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Jacaerys Velaryon

Key: Red means NSFW, so MDNI. SS = Side Story

HOTD Series:

1 -> 2 -> 3 -> 4 -> 5 -> 6 -> 7 -> 8 -> 9 -> 10 -> 11 -> 12 -> 13 -> 14 -> 15 -> TBD

Immortal AU :

To my eternity -> Lifetimes of a thousand fleeting moments -> Fragments between lifetimes -> To our eternity (Finale)

Football Player AU:

1 -> 2 -> 3 -> 4 -> 5 -> 6 -> 7 -> 8 (Finale) -> SS 1 -> SS 2

Holiday Specials:

Christmas 2024

Valentine’s Day 2025

One shots:

A Wolf Hidden Amongst Your Flock

The Demon In His Veins And On His Screen

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Yandere! Batfam x Neglected! Male! Reader.

So smile!

[02] Wayne Tower.

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TW: Underage smoking, thoughts of death, blood & gore kinda, etc...

Pairings for this chapter: Duke Thomas & Reader, Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne, Sasha (Scarlet) & Reader, Tim Drake x Reader.

Word count: ~5449.

Not proofread or edited~

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Your escape out of Wayne Manor had been uneventful, thankfully. Aside from the still grueling pain coming from deep within your chest, and the fact that you were trying not to belittle yourself for smoking weed just before leaving, things were going well.

Traveling in and out of Crest Hill without a car was tricky at best, but since you were on friendly terms with the tourist bus conductors, you could always hitch a ride to the nearest subway. Plus, those buses were free for locals. And after leaving the subway and walking through Crime Alley like you lived there, you arrived at one of the many apartment buildings that littered the area.

With a low sigh, you reached down for your phone. She must be waiting for you already, you thought after sending her a text, asking her to open the main door.

Sasha Kozlov was a girl you met in your last year of middle school. Kind of tall, blue-eyed brunette, with the odd habit of cutting her hair anytime her life was falling apart, but that wasn’t the reason for your friendship. Chaotic and irresponsible as you could be together, she was the person that kept you grounded when your eyes were drifting off into the abyss—and her nosyness had made her find out your life’s story pretty quickly. So, you were stuck together.

As the cold metallic door in front of you cracked open, your lips curled up into the best shit-eating grin you could manage. “Hey.”

Keeping her mouth shut, Sasha eyed you up and down, then turned to glance at the sides—it wouldn’t be the first time the both of you got mugged right there—and finally, if tiredly, she let you in. But you wouldn’t have a chance to take in the dreary surroundings, as Sasha would slam herself into you with a tight hug that made you suck in a breath.

“Just let it happen, you deserve it.” Sasha shushed you, her head pressed deep into your chest. “You smell like shit, by the way.” She took in a deep breath before her nose scrunched up in disgust. “Did you smoked before coming?”

No wonder the people on the subway refused to sit near you.

“Yep.” With a nod, you pushed her back lightly. The hug was not helping with the pain, and now that you thought about it, it was a miracle you made it here alive. “You got food? You totally have food. First we eat, then whatever else.”

Now that you were away from the manor, your appetite had finally come back. But choosing to put those thoughts aside—for peace of mind—you ushered Sasha to the old, no doubt unsafe stairs. The sooner you could sit down, the sooner you’d eat, and the sooner you eat the better you’ll feel. And after what felt like eternity to your body, the two of you reached the top floor.

“Your dad’s here?” You asked, following Sasha close behind.

“No. He’s doing overtime again.” She shook her head as she opened the door to her apartment. “Even uncle Lev scolded him. But honestly,” she shrugged as the both of you walked inside. “At this point, even I know when to give up on him.”

Sasha and her dad—Niko, as he forced you to call him—had moved to Gotham a while ago with the help of Lev, and though you had a couple of thoughts about both men, you had promised Sasha to not intentionally think ill of them. So the fact that you sighed in relief inwardly at their absence didn’t count.

They were kind to you, but knowing someone’s family with the added, detailed perspective of someone often made you hate them. Your general disdain for authority figures had nothing to do with it, surely. And looking at the apartment, your lingering distaste surfaced a little.

A small, but open apartment with cracked windows full of stains, old paint falling from damaged brick walls, wooden floor with odd, sticky spots that you preferred to ignore, with second—hell, maybe third—hand furniture on top, plus bottles of beer and ashtrays scattered all over. Honestly, it’d take you only two steps to reach the kitchen.

Sure, the place smelled better than your room did in your worst days, but even after coming over regularly for a while, the sight was hard to get used to. It was a miracle that Sasha hadn’t gone insane from living in such a cramped place with two widowers as her caretakers.

Slumping down on the old, more gray than blue couch, you reached over to a small table in front to steal a cigarette—Lev’s pack of Lucky Strikes,he wouldn't mind—and a far better lighter than yours.

“I’ll give you my leftover takeout.” Sasha said as she opened the fridge, taking out a somewhat oily plastic bag full of food. “Already prepped your mat, by the way.”

“Jimmy’s?”

“He gives me great discounts.” She shrugged, spilling the food on a plate before putting it on the microwave. “So, I’ve tried not to freak out—and I’ve done a great job, mind you—but I’m gonna need you to explain why the fuck you disappeared.” Turning around, she leaned back against the counter, and though you were focused on lighting your cigarette, you knew she was staring right into your sins.

“Right,” you nodded, pushing the smoke out of your nostrils, with your hands doing grand gestures as you tried explaining. “So, I got stabbed.” Another nod. “Damian stabbed me—pretty cool sword, honestly. Uh, Alfred had to put me in a coma or something, and I woke up today. Feels worse than a hangover.” You glanced at her. “Oh and, remember how I was gonna move with Brit? Well, she blew me off through texts like two weeks ago. Tried calling her but she didn’t answer. I get that everyone’s mad that I disappeared, but man, feels rude.”

Could’ve done better, you thought. With the look Sasha was giving you, she probably thought this was one of the lies you sometimes used to get off of problems with your friends. That, or she zoned out. Either way, you didn’t want to dwell on everything that happened today and, as you perceive it, yesterday.

You took a drag from your cigarette, until your lungs inflated to pain thanks to your injury, and then let it out in twin streams from each corner of your mouth.

“You got stabbed.” Sasha repeated, and you nodded. “By your little brother.” You nodded again. “And you feel worse about damn Brittany than the fact you had to be put in a coma?! Dude!” She motioned towards you dramatically. “Wha—Where did you get stabbed? Why the fuck did you come over?! I—Are you in pain? Shit, do I have to call Lev? He know a couple doctors here, and—”

Pressing your index finger against your lips, you made a soft shushing noise towards her. “You’re doing that hair thing again” She was going to rip all her hair off one of these days. “I’m fine. Just…” You patted the empty space at your side. “Come have a cig You’re doing the hair thing again.”

One of these days, Sasha was going to rip all her hair off..”

As Sasha walked your way, you picked up the remote for the TV—an old, bulky thing. The kind that felt fuzzy when you roamed your hand over the screen—and turned it on. You could use some background noise, the natural sounds of Crime Alley did little to ease anything. And as the TV lit up on a sports channel, and you heard the sound of Lev’s lighter flicking on, you knew it’d take only a minute for Sasha to calm down.

And maybe, you could calm down, too.

You had been so focused on getting here, on leaving the manor, that you didn’t take the time to process everything. And though deep down you knew you wouldn’t truly digest it, no matter how much time it passed, you had half the mind to at the very least try. If nothing else, then for Sasha and Alfred’s sake.

Death, your death wasn’t something you were quite ready to face, but everything else was fair game.

Dick had been weird from the moment you opened your eyes. The fact that he had been there was odd, and his behavior didn’t help. He had been all… forward all of a sudden, staring at you like he was holding himself back from lunging.

To kill you, maybe.

Not even in your memories had he stared at you unblinkingly. It felt just like staring down the barrel of a gun, deep into the hollow where a bullet with your name carved by hand waited for you, itching to pierce your brain point blank and see all that you thought. And frankly, you didn’t want to experience anything like it ever again—at least, not with someone’s eyes.

Thinking of Damian meant thinking further about the fact you almost died, but still, the moment you found him just outside your door, glaring up at you as if staring at a stain on the wall, with those green, bright eyes that seemed to glow in shadows. His posture rigid, yet fluid, as if ready to push you back into the room, grab a pencil and stab you in the eyes until you could do nothing but cry blood.

But, when he invited you for dinner, your first thought hadn’t been whether or not he’d kill you—no, maybe you’d be happy otherwise—but rather if he wanted to, maybe, just maybe, connect with his older brother.

The thought had faded as quick as it sprung, because no matter what, Damian Wayne had become death incarnate. The only reason you had agreed to that mess was thanks to Alfred.

Now that you thought about it, did Alfred want you dead?

You didn’t know much of anything about medicine, but you had seen your fair share of stab wounds while hanging out with your friends, and never did you hear about someone needing to be put in a comma because of it. Not to mention, in your haste to stay away from Dick, you hadn’t picked up on how strange it was that Alfred let you go back to your room after being injured, when in the past, you had been forced to stay in bed for a mere cold.

Maybe he did want you dead, hell, maybe Bruce had ordered it. The moment would be perfect—Bruce Wayne’s son succumbs to injuries, though maybe, you’d be labeled as a mere civilian. No way Bruce would acknowledge you as his son.

Yet he kind of did, right before you left, he seemed to take an interest.

You shook your head silently. What most likely happened was that he was mad at something you did or didn’t do. Like die—

A frown crossed your face. It seemed that being conscious about your own mortality had made you even more negative than usual. No matter what you thought, how much smoke you inhaled,  or how much you switched channels, the fact you almost died—and that someday death would come—seemed to stay in the pits of your brain.

You switched channels again.

‘After years of persecution by the Batman, Harvey Dent, commonly known as the criminal Two Face, has finally accepted Bruce Wayne’s invitation for, quote, specialized rehabilitation.’ The TV babbled on. ‘Sources say that Mr. Wayne—’ you switched channels. Right now, there was no use to hearing about how your father cared for some guy you saw once in your life. Or just hearing about him in general.

“I’m glad you're alive.” Sasha whispered after a while, scooting over to lay her head on your shoulder comfortably while her arms wrapped softly around your torso.

To you, it felt as if your life had fallen apart in a matter of two days, but at least, you could count on Sasha to stay the same. Always.

“Me too.”

Taking a drag from her cigarette, Sasha stared up blankly at the TV. “Do they know?”

Before you could ask, the realization dawned on you. Things were truly falling apart—you were undoubtedly, unequivocally, fucked. They were the type to flip over nothing, so the fact that you disappeared for a month was going to piss them off.

You’ll find out how to explain everything to Conner and his family some other time. For now, you switched subjects with Sasha, who eagerly filled you in on the latest school drama, something about Stacy being pregnant.

And you weren’t the only one interested in her.

Duke Thomas had gotten a weird feeling about her situation the moment Stephanie told them about it during yesterday’s dinner, and after Cassandra and Steph reassured him that he was fine—if Alfred let him leave bed, then he’s fine, they said—he chose to try and focus on the “drama.”

Turns out, it was hard to focus on some school gossip when you’re a vigilante in Gotham, and worse, right during lunch hours! And after school, or during school—sometimes before school, too. Mr. Wayne had him stretched thin, no doubt.

“There you go, miss.” Duke beamed. “Have a nice day!”

For the past two hours minutes, Duke had been jumping left and right stopping muggings, helping old ladies cross the street, stopping the odd morning drunk driver, helping old ladies with their groceries, calling for ambulances for the overdosed, helping old ladies choose their haircuts—

Many old ladies. It seemed that The Signal had gathered a reputation with old timers, and though Tim would no doubt make fun of him for it, Duke was pleased. Though he had to swing off buildings and work his legs like he was training for the olympics, the day shift was pretty barren from villains. Only Killer Croc and Poison Ivy made weekly appearances, but it was clockwork by now. He wasn’t allowed to say, but Mr. Wayne had given him actual repellents for both of them.

The bottles even had Bat-Themed branding on them. It was neat.

Now though? His favorite part of his shift was coming. His five minute break! Alfred had packed some Bat-Shaped sandwiches in a Bat-Shaped tupper to put inside his Bat-Themed lunchbox. Stuff Tim had given him as a joke, not knowing that Duke was a sucker for these things.

Swinging over to Wayne Tower with his Bat-Themed grappling hook, Duke giddily made his way to the top, salivating from the mere thought of Alfred’s cooking. Even a mere sandwich became fine cuisine when Alfred made it.

But as his feet landed on the gravel floor of the Tower’s top, his body tensed, eyes blowing wide open as his heart began beating ten miles a second.

Someone was there, sitting right at the edge, with their feet dangling off into the strong winds as if they didn’t fear death. In his mild panic, Duke could only make out a set of dirty, tacky clothes that his mind didn’t bother to recognize, not when he had to be on hero mode for this.

Just breathe, Duke thought. This wasn’t the first time he had to deal with something like this, so slowly, loudly—but not too much, just enough to catch their attention—he walked closer.

“Hey.” Duke said casually. “Come here often—”

They, no, he quickly glanced back at Duke. His hair blowing wildly in the strong winds of Wayne Tower, with eyes wide open in shock for a brief second before they dimmed down into uncertainty. Duke could see his face so clearly now, here under the rare Gotham sun. Even his aura, the one he had subconsciously ignored, was showing itself to his eyes.

“Yeah.” He answered.

Duke had dealt with suicidal people countless times now, but for some reason, he felt stuck now. His brother—were they really siblings? When he had just joined the family, not bothering to make an effort to meet him even when his spirit begged him to do so—was right there, sitting nonchalantly on the railing that was supposed to stop people from falling to their deaths.

“Okay…” Duke nodded to himself, taking a deep breath before looking back up at him. Behind the mask, he could do anything. The anonymity helped a ton. “Pretty good view, right?” He smiled, keeping his distance. “This time of the day is honestly underrated. On sunny days like these, you can see everything.”

With a frown of confusion, his brother glanced back at him once more, before a soft snort escaped him.

“I’m not going to kill myself, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

It was weird to hear him so casual, like he didn’t know that Duke was behind the mask. As if the unseen barrier that had separated them from properly talking didn’t even exist. But as Duke stared at him for a second longer, he realized that his brother didn’t know he was The Signal.

No wonder Tim was so fucking adamant on keeping the Bat-Talk away from him, Duke thought.

Duke Thomas, however, was going to seize the opportunity. He was an opportunity seizer—opportunities, beware!

First he had to make sure that his brother truly wasn’t going to kill himself, though.

“Well, I am worried about that.” He admitted with a tint of humor. “I mean, you gotta admit that you look pretty suicidal right now.”

Sucking in breath with mock offense, his brother let out a soft chuckle that, some way, somehow, felt right in Duke’s ears. “Wow,” he glanced down at his dirty clothes with a nod. “You’re real mean for a superhero, you know?”

“Vigilante.” Duke corrected as he used the lighter atmosphere to inch closer. “And I’m talking about the fact you’re sitting right at the fucking—” Duke coughed. He rarely swore when he was The Signal. “---railing! You don’t even have a rope—”

“To hang myself with?” His brother mocked him with a smirk. “Well, I mean. I was planning on just jumping, but now that you mention it…” Duke moped in silence.

“Please don’t joke with that. Plus, I meant a safety rope.” He whispered.. “Just… jump down—No! Fuck.” Mr. Wayne was going to kill him when he saw the security footage. “I mean come here! Now—please! Please?! Please.”

Opportunities. Beware.

Snorting to himself, his brother mouthed a sarcastic “woof” before stepping down to the safety behind the railing. “Happy?” That mocking, humorous tone of his was beginning to work itself into Duke’s nerves. Or heart, he wasn’t sure. Just seeing anything other than obvious awkwardness in his brother made Duke feel better.

“Very.” Duke said after a sigh.

Making an amused face, his brother walked past him, right towards the door leading to the stairs. But Duke couldn’t let this moment end now—god knows when he’d have the chance to face him with the privilege anonymity gave him. This was the perfect chance to… get to know him, maybe.

“Wait!” Duke called, freezing for a second when his brother turned to look back at him before speaking again. “Wanna eat? I got a sandwich.”

Duke knew he’d have to scold himself for this. No one was crazy enough to accept having lunch with a handsome, masked stranger on the rooftop of one of the highest towers in the entirety of Gotham. The amount of times they had to solve murder cases for that exact scenario was concerning.

“Sure.” Thankfully, his brother had no instinct of self-preservation… or he hadn’t eaten anything yet.

Duke would definitely have a talk with him in the future.

As his brother thankfully sat down far from the railing, Duke made his way to one of the vent openings, and after cracking it open, he retrieved his Bat-Themed lunchbox, plus an energy drink that Lucius probably left there. And after walking back to his brother, he plopped down in front of him with his legs crossed.

“Is that like… a company lunchbox or something?” His brother asked with humor. “‘Cause if it is, I’m gonna need you to get me one.”

“You’re a fan?” Duke asked. It would only make sense that his brother was a fan of Batman, Mr. Wayne was his father, and even if it was still a secret for him, there had to be some sort of… son sense thing.

“I’m more of a Superman guy.” With a smirk, his brother pointed at one of the chains hanging from his neck, the one with a charm shaped in Superman’s symbol. “But one of my friends is. He’d fucking love to have that lunchbox.”

“Sorry pal,” Duke grinned as he opened the lunchbox. “It’s limited edition.”

“So it is a company lunchbox.”

Amidst his better thinking, Duke flipped his brother off, earning another chuckle from him.

Duke didn’t notice that there was an extra sandwich packed, too focused on thinking of what he wanted to know first about his brother. So after passing the extra sandwich to him, Duke grabbed his own with contentment. No doubt his five minute break was over, but he could handle the scolding.

And after they took a bite at the same time, his brother asked. “Did you make this?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Is it bad?”

“It’s really fucking good.” He took another bite. “A friend of mine makes sandwiches just like this. You should try them some time.”

This was becoming too much for Duke. In a good way. Twice has his brother made an allusion to hanging out another time! Maybe out of politeness, but Duke preferred to be positive in this kind of thing

What he didn’t manage to stay quite positive about was what he wanted to know about his brother. Sure, there were mundane things—what he liked to do, the food texture he hated the most, if he was gay… stuff like that. But what dominated his mind in this moment, was why he was planning on moving out, if he hadn’t already, if he was doing okay after nearly dying, and if he lied about not being there to kill himself.

But all of that was too heavy for “strangers” to talk about… he hoped anonymity helped.

“Hey,” Duke looked up from his sandwich, his tone unsure and fingers itching to twist and turn something. “Can I ask you something?”

His brother looked up with mild intrigue as he munched on bread. “Shoot.”

“You said you come here often, right?” His brother nodded in sudden, polite disinterest. “Is it the view, or…?”

“It clears my head.” He quickly interjected with a shake of his head as he cleared his throat. “I’ve been coming here since I was thirteen. Usually at night—neon lights and all that.”

“So there’s something in your mind?” Duke knew he was pushing it.

“Guess so.”He shrugged.

But if he didn’t push it more, he may never get answers. He already had an idea of what was bothering him, but if Duke heard it in a little more detail, he may be able to try and help.

“If you don’t mind…” Duke gulped. The sandwich didn’t seem too appetizing now. “Can I know what’s wrong?” He blinked. “I promise I won’t call the cops if it's something illegal! Mildly illegal. If it’s too illegal I’ll have to arrest you.”

Suddenly, his brother lowered the sandwich, and in his half parted lips Duke could see the way he licked his canines as the ghost of a frown crossed his face with eyes unfocused, and maybe out of fear of maybe not seeing him again, Duke memorized his brother’s mannerisms as much as he could.

“Well,” he raised both eyebrows with a sigh. “In trust of strangers I’ll tell you.” Duke silently cheered. “I, uh… had some trouble with my family.” He shrugged.

“What kind of trouble?” If it was about the family, Duke had to know more. Naively, he thought that his brother was simply… rebellious or something. Duke Thomas always tried to see the best in the Waynes.

His brother opened his mouth as if to speak, with his head shaking no ever so faintly before he found the words and his tongue licking his canines once more. “We don’t have the best relationship—we’re more like acquaintances, you know? But all of a sudden they’re acting weird and talking to me.” He made a face. “It’s just weird.”

Duke frowned. “So… they’re trying to connect with you?”

He shook his head with a sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe—”

“Will you give them a chance?”

He tried to see the best in the Waynes at all times because right now, they were the only family he had. With his parents stuck with a grin on their faces, catatonic and in despair, Duke had nothing left. Sure, he had friends, but that wasn’t what he needed—he needed warmth. Stability. The love of a dad and siblings and everything that came with it.

“Nah.” A smile, not happy or kind, but rather petty, curved up his brother’s lips. “They lost their chance.”

“But they’re trying.”

Was his brother an idiot? Duke hadn’t gotten the impression before, but now, it was becoming clear that he was. Because how could he reject his family’s love? Flawed and mean as they could be at times, they were the only ones who would be there for him at the very end.

“I’m not debating with you.” He laughed in disbelief.

“They’re your family.” Duke insisted. “They’re trying now—how can you just… fuck them over like that? I—” He was getting agitated, but it didn’t matter. Not right now. “Do you know what I would give to have my parents back? Do you have a single fucking idea of how many children in Gotham would kill for their families to try? You’re being selfish.”

He had been lucky that Bruce Wayne took him under his wing. He had been lucky that Tim, and Steph, Cass and Damian, and Jason and Dick and everyone had accepted him into their family when he didn’t have the privilege of being Bruce’s blood son. So he couldn’t—wouldn’t—understand why his brother was being so petty over nothing.

Duke hadn’t noticed, but in his rant, his brother’s smile had disappeared, but his mouth didn’t close. His eyes had become teary red with pain, and his bottom lip had become trembly—maybe trying to find words, or maybe itching to sob. Duke was too mad to notice the pathetic look in his eyes. Or maybe, he was glad his brother looked like this, because it meant that he understood his point.

At least, that’s what he thought. He’d only notice how fast his brother ate.

His brother gulped. “Thanks for the food.” He strained a smile and a nod. “Have a great day, Signal.”

Duke wouldn’t see his brother running through an entire pack of cigarettes as he walked aimlessly through the city until dusk arrived, nor would he know how labored his breathing had become in an attempt to not sob in the middle of the street—how his eyes would flicker everywhere as if trying to find an answer, silently wondering if he was in the wrong. If he truly was at fault.

Or how instead of taking the route back to crime alley, his brother—amidst deep breaths and self-reassurance—took his usual route back to the manor, begging to not regret his decision.

Neither would he know how earlier, Tim Drake had been leisurely looking through the manor’s cameras like it was a TV show.

It was something Tim did when he was stuck. If he wasn’t looking at manor’s cameras, then he was out looking into the windows of people of interest. It never failed to clear his mind—except for right at that moment.

Last night, and before leaving to meet with Jason with a rope, Dick had come over to the cave in a rush with a trash bag filled with… well, trash. Burnt pieces of paper that Dick swore belonged to their brother’s childhood diary. Tim had noticed something was odd since dinner, but when his eldest brother begged him to put the pieces together until the diary was complete, and soon after ordered him to do so, Tim knew something was deeply wrong.

So he agreed to help, as long as he found out what the hell was going on with their family.

But, trying to figure out what someone you knew jack about wrote years ago was, unsurprisingly, hard. Not even the Batcomputer could easily figure it out… but this wasn’t his first rodeo. It was only a matter of time.

Tim was snapped out of his thoughts when he noticed movement on a certain camera. Looking up, he found Damian walking the dog, Ace, as Alfred dusted an old painting that sat there just for show. But instead of walking past Alfred like Damian would usually do, he froze in the middle of the hallway, with his eyes seemingly locked onto nothing.

After a while, Alfred was the first to speak. “Mater Damian.”

“Pennyworth.” Damian greeted simply.

Another second, and Alfred hummed. “Is something bothering you? You know you can speak to me about anything, Master Damian.”

“Why would I be bothered, Pennyworth?” Damian frowned defensively, puffing up his chest and raising his chin high. “I’m simply admiring father’s painting.” Yet, his eyes were locked on the floor.

“Ah, yes.” Alfred looked down at the floor in mild amusement. “The painting. Master Bruce has exquisite taste, doesn’t he? Van Gogh, I believe.”

Tim snorted.

Instead of glowering, or grunting, or anything Damian would usually do, the boy stood silent for a moment along with Alfred, with Ace choosing to sit obediently next to its baby master. Tim wouldn’t look away, of course, whenever Damian was moping like this, it meant something interesting had happened.

“Pennyworth.” Damian finally spoke, but he fell into silence again.

“Yes, Master Damian?”

“Why is he—” Damian added his name with lingering unfamiliarity, the one that had been swirling in everyone’s head since yesterday. That of the brother Tim was mildly curious about, and the one Dick had forced him to stalk. “Why is my brother moving out?”

Something in the patheticness in which Damian spoke struck a cord deep within Tim. The way his voice had become barely more than a small, child-like squeak full of something Tim had only seen in Damian once—worry.

Alfred took half a second to walk forward, kneeling down on the ground in front of Damian to see him eye-to-eye as his hands came to grab him by the shoulders in a comforting manner. “Your brother is not leaving, Master Damian. He is simply… disturbed.”

Tim could faintly see how Damian’s fists tightened. “Am I at fault?”

“Of course no—”

“He was scared.” Damian’s head turned away faintly, as if ashamed. “He tried to hide it, but I could see the tension in his body, the terror in his eyes.” He looked up at Alfred. “Pennyworth, is my brother leaving because of me?”

“No.” Alfred interjected immediately. “Your brother loves you—all of you. He loves you all so deeply it’ll kill him.” Taking a deep, calming breath, Alfred’s hands moved to fix Damian’s clothes. “He’ll come back, Master Damian.” A small ghost of a smile formed on Alfred’s lips. “He needed to clear his head, is all. You’ll see.”

Tim bit the inside of his cheek as he looked away from the monitor.

Whatever was going on was getting out of hand—it didn’t make sense. One day, nobody cares about him, and the next, everyone is clamoring for his attention. It was ridiculous! In all the years he had been here, Tim had just assumed that nobody liked the guy, so he followed suit. Things weren’t under his control anymore, too many kings were moving to another set’s pawn, and he had no idea what the pawn would do.

He glanced at the trash bag, and silently, he scoffed at himself.

If he didn’t understand a new piece, then he’d learn about it. He’d learn his likes and dislikes, his fears, his dreams, what made him sad and what kept him away, what made him come crawling at his feet, what’d make him sob and beg in pleasure.

As soon as he went back to school, Tim Drake would make it his mission to get as much information out of his brother’s friend as possible—to understand a piece you had to understand the board, he thought—and then, he’d groom the pawn into a tower. Or maybe another king, but for his so-called brother’s sake, he hoped not.

A pleased sigh escaped Tim’s lips.

Control. Absolute and undeniable. Even the mere idea of it got him going.

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A/N: Took a while lol. Sorry, I had to see the new big tittie guy in ZZZ and I had to speedrun-ish like almost the whole story. Got Astra for my Harumasa though! Plus her W-Engine. Not to brag ofc (50/50 btw.)

I have a question. Are the chapters too emotionally charged so far? Ik there's only three chapters (counting the prologue), but I'd like to know if you guys would like some wider breaks between the heavy snipets.

