#chapter: masks

[neostellarjpg]

i like ralsei hes so regular and nothings going on with him

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i am so sure someone's already done these before. Self-indulgent ship art is only going on this site sorry twitter

[stareiiez]

Fully masked Invincible is the sweetest variant you've met. Sure, he's killed people, but everyone makes mistakes, and the way he says, ' I'm sorry for every little thing,' is a lot cuter in your books. A true textbook bottom cutie, but he argues he can top for real if given a chance.

he saves you from the civilian casualties that one of the other variants created. he bridal style carries you through the clouds and profusely apologizes when you're shaking in his arms from being too cold and being held so tight in his arms. he even apologizes for not even being your mark grayson, you're not his but he can't help but touch you like you really are his.

when the two of you are settled on the city's outskirts, and safe from the death and screams. he cups your face in his gloved hands, staring at you from his goggles. he's missed you. he's missed the two most important women in his life. he just needs to get his mom now and take all three of you home. his body is ragged and high-strung under the pads of your fingers, and he halfway chokes on a sob when you don't hold any malice in your pretty gaze when you look at him.

he's always been such a tender lover, sweet on the lips and heavenly in the bedroom; a true fallen angel that never chose a side on the day of reckoning in heaven.

the third time he apologizes is for the way he kisses you when he tugs the mask halfway over his nose and smashes your mouths together just because he can't stand the silence between you two. he tastes like desperation and yearning. Perhaps the tiniest bit of sin when his teeth latch on your bottom lip and suck it into his mouth so he can hear you sigh openly.

However, you don't mind. his sorries escalate from his half-chubbed boner rubbing against your hip to saying sorry for how you writhe and tense on soft patchy grass when his thick dick stretches you out in ways that feel like you're being torn in two. He isn't sorry for cumming too quickly, because he makes up for it in his pussy eating skills later on.

[bonsubear]

You're Dead Everywhere But Here │ Invincible Variants x Female! Reader x Mainstream Invincible │#4

#1, #2, #3, #4, #?

CW: ooc, violence, mild gore

WC: 8k

You tried to use the Invincible variant that was holding you as a stepping stool to give you a jumping leap, but he quickly acted as he grabbed a hold of the heel of your foot.

You yelped in surprise, not expecting a quick reaction as you slipped and fell downwards. Not wanting you to fall, he used his free arm to wrap around your leg to catch you.

You were now dangled upside down in the air, pressed against the variant's muscular body.

You grunted, straining your neck to lift your head away from Mask’s legs so you wouldn't be smothered against them. You pressed against his knees using your hands to create more distance from the lower part of his body, extremely displeased at this bad positioning.

"Wait, wait a minute!" He stumbled; his voice was close to a begging tone as he had a firm but soft grip on you. It was evident that Mask didn't want to hurt you, though you didn't care as you thrashed wildly against his hold, wanting nothing more than to get away from the man.

Trying to loosen the grip he had was strenuous with how this positioning actively worked against you, making it hard to get out of.

It felt like you were a fish caught by a hook—no matter how much you struggled his grip didn’t let up. Hell, it felt like the more you did the more he made sure to hold you even tighter.

"Fucking shit! —Let go of me!" You yelled through gritted teeth as you tried to look up as you kicked your legs wildly, though it was difficult to do so with how close your two bodies were.

"Just listen to me, I won't hurt you—I want to help you!"

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. "I am not finding out what your sick definition of help is!" You retorted, refusing to even play with the idea of hearing what this blue and black variant had to say.

It would be a very stupid and bad decision to spend one more second with this Invincible variant, especially with how "great" the previous interactions with the others were.

It was really absurd, incredibly ridiculous, and absolutely infuriated you to your core. Being caught off guard and captured, then thrown into a dingy prison basement, and then to top it all off being used as an asset against your will was already upsetting.

But it didn't just stop there—your supposed opponents that the G.D.A told you to fight were some deranged, mentally ill freaks that wanted nothing more to push their delusions onto you because they apparently had a relationship with—well, you?

When you went searching for Invincibles to kill and find the perfect murder method for your own Invincible, you were expecting a fight. A brutal, disastrous fight where you were crowned victorious in the end.

That’s how all fights go—how all fights should go. It was the basic formula known to man.

Instead, it was some big reunion where they all drooled over you like a bunch of slobbery dogs looking at their long-lost favorite toy.

You would’ve rather been beaten to death then ever go through that again!  

Each fiber of your being wanted to run away and come back with a flame thrower to kill each single one of them, exterminating their annoying asses to guarantee you’ll never see them again.

Especially that black and yellow degenerate.

"Okay, okay!" He panicked, "I can see how this looks but you have to trust me!" Mask desperately pleaded, a whine scratching at the back of his throat as you continued to fight against him. "I got you away from the others, they're way worse—"

"Oh!" You rolled your eyes, a scoff quick to escape your throat. "My hero, my hero! Thank you so much for rescuing me!"

You clasped your hands together, each word dripping in sarcasm. "Say, what do you want as your reward? Money?" You asked before pausing for dramatic effect. You let out a wild fake gasp. "Oh, of course not! Me, right?"

Mask was taken aback with that witty response, defensive words choking in his throat as his cheeks heated up underneath his black mask. "No! (Y/N)—No, I—that's not what's happening!"

You furrowed your brows, digging your fingernails in his knees. "Either way, I don't want to fucking know what is happening!" You replied, spitting out the curse word with venom.

You brought your head close to his leg, opening your jaw wide. You clamped your teeth down hard, making sure to make it hurt as much as it can. Your teeth sunk into his skin through the thin layer of spandex, the soft sensation yet sturdy muscle meeting your mouth.

The Invincible variant gasped in shock, not expecting the sharp sensation of your teeth to dig inside his leg. His grip loosened, allowing you to finally wiggle out of his grasp.

Even though his mind didn't know how to react to this, his body certainly did. His foot jerked to your face, and before you could raise your hand to block it his foot already contacted the top of your forehead.

It was immediate, and your head swung backwards from the kick.

It didn't take you long for you to hit the ground, the road splitting in half as you were smacked to the ground—rolling like an unstoppable boulder.

You crashed into a fire hydrant that stopped your momentum, but at a consequence of it busting open and water gushing out everywhere. The water sprayed on the ruined road, the cracked sidewalk, and onto you.

Your prison jumpsuit quickly became soaked with water from the broken fire hydrant, the loose fabric sticking to your skin making it hug your silhouette.

At first, Mask didn't realize what he had done—watching you crash into the fire hydrant not registering that he had been the one to be the cause. When he finally realized, he was fast to descend down.

"I'm, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to kick you like that, I don't even know why I—are you okay?!" He hurriedly rushed to your side, crouching as his eyes looked at your forehead that was forming a noticeable bump.

Water still escaped from the fire hydrant, but it turned into a light lawn spray as he looked at you.

Your eyes hazily opened, pushing yourself up using your elbows. You slapped a hand on your forehead, your brain feeling like it shifted with how hard the kick was. You winced, jumping at how there was already a bump forming.

The variant next to you was repeating apologies, reciting them like scriptures. You couldn't really pay attention, your blurry vision taking their time to adjust as your hearing made everything around you, particularly Mask's voice, sound like white noise.

