocking him off his feet, sending him rolling over his side before landing on flat on his front. All three of his lungs are emptied of air and his ears ring as if glass were being shattered inside his skull. Gadriel ignores it all. Recovering his footing with staggering ease before raising his bolter in the direction of the enemy.

Only he can see nothing. Just the charred concrete debris at his feet and a wall of thick black smoke. Even through his helmet's filters, the smell of it is choking. Like the polluted air of an Underhive amplified and condensed. Gadriel clenches his jaw.

A gas grenade. Only it exploded with the force of a breaching charge.

It has to be Severus. He must have known they were coming, that they were there. Gadriel curses to himself.

We were too loud. Too forward. Not cautious enough...

"Brothers! Status!" Titus' voice crackles over the vox. Gadriel whips around to try and find the lieutenant, but the damned smoke is too opaque. "Alive and unharmed," Gadriel hisses. "But can't see a damn thing."

"Acknowledged." By contrast, Titus' voice is calm and level. "Chairon? What's your status?"

No reply. A fury like fire ignites in Gadriel's chest. "Brother!" he shouts. "Are you there? Tell us where you are!"

A flash of light catches his peripheral vision. Gadriel spins to face it, snapping his bolter sights up as he does. It's small, but sustained, growing in luminosity with every second. But that isn't what makes Gadriel's breath hitch. It's the colour. A shocking, neon green. Too vivid to be natural, too bright to be electronic.

Gadriel's eyes widen. His thoughts scream a single, terrible name.

Necrons.

With an plasmic screech, the particle beam blazes towards him. It aims for his chest, right over his primary heart. Gadriel manages to twist out of the way in time, but not before the beams edge grazes the top of the aquillia on his breastplate. Gadriel aims his bolter in the direction the green light, only for it to vanish as he opens fire.

"Contact!" he shouts down the vox to Titus. "Necron weaponry confirmed!"

The light reappears on his left. Much closer than before. Gadriel fires upon it and he hears his bolter round sing as they slam into alien metal. He dive-rolls to the side, anticipating another particle beam. But no such shot comes. Instead, the light swells. Growing from a dot to a long, curved streak.

"Throne!" Gadriel hisses. Throwing his bolter into the holster on his thigh, he draws his power sword. Just in time to parry the crackling, green energy blade that comes careening towards his head. Both weapons spark and hiss when they make contact. Faster than a blinking eye, Gadriel surges forwards to slash at the arm holding the necron blade. But his opponent is quicker. Smoke swirling about them, they duck his attack before launching a kick at his knee. Pain spikes through Gadriel's leg and he feels his balance slip. It surprises him. There aren't many things that can kick out an armoured Astartes' knee.

A necron warrior, though, is definately one of them.

The energy blade comes for his head again. Gadriel throws his chin up to avoid it, but in the process looses what little balance he has left. He lands on his back hard, grunting as the last of the air in his lungs is forced out by the impact. In the same instant, his opponent is on top of him. Erupting from the smoke like a daemon from the Warp pinning him down by crouching on his breastplate.

Now close enough to see them through the smoke, Gadriel lays eyes on his attacker for the first time. What he sees, he can only describe as abominable. At first glance, they are human- female, from her shape and build- clad in tattered, studded leather characteristic of those from an Underhive. Her hair is a stunning shade of scarlet and she has it up in a pony tail so long it flows behind her like a cape of ribbons. But that is where all semblance of her humanity ends. Instead of a left arm, she has a robotic appendage, the clawed, green-veined forelimb of a necron warrior, with a green plasma blade bursting from its knuckles. The same is true of her right leg, the foot of which is pressed savagely into Gadriel's chest, strong enough to keep the Astartes pinned. A necron rifle- the source of the particle beams, surely- hangs from a strap looped across her back.

Hatred contorts Gadriel's face into a snarl. Abandoning his power sword he reaches for his bolter, which is still holstered to his thigh. Wrenching the weapon free, he throws it up just as the cyborg-abomination above him raises her energy blade. Her face, too, is twisted into a snarl.

Time suddenly slows. Gadriel's finger stops shy of the trigger.

Her face...

Hatred turns to confusion turn to shock. His thoughts are a racing, jumbled mess. His mouth opens without him realising and he hears his own voice. It speaks a name he hasn't heard in over fifty years.

"... Ellie?"

The cyborg freezes. The snarl on her lips dies.

"G- Gadriel?"

Both of Gadriel's hearts stop. His mind is simultaneously paralysed and raging like a warpstorm. His bolter falls from his hand, clattering off his breastplate to land beside him. Gadriel doesn't even notice.

"Sergeant!" a voice bellows over the vox.

Sparks suddenly burst from the woman's back. As quickly as it had vanished her snarl returns. Leaping off Gadriel, she whips around. Her energy blade retracts into her arm and she reaches for her cannon. Gadriel turns his head to see Titus charging for them with his bolter raised.

The woman hesitates. Glances at Gadriel. Behind his visor, Gadriel meets her gaze. His eyes become wide and watery.

It can't be.

More of Titus' rounds slam into her, this time pinging off her necronian arm. She staggers backward, dropping her gauss cannon so it's swinging limp against her hip. Another moment of hesitation. Gadriel opens his mouth to call her name again. But before the word can leave his lips, she's moving again. Turning her back and vanishing into the smoke screen. When it finally fades, there is no sign of her. Not even a drop of blood.

Gadriel swallow thickly. A lump has formed in his throat, large enough to make it difficult for him to breathe.

"Brother!" Titus clasps his arm, hauling Gadriel up into a sitting position. "Are you alright? Are you wounded?"

Gadriel says nothing. He doesn't remember how to speak. Nor can he even see his brother kneeling beside him. The only thing his mind can see is her. The day her father died. The day on the rooftop. The night they had spent together in her bed.

"Promise me you'll come back."

"I promise."

"I love you."