Also, as I've stated before, I'm new to the Tumblr FF scene, but in the odd fics I read I've noticed that authors publish like... one-shots? Short, out-of-fic-canon chapters, right? So I was also wondering if you guys would like something like that for the in-between-chapters drought lol. They'd be super short though.

Anyway, thank you for reading, I'm sorry it took so long. I hope you guys can follow this story in the future, too.

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We lost the plot chat

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Russian heartthrob

dick grayson x male reader

Bruce was clear. "End it, Dick. No more events. No more calls. No more chance of scandal. Gotham is watching."

But Dick Grayson had never been great at following orders — especially when his heart was involved.

He knew it wasn’t love yet. Not fully. But something in your eyes — every time you looked at him like he was made of galaxies — it ignited something deep in him. You were different from everyone else. You didn’t want anything from him except him.

You weren’t interested in his money, his fame, or the Wayne name. You liked Dick. The man. The mess. The real him.

And he couldn’t just walk away from that.

Secret Meetings

It started with chance encounters. Then, subtle invitations.

Late-night walks on Gotham’s quieter rooftops. Black SUV rides where the windows were tinted, and no one knew who was inside.

You'd sneak out from your penthouse in the city, scarf over your mouth, hat low. And Dick would already be there, leaning against a brick wall with that easy smile.

“You came,” he said once, in a whisper, as you approached in the cold.

You smiled softly, heart pounding.

“For you? I would come through snowstorm or fire, Dick Grayson.”

You kissed once — under Gotham’s rain, with the sound of distant thunder behind you. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t planned.

It was… soft. Unspoken. Just lips and longing.

But Gotham doesn’t keep secrets for long.

The press was relentless. A blurry photo. An insider tip. Rumors that Bruce Wayne’s adopted son had been spotted with the Russian heartthrob — and not just once.

Bruce was furious. Not yelling — worse than that. Cold. Distant.

“You don’t know him. You don’t know what he wants, Dick. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“You think I’d fall for someone that easy?” Dick snapped. “You raised me better than that.”

“I raised you to be smarter,” Bruce said. “To protect the family. Your image. Yourself.”

Dick stormed out, jaw clenched, heart racing.

He was done hiding.

The Goodbye

You hadn’t been seen for two days. Dick tried your number. No answer. He showed up to your modeling agency — gone.

Finally, your agent gave him the truth:

“He flew back to Moscow last night. Something about needing space. About wanting to leave before things got worse.”

Dick’s world stopped.

The next morning, he stood on the Gotham rooftop where you first kissed, your scarf still tucked in his coat pocket. He clutched it like it was all he had left of you.

Somewhere in Moscow...

You stared out a frosted window, the city below blurred by snowfall. Your heart ached.

The tabloids had twisted everything. You couldn’t drag Dick down with you. You weren’t from Gotham — you didn’t belong in that world of masks and legacies.

But in your hands, you still held something close — a photo someone snapped of the two of you walking in the rain, your shoulder brushing his, both of you smiling like idiots.

You whispered his name.

“Дик…”

And wondered if he was thinking of you too.

To be continued...

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ఌ 𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐊

w.c › 7.4k

warnings › bottom male reader.

plot › A loanshark is terrorizing your community, so you try “scaring” him off. He thinks you’re a dumb fool who will make the perfect plaything after his last toy… unfortunately broke beyond repair.

kinks › manhandling, degradation, semi-pet play, dacryphilia

words to know › P/Phi (พี่) — title used for someone older, can also be a sibling. Nong (น้อง) — title used for someone younger, also for siblings. Khun (คุณ) — Mr/Ms/You. Hia (เฮีย) — “an older brother”, used mostly for an older male with Chinese ancestry. Sawatdee khrap/kha (สวัสดีครับ/สวัสดีค่ะ) — “hello”, khrap ending is for men, kha ending is for women.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

「จะทำทุกๆอย่าง จะทำทุกๆทาง」

“Where’s the rest of the money, you little bitch?”

“What, are you waiting for that savior of yours?”

「ให้เธอได้รู้สึกอบอุ่นหัวใจไปกับฉัน」

“How deep should I cut, Boss?”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Everyone’s eyes focused on the man sitting on the makeshift bed in the apartment. Every item of any significant value trashed or pocketed in their pockets.

A pained gasp left the withering body in the middle of the room, his eye swelling black. Despite himself, his one good eye stared defiantly at the man sitting in the center of the room. Portraying a last ditch effort of strength.

The boss slowly rose up. Eyes followed him as his loafers stepped across broken class. The crunch filling the room as he stared down at his victim.

「แต่เราเพึ่งรู้จัก แค่มองด้วยสายตา」

He slowly reached into his pocket, pulling out a short blade. It shined underneath the blinking light from the ceiling. His gaze watched as the victim began to struggle against the lackey’s grip.

“Stop struggling. You’ll only make me enjoy this more,” the lackey whispered in the victim’s ears.

The victim could only watch as the boss handed over the short blade.

“Leave a mark.” Was all the boss said. He walked out to the open door. A group of residents stood nearby—the crowd quickly cowering at the sight of him. His head was held high as they bowed theirs, not even daring to catch a glimpse into his eyes.

A sharp piercing scream filled the apartment complex located in the slums of Chiang Mai, Thailand.

And the residents could only offer a prayer to his screams.

「มันทำให้ฉันนั้นรู้คีว่า จะเป็นเช่นไร」

A round of applause set off just as you finished your song. A wide grin spread on your lips. The applause was the best part of being a singer. To hear the appreciation for your artwork. You slide your guitar to rest on your back as you got off your stool.

“Thank you, Thank you. The last song was Everything by Scrubb. Enjoy the rest of your night everyone!”

You immediately got off stage and went to the bar’s owner. She was speaking to one of her employees before catching sight of you. A wide grin appeared on her lips as she began to shoo away the bartender to handle some customers.

“Nong~!” She cheered, engulfing you into a hug as soon as you were near. You eagerly returned the hug, giggling when she pressed a kiss on your cheeks—red lipstick now staining it. “You were great, as always. Let me get your pay for this week.”

“Thank you, P’Janine.” You bowed your head slightly, pressing your hands together. Janine handed over some money that she pulled out of her bra. You blinked but took the money away—used to her quirks by now.

Janine offered you a wide grin and only nodded, “of course, of course. Oh? Nong, I’ve heard you’ve been working extra shifts.” She said, a sudden seriousness to her expression. “You haven’t…” her voice trailed off, letting you connect the dots.

The people here were even scared to utter her name, as if she would appear behind them.

You frowned, “Phi” you said with an exasperated sigh, “why would I be dumb enough to borrow from her? I’m fine, I don’t need anything.”

“Is it for Plawan then? He hasn’t come visited me in a while, is he bored of me?” She whined, obviously trying to left the mood.

“Yea. Wan… His dad,” you shook your head. “He wouldn’t want me to blabber about his business.” You muttered.

Janine nodded. “Of course. Tell him to visit me soon. I always have a spot open for him to work here. I’ll pay him double!”

You grinned and nodded, “Okay, I’ll tell him. I better go now, it’s getting late.”

“Right, right. Go! Make sure to eat dinner! Stop skipping your meals!” Janine yelled just as you left the bar.

Your feet barely touched the ground as you sprinted over to your moped, immediately mounting it with ease. You hastily fastened your helmet and rolled the handles, blasting off to return home.

You made a sharp left and slide into your usual parking spot, killing the engine. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach.

And unfortunately, it was never wrong.

“Wan,” you called out before you even reached the fourth floor, frowning at the sight of his apartment door wide open. Inside, everything was trashed. Valuables all gone. You stepped inside, pausing when glass crunched underneath your sneakers.

“Plawan! Where are you?” You rushed to the only room of the apartment, pushing the door open to see it empty. “Wan..? Plawan?!”

“P’(Name)!”

A hushed voice suddenly called out. You walked out of the bedroom to see Star, a little girl that lived next door to Plawan. She was dressed in her elementary uniform still. Her hair messy from the neat pigtails you saw her with this morning.

“Star,” you sighed in relief, rushing over to her.

Star shushed you, motioning for you to lower your voice. “Come, P’Wan is with my mommy.” She grabbed your hand and began leading you to the apartment right next door. The apartment was bare with only old and fraying furniture.

Star’s drawings were plastered all over the walls, the one thing that breathed life into the decaying room. “Mommy!” Star called out, pulling you to the bedroom.

She pushed open the door and your sight was immediately set on Plawan lying down on the bed. He was badly beaten, a bandaged over his eye. Star’s mother, Pearl, glanced back at you with a glare, her body covering Plawan as if she was protecting him until she noticed it was just you.

“(Name),” she sighed, pulling away. Her hands were covered in blood, her blue nurse scrub darkened in certain areas. “I was able to stop the bleeding but he should visit a real hospital in case of internal bleeding. I heard from the neighbors that they were beating him for at least an hour.”

You frowned, pulling off your guitar as you placed it against the wall. Pearl moved away—giving you space.

“I would’ve left him in his room but… they broke the locks. I didn’t want him to stay in there.” She said, giving you a comforting smile. You tried your best to return it.

“I’ll take him to my room tomorrow.”

She nodded and walked away, guiding Star with her. As the door closed, you couldn’t help but sigh once more. Of course those loan sharks wouldn’t honor the deal they made. They were supposed to come tomorrow morning—not tonight.

“Hia…”

You gazed down at Plawan, sighing in relief to see him staring up at you. “Wan, are you okay? I didn’t think they’d come tonight, if I’d—”

“It’s okay.” Plawan muttered, his voice hoarse. “It’s not your fault. They’re loan sharks.”

“Yea.” You let out a bitter laugh. “True. What did they do? What did they take?”

“Everything. I was only able to keep my phone… so they can keep contacting me.” Plawan sighed. “They even took our photos, what are they gonna do with that?”

“Anything to torture you…”

“Hm.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “He came this time. Told them to mark me.”

“He?”

“The boss.”

You frowned. “He came? Your debt is hardly anything extravagant, you’re always on time.”

Plawan attempted to shrug only for him to curse, “ow… I don’t know, it felt like… it was to show the others just how scary he is. He hasn’t visited our complex in two years.”

“Wait, he told them to mark you?”

“Mhm. It’s on my chest.” He whispered, looking away from your stare.

Your eyes flickered to the bandage on the left side of his chest. All you could really do was just stare and possibly hope he would heal without a scar.

“And…” Plawan suddenly added, catching your attention.

“And?”

“My face. He… he ruined half of my face.”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

1 year later

“Wan, what should we do with the ashes?” You asked, staring at the urn resting on the ground in front of you.

Plawan signed, pushing back his bangs. His left side of his face that had a jagged line running from his hairline down to his chin had finally healed after a full year. He frowned at the urn of his deceased father and glanced back over at you.

“Shouldn’t I just flush it down the toilet?”

“Hm, wouldn’t that clog the toilet? That thing can hardly handle your poop. You’re gonna give it a bigger shit to handle?” You joked, grinning at the slight laugh you earned from Plawan.

It was rare from him these days.

“Maybeeee,” you hummed, closing your eyes as you thought long and hard. “You can pour it over some of the loan sharks?”

Plawan frowned. “You can do that. I don’t talk to those bastards unless I have no choice.”

“Hm. I’ll do it for you, in honor of your dad being on his knees for those suits since he was a drunk.” You nodded, already having a plan of when to do it.

It wasn’t a shock that Plawan had developed a phobia over loan sharks. He practically froze up whenever they walked into the complex. Everyone living at the complex in someway owed debt to the same woman. After the incident a year ago, the big ‘boss’ that left a mark on Plawan hadn’t come back.

You wondered why he even came. The lackeys were already terrifying to most of the residents. It got to a point where they even flinched at the sight of any man in a suit. Plawan now being one of those unfortunate people.

He couldn’t even wear a suit for his father’s funeral. Though it wasn’t like the bastard deserved it. After his death, he managed to rack up a debt of 1,299,700 baht, an added 120,000 balance.

Just to think you and Plawan were almost out of those scumbags clutches. If only his father didn’t make his debt default to Plawan.

Plawan yawned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I think I’m going to go to bed, Hia. I’m tired.”

“Course. Want me to stay the night or go to my room?”

“You can go. I wanna be alone.”

You hummed, comfortingly patting his shoulder. As you got up, you grabbed the urn from the floor and walked out, closing the door behind you. The urn was heavy in your arm as you walked downstairs to the third floor.

Your free hand reached into your back pocket, fishing for your keys when a yell caught your attention. You looked behind yourself only to get slammed into as a man pushed past you. The urn’s lid popped open and fell to the ground, remains beginning to coat the concrete.

“Khun!” You called after the man, snarling. “Watch where you’re going!”

“Move!”

A deep voice yelled. You were harshly pushed onto the ground as three loan sharks chased after the man. The urn shattered beneath you, the shards cutting into your skin. You hissed at the pain and immediately pulled away, blood and human remains now coating you.

“Seriously…” you whispered to yourself, dusting off the ashes. Your left hand’s palm was cut open, dripping blood onto the ground. You quickly tried to wipe the ashes off the hand so the wound wouldn’t get infected. “Those suits.. no respect.. should’ve thrown this stupid asshole at them.”

As you continued cursing out Plawan’s father’s ashes, footsteps echoed behind you. You glanced behind yourself to see a man dressed in a white button up and black slacks. Another man stood behind him, dressed oddly casual in comparison.

The casual man, dressed in a black wife beater and jean pants, stared you down, “who are you?” He asked, his eyes narrowing at you suspiciously. “Did you just move in?”

You glared at the man, shocked at his audacity to use casual speech in reference to you, “Hey, it’s ‘Khun’ not ‘mung.’ Why should I tell you anyway? You’re not the landlord.”

“What did you just say?” The man growled, looking ready to cross over to you when the other man held his hand up. Like a dog, the man stopped in his tracks.

“Huh? Are you his mutt?” You couldn’t help but whisper, moving to stand up.

“Hope,” the other man said, ignoring what you said, “make sure they catch him.”

“But—” Hope muttered, his glare focused solely on you. He didn’t want to let you disrespect him without any consequences.

“It wasn’t a suggestion.”

That shut Hope up immediately. He slightly bowed his head and immediately walked away, leaving you with the other man. You raised an eyebrow—wondering if it would be smart to even talk to this man after seeing how easily he commanded another.

You glanced down at the mess around you, sighing. The cut in your hand burned. You had the ashes of a deadbeat coating your clothing, you were pretty sure you could even taste a bit of it.

“You’re not in debt.” The man suddenly said, catching your attention.

“Huh?” You whispered, glancing up at him.

“I know everyone who lives in this complex. You’re not in debt, so why do you live here?”

“Oh. You’re a loan shark.” You rolled your eyes, no longer interested in figuring the guy out. “No, I’m not in debt. So you don’t scare me. Just go focus on getting your money.”

“I don’t scare you?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. You got a good look at him and was almost disappointed. A good looking guy being a loan shark, a shame. His black hair looked silky smooth, probably soft to the touch. A strong nose and almond eyes that were naturally scrutinizing you without even moving.

It was as if his neutral face was scary, no, scary felt juvenile to describe his neutral face. It was unsettling.

As if he couldn’t emote.

The thought of him smiling sent shivers down your spine.

You stepped back. Sure, he had no reason to do anything to you. But loan sharks weren’t exactly known for being law abiding citizens. And this one didn’t seem like a lackey at all. He seemed to be someone of higher status. Only an idiot would mess with someone like that.

“As you can see,” you whispered, waving at your soiled clothing. “I need to get cleaned up. Excuse me.”

His eyes flickered down to your clothing. They slowly trailed up your entire body to your face, staring at you as if he was taking you in. You felt like a mouse, staring at a cat was its tail slowly began to sway, their pupils dilating.

If you stayed here any longer, you were sure you would be eaten alive.

You quickly turned around and tried to keep a brisk pace while walking away.

“You’re staying here for someone.”

Your body froze.

“Plawan Nakhun Laedeke.”

It felt as if time was frozen. He knew Plawan’s full name.

“His father recently died. The service was today, if my memory serves me well. Shame the ashes met a fate on the dirty ground.”

You glanced back at the man, fighting the urge to punch him right in the face. “What? Are you threatening me?” You walked right back over to him, your fists clutching on your sides.

He didn’t flinch even as you got close to him, his hands still resting in his pockets. “Move out. Only residents in debt to Khun Lily stay here.”

“No.” You answered without a second thought. “I’d be a fool to leave Plawan with someone like you and your mutts.”

“You may think staying close helps, but you weren’t able to him save a year ago, were you?”

You blinked, staring up at the man in shock. The dots connected immediately as you subconsciously stepped back. It was him. The boss that ordered Plawan’s humiliation. Anger bubbled up inside you—your past fear all gone at the thought of finally getting revenge for Plawan.

“No. I’m not leaving, I’m staying right here. You’ll have to drive me out,” you said, glaring at the monster in front of you. With a shaky hand, your voice threatening to crack, you pressed your bloody hand right on his crisp white shirt.

His eyes immediately glanced down at your hand. You took a deep breath, leaning in closer as you dragged your hand down his chest. Blood coated the shirt, soiling it with blood and ashes.

“I’m not one to back down.” You whispered, pulling your hand away. “Try to learn more about me, try to make me scared of you, none of it’ll work. I’ll stay by Plawan’s side until the day I die.”

You quickly took a large step backwards, eyes wide as you tried thinking about what you just did. What you just said. Needing to get away, you only shook your head and walked away—leaving the broken urn and ashes of a deadbeat on the floor.

“Saint,” Hope sighed, walking up the stairs. His face was twisted in anger as he wiped off blood that coated his cheek. “I managed to get him—not sure if he’s still alive though.”

Saint kept his gaze in your retreating back, taking note of which direction you went. He looked back at Hope and hummed. “So long as you got the money.”

“Mhm, of—woah, woah, what the hell happened to your shirt?” Hope blinked in shock, seeing the bloody hand print that was on Saint’s shirt.

“Hm,” Saint reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “My first gift from a new plaything. You’ll start collecting money from Plawan Nakhun Laedeke.”

“Huh, Plawan? I thought Drake was handling him.”

Saint only had to give Hope a look before the man quickly nodded. He hummed and began typing in his phone. “Don’t just collect the debt, get close to him. I need to know information about that friend he keeps around.”

Hope nodded. “Okay. What happened to your last one, bored already?”

A slight chuckle left Saint’s lips as he began walking downstairs, not waiting to see if Hope would follow. Everyone followed him.

“You could say that.”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

Plawan sighed, staring at the bucket of ice in front of him. The sound of music was beginning to bother him. Why did P’Janine like playing English rock music on Sunday’s? She was a bit too eccentric for his liking. The loud instruments were begging to give him a headache.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he finally grabbed the scooper, shoveling some ice into the glass nearby him. The patrons were talking amongst themselves behind him—speaking louder so they could each other over the music.

“Here, call me if you want more.” Plawan said, giving a faint smile as he handed the drink over.

After another hour or so, the music finally wined down to some American R&B. Plawan sighed in relief. A few patrons began leaving—it being a Sunday night after all.

“See ya, Plawan!”

“Bye.” He nodded towards the door, not making effort to look over.

“Plawan,” Janine came over, a grin on her lips. “I think I might close a little early. There’s hardly anyone here. You can start cleaning up. If anyone walks in tell them we’re closing.”

“Okay.” He waved her off, just happy to make it home quick. His phone rang just as he began putting away the bottles. It was you. “Hello, Hia? Need something?”

“What do you want for dinner?” Your voice was cheery. “I’m stopping by this Chinese shop that recently opened up. It’s the real deal, I can make a traditional dinner that my mom taught me.”

Plawan hummed. “Okay. Anything is okay.”

“Hm, okay. What time are you getting home? Should I do my apartment or yours?”

“Let’s—”

“Scotch whisky.”

Plawan frowned, looking back to see a man near the bar. The man placed his empty glass on the hardwood as he stared at Plawan. Every bone in Plawan’s body immediately stiffened.

“Excuse me?” Plawan managed to mutter, staring at the man in confusion.

The man pointed at the bottle in Plawan’s hand, “before you put it away, pour me some.”

“What happened, Wan?”

Your voice suddenly cut through, gaining Plawan’s attention. He turned his back to the man and sighed slightly, calming his nerves.

“It’s okay, Hia (Name). I’m at work, I’m supposed to get off at 11 pm. It’s only a thirty minute walk back to the apartment. P’Janine should be in her office.” He breathed out.

You were silent for a second. “Okay. 11:30 pm. No later than that. Meet me at my apartment.”

Plawan hung up the call and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He debated what he should say to the man but decided to just to satisfy him. With a shaky breath, he slowly turned back to face the stranger. His footsteps felt heavy as he walked over and poured a generous amount in the man’s glass.

“It’s quite dark in here.” The man suddenly said as Plawan kneeled down to put the bottle in the cabinet. “Does the owner like it dark? I can hardly see your face.”

“I..” Plawan coughed, standing up as he kept his gaze down, switching to polite speech. “I don’t think it’s necessary to see the bartender’s face. If that’s all, I’ll settle your tab. We’re closing early tonight.”

“I heard. But there’s no need to settle a tab. Just put it under Khun Lily’s checking.”

Plawan only nodded. The man was a loan shark. Only a loan shark would say that… but usually one of higher standing. Plawan began to busy himself, feeling the man watch his every move.

“It’s interesting. From what the others described you as, you aren’t like anything I imagined. Or really remember.” The man downed his drink, resting his glass on the hardwood with a particularly heavy force. Plawan flinched from the sound, his body freezing.

“What did they say, you would fight with us sometimes. You were often held back by that friend of yours. Did one little visit from my boss put you in your place?” He laughed as he pushed away the bar.

Plawan quickly moved to the other side of the bar, checking the stock, mentally taking note of which liquor that needed to be replenished. Foot steps behind him caught his attention as the overhead lights were suddenly turned on.

“Wha—?”

A hand grabbed his shoulder and roughly spun him around, slamming into the wall behind him. The bottles shook and clinked against each other. One slid right off its shelving and came tumbling down. It shattered on the ground, somehow able to drown out the music.

With the lights finally on, Plawan was able to get a good look at the man in front of him. Messy black hair with fox like eyes. He had a single earring in his right ear. Compared to the other loan sharks, he looked like a delinquent—different to the type of style she usually wanted her men to have.

Did being a higher up means you didn’t have to follow the uniform?

“He really did fuck you up.” The man laughed, staring at the scar on Plawan’s face. His hand slowly reached out to grab his chin. Plawan quickly looked away—shame and embarrassment pooling in his stomach.

Janine was nice enough to keep the lights low whenever he worked his shift. The patrons were smart enough to not question it. To think he’d be getting made fun of like a kid in high school by a loan shark.

The man scoffed, harshly gripping Plawan’s chin as he forced him to look at him. “Are you five? Do you plan on hiding in the dark for the rest of your life? What, feeling self pity for yourself?”

Plawan glared at the man but it hardly packed any punch. He was all out of anger by now. Because the man was right, Plawan did pity himself. Only someone like him would get stuck with a dead father who drowned him in debt over liquor and gambling.

“I want to see you.” The man suddenly said, his free hand coming to rest right near Plawan’s head. Plawan blinked as he tried to ask what the man was insinuating but he was shushed by the tight grip moving to his jaw. “It must’ve been, ages since I last saw you. You don’t remember me at all?”

Plawan frowned, reaching his free hand to press against the man’s chest. He tried to push him away with as much strength as possible but the man hardly budged.

The man let out a breathless sigh, his gaze felt as if he was drowning Plawan. He was staring at Plawan with a sort of fondness that he wasn’t used to. Maybe you would stare at him lovingly sometimes but it was family like.

This… This was filled with tenderness and a type of warmth Plawan didn’t think was possible for someone like him.

Plawan stiffened as the man’s hand slowly loosened its grip on his jaw, his thumb pressing against his lips. He pressed down on his bottom lip, parting them open. Plawan stared up at the man in shock—wondering what type of humiliation was this supposed to be.

“I want you, Plawan. Even with the burn marks on your arms.” He leaned down and captured Plawan’s lips into a searing kiss. Plawan’s hands tightened their grip on the man’s shirt as his eyes widen.

How’d he—?

The kiss was hungry, as if the man was kissing Plawan like he’d never get to ever again. Plawan reached up and tightly squeezed the man’s nose, gasping when his lips were finally free.

The man cursed, rubbing the tip of his nose as he slightly glared at Plawan. But it hardly felt scary—just a glare you’d give a loved one after they slightly pissed you off.

“Plawan—”

“P’Hope?” Plawan cut him off, knowing there was only two people in the world who knew about his burn marks.

You….

And his ex-boyfriend.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“Where is he?” You frowned, watching the clock on your phone. It was reaching 11:20 pm. It couldn’t really take thirty minutes to walk back home.

You were sitting at the small water fountain in the center of the complex. The complex used to be more luxurious until the original owner crossed paths with Lily. After that, it went downhill. At least that’s what people that have lived here for over thirty years attest.

You only moved here for Plawan. Your family wasn’t rich or even comfortable by any means. They just never got into debt by pure luck. You knew many people who unfortunately fell for loan sharks for medical debt, house loans, and other financial crisis.

To say your parents didn’t want you to move here was an understatement. But you’d do anything for Plawan. Your mom joked that he was practically your son, even if you were only two years older than him.

It was the least you could do for him, at least that’s how you thought about it.

You tapped away at your phone—debating if it’d be smart to call him again. Loan sharks wouldn’t usually follow you to work unless you leave them no choice. But they didn’t follow their own rules half of the time.

“Waiting for someone?”

An immediate frown pulled in your lips at that voice. You hadn’t seen him for over a month now—almost believing you imagined the whole situation.

“Why are you here?” You managed to whisper, still not able to look him in the eye. “Collecting late night debt?”

The man only hummed as he walked over to you, sitting down on the edge of the fountain. You immediately scooted over. He let out a humorless chuckle. Great, you certainly showed him that you didn’t fear him at all.

“(Name) Piniwat.”

“Scary, you know my name now. Should I search for yours now too?”

“Saint.”

You scoffed. “Your parents were funny giving you that name.”

“They were no saints themselves.”

You rolled your eyes and checked your phone again. “Where’s your lackeys?” The time read 11:28 pm.

“Why, did you want an audience?”

“Audience?” You finally looked over at Saint, seeing him look straight ahead as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He was calm as he lit it up with a lighter—leaving you to just stare at him in confusion.

Whatever goes on in that man’s head wasn’t something you wanted to really learn more about it. It must be like opening a Pandora’s box.

Seeing no point in entertaining him any longer, you moved to stand up only for his hand to grab the back of your collar. A gasp left your lips as you stared at him shock.

One minute you were staring at him—the next, you were underwater.

His left hand held your collar, the right gripped your neck. Your hand dropped your phone onto the ground as you immediately gripped at his arms and shoulders. They travelled frantically across his body.

You took a deep breath just as he brought you back up. Your chest heaved as you greedily took in as much air your lungs could bear. Saint stared down at you, his cigarette between his lips. Smoke blew from his nose as he let out a slight chuckle.

“You look good wet.” He said just as he dunked you back into the fountain.