"—let's get you somewhere safe," Mask hurriedly looked around before landing his eyes on you again, "someone might've heard that. We have to go." He spoke with urgency, placing a careful hand behind your back.

Your blurry vision quickly became clear, and hearing returned to your ears, your healing properties finally kicking in and fixing the damage that had been done to you. The bump that was rapidly swelling on your forehead also died down, returning to the same level as the rest of your skin.

You blinked, your eyes finally trailing to the Invincible variant.

He was too close for comfort, and you tensed as you felt the hand that was cupped on your back. Your gaze moved to his face, and his goggles were completely void of glass besides the small remnants that edged the outline.

His brown eyes were on full display, and they looked deeply into yours as if they were the only thing worth peering into. It was clear as day how much blind affection, softness, and worry filled those eyes.

It made your skin crawl to be viewed with so much tender emotions for so many reasons, one of them being that you knew it wasn't directed towards you. It was someone else who was a different version of you that got to experience another life than the one you have currently.

You felt like a second rate to some weaker version of you that died. A version of you that didn't even have powers.

Though you guess if you had to admit you were a speck jealous. Those versions of you probably had normal lives, normal hobbies, normal jobs—normal everything. Even if their life wasn’t that pretty, it probably was better than what your life was right now.

Although that small trace of jealousy disappeared as soon as you remembered they had the misfortune of dating Invincible. The Invincible variants were whack, crazy, and probably made their lives a living hell.

You grimaced and shrunk away as he reached a hand out to you, aiming to caress your forehead with his blue gloves. Your face contorted into a glare, your hand flying to secure his wrist and fling him behind you like he weighed nothing but a grain of salt.

Mask was flung inside an empty cafe, breaking through the brick wall and through the marble counter. A pot of cold coffee that was abandoned at the workstation during evacuation fell on his shoulder, pouring out and staining the side of his suit.

You pulled yourself up, the soaked clothing making you shiver uncomfortably. I need to change out of this.

You looked around to see where you were. Even though the surrounding buildings and structures were decimated and resembled more of an apocalypse than a functioning city—you thankfully were able to recognize what part of Chicago you were in.

You squinted, trying to jog your memory. You had made secret deserted spaces that people and the city itself forgot existed as hide outs, places for you to retreat and hide from whenever you were finished doing your routine destruction and "rough housing" with civilians.

That's how you were able to run and disappear so fast whenever superheroes tried to capture you during your "hobby". It was funny hearing them frustrated and angry when you slipped away, their muffled voices coming behind the entrance of one of your many hideouts whenever they walked past one.

At least, that's how it used to be. Other superheroes seemed to have moved on from you, the only super showing up to stop your reenactment of Godzilla movies on the city before being locked up behind bars was Invincible.

...

It was odd, honestly.

To totally toot your own horn, even though you were a regular menace and an everyday pain in the ass that everyone became "use" to—you were still that, a menace.

You knew that the secret organization sent any hero near your vicinity to deal with you before you could cause any more indirect casualties—but they seemed to have changed their mind one day and only sent Invincible.

Sure, he stopped you each time—but it must’ve not been efficient to send him every time with how quick you were to get to wrecking. There was no way he was the closest to you every single time with how you made sure to pick different spots to remain unpredictable.

If you didn't know any better, it felt like he called dibs on you.

You couldn’t help but think that because there were multiple times where he unknowingly stood near a concealed hideout you were in. It was easy to eavesdrop him conversing with himself, overhearing mutters and incoherent whispers.

His mutters were always along the lines of hoping you were okay, that you'd heal and recover quickly, that he hoped he made a good impression this time, and something about how he should stop running to you?

You got a slow, sinking feeling form into your stomach as you thought more about this world's Invincible.

He was always weird, treating you differently from other villains. You always chalked it up to be a potential hero complex, all superheroes having some mild form of it. That’s what you theorized, anyway.

Saving the city, saving civilians—it's inevitable that a shiny new hero thinks they can save a villain from the mess they are.

It wasn't the first time a super thought they could change you, "fix" you for the better. You always spat out a harsh refusal over and over again until they finally gave up. It was easy, just be an insensitive prick and they wished the kind words they spoke to you were punches instead.

Invincible was the longest, being stubborn about offering you redemption and friendship no matter how much you drilled it into him that you won't budge.

You literally beat it in him with each encounter, but he would show up once again with a smile whenever you were out and about.

You became used to seeing him, even with how annoyed you were each time. It became familiar to just randomly turn around and see him staring at you while you were punching holes inside a building, like a shadow waiting to be acknowledged.

However, he was still a good guy—at least, you think. Experiencing these different versions of him made your head wonder if he had more interest in you than he should have beyond just the potential hero complex and annoying moves for friendship.

It seemed like all his variants so far did, having some sort of romantic relationship with your counterparts. You didn't want to think it but—did your Invincible hold some sort of affection for you?

Of five variants of five realities, Invincible liked you in each one of them.

What's to say this reality was any different in that regard?

What's to say that he didn't view you more than a criminal?

What's to say that your Invincible wasn't like them?

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to snap out of your train of thoughts.

That just wouldn't make sense, Invincible viewing you in a romantic way. It just logically wouldn't. You treated him lower than dirt more times than you can count—he'd have to have his own form of delusion to form lovey dovey thoughts for you.

You had to hold out hope that your Invincible was a good, weird, but normal superhero. If the Invincible variants were searching for you—you needed help getting them off your back until this war blows over somehow.

"Don't fucking touch her!" You heard Mask shout, and you turned around to see what he was screaming at. As you did, you were met face to face with an Invincible variant that had sneaked up behind you. They wore a similar get up to your Invincible's suit, but they had washed out colors and bigger goggles.

Your eyes widen, looking behind the newly appeared variant to see Mask approaching fast with his arms out. You were fast to sidestep, the newly appeared variant getting pushed to the ground where you previously stood.

You heard someone land behind you, and you turned around in a defensive stance to see that another Invincible variant had shown up.

Before he could get the chance to say anything, you jumped at him—socking him in the jaw. Twisting on your heel, you used the small momentum to kick his side. The variant was kicked to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

You jumped backwards, your back hitting someone else's. You looked over your shoulder to see that it was Mask, his fists raised ready to fight the variant he had roughly pushed aside.

Shifting your head to look at the sky. There were two more variants that were preparing to throw themselves at you, both having different versions of the yellow and blue Invincible suit that strayed far from the original.

You clicked your tongue, pressing your back further into Mask's as you knew if you fought them all by yourself, you'd be in deep shit. "If you're serious about helping me—then you'll help me get out of this alive. Then you'll fuck off and leave me alone."

"I can do the first one but..." His voice was muffled behind his mask, hesitance clear in his voice. His brown eyes flickered behind him, your hair in his view and the press of your back sending shivers down his spine.

Mask breath wavered, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from you to refocus on the Invincible variant that was picking themselves up from the floor.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mark huffed, trying to fight off the exhaustion that was threatening to overtake his body. He didn't know how long he was fighting these evil versions of him, but it must've been less than an hour with how the sky didn't shift to a different hue at all.

They were doing a number on him and to each other with how they were all strained in some way. Ragged breathing, minute slower movements, and taking any opportunity to catch themselves before jumping back into the chaotic fight.