"I-"

"Brother?" The concern in Titus' voice is palpable now. "Gadriel. Can you hear me?"

Gadriel finally looks at the lieutenant. He nods, but still refuses to speak. He doesn't trust himself to. He's afraid that if he did, he might start to weep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That's it! I hope you liked it! The first part of any story is always kinda slow, since you gotta set everything up, but I tried my best to keep things moving fast-like.

Part 2 will be up in a few days probably. Hopefully I'll see you all then :)

Update: pssst, you can read part 2 here!

Thank you again for reading xoxoxoxo

Tag list: @yurihasurunbara @beckyninja @nereidof40k @hatsubara-8chan @moodymisty @solspina @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @wolf-feathers12 @egrets-not-regrets

[fafodill]

I have theories that Dumbledore turned a blind eye to the bullying of the Marauders in order to recruit them into the Order of the Phoenix. Snape is from Slytherin and I'm sure the Marauders complained to Dumbledore that Snape was involved in the dark arts, and this reminded him of Tom.

Dumbledore has this strange habit of encountering troubled kids and not being interested in them to the point where it just feels to me like he's actually just running away from them because it reminds him of Gellert (not that Gellert was troubled per say but he was hungry for power and an extremely talented wizard). This and maybe a big pinch of irresponsibility because Dumbledore is paternalist but would make a really shit dad imo.

This being said I don't think he turned a blind eye to the bullying in order to recruit them? I just think he's an enabler when it comes to his lion cubs and he's prejudiced against Slytherin (and also if in the 70s violence was so normalized in school, maybe it was even worse when he was younger?) and he loves the chaos and drama. His sense of justice has been distorted by what happened in his youth with Ariana and Grindelwald so in a twisted way, maybe he thought this could 'sort Severus out'?

I dunno, the Prank incident should have been punished for sure, but he found a way to silence Severus and just let the Maraudeurs roam free and unscathed from it. It's completely absurd! It makes no sense!

He could have punished the Maraudeurs and still recruited them later. The fact that he did nothing shows more, imo, that he genuinely didn't think this was a big deal. Boys will be boys and all that shit.

[phoenixblaze1412]

Ermmmmm ya fav bow anon here askin again BUT since i knoww you like reca so much how about like a cute reca fic with both reca and the reader being enemies to lovers type stuff ( > 3<)

— 🎀

It's not just me who likes reca<3 but here is your requestt

You had never hated anyone as much as you hated Mr. Reca.

The self-proclaimed “genius” director had a knack for pushing every button you had—smug, infuriating, and utterly relentless in his teasing. Ever since you’d been assigned to assist with his latest film project, he had made it his mission to remind you who was in charge.

“Ah, my favorite assistant,” Reca drawled as you walked onto the set, carrying a stack of freshly printed scripts. “How wonderful of you to finally grace us with your presence. Tell me, did the cosmos delay your journey, or were you just.. lost in thought again?”

You scowled, setting the scripts down with more force than necessary. “Not everyone has the luxury of lounging in a chair barking orders all day, Reca.”

“Lounging?” He feigned shock, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “Darling, this is art. Every decision I make is a stroke of brilliance. You, on the other hand, are merely holding the brush.”

You wanted to scream. Instead, you forced a smile. “Well, your ‘brilliance’ might want to check page five. There’s a typo.”

That wiped the smirk off his face, if only for a second.

----------

It wasn’t just his words, it was the way he said them, the way his gaze lingered on you like he knew exactly how to get under your skin. He’d call you by nicknames, like “Assistant director” or “Grammar monster” always with a teasing lilt in his voice.

But what really got to you was that beneath all the teasing, Reca was undeniably talented. The way he directed scenes, coaxed performances from actors, and crafted narratives, it was mesmerizing. Not that you’d ever admit that to him.

“Watching me again?” he teased one day, catching you observing him as he directed a particularly complex scene. “Careful, or I might think you’re impressed.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back. “I was just wondering how someone so insufferable can make something halfway decent.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “You’re lucky I like your sass.”

----------

The shift came during an impromptu night shoot. The crew was tired, tempers were frayed, and you were on the verge of snapping when Reca surprised you.

“Hey,” he said quietly, handing you a thermos of hot tea. “You’re doing great.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What’s this? Genuine kindness from Mr. Reca?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said with a grin but his tone lacked its usual tease.

From then on, the teasing softened. It was still there but there was a warmth to it now, a playfulness that made your heart race instead of your blood boil.

----------

One evening as you were reviewing footage together, he leaned closer than usual, his voice a low murmur.

“You know,” he said, “I only tease you because it’s fun watching you fight back. Most people just fold.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Take it however you want,” he replied, smirking.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the way your pulse quickened when his hand brushed yours.

----------

It happened during a quiet moment on set, the stars of the Xianzhou glowing faintly through the ship’s windows. You were alone, cleaning up after the crew had left for the night when Reca appeared.

“Still working, assistant director?” he said, his tone softer than usual.

“Someone has to,” you replied, not looking up.

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “You know, you make this whole thing worth it.”

You froze, turning to face him. “What?”

“All of it,” he continued, stepping closer until he was right in front of you. Leaning over to your height and giving you a smile. “The late nights, the chaos, the.. everything. You. You keep me on my toes.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you, soft and teasing, like everything else he did. But this time, it didn’t feel infuriating. It felt perfect.

When he pulled back, his smirk was back in place. “Well, what do you think? Worth the wait?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re so annoying..”

“And you love it,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.

This time, you didn’t argue.

[dippindaz]

aaa I really liked your AHS headcanons post, may I request HCs for Jimmy Darling with a partner who's really sweet but also knows how to throw hands when it comes to people making fun of him :D

Thank you!!! I love this idea and highkey, Jimmy is so underrated smh.

Jimmy Darling x Sweet-but-Scrappy Reader Headcanons

Warnings: Fights mentioned and hurt knuckles, bullying/insulting mentioned, very brief mention of Jimmy being turned on.