Your legs flailed, sneakers scrapping against the concrete as you dug your nails into his arms. You tried to keep your lips closed to prevent yourself from drowning but it was easier said than done.

He pulled you out with just one hand, tightly grasping your t-shirt. His gaze was neutral as he watched you gasp for air.

“I’ll give you one more chance,” his voice didn’t waver as he kneeled down close, your nose bumping into his. “Leave or I’ll have my fun with you.”

You gritted your teeth, mustering your best glare. Your body was shivering now due to the cool air that swirled around you. “I’ll never abandon Plawan.”

Saint leaned away, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth. He blew out a puff a smoke and sighed. The cigarette fell to the floor as he stepped on it with his loafers.

“You’re already more fun than he was.” He said.

Water filled your lungs. This time his hand was pushing down at your neck, applying pressure. You couldn’t think straight and began panicking. Your body shook and flailed against his as you essentially fought for your life.

The thought of being murdered in a fountain that hadn’t been cleaned in years was an embarrassing thought.

But it was less than the fear of leaving Plawan alone with someone as sick and twisted as Saint.

Just as it felt like you were losing the fight, you were harshly pulled out. Your t-shirt had tore from the force of his strength. It was an old thing—no wonder it tore so easily. Your chest was fully free to the cool air as you coughed and heaved.

A hand cradled your head, holding it high just as you felt yourself being lifted up. You coughed, spitting out water and spit onto your chest. Your eyes struggled to stay open as footsteps filled your head.

You took another greedy gasp for air, resting your head against the solid wall you were pressed against. It felt warm. You could’ve sworn you were hearing a heartbeat. The rhythmic sound of a beating heart brought a sense of peace.

Your hand shakily pressed against the wall, your finger beginning to tap in harmony with the beating.

“Wan…” You whispered as your body officially lost the battle against the fatigue.

“High school sweethearts? Hm. If it works, it works. Whatever you do with Plawan is none of my concern—so long as you do your work. Do I have him? Mhm, I took him for a swim, he didn’t disappoint.”

Don’t be too harsh? If he breaks too early then it’ll be his fault. Did you get a copy of his key? No, I’m not at the complex. Why would I willingly stay there? Am I keeping him here?”

Can’t say. He’s currently listening in. If you’re waiting until I fall asleep—no need. The door can’t be unlocked without a key.”

Saint ended the phone call, watching as you quickly burrowed yourself underneath the comforter. He couldn’t help but smirk slightly. Were you stupid? Possibly.

He carelessly tossed his phone onto the nightstand beside him and got up from the chair. He had brought you back here after you fainted. His apartment. It wasn’t lavish by any means but it was decorated with furniture that only someone with money could afford.

The bed slowly dipped as Saint leaned onto the bed, hovering over you. He stared at you before pulling down the comforter, enjoying the surprised look on your face.

Your eyes were wide—body curled into yourself. But even then, he could tell that you had a growing anger in your eyes. Good, you would be fun.

“Did you collect any useful information?” Saint asked, sitting down on the bed. His hand slowly moving to brush your hair. “Unfortunately for you, your movement quickened at the mention of Plawan. He really is your weakness.”

You mustered a glare, moving to sit up. “Don’t touch me. It’s not a weakness to care about someone.”

Saint hummed, he moved his hand away. His eyes flickered to your neck. “It’s lightweight.”

“Huh?” You glanced down before touching your neck, noticing a collar was there. Your fingers tried to tug underneath it but it was as if it was stuck to your skin. “What—what the hell is this?”

“Don’t speak so loudly—it’s 3 am.” He reached over and pushed your hands away, looping his finger around a metallic item hanging off the collar. “Skin tight, you can hardly feel it. Does it scare you?”

“Take it off.”

“Hm. The padlock is small, to break it, you’d have to be careful to not accidentally cut yourself.” He continued, ignoring your words. “Though, if I find you with it off,” his voice lowered as his hand gripped your hair, pulling you in close harshly. “I’ll dispose of you.”

Saint released his grip on you, glancing back at his phone once it began to ring. You coughed slightly and rubbed the back of your head. He was insane—to think he actually collared you like a dog. You were his mutt, just like that Hope guy.

“Hm? He wants to talk?”

You flinched when he tapped your cheek, glancing over to see him hold up his phone. He lazily shook his phone when you didn’t make any attempt to grab it. Deciding to keep him as calm as possible—you grabbed the phone.

“Hia?”

“Plawan?!” You yelled, a wide grin immediately spreading on your lips. “Where are you? Are you okay? Did you make it home?”

“Mhm. I’m okay. I got home by midnight… you weren’t at the fountain.” Plawan sighed slightly. “I’m sorry. I dragged you into this mess—he has you, right?”

You glanced over at Saint, seeing him tilt his head at your gaze. He looked unfazed by your eyes. You quickly looked away. “It’s ok. I can handle myself. Who are you with? They aren’t bothering you, yea?”

“Plawan is the safest he can be right now. Hope wouldn’t hurt his little boyfriend,” Saint suddenly chimed in. “Oh, of course, unless I tell him to. Maybe then you should be worried.”

“You…” You glared at Saint, wanting nothing more to strangle him to death. “Little boyfriend? Did you sell Plawan into—” the thought made you sick to your stomach that you couldn’t even finish it.

“Hia! It’s not like that.” Plawan quickly placated you. “I know Khun Hope.”

“Khun Hope?” A voice said, startling Plawan. “I’m suddenly Khun Hope?”

You frowned. That voice sounded familiar. “That mutt guy?” You whispered, hearing Plawan say something to Hope that you couldn’t decipher.

“I’m ok, Hia (Name). There was a pearl on the ground that I came across earlier. Before I came home I saw a black bird and this guy selling pig meat so late at night, weird right?”

“Mhm.” Pearl, Nok, and Muu. You let out a slight sigh in relief. Those three would be able to watch that mutt for you. Until you found a way out at least. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell that mutt that if you have any new scars I’ll kill him.”

Plawan laughed slightly. “Okay. Do you want shrimp for dinner?”

Gung. “Yea. Make sure to buy it in the morning. It gets sold out quickly.”

You sighed just as the phone call ended. It hardly did anything to bring you any sense of relief but it was better than nothing.

Saint hummed beside you. “Tomorrow? You think you’ll be going home tomorrow?”

“Yes. Do I have to ask?”

“You enjoy acting like a brat,” Saint said, taking his phone from your hand. “Fine. You can go home tomorrow. It’s like aftercare.”

“Aftercare?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Just let me go to bed.” You moved to lay back down when Saint gripped your arm.

“I’m interested in you.”

You blinked, staring at Saint with a confused expression. “Wha, What do you mean interested?”

Saint gazed down at your arm, his grip loosening as he moved down to your wrist. He gripped your wrist and pulled it close to his face. His thumb pressing down onto the edge of your palm.

“I’m interested in seeing how you’ll react to pain. Interested in why you risked everything for one boy. The way the blood flows through your veins.”

“I’m not a science experiment.” You tried to pull your hand away but his grip only tightened.

“Mhm. More like a toy. I’ll enjoy you until you break.”

“Then you’ll be dealing with me until you get bored.”

Saint looked away from your wrist. He reached over and grasped your shirt. You flinched and wondered what he could be doing when he pulled the already tattered shirt further apart.

You tried pulling away again as he harshly pushed you onto the bed, moving to hover over you. His bangs almost tickled your forehead. His eyes stared down at you—he was silent as he seemingly took in your face.

“Even in submission,” he whispered, releasing your shirt, his hand resting on your collarbone. “You glare at me.” His hand slowly tightened its grip before shooting up, grasping your neck.

A choked gasp left you. He mad no effort to tighten his grip. His gaze simply watching your reaction.

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of being scared.” You grunted out.

Saint hummed, releasing your hand as he reached into his pants pocket. “It’s good that you don’t. Then it wouldn’t be fun.” Your eyes narrowed at the moment just as he pulled out a switchblade.

Any feeling of defiance was long gone. Your eyes widen in terror as you began thrashing underneath him. Your hands pushing at his chest, your legs kicking and trying to help you use your lower body to toss him off.

The thought of the knife touching your skin terrified you to death. A slight wet whimper left your throat. You were awaiting the cool blade to touch your skin. Until you noticed he had stopped moving.

You slowly opened your eyes, having not realized they had closed. His hair tickled your nose as he stared down at you. The knife was no where to be found. His hand was empty. The only thing you received was a slight calculated smirk on his lips.

“Thought so.” He said, reaching up to wipe away your tears with his thumb. You hadn’t even noticed that you were crying. “You’re scared deep down.”

“What is wrong with you?” You managed to grit out, your voice shaky.

“Many things. Though if I told you,” he leaned down, his breath tickling your ear. “I’d have to kill you. I’m still Khun Lily’s mutt, that’s what you call us, right?”

You watched as he pulled away. A mutt? Saint didn’t say anything else, getting up and began to taking off his suit.

“What do you mean?”

“What I said.” Saint bluntly said, tossing his tie on the chair. “What, do you really think I call the shots here?” For the first time since you’ve seen him, his face actually contorted into a human expression. One eyebrow rose, eyes wider, a jester like grin on his lips.

He turned his back to you, slipping off his button up. Your eyes widen at the sight—scars, burn marks, and something that resembled a whip, coated his back. They were healed but a few looked recent.

“You’re my toy for a reason.” He said, turning over to face you after having his pajama shirt on. “I’m Khun Lily’s toy, it’s only fair I get to have my own to relieve some stress. I think I’m quite nicer than how she treats her own.”

Saint sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He began to unbuckle his pants. You couldn’t help but watch. There were the same marks littered all over his legs. The sight made you question the rest of his body.

Compared to the other loan sharks, Saint wore a button up that covered his neck. You didn’t get to see his arms as he changed—too focused on the shocking sight of his back. Was there scars all over him?

Just how dangerous was Khun Lily?

“I get it.” You said, watching Saint. “You’re already damaged goods so you just want to make others hurt just like you. What, do you don’t feel lonely, huh?”

Saint didn’t say anything, continuing on with his routine. He diligently put away the knives that were hidden in his pants, jacket, tie, socks, and shoes in a drawer. You were uncomfortable at the fact he could hide so many so easily.

You scowled at the lack of reaction. Just because you were technically under his thumb right now didn’t mean you couldn’t push back. You slipped out of the bed and walked over to where he was.

“I should’ve known that some loan sharks might’ve had their own debts. How much do you owe her? More than Plawan’s debt? Since you essentially sold your body to her.”

No reaction. You almost pouted.

Saint began folding his pants and shirt, placing them on the chair. You groaned in frustration and reached over, roughly pulling his shoulder. He looked back at you with a slightly raised eyebrow as you began pushing him back against the wall.

“I’m not the first person to say that, huh?” You asked, glaring up at him. “Others must call you a whore behind your back—”

“Is this your attempt at provoking me?”

“You know the answer.”

Saint hummed, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’ll give you this—no one has ever been brave enough to say that to my face.”

“I have more than just words.” You said. Your hand moved up to hold the back of his head as you pulled him into a kiss. Saint immediately uncrossed his arms and gripped your shoulders. Without much effort, he pushed you away.

You stared up at him in confusion. “What? Isn’t this what you wanted out of a toy? Sexual pleasure? Is it not fun if it’s not forced onto me?”

Saint glowered at you. “I don’t have sex with toys.” He harshly gripped your face, pushing you with just one hand. You gripped his hand as you glared at him, forced to move back towards the bed. “Sex is pointless. When I could gain satisfaction from seeing you plead for your life.”

Sex is pointless? You blinked, the cogs in your brain turning.

He’s a virgin.

“Was I your first kiss?” You muttered, fighting the urge to smirk if he wasn’t squeezing your face.

Saint scoffed, pushing you down on the bed. “Why, would that make you happy?”

You grunted at the force. His answer was all you really needed as you smirked up at him. You leaned further back on the bed, purposely spreading your legs to allow your shorts to ride up.

“More than happy.” You whispered, catching his gaze flickering down your thighs. But any slight of arousal you thought he would show was nowhere to be seen. He almost looked bored at the sight as he simply shook his head and walked off to the bathroom.

You had a plan to survive Saint and get him and the other loan sharks off Plawan’s back.

You’d get him to fall for you.

Or at the very least, get him obsessed with you.

Shouldn’t be hard enough… right?

lol. Plot twist? Don’t worry, he’s gonna get freaky later. Just wanted to do a little set up. If yall liked Plawan’s PoV, I’ll add a bit more next time, but I’ll make sure he doesn’t take over you. Ask to be tagged for part 2

ps. Nok, Muu, and Gung is the word for bird, pig, and shrimp in Thai. These can also be someone’s nickname. Pearl is already mentioned. But Plawan is basically hinting that Nok, Muu, and Pearl (residents at the complex) saw Plawan get home and know that Hope is with him, meaning they’ll keep an eye out. Him telling Gung is for part 2~

Tag list: @carnalcrows @chill-guy-but-cooler @the-ultimate-librarian @mello-life25 @kiiyoooo @ofclyde @smellwell @tomoeroi @castocipher @iwishtobeacrow @tehyunnie @remdayz @love-kha1 @rhetorical-conscience @star-3214 @mooncarvers-world @cherry-blossoms-187 @secretivemessenger @yuzuukix @bensontrechic @anchoredphoenix @ning1e @m00n-b4b3

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more theo angst!! please!!

The Once Brightest Star

Pairings ; Theodore Nott x M!Reader

Summary ; You, the kindest Gryffindor at Hogwarts, fall for Theodore Nott—unaware that he’s only dating you because of a cruel Slytherin bet. After four sweet, star-filled months, he breaks your heart in front of everyone. The smile that once lit up the castle fades, and as you fall apart, Theodore realizes too late that he truly loves you.

A/N ; try not to cry 😉. I swear to fucking merlin if this flops I'm killing myself, THIS FANFIC IS LITERALLY THE MOST CHAOTIC ONE. My Tumblr kept crashing, my shit wasn't saving and oh my god it was war.

Warnings ; Heavy angst, betrayal, public humiliation, emotional manipulation, mental health themes, and regret.

Word count; 6.1k+

| Part 2 — Part 3 | drabble

Theodore Nott had always been a mystery. Quiet, observant, charming when he wanted to be, but cruel when it suited him. And right now, he was seated in the Slytherin common room, legs crossed on a leather armchair as the firelight danced across his sharp features. Around him lounged the usual suspects—Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Lorenzo Berkshire, Pansy Parkinson, and Astoria Greengass. They sat in a semicircle, all eyes focused on Theo, the air thick with amusement and cruel curiosity.

They were bored. And when the Slytherin elite were bored, it meant trouble for someone else.

“You know,” Mattheo began, twirling a silver coin between his fingers, “we haven’t had a proper laugh since Halloween. I’m starting to forget what entertainment feels like.”

“Speak for yourself,” Pansy said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I laughed so hard when that Hufflepuff girl tripped over her own robes last week.”

“That wasn’t entertainment, Pans,” Blaise drawled, his voice like silk and sin. “That was just sad.”

“We need something juicy,” Astoria said, glancing at her manicured nails. “Something cruel.”

Lorenzo smirked. “How about Gryffindor’s sweetheart?”

All heads turned.

“You mean Y/N?” Draco asked, arching a brow. “The one who helped you clean up after you accidentally hexed yourself in Transfiguration?”

“Exactly,” Lorenzo said, grinning. “He’s so bloody kind it makes me sick.”

“He helped me too,” Blaise admitted with a smirk. “Carried my books to the infirmary when I got hit by a rogue Bludger. Didn’t even ask for anything in return.”

Mattheo leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “That’s it then. We ruin him.”

“Subtly,” Pansy added, smiling cruelly. “We’re Slytherins. Not brutes.”

“What do you have in mind?” Theodore asked, though his voice held more interest than caution.

Mattheo grinned like the devil himself. “A bet. You, Theo. You’re going to date him.”

Theodore raised an eyebrow. “Why me?”

“Because he already looks at you like you hung the stars,” Blaise said, chuckling. “You’re halfway there.”

“And you’ve got the charm,” Astoria added. “When you want to, anyway.”

Theodore stayed quiet for a moment, letting the idea settle.

“A hundred galleons from each of us,” Mattheo said smoothly. “All you have to do is date him. Four months. Then dump him—publicly.”

“In front of everyone,” Draco emphasized, voice tinged with excitement. “Make sure the whole school sees it.”

“That’ll break him,” Pansy said, practically purring.

“His friends will try to put him back together,” Astoria added, “but we’ll know he’s never going to be the same.”

Theodore looked into the fire, jaw tightening. One hundred galleons from each of them. That was six hundred galleons. Enough to make anyone pause. Enough to make even him consider it.

He thought of your smile—the way it made you look like you didn’t belong in the same world as the rest of them. Of how you always had something kind to say, even to those who sneered at you. Of how you held the door open for professors, offered help to Hufflepuffs with their potions, even greeted Slytherins with a gentle nod instead of fear or judgment.

“Four months?” Theodore asked.

“Four,” Mattheo confirmed.

“Then I’ll do it,” Theodore said, the words leaving his mouth cold and smooth.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Draco said, grinning wide.

And just like that, the countdown began.

You were sitting in the Astronomy Tower when it happened. Late evening, starlight dusting your skin as you scribbled notes in your parchment. A breeze blew through your robes, and you tilted your head back to admire the sky. The cold stone beneath you was oddly comforting, grounding you as your eyes scanned the stars like they were old friends.

“There you are,” a voice said behind you.

You turned, startled but quickly relaxing. “Theodore?”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed but gaze soft. “Mind if I join you?”

You smiled without hesitation. “Of course not.”

He walked over and sat beside you, his cloak brushing yours as he settled on the ledge. For a moment, the two of you said nothing. The only sounds were the distant hooting of an owl and the wind howling gently through the gaps in the stone.

Then you pointed toward the sky, eyes sparkling. “See that one? That’s Orion. He’s my favorite.”

Theodore tilted his head slightly, following your finger. “Why?”

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and spoke like you’d been waiting for someone to ask. “Because no matter where you are in the world, Orion’s always there. It doesn’t matter if you’re in England or the other side of the planet. He’s a constant.” Your voice softened. “I think that’s beautiful.”

He watched you, not the stars. The way your eyes reflected the constellations, the way your words carried a weight most people overlooked. You weren’t just looking at the sky. You were connected to it.

“You’re into all this space stuff, huh?” he said with a small smirk.

You grinned. “I love it. The stars, the planets, galaxies—do you know how long it takes for light from some of these stars to reach us?”

“No,” he replied truthfully.

“Hundreds of years,” you said. “Some of the stars we see? They’ve already died. We’re looking at ghosts in the sky.”

Theodore looked up, suddenly seeing it all a bit differently. “That’s… kind of haunting.”

You chuckled. “Isn’t it? But I think it’s comforting, too. Like, even after they’re gone, they still leave something behind. A trace of who they were. They don’t just disappear.”

He glanced sideways at you. “You talk about stars like they’re people.”

You shrugged. “Maybe they are. Maybe we all are. Bright for a while, then gone… but if we’re lucky, we leave something behind.”

A silence settled over you both again, this time warm.

Peaceful.

You turned your body to face him more. “What about you? Do you have a favorite constellation?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I stare at the sky often?”

You laughed. “Not really. But you should. It’s a good reminder that we’re small. And that some things are bigger than our problems.”

He hummed in response. “I guess I wouldn’t mind if you were teaching me.”

That made your cheeks burn. You looked down at your hands, fiddling with the corner of your parchment. “Really?”

He leaned in a little closer. “Yeah. You're… interesting.”

You bit your bottom lip, then smiled, shyly. “I’d be happy to teach you. The stars have a lot to say if you just listen.”

As you returned your gaze to the sky, pointing out Cassiopeia with soft enthusiasm, Theodore only half-listened. The other half of him was watching you again—how your lips moved, how your hands danced in the air as you explained, how your eyes never lost that wonder.

And for just a second… he forgot about the bet.

You started waiting for him outside his classes, always with a soft smile and something sweet tucked in your hand—sometimes a chocolate frog, other times a sugar quill you’d saved from Honeydukes. You’d greet him like he was the only person in the corridor, eyes lighting up every time he met your gaze.

You shared your pumpkin pasties with him in the library, giggling when Madam Pince shushed you both for laughing too loud. You’d lean close as you showed him the notes you'd made for Astronomy, doodles of constellations dancing in the margins. He'd pretend not to notice how your hand always lingered near his, how your shoulder brushed his when you got excited explaining the moons of Jupiter.

You invited him to your late-night Astronomy sessions more and more, always at the top of the tower where the stars were clearest. And every time, he showed up. No matter how cold the wind was, no matter how tired he claimed to be, Theodore would appear with his hands shoved into his pockets and that unreadable look on his face—like he wasn’t sure if he belonged there… but he stayed anyway.

And slowly, your hand began brushing against his. At first accidental. Then deliberate. You started laughing softer around him, voice a little breathier, eyes a little shinier. You bit your lip when he stared too long, cheeks dusted pink whenever he complimented you—rare as it was.

You started hoping.

You introduced him to your friends when he passed by your table, and though Hermione watched him suspiciously and Ron narrowed his eyes, you always waved it off. “He’s not like the others,” you said more than once. “He’s… different.”

You even helped a few Slytherins who sneered at you in the halls, offered your hand when one tripped, walked another to the Hospital Wing when he’d gotten hexed during practice. You greeted Blaise when you passed him in the corridor, waved at Astoria during breakfast even if she never waved back, and offered Mattheo a chocolate frog once—which he took without a thank you, but you still smiled anyway.

And Theodore noticed.

He noticed everything.

“You’re too kind,” he told you one night, as you sat beside the lake. The moonlight shimmered on the surface, and your reflection glowed faintly beside his.

You looked up, confused. “Like what?”

“Good,” he said, quieter this time. “Even to people who don’t deserve it.”

You gave him that warm, unshakeable smile. “Because… no one deserves to be treated like they’re nothing. Not even the meanest ones. Everyone’s got something good inside them. Sometimes it just takes longer to show.”

Theodore stared at you, jaw tense. Something in his chest tightened—foreign and unwelcome. This wasn’t part of the plan. You were supposed to fall for him, not the other way around. You were supposed to be just another naive Gryffindor. Not someone he actually looked forward to seeing every night. Not someone who made his heart feel like it was on fire.

But your laugh stayed with him long after you left. So did the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about the stars. So did the way you always remembered the tiniest things about him—even things he didn’t think mattered.

This was still just a game. Right?

Wasn’t it?

It was late—well past curfew—but that never stopped you. Especially not when the stars were this clear. You were already seated on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower, legs swinging slightly over the edge, a thick wool scarf wrapped loosely around your neck. The wind was cold, but your heart was warm—because he was here. Just like always.

Theodore leaned against the railing beside you, arms crossed and silent as usual. You didn’t mind. He rarely talked up here. That was your job.

“And that one right there,” you said, pointing upward with gloved fingers, “is Sirius. It’s the brightest star in the night sky—not a planet, not a reflection, an actual star. It’s about twenty-five times more luminous than the sun. Isn’t that insane?”

You looked at him, expecting a smirk, maybe a raised brow or some teasing comment. But instead, you were met with eyes so unreadable, they made your chest tighten.

Undeterred, you smiled and turned your attention back to the sky. “Stars are so dramatic, honestly. They burn themselves out just to shine. And when they die, they explode. Huge, fiery tantrums in space. Makes you wonder if the universe is just full of drama queens.”

That got a faint exhale of amusement from Theodore. You grinned at the sound and kept going.

“I think that’s why I love them so much. They’re loud in their silence. You look up and it’s peaceful, but the science behind them? It’s chaos. Energy and gas and gravity ripping them apart.” You leaned your head back until your hair brushed the stone. “It’s kind of beautiful, really. How something so far away can make you feel like you’re not alone.”

You went quiet then, eyes searching the constellations. Theodore watched you. Watched the way your smile softened when you looked at the sky, the way you hugged your knees in the cold, the way your breath curled in the night air like clouds.

He had come here tonight to play the part. Listen to you ramble about planets and stars like you always did. Maybe hold your hand. Maybe lean just a little closer so you’d fall a little harder.

But when you turned to him with that pure, trusting light in your eyes—the one that made him feel seen without even trying—his resolve crumbled.

You were still speaking, something about Orion’s Belt, when Theodore took a step forward. Then another.

You trailed off mid-sentence, confused, your brows knitting. “Theo?”

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at you—really looked at you—like the stars weren’t even worth glancing at when you were here. Slowly, cautiously, he reached out.

His hand was cool against your skin as he gently cupped your cheek.

You froze.

His thumb brushed your jaw, and for once, you were the quiet one. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared up at him.

And then—without warning, without fanfare—he kissed you.

His lips were soft and slow, like he was trying to memorize the moment. Your eyes fluttered shut, your heart thundering in your chest as you kissed him back. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hungry. It was gentle.

The kind of kiss that says I see you. I hear you. I’m here.

When he pulled away, your eyes were wide and dazed. “W-What was that?” you whispered.

Theodore hesitated. He was supposed to lie. Say it was for fun, for practice, a joke, a dare. But none of those things left his mouth.

“I like you,” he said instead, his voice low, but honest.

You stared at him, eyes shining like the stars above. “You do?”

He nodded, brushing his thumb beneath your eye. “More than I expected to.”

And just like that, your world shifted.

You smiled—so big and bright and beautiful. “I’ve liked you for ages,” you admitted, cheeks flushed. “I just didn’t think you’d ever—”

“I do,” he interrupted softly. “I see you, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched. “Then… will you be mine?”

He leaned in again, resting his forehead against yours. “Yeah. I’m yours.”

And in your chest, a supernova of joy bloomed.

You didn’t know, of course, that the clock was already ticking. That the countdown had begun the moment he shook Mattheo’s hand.

All you knew was that Theodore Nott—cool, quiet, untouchable—was kissing you beneath the stars.

And for the first time in your life, you felt infinite.

It was strange, the way Theodore made everything feel like magic without ever casting a single spell.

You never expected it, really. You were the sweet Gryffindor who brought extra quills for your classmates, helped first-years find their classes, and got detention once because you refused to leave a Hufflepuff behind after they’d twisted their ankle on the moving staircase. You were the soft-spoken stargazer who waved to portraits and always left the Astronomy Tower a little warmer than you found it.

And Theodore Nott? Cold, composed, distant. A Slytherin with a stare so sharp it could cut glass, and a mouth that rarely moved unless it was to cast sarcasm or smoke. If anyone had told you a few months ago that he of all people would be watching the stars with you, you'd have laughed. But now?

Now he was the one tugging your scarf tighter when the wind bit too sharply. The one saving a seat for you at lunch—even at the Gryffindor table, when he thought no one was looking. The one who said your name like it was something secret.

Your dates weren’t grand or loud. They weren’t meant for show. They were quiet things—hidden smiles, fingers brushing beneath library tables, the sound of his laugh when you made some ridiculous astronomy pun that no one else would understand.

Like that late afternoon in the library.

You were supposed to be revising for Herbology, but you’d started doodling constellations in the margins of your notes. Theodore watched, lounging in the chair beside you, one hand resting beneath his chin.

“That one looks like a rat,” he said lazily.

You gasped. “That’s not a rat! That’s Scorpius! It’s one of the oldest constellations in the sky!”