The only variants that didn't seem completely worn out were Viltrum and Sinister—but even then, the two seemed out of it like the rest of them were.

"Are you kidding me with this bullshit!" Mohawk Mark screeched, his snarky voice making every variant pause. "Why the fuck are you fighting us?" He pointed, hovering next to Omni-Mark whose red cape was half torn.

Mark jumped, not expecting everyone to collectively stop fighting to look at who Mohawk was pointing at—which was him.

They all took in Mohawk's words, being interested to know the answer to his question. Either that or they were taking advantage of the rare stillness.

"What, what do you think!" He stuttered out, his voice squeezing as his body became more agitated than it already was. Mark felt on edge, like each nerve of his body was exposed. "You all think that you can just kidnap (Y/N)! She doesn't belong to either of you!"

"She doesn't belong to you either." Omni pointed out, his eyes narrowing at Mark with haughtiness. "Please, remind me again, what relationship do you two have?" He quipped, tilting his head in amusement.

Mark felt a lump form in his throat, his whole body feeling like someone had just ripped off his skin. Being reminded that these evil versions of him had something that he didn't have was painful—like he was being punished.

To add more salt to the wound that the red and white variant had opened, Mohawk jumped at the opportunity to rub it in Mainstream Mark's face on what he didn't have and ever got to experience—you.

"She was my girlfriend—got together senior year of high school and continued dating when she went to college." He let out an airy laugh, gesturing at the lower part of his body with both hands. "Suck it."

Viltrum took the surprise pause of the fight to add in his own relationship with you, tone flat but lighthearted—an invisible smile on his lips. "She was my wife. I met her the first time I went to Earth on the rooftop of her apartment complex."

His eyes flickered to the punk-style Invincible, the mention of college making him remember something. "... It was after she dropped out."

Sinister laughed, a playful grin gracing his lips. "Pfft, those are stupid. My bunny was an inspiring journalist who wanted to bring me to 'justice'—oh, how it was practically destiny that she landed herself to be my plaything." His hands twitched, thinking back on the first time he met you.

A smug, almost shit eating grin danced on his lips. "I could tell it made her feel alive, even through her senseless wailing. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, that bitch enjoyed me as much as I enjoyed her."

Omni shook his head, waving his hand as if all the words that the others spoke were meaningless. "She was my pet, the only perfect thing that could be my wife.

His lip quirked upwards, recalling the first time he saw you. "It was a long process to domesticate her, but it was worth everything." He chuckled before his smile faltered, transitioning to a frown.

"Oh, and we had a child together." He shrugged his shoulders before continuing, speaking casually like it was nothing too extraordinary.

He seemed displeased to have remembered that fact, his expression turning sour. "Shame there wasn't much use for it. Got in my way more than being convenient."

Mark choked on nothing when he heard that, his soul feeling like it got kicked out of his body as he tried to recover from the shock.

He burned his stare in the variant that resembled the suit his father once wore like he had just grown two heads.

"Child? —Child?!" He screamed, shaking his head as his mind was swirling with all this information that hit him at once.

Viltrum huffed hearing that, avoiding looking at Omni. "(Y/N) and I would've produced a child eventually." He murmured, defending himself like it was some sort of competition to who hit more milestones with you.

"Ugh, that's pointless! Why have a child?" Sinister rolled his eyes, thinking that it was absolutely absurd that his counterparts would think of having an offspring. His posture was relaxed as he voiced his thoughts. "Her body should only be available to me, not something else."

He hummed, as if agreeing with Sinister, "It was a good enrichment for a while, then the thing got annoying." Omni explained. "Didn't want to keep it around anymore."

"Anymore? The fuck that's supposed to mean?" Mohawk questioned, both hands settled on his hips. With how he phrased it, he didn't think it was farfetched to assume that his counterpart did something horrible to the child.

Omni-Mark stayed silent, not responding as he crossed his arms. That earned a raised brow from Mohawk, suspicion surfacing through his sharp features.

Mark finally snapped out of his shell shock, interrupting the variants' small conversation. "Fine, maybe I don't have a relationship with her like you guys had." He began reasoning, his eyes blinking fast behind his lens.

"But that doesn't mean I don't care about her, that doesn't mean I don't want her just as much as you all do—probably even more!" He gestured, shaking his head frantically as he raised the volume of his voice the more he continued his speech.

"I want to be close to her, I want her to be mine, I want her to..." His voice died down, closing his eyes before opening them again, "to feel for me like I do for her." Mark confessed in a hushed tone.

The words escaped from him faster than he could think of them. "I like her." He admitted, the complicated feelings that he had dealt with for so long surfacing brightly without being pushed down into the void of denial.

It was like a wave of clarity washed over him, crashing down on him so unexpectedly.

The first time he saw you, intense feelings bubbled up in him that he never experienced before. It only became worse the more he saw you, being consumed with the feelings that overtook his thoughts.

Mark Grayson began secretly begging the world to let him hear that you're out there so he can chase after you—the light at the end of the tunnel that only shows itself every once in a while.

Whenever he was with you, it was like his whole body was alive. He never felt like he ever truly lived before meeting you, each part of him waking up as soon as your presence basked his soul and body like sunlight.

It didn't make sense, there was no rhyme or reason why he felt this way. It was so wrong, but so endearingly right.

It felt so right just to be near you, look at you with so much affection and adoration that it was unmeasurable.

He drowned in thoughts about you that hijacked his mental space, each nook and cranny of his mind tied to you somehow. Each time he resisted and pulled away; he rushed back in with a tighter grip than before.

This pull never happened with Amber, his first girlfriend and the first person he'd ever been intimate with. As well as confess his superhero identity.

He liked her—loved her, cared for her and had feelings for her, but it wasn't the same. She just wasn't you.

Amber didn’t make him feel like his whole life purpose was fulfilled by just watching you do whatever, tracking your movements like he was writing them down in the folds of his brain. The physical contact he received from you, mostly violently, didn’t cause his body to soak up each centimeter of it like it was starved for it.

That subconsciously seeped into their relationship. He put so many things above Amber, missing so many places that she wanted him to be present because he was her boyfriend. He put their relationship on pause countless times to be a superhero, saving the world and saving lives—it was hard to drop it for her.

Though it came easy when it was for you, not for Amber.

Then there was Eve. She was a great person, helping Mark to understand what it truly was to be a superhero. She was there by his side and understood the hardships that the world relentlessly threw at him, giving him an open shoulder to talk about his problems.

It made sense their natural friendship blended into something more. She pulled him in—but not in the same way.

Eve didn't compare to you, not even close. Mark wanted her to, grounding himself and swallowing down this claim that she was the one—his girlfriend, his everything, his.

Everything else came secondary when it came to Eve. That was until he heard you were out there again instead of safely locked away, and suddenly it became easy to leave Eve behind when he was so adamant about staying with her.

He was so immersed in so many things and with Eve that when you were in that cell made by the G.D.A, his mind didn't wander to you so frequently anymore.

Mark didn't have to worry about the next time he'll see you again, always constantly on his feet ready to fly over to you.