When Jimmy first meets you, he’s drawn in by your soft voice and gentle smile. You treat everyone with kindness, including the “freaks” the outside world ridicules. He thinks you’re too good for the grit of the carnival world—but oh, he has no idea.

You’ll absolutely throw hands when needed, but your usual approach is verbal judo. You’ve mastered the art of the cutting insult wrapped in honey. You’ll call someone a “tragic little thing with no home training” and still smile sweetly—and Jimmy has to bite his lip to stop from cracking up.

Jimmy’s used to defending people, especially his family at the freak show. So the first time someone runs their mouth about his hands and you square up before he even has a chance to react? Man’s jaw drops. He’s a little embarrassed, but secretly proud—and maybe a tiny bit turned on. Okay, actually a lotta bit.

The way you can go from baking pies and humming to absolutely laying someone out has Jimmy constantly flustered. He'll just be sitting there like, how did I land someone so sweet and so terrifying?

“You said WHAT about my man?!” energy. You may look soft, but the moment someone insults Jimmy within earshot, it’s on sight. You won’t start a fight, but you will finish one. Jimmy has to physically pull you back a few times—half laughing, half worried you’ll actually knock someone’s teeth out.

The “Don’t You Dare” look. Jimmy learns to recognize the look you give people when they even think about insulting him or the others. It’s subtle—just a slight narrowing of your eyes, a little tilt of your head—but he knows. And he loves it. It’s like you’re saying, “Try it. I dare you.”

He gets a little jealous sometimes. People notice you—how could they not? You’re warm and kind, the kind of person others gravitate toward. And when someone flirts a little too boldly, Jimmy gets that possessive look in his eye. But you always loop your arm through his and go, “Can’t blame them, baby. You do have excellent taste,” and he’s instantly smug again.

After a confrontation, even if you were the one throwing punches, you always check on him first. “Are you okay, baby boy?” you ask, cradling his face like he’s a precious object. He melts every single time.

You constantly remind him that his hands are beautiful, that he’s beautiful—and you mean it. Not just during tender moments, but casually too, like, “God, your hands look so good in the sunlight,” while you’re handing him coffee.

You help him see his worth. You’re not just there to protect him physically—you lift him emotionally. When Jimmy starts slipping into those dark thoughts, you pull him into your arms and say things like, “You’re not broken. You’re brave. And I love every part of you.” He’ll pretend he’s fine, but your words always stay with him.

You’re his anchor. When the chaos of the world or his own trauma gets too heavy, Jimmy leans into your calm. You’re his soft place to land—unless someone’s pushing him down. Then you’re the storm that sweeps in and clears the path.

Jimmy’s lowkey obsessed. He tells the others, “They’re sweet as sugar, but don’t let that fool you. They knocked out a guy in Gainesville for calling me a freak.” He beams with pride every time he tells the story.

You patch up his knuckles, he patches up yours. Jimmy might be the one in fights most of the time, but on the occasions you go in swinging? He’s right there after, gently wrapping your bruised hands and kissing your knuckles like they’re sacred. “You’re too good to be fightin’ for someone like me,” he mumbles. And you’re like, “Shut up. You’re everything.”

Post-fight with anyone, you and Jimmy have a ritual. Warm bath, soft blankets, maybe some whiskey if it’s been a rough day. He traces little circles on your back and says, “You didn’t have to do that,” and you just kiss his shoulder and say, “Yes I did.”

You and Jimmy stay up whispering about the future. Maybe you’ll have a little house far from the noise, maybe you’ll stay with the show forever. But it’s always “we,” never “me.” He never thought he’d have that.

Your sweetness inspires him. Jimmy's seen a lot of cruelty, but being with you softens him. Makes him believe in second chances. You never judge him for his past or his rage, you just hold his hand through it. It makes him try to be softer too. For you.

When things go down at the freak show, you’re right there beside Jimmy. You help patch people up, make sure everyone’s okay—but if someone threatens Jimmy or the others, your sweet tone drops into something cold and lethal.

Everyone at the show adores you both. You bring cookies and bandages and hugs, but you also don’t tolerate any disrespect toward anyone. You’ve got that “mom friend who will fight your ex” energy, and they all feel safer knowing you’re around.

[solitary-traveler]

A Wanderer's Prayer

It was like staring at a mirror and confronting a version of himself that he detested with every fiber of his being. In other words, he sees his past in you and wishes he could help.

Wanderer x Gn!Reader

Notes: Hiii, so this is inspired by a video I saw on tiktok by @dellabelle99. It had me sobbing for like 5 minutes. I swear I want to give him a hug so badly-

Art: @Coco_nikio (X)

Warning: Angst? (again yes), let's use all collectively give him a hug

Blue.

The sky was dark blue.

Settled on the ground, the tall patch of grass served as a mattress for the tired Wanderer. The days filled with deafening noises and taxing chores blur into a hazy memory, whisked away by the remaining orange glows of sunlight. He rests his eyes as the veil of silence nestles against him once more. Nightfall never failed to seclude him from everything inconvenient, in the best way possible. 

When he opened his eyes, the flickering gleam streamed onto his face, as a faint evocation pulsated through his thoughts. 

“The moon is beautiful isn't it?”

He recalled your words from a previous night, a night that continuously haunts him. The moon had cast a soft glimmer on your face, uplifting your features and framing that cheeky grin you have plastered on your annoying face. It was almost ridiculous how all he could do was stare and swallow the lump of words he’d been itching to say. In spite of the whirling chaos in his chest, he could only mutter a soft “I know”. 

“Just like you.”

He sighed, shaking his head. Nothing good comes out of reminiscing about that event. Just thinking about it made his cheeks flush. An utterly, absurd reaction. Maybe there’s a malfunction somewhere in his system?