He smirked. “Looks like a rodent with extra limbs.”

“You’re a menace,” you huffed, swatting his arm with your parchment.

He grabbed your wrist mid-swat and pulled your hand to his lips, pressing a lazy kiss to your knuckles. “Mm. You’re dramatic when you're passionate. It’s kind of cute.”

You froze.

“I—I'm not dramatic!” you blurted.

Theodore only grinned, smug and soft all at once, and leaned back like he hadn’t just melted your brain with a single sentence.

────────────────

There was also that snowy Saturday in Hogsmeade. It had started out innocent—you just wanted to get a new astronomy journal and maybe a few peppermint candies. But somehow Theodore ended up holding your mittened hand, leading you through snow-covered cobblestones like he actually knew what he was doing.

“I swear the tea shop is this way,” he said, tugging you down a narrow alley that looked suspiciously abandoned.

“You said that three turns ago,” you teased, breath clouding in the cold air.

“Maybe I just want more time alone with you.”

That shut you up.

The shop, when you finally reached it, was small and tucked behind a row of bakeries. The inside was all fogged windows and velvet chairs, the scent of cinnamon and clove clinging to the air. The shopkeeper—a kind-eyed older woman—beamed when she saw Theodore.

“Haven’t seen you in ages, dear,” she said, passing him two steaming mugs. “This must be someone special.”

Theodore didn’t look at you. “He is.”

You nearly choked on your tea.

─────���──────────

Back in the castle, the sweetness didn’t stop. If anything, it bloomed.

He’d wait for you after class, leaning against the wall like some kind of gothic statue, arms crossed and eyes half-lidded—but when you appeared, his gaze softened.

He started showing up to Astronomy Club. He never answered a single question, never even looked at the night sky. He just sat beside you, letting his knee press against yours under the desk, his fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve.

“I like it when you talk about the stars,” he murmured once, just loud enough for you to hear. “You get this look. Like you’ve been touched by something ancient.”

You blinked. “That’s… oddly poetic for you.”

“I have layers,” he said dryly. “Don’t get used to it.”

You did get used to it, though. The way he’d look at you when you were excited. The way he’d tug your scarf over your mouth and say it was 'so you’d shut up,' but his eyes always lingered a little too long. The way his thumb would brush your hand like he needed to remember how you felt.

And at night—always at night—you returned to your tower.

The Astronomy Tower had become yours. The castle was huge, full of secrets and dungeons and ghosts, but that little piece of sky belonged to just the two of you.

You’d bring blankets and stolen sweets from the kitchens. He’d bring silence and something steadier than starlight.

You’d talk for hours, your voice dancing through the night air.

“And those tiny dots in Orion’s Belt?” you said one night, pointing up at the cluster of stars. “Those are actually part of a nebula—the birthplace of stars. Literal nurseries in the cosmos.”

Theodore hummed, laying on his back with your head on his chest. “Nurseries in the sky… Sounds like a fairytale.”

“Maybe the universe is one big story.”

He didn’t answer right away.

You tilted your head. “What are you thinking about?”

He looked down at you, eyes tired and soft. “That I’m scared.”

Your brows furrowed. “Of what?”

“Of ruining this. Of being the reason that light in your eyes goes out.”

Your heart cracked open like a geode, glittering and aching all at once. You sat up slowly, cupping his face with your hands.

“You won’t ruin it, Theo.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t need to know that. I just… I trust you.”

He exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch.

You kissed him then—slow and sure, your thumb brushing along his cheek.

“I trust you,” you whispered again, as if it could protect you both.

And Theodore? He held you tighter.

Even though something inside him whispered that he didn’t deserve it.

────────────────

There were so many perfect moments that winter.

Like the time you were sitting on the Quidditch stands long after practice had ended. Snow was falling, light and gentle, and you were tucked under his cloak, sharing body heat.

You were talking about Saturn’s rings—how they weren’t solid, just ice and rock suspended in orbit.

“They only look solid from far away,” you said, tracing lines on his palm. “Up close, they’re just chaos. Fragments. Debris.”

“Sounds like me,” Theodore murmured.

You looked up. “What?”

“I look fine from far away,” he said. “But I’m a mess when you get close.”

You frowned and pressed your forehead to his. “You’re not a mess. You’re just… layered.”

He chuckled. “You always see the best in people.”

“Only the ones worth seeing.”

And that time, when he kissed you, it was with both hands cradling your face, like he was trying to memorize it. Like maybe he already knew he’d have to let go someday.

────────────────

He was falling in love with you.

And maybe… maybe you were already there.

You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on you when you walked away. You didn’t know he’d stopped counting the galleons in his head weeks ago. That the whispers from his so-called friends were starting to grate, not amuse.

That the bet—the stupid, cruel bet—felt like a chain around his throat now.

But you loved him. Fully, fiercely, like a shooting star that refused to burn out.

And for a while, he let himself believe he could love you back forever.

Even if time was running out.

You woke up that morning with a smile on your face.

There was still a shimmer of stardust in your thoughts from the night before—wrapped in Theodore’s arms in the Astronomy Tower, your head on his shoulder, the constellations above whispering secrets only you could understand. You'd traced his knuckles with your thumb, whispering about the Kissing Stars and how they only align once every few years. He hadn’t said much, but he’d looked at you like you mattered.

Like you were his.

So you’d walked to the Great Hall with your chest light and your cheeks warm, clutching a folded piece of parchment with a scribbled drawing of the stars. You’d written his name in them. You were going to give it to him today—your little way of saying I love you, even if you hadn’t said it out loud yet.

When you stepped inside, the usual noise greeted you—students laughing, talking, eating. But something felt… off.

The Slytherin table was watching you.

No, waiting for you.

Blaise leaned into Draco’s ear, whispering something that made him choke on his pumpkin juice. Pansy was already giggling. Mattheo didn’t even pretend to hide his shit-eating grin. And Theodore—

Theodore sat there with his arms folded, cold eyes fixed on you like you were something disposable. Unrecognizable. The warmth was gone.

Still, you smiled and made your way over, ignoring the tension. “Theo, hey,” you said sweetly, gently bumping his arm as you sat beside him. “Guess what? I found another constellation last night—it looked like a fox! I named it after you—clever and charming and—”

“Stop talking.”

The words were quiet. Sharp.

You blinked, your smile faltering. “What?”

“I said stop talking.” He turned to you fully, face devoid of anything tender. “Merlin, do you ever fucking shut up?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

A hush began to fall over the Great Hall.

Students slowed their chewing. Conversations dulled. Even the teachers seemed to sense something was about to happen.

“I—I was just telling you about the stars—”

“I don’t care about the stars,” he snapped. “Or your stupid constellations. I never did.”

Your face paled.

“Theo… what are you saying?”

He stood then, loud and deliberate, pushing back from the bench like you’d said something disgusting. “I’m saying I’m done pretending.”

Every table went silent.

He stepped in front of you, towering. Cold. Cruel.

“The only reason I ever gave you the time of day was because of a bet.” His voice was clear. Loud. Unapologetic. “Four months. That’s all you were. Four months, 600 galleons, and a joke.”

You couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t even breathe.

Your whole body froze as the Slytherins behind him burst out laughing.

“Fucking finally!” Mattheo crowed. “I thought you were gonna crack and kiss his forehead again, lover boy.”

Draco howled. “Can you believe the idiot fell for it? I mean—stars? Really?”

“Oh, the way he blushed whenever Theo held his hand,” Astoria cooed mockingly. “He was practically wagging his tail.”

Theodore kept his eyes on you.

There was a flicker of regret. A shadow of guilt.

But it wasn’t enough to stop him from saying:

“You’re pathetic, Y/N.”

The words hit harder than any hex.

You flinched, visibly, the parchment slipping from your hand. It fluttered to the floor—your sketch of the stars and his name shining in them—forgotten.

Theodore kept going.

“You followed me around like a stray mutt. Always smiling. Always fucking talking about your precious constellations like I gave a damn. You thought I actually cared? That we were real?”

Your lips trembled. You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

You wanted to scream. To cry. To ask him why.

Why?

Why he kissed you. Why he held you in the dark and let you dream. Why he made you believe you were enough.

Instead, all you whispered was, “I loved you.”

The laughter died.

Even the Slytherins blinked, some shifting uncomfortably.

Theodore faltered—but only for a moment. And that was the worst part.

He hesitated.

He had the chance to stop this. To take it back.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he looked you dead in the eyes and said, “Well, I never did.”

And just like that—your heart shattered.

Not like glass. Not like something quick or clean.

It broke slowly.

Painfully.

You felt it crack, piece by piece, like the universe was pulling every star you ever loved from the sky and crushing it in front of you.

Hermione was the first to stand.

“That’s enough!” she snapped, voice shaking with fury. “You—you monster!”

Ron and Harry were already moving, storming toward the Slytherin table, wands halfway drawn.

But you didn’t move.

You sat there, shaking, broken, and humiliated. The bright Gryffindor everyone adored—now just a ghost.

And then you stood.

Not because you wanted to.

Because you had to.

You walked away slowly, footsteps heavy, heart in ruins. You didn’t even look at him as you passed. You couldn’t. You were afraid if you saw his face again, you'd crumble completely.

You reached the doors just as Harry called out, “Y/N! Please—wait!”

Ron's voice cracked. “He’s not worth it! Please, come back!”

But you kept walking.

And when you were gone—truly gone—the Great Hall stayed quiet.

Theodore sat back down, but he didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. He looked at the parchment still lying on the floor.

His name.

In the stars.

And for the first time in years, he felt truly, utterly, alone.

Meanwhile, you ran.

Up the stairs. Past portraits that whispered in concern. Past a group of Hufflepuffs who stepped aside, mouths agape at the wreckage written on your face.

You didn’t stop until you reached the Astronomy Tower.

And there, with the cold wind biting your skin and your knees giving out beneath you, you finally collapsed.

Your cries echoed against the stone. The sky above, once your favorite comfort, felt like a cruel reminder. You looked up through blurry eyes, searching for the stars you loved so dearly.

But they didn’t shine the same anymore.

Not now.

Not after him.

It started with silence.

And not the peaceful kind—the kind that swells and settles like a storm cloud just before it breaks. You didn’t speak the next day. Or the day after that. You barely looked at anyone.

The once-bright boy who used to laugh at breakfast, pass out candy during study groups, and wave excitedly at professors even when he was late—was gone.

You weren’t you anymore.

And everyone noticed.

────────────────

Gryffindor Tower was tense.

Hermione watched you carefully from across the common room, her eyes darting every time you so much as moved. She tried to talk to you gently at first.

“Y/N, do you want to go over Charms together? You always help me with the incantation rhythm—”

You shook your head once.

“I’m fine.”

You weren’t.

Ron offered his last two Chocolate Frogs that night. The same boy who wouldn’t share with his own brothers.

“Mate,” he said softly, “come sit with us, yeah? We’ll throw on some music, Hermione’ll start arguing about Runes again, and we’ll forget the Slytherin git ever existed.”

But you just smiled.

That awful, empty, polite smile.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

You didn’t mean it.

And Harry—Harry sat with you in the common room one night, past midnight. He didn’t say much. Just sat nearby, watching you stare into the fire, unmoving.

When he finally spoke, his voice cracked.

“He never deserved you.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t cry.

You just blinked and whispered, “I should’ve known.”

That’s what broke Harry.

────────────────

It spread to the classrooms.

You, who once raised your hand for every question, who used to help the younger students find their assigned partners, who made Professor Sprout smile with your enthusiastic herbology notes—you stopped trying.

You still showed up. Still did your homework. Still got top marks.

But it was lifeless.

Mechanical.

Professor McGonagall asked you to stay after Transfiguration one morning. The room emptied around you, but you remained at your desk, eyes staring ahead.

She walked toward you slowly, her hands folded in front of her.

“Mr. L/N,” she said softly. “You’ve always been one of my brightest. One of Hogwarts’ brightest.”

You didn’t respond.

“I know heartbreak,” she continued, her voice a gentle tremble. “It leaves its mark. But you don’t have to carry it alone.”

You blinked up at her then. For a brief second, she swore she saw that old light flicker back in your eyes.

“I’m fine, Professor,” you said quietly.

And it shattered her.

She didn’t believe you. No one did.

But you were convincing.

Too convincing.

────────────────

The next day, Professor Sinistra stopped you after Astronomy class.

“Y/N,” she said softly, frowning, “you haven’t turned in your celestial chart. Are you… alright?”

You blinked.

"Oh,” you said. “I forgot.”

She stared at you for a long moment. “You’ve never forgotten before. Is everything okay?”

You nodded. “Yes, Professor.”

But it was a lie. And she knew it.

She watched you leave the classroom, your shoulders hunched, the usual bounce in your step gone. Her heart ached for you.

She remembered you staying behind after class, excitedly rambling about star clusters and constellations, asking her questions she hadn’t even thought of. You were one of her brightest students.

Now, you didn’t even look at the sky.

────────────────

Even the portraits whispered.

They talked among themselves when you passed. That you were too quiet. That the cheerful Gryffindor had changed. One old witch in the Charms corridor even told her neighbor, “That one’s heartbroken, through and through. You can see it in the way he walks.”

And they were right.

You didn’t walk the same. You didn’t look the same.

No longer bouncing on your heels, waving at friends, or pointing excitedly to the sky. Now, you walked like your chest carried weights no one could see.

And at night?

You didn’t sleep.

You just laid there, eyes wide, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, wondering how many stars had died since he said he never loved you.

────────────────

Theodore noticed.

Everywhere.

He noticed when you passed by without looking at him.

He noticed the way you no longer tucked that curl behind your ear nervously.

He noticed how your hands never fluttered when you talked—because you didn’t talk.

He noticed how Hermione flanked you in every class like a shield, and how Ron glared daggers at him from across every hallway. How Harry went from silently watching to outright refusing to let Theodore near you.

But the worst part?

Theodore didn’t fight it.

Because what could he say?

I was scared. I panicked. I really do love you now.

It wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

He used to watch you from the other side of the Great Hall, hoping—wishing—you’d look up. That your eyes would find his like they always used to.

But they never did.

Even when the sun poured through the windows and caught your hair in that same golden glow it used to, you looked empty.

He’d broken you.

And you didn’t even hate him for it.

You just… erased him.

────────────────

The professors spoke behind closed doors.

Dumbledore watched you closely from his high table. He saw the way your smile never reached your eyes anymore. How you spoke in quiet syllables and barely touched your food.

Flitwick tried to lift your spirits with praise.

Sprout gave you extra cuttings to tend to in case it helped.

Hooch offered to teach you a new Quidditch maneuver—even though you weren’t on the team.

Even Snape, of all people, said your potion was “adequate” one day—because the look on your face when he used to insult your brewing was more alive than the one you wore now.

And McGonagall?

She pulled you aside again.

This time, she didn’t speak.

She just pulled you into a hug.

You didn’t hug her back.

But you didn’t pull away, either.

That was enough for her to cry once you left.

────────────────

And then came the first Hogsmeade trip.

You were invited by nearly every Gryffindor in the common room.

Neville asked gently. Dean said they’d buy your favorite sweets. Seamus promised a distraction, a new joke every minute. Hermione packed you a scarf, “just in case it’s cold.”

You said no.

You stayed behind.

Alone in the common room, watching the flames dance like stars falling from the sky. You didn’t need chocolate frogs. Or butterbeer. Or another attempt to feel something you couldn’t anymore.

You just needed to not exist for a little while.

────────────────

That night, long after curfew, long after the castle had gone quiet, you slipped out of the portrait hole like a ghost.

No one stopped you.

No one even saw you.

Not even the Fat Lady tried to ask where you were going.

You walked the halls slowly, your feet dragging slightly with every step, like gravity clung heavier to your bones these days. The flickering torches cast shadows on the stone walls, but you barely registered them. Your mind was somewhere else.

Somewhere four months ago.

Somewhere under the stars with his hand in yours.

The staircase to the Astronomy Tower groaned beneath your steps. Each echo bounced back at you, louder than expected, like the castle was trying to say something—Don’t go. Don’t break again.

But you kept climbing.

And then, finally, the door creaked open.

The cold hit you first. Sharp, biting wind brushing through your robes like needles. You shivered. You didn’t bring your scarf. You didn’t care.

You stepped out onto the platform, and the stars were… blinding.

Too many. Too bright.

They looked like glittering lies now.

You used to name them all.

You used to point to the constellations and tug on Theodore’s sleeve, whispering things like, “That one’s Cassiopeia. She was a queen, but vain. Got cursed for her pride.”

Or, “Orion always follows Artemis in the sky, like he’s still chasing her even after death.”

He used to smile at you when you talked like that. Sometimes he’d kiss your temple mid-ramble, just because he could.

You hated how easily you remembered that.

You stared up at the sky now, jaw tight, fists curled into your sleeves.

And then you whispered to no one—

“I don’t want to love you anymore.”

The words caught in the wind. Got carried off into the sky like a secret, like a curse.

But they weren’t true.

Because you did.

Even after everything.

Even now.

Your throat clenched.

And for the first time since that day in the Great Hall—

You cried.

Quiet, trembling sobs that echoed off the tower walls and dissolved into the night air. You sank to the floor, your face in your hands as if begging to the stars to take the ache away.

But they didn’t.

They just watched.

Silent.

Unforgiving.

And utterly, heartbreakingly distant.

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MASTERLIST | Tony Stark x Male Reader

genre ⋆ heavy angst , slow burn, unrequited crush, recovery from trauma , family issues, hurt/comfort , fluff romance at some point.

On going. (CHAPTERS LIST BELLOW) word count: 234k

Summary : Lost in a life that no longer fits, you find yourself trapped in an endless routine. Between a dead-end job and a toxic roommate situation that drains you bit by bit, you're sinking into a daily existence where hope feels distant. Each day brings more difficult choices, and you begin to wonder if you'll ever escape this vicious cycle.

But everything changes when an unexpected opportunity arises a position at Stark Industries. Though the thought of starting over terrifies you, you don’t really have a choice. You take the plunge, leaving your comfort zone behind and stepping into a job that you hope will offer you a chance to start fresh. But amidst it all, you’re left to ask What remains when everything else is torn away ?

CHAPTER 1 A Ghost Among the Living CHAPTER 2 Fading Into the Background CHAPTER 3 Between Shadows and Spotlights CHAPTER 4 Against the Clock CHAPTER 5 Crossroads CHAPTER 6 The Weight of a Choice CHAPTER 7 No Turning Back CHAPTER 8 No Rooms for Lies CHAPTER 9 Fractured Resolve CHAPTER 10 Rest for the Weary CHAPTER 11 Learning to Hold CHAPTER 12 Under the Surface CHAPTER 13 Cracks and Conforts CHAPTER 14 Shattered Lines CHAPTER 15 Hidden Stains CHAPTER 16 Dragged Back CHAPTER 17 The Art of Breaking Things CHAPTER 18 The Hunt CHAPTER 19 Arms of Iron

more coming soon ♡

If you want to be part of my taglist you can click here !

[aloflapse]

The Nerd I Dis(Like) has a Huge C**k?!

(tags. AMAB top, nerd, kinda yandere-ie m! oc x AMAB bttm, popular, tsundere-ish reader. mentions of bullying, pregnancy. slight violence. jealous m! oc. rough s*x. no l*be we take dih like men /j. creampie. breeding. bj (character recieving). m! oc loves stalking u. dacryphilia. onesided enemies -> kinda lovers?? characters are in highschool but are of age.)

(note. holyshit first post i hope yall like it iam so sorry for the errors)

(name) smiled brightly as he talked to his peers, excitedly talking about various topics. this was the usual for (name), one of the most popular boys in school. known for his bright smile, cute face, athletic abilities, kindness and intelligence...he's practically the perfect boyfriend! that's why a lot of girls tend to gravitate towards him.

and...one guy to constantly stare at him. (name) felt an irk mark appear on his cheek as he forced a smile, trying to focus on talking to his peers and admirers but god. fkn. damn.

WHEN WILL THAT NERD HIROSHI STOP STARIN' AT 'IM?!

---------- ((*｀Д´)ノ！！！)) ----------

(name) sighed softly for the umpteenth time today as he sat on a bench after gym class, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a fluffy white towel as he fixed his hair, looking at himself through the dirty classroom window. (name) always tried his best to look perfect and cute as much as possible, he can't help but admit that...

he blushed to himself as he remembered his male peers patting his head, he felt a throb in his pants. he was a slut for attention!! especially when it came from a hot guy with huge muscles and...maybe a huge cock!!! (name) wiped the drool from his lips. oh...but when will that day come?

sure...he appreciates the attention he gets from the girls but...he seriously can't think of them in that light, ever. he tried to once when a girl liked him, but she ended up being more like an elder sister to him after she realized how (name) stared at boys.

"i guess we're both boy-crazy? then, always be your best self, (name)-kun! boys will notice that! (o≧▽≦)ﾉ" yumi-chan said with a happy expression on her face as she pushed (name) to a boy, but he quickly ran back to her, anxious and shy as she chuckled and patted his head.

grr...just thinking about that nerd's name makes (name) angry!! (`へ´*)ノ ever since they were kids, that creep just stared at him!

(name) sighed at the memory. "yumi-chan...i'm always perfect so...why doesn't a boy notice me?!" he sulked out as he hugged his knees on the bench. he pouted to himself as he suddenly remembered...well...there is...one boy that noticed him. a lot. hiroshi yūta.

first day of elementary, stare (*_*).

sports day, stare (*_*).

graduation day, stare (*_*).

middle school bake fest, stare (*_*).

first day of high school, stare (*_*).

the day of (name)'s 18th birthday, stare (*_*).

WHILE GETTING BULLIED BY THE MEAN KIDS, STARE (*_*).

stare. stare. stare. starestarestare—

even now...(name) sweatdropped to himself as he furrowed his brows. hiroshi...was still staring at him from behind a wall. the (color) haired boy's eye twitched. he loved attention. except from this guy!! he never even approaches (name)!! all he does is stare at him!!! he's just a big nerd...

(name) huffed to himself as he stood up and walked back to the field, waving at his male peers with a small blush on his face as they pat his head. ah. heaven...*｡･+(人*´∀`)+･｡*

hiroshi approached the bench, grabbing the towel (name) had used and putting it near his nose, sniffing it softly. "...don't worry, (name)-chan...i'll give you all the attention you need..." he muttered, drooling slightly at (name)'s scent.

----------(( (　｀□´)～(´∀｀～) ))------------

the sun was setting, and almost all of the students were gone. (name), kazuya isagi, and hiroshi yūta were in cleaning duty. (name) hummed to himself as he finished cleaning the hallway, whilst kazuya-kun was at the other end of the hallway and stupid big nerd, hiroshi was in the classroom.

"wait up, (name)." kazuya called out to the shorter boy. (name) turned to look at kazuya-kun, secretly admiring the handsomeness of his male classmate, he shoved his fantasies to the back of his mind as he smiled brightly up at the blonde.

"yes, kazuya-kun?" he asked out softly as kazuya gently grasped his hand that was holding the broom. the taller male then leaned down and pressed a kiss near (name)'s lips. (name)'s grip on the broom weakened, making it clatter on the ground as he flushed up at the contact.

he then stuttered as kazuya pulled away with a blush of his own whilst grinning. "i've been wanting to do that for a while, ha~" kazuya admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "...i like you, (name)." the blonde said in a deep tone.

(name)'s heart thumped in his chest. 'yumi-chan!! it's happening!!! a boy noticed me!!!! thisisthehappiestdayofmylifeican'tbelieveiti'msoreadytogetmybuttfucked!!!!!' (name)'s thoughts ran through 345 miles per hour as he blinked and smiled back at kazuya.

"i like yo—" "(n-name)-chan?" suddenly, hiroshi called out as he stood by the doorway of the classroom. (name) could feel his fantasies shatter in an instant. this. fucking. cockblocker!!! he forced a bright smile on his face as he tilted his head with a crack.

"yes.......?" (name) seethed out as his eye twitched. hiroshi smiled to himself slightly, moving his thick glasses up his nose. "i-it's your turn to clean the board, professor said..." hiroshi lied. "...f-fine! sorry, kazuya-kun...let's talk another time, okay?" (name) said softly as he turned back to kazuya.

the blonde nodded in understanding as he watched (name) walk into the classroom, snatching the board eraser from hiroshi's hand whilst huffing softly. he smiled softly at (name)'s cuteness but he then saw...hiroshi...grinning at him.

hiroshi then approached kazuya, suddenly shoving the male to the ground as he raised his fist and punched the wooden floor next to kazuya's head. he moved his glasses up his nose, kazuya glanced at the deep dent and cracks that hiroshi left on the hardwood floor.

"you got lucky this time...i have bad aim." hiroshi chuckled out as he crouched down to kazuya's terrified face. "man...i think you get the message right? stay away from my (name)-chan." "y-you're sick!! (n-name) wouldn't like whatever you're fucking doing!!" kazuya yelped out as hiroshi grinned.

"you better run before i beat the shit out of you, plus you're taking up my time..." hiroshi sighed as he stood up and adjusted his glasses up his nose.

kazuya stood up and walked backwards, terrified shitless. "t-to do what??"

"...my (name)-chan needs attention." he said with a loving, dark look in his eyes as he walked into the classroom, locking the door as kazuya's running footsteps faded into the background.

----------(((｀´)＼('_')))----------

(name) grumbled and scowled to himself as he wiped the board clean, aggression clear in his actions as he pouted. suddenly he felt familiar but very much unwelcomed eyes stare at the back of his head. he then turned around and threw the eraser down on the ground in frustration.

"why the hell do you keep staring at me?! like seriously, do you have no life or something?! it's already horrible that you've been staring at me for more than half of our lives, but now you just ruined my chance of getting with a hot guy!!" (name) rambled out as he huffed and pouted.

he didn't notice that hiroshi had been approaching him and leaned up near his face. (name) snapped his eyes open. "do you still have nothing to say— s-so close!!" he squeaked out as hiroshi's plain black eyes bore deeply into his (color) ones.

"...i'm sorry." hiroshi muttered out as he took off his thick glasses, his bangs falling over his eyes. you furrowed your brows, "what?? about staring at me like a creep?! about ruining my love life forever?!" (name) sulked out as hiroshi slicked back his bangs, revealing his full handsome face.

"i mean for this." he said quietly as he roughly prsssed his lips against (name)'s, his tongue shoved down (name)'s mouth as the boy couldn't even fight for dominance. "m-mmh!~"

hiroshi pressed him against the wall and groped his chest through his shirt, gently squeezing his sensitive nipples, a part of (name) he observed through his years of watching him.

(name) let out a strained but lewd moan from his throat, his eyes teared up as he wasn't really upset that hiroshi was kissing him so roughly...but because...he kinda liked it!!! ew!!!!!

(name)'s eyes then widened as hiroshi pulled away and he got a better view of the...nerd? his face flushed up even more. "h-hot...!!" he gasped out as hiroshi chuckled deeply, kissing (name)'s siightly swollen lips. "thank you...(name)-chan."

"...i must apologize once more. i must take you for myself now before i kill all the boys that like you." "w-what are you—?!" (name) paused as hiroshi took off his uniform top, showing off his shockingly well built, muscular and toned build.