Mark didn't have to worry about whether the last time he saw you was the final one, paranoid that you'll suddenly disappear without a trace, the chance to earn a mutual connection with you completely gone.

Mark didn't have to worry because he knew where you were and knew you were okay, safe, alive, and waiting. When things slowed down, he planned to visit you and show you that it was okay to give him a chance.

He wanted—no, he needed to earn your trust, earn your interest. That he could change your mind about rejecting him, even if it meant being a broken record that was on repeat.

Since, in truth, he wanted you to be his from the start.

It was unreasonable, illogical, but it felt more right than wrong. It was stupid, fucking pathetic even just like how Cecil said—but Mark couldn't help it. He tried to deny it for so long, but he couldn't anymore. It was impossible to.

It was love at first sight with you, and he wasn't going to let you get taken away. Mark wanted you to be his, and he'd push everything and everyone aside to get that opportunity.

He raised his voice again, stern and firm. "And I'm not going to let any of you take her just because you all failed at your chance. You don't get to have do overs with my (Y/N)."

"Aw, cute!" Mohawk mocked, lifting a hand to form a mouth puppet. "Practiced that speech of yours with good ol' buddy right hand?" He let out a forced coo, turning his mouth puppet into a circle—going up and down in a slow motion.

That earned a hearty chuckle from Sinister, but not Viltrum or Omni. It also didn't get a peep out of Mask either, not a single word coming from the masked Invincible variant.

"You almost sound as corny as—" He whipped his head around, searching for Mask who seemed to be not present. His mischievous grin dropped, and the others followed suit in looking around to spot the missing variant.

There were supposed to be five among them, yet there were only four. The yellow and black variant's relaxed posture disappeared as soon as the absence of one of them was brought to his attention, spinning around to confirm that the other's presence was truly not there.

"Jesus, where the fuck is the other one." Sinister growled, snapping his head to the direction of your body. He zoomed past, the others lagging behind to search for your unconscious body.

Mark drifted behind, his heart leaping to his throat.

The place where you were supposed to be—empty. Dried blood and the broken metal fragments of the collar were the only things there, greeting their eyes.

It didn't take a genius to piece together what happened, and it enraged Sinister how foolishly easy it was to sneak off with you.

Sinister fists clenched, screeching at the top of his lungs at a random direction. "You're dead!" His growly voice carried out, dragging his words across the distance.

Viltrum's hand grabbed a hold of the end of Omni's cape, draping it over his neck and pulling it towards him tightly. "Where did he take her." He spat out, eyes darkening as he tugged at the red cape he was using to strangle the variant.

Omni had quickly dug his fingers in between the space of the cape and neck, ensuring that he wouldn't be asphyxiated. "Your guess is as good as mine." He grunted, bringing his head forward before swinging it backwards—smacking Viltrum's face.

The white uniformed variant let go of his hold, and Omni-Mark whipped around to punch him in the chest, knocking him a few inches away.

"There goes the 'alliance!' Not that it was going to last long anyway. Ugh! He could be anywhere in this shithole." Mohawk grumbled; displeasure written on his face with how a deep frown embedded itself on his lips.

Suddenly, all the variants had something thrown at them, pushing them to the ground. A large wall from the collapsed building nearby was on top of them, the heavy weight grounding and crushing them.

Mark floated above them, having gone and grabbed a fallen chunk of a structure to pin them down. It wasn't going to delay them by much, but it gave him a running head start.

Each second counted to go searching for you and find the Invincible variant that stole you from right under his nose.

He propelled himself forward, flying in a random direction. His hair was pushed back as the wind howled against him; his forehead furrowed. Mark brought his hand to his ear, holding the earpiece that Cecil had given him.

"Donald? Donald are you there?" He asked while looking down, flying above structures. The city had been bulldozed by his evil counterparts, making it look more like a salvage yard rather than an international hub.

"-Uh, yes. I've—I've been here the entire time." Donald jumped, clearing his throat. He was surprised at being suddenly addressed, having been silent this entire time.

He had been observing safely at headquarters, watching through the screen. While the cameras themselves didn't have audio, Mark, having an earpiece, allowed him to finally listen to something.

Donald had been overhearing this entire time, and he had begun to think that the superhero had forgotten he was there. He felt out of place, and he couldn’t possibly interrupt him to remind Mark of his presence. He was saying vulnerable things that seemed rude to cutoff.

"Can you try and find (Y/N)?" Mark queried, scanning the streets below him for any sign of you.

He could care less that Donald may have overheard everything he said—it didn't matter. The time was ticking, and he was not going to leave you alone with your kidnapper nor let some other Invincible find you first.

"Mark I-" Donald shook his head, beginning to speak before being brashly interrupted.

"I don't give a shit what you have to say Donald! Just tell me if you can try and find her or not!" He snapped, his question shifting more into a demand.

Each letter of his words was as sharp as a blade, coming out of the blue which shocked the older man.

A static silence overcame the intercom, and Mark back tracked on his words. He didn't mean for it to come out so harsh. "I'm—I'm sorry Donald that's not what I meant. I didn't mean to-" He sucked in an unleveled breath, "Can you try and find her? Please?"

"... Sure thing, Mark."

You hissed, pulling your hand out of the esophagus that you had forcefully slid your hand into. You ripped the tube out, throwing it aside as the Invincible variant fell on his knees—clawing at the gaping hole in his neck.

The blood gushed out like a geyser as you took a step back, your chest rising and releasing a huff.

Your hair was a mess, tangled and mangled together from fighting the Invincible variants that tried their hardest to take you down and submit to them. They were relentless, and you were grateful that Mask mitigated the fight—doing his part and killing two eviler versions of himself.

You looked over to Mask, the variant lunging a rusty metal bar that he got from a hanging sign inside the chest cavity of his opponent. It hit straight to his pumping heart, a gritted gasp escaping their throat before the light in their eyes disappeared.

Small muscle memory jerks remained, but it died down as Mask dug the metal bar harder—twisting it for good measure. He then pulled it out effortlessly, a string of thick blood and cartilage following as he threw it aside.

Comparing yourself to him, you probably looked like absolute shit. There was hardly any blood on him, the only liquid there being was the dried coffee stain and the damp areas of his suit from the fire hydrant.

You, on the other hand, were covered in sticky blood. Your neck was painted in a deep shade of red, it dripped down from your neck to the collar of your prison uniform. It looked like a badly botched tie dye job, minus the metallic smell that made your skin crawl.

The tips of your hair were dipped in the liquid of death as well, the affected hair forming clumps at the end and hardening.

You hated killing—not because of a moral compass, merely because of the smell that made your stomach feel absolutely sick. You could never avoid making a huge mess, so your face was always met with the waft of blood exposed to oxygen.

You breathed heavily as you blinked to look around. All four variants who tried to jump you and Mask were dead, the one you just killed on the ground—the blood gushing out of his throat formed a puddle.

You swallowed, putting your hands on your knees to catch a breath. The odor of blood seeped into your nostrils, and you gagged as your stomach was not taking too kindly to that smell. It felt like you were going to throw up with how it twisted and swished.

“Do you feel sick?” Mask softly asked, hopping off the variant he had just shoved a rod through their chest.

He surveyed the slaughter you both caused, mentally noting the splattered blood along the concrete. “It’s because of the blood, isn’t it?”