A green pulse of light darted across his vision, eyes widening as his attention snapped to it. Much to his surprise, a dendro crystafly perched on his indigo hair. He raises a hand to wave it away, but your saccharine voice tugged on his wrists like a pair of handcuffs.

“I feel like my skin is on fire”

Wanderer paused. He caught a glimpse of the glowing rock above him for the second time, adorned by a tiny flitter of lights that washed the area with a green flicker, before a set of images burned across his mind. 

A crystafly had landed on you before too. The luster reflection of the moon strikes your face with such delicacy—the fluttering wings akin to a blooming flower tucked behind your ear—yet your features showed disagreement. The glint illuminated a new set of marks on your pale skin and the heavy bags under your pretty eyes. You looked pathetic.

“I wish I’d never been born at all”

He dislikes how his stomach lurched at your words. It was like staring at a mirror and confronting a version of himself that he detested with every fiber of his being. The tightness of his chest loitered, an impending reminder of the past etched in stone, unperturbed for all eternity.

He longed to smash that visage and pummel it until even ashes were forced out of existence. He wanted to break you, the shadow who’s lagging behind him and striding down his path. To impale every shred of innocence you have left back to your pounding heart.

But how could he offer you any assistance when he could not liberate his own from the repulsive tethers that bite onto his skin and refuse to let go?

A frustrated yelp escaped from his  throat. It was fucking annoying. The reality of his helplessness was slowly sinking in. Was that it? Was there nothing else he could do?

Drenched in desperation, Wanderer exhales to still till his raging thoughts. “To any god that can hear me,” he whispered, his gaze falling on the blatant light that blinked from the black canvas above. “Please offer them your protection.”

His eyes closed. What was he even doing? Praying to the gods as if they’ll fulfill such a foolish request?

“I can’t always spend every waking hour by their side. I can’t always save them if they need help” 

He saw himself dressed in a white kimono, running around the sandy beaches of Yashiori Island. He sees Niwa trailing behind him, out of breath as he catches up with the eccentric wanderer, holding a purple veil in hand. 

He was following him again.

“No matter what happens…”

“May they never lose,” his voice cracked. “May they never falter”

At that moment, his chest blazed with a crushing weight. Why did these words hurt so much?

“No matter how many times they cry.”

“You promised me we could be family!”

“No matter how many times they fall.”

“No! Anything but the gnosis!”

“May they have the strength to stand again.”

So that’s how it is. 

“May all the people he meets be kind and warm.”

“If all I wanted to do was use you, then I’d be no different from The Doctor.”

“I hear he has some pretty interesting ideas… Gotta have a chat with him sometime!” 

“Please protect them.”

He blinked. He gets it now. His prayer mirrored the words he’d been dying to hear. 

A prayer from one broken person to another.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

All Around The Stars Do Shine

Some Summoned!König and a good helping of fluff. Looks like being König's mate isn't such a bad thing after all!

Tws:  Fluff

Wordcount: 2K

Art from This Post

Rest of the Story Below the Cut

All Around The Stars Do Shine

Up above, a whirl of wild shifting constellations crossed the ceiling. You saw galaxies being born, suns snuffing out, world living and dying and being born all over again.

“It really puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?” König said as he lay on the floor beside you.

You nodded, watching a solar flare wipe out another solar system.

“It reminds me of how interconnected we all are,” he continued quietly, “how all our actions are interwoven together. See here, this galaxy,” he pointed to the right, “see how it shatters and the remaining matter scatters through the universe.” On que, the suns flared up and then, in an instant, it was gone. The planets were blasted into nothingness, scattering across the dark sky and hurtling into other solar systems. “See?” he laughed, “even in chaos there is order.”

“I thought you would’ve hated that,” you said.

“How come?”

“Well, aren’t you an avatar of chaos?” you pointed out, “you’re pretty much a god on this plane of existence.”

“I am merely an avatar,” König templed his talons together on his chest, “I am only a servitor of the greater forces at work. They operate far beyond me. Fate whispers into my ear, I only act upon their desires.”

“Do you actually know the future?” you asked.

“Do I know the future…” König mused, “from your perspective, maybe yes. From mine, I couldn’t be more at a loss. All I see is the potential outcomes, not what actually will be. I am also a follower of my aspect.”

“So then… Do you know what will happen to us?” you asked.

“To us?” he laughed, “no Summoner, I am not so sure what happens to us now. I am a forest in the trees, it seems. I can only see so far as you allow me to.”

A meteor shower crossed above you. Planets burst into nothingness and scattered into the void of space.

Without thinking, you reached out and took one of König’s talons in your hand. You could see him look down from your peripheral vision, then look back up. His eyes crinkled fondly.

“I want to think we make it,” you said softly.

“The fates indicate strange things,” König droned.

“What sort of things do they say?” you asked, “do they say good things?”

“Who’s to say what is good?” König chuffed, “I only see the lights and hear their voices. I can only just make out what they ask of me, and even then I am not fully sure. Maybe that is the nature of chaos. I follow orders I do not understand.”

“Did the fates tell you to spare me?” you rolled your head to look at him, “back when I first summoned you.”

“They made a case for you,” König said, “but that wasn’t what made me spare you. It was the look in your eyes that drew me in.”

You smiled, “That’s so sweet.”

“I saw sheer terror, and unending awe,” he continued, “I saw your heart beat in your chest as I looked into your mind. In there, I saw the first spark of curiosity.”

You paused.

“I admire you, Summoner, for your bravery in the face of certain despair,” he finished with.

“So you thought I was strong?”

“I thought you were the weakest Summoner I’d ever seen,” he replied.

You rolled your eyes and turned to look back up at the galaxies mixing together above. At least they were silent for you.

König glanced over at you.

“Summoner, you do not seriously believe I see you as less than me, do you?”

“Um, how can I not? You literally speak to me like I’m a bug or something,” you snorted, “it’s kinda hard to see myself as equal to you when you’re so… You’re so above me.”