(name)'s eyes shined in shock and desire as he fawned over hiroshi's buff body. was this nerd...secretly his type this whole time?! he never thought this day would come true!!

hiroshi then ripped off (name)'s clothes, making the boy squeak and smack hiroshi's hard chest. "s-so hard!! i-i mean— what are you doing, p-pervert?!" he stammered out as the well built man paused and smiled softly, gently caressing (name)'s face with that stupidly handsome smile on his stupid, nerdy, handsome face!!

"i...i'm sorry. i just can't control myself anymore...i've loved you for almost 10 years straight...ever since the day i saw you...all i could do was stare and bask in your presence. you are like the sun in my eyes...it hurts, but i just can't stop staring. and now...i must take you as my own. to envelop you in my darkness. i'm sorry, (name). that i love you."

hiroshi confessed out in a barely held back tone as he restrained himself from claiming the (color) haired boy then and there. (name) was very, very flustered. he slowly covered his face as he blushed and squealed to himself.

w-why was that so cute?! and why was his heart thumping so hard, harder than it ever has before?! he really...dislikes this nerd!! he then peeked downwards and his eyes almost bulged out of his head. holy. shit.

that...thing, tenting in hiroshi's pants...that...is not...gonna fit him. that thing is gonna kill him!! but holyshit...hiroshi was literally the guy he's always wanted this whole time, and yet it's only now that hiroshi made a move, just right before summer break where they have to go to college?! what...what an...

"y-you're such an idiot!" (name) stuttered out with furrowed brows as he grasped hiroshi's bulge, making hiroshi groan and look at (name) in surprise. "y-you could've been my boyfriend a long time ago if y-you'd just told me! s-so now...don't be an i-idiot and tell me what y-you want, okay?!" he stammered out in a false irritated tone as he dropped down to his knees and gulped.

okay. any closer and this thing is gonna poke his eye. (name) inhaled sharply and unzipped hiroshi's pants and pulled out his large, 10 inch, thick and musky cock, it slapped on his flushed cheek, making him blush. '...this is gonna kill me.' yup, (name). aged 18. he is going to die today.

"i-i'm gonna suck your cock, b-because you obviously just can't walk around w-with a boner r-right?" (name) said with a slightly shy look on his face as he licked the tip of hiroshi's cock experimentally.

suddenly, hiroshi shoved his cock in between (name)'s lips, all 10-inches hitting the back of the boy's throat as he gagged slightly and sucked instinctively. "mmgh~ ngh! hmmph~" he whined out with hiroshi's cock in his mouth, plugging up his mouth.

hiroshi then startes thrusting his hips into (name)'s mouth, his cock leaking precum as he pulled on his hair roughly. "f-fuck...you're so cute, my (name)...your pretty little mouth always knows what to say to make me so. fucking. insane."

he thrusted harder at each period as tears welled up in (name)'s eyes as he abused his warm throat and mouth, but (name), being such a good fucking boy, the boy of his dreams—happily gulped down his pre and even sucked harder as his own cock tented in his pants.

hiroshi shuddered as he felt his orgasm building up, saliva and pre dripping on the ground as he quickened his pace and used (name)'s cute face like the onahole he bought at home that he always imagined was him. he looked down and couldn't believe he was just using (name) like a toy, he fantasized about this day for a really long fucking time...and now...it's finally happening.

and for sure as hell, he ain't letting go.

the muscular man's abs contracted, his cum shooting ropes down (name)'s throat, filling up the cute boy's mouth with his thick, hot cum. "you really are a fucking dream, my (name)-chan...who knew that a virgin like you was so good at suckin' dick..." hiroshi panted out with a grin on his handsome face as he caressed (name)'s face.

(name) felt his heart skip a beat at hiroshi's facial expression, his own cock leaking in his pants as he slowly swallowed hiroshi's load, feeling the man's baby batter slide down his throat. he blushed as he wiped his mouth, trying to compose himself as his heart thumped.

"h-how did you know i'm a virgin?! i-i'm not—" "i stared at you like 25/7 baby, of course i know you're still a virgin. girls always surround you, making everyone think that you're a ladies man but...it's easy to see that you're just a slut for men, aren't ya?" hiroshi teased out as (name) stood up and pouted.

"i-i...well..." "well what? it's true, (name). but...i can't say that i like that part of you...because it makes them attracted to you. it always makes my blood fuckin' boil when i see other men noticing you, touching you...confessing to you...i wanna make ya mine when i see that..."

hiroshi panted out in his deep voice as he stepped forward, pinning the cute boy on a nearby desk as he smiled slyly. "wanna be mine?" he asked with his pitch black eyes curving, huh....who knew hiroshi had a beauty mark under his eye.

(name)'s heart thumped as he stayed silent, he felt his own ass pulsating, like it was saying— do it! let him do you! — he would gladly let him but...why was his heart thumping so bad...and why was he noticing every detail about hiroshi...and...why was he seeing hiroshi's staring...as a good thing?

in fact, for the first time...(name) stared back at hiroshi. dumbfounded and speechless as the taller man chuckled breathily. "i've always wanted you to stare back at me..." he chuckled out, a blush appearing on his face as he covered his mouth.

bang!

cupid just shot a fucking gun through (name)'s heart...because, he's genuinely falling for hiroshi. the nerd he...hmm. the muscular man took a step back as he realized how long (name)'s silence was. he forced a smile on his face as he gulped, his adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"...well. you don't have to. 'm not gonna force you—" "i-idiot...!" (name) sputtered out as he blushed heavily, he then grabbed hiroshi's still hard cock in his hand and shyly placed hiroshi's larger hand on the tent of his pants, he let out a lewd moan...fuck, he was way more sensitive than he thought he was.

but that isn't going to affect what he was going to say! well...he now suddenly felt shy, he closed his eyes and let out an exhale as he stroked hiroshi's cock in his hands, feeling it twitch and leak.

"...this is your fault...i want you to take me now...s-so just do it...! if i go silent or something...i-it's because my mind and heart are racing like crazy! s-so go for it..." (name) opened his eyes to see hiroshi crying softly. he then quickly retracted his hands from hiroshi's penis and wiped his tears.

"e-eh?? i-i'm sorry, did i say something wrong?" (name) asked as he frantically squirmed around and wiped hiroshi's tears, the latter chuckled and grasped his wrists. "...you just...really know what to say..." hiroshi said softly as he looked at (name) with fondness.

that's right, hiroshi yūta...who always stared at him with fondness. who always watched his every move. who notices him. maybe he's the idiot because...the person he's always dreamed of, was just looking at him this whole time.

"i like you too, hiroshi." (name) said softly as he teared up as well, he smacked hiroshi's toned chest. "...idiot." he whispered out as hiroshi chuckled, then it turned into a joyful laugh as he hugged the smaller boy in his muscular arms tightly. (name) smiled too but he covered his mouth, he patted hiroshi's back gently.

"...fuck. i can't hold back now...(name). i'm claiming you as mine." hiroshi then lifted up (name) by his waist and placed him on the teacher's desk, he then ripped (name)'s pants off. the cute boy sputtered, "h-hey! stop ripping all my clothes!"

the nerdy boy merely smiled as he rubbed his long and thick cock on the warm, slightly leaking, virgin hole of his dream boy. he then grasped the latter's smaller cock in his large hand and stroked it slowly, making (name) squirm and moan lewdly, his back arching.

suddenly he felt something entering his untouched hole, he squeaked as hiroshi was proddinh his tip into his tight entrance. "h-hiroshi wait—!! (;゜゜) t-that thing is going to kill me!! i-it's too big..." "you'll be fine, m' love..." hiroshi chuckled out as he slowly entered his tip into (name)'s hole, making (name) groan in pain.

"shit...loosen up a bit, honey...you're squeezing on me..." "h-haah~ oh! h-hiroshi! 'm g-gonna die...~" (name) moaned out in pain and pleasure as 1/4th of hiroshi's cock entered his tight, virgin hole, his own cock twitched uncontrollably in hiroshi's hand.

tears welled up in (name)'s eyes as he felt his mind was melting, his tears streamed down his flushed cheeks. hiroshi's gaze moved to (name)'s crying face and...he felt himself get bigger. the (color) haired boy yelped in shock Σ(; ﾟДﾟ)

he sniffled, "h-how did you get even bigger?!(o･｀Д´･o)!! a-ahn!~" "s-sorry...it's just...when i saw you cryin'...it was really fuckin' hot....(´_ゝ`)" hiroshi stuttered out as he tried to rub off the blush on his face, he wiped (name)'s tears with his palm.

"g-gh...~ i-i can't wait anymore either, h-hiroshi...! a-ah!!~" (name) moaned out in frustration as he shoved himself down on hiroshi's whole cock, hitting all of his good spots, his own cock squirted out cum on hiroshi's hand.

the top let out a sharp breath and low moan as he looked down at his (name) in shock. what a good boy for taking his whole cock...! he started thrusting, slowly getting faster every thrust as he couldn't hold back anymore.

(name)'s moans and mewls and hiroshi's groans and low moans mixed together as hiroshi fucked the shit out of him like an animal. hiroshi panted animalistically as he fucked (name) like two bunnies in heat.

the smaller boy gripped onto hiroshi as he felt the latter's cock repeatedly slam into him like a fucking train, his mind was melting...oh god...why did it seem like hiroshi's dick was getting bigger and bigger..

he hiccuped, smiling shakily as he drooled at the sensation of being filled up and used like an onahole. "m-mmh~ ngh~ h-haah~ hiroshi...~ 'm gonna die...'m so h-happy~ ooh!~" (name) babbled out incoherently as he came one more time, squeezing down on hiroshi's cock.

hiroshi looked down at (name)'s fucked out face, full of bliss as he pressed a gentle kiss to (name)'s lips, contrasting his harsh thrusting. he felt his own high build up as his cock twitched in (name)'s warm hole. "good f'me...so good...g-gonna get you pregnant, hm?" hiroshi groaned out as (name)'s hole clenched down on hiroshi's cock.

the nerdy man's load shot out of his cock, fully filling up deep in (name)'s hole and some even dripping out. (name) drooled as hiroshi kissed him. "i love you, (name)..."

"...s-shut up..." (ーー;ヽ(*´＾｀)ﾉ "l-love you too...shut up now!!"

well...he loves the nerd now too. a lot.

----------(((´∀｀*)ε｀　)))----------

(a/n. holy crap im so sorry 5his is so bad (ToT) thanks for reading guys ( ´-｀)

[aloflapse]

ఌ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑

w.c › 7.6k

warnings › bottom male reader (dom bottom). Part 1. Reader’s really, really, really pathetic here.

plot › you do everything to get Naoki back, including groveling on your knees.

kinks › degradation, marking, slight dub-con, hate, slapping, foot/leg humping, acarophilia

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“When you block someone, do they keep the videos you sent?”

“Hm. I’m not sure. Depends if they saved them or not.”

It was silent for only a second.

“Wait, wait, wait!!!!! Arakawa Naoki, you, you!! You blocked someone?! What did they do?!” Nakamura suddenly sat up, crawling to the end of the bed as he stared up at his friend in shock. His eyes wide and almost popping out of his sockets.

Naoki sighed, glancing over at the tv resting on the dresser across from Nakamura’s bed. “Forget it. I don’t want to think about him.”

“Him?! Was it the aquarium dude?!”

“Mhm.”

“What happened?! You were practically gushing about him a week ago, now that you mention it, you haven’t giggled to me about him in four days. What did he do?!” Nakamura stood up, nodding his head, his moves a bit sluggish as he grabbed his baseball bat from the corner of the room. “I’ll kill ‘im! Lemme at him, I’ll hit a home run with his head!”

“Sit down,” Naoki easily grabbed the bat from Nakamura’s hand and tossed it onto the ground. “It’s nothing. It was my fault for being naive.”

Nakamura blinked, humming slightly. He dropped to his knees and looked up at Naoki expectedly. “Naive? Was he… Yakuza..?”

“No, nothing like that. It was..” Naoki frowned, glancing at Nakamura. “You’ll be angry.”

“Angry?” Nakamura, despite the cheap beer swirling in his brain, narrowed his eyebrows.

“It’s that fucking Momoi (Name)!!!!!”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“I knew it. He’s been waiting for you to fall into his trap. To think that you sent him videos—not that I’m victim blaming you—he’ll probably post them. Your face wasn’t in it right? We can come up with plausible explanations or something.”

“Nakamura…”

“It’s been three weeks, right? Maybe he’s waiting for the perfect moment.. ah fuck, or maybe..”

“Nakamura Takumi.”

Takumi finally stopped his pacing and turned to face Naoki. Naoki groaned, leaning against the wall as he glared at his friend.

“Can we talk about this another time? Not during an appointment for getting a cane?”

“Ah,” Takumi gave a slight smile. “Sorry, I’m just worried. That guy’s unstable! Who cares if he can carry a tune. I don’t know why Yuki likes him so much, she didn’t care for him back in high school.”

Naoki stood up from the wall and shrugged, rubbing the back of his head. “Must’ve really liked the music.” He pulled out his phone and checked the time. “I don’t know why you needed me to come with me to get your dad’s cane.”

Takumi shrugged. “Just.. wanted you to check out the canes here. You.. well, you’ve been complaining about your leg more often. You—”

“Zip it.”

“Naoki…”

“I don’t need a cane yet. Wait until I’m thirty at least.”

“Using a cane isn’t bad. Lots of young people use it.”

“I can still walk.”

“Duh. I’m just saying.”

“Actually, bring up the revenge porn again. That’s better than this.” Naoki shook his head, unlocking his phone to check his LINE. He responded to his mother’s text before coming across your contact. His eyes landed on your name.

Sea Moon.

A joke. Did you really take him for a joke? He let out a bitter laugh and turned off his phone, slipping it into his pocket.

Takumi hummed, “I do wonder, maybe he didn’t know.”

“What?”

“Ah,” Takumi let out a huff. “I hate the guy, don’t get me wrong, but maybe he didn’t know it was you.”

“Even if he didn’t—he was cheating on his girlfriend. I’m not anyone’s side chick.”

“True. That was strange of him. Maybe you should leak the conversation to his girlfriend,” Takumi laughed, already giddy at the thought of ruining your reputation.

Naoki rolled his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

1 year ago

“Look, look!”

Naoki pushed Yuki’s phone away, trying to properly cut out the spine of the fish in front of him. He almost sliced his own finger just as Yuki showed him the phone again.

“What??” Naoki placed the knife down, glaring at Yuki. A giddy grin was on her lips as she held her phone right at his face. Naoki narrowed his eyes and grabbed the phone from her hand, trying to read what she was showing him.

“Oh, Takumi-Kun, come look!” She called over Takumi who was lounging on the couch, rubbing his belly as he lazily flipped through channels

“If it has to deal with that stupid emo and his sister, stop bothering me.” Takumi yelled.

“Ah, you’re no fun! Brother Momoi beat the loner allegations!”

“Hah? What the hell are you talking about?”

Naoki stared at the phone for a moment, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

It was of a photo of you and a girl, the girl pressing her lips against your cheek. Her hands gripped your shoulders as she stood on her tippy toes. The next picture was of your foreheads pressed together, a wide grin on the girl’s lips.

Another of her holding your arm, cuddling close to you as you both sat at a restaurant. Her reaching over and feeding you a piece of sushi.

𝐌𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐌𝐨’𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐢 (𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞) 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭! 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐢’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝’𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?!

Naoki felt odd. He didn’t understand this heavy feeling in his heart. It wasn’t like you were ever his. Wouldn’t it be his fault for never stepping forward and saying something to you? But you would always run away from him, how could he?

Were those four years nothing?

Did he imagine it? Maybe he was the one stalking you?

Naoki let out a laugh, placing Yuki’s phone onto the countertop. “Good for him.” Was all he said before grabbing his jacket and slipping on his shoes.

Takumi sat up, his eyes narrowing. “Where are you going?”

“Beer. I don’t think we have enough for tonight. Yuki, you can pull out the rest of the spine from the fish. I’ll be quick.”

Yuki blinked. “Woah, we’re drinking tonight? Don’t we have an exam tomorrow?”

Takumi sighed, “he’s still attached to him after all.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just pull the spine out. I’ll start the side dishes.”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“You’re wallowing again.” Hiyori tilted her head, raising an eyebrow.

You rubbed the bridge of your nose. “I’m not.”

“You totally are.” A voice cut in.

“How’d you even get in?” You glared at the unwanted guest, placing your spoon on your plate. Your curry and rice was hardly touched since Hiyori placed the bowl in front of you.

Miki giggled, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss on Hiyori’s lips. Hiyori eagerly returned the kiss but was stopped from deepening it with a slight glare from Miki. “Not in front of your brother. He’s innocent.”

You scoffed. “I thought I changed the apartment code.”

“I told her the new code.” Hiyori said, pulling Miki to sit down on her lap. Miki immediately got comfortable, humming happily.

“I thought it was siblings before hoes.”

“Hey, don’t call her a hoe… only I can,” Hiyori smirked, tightening her grip on Miki’s waist. “In bed at least.”

“Hiyori!” Miki giggled, lightly slapping Hiyori’s hand. The two looked at each other lovingly before Hiyori seemed to remember you were currently dealing with a crisis. She turned over to look at you, a frown on her lips.

“Sea Brain, I get it,” Hiyori said, her voice a bit more serious. “Arakawa believed the fake rumors you and Miki did last year to hide that she was lesbian. It sucks, but you just gotta explain that to him. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Can’t explain shit to him if he’s blocked me.” You muttered.

Miki frowned, “really? Woah, he really cares about my feelings,” she laughed, stopping quickly when you glared at her. “Ahem, I mean, that can’t be the only reason. Maybe he feels abandoned by you? You stalked him for four years straight and suddenly pay him no attention at all.”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “I was busy, if I wasn’t I would’ve followed him everywhere. Why doesn’t he get that?”

“Well you didn’t know he was in an accident.”

“What?” Hiyori questioned, her mouth fulled with curry. “Accident?”

You glared at Miki, “what the hell? What do you mean he was in an accident?”

“It was a whole thing,” Miki said, humming softly. She leaned back more into Hiyori’s arms and sighed. “It was in the news—but you don’t pay attention to that, so maybe that’s why you don’t know.”

“What happened?”

“You can search his name and his birthdate. It happened on Christmas Eve of last year. He got into a car accident with his dad and little sister. He was the only one who survived but he could no longer play baseball after that. It was a big deal, he was popular in his college team, people believed he could’ve gone national.

“I pay attention to his school but that’s because I’m an alumni.” Miki said, nodding slightly. “But I would’ve thought you would’ve heard of it. It happened only ten minutes from your apartment. They were.. hm, they were going somewhere, and a drunk trunk driver just hit the car.”

“We must’ve been busy during that day,” Hiyori muttered. She glanced over at you. “It’s okay, you couldn’t have known. Don’t beat yourself about this. Honestly, maybe you should view this as your reason to move on. He technically did reject you.”

You ignored Hiyori’s comment, only focusing on the information Miki told you. His dad and little sister died? Which father? You had stalked Naoki enough to know that he had a step father and a biological father he wasn’t close to at all. He’d often write stuff in his notebook about it, but he had stopped after he supposedly gained a new half sister from his bio father.

Was that them?

All of the past information you knew about Naoki was waking up, filling your head after having to bury it deep inside. You glanced at your phone—now basically dead with Naoki no longer keeping the ringtone alive.

“If he felt abandoned by me…” you whispered, catching Miki’s and Hiyori’s attention. “I just need to show him that I’m here again.”

“And that I’ll never leave him ever again.”

“Jesus. How’d you get a red mark like this?” The makeup artist muttered, shaking her head. She began using some foundation to cover it up.

You didn’t want to explain that after your little declaration last night, Hiyori had slapped the shit out of you. That didn’t shock you too much—the day you had first confessed to Hiyori that you were stalking Naoki she almost beat you up.

It made sense. You understood why she wanted you to stop. And back then, you almost took her words to heart.

It was during your first year of high school. The last day, you were thinking that you would obey Hiyori’s pleas. Why waste time on a kid you hardly knew well? Though you had been getting to know quite a bit, including his family drama.

But Arakawa Naoki must’ve subconsciously knew that you were going to leave him alone. Just as you were leaving after the last day, all of the kids chattering about what their summer vacation plans were.

Naoki had walked over to you, a little grin on his face. He looked shy, holding something behind his back. You almost immediately believed that he must’ve been pranking you or something until he pulled out a small box of chocolates.

His gap tooth was still wide, only now just closing due to the braces he got two months ago. “Here. I wasn’t here on White’s Day..” he had whispered, his eyes looking down. “You normally run away whenever I came close so.. I wanted to try one more time. The chocolates melted and were frozen again so.. they’re probably ugly by now.”

You could only blink, remembering that you couldn’t even say anything. Naoki glanced up and only shook his head. He grabbed your hand and placed the small heart shaped box in your hand. A gasp left your lips, only able to stare as Naoki gave you a smile.

He walked away shortly after that, Nakamura wrapped his arm around his neck. Nakamura glanced back at you and glared, shaking his head as he guided his friend out. You couldn’t even be bothered to care about his weird hatred towards you—all you could think about was tasting the chocolate.

And Naoki was right, they did look ugly.

But they were tasty.

So tasty.

“(Name), did you meet the other model for the shoot?” Hiyori asked, tapping your shoulder right after the makeup artist left. “Don’t get snippy with him—you’ve been acting like someone pissed in your cereal all day.”

You huffed, pushing the memory away. “Mhm. I won’t. Just didn’t sleep well.”

“Does it still hurt? I didn’t think it would… y’know, be that strong.” She muttered, a slight look of embarrassment on her face.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not angry over it.” You glanced at the mirror, almost amazed at how well the red mark was gone. Your eyes flickered to Hiyori’s through the mirror. “But, you’ll have to get over it—I’m going to get Arakawa-San. You can always report me to the police if you’re really worried.”

Hiyori frowned. “Don’t talk so loudly,” she whispered, leaning in closer. “I… I don’t know how to feel about it. But I won’t say anything unless Arakawa does. If he shows any sense of fear at the sight of you, I’m reporting you, it doesn’t matter if you’re my brother.”

“It’s a deal.”

She looked a bit upset over it but she only nodded, pulling away from you. You had an understanding sister for all things considered. A normal one would’ve reported you back in middle school.

Though there was no guarantee police would even do anything. They are known for their incompetence.

But you understood her thought process.

Not enough to stop though.

“Brother Momoi, Sister Momoi! Come on, you’re the first trio.” The photographer called, earning your attention. You got up and followed Hiyori to the set, seeing the other person who you’d be shooting with.

Hiyori bowed her head slightly, “hello.”

The person, a man with a wide grin and dyed brown hair nodded. “Hi, I’m Yuto! I’ve heard a lot about you guys.” He glanced over at you and hummed. “Momoi-Kun having a permanent frown was true too.”

Hiyori couldn’t help her slight grin, “ah, that’s true… are you a singer?”

“No, model! I just recently started acting.”

You rolled your eyes, deciding to tune them out. All you could think about was Naoki. Was his leg okay? The accident must’ve worsened his leg. Is he enjoying school? What made him choose meteorology. A weather forecaster?

You began to imagine him in a suit and tie, standing in front of a green screen as he talked about weather. Maybe glasses? The suit might be a little tight on him—he’d pull down his tie just a bit, show off his collarbone right as the cameras turned off.

You’d love to grab that tie, pull it and have him gasp at your strength. Whether you rid him or fucked him. Just having him make those same whimpers he made in the video… you’d—

“Enjoying yourself, huh?”

Yuto laughed at your shocked expression, wiggling his eyebrow. “Not judging. I suddenly think about my boyfriend and get horny too.”

“Boyfriend?” You whispered. He confessed so easily, you haven’t been close to another celebrity that had no struggle in expressing their sexuality.

“Mhm. I mean, you’re like me, right?”

“What? Like you?” You stared at him, almost feeling a little nervous.

Yuto blinked. He stared at you and then looked you up and down. His gaze fell back to your face as he blinked once more, a look that was smug but also filled with disbelief.

“Well someone like you is certainly not straight, that’s for sure.”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to go to a mixer.”

Naoki sighed, scrolling through his phone. He was deleting pictures he had saved of you. Mostly class photos or any photo he managed to take with you. You’d always look so uncomfortable whenever he tried to take selfies with you. Maybe he really was wrong about your feelings towards him.

“Naoki, Nao-Chan, Kiki. Ki-Kun. Nana,” Takumi whined, leaning down to obscure Naoki’s view. He batted his eyelashes and pouted. “Please, pretty please, for me, Nao Nao?”

“Stop calling me that, Mimi.” Naoki rolled his eyes and moved away, deleting a few more pictures.

Takumi sighed, “fine, fine. Stop looking at your phone. My babe is almost here.”

Naoki turned off his phone and grinned. “So this babe is real? I was getting worried that she was a girl from ‘Hong Kong.’”

“Shut up. At least I like normal people.”

“Low blow.” Naoki pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.

“Taku?”

Naoki glanced up to see a boy, a wide grin on his lips, dyed brown hair slicked back, he looked like he came straight from a photoshoot. Wait. Naoki looked back over at Takumi and stared at him a shock.

“You like boys?”

The model practically sprinted over to Takumi and Naoki’s table, immediately grabbing Takumi’s arm—and with surprising strength for his thin frame, tugged Takumi to stand up. Takumi quickly hugged the boy and they both began to giggle and whisper to themselves.

“Wait, I thought you only liked girls!” Naoki whispered-yelled, gaining the couple’s attention.

Takumi pulled away from the hug with a sheepish expression, “I wanted to tell you but the one day I was about to the whole.. y’know happened so I kinda just forgot. Ah, anyway, this is Yuto!”

“Hey!” Yuto grinned. He felt like sunshine personified. Naoki fought the urge to cover his eyes from the shine radiating off him.

“Hey, I’m Naoki.”

A wide grin pulled on Takumi’s face. “He’s the reason we used to be only able to meet on Sundays. That was the only day he had off after he recently got casted in a web series! When does it start airing again, baby?”

“Hm,” Yuto easily moved his hand to rest on Takumi’s hip as if it was second nature to him. “I think, March 14th. So, less than a month from now.”

Takumi and Yuto practically moved like one body as they sat down in the booth across from Naoki. Immediately the pair cuddled up into each other as Takumi passed over the restaurant’s menu.

Naoki didn’t know if he was upset or shocked.

“Ahem,” he coughed, gaining the two’s attention. “So, how’d you meet?”

Yuto grinned. Smiling seemed to be his default expression. “At a BDSM event.”

Takumi began coughing violently, putting down his glass of water. Naoki could only blink.

“He was a newbie and so shy, I was immediately interested. But he was so scared of me at first, like he doesn’t have more muscle than me.”

“Yuto… maybe we should’ve used the sanitized version?” Takumi whispered.

“He’s been your best friend since diapers.” Yuto said, rolling his eyes. “He’s probably heard about your sex life. Anyway, Taku was so shy, that when I brought him to my hotel, he was talking about it was first time being a dom and all that bullshit. Hahahah, anyway I showed him how a true dom acts. Now he’s a great listener, isn’t that right, baby?”

Naoki wished he had lost his hearing in that car crash.

“Can we talk about something else,” Takumi whispered.