You gagged once again, bringing a hand to pinch the tip of your nose. “Kind of.” You replied bluntly, not elaborating more on it.

“The odor I’m guessing?” He continued, and you gave him a funny glance. Mask rushed to explain, “In my world, you also hated the smell of blood. It always made you feel nauseous—I got good at not getting too much on me because of that." He laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

"Ding ding ding." You clapped lazily. "Never been a fan of it. It makes me want to projectile vomit everywhere."

"You did one time. It was on me though." He joked, but not really. It did actually happen when he rushed to the hospital after a fight because he promised to visit you at a specific time.

Mask had forgotten to change out of his blood-soaked suit with how panicked he was to arrive on time. The moment he appeared by your side from entering the window, the metallic smell hit your nose, and you puked all over him without sparing a second to register to face somewhere else.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mask's words echoed in your mind, and you mentally rolled your eyes at the reminder. The only reason why he wanted to stick around was because he wanted to project the variant version of you onto you—all of the variants did.

It was annoying. However, with how more docile and suppressed he was compared to the others, you had the chance to break this illusion of his. It wasn't the first time you've successfully pushed someone away.

You bit your tongue, feeling a dry laugh threatening to escape. "Guess all I did there was be sick and puke on you. Very romantic." You sarcastically responded, looking over to see how the masked variant would react to what you're going to say. "With how weak she was, she should've died sooner."

"..."

"Honestly, she managed to pull the short stick of our childhood." You bitterly mentioned, a small flashback to your childhood played in your mind. "If whatever illness I had didn't take me immediately, I would’ve just done it myself. That would've been the best option."

"..."

"Not only was she weak, but she was also stupid too apparently." You added, continuing to watch how he'd react to your words. His eyes were boring into yours, and you didn't peel away from them as you simply glared.

You were ready to dodge anything he threw at you or came at you with, expectantly waiting to move your legs to dodge an incoming fist.

A second passed, then another, then another.

“... Haha!” He suddenly burst into a small fit of giggles, raising a hand to cover his mouth. Startled, you flinched, your eyes turning wide at this unexpected reaction. You couldn’t gauge if this was some kind of ploy to catch you off guard so he can hit you by surprise, but the more he laughed the more confused you got.

“Is something wrong with you?” You asked annoyed, not understanding why he was laughing. His giggles were dying down, and he brought his hand back down to his side. “You found that funny?” He shook his head frantically, taking a few steps towards you.

“No, no. I just—even though your different from my world you’re still the same.”

You scoffed, taking his statement as a lie. “Bullshit.”

“No, you are! When we first met,” Mask took your hand, cupping it into his. You jumped, but didn’t pull away as you were curious to what he had to say. “You said something so similar about yourself. Looking back on it, you were trying to drive me away.”

He sighed, “You thought that if you pushed out all the worst traits of yourself, no one would want to stick around.” he said in a low voice, almost recalling it in a fond. His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, as if trying to soothe a wild animal.

The smooth texture of his gloves sent goosebumps down your spine, causing you to tense. I’m not listening to this. You thought, but his gaze held your body firmly into place, like a nail driven in wood.

"You were wrong, though," he whispered. "It just made me stay longer."

Your breath hitched, your heart squeezing at those words.

You yanked your hand back instinctively, your heart hammering against your ribs in an uneven rhythm. "Don't say shit like that," you snapped, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence. "You don't know me."

“I do.”

“No, you don’t!” You screamed, shaking your head. You stepped away from him, needing the distance like air in your lungs, "I'm not the same as her, I’m different," you muttered, your voice quieter, heavier now. "I'm stronger, I’m powerful—I’m worse."

He tilted his head, the smile slipping away from his face, replaced by something that looked almost like sadness. Not that you could tell with the mask that covered it, but his eyes expressed it. "Maybe you are," he agreed after a moment. "But I’m happy to learn.”

Shut up.

“I love each part of you, even the worse ones."

You stood there frozen, caught between cursing at him and lunging at him—but you did neither. You just stared at him, words caught in your throat and your hands flexing not knowing what to do.

Finally, you turned on your heel, going to the direction of the nearest hideout you owned. “Come on, we need to go.” You called out, walking without checking to see if he was following.

“We?” He repeated, hope filled in his voice as he quickly trailed behind you. Not bringing attention to the fact you dismissed everything he had just said, not bothered by it.

“Don’t misunderstand anything! This is momentary. I’m tired, exhausted, and clearly can’t think straight with how I’m even letting you tag along!” You grumbled; eyes stuck stared ahead. “You’re protecting me from whatever lunatic of an Invincible we come across.”

“I—”

“And don’t talk.” You whipped around, causing him to halt in his steps. “It lessens the chances of you saying stupid crap,” you hissed, referencing his whole cringe speech, “oh and, ten steps back when you’re walking with me—I don’t want you humping my leg.”

“Got it!” He happily chirped, overjoyed just to see you were allowing him to be with you without telling him to fuck off.

“Ughhh, shut up!” You swiveled back around, walking in a faster pace than before. You heard him begin walking at the distance you commanded him to follow, and you dug your nails in the palm of your hand.

This was stupid—you were going back on your word about how bad it was to spend one more second with this variant, yet here you were letting him follow you to your hideout. You wanted to pull your hair out with how you should be telling him to screw himself and to get lost, but you bit your tongue as you merely continued strolling.

Even worse, your cheeks were a tad warm. You hated what he said seemed to affect you. You tried to ignore how your heart was softly rattling against your chest, taking deep inhales and exhales to calm it.

Maybe the forced proximity of being near crazy variants were beginning to rub off their lunacy onto you, making your headspace cloudy.

At least it was only down to one.

An Invincible was standing on the roof of a building, peering down the alleyway that you and Mask were walking in.

He wore an exact replica of this world’s Invincible suit; the one small difference was the fact his gloves were blue at the end of his knuckles. The male also didn’t have the mask on, blood scattered on his face and chest.

His eyes were downcast, his hand over the other, holding it as he stared at you.

It was a way to self-soothe himself, no longer having his favorite person in the whole world to hold his hand anymore. His heart ached at that, breaking more than it already was.

His eyes burned thinking back on how his partner was forever gone—he’ll never see that handsome face ever again, the witty personality, and the easygoing jokes that always made him feel better.

The Invincible would’ve started crying if he hadn’t already squeezed out each tear already. He didn’t think he’d be able to produce any more with how hollow he felt, completely dried out.

He continued to watch intently, having witnessed the brutality you caused minutes prior. He didn’t mean to come across the scene, having been just wandering around aimlessly after doing the orders that Angstrom had instructed him and many others to do.

The variant had stayed silent, watching from a safe distance. He hadn’t expected to find you here, but he supposed it made sense.

The Invincible had been preoccupied thinking about his special one that his mind didn’t think to remind him about you until now.

You were special too. A good, dear friend. You were the second person to truly understand him and be by his side through everything. Accepting who he was and supporting him.

Guilt and grief swelled in his chest as he found himself hovering to you just a few feet away. You were completely unaware of the presence that was stalking you as you silently fumed at the predicament you were in.

Finding you made the emotional weariness drag him down further, like weights were placed upon his chest.