“I resent the accusation,” he muttered.

“How else would you describe our relationship?” you drew your free hand over your chest, “think about it. You can make this out of thin air. You can do anything and I can do… I can’t do anything. I’m not even a good summoner. It’s weird. You call me Summoner and everything, but I can’t even do that right.”

“Have you not considered that you are the most successful summoner in your line?” König offered.

“My great great great whatever summoned a god,” you drawled, “I summoned you. Sorry, but an avatar isn’t an actual god.”

“He was eviscerated on the spot,” König pointed out, “you have successfully bonded to me. We have formed a partnership.”

“But I only have one summon. Most summoners have dozens by the time they’re my age,” you sighed.

You watched a dozen eclipses come and go in the blink of an eye.

“You do not need them though,” König said testily, “you only need for me. I am more than enough to fulfill all your needs.”

“You suck at bringing me snacks,” you snorted.

“Were your plane more easily traversable, it wouldn’t be an issue,” König sniffed.

“That’s literally out of my control.”

“So you say,” he rolled his eyes, “but one day this land will be yours. You are the herald, after all.”

You frowned. You pushed yourself to look down at your summon and said, “You keep saying that. I don’t know what that means.”

“There are many ways to interpret my words,” König stared ahead at the stars.

“Herald, König,” you said, “what does it mean to be ‘The Herald’?”

“It means that you will usher in a new age,” König said simply, “you are the turning point of your plane of existence’s future. Together, we find balance.”

“That literally means nothing to me.”

König sighed and rose up to look you in the eyes.

“Summoner,” he said gently, “the more I tell you the more fragile this future becomes. I simply cannot stress how delicate the fates are. To truly elaborate would be to put a golden age in jeopardy. I am being vague not simply for your sake, but for all those who live in this land.”

“Why do we change though?” you quizzed, “what happens to us?”

König closed his eyes and sighed.

“I simply cannot tell you,” he said flatly, “now look, if you really want to understand, then know this: You must learn to trust me to understand. One day, you will be on my level. You will understand as I do. Until then, I’m sorry that there is this disparity.”

You sighed.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be,” you slumped.

König shuffled to your side and wrapped a hand around your side, “Come now, Summoner. I assure you all will be revealed to you in time. You simply have to trust in the fates as I do.”

You leaned into his side, letting him wrap a layer of his robe around you and enveloped you in a comfortable warmth.

“I thought you were cold blooded,” you said as you snuggled in.

“My blood is…” König paused, “I actually don’t know how to describe it to you. Hot? Cold? Both? Both at once.”

“Is it like…” you hummed, “you know how if you take your helmet off in space you freeze to death and your blood boils?” 

“I suppose it is similar in concept,” said König.

You wrapped the length of his robe around you like a warm blanket and sighed, finally resting into his arms.

“I still want to know.”

“I know,” König patted your head, “but I can’t tell you.”

You closed your eyes and let the warmth encompass you. It felt like waking up on a warm summer day, basked in light and glowing with radiance. Up above, the stars twinkled as they span in concentric circles.

“It’s nice having you here,” you said quietly.

“You seem to like these sorts of things,” König looked down at you strangely, “it’s almost as though you like touching me.”

“That’s because I do like it,” you laughed and kissed his masked chin, “you’re comfy.”

“Am I now,” he said quietly, “that is… Nice. I’m happy to hear that.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled him down to kiss his lips through his shroud. When you pulled back, you saw his pupils blown wide.

“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you,” you whispered.

“Is this…” König narrowed his eyes, “is this human flirting?”

“It’s a bit more than that,” you grinned brightly.

“When humans are close like this,” König gestured at your state, “what does it mean?”

“Well, it means a lot of things,” you giggled, then added, “but with us? It means I like you.”

“You like me?” König’s eyes widened, “as in, the way I love you?”

You coughed, “Not that much, but yeah. Something like that.”

König hummed and looked back up at the stars above. With a wave of his hand, the image vanished and all the light vanished. Moonlight flowed in behind, giving König a glowing silhouette.

“You’re incredible,” you whispered.

König glanced down at you, then leaned down and kissed you softly. When he pulled back, you could hear him breathing deeply.

“Are you alright?” you asked.

“I am,” he panted, “I am more than fine Summoner.”

You let your hands fold over your chest and closed your eyes.

“Good.”

König gently ran his claws across your cheek as he gazed down. A low, throaty sound rumbled from deep inside him.

“Are you… Are you purring?”

“I may be,” König admitted.

“I like it,” you sighed and settled into König’s lap, “you should do it more often.”

“If you should like it Summoner, then I shall,” König rumbled.

You gently patted König’s thigh and sighed.

“Is all well?”

“It’s perfect,” you murmured, “it’s nice to spend time with you like this. It helps everything… It makes things okay.”

“Are things not well with you, Summoner?” König tilted his head slightly.

“I mean, I’m not exactly doing great,” you admitted, “I’ve been in this cabin for a few days, but I have no idea what’s happening outside. I don’t even know what time period I’m in honestly. I just know that I can’t go back home.”

“Is this not an acceptable home?” König asked, “I can change it for you. Would you prefer something more bohemian? Maybe more modern?”

“No, no it’s not that,” you waved him off, “it’s about my friends. My family. What’s happening to them? Are they okay?”

“From what I understand they are,” König told you.

“But I’m not sure,” you frowned, “I can’t just pretend everything is fine. Fuck, I don’t even know if I can go home at all. What if the military came after me?”

“They do not control all corners of the earth,” König reminded you.

“But they control my friends and family,” you said, “and maybe they’re fine for now, but what about tomorrow? The day after? I don’t want all this to hurt anyone else. I don’t want to choose between the people I love.”

“You won’t have to do that,” König assured you, “I will make things right for you.”

“My friends in the military are still there. What’s going to happen to them?”