“Yeah…” Naoki said in agreement.

Yuto only nodded, seemingly unaware of the twos growing discomfort. “Oh, today I had a photoshoot! I still have the makeup on that the makeup stylist did. It was for promoting a makeup pallet, I think. I kinda forgot, I honestly didn’t care for it. Oh but, I did get to meet some people, building connections, all that jazz. I met Momoi Hiyori.”

Naoki and Takumi immediately glanced at each other.

“Really?” Takumi asked.

“Yeah. And her little brother. He’s so weird. But kinda in a good way? Like I tried to have a conversation with him and it’s like he immediately shut me out. But I was able to wear him down enough to get him to follow my Instagram. I’m meeting Hiyori again next week for drinks. I’ll probably try some more to wear that grump down.”

Naoki hummed, mostly to himself. So you were grumpy and standoffish to everyone. He didn’t think that made him feel any better. If he were to take your words seriously, right before he blocked you, you hadn’t known that it was during the whole situation.

In his heart, he had a glimmer of hope that maybe if you had known it was him, you would’ve been more excited texting him. Would’ve been more eager to text him and not just dryly respond as if he was pulling teeth.

But then he remembers the times he tried to bridge the gap in high school.

He’d be silly to think you really liked him. Maybe you just found him good to look at. But then those gifts? Was it to get him attached? For you to feel some type of glee at having someone like him get attached to you?

No. No he was being bitter now. Despite your terrible attitude—you weren’t that type of person.

Just a cheater apparently.

“Naoki.” Takumi snapped his fingers, causing Naoki to jump.

“You good?” Yuto asked, a slight frown on his lips.

“Mhm, sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Probably of that jerk.” Takumi rolled his eyes.

“Jerk?” Yuto questioned. “Trouble in paradise?”

“There was no paradise.” Naoki frowned. “At least I was the only one who actually cared about our relationship.”

Yuto hummed. “Well, let me take your mind off that. Are you free next week Friday?”

“Why?”

“Well,” Yuto leaned in closer over the table, a smirk on his lips as he rubbed his thumb and index finger together, “wanna earn some money?”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“Hey, have you seen Yuto-Kun’s newest post? It’s cute.” Hiyori said, sitting down beside you on the couch.

“I don’t check social media.” You bluntly answered, the water still dripping from your hair after your shower. Your towel rested on your head—too lazy to properly dry your hair at this point.

“Fine, forgot you just have the manager post for you. Here, here, look.”

Hiyori handed over her phone. You rolled your eyes but grabbed it, looking at what Yuto posted. It looked to be promotion for a music video he was in. You knew the band—One Heart. For their music videos they usually never used themselves, having actors portray the story they’re trying to tell.

“Let me pull up the music video.” Hiyori said, turning on the tv.

You sighed, swiping through the pictures. It looked like the video would take place at a school. High school love probably. Most of the pictures were of BTS shots, selfies Yuto took with the band members or any other actor. Looked like he would be portraying a student due to him wearing a school uniform.

“Ah, apparently the song is the OST for the web series Yuto’s in. Cool, cool. We gotta do our own OST soon, that’ll be so cool.” Hiyori muttered, pressing play on the video.

The video started immediately with an actor you didn’t know, peeking over at a group of girls giggling at their phones.

“He’s so cute.”

“Why is he a weather forecaster?”

“Hey, being a weather forecaster isn’t bad, I’ll get up at 6 am just for him~”

The actor frowned at the girls’ comments, possibly having a crush on them. He pulled out his phone and pulled up the video they were watching. You looked away, already a bit bored. Having storylines in music videos weren’t interesting to you most of the time.

Just get—

“That’s Arakawa!” Hiyori yelled, sitting up.

You immediately stared at the tv and to your shock, it was. He was the weather forecaster. His hair was pushed back with gel, a pair of rectangular glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. A sleek and well fitted dark blue suit. What he was saying couldn’t be heard as the melody of the song began playing.

The music video began playing out with the student actor having an identity crisis—trying different ways to look like Naoki, even going as far as drawing a black dot on his face.

But all you could pay attention to was the short snippets of Naoki. He looked handsome. That half ass selfie you got was nothing to seeing him in video.

Seeing him in person would send you to heaven.

You needed to see him. Quickly.

As soon as the music video ended, Hiyori’s phone beeped. You glanced down and noticed Yuto posted again. It was a video this time, a short snippet from a future BTS video for the song.

The camera was showing Naoki. He was sitting down and had his shoes off, a shy look on his face. Once the person behind the camera seemed to motion they were recording, Naoki grinned.

“Arakawa-San, what’s that metal thing on your foot?”

Yuto appeared beside Naoki, kneeling down to touch the strange device. It was a silver metal encasing that held his left foot. There was a small knob on the right that Naoki reached down and began turning, showing the metal tightening its grip on his foot.

“This is to help me walk with less of a limp.” Naoki explained, gently tapping the metal to show off the sound. “Real metal. A bit expensive.” He giggled nervously, obviously not used to talking to a camera. “It’s slender so I can still wear most shoes.. oh except flip flops or sandals, that’ll be awkward.”

Yuto hummed, “cool. Oh oh, everyone~ Arakawa modeled before, right?” He glanced back at Naoki who began to blush slightly.

“Ah, yea, but it was just sponsorships for my old baseball team.”

“Editor, add pictures!” Yuto giggled, earning a laugh from the camera person. “Everyone follow Arakawa’s IG~ he should reach 10k followers in a week, yea?”

Naoki pouted. “I don’t need followers.”

“Yea yea, just follow him.” The camera person chimed in. Their voice sounded familiar but you couldn’t recognize it. Just as the video was about to end, a photo appeared on the screen.

It was of one of those sponsorships Naoki had.

He looked to be advertising sportswear. He was dressed in a white compression shirt that made his waist look small. Black shorts that were ridden up due to him sitting down. He had a wide grin, his hair messy and wild, with a little dirt on his face.

There was a small little caption on the photo.

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐍𝐚𝐨𝐤𝐢, 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨’𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦! 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐.

He was number 12? And a pitcher? You couldn’t remember much about baseball. In all honesty, you never paid attention to him playing. It was one of the things you thought was boring.

But maybe you should make more of an effort now.

Besides…

You glanced down as the video began to replay. Your gaze narrowing at Yuto.

You had a new in to find Arakawa Naoki.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

@Naose1224

It’s Teddy’s birthday~ he hates the ocean but wanted sushi as his birthday meal. He’s officially….. 100 years old! ٩(˃̶͈̀௰˂̶͈́)و

His picture showed the teddy bear. And you wondered how you didn’t notice that it was the teddy bear you bought. It was still cute. The fur was still as dark brown as it was when you first saw it.

There was a total of ten photos.

The first was of the teddy bear, a birthday cone resting on its head, almost slipping off. One of the bear’s eye was gone but was sown shut—as if it was brand new. The teddy bear was a bit big in size compared to most. It was resting on a bench in what looked to be a park.

Next it was of Naoki and the teddy bear for a selfie. Naoki’s hair was messy and untamed, looking as if he just woke up. The teddy bear laying on his chest as he gave a peace sign.

Three other photos was just of the sushi Naoki must’ve bought.

You froze at one specific photo. It was Nakamura, the real Nakamura. Nakamura Takumi. The guy who seemed to hate you since middle school. Your classmates had always said he and Naoki could be brothers. And in the photo you almost agreed.

But Naoki was always prettier.

The two of them were what looks to be a karaoke bar, the teddy bear resting on Nakamura’s lap as he pulled at its round ears. Naoki had a wide grin on his face, face flushed. There were multiple bottles on the table.

The last ones were of Yuto and Naoki. Nakamura would occasionally pop his head in. You were about to scroll past when you reached the last photo.

There was a stranger touching Naoki.

The stranger had his arm wrapped around Naoki’s waist, practically pulling him into his lap as he kissed Naoki’s cheek.

You almost passed out at the sight.

You quickly checked the comments.

@baseballlover2002

Nao Nao… why did you post the picture where i have crossed eyes?! Oh god

@Naose1224

It’s fine Taku, Yuto thought it was cute

@Yuto_Kirishima

Soooo cute, Nao Nao~ (^з^)-☆ I wanna eat you up

@baseballlover2002

Why are you calling him that…

@Yuto_Kirishima

Don’t tell me you’re jealous~ it’s a cute nickname

Why is that your username?

@baseballlover2002

I made it when I was like 12, leave me alone

@baseballlover2002

Anyway, Nao, are you gonna text him?

@Naose1224

Him? Probably not, he made fun of Teddy..

@baseballlover2002

Fuck the fucking teddy bear, pls, I’m tired of it!!!

You couldn’t help but smirk. Of course Naoki loved your gift so much. You had spent over three hours in that store back then, almost turning insane as you tried to figure out which teddy bear was the best.

@39730284

I hope I can see you more often, you’re quite fun~

@Naose1224

No promises ⁄(⁄ ⁄ ⁄ω⁄ ⁄ ⁄)⁄ you’re so handsy

@39730284

Only with you, @baseballlover2002 make sure to take him to the after party after the game next weekend

@baseballlover2002

Aye, captain!!

“What the fuck—”

“Momoi-Kun? How’d you get here?”

You flinched, glancing over to see Yuto. He was dressed more laidback compared to the pictures he posted on IG. You quickly stood up—cursing to yourself.

You were currently at the aforementioned party. It wasn’t hard at all to see what restaurant the baseball team were meeting at. So you had come with really no plan in mind on what you’d do when you finally saw Naoki.

There was just something in you that needed to see him.

Yuto hummed, raising an eyebrow. He took in your hat and mask, with your jacket and pants. “Are you friends with anyone on the team? Well, scratch that, you don’t have any.” He laughed slightly. “Why are you here?”

You glared at him. “I didn’t know you were my manager.”

“I’m not but I know her well,” he said, allowing you to fill in the blanks.

You wanted to punt him in the face. “I’m here to see someone.”

“Who?”

“…Arakawa Naoki.”

“Nao Nao?” Yuto asked, speaking about your Naoki as if he knew him for such a long time. “Well, he’s not here. He’s at home—feeling under the weather.”

You perked up at that. “Is he okay? Does he need anything?”

“I dunno. You ask him,” Yuto laughed, shaking his head. “Just go visit him. I texted him earlier, Tak—Nakamura, his friend, dropped off some food.”

“Ok.” You immediately went to leave when you remembered you didn’t know his address. “Uhm, you wouldn’t happen to know his address, right?”

Yuto narrowed his gaze. “You don’t know his address?”

“It’s.. been awhile.” You quickly muttered, “I haven’t been able to visit him since he… moved.”

“Ah. Ok.” Yuto muttered. You felt your body immediately relax just as your phone pinged. “There. That’s his address.”

You were lucky Yuto didn’t ask enough questions. Maybe he should’ve been more careful.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“I don’t think you’re listening to me, is it so hard to literally listen to when I say I don’t care if you’re suddenly a family man. I don’t want you in my life.”

“You’d really say that when your sister is in the car?”

“Like you really care about how a kid feels. You’re not even wearing a seatbelt, you’re smoking in the car as well. Just drop me home, I’m done talking to you.”

“Listen here you little—”

“Why’d you stop in the middle of the road?! There’s a—!”

Naoki sighed, rubbing his hair as he stared blankly at his tv. It was small and aged—but somehow still working like a brand new one. He could remember that night clearly. How his birth father flew out of the window, the sickening crunch of bones.

He wondered if it was good she was sleeping during the ride. At least her death was instant. Because of course that man hadn’t properly secured her in her car seat.

He remembered being feeling his left foot practically crushed, but it was somehow still fine. Remembered managing to push open the heavy door. Collapsing onto the ground as people began to surround the crash. The truck driver somehow okay as he stumbled out of his car, only blood dripping down his face.

No.

What he really remembered was looking up and see your face.

Seeing your advertisement for something. He couldn’t remember. Maybe makeup or jewelry.

He just remembered your eyes staring down at him as he began to laugh. Someone finally feeling brave enough to check on him as others called an ambulance. The person began trying to soothe him as Naoki just laughed and laughed.

Blood dripping down his lips. He hadn’t even noticed the glass shards that were stuck on his arms and face. Everything was just so funny to him at that moment.

He hated you.

He fucking hated you.

Then he began sobbing. Sobbing over many things at that moment. Even delirious he knew he couldn’t play baseball ever again. But he also mourned you.

He had wished you were there, like before, when he had that silly concussion. He needed you.

And yet you were no where to be found.

Maybe it was good he didn’t know you lived in those fancy apartments not even two minutes away from the crash. That you were in a car that drove past the scene. That if you had looked up from your phone, looked right, you’d see your supposed “love” on the street.

“‘Long time no see’? We see each other in class all the time.”

“But you haven’t talked to me in a while. I thought you were avoiding me.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you. There is just no reason to talk to you anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Naoki sighed, instantly feeling pity for the blonde hair student. He placed his empty bowl on his coffee table and turned up the volume of the tv show he was watching. In a way, he felt that way about you a lot.

Maybe you believed you had no reason to think about him anymore.

Well, how could he even be sure that whole diary nonsense was true?

He groaned and shook his head. He was getting a headache thinking about you. When would you leave his thoughts?

Rapid knocks on his door caught his attention as he paused the show. Was Takumi back? Naoki sighed and sat up, using the couch as a leverage. He limped over to the door—pressing his palm against the wall.

It somehow got harder during the night. Maybe he was just tired.

He reached for the door knob, not bothering to check the peephole and opened the door. “Takumi? Did you forget something?”

His was expecting to come face to face with Takumi’s chest, the man being taller than him. But he was met with someone of similar height. He blinked once, twice, before leaning back just a bit to get a proper look of who was at his door.

However that was futile as the stranger immediately rushed into his apartment and engulfed him into a hug. Naoki gripped at the stranger’s waist as a confused grunt left his lips. His lips parted as he tried to form words.

Just who—

The stranger pulled away and despite the hat obscuring half of their face, Naoki got a clear look. He knew you. Not like he could ever forget you now that your face is plastered on advertisements all over Tokyo.

Naoki only stared at you for a moment before his face screwed up in a snarl, his hands sliding up to your shoulders as he shoved you away with a surprising amount of strength.

You flinched away, almost in shock at how he could easily manhandled you. Your cock twitched at the thought.

“Arakawa—”

“—Out.”

“Arakawa-San, let me explain.”

“Get out. How’d you even find my apartment—actually, don’t answer that.” He shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Arakawa-San, please. It was a misunderstanding.” You said, closing the door behind you. Naoki immediately flared up as if he was a dog, now anxious and fidgety. You frowned, having not anticipated he would’ve ever reacted to you like this. “I’m not dating Miki, that’s what you think right?”

Naoki glared at you, moving himself to rest against his wall.

“I’m not, really. Miki is dating my sister but people were beginning to get suspicious, including her family. Miki isn’t ready to come out as a lesbian yet so she asked me to play her fake boyfriend.”

“Okay.” Naoki muttered. You tried to get a better look at him but it was difficult with the only lights in the apartment being from the tv.

Naoki pressed his hand against your chest as soon as you got even an inch closer. “So, what? I was wrong about that. I still don’t want you here. So get out.”

You frowned. “Arakawa… I don’t get it, weren’t we getting close over text?”

“You call that getting close? When I was the one handling the entire conversation?”

“I’m just a dry texter…”

“Then we’re just not compatible then.”

“Not compatible? We haven’t even tried.” You couldn’t help the raise in your tone, your hand slamming against the wall, right near Naoki’s head.

Naoki flinched as he stared at you in shock, his eyes wide. “Are you serious? You leave me alone for two years and now you’re suddenly crawling back?”

“Arakawa-San… please, I was just busy, I’ve always thought about you. I’ve always wanted you. I’ve kept everything in reference to you… and you feel the same, you, you kept that teddy bear I gave you. It was me, I wrote that note for you.”

“I knew that.” Naoki said, not even looking at you. “I’m not an idiot.”

You pulled away slightly, feeling panicked that nothing you were saying was getting through to him. With no other options, you dropped to your knees, ignoring that pain that shot through your body. Your hands gripped Naoki’s right leg as you pressed your forehead against his knee.

“Please, Arakawa-San… I do love you. I do want you… I’m just… I’m just not talkative or any type of friendly person. But my feelings aren’t fake, please, believe me.” You rubbed your face against his pajamas pants, feeling tears prickle your eyes.

Naoki shifted his leg, possibly to get away but that only caused him to accidentally rub against your crotch. A gasp left your throat as you quickly clamped your lips shut.

The air was tense and silent. Naoki’s breath was the only that filled the room. You hadn’t even realized you had effectively stopped breathing.

Naoki suddenly let out a humorless laugh, his foot rubbing against your growing erection. You looked up at him shock. He had a slight smirk on his lips as he reached over and took off your hat, tossing it aside. Now free, his right hand found itself gripping onto your hair.

“Go ahead. It’s probably the only human touch you’ve ever gotten, yeah?”

You didn’t even get to say anything as he rubbed his leg. The fact you were wearing sweatpants didn’t help—barely acting like a barricade to his touch. Your hands tightened its grip on his leg, nails piercing through the thin fabric of his pajamas.

Naoki was silent, even no longer moving his foot as you began to rut against his leg. You bit your bottom lip to hold back any sounds. Your left hand reaching down as you attempted to jerk yourself off. But Naoki’s hand suddenly tightened on your hair, pulling your head back.

“I don’t want to see you masturbate.” He said bluntly. “Get off from my touch—you can touch yourself in your bed.” He loosened his grip and was silent once more. You spared a glance up at him but he was looking to his right, over at the small living room.

You didn’t like that. You reached over and began to roll up Naoki’s pajama pants, showing off his bare thighs. Unlucky for you, it didn’t seem like he was the type to go commando. Naoki flinched at the sudden cool air as he glanced down at you.

Feeling bolder at now having his attention, you pressed a kiss on his inner thigh. You continued to hump his leg, it hardly doing anything to alleviate the pain growing in your cock, now leaking in your boxers.

At the mere thought of ruining Naoki’s ability to wear shorts for a few days, you sunk your teeth into his skin. Naoki gasped, his grip tightening on your hair but he didn’t pull.

“I didn’t say I wanted your filthy mouth on me,” Naoki muttered, “but you never listen do you? You don’t pay attention to anything that I want. To think that I…” he stopped himself, simply sighing.

You stared up at him but made no effort to say anything. You could only focus on marking the blank canvas in front of you. Humping his leg was afterthought at this point. The edge of not cumming was almost a pleasure in of itself.

“Arakawa…” you whispered against his thigh, kissing upward to his inner thigh, sucking the skin.

Naoki’s body flinched as he grazed his foot against your erection, “suddenly, ngh, acting selfless? Just fucking get off and leave. Don’t act like you care.”

You shudder, unable to feel any sort of pain from his words. No, you were only emboldened by his cruelty. And fuck did that say a lot about how you were wired deep inside.

“I only live for you,” you whispered against his skin, a giddy laugh leaving you. It felt so good to say it to him. To finally feel his skin on yours. You were almost worried that this was all a dream. “Fuck me… or I can fuck you? Both’s fine.” The words left you with ease.

Naoki scoffed, “that’s enough. Cum already, I’m bored.” He harshly pressed the ball of his feet against your cock and began to rub. It was painful as you gripped at his thighs, nails digging into his soft flesh. Little droplets of blood began to drip down his thigh.

The red liquid immediately catching your attention as you leaned in and licked it up greedily. Despite the pain, you felt your cock reach its peak as you cummed in your boxers. A groan left your lips.

“Took you long enough.” Naoki muttered, pulling away. He reached down and grabbed your hands, pushing them off his leg. You stared up at him in shock, the clarity taking a moment to settle in.

“Arakawa—”

“—Go. Get out.”

You shakily stood up as you tried to think. But Naoki was giving you no time. He roughly placed your hat back on your head and opened the front door. Before you knew it, he managed to shove you out. You crashed into the railing, grasping the bar as you almost tumbled over.

Naoki flinched, his face shocked as if he didn’t consider his own strength. “You’re so… you need to hit the gym more.” He whispered, moving to walk away. You wondered why he left the door open until he came back holding Teddy.

Your eyes widen as a plea was on the top of your tongue. But he beat you to it, tossing Teddy to your feet. Teddy stared up at you with his one eye, as if he was asking you,

“Why is he throwing me away? After four years?”

“Arakawa—!”

“Stop. You’re driving me insane. I was so cruel to you just now. Have some self respect, we should forget about each other. It’s for the best.”

You stared down at Teddy before shaking your head at Naoki. “I didn’t care. I didn’t stop you. I want you, Arakawa Naoki. The good and the ugly. I’ll make it known that I’ll accept part of you.”

“Then you shouldn’t have pushed me away. I’m done chasing you, Momoi (Name).” Just as he moved to close the door, you got a push of energy to stop it, right before it was fully closed.

“Momoi—”

“—then I’ll chase after you. I’ll make up for all the times you felt unwanted. Because I love you, Arakawa Naoki.”

Naoki didn’t say anything. He simply stared at you as if he didn’t believe a word you had just said.

He slammed the door shut, leaving both you and Teddy in the hallway. The sounds of car horns echoed across the street.

It felt like you were right back at square one.

Sorry~ no happiness here yet, part three? lol

tag list: @chill-guy-but-cooler @the-ultimate-librarian @mello-life25 @kiiyoooo @ofclyde @smellwell @tomoeroi @castocipher @iwishtobeacrow @tehyunnie @remdayz @rhetorical-conscience @love-kha1 @star-3214 @mooncarvers-world @cherry-blossoms-187 @secretivemessenger @yuzuukix @bensontrechic @anchoredphoenix @ning1e @m00n-b4b3 @wshyouwerehere @syyyy4ever @yj-ae @chaevvonders @gojosdumpydump @jihyoluvzz @luvsuvina



[aloflapse]

ఌ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑

w.c › 6.6k

warnings › bottom male reader. A faceclaim for him, if you need visuals. Based on my short Drabble. Changed some things to keep it fresh.

plot › a stalker (you) who becomes an idol, experiences withdrawn feelings from not being able to stalk your bae anymore due to scheduling issues. So your sister forces you to make some online friends, one you get particularly close to.

kinks › phone sex

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Arakawa Naoki had a stalker.

Naoki couldn’t exactly remember when you began watching him. He just randomly noticed you appearing in places you weren’t before. At first he was creeped out—wondering what trusted adult he should tell.

Until he saw you trip over your own shoelace when trying to discreetly follow him into a grocery store.

Then he just started seeing you as a kid who wanted attention but would rather die than directly ask for it.

You were pretty harmless. After six months of your ‘stalking’, you began leaving him gifts and food. It was mostly his favorites too. How could he not appreciate you?

Once he had graduated middle school and moved to high school, he honestly expected to never see you again. Until he noticed you in his assigned classroom. Judging by how quickly you shoved a book in your face—you weren’t expecting him.

His luck.

That’s when he learned your name.

Momoi (Name).

Your last name was cute. Peach well? Adorable even.

He couldn’t find you scary at all. Though your classmates seemed to disagree. No one would talk to you or even glance your way unless they had no choice. He didn’t understand why, you were cute.

Sure, you didn’t put any efforts into your looks. Your tie was a mess, white shoes that were caked with dirt, cardigan missing buttons, a strange black stain on your blouse. Your face was permanently in a frown, eyes staring off into space if they weren’t looking at Naoki.

Okay.

Okay, maybe you weren’t cute to the average person.

But Naoki saw past that. He began paying attention to you—how could he not? He noticed that you were into music. One of the rare times you actually did something that wasn’t dedicated to him.

He saw you staring almost longingly at the music club last week. But you didn’t attempt to walk into the room, opting to quickly walk away.

You hardly knew how to hide your diary, having it out on your desk, wide open even when you left to the restroom. It made sense, no one ever went near you at all. Only Naoki cared enough to see what you could’ve possibly written.

5月10日 Arakawa-San recently got a bad haircut.. it’s really bad… but he’s still cute… so I’ll ignore it

5月11日 Sis keeps bothering me to audition, stupid. How do you nicely tell someone to shut up?

5月16日 Sis told me writing in the diary everyday would help me but honestly I feel like a psycho. Besides, I’m not sure what to write sometimes, should I just put nonsense?

5月17日 クククククククククククククククララララララララララ, おぉ〜 ??????? 悲しい嬉しい !!!!!!!! What if I jumped in front of the train, would it be an instant death? Hm

Mostly nonsense for the most part. Especially after May 17th. Seemed like you gave up actually writing your feelings in it. Oh well, it was a nice look into his weird stalker.

“Don’t you think Momoi-San is a bit… strange…?”

Naoki glanced up from your diary. He had taken it up from your desk yesterday and it seemed you hadn’t noticed yet. You were both now seniors and were once again in the same class.

“What do you mean?” Naoki questioned, glancing back at your diary. His friend, Nakamura groaned as he rubbed at his hair. He scooted closer which caused Naoki to quickly position your diary so Nakamura couldn’t get a passing glance.

“I feel like he follows you around! I’ve just started noticing!”

Naoki held back a laugh. Nakamura was about four years late.

“You’re imagining things. Why would anyone follow me? I’m not anyone important.”

“I guess… but…”

10月4日 Momo-Chan died yesterday. I didn’t think hamsters could live ten years. Sis really cared for that rodent

11月7日 I’ve been watching 悪い髪 for four years now but I haven’t even spoken to him this is bad, I got rejected from the university he applied to I haven’t even told mom and dad I only applied to one… they’ll kill me

12月19日 forgot I had this stupid thing sis is dragging me to an audition next year maybe by then she’ll forget I can just be a full time stalker

3月23日 she didn’t forget—it’s next week. Oh god, 行きたくない、行きたくない！姉さん、お願いだから

“Naoki! Since when did you read???” Nakamura snapped his fingers, catching Naoki’s attention.

“What?” Naoki closed the diary and shook his head, “you have no proof. No sense in getting paranoid over hearsay. Just leave it alone.”

Nakamura sighed and rolled his eyes, “fine. But I’m not being weird, that guys a freak. I won’t be surprised if he has nothing going for him after we graduate.”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

もとも

To say Nakamura was dead wrong would be an understatement. You and your sister must’ve went to that audition and passed with flying colors. Because next thing Naoki knew was that you were on a poster at his part time job with your sister, teasing your debut. Mo to Mo.

You had cleaned up nice for the photoshoot, Naoki felt validated for thinking you were cute underneath all that ‘dirt.’ It seemed the agency was leaning heavily into an alternative and more edgy look with you and your sister.

Naoki didn’t think he’d ever seen your bare arms before until that poster. That stare that your past classmates saw as terrifying was oddly sensually. He was happy that you had something going for yourself, his stalker.

But…

He didn’t expect that meant he’d only get to see you on the tv from now on.

2 years later

“(Name), stop wallowing in your stolen hoodie please. You can’t keep getting so sad every time it’s his birthday.” Hiyori, your sister said, kicking your back as she walked past you to the kitchen.

You only whimpered, curling into Naoki’s sweater that you stole on December 19th, your 2nd year at high school. He had left it in his locker one day and you just wanted it, luckily he often forgot to lock his locker.

“But… Sis…” You whined, wiping away a few tears with your hand. “I only know what university he went to… I have no time to see him anymore.”