Seeing you made him think of—

“... I miss William...” He croaked out, his voice sounding like it hadn’t been used for such a long time. He whispered out the name William like it was something sacred, holding the name of his dead lover with so much tenderness.

William was his boyfriend and his first best friend, the person he cared so deeply about more than himself.

You were his second best friend, the only other person in his life that he relied on. The three of you were a great trio that protected each other, being brought together by the wonderous work of his late boyfriend.

You died while trying to protect Wiliam, Nolan determined to kill the boy Mark was in love with—saying that having a big of a distraction as William would only hinder him from doing what his life’s purpose was.

There was only so much that you can do against a viltrumite while having the capabilities of being human. You were completely butchered, the overkill that Nolan did was unfathomable. William’s death was less severe, you stood between him and the painful ending he would’ve originally received.

He lost the two most important people in his life that day, dying next to each other.

All three of you promised to be together in the future, live in the same neighborhood so that every day whenever you and William wanted, you’ll all get together and hangout. Him and William would live in a cozy house just for the two of him, and you would be the next-door neighbor with the key to let yourself in anytime.

That’s what you three had promised—before Nolan ripped and tore that promise apart like it meant nothing.

Maskless Mark eyes shifted to the variant that had his face completely covered, squinting his eyes. He was too late to protect you and William, but he wasn’t going to repeat that same mistake with this dimension’s version of you.

William would’ve wanted him to protect you too—protect you from a stranger. He could practically hear his boyfriend’s nagging voice on how he shouldn’t leave (Y/N) alone with a guy, talking about how creeps would take any opportunity to snatch you away simply because you were a beautiful girl.

He would say that you didn’t have the privilege like him and Mark did to just wander around because of the absence of a dick in your pants.

His body was suddenly energized, pacing closer behind you both above the tall buildings. For the first time since the death of you and William, he felt something other than sadness and grief. He felt happy.

It was... nice to be reunited with a friend.  

yawns me when I have to write plot progression🥱🥱

I blinked and suddenly two weeks passed 💀 I ain’t going to get into this habit trust 🤞🏽

UHH BUT BEING FR I LOST TRACK OF TIME MY BAD YALL… feel embarrassed LOL posting this with my eyes closed idc 💔

anyway we ALL CRACKING WILLIAM

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[morningstarwrites]

I hit 2K followers on Twitter! To celebrate, I asked for drawing requests, and one of them is for the ch. 10 scene from my fic 😌

Of Saints and Sinners: Alastor sees Lucifer wearing red for the first time

[pricklenettle]

the seventh chapter of Weaving Webs! Here’s the Ao3 link.

This is my last illustrations for invisobang, but Weaving Web’s isn’t nearly finished yet, I highly recommend that you continue following @maskedemerald’s story, they did a fantastic job and it is so fun and cool

[potato-lord-but-not]

assorted (18+ they’re getting freaky with it) ourthur doodles on pillowfort wowie

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part fourteen: mask on, mask off

word count: 3.2k

warnings: none, i don't think

thirteen | fourteen | fifteen

He wasn’t used to this—this being whatever weird routine they were beginning to fall into. But he picked her up in the mornings, drove her home when it was late, and somewhere along the way, their silences began to fill themselves in.

At first, it was just the little things.

She always checked that the passenger seat was adjusted just right before sitting down. She liked to lean against the window, staring out at the passing streets as if she were lost in thought, even though he had no clue what went on in that head of hers.

He learned that she didn’t particularly like the news. If he had the radio on and a news segment started playing, she’d subtly shift, reaching for her bag for some book or assignment to busy herself with. It wasn’t all that obvious unless you were paying attention.

And Lando always paid attention.

Sometimes she’d come out of class looking exhausted but would perk up when she spotted his car. Sometimes, she’d say a quiet thank you after he dropped her off, even when it wasn’t necessary.

Other times, she would get into his car, sighing, and when he asked Rough day? she would just nod. But later, as they drove, she’d start talking. Not about anything particularly deep. Just… bits and pieces.

“Had a pop quiz today. My brain is fried.”

Or, “Someone spilled coffee all over the counter today. Took forever to clean up.”

Or, “It rained earlier, but I forgot my umbrella. That was fun.”

He never responded with much — just a nod, a comment, an occasional smirk. But the more she talked, the more familiar it became.

One evening, she pulled out a small book while he drove. Lando raised a brow.

“You really can read in the car?”

She glanced up. “Yeah. Why?”

“Doesn’t it make you sick?”

She blinked. “Um… no?”

Lando made a face. “That’s weird.”

She let out a small laugh, amused.”Why would reading make me sick?”

“Y’know, with all the spinnin’ n’ all that.” Lando looked over to find that she was staring at him like he had suddenly grown a second head.

Perhaps he could have phrased that better, but whatever. 

“You’re weird.”

He smirked, but it softened at the edges.

The next morning, he pulled up to the outside of her apartment, engine running as he texted her that he had arrived. The early morning fog was just beginning to dissipate, giving way instead to the first brushstrokes of warm light through layers of clouds. He scrolled mindlessly on his phone, replying to messages and checking on shipments until he finally clicked his phone off when she got into the car, rubbing her eyes sleepily. 

He tossed a protein bar onto her lap. She blinked down at it. “What’s this?”

“You never eat in the mornings.”

Her brows furrowed slightly, momentarily going still, before finally deciding it was safe, unwrapping it, and taking a bite.

Lando had no idea why that small victory felt satisfying.

The first time she gave him shit for his driving, he nearly kicked her out of the car.

“You don’t even drive!” he pointed out, incredulous.

She crossed her arms. “I don’t have to drive to know that cutting through that gap was reckless.”

“If there’s a gap, m’gonna go for it, of course. It was efficient. It was fine.” He had hoped for the words to come across as reassuring, but instead he just sounded exasperated. 

How was he getting criticized by someone who didn’t even know how to drive?

“It was stupid, is what it was.”

He gave her a flat look. “You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

“I don’t care if you’re some racing prodigy or Lightning McQueen himself,” she shot back, unimpressed. “I value my life, thank you very much. This whole thing was supposed to be about protecting my life, not endangering it, remember?”

Lando groaned dramatically, muttering something that best not be repeated under his breath as he pulled up to her place.

But when she got out, she hesitated, glancing back at him. She hated walking out on a bad note, and perhaps his driving wasn’t all that bad. It got her here on time, after all. Plus, with how much he probably spent on her in fuel money alone… she could probably afford to let this one slide.

Just this once.

“…Thanks for the ride,” she said, softer this time.

His fingers tapped against the wheel as he nodded in acknowledgement. He spared her the barest of glancing before looking right back ahead, as if he was already mentally mapping the route to his next destination.

Perhaps he could afford to not cut off another driver while he was speeding.

Not that I actually did anything wrong though.

He looked at her one final time as she stepped out, offering an expression that almost looked apologetic. Or maybe it was just the lighting.

“Get inside safe, yeah?”

She nodded, shutting the door behind her, and Lando sat there for a few extra seconds, drumming his fingers against the wheel before shaking his head to himself. He waited until he was sure he saw the light of her living room flick on, and then drove away into the glittering lights of Monte Carlo against the dark night sky.