König shrugged, “Nothing really. They weren’t the ones your superiors were interested in. When you left, they tried to ask them where you went, but what could they say? They didn’t know where you’d gone.”

“And my parents?” you pressed.

“Again, they knew nothing of where you’d gone. All your superiors know is that you’re with me, and they couldn’t find me if they tried,” König shrugged, “if anything, I imagine they’re terrified of what will happen to them.”

“Are you going to do anything?”

“If you ask, I’d be delighted to demonstrate what I can do,” König offered cheerfully.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” you closed your eyes and relaxed into his lap.

“Are you certain?” he asked, “wouldn’t you like to show them what it was like to grovel at their feet? You could make them pay for all they’ve done. You could change the world.”

“I don’t want to do that though. I just want to…” you frowned, “I don’t know. I just don’t want to deal with any of it right now.”

“Then we won’t.”

“Thanks.”

“However, I do have some creative ideas I’d like to explore. Are you sure you’re not interested?”

“Later,” you groaned, “just let me enjoy the moment.”

König sighed, but he petted your hair and looked up at where the galaxies once swirled above. If nothing else, this was nice.

Konig Dump

Konig Alternate Universes

Summoned!Konig

[seunmong-in]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔪 𝔅𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔘𝔰 • 𝔅𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔵 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 2

<Previous•Next>

*I always thought I pushed you away to protect myself, but that’s not entirely true. I pushed you away because every time I began to feel safe, their voices reminded me I didn't deserve it.*

TW: childhood trauma is mentioned briefly but not fully. If you feel uncomfortable with that, please don't read!!

Chan's POV

I shouldn’t have walked away.

The rain was relentless, icy droplets slicing into my skin, soaking me to the bone, but I couldn't have cared less.

“That’s it? You’re just going to walk away again?”

Damn it…

Her words hit like stones thrown with precision—each one sinking deep, finding the soft, unguarded places I tried so hard to keep buried. And God, I wanted to turn around. To face her. To say something—anything.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because if I did, she’d see it all—the weight I carried, the cracks in the mask, the pieces barely holding together. And I wasn’t sure I could survive being seen like that.

I’ve spent my whole life mastering the art of concealment; burying the darker parts of me so deep, even I started to forget they were there. I learned how to cage the chaos, lock it tight behind steady eyes and a quiet smile, because the moment someone sees it… it will always get shut down. I learned that lesson early... too early. And I'll never forget it.

The first time I truly cried, I was nine. This wasn’t the childish tears you fake to escape trouble, but the gut-wrenching kind that tears through your chest like shards of glass. The kind that leaves you gasping for air and your body desperately folding into itself just to endure. I don’t even remember what set it off. Maybe it wasn't just one thing. Maybe it was everything.. Being a kid in a house where silence was louder than shouting, love and approval felt like a prize I could never win.

I still remember my father standing by the doorway, arms folded tight, face carved from stone. He didn’t move. There was no signs of sympathy. He just stood there, eyes cold and unmoving, looking down at me like I was something rotten stuck to the sole of his shoe.

“Be a man,” he muttered, slamming my room door shut.

That was it. His idea of comfort. Of parenting. Of love.

That night taught me everything I needed to know. Vulnerability? Love? They're just illusions. Pretty concepts people use to cover the cracks before they walk away. All it ever does is expose your soft spots, give people a map to the parts of you they can break. Show weakness, and it’s only a matter of time before someone uses it as their excuse to leave.

But Y/N…

She was always this strange, beautiful contradiction. Bright enough to light up a room, but soft enough not to blind anyone in it. She never needed the attention, never asked for anything loud or grand. I found myself falling for her in the quiet moments—the way her laugh could cut through the worst parts of my day like it belonged there, like it had always been there. The way she'd sit beside me without pressing for details, somehow knowing I needed her presence more than her questions. She had this way of making silence feel safe.

She didn’t know about me—never knew how much of the darkness I kept buried, how many nights I’d spent lying awake haunted by everything. I vowed to myself to never let her see those parts. However, even without knowing, she gave me things I didn’t think I deserved—patience, peace, a kind of tenderness that made me feel like I was more than just what I’d survived. She gave and gave, without ever making it feel like a sacrifice. Like it was just in her nature to pour warmth into people and not keep any for herself. And somewhere between the quiet glances, the late-night conversations, the soft laughter shared over nothing—I fell for her. Fully. Quietly. Irrevocably.

That terrified the fuck out of me more than anything ever had.

Because loving her meant lowering my guard, letting her see past the mask, risking the very parts of myself I’d spent years trying to bury.

And if she saw them really saw them what if she didn’t stay?

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“Say something!” she shouted behind me, her voice cracking.

God, Y/N... if only you knew how badly I want to. But wanting and being able to are worlds apart, and right now, I’m trapped between them.

I don’t know how to be loved without bracing for it to be torn away. I don’t know how to let go and be vulnerable without expecting to be met with ridicule. Every time she touched me—every gentle embrace, every whispered reassurance—I silently begged the universe: "please, don’t let her pull away."

It’s twisted, how I’d rather tear something beautiful apart with my own hands than watch helplessly as it falls apart without me. Destruction felt safer—at least then, I knew exactly when and how it would end.

My jaw clenched so tightly I could feel a sharp ache throbbing through my temples, teeth grinding together like a barricade holding back every truth I'd never dared to voice. The scream inside tore at my chest, fierce and desperate, demanding to be set free—but still, I didn't say a word. I couldn’t. Giving in to vulnerability and emotion was not in my nature.

“Just stop pretending none of this meant anything!” she yelled. “That I didn’t mean anything!”

Suddenly, everything stopped. The world paused mid-spin, caught on the sharp edges of her words. They slammed into me, hard enough to shatter bone, ripping the air from my lungs like I'd been struck.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails pressing into my palms until the pain almost matched the storm inside me. Rain poured down my face, blurring the raw ache etched into my features, hiding tears I refused to acknowledge.