“It’s not like you ever spoke to him.” Hiyori muttered, tossing an apple up and down as she walked back over to living room. She kicked you once more before plopping down onto the couch, resting her feet on your body.

You made no effort to move. “But… I liked seeing him… even if didn’t say anything to him. Seeing him.. helped.”

“You’re lucky he never noticed just how insane you are. You could’ve been in jail right now.”

“Mhm.” You glanced over at your phone, tapping on the screen. “Do you think he’s having a good birthday?”

Hiyori only hummed, “maybe. Arakawa Naoki, right? How’d you even start stalking him?”

“He helped me.”

“Helped. Yea, that’s enough information,” Hiyori shook her head, deciding she was done with you for the time being. She began tapping away at her phone, occasionally giggling. Probably her girlfriend.

You watched the time tick on your phone, right when it reached midnight. The day was now December 25th, Christmas Day. No longer Arakawa Naoki’s birthday. You groaned and turned off your phone, glancing over at Hiyori.

“Merry Christmas…”

“Merry Christmas. Let’s go to the aquarium, that’ll cheer you up.” Hiyori said, taking her feet off your body.

“Aquarium…” You muttered, shifting over to glance up at her. “Tokyo Sea Life Park?”

“If that’s what you want. It shouldn’t be too busy when we go.”

It was very busy.

“What the hell?” Hiyori groaned, pulling down her hat to cover her face. She squeezed past a group of students pressed against the windows. “Tch, these kids have no respect. Hogging up the glass, can’t even see shit.”

You hummed absentmindedly, glancing around. “It’s fine. I just want to see the voyagers.” Your face was properly covered with a mask and sunglasses, a hat resting on the top of your head.

“It’s a Sunday—why are so many people here! I’m sweating too much.” Hiyori complained, her mask slipping down a bit. “Go off without me, I need a water.”

“You sure?”

“Go!” She waved you off, already walking away.

“Ah, okay..” You only shrugged. Better to let her cool off than aggravate her any further. You dodged and weaved through the crowds, coming across couples and families that were taking photos of the fish. It had been two years since visiting Tokyo Sea Life Park in Edogawa City.

You’d come frequently on Mondays and Wednesdays because Naoki would usually have baseball practice. Despite how much you loved him, watching him practice could only be so much fun after awhile.

“Look, isn’t he cute?”

“Ah, don’t point at him! It’s rude.”

“Is he a model?”

“You can’t even see his face, his hat’s hiding it!”

You glanced over at the two girls whispering about, not paying any attention to the fish swimming behind them. Ah, young love. Cute. You shook your head and looked over at the sign on the walls. Voyagers of the Sea… Voyagers of the Sea…

“Excuse me, are you looking for something?”

“Ah,” you glanced up, coming face to face with an employee. They were dressed a bit weird. Wearing a hat and mask. Could employees wear something like that? “Uh, hm, where’s the Voyagers of the Sea? It’s been awhile since I’ve been here.”

The employee turned their head to the map on the wall, muttering to themselves. Shouldn’t an employee know where everything is? You were about to just tell them to forget when they suddenly reached over and grabbed your hand.

“I found it. C’mon.” They sounded like a man. You gasped as he tugged you along. The path was bumpy, constantly having to skid to a stop due to the large crowds. You winced each time you bumped right into his back. Gosh, he had broad shoulders.

Two more sharp turns and another knock to your nose on his shoulder, you arrived at the Voyagers of the Sea. You rubbed your nose, groaning to yourself before glancing over at the tanks.

You couldn’t help but grin. “It’s still pretty.” You whispered mainly to yourself, stepping close to the glass. “Bluefin tuna,” you pointed as it swam past, “eagle ray, scalloped hammerhead.”

“Y’know,” you glanced back at the employee who was standing near you. He hadn’t left yet surprisingly. “Bluefin tuna are the largest tuna species. My sister says they’re also the tastiest. And scalloped hammerheads have a 360-degree vision, but then that means they can’t see in front of them. One time, when I was here as a student, one of the fishes was hiding in front of the scalloped hammerhead’s nose. And—”

“—You really like these things. Are you a marine biologist?” He suddenly interrupted you, tilting his head.

“Oh, sorry. I’m not. I couldn’t study something like that.” You didn’t elaborate. You glanced down at your hand, the employee’s hand casually holding yours. “Uhm. You, uh, don’t need to—”

“—Sorry.” He quickly dropped your hand as if he was burned. “Sorry. You just have… soft hands. Very comfortable.”

“Thanks,” you glanced at his name tag. “Nakamura-San.”

“Naka—?” He interrupted himself letting out a laugh, nodding slightly. “Right, right… I’m Nakamura.”

“Mhm. That’s what your name tag says.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Nakamura laughed. “Do you have anymore fish facts?”

“Aren’t you working right now? I don’t want to bore you.”

“It’s okay. I’m interested in learning.”

“Ah. Okay. Well, hammerheads give birth to live pups, and usually a female hammerhead can fertilize her own eggs without a male. But as soon as she has the pups, the baby hammerheads learn how to survive all on their own.”

“Really? They don’t need a parent?”

“No. They do just fine.”

“Self sufficient.” Nakamura hummed, pulling down his hat. “You’re interesting. Are you in school?”

“No. I uhm, work in the music industry.”

Nakamura perks up at that, looking over at you. Though you weren’t too sure due to his hat covering his eyes. “Really? Do you know Mo to Mo?”

You felt yourself freeze. “Ah, uhm, I’ve heard of them…”

“My friend really likes them. She blasts their music all the time, I think I know the lyrics by heart by now.”

“Mhm, they’re good, so I’ve heard.”

“Yea, have you—”

“—It’s Momoi Hiyori!!!!”

“Hiyori-San, sign my tits please!!!”

“Sign my forehead!!!”

“Momoi Hiyori?” Nakamura whispered as you felt yourself panic. The sounds of fans grew louder with the accompaniment of loud heels clicking against the floor.

There, your sister, hat long gone and mask off entirely, was sprinting your way. She was frantically motioning for you to start running as a crowd of fans were right on her heels.

“Crap.” You whispered, ready to book it but Nakamura grabbed your arm.

“Wait! Can I get your LINE ID?”

“LINE ID?” You whispered in shock. Only your family and manager had your LINE ID.

“Hurry up, Seabrain!!!!” Hiyori yelled, rushing past you.

You cursed and pulled out your phone, fumbling to open up LINE and show your QR code. “Here, here. Just scan it and add me.”

Nakamura rushed to scan the code, humming once he got it. “I got it. Let’s—” but as soon as he glanced back up, you were long gone.

“—hang out sometime…?”

He pulled off his hat and rubbed at his head. “He’s fast…” he glanced down at his phone and looked at your account.

Account Name: シーブレイン

“ぱらぱら” — 好きです

The profile picture was of a koi fish, a hand reaching into the pond to touch its scales.

“Seabrain? Cute.”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

ナオイス

シーブレインちゃん, hi~ it’s ’Nakamura’

“Good, good. Lean down further, please. Beautiful.” The photographer said. The sounds of camera flashing and continuous talking almost caused you to miss your phone ringing. Which was strange.

You had little to no contacts. Who could be texting you? It had been nearly two weeks since you had went to Tokyo Sea Life Park. You opened LINE and were surprised to see a request.

“Naoise? Naoise?” You struggled to pronounce the name, tilting your head. What type of name was that? It was just nonsense. “Seabrain-Chan? Is he making fun of me…?” You huffed and turned off your phone, placing it face down on the table.

“Who’s making fun of who?”

You squeaked, glancing up to see Hiyori. She was dressed in a skintight bodysuit, hair slicked back with copious amounts of gel, sharp dark eyeliner and black lipstick. “Hah, answer me.” She said, reaching over to grab your phone.

“Ah, wait!” You reached over to stop her but she easily grabbed both of your wrists in one hand and unlocked your phone.

“Hm? N-Nao-Naoise? Hm, strange name. Seabrain-Chan, hi, it’s Nakamura. Who’s Nakamura?”

“Just an employee at the Tokyo Sea Life Park. He asked for my LINE ID before we had to leave.” You grunted, trying to pull your hands free. How the hell was your sister stronger than you?

“Aren’t you going to answer him? He’s your first contact that’s not family or a coworker. Here, I’ll answer for you.”

“Wait!!”

シーブレイン

(⌒▽⌒)☆ hey, Nakamura-Kun~ I thought you’d never text me

“Are you insane?! Why did you use the a text face?!” You whined, as Hiyori showed you the text she sent. “And I sound so desperate!”

“Why not? It’s cute.”

“Cute?!” You groaned. “Not at all, only kids use that!”

“Not true. My girlfriend sends them to me all the time.” She released your wrists and hands over your phone, pulling out her own to text her girlfriend. “Anyway, talk to this Nakamura guy, maybe he’ll get you to forget Arakawa.”

You frowned. There’s no way you’d ever forget him. Not someone like him.

ナオイス

Aren’t you cute? 悪いな, 海洋くん。

I got busy, my parents and siblings came to visit me since they missed my birthday Couldn’t refuse them

Marine-Kun? You rolled your eyes. Well, it wasn’t like he knew your name. You didn’t really feel like entertaining this any longer but you thought about how your life has been so far. Sure, you technically had fans but you did feel a bit lonely.

Back then, you could watch Naoki and feel moderately okay. Just seeing him was good enough to brighten your mood. But you haven’t been able to see him in two whole years.

Maybe you should… try to forget him?

You shuddered at the thought. Okay. Not forget him. Just, gain a friend.

シーブレイン

気にしない 。

I was busy too. I have to prepare for an upcoming single

ナオイス

Single? Woah

Are you a producer? Songwriter?

シーブレイン

Ah

“Sis!!!” You suddenly shot up, startling Hiyori. She glared at you. “What should I do?”

“What? Why are you screaming?”

“I told him I have to prepare for a single! But! I don’t know what to say? Who do I pretend to be? A singer? Or maybe a makeup artist? Songwriter? I told him I worked in the music industry, I can’t possibly be a makeup artist, oh what should say—!”

“Just say you’re a backup vocalist and are participating in the music video.”

“Ah.” You grin. “Smart. You’re so smart, Big Sis!” You give her a wet kiss on the cheek that she quickly wipes away with a groan, turning your attention back to your phone.

シーブレイン

Backup vocalist. I was just asked to participate in the music video.

ナオイス

mjk? すごい！

You’re cool. I’m just studying meteorology.

Probably become a weather forecaster ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

シーブレイン

Weather forecaster? Is that what you want?

ナオイス

No way

I was a baseball player but

Fucked up left leg, it was bound to happen, I already sprained it once

シーブレイン

それな are you okay now?

ナオイス

Yea. It’s been a year now, I’m

ksnjdnwbdow

You froze, raising an eyebrow. “Ksnjd… is this roman alphabet slang I don’t know?” You began typing the letters into the search bar when he suddenly texted you again.

ナオイス

悪いな。

I need to head back to work, almost got caught by my boss (＞人＜;)

See ya~ シュモクザメ (^_^)/~~~

“Hammerhead shark?” You grumbled, unable to hide the slight smile on your lips. “He’s going to call me everything in the ocean…” you finally took the time to actually see his profile picture. It was of a teddy bear, brown with an eye missing, close to the camera. Though you could still see the background of beach sand.

“That was fast, did you forget about Arakawa by now?”

“Never!”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“I’m not doing that again, Nakamura, those aquariums are stressful.”

Naoki sighed, shoving his phone into his back pocket. His hair was pulled into a ponytail as he slipped on some gloves. He began cutting up some fish.

“Why are you even in the kitchen?”

Nakamura rolled his eyes, “it’s my mom’s restaurant, I can go wherever. But c’mon, please? They’re only free on Sunday and I used up most of my vacation days already.”

“Sorry, I can hardly handle standing in here for three hours straight. I’m not doing your job for you again.” Naoki held up the knife, pointing it at Nakamura when he attempted to get close.

“Didn’t you get some guys LINE ID because of me?”

“Because of you?” Naoki chuckled, shaking his head. “Keep talking and you’ll replace this tuna.” He slid the knife clean against the tuna’s body, the head off without a second slice.

Nakamura rubbed his neck. “Sheesh. Fine fine. I’ll figure something out… so cruel. Ah, that Momoi kid is having a comeback soon. Do you still keep up with him?”

“No.” Naoki muttered, pulling out the spine from the tuna. “I haven’t since my accident. He stopped stalking me.”

“I still can’t believe you actually liked that he was stalking you.”

“You wouldn’t get it. But I’ve gotten over him, alright?”

“I’m glad I don’t. Try to form a healthy relationship with this new guy, okay?”

“Stop asking me to take your Sunday shifts for your mysterious babe, okay?”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

4 years ago

You were a senior in middle school, staring down at the lake beneath you. Your shoes were placed down beside you. Your backpack resting on the ground as you peered over the railing. You were a bit short back then, still lagging behind the other boys who were finally getting tall.

Hiyori had teased you’d probably end up her height. Lo and behold you were only an inch taller than her in the present.

“Is that… hm, what’s that one?” You whispered, pushing on your toes a little, trying to see what was floating above the water. It was a bit hard to see—the sun going down being your only source of light.

“They really need to make more light posts.”

You pulled at your uniform to only to feel your button pop loose, falling into the lake below. A curse was on the tip of your tongue as you looked down. It fell with a quiet plop, not even making enough noise or movement to seemingly bother the inhabitants of the lake.

The drop wasn’t high by any means. But the lake wasn’t safe for people to get in. It was deep and the current was surprisingly fast. Once you got swept in, it would be hard to leave. You were honestly wondering if this was actually a lake. It had to have been a river that was just unnaturally wide.

As you pondered what to actually call the body of water underneath the bridge, you heard someone yell.

You glanced to your left just before you tackled to the ground. A delayed cry left your lips from the sudden force. You awaited the pain but didn’t feel anything. The person who tackled you had managed to take the fall damage, now that you were laying atop of them.

You slowly gazed down, noting their middle school uniform, and to your shock—a leg brace on their left leg. A shocked gasp left your lips, catching sight of their forgotten crutches on the ground not too far from you.

This person… was insane?

Said person began to cough violently, their hands digging into your back. You sat up and made sure to not accidentally touch their left leg. The sunset was your only light at this point. Yellow-orange rays shined down on the boy beneath you.

His black hair formed around on the ground, resembling a halo. A little cut on his cheek. On his right cheek there was a mole, almost directly on his cheekbones. His hands slowly slide down your back before falling limply to the ground.

“Hey… Oi. Did you hit your head?!” You whispered, reaching down to touch the back of his head. Sure enough, as you brought your hand back, there was a bit of blood on the tip of your fingers.

You fished out your phone and quickly called for an ambulance. As you waited, you heard a little laugh. You glanced down to see the boy staring up at you, his lips slowly pulling into a little grin.

“At least..” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “The ambulance is for me.”

“What…? I—did you think I was going to jump?”

He didn’t answer, his gaze unfocusing. You gently rubbed his cheek, hoping to keep him awake.

“I was just looking at the water. I’m sorry, please don’t be too hurt because of me…” You frowned. The only reason your shoes were off was because the right shoe had torn open. You were just waiting for Hiyori to get back from the nearby convenience store with some flip flops.

Now you were waiting for an ambulance.

“Prob… just a concussion.” He suddenly whispered, humming slightly. “Don’t worry.”

“Don’t fall asleep. What’s your name?”

“Arakawa.. Naose.”

“Naose?”

“Se?” He began to giggle. “Did I say se? Nice? Ki… meant Ki.. Naoki…”

“Naoki?”

“Hm?”

“Stay awake, please. They’re almost here. Think about, ah, maybe the amount of sea life that can live in a river. How they live different to like, uh, ponds or lakes? Do you like koi fish?”

“Sorry… but that’s really boring…” He muttered, groaning. “I’m falling asleep.”

“Sea life is boring to you?”

“Very… but it’s nice that you like it. I think.. I like.. the sky? Dunno, heheh. Koi fish, is that your name?”

“Huh?”

“Koi-Kun, you… hehe, should be… hm… what was I gonna say?” He began to giggle, raising one hand to gently point at your nose. “Do you, poke fish noses?”

“Fish noses?”

“The weathers nice.” He changed the subject, eyes struggling to stay open. “Y’know… legs’ real ‘urt. Tink ade t rse. Heheh.. ably never play gain.”

“Play what?” You gently patted his face, causing him to open his eyes again.

“Baseball. Mhm… just for a second… lemme..”

You tapped him again. “Stay awake please.”

“So mean…” he gazed over at you, a little smile on his lips. “You��. Pretty.. in a weird way. Koi-Kun.”

The sound of sirens caught your attention before you could respond. “Ah, they’re here! Hey, hey, Naoki-San, Naoki-San!”

That was how you met him, giving him a concussion and perhaps ruining his baseball career.

Young love (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

ナオイス

くらげさん, おはよう～(・ω・)ノ slept well?

シーブレイン

Jellyfish? That’s new, are you going to stick with a nickname or just keep calling me new ones each time?

ナオイス

∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ of course～ でも！you know the kanji for jellyfish, right?

シーブレイン

海月? Umi? Tsuki?

ナオイス

Ya, Sea Moon, if you directly translate it in English wwwww

It’s what I think of you, cold and deep, so mysterious, like the sea～ and round, bright, and shiny, like the moon～

シーブレイン

Bright? The moon?

Most people wouldn’t agree with that, the moon doesn’t provide its own light

ナオイス

Right

But it still shines, even if it needs some help

Think of me as your sun, helping you shine,

Sea Moon～ (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)

Later, I have class

“Holy shit.” Hiyori cursed, staring at your phone in shock.

You and ‘Nakamura’ have been chatting for around two months now. The conversations were pretty boring for the most part. Honestly you assumed he’d stop talking to you due to how dry and cold you were. But he’d always respond quickly.

He always made time to respond to you. He even said his name wasn’t ‘Nakamura’ but he never told you his actual name. Not like you asked, you probably should.

He was really into using text faces. At first you viewed them as childish but you got used to them. They could be cute, occasionally.

You two shared pictures but never of yourselves. Just of dinner or any other item that was interesting enough.

“He.. he must like you!” Hiyori whispered, looking over at you. “Who could say something so.. casually?!”

“He can’t. He doesn’t even know what I look like! Or who I actually am! He’d freak out.”

“I doubt that.” Hiyori sighed, rubbing her hands through her hair. “You should try sending something, see if he’s just those friends who are poetic platonically.”

“What would I send?”

“Something sexy.”

“No way.”

You sighed, rubbing at your face as you stared down at your phone. Okay, you’ve always had a problem with saying no to your sister’s ideas. After some goading, you reluctantly took a video.

Hiyori already told you what to say once you pressed send. The video was just of you recording yourself in one of the outfits for your recent music video. It was one of your more scandalous outfits, skin tight pants with holes throughout. A see through shirt and a choker. Chains decorated the outfit.

It was a whole thing.

The video was only about ten seconds. You made sure to have your face out of frame as you pointed your phone down at your pants. There was a mirror right across from you, you laid on a couch, legs spread out, back slightly arched. Your hand was shaky as slid down to your crotch.

Pants button was already open as you gently gripped the edge of your shit that was tucked into the pants, slowly pulling it out. The slightest glance at the thin, tight black briefs you wore before quickly ending the video.

Hiyori’s ‘excuse’ was a simple and planned: “oooh, sorry sorry! I didn’t mean to send this video!” Then you’d send a normal video just showcasing your outfit in the mirror, standing up.

Good enough excuse since you could feign innocence, both videos did have you in the same outfit. And so long as you goaded ‘Nakamura’ into asking for what you wore for the video—it’d make sense.

Hiyori had said that ‘Nakamura’ would either forget and push past the video, or get horny.

You didn’t know what exactly you wanted.

You were a bit scared at the thought of making him uncomfortable—losing your first and only friend you have right now. But there was a small little part of you that was curious, deadly curious to how he felt about you.

ナオイス

Did you go to bed yet?

I can’t sleep (｡ ́︿ ̀｡)

You shot up from bed, staring at your phone.

This was your chance.

シーブレイン

Still awake

Is everything okay?

ナオイス

I’m ok (˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵) just a bit of pain in my leg again

But it stops after a few minutes

What～did～you～do～today～？ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ

シーブレイン

I filmed the music video

It was for a b-side song for the artist’s album that came out a few weeks ago

Very fun, so busy, the outfits were nice

ナオイス

wowowo ♪( ´θ｀)ノ すごいね！

What were the outfits? The singer didn’t make you wear trash bags so you wouldn’t outshine them, right~? (ﾟoﾟ;;

Today I just had class, my friend was blasting Mo to Mo’s new album, it’s catchy

シーブレイン

ww no they didn’t do that

We got good outfits

Oh, you changed your profile pic

You glanced at his picture, taking note of the new one. It was of that same teddy bear now directly in the sand. A human hand held out a peace sign, acting as if that was the teddy bear’s own hand.

シーブレイン

You really like that teddy bear

ナオイス

You noticed?

Yea, I do, it was given to me in my senior year at middle school

Don’t remember who gave it to me, just woke up in the hospital with it in my arms

Mom said the person left a note, just telling me sea life isn’t boring wwwwwwww ╭(╯3╰)╮

Anyway~ send send!!

You paused. Sea life isn’t boring? No, it couldn’t be. You shook your head. Sure, it was very specific, but—you couldn’t be the only person to write a note like that. Besides, that teddy bear is basic. Yea, it’s not you. No way. No, way.

You rubbed your face as you pulled up the video. You hesitated. Should you really do this? Wouldn’t it be more mature to just ask him if he might like you romantically? That would be smarter. Less manipulative.

Not like you could talk. You stalked a boy for four years straight. The only reason you stopped was because your schedule was overwhelming and any free time you had, you just wanted to sleep. Besides, you didn’t know where Arakawa Naoki really was anyway.

Sure you knew the school but it was a well known and large university. There were so many students. You didn’t even know what major he went in for. It’d take you awhile to find him.

Just as you were debating to yourself, your finger pressed against the screen. You glanced down to see that you sent the risky video.

Well—

You almost screamed in panic, ready to unsend the message but it was too late. It showed that he saw it. He viewed it. He more than likely just finished watching the full ten seconds.

Oh god.

It was a slow and agonizing minute as you stared at your phone, almost waiting for him to cuss you out. But instead, you got a video.

Your finger hovered over the video before pressing play. You quickly paused it though, reaching over for your headphones. Even if your room was on the other side of the shared apartment, you didn’t want to risk it.

After a deep breath and the little beep telling you the headphones were connected—you pressed play once more.

The video was a bit dark, the soft glow of the moonlight being your only light. A shuddered sigh left ‘Nakamura’ before he pointed the camera to his pajama pants. He tugged at the waistband, pulling it far before letting it snap right back against his skin.

A tight grunt left him just as the video ended.

ナオイス

Am I overthinking things?

It wasn’t an accident, right?

シーブレイン

It technically was

But I recorded the video with you in mind

Silence. You almost wondered if you went too far.

ナオイス

Can you show me more?

シーブレイン

Like another video?

ナオイス

Yea

I’ll send too

Not even a second later, he sent another video. You didn’t hesitate to play it. The video was mostly silence, the sound of sheets rustling as he kept the camera at his pants. His free hand returned to the waistband and tugged, but this time his pulled it further down.

You expected him to have been wearing boxers but to your surprise, his cock was now free. It was already leaking wet—coating white pre cum on his soft stomach. Now free, his hand grasped his cock, his thumb rubbing the pre cum across the head.

ナオイス

Kinda, hard to type one handed

Do me a favor

Masturbate like you’re alone

Don’t hold back

Your body involuntarily shivers as you reach over and turn on your fairy lights, allowing a little bit of light. You pointed the camera to your lower half, kicking the sheets off the bed.

You hesitated for just a moment before pressing record. Should you talk? You didn’t really speak a lot in general unless spoken to. Shaking your head, you slip two fingers into your mouth and suck, coating them with your saliva.

Despite feeling a little anxious, you didn’t attempt to muffle the wet sounds. You pulled your hand away and reached down, using your thumb to pull down your boxers. Your cock plopped out free, beginning to harden due to your rising excitement.

A low sigh left your lips as you reached down between your legs. Because of the angle, he wouldn’t be able to see much. But he would be able to hear the squelch as you easily slipped in two fingers inside your ass.

He would be dumb to not realize you must’ve masturbated an hour or so ago.

You ended the video just as your cock sprung to life, pressing send immediately. The wait for his response almost felt like torture. Your cock leaking dejectedly on your stomach. Your legs shifted on the bed as you tried not to continue on to reach your third orgasm of the night.

Not even a minute later he replied to you.

His video was straight to the point—the teasing long forgotten.

His hand grasped his cock as he jerked himself off. The sound of his shallow breaths and wet gasps filled your ears. You forgot all about recording another video, thrusting your fingers in and out, easily reaching your prostate.

You dropped your phone and gripped your cock, sighing at the relief. His moans were driving you insane—you wanted to hear it in person. Wanted to be the one touching him. Hearing every sharp gasp, watching his body shake from the pleasure.

“….gonna.. cum…”

A grunt your lips at his words. It sounded as if he struggled to even say those two words, his voice wet and shaky. You couldn’t hold back anymore. Being overstimulated from your previous masturbation didn’t help. A rub right against your prostate and a wet stroke of your cock, you were cumming right as he released a wet whimper.

You bit your lip to muffle yourself as much as possible, eyes threatening to roll to the back of your head. Your phone pinged again just as you remembered you forgot to record something.

ナオイス

Sorry, haven’t really

Properly masturbated in awhile

Did you cum at least?

シーブレイン

ええ

I came early too, don’t worry about it

It’ll be longer next time

ナオイス

Next time? ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

Do you like me, Sea Moon~?

You paused. You liked him enough to masturbate but. You wiped your dirty hands on your boxers. The word like was always associated with Arakawa Naoki.

Even now. Even after your little session with ‘Nakamura’…

You could only see a mole on a cheek and messy hair.

No. You didn’t like him.

Just as you were about to respond, he sent a picture. You opened it without a second thought, expecting a risky photo.

But the sight caused you pause.

It was of him.

‘Nakamura’.

Even with only the moonlight as your guide, you knew him. You knew Arakawa Naoki. Even if only half of his face was visible. The infamous teddy bear was in his arms. Half of his face resting on the pillow, a shy grin on his lips.

The mole rested on the same spot it always has, greeting you in the moonlight.

His hair messy and wild. You wondered if you were delusional for thinking it looked like it formed into a halo on the pillow.

ナオイス

Since you can’t actually see me

Post sex wwww (*ﾉωﾉ)

Pretty, right~?

神ってるね?

You couldn’t think. What should you say? Of course he was pretty. He’s been the only person you’ve ever constantly thought about. Even in two years that you haven’t seen him—he’s only gotten more beautiful.

But, you couldn’t possibly do this to him. Stalking him for four years and suddenly you had semi phone sex with him. Sure Hiyori never out right said anything but you knew she wanted you to act more ‘normal.’

Especially with you now in the public eye. You can’t just watch him in the shadows. You were an adult, you had fans, two years of leaving Arakawa Naoki alone to live his life peacefully.

You should end it here.

But here’s the thing about you.

You needed Arakawa Naoki as much as you needed air to breathe.