The next time he saw a narrow gap he could probably slip through just in the nick of time, he decided against a risk like that, even if it appeared like it physically pained him to do so. When that got him stuck behind an elderly woman in what appeared to be an even older car, he decided that being a good samaritan was an entirely unsustainable lifestyle, and that perhaps he could save these rare moments of caution and goodwill for when he might have another passenger in his car.

What was happening to him?

Over time, they learned each other’s habits, molding to become complementary to each other as they learned to exist in this shared, confined, space.

Y/N liked to listen to music, but never played anything too loud.

Lando always adjusted his seat at least once before he began driving.

She fiddled with the strap of her bag when she was nervous.

He drummed his fingers against the wheel when he was deep in thought.

She had a tendency to drop random tidbits about her day, and Lando—surprisingly—listened.

“Did you know that sea otters hold hands while they sleep so they don’t drift apart?” she mentioned one evening.

Lando glanced at her. “Why do you know that?”

She shrugged. “I read it somewhere.”

A beat of silence. Then, “That’s kinda cute.”

She turned to him, smirking. “Aww. You have a soft side after all.”

Lando scoffed. “Shut up.”

She laughed.

Yeah. This was getting way too comfortable.

Lando wasn’t in the house as much anymore. He was still working of course, but he wasn’t around the way he used to be.

Max Fewtrell was the first to say something, leaning against the counter in the kitchen of Lando’s estate, sipping from a mug that definitely wasn’t his. “You notice he’s been out a lot?”

Carlos Sainz, sitting on one of the barstools, barely looked up from his phone. “He is always out a lot.”

“No, I mean—” Max gestured vaguely. “More than usual.”

Max Verstappen, who had been cleaning his gun with methodical precision, let out a quiet grunt. “Maybe you should mind your own business.”

Daniel Ricciardo grinned from where he was stretched out on the couch, arms crossed behind his head. “C’mon, Maxie, don’t act like you haven’t noticed. Something’s got him out and about more than usual.”

Fewtrell huffed, pointing at Daniel. “Exactly.” He turned back to Verstappen. “You’re telling me you haven’t clocked how often he’s dipping out? No meetings, no business, no us—just gone.”

Carlos finally set his phone down, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Maybe he’s just got something going on.”

“Or someone,” Daniel drawled, smirking.

Max Verstappen snorted, shaking his head. “Lando doesn’t do someone. Not consistently, at least.”

“Maybe not,” Fewtrell mused. “But—”

Right on cue, the front door opened, and Lando walked in, car keys spinning around his finger. He looked the same as ever, expression calm, but they knew him. And they could tell—he was up to something.

Daniel pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Where have you been, boss?”

Lando gave him a slow look before tossing his keys onto the counter. “Why? You miss me?”

Daniel laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Fewtrell raised a brow. “Seriously, though. You’ve been out more than usual.”

Lando shrugged. “Just handling things, you know how it is”

Verstappen leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing him. “Anything we should know about?”

Lando’s gaze flicked to him. He could feel them all watching, waiting for something—an answer, an explanation.

He gave them nothing.

“If you needed to know,” he said smoothly, “I’d tell you.”

Carlos let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Guess that’s that.”

Fewtrell wasn’t fully convinced, but he let it drop. For now.

Daniel smirked as Lando turned to leave. “If you are sneaking off to see someone, could you at least let me know so I can start placing bets?”

Lando flipped him off over his shoulder. The second he was gone, Fewtrell exhaled, shaking his head. “He’s definitely up to something.”

Verstappen hummed, leaning back, his gaze lingering on the door.

Whatever it was, they’d find out eventually.

The sun had already dipped below the horizon when Lando sat in the driver’s seat of his car, a rare moment of peace between the errands, the dealings, and everything else that had started crowding his head. She slid into the passenger seat, her bag slung across her lap, eyes a little more tired than usual. The weight of her upcoming midterms, work, and just the general stress of life had started showing in the shadows under her eyes.

He started the engine, glancing at her. They hadn’t said much in the last few minutes. The usual music wasn’t playing, and he didn’t feel like bothering with small talk, so instead, he reached for the radio dial.

“–And in local news, authorities are investigating the rise of The Reaper’s Circle, an organized criminal syndicate suspected of controlling various illicit activities across Monaco and beyond…”

Lando froze, his fingers hovering over the dial. He didn’t even need to hear more to know exactly where this was headed. The Reaper’s Circle. His circle. 

The sound of the anchor’s voice blurred as his mind flicked to the possible consequences of what she might think. He hadn’t told her—hadn’t come close to it—but this was the kind of news she might have heard. 

He glanced over at her. She was staring out the window, arms crossed over her chest, as if the news broadcast wasn’t even a thing, but he couldn’t shake the tightness in his chest. Was she already aware of Liam’s darker side? Did she know what the Reaper’s Circle stood for, what it was involved in? 

The world of crime, of shadowy deals, of the kind of life he had kept carefully hidden from her was now creeping into the conversation, into her thoughts.

“You, uh, hear about this?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible. He knew he couldn’t sound too offhand about it either. He had to gauge her reaction, figure out what she thought of it. What she knew.

She shifted in her seat, but didn’t turn to face him. “Not really,” she said, her voice distant. “Just that it’s… some big, like, gang or something, right?” She didn’t sound as if she cared much. Or maybe she was just choosing not to care.

Lando bit back a sigh of relief, but that relief didn’t last long. She had heard the name, though, hadn’t she? And she was living here long enough to know what kind of reputation The Reaper’s Circle had, even amongst all rumors. People who weren't directly involved in the business rarely understood the nuances—the difference between what was just noise and what was truly dangerous.

The radio was still blaring on, the words seeping into the car like a slow leak.

“Authorities have not yet identified the leader of the Reaper’s Circle, but rumors suggest it's someone with deep ties in Monaco’s elite—someone like Lando Norris, who has been involved in several high-profile events in recent months…”

The reporter’s voice faded as Lando turned down the volume. The silence was suffocating now. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, but she seemed lost in thought. Her lips were pressed tight, and she stared ahead at the streetlights flickering by.

“Do you think they’re right?” she asked softly, almost like she didn’t care to know but felt compelled to ask anyway. Her gaze was still fixed out the window.

“What?” He feigned ignorance. “About who’s behind the Circle?”

“Yeah,” she said. “People talk, you know? That guy, Norris something… Lando? Yeah, Lando Norris – do you really think he’s done all those things they’re saying?”

He felt the pressure building in his chest again. She hadn’t asked him directly, but it felt like she was. It felt strange to hear her say his name like that – like that name, his name, somehow belonged with the likes of the scum of the earth. She didn’t know him as Lando, but she had to know about the rumors surrounding that name.

“I’m sure it’s all just talk,” he said, trying to shrug it off, but it came out more clipped than he intended. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he wasn’t about to tell her the truth, either. He wasn’t ready for that conversation. Not now.

She didn’t respond immediately, and they rode in silence for a few moments. He could almost hear the gearing turning in her head. It was strange how he could feel the shift in the air when she was thinking, when she was quietly piecing things together.

“Well,” she said finally, “if it’s just rumors, I don’t think it matters.”

Lando let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. But then she continued, her voice distant again, “But… I don’t know. It just sounds so… dirty.”