In that splintered silence, I sensed her breaking too, unraveling silently as she sank into the depths of the storm that was already drowning me.

“You don’t get to do this,” she said, softer now. Closer. “You don’t get to l-love me like I was your world then vanish like it meant nothing…”

Her voice broke, and so did something in me.

Because I did love her like that. Fiercely. Desperately.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I managed, barely above a whisper. It was a weak defense. A hollow wall built to keep her from seeing how close I was to crumbling.

“No, you don’t understand,” she snapped, and for a moment I hated how strong she sounded when I felt so fucking weak. “You don’t get to make a home in my heart and fill my mind with a delusion of what could be just so you can leave and disappear when it gets hard.”

She was right. Every word of it. And I still didn’t know how to stay. I turned around slowly, finally letting myself look at her.

“I never wanted this,” I finally let out. The words came out flat, cold. Wrong.

I meant to say: I never wanted to become the reason your voice breaks, the reason you question your worth. Hurting you was never supposed to be part of this.

But all I could say was that.

“Bullshit,” she spat, stepping closer, her voice shaking with equal parts hurt and anger. “You chose me. You needed me. And I stayed even when it started hurting.”

The rain ran down her face, but it couldn’t wash away the rage, the tears and heartbreak burning in her stare. “And now you want to pretend I was just something you can dispose of at your beck and call?”

“Chan… I love you.”

My eyes closed.

Please stop, I thought. Please don’t love me. Please don’t say that if I can’t give you what you need.

“But do you even love me?”

And without a single word, I turned around again. Each step pulling me farther from the only person I ever truly loved.

But just as I disappeared into the dark, I heard her voice, broken and now softer than ever.

“Chan, please don’t go…”

And I froze.

[definitely-not-a-slug]

I don’t know if there’s anyone else out there who’s a fan of both TMA and Starkid’s Hatchetfield series, but if there is, have you ever thought about the similarities between The Lords in Black and the fears?

Now, obviously both TMA and Hatchetfield deal with a group of eldritch horrors beyond time that seep into our world and cause chaos, madness, and apocalypse, with each power having a different theme/vibe. However, what’s even more interesting is that almost every LIB matches up oddly well with a different fear.

The first one I noticed was Tinky and The Spiral, initially because of the art on the Spiral tarot card.

Something about the winding, geometric stairs and the hands combined with orange yellow color palette immediately reminded me of my favorite goat boy, and the similarities aren’t just surface level.

Both Tinky and The Spiral tend to distort and warp reality, they both have imagery involving endless labyrinths, they both tend to either leave their victims trapped in a winding hellscape detached from reality, or drive them completely insane and mess with their minds. Also both happen to be my respective favorites in both fandoms but that’s neither here nor there.

Then there’s Nibbly and The Flesh. Nibbly is a being who likes to devour, an ever consuming maw that feasts upon his victims fear. This lines up with how The Flesh represents the fear of being prey, being nothing more than meat on a plate. Additionally, The Flesh often involves animal themes and imagery, and Nibbly is heavily associated with animals as well, specifically pigs (also relevant because pigs are both livestock, and an animal that is commonly considered to be gluttonous and eat anything)

Blinky is, predictably, The Eye. They both use the imagery of well, eyes, and are beings that constantly watch you, and can see everything. What’s coolest to me about this is that The Eye is often called “the ceaseless watcher”, and Blinky’s alias is “The watcher with a thousand eyes”. insane fucking coincidence.

Pokey is, a little more loosely, similar to The Lonely. Pokey is called “the singular voice”, and wants to be the only being in the universe. He “despises any voice that isn’t his”. The Lonely revolves around isolation, its avatar Peter Lukas reveres isolation and dislikes the company of other people. There’s a common idea of wanting to be “the only one”, but the ways this idea is used with Pokey and The Lonely are pretty much opposites. The Lonely tends to isolate people, physically or emotionally separating them from others, whereas Pokey is more about assimilation, turning everyone into a hive mind he controls. Still, the motivations are similar enough that I think there’s a connection.

Wiggly is one that I struggled a bit more with. We mostly see him manifest through the use of human greed, particularly capitalism and consumerism. There’s not a fear that lines up with this aspect of him, but if you dig a little deeper into Wiggly as a character, I think the best match would be The Desolation. Now, Wiggly doesn’t have any fire imagery that I remember, but the connection between these two is more about a central theme, kind of like Pokey and The Lonely. The Desolation is at its core a being of meaningless violence and destruction, it’s sadistic and cruel. This is all also true for Wiggly. In NPMD, we get the line “Wiggly wants his wrath”. Wrath, specifically the wrath he can bring out of humans and manipulate to turn them against each other. He drives the shoppers and government in Black Friday to attack and sometimes kill each other over something as trivial as a doll. His influence causes senseless violence to spread nationwide. He diverts a nuke through a portal, causing the entire population of Moscow to be wiped out, and leading to WWIII. Many of the other LIB have a concrete motivation, or a specific person they like to torment, but Wiggly just seems to want to cause as much death and destruction as possible. In that way, he is extremely similar to The Desolation.

For a bonus, Webby could correlate to The Web, because spider. I could probably make a better argument about that, but I think this is already the longest post I’ve ever made.

[ivycblvd]

The sketch that remembered me back

(and how i realized i am still there)

Today, I picked up a pencil. After almost a year, my pencil touched the paper again; and for a moment, i felt like the sketch missed me too. at first, i thought i might have actually lost the ability to create- but it’s all intact. my hand still knew what lines to follow. my fingers still curled instinctively around the pencil like it was muscle memory and dragged my strokes into curvatures only my hands could trace without looking, like it was destined to come out as a stroke strong enough to have a personality.

kuch toh log kahenge, logon ka kaam hai kehena chhodon bekaar ki baaton me koi, beet na jaaye rehna.