“Some of the stuff I hear,” she added, her voice quiet and thoughtful, “it’s like… it’s almost impossible to believe. But then again, I’ve lived here long enough to know that nothing is really what it seems.” She paused, glancing at him briefly. “It’s funny, though. People still want to get close to it, don’t they? Like, they want a piece of the power, even if it’s just being near it. You can feel the pull.”

Lando swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. He had to force himself to let the silence stretch, knowing that any words from him would be too much. He kept his voice level when he spoke.

“It's dangerous stuff, for sure,” he said softly, his tone soft but probing. "What do you think?"

She hesitated for a long moment, then finally spoke, her voice more quiet than usual.

"I think..." She trailed off, collecting her thoughts carefully before speaking again. " I think it’s... immoral, obviously." She paused, eyes still on the passing streets outside. "There’s a lot of people who get hurt, you know? It’s not just business. There are consequences for the things people do, especially when they’re..." She sighed, shaking her head slightly. "Well, when they’re involved in that kind of thing."

Lando stayed quiet, heart beating just a little faster now, but not because he was worried. More because he knew she was right, in a way. He knew how things worked—he knew the cost of everything.

But what was he supposed to say? That he was the one behind it all? That he was the one pulling the strings? He couldn’t. Not yet.

She nodded slowly, her eyes focused out the window, but he could see the contemplation in the set of her shoulders, the way her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, and for a split second, he thought she might ask him if he was connected. If he was part of it.

But instead, she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear, “I don’t know. I guess I can’t understand why anyone would choose that kind of life. It’s... dark. Full of lies and betrayal. It just can’t be worth it, right?”

Lando’s chest tightened. His heart beat faster than he wanted it to.

She wasn’t talking about him—she was talking about the Circle, about the darkness, about the world he moved in. But her words hit harder than he expected. And when she looked over at him, her gaze flickering with curiosity, he saw the same questions there. The same doubts.

He forced a smile. “Guess that’s why some people like living in the light.”

She offered him a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I suppose so.”

He wasn’t sure if she had connected the dots yet, but hearing her words stung nonetheless. He wanted to say something, to defend himself or explain. But the truth was, she didn’t really know him—not the full picture. And he wasn’t ready to let her.

“You don’t have to worry about it,” he said softly, glancing at her. “It’s nothing. They’re just trying to make something out of nothing.”

Plus, none of those idiots can hurt you when you’re with me anyway. 

She nodded absently. “I guess so.”

For the rest of the drive, Lando focused on the road, each streetlight flickering by like the fading fragments of the conversation they’d just had. But as he pulled into her neighborhood, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the gap between them had somehow widened—something had shifted, and he wasn’t sure if it was a crack in the foundation or just the weight of the world finally settling between them.

He parked the car and waited for her to step out.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, her voice soft.

Was it quieter than usual?

“No problem,” he replied, his fingers gripping the wheel a little harder than necessary.

She didn’t look back at him as she walked toward her apartment, the soft click of her shoes echoing in the night. But he couldn’t help but wonder, just for a second, if she’d already made up her mind about him—about the things he’d done, the things she didn’t know.

Would she ever look at him the same way again?

The rest of his drive home was quiet, the radio continuing to hum in the background, the news segment forgotten, but the weight of it lingered. Lando couldn’t stop thinking about it—the fact that she didn’t know, couldn’t know, wouldn’t know the extent of his life, of the world he was part of. He had been so careful to keep it separate, so careful to hide the man behind the name. But for the first time, he wondered if it was enough.

And for the first time, Lando wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending.

a/n: another chapter that felt a bit filler-ish to me. hopefully it wasn't too boring haha

also thank you for the asks and comments! each one literally has me jumping up and down with joy

[sp1resong]

they should hang out i think

[sabo-torao]

DEUACE EPIC COMEBACK IN THE GAKUEN AU WHO ELSE CHEERED

[grreenteas]

Fancy men, fancy men 🚬🎭

[mikayuumouse]

this mf made sskk canon and thought nobody would notice

[marketableplushieenthusiast]

If I had a nickel for every angsty teenager whose name starts with a K in a video game on the Nintendo Switch with Toby Fox music who became destructively pissed at me, personally, for being the protagonist, and caused me extreme anguish because my communication was limited for plot reasons and our relationship ended on a cliffhanger that would not be resolved until the rest of the game was released, I'd have two nickels.

And that's too many nickels, please, MY HEART CAN'T TAKE MUCH MORE-

[fuyushinitai]

I haven't see the new chapter

[another-whump-sideblog]

I'm getting whumperflies from my textbook's chapter on behaviorism. The cold, calculated way it talks about behaviors completely separate from the person doing them and the emphasis on reinforcement and punishment are just so very whumpy. Generally it uses attention as an example of reinforcement, which leads to stuff like "it's effective to avoid eye contact and conversation while restraining a patient so that misbehaving isn't unintentionally reinforced through attention." Like that's one of the whumpiest things I've ever read and it's in a psychology textbook. Imagine a whumper just completely ceasing any eye contact or conversation while Whumpee is being punished because attention is a reinforcer

Behaviorism is so fucked up

[gachagon]

Do you suppose that the students' hypocrisies will become their downfall in later chapters? Like, if it would straight-up kill them somehow?

I wrote earlier that I believe their dishonesty is the thing tied to their Hypocrisy and that if they're not honest about the very simple fact that they don't trust one another, more deaths will occur.

I definitely believe that the veil of Hypocrisy mentioned in the chapter 1 title is the thing obscuring the characters common sense and reasoning, it's stopping them from being able to actually work together and figure out a way to escape.

Someone earlier pointed out to me how the motive that Tozu introduced never even factored into the murder, outside of Desmond's blackmail letter letting Eva know there might be something in his room she could use for her plan. The real reason Wolfgang died was because he had helped manufacture this false sense of peace and familiarity between the whole class when there is no trust or honesty between them. Wolfgang and the others were already participating in groupthink and ostracizing those who didn't fall in line by day 2 of being in Eden's Garden, which is a little wild when you compare them to the other Killing Game crews.

I do think that now that Wolfgang is gone that soon we will start to see more, and more of the students become more open about how they actually feel. Namely, I think Wenona will be the first to just outright say she didn't trust the others and that she was wrong to just follow behind whatever Wolfgang asked.

Wenona was the only one at the end of the trial who questioned Wolfgang bringing the knife with him for "protection".

I also think their survival depends entirely on whether or not they're honest about how they feel to end the rampant hypocrisy. It's obviously okay to be a hypocrite sometimes, but in this ONE extreme scenario, it is the thing that's holding them all back.

So the more hypocritical a character is, the more likely they are to end up dead in my opinion. The first step to getting out of a killing game is trust, and if there's no honesty there's no trust at all, and if they're all just pretending to trust one another that's just a heavy layer of hypocrisy that makes it even more difficult to trust anyone.

Hypocrisy also makes it harder for people to forgive transgressions, which was the case with Eva. She couldn't look past Diana's hypocrisy earlier so she framed her, she hated Wolfgang for being hypocritical purposefully and casting her out so she killed him. (granted there were definitely other factors to this incident but the hypocrisy and dishonesty played a large part anyways)