But there’s this weird, unshaken feeling inside of me, like the leftover echo of something that left too quietly- almost invisible. then it came, that ghost of a thought that keeps chanting: “your passion died” maybe i did. maybe it drowned quietly and completely in a corner of my room where sunlight doesn’t reach. (and i almost believed it. almost.) because the truth is, these days, i am afraid of blank pages. my mind is blanker than that. i avoid mirrors, and silence and people who remind me of the version of myself that once dreamed loudly and without apology. when i was younger, i didn’t wait for a muse. i was the muse. i didn’t seek validation- i barely understood the concept. i created because it was inevitable. but now, it feels like every stroke, every word, every decision i make comes with the question: “will this make me enough in someone else’s eyes? will this be enough? will you be enough?” it’s exhausting- the constant performing. this exhausting theatre of being liked.

Adulthood feels like paying rent for existing. i used to be mindlessly, beautifully, naively myself; before i knew how adulthood claws its way into your chest without a warning and makes everything feel like a transaction. a job. a role. a responsibility.

tu abse pehle, sitaaron me rahi thi kahin, tujhe zameen pe, bulaya gaya hai mere liye.

sometimes, i wonder if i even belong here because today, all i feel is no sense of belonging. not to my art. not to my thoughts. not to this moment. not just here, but anywhere.

i have forever been longing for a home- not made of bricks, but of belonging. and maybe this city isn’t always soft, but it’s all i can call home. not because it embraces me, but because it knows how to let go- quietly. like a lover who memorized your name but never dared to say it out loud.

there’s something about the sunsets here; especially the ones that spill orange and pink across the sky right before the monsoon creeps in like an old song you thought you forgot. how the light reflects off the edge of the sea like it knows your name. like it’s seen your worst and stayed anyway.

rimjhim gire saawan, sulag sulag jaaye mann, bheege aaj iss mausam, lagi kesi yeh agan.

and the ocean- it never fails to arrive. like clockwork. like comfort. like a friend who doesn’t ask questions, only listens.

“samandar humesha special raha haina Bombay ke liye?”

maybe that’s why i never leave. not for the people, not for the traffic, not for the rent that swallows up your peace- but for the sea that never asks you why you returned; because even if nothing else stays, the waves always do. and for now, that’s close enough to home.

the city keeps building too. everyday a new layer, a new promise. the city that’s made up of all sleek curves and borrowed land- feels like the city trying to rewrite itself. stretching its limbs between chaos and calm, skimming so close to the sea it almost feels like it’s in conversation with the waves. like it’s saying. “look, i’m still becoming.” and maybe so am i. it reminds me of a version of myself that tried to rebuild from rubble.

but some part of me aches watching the shoreline change. one that’s built on forgetting; one that held fishermen’s children and salt-breeze lullabies. and in that transformation, i see a reflection of myself- constantly repaving, constantly adapting- becoming something i didn’t ask for still unsure if this is the version that finally gets to stay.

These days, i wait longer before calling someone home. i’ve been evicted too many times. but after i do, i find out i was just renting the place- unknowingly- and i have to take off again, along with all my belongings. if my belongings don’t have a place, then i can’t even complain of not belonging anywhere. people come and go like seasons- sometimes sweet like mangoes in May, sometimes abrupt like the first June thunder.

aanewala pal, jaanewala hai, ho sake toh isme zindagi bita do, pal jo ye jaanewala hai.

“you have a promising future” do i though? do i ever let go of this yearning and sit in silence without spiralling over my thoughts? do i ever let go of the fact that sometimes the love you need is right there in front of you you- you just need to be chosen. some days, i wonder: will i ever be chosen- not as an option, but as an answer?

i feel like an artefact in a museum at an auction- rare, misunderstood, and always one bid away from being adored. but what if i’m too priceless to be purchased? what if love can’t afford me? regardless, i want to be chosen. not like a trend. not like a seasonal fragrance. but like old song lyrics that you never forget even if you haven’t heard them in years.

ajeeb dastan hai yeh, kahan shuru kahan khatam, yeh manzilein hain konse, na voh samjh sake na hum.

you think love is in the little things- but how little are those things until they turn into a bare minimum? how little is that bare minimum until it turns into basic human decency? how little?

it’s the littlest of things that anchor me back- a pencil. the smell of rain hitting concrete. catching myself humming songs i grew up overhearing- songs that smell like my nani’s house, like lifebuoy soap, like agarbattis before school. i used to make art because it poured out of me. now i hesitate even with a sketch pen in hand. my art supplies are enough to open a stationery shop. yet all that comes to my hands stops right before i ever try to create with them. sometimes the rawest form of art feels uglier to me than the acne on my face. (i think i’m uglier than my insecurities.) sometimes i think they’re the only parts of me that stay. humans don’t stick around like pimples or dark spots. you wish they would. but they always leave- so now i leave first to protect myself from the hurt but it’s still inevitable. i’m a museum of all the things, people, and places i’ve ever loved. i’ve spent my whole life running from abandonment. but somehow, it’s abandonment that always finds me.

lag jaa gale ke fir ye haseen raat ho naa ho, shayad fir iss janam me, mulakaat ho naa ho.

i keep loving in ways that leave bruises. i keep caring like it’s a language only i remember. is caring a curse or devotion? i don’t know anymore. i don’t want to know anymore. it’s enough to make me miserably melancholic about everything. i romanticize everything now- the sorrow in joy, the ache in sweetness. like my brain can’t feel peace without chaos overshadowing it. it’s messed up like that. maybe that’s what it means to survive here. to grow roots in a city that never promises to remember your name. to find meaning in a line from a song, a chipped kulhad, a stranger’s laugh.

to realize that even the city forgets you, and maybe that’s what caring does- it ruins you gently. but still, i care. still, i sketch. still, i stay. maybe that’s enough. maybe you are.

– 𝒗𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒔𝒉𝒂 (like the sunset. like the sea.) 0054 // 300525