And here he was, offering himself on a silver platter.

Two years without him and it felt like torture. It felt as if you couldn’t live without him. Before you could watch him from afar and survive but now…

Now you can’t stand by anymore.

You’ve experienced life without Arakawa Naoki and you promised yourself to never experience it again.

シーブレイン

荒川直樹

ナオイス

???

Huh? How’d you get my name?

From my account? Did I tell you and just forgot?

You smirked at your phone, going to your account and changing your name. It really was him. To think he returned your affection after all these years.

シームーン

You probably don’t even know my name, but I’ve been watching you since our senior year in middle school

I thought I lost you

But you’re here, it’s like you were waiting for me

Were you, Arakawa-San?

ナオイス

Momoi-San…?

Did you

You knew this entire time?

You ignore me for two years then knowingly make me believe I’m texting someone else this whole time?

You’re sick, is that singing career of yours not fun enough? Your girlfriend?

Some man you are — I hope the videos were worth it

He was typing too fast for you to even respond to one of his messages. Girlfriend? You didn’t know he was Arakawa until today, what the hell was he talking about?

シームーン

What? What are you talking about?

Hello?

Arakawa-San?

Each message you sent was sent with an error. You tore off your headphones as you sat up, staring down at your phone in complete shock.

He blocked you.

Lol. Yall want a part two? You’re basically turning into a yandere btw. Comment if you wanna be tagged!

Words/Slangs:

クククククククククククククククララララララララララ, おぉ〜 ??????? 悲しい嬉しい !!!!!!!! — Kukukukukukukukukukukukuku Klaralalalalalalalala, ohhh ??????? Sad and happy !!!!!!!!

悪い髪 — bad hair

行きたくない、行きたくない！姉さん、お願いだから — I don't want to go, I don't want to go! Please, sister

“ぱらぱら” — 好きです — “parapara” I love it (it’s the Japanese onomatopoeia for rain sounds)

悪いな, 海洋くん — sorry, marine-kun

気にしない 。— don’t worry

mjk? — まじか (majika) Roman alphabet slang. Means “really”

すごい！— amazing

それな — Sorena, to express sympathy

くらげさん, おはよう～ — morning, Jellyfish-San

でも — but

wwwwww — Japanese’s lol or lmao

ええ — mhm

神ってるね? — heaven-sent; out of this world. He’s basically asking if his looks are godly

シームーン — sea moon

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @tehyunnie @star-3214 @ning1e @anchoredphoenix @cherry-blossoms-187 @kiiyoooo @chill-guy-but-cooler @iwishtobeacrow @mello-life25 @smellwell @ofclyde @yuzuukix @remdayz @rhetorical-conscience @mooncarvers-world @castocipher @tomoeroi @love-kha1 @secretivemessenger @bensontrechic

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Now I never watched invincible or read the comics but from the clips I’ve seen and what the wiki says about him, but I can tell he’ll be one of those sickly sweet/delusional types of yandere.

(Look, I need me some yandere Mark with male reader or gender neutral, and wouldn’t mind if someone turned this into a fic.)

Like you told him you’re breaking up with him. You get that he’s a hero and the world needs him but you need him as well. You know that he’s strong yet you worry about his safety ever waking hour, messaging him if he’s okay. You’ve always been pushed to the side, barely get any attention or acknowledgement. Mark is confused and tries to play it off with a laugh.

“You don’t mean that right? Don’t say we’re over…”

You reaffirmed that it’s over before taking your leave.

Mark was left distraught. He really, really loves you… he understands that maybe he should’ve showed you more, been there more. Maybe he expected you to wait for him…

He turns to Eve and William and see how they both think. William was more… blunt and honest about it and Eve showed sympathy for him. Mark still pondered… that’s when it clicks: you didn’t stop loving him, he lost you because he didn’t show you love! Surely that’s it.

Mark just needs to remind you about the good times and love.

He starts love bombing you: gifts, showing up everywhere, flowers, calling, and texting. Yet, you ignored them and told him that there’s no chance of it ever working out. Devastated, Mark figures he needs to try harder.

That leads him to taking you. You find Mark in your home, teary eyed and soft spoken. “You were going to leave… I can’t let that happen.” So, he snatches you and flies you to an undisclosed location (or his place but that’s stupid but maybe interesting.)

The room was decorated with everything you liked. It felt like home, smelt like home, but it wasn’t. You were about to freak out but Mark shushes you.

“You said you wanted more time with me… now we have all the time in the world!”

Mark visits you constantly after hero work or studies. He brings you food, games, comics, anything you want. To spend more time with you, he lies to Debbie and Nolan about going to see William or Eve for the night. Cuddling you as he slept but you were wide awake, but you couldn’t do nothing.

He truly believes he’s fixing and healing you both

You tried screaming and fighting back, even escaping but nothing. Mark begins to get annoyed but he never lays his hands on you. He’ll just guilty trip you.

“Why do you do this? After everything I’m doing to make things work… everything I’ve done for us… I’ll always be here for you…”

And if you think Mark is bad… just wait till you encounter his variants from other dimensions

Author’s note: maybe when I stop being a pussy about seeing gore and violence, I’ll watch invincible.

Taglist: @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost @furiousflowercreation @ghostking4m @sluttyhusband @wolf-knights @your-cow-boy @mack-thedork @starboye @boypied @sleep-0-deprived @cronasluvr

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mmm… old men 😋😋 pt. 2 pt. 1

IMAGINNING... an older man in love with a much younger one, part two. Maybe he saw you mowing the lawn, your shirt off- your skin damp with sweat and glistening in the scourging sun, maybe he attended one of your games, watching you play- watching as you used your shirt to wipe your face, showing off your stomach. Either way... he couldn't stop thinking of you. He was ashamed of that- why you? And god... don't remind him of your age, he winces each time he hears how old you actually are.

He just couldn't help himself, he kept masturbating, fingering, jerking himself off every time he can- in the shower, in his bed, in his office, before and after work. He was addicted, shamefully so.

But, when one does something over and over, the same way, the same thought- it gets... boring, doesn't it?

The first time he fingered himself- it was great, so many new pleasures opening up for him, he even managed to find his prostate! But it didn't feel the same anymore after fingering himself a few more times, not as exciting anymore in a way. He even added more fingers- but still, it wasn't enough.

Of course, he wasn't oblivious to... certain toys. He owns a fleshlight- which is how we got here. It was probably 11pm currently, and he was busy scrolling on his phone... looking through a certain website- he was suppose to only get a new fleshlight, so... why did the package that arrived at his doorstep contain a... is that a dildo? Okay, well, he DID buy it. But he didn't mean too! His... his uhh... finger slipped? And he accidently put in his credit card info, yeah, that's what happened, definitely.

Now he's just sitting there, on his couch- staring at the package- he thought he dreamed about purchasing it- not actually! God... he's so embarrassed, he could barely look at it without blushing. What the hell was he going to do with it? He- he never used a... dildo... before...

God, just saying or thinking of the word made him embarrassed. Was he really this smitten? That thinking of you so much would make him resort to this?

So, he just pushed it into his drawer- and went to bed

But... he just couldn't fall asleep, and he hated that. Staring up at the ceiling as he laid there- his thoughts kept going back to the dildo- and to you.

Was your cock the same size as the dildo- Wait, why was he thinking of that? It's not like he'll ever get that close to you- you're too young, he's too old... you probably wouldn't even want him... right? Fuck it. He opened the drawer and pulled out the dildo- desperation and shame crossing over his eyes as his face heats, god... was he really doing this? He can't believe he's gotten to this point- that he's actually going to use this... this toy.. on himself!

Taking off his clothes and dropping them onto the floor, he placed the dildo by his side, grabbing the lube and covering his fingers with it in almost of a haste- he was desperate okay? Give him some slack.

He pressed his two fingers against his hole- letting out a soft low breath as the cold liquid pressed against him. A hum that sounded too much like a whimper coming next from his mouth as he pushed his fingers inside of himself- his hole was already practically used to his fingers with how much he'd finger himself.

Soft, low moans were heard in his room as he worked himself open- his walls clenching down on his own fingers. He could feel it, himself getting needy- even more desperate.

He looked to the side- glancing at the dildo. He... was a little ashamed, to say the least- but did that stop him from grabbing it? Absolutely not

Picking it up and giving it a once over- god... he was actually going to do it... Of course, he was a little nervous, and flustered, at the sight of the dildo- it wasn't massive! But it wasn't small either...

He pulled his fingers out of himself before bringing the dildo up to his entrance. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes tightly- he pushed the dildo in.

A cut off moan was heard from his lips when the dildo finally entered him- the stretch burned a bit... but... it felt good... He let out another loud stretched out moan as he pushed the dildo to the hilt inside of him- the tip pressing right up against his prostate.

His eyes were wide when he opened them- he never thought it would feel this good... taking a cock- even if it's silicone- inside of his ass, he would've done it sooner if he knew... but, better late than never.

He started slow at first, getting used to feeling something other than his fingers inside of him. Soft moans spilling from his lips, just focusing on the feeling of it moving in and out... in and out... in... and out...

Fuck, it felt good- really good, why did he never do this before? Never explored sexually like this? Fuck... what were you doing to him? Making him try all of these new things... just so that he can please you when you finally give him the dicking he needs

Not long after- he started to fuck himself faster... and faster... and faster...

It just felt too good alright? Don't blame him- he never had a cock inside of him before, and it just felt too fucking good. His moans getting louder- his cock throbbing and leaking pre on his stomach, his chest raising and lowering with haste, his brows furrowed upwards- his expression was a painting of pure pleasure- he couldn't stop... it was almost like he was... cockdrunk

And then- he couldn't take it anymore, his hand gripping his cock as he moved the dildo as fast as he could inside of him- his moans slutty and whorish as he desperately worked himself up to his nearing orgasm, his hand moving up and down on his shaft in a blur.

A low guttural moan left his mouth, his head thrown backwards as his eyes roll back too- his hand stopping on his cock and the dildo pushed as far as it can go inside of him as his cock squirts a thick load of cum onto his belly, some even reaching his chest a bit!

He just laid there, his body jittering ever so slightly, heavily breathing as he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes once more wide. God.. he never came so hard in his life before.

He couldn't believe he just did that, he fucked himself with a dildo... while thinking of you.

When the sun shone the next morning, it was a peaceful evening- hot as well. He was standing in the kitchen, the slight, ache in his lower back was there- man, his body couldn't even handle that? Man... it makes him feel older than he already is. He was busy making an evening coffee when he suddenly heard the doorbell ring- confused, he didn't expect anyone today.

He calmly placed his cup back down on the counter before walking to the front door- unlocking it and opening the door. But his eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat when he met eyes with you

You were sweating a bit- and slightly out of breath, like you had just came back from a run. You smiled at him.

"Hey Mr. [...], sorry to bother you... would you mind if I stay with you? My dad's at work and I forgot my keys to the house- just till my dad gets home or when he finally answer my calls"

𝒐𝒐𝒐 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓, 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒌 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒂 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒕𝒇. 𝑰𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 500 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔, 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 3 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌 😈 𝑨𝒍𝒔𝒐, 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔����𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒌𝒐-𝒇𝒊! (𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏), 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒕!<3

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❝Hearts Don’t Miss❞

Omni!Mark Grayson x Cupid!Reader➶

•♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡˚₊‧ ꒰ა 💗 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡•

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

❤︎ summary: you survive in a silence that doesn’t feel neutral anymore. he’s gone. or avoiding you. maybe both. you try to stay unbothered but absence has a shape and it looks a lot like him. and when he finally shows up, he doesn’t apologize. you argue. quietly. like you always do. and for a moment, he almost stays. almost reaches. almost tells the truth. but the door still closes. and this time, you’re the one who whispers after him.

❤︎ contains: sfw. emotionally repressed war criminal x emotionally repressed divine being. omni!invincible (barely). cupid!reader (tired). slow burn agony. mutual silence as mutual yearning. isolation. exile. ANGST. dinner avoidance. return of the stupid orb. jokes to cope. watching the sky like an idiot. protective body language. quiet returns. the ribbon. proximity tension. hand brushing. voice cracking. flash of vulnerability. him not staying. not yet.

❤︎ warnings: emotional repression. abandonment themes. unresolved trauma. exile (ongoing). past violence (vague). mutual denial. hurt/comfort (but mostly hurt). soft things framed as dangerous. unresolved grief. being wanted by someone who doesn’t think they’re allowed to want. someone who leaves before they’re left. parent issues. childhood disappointment. unhealthy expectations. crushing silence. villain origin foreshadowing.

❤︎ wc: 3959

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: did it seriously take me this long to write anything—just for it to turn out to be heart-crushing angst? hell yeah. also, i’m actually sick. rotting in bed. you’d think that means i had more time to write—wrong. turns out illness doesn’t make you productive, just dramatic. anyway, if i suffer—you suffer. that’s the deal. enjoy the emotional damage 💔

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You notice it in the quiet.

Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind people write songs about or daydream into.

No—this kind is sharp around the edges.

Suspicious.

It hums under your skin like a sound you’re no longer hearing.

There’s no faint gust of wind against your bedroom window tonight—brushing past your cheek like it belonged to someone. No shift in the air. No flicker of motion behind your shoulder.

No faint static buzz to warn you that someone with a God complex and boundary issues has landed nearby again.

You wait anyway. Still. Like muscle memory.

But nothing comes.

Not the red-and-white blur at your window. Not the too-loud sighs echoing from the hallway… neither the hovering silence above your bed that you used to pretend not to hear.

So you breathe.

Roll your eyes at yourself. And mutter something stupid like, “Guess even war machines need days off.”

You tell yourself it’s normal.

That he’s probably just busy.

Invincible things.

World-ending, time-sensitive, bigger-than-you things.

Maybe the government kidnapped him for a diplomatic mission. Maybe he got distracted by a meteor or—

Or maybe—just maybe—he’s doing this on purpose.

The thought comes uninvited.

You don’t like it, but it lands hard anyway. You try to laugh it off. Try to play it cool.

You’re Cupid, after all.

Happy, fearless, emotionally unbothered. That’s the brand, right?

So you crack a joke under your breath as you slam a cupboard shut.

Something biting and dumb, like, “Sorry if emotional vulnerability was too radioactive for you.”

Besides, it’s not like you miss the eye-rolling. The grunting. The barely-there don’t touch that whenever you got too curious around his weird anti-people gadgets.

And then pretend you’re fine again.

You last a full twenty minutes before you’re watching the sky like an idiot.

Head tilted just enough to catch movement if it comes. You lose track of how long you sit like that—waiting for a shadow to ripple through the sky.

It’s pathetic.

You hate it.

Hate how often you’ve been pacing the apartment, checking the time even though you know he doesn’t live by clocks.

How you keep catching yourself listening for wind—like you’d somehow hear him land if he didn’t want you to.

The worst part?

You miss him.

Not just the awkward hovering, or the overbearing “do not touch that” energy, or even the weird way he always acts like you’re two seconds from stealing military secrets.

You miss his presence.

The unshakable, unyielding weight of it.

Like gravity had favorites and his name was first in line.

And now—it’s just empty.

The food still appears. The lights still auto-dim when you yawn too loudly.

But the air feels different. Hollow. There’s no sound. No tension.

No one breathing down your neck like you’re one bad day away from becoming an interdimensional threat.

No him.

You almost call out his name once.

Almost.

You fall asleep curled on your side, curled into the blankets, with the soft, fluffy fabric up to your chin, barely blinking at the ceiling.

The hallway beyond the room glows soft with distant light—the one that still smells like ozone and blood and—him.

The same hallway Invincible always appears from.

Or used to.

Your throat tightens. Just a little. Just enough.

It slips out before you can stop it. So quiet you almost don’t hear it.

“…Where the hell are you?”

And this time, even the silence feels like it’s avoiding you.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Days stretch like bad dreams.

You work, sort of.

Fiddle with the medkit on the counter. Try not to break anything else in Invincible’s Very Important Anti-Everything Home.

You almost knock over some kind of vibrating green orb again.

You don’t even try to guess what it does this time.

You just offer it a stiff little bow and whisper, “Apologies, Supreme Orb of Probably Nuclear Consequences.”

Mature. Dignified.

Cupid-coded.

The food still shows up.

You don’t ask how. You stopped trying to figure it out after the third day when a perfectly toasted croissant and imported guava juice appeared on the kitchen table with no sound, no fanfare—just mocking normalcy.

You’re pretty sure it’s him.

His version of still taking care of you.

As if feeding someone counts when you’re not there to look them in the eye.

You try to leave the apartment once.

Just once.

You reach the front door.

Twist the handle. Push.

Nothing.

You’re locked in again.

Great.

You stand there for a second, staring at the door like it personally betrayed you. Debate flipping it off. Maybe slamming your fist against it.

Maybe calling him a tyrannical tin can with trust issues.

But you don’t.

Cupids don’t flip.

They flourish.

(Still. You do mutter something spicy under your breath in ancient celestial. That counts.)

You try to change the dressing on your back later that day—wings still torn, bones still not bones anymore—but it stings in a way it didn’t used to.

It’s not the pain.

It’s the absence.

His hands always knew how to avoid the worst spots.

Always a little too gentle for someone who calls you a security risk.

You stop halfway through and leave the bandages loose.

Everything feels… off.

Too quiet. Too still.

Like you’re living in a version of the world that got paused while you weren’t looking.

Even the light feels wrong. Too golden. Too soft.

You’ve been counting the ceiling tiles just to stay grounded. 142 of them. One of them’s cracked in the corner. You stared at it for six minutes today.

You sit by the window again that night.

Legs tucked up, forehead resting against the glass. You’re on your 18th sky-watch of the week.

Something moves overhead.

Your heart skips, stutters.

But it’s not him.

Just a bird. Or a plane. Or—whatever.

Not him.

You let out a breath that feels like it was holding something inside it.

And then you laugh. Bitter. Too sharp. Too tired.

“What, did I short-circuit him that bad?”

The words echo around the room. Bounce off the high ceilings. Come back quieter.

You shake your head. Stretch. Stand.

Tomorrow, maybe you’ll try to escape again.

Or maybe you’ll just learn how to break the stupid green orb and hope for the best.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You don’t hear him land.

No sonic boom. No shift in air pressure. No warning.

You just turn—and Invincible’s there.

Standing in the middle of the living room like the past—almost 2 weeks—hadn’t unspooled you at the seams.

Same suit. Red and white, spotless. Same red cape and those black goggles hiding too much.

Same sharp, unreadable posture that always walks the line between calm and coiled.

Your heart stutters.

But your face doesn’t move.

He doesn’t say anything for a second.

Just watches you from across the room—like you’re a mission he forgot he accepted.

Then—

“Have you eaten?”

You blink.

Seriously?

You stare at him. Just… stare.

And he just stands there like a statue with an attitude problem.

Like this is normal.

Like this is how people re-enter each other’s lives after vanishing into the sky for a week with no explanation and locking them in a floating apartment.

“Have I—?” Your voice cuts off. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“No, actually. I’ve been too busy playing twenty questions with your security system and writing apology poems to radioactive looking things.”

A beat.

He tilts his head slightly. “So… no.”

Your eye twitches.

He walks past you toward the kitchen, like nothing’s happened. Like this is any other day.

You don’t follow. You don’t move.

You just stand there.

Stuck in place.

Like your body is waiting for him to say something that sounds like the truth.

He doesn’t.

You hear the fridge open. A drawer slide. The soft clink of utensils.

Normal sounds.

Fake sounds.

You lean against the doorframe and let out a breath through your nose. “Are we gonna talk about it,” you ask, voice flat, “or just skip to pretending again?”

Invincible doesn’t look up.

Doesn’t answer, either.

Just keeps his back to you. Steady. Untouchable.

And it’s almost impressive—how someone that powerful can shrink a room with silence alone.

You cross your arms.

Wait.

The air feels too still again.

You hate it.

But you don’t leave.

Not yet.

Because maybe, just maybe, if he’s here—then this means something.

Even if he won’t say it.

Yet.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

He shouldn’t be here.

Mark knows that the second he steps into the room and hears the way your breath stutters—soft, surprised, hurt.

He doesn’t need super-hearing for that.

You’re sitting on the couch, a fuzzy blanket tangled around your legs, eyes already narrowed like you knew he’d eventually show up and were preparing to hate him for it.

You don’t say anything.

And he doesn’t either.

Because if he opens his mouth, he’s not sure what will come out.

An apology? A reason? A lie?

No.

So he asks if you’ve eaten.

It’s stupid. He knows it.

The second the words leave his mouth, he wants to claw them back. Wants to say something real instead.

Something that sounds like the weeks he spent avoiding your voice.

Your eyes.

Your touch.

But you just blink at him.

Then roll your eyes and say something about radioactive objects and apology poems.

And he almost smiles.

Almost.

Instead, Mark turns away.

Retreats into routine.

Opens the fridge. Pours juice. Makes sure the knife hits the counter at the exact right angle—controlled.

Detached.

The longer you stay quiet behind him, the harder it gets to breathe.

And he doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to see the way you’re watching him now.

Because you always look like you see too much.

The second night back, Mark catches himself hovering near your door.

Listening.

Hoping you’ll say something first—anything that would make it easier.

But you don’t.

Not until day two. Not until he’s walking past the living room and you stop him with four words that slam straight through his chest.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

He freezes.

Doesn’t face you. Doesn’t blink.

You keep going. Calm. Cold.

“You disappear. Then act like it never happened. Like I imagined the part where you locked me in a weaponized apartment and didn’t show up for almost two weeks.”

He exhales slowly. Still doesn’t turn around. His fingers curl slightly at his sides.

You wait.

Then—

“Say something, Invincible.”

His alias name sounds strange coming from you now. Like something old and soft being scraped clean.

Mark turns—finally.

And the look in your eyes almost makes him wish he hadn’t.

You’re not mad.

You’re disappointed.

That’s worse.

His voice is too quiet when he speaks. Too raw.

“You touched me like I was human.”

The air shifts.

He watches your expression crack—just for a second.

“Why?” he asks. “I’m not. You don’t know me.”

That’s the part that’s supposed to hurt.

That’s the push. The thing that gets you to stop trying.

But you don’t flinch.

You step closer instead. Just enough to make the space feel too real.

Too fragile.

“Then show me,” you say. “Or don’t. But stop blaming me for seeing more than you want me to.”

It’s too much.

Mark scoffs. Shakes his head.

Tries again, sharper this time.

“You think this is a storybook? I’m not some tragic hero. I’ve torn entire cities off the map. I’ve made this planet kneel.”

You don’t move.

Just blink.

“Cool,” you say. “So did half of my love targets back when I was a Cupid. Try again.”

He almost laughs.

It sounds like a broken thing in his throat.

And then, finally—his voice cracks.

Just for a second. Just enough.

And you catch it.

Of course you do.

You don’t say anything. Don’t press.

But your eyes stay on him. Steady. Soft.

Like you’re waiting for him to stop lying to himself.

Mark looks away.

And for the first time in years—he doesn’t feel invincible at all.

The silence stretches.

This time, it doesn’t feel empty.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The night stretches long after the silence settles. The dinner has been served. But—

Mark doesn’t leave.

He thought he would. Thought he should.

But his feet never move.

You don’t say anything else. You just go still—arms crossed, back straight, watching him like the quiet might shake something loose.

He should go.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, Mark lingers.

At the edge of the room. At the edge of something else he won’t name.

The floor feels too loud under his boots.

And when he finally steps closer—it’s slow.

Careful.

Measured like a threat.

Not close enough to reach you. Not far enough to pretend he doesn’t want to.

Just enough to feel the heat of your presence again—without letting it swallow him whole.

His gaze doesn’t meet yours. It hovers somewhere near your shoulder.

Safer that way.

Less lethal.

You’re still watching him. Quiet. Waiting. Not demanding answers.

Just existing in that unbearable way you do—like you see everything and won’t say a word until he says it first.

He stops when the space between you is thin enough to feel. Not touch. Just feel.

You shift.

Your fingers move. The air does too.

And then—your hand brushes his.

It’s accidental. It has to be.

But it’s real.

Skin to skin. A second. Maybe less.

Mark tenses.

Instinct coils fast in his spine, in his jaw, in the base of his throat.

His body reacts like you hit a nerve.

He jerks—then stops.

Doesn’t move away.

You notice.

Of course you do.

But you don’t look smug. Don’t say anything clever. You just breathe out steady and say—

“You think I don’t see it. But I do.”

His jaw clenches.

His eyes flick to yours. That’s a mistake.

Because you’re looking at him like he’s not made of blood and violence. Like he’s something worth staying for. Even now.

Even still.

“You’re not what you think you are.”

The words settle between you like a secret.

And it’s not a declaration. Not a plea. It’s just truth—quiet and solid.

And that makes it worse.

Mark doesn’t answer.

Just looks at your hand like it’s a flame and he’s not sure if he deserves to burn or not.

His own hand lifts.

A little.

Halfway to yours.

Then—stops. Folds.

Drops.

And the distance stays.

But something else lingers there too.

Something unsaid.

Something unfinished.

Something he doesn’t push fully away this time.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You don’t chase him.

Not when Invincible steps back.

Not when his hand drops like it never meant to reach for yours in the first place.

You don’t say a word.

You just breathe through it—through the ache in your chest and the way your fingertips still hum from almost touching him.

Because you felt it.

Even if he didn’t say it—you felt it.

That split second of want. Of weakness. Of maybe.

The silence after feels louder than anything he could’ve said.

It presses against your ribs, makes your pulse ring in your ears.

You’re alone again, technically.

But not really.

Because his silence is still here. Sitting beside you like a ghost with perfect posture.

You don’t look back as you leave the room.

Your feet carry you into the hall, down toward the shadows and the softer light and the quiet that doesn’t try to explain itself.

Each step feels heavier than the last. Not because he’s gone.

But because he almost stayed.

Your hand curls tight at your side.

You shouldn’t feel like this. You know better than this.

You’re a Cupid.

But still—your heart pounds.

Loud and uneven. Like it wants to remember the almost instead of the nothing.

You pause in the doorway to your couch.

The table beside it is different.

You notice it immediately.

Something small. Familiar.

A ribbon.

Not just any ribbon. Yours.

One of the ones Invincible stole.

Or borrowed. Or kept. You never figured it out.

You stare at it.

It’s been placed there deliberately—neat, centered, soft in the low light.

Like an apology that can’t speak. Like a note without ink.

Your throat catches.

You reach out, pick it up gently.

It’s light.

Lighter than the silence, at least.

But it folds over your fingers like it knows how tired you are.

You hold it like it might bleed.

And then, too quietly, like a secret just for the walls to hear, you whisper into the night.

“…Why do you always leave me with the soft parts?”

No one answers.

Not that you expected one.

You clutch the ribbon tighter. Like it means something. Like he meant to leave it. Like that matters.

And then—you turn.

Climb onto the sofa. Curl in on yourself without thinking.

The blankets wrap around you easy, familiar.

Like they know how this part goes.

You don’t cry.

You don’t scream.

You just go still again.

Like maybe if you’re still enough, he’ll come back and finish the gesture.

But Invincible doesn’t.

So you pretend it doesn’t matter.

Again.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Mark almost makes it out without waking you.

Almost.

The apartment is quiet. Dim.

Lit only by the lazy gold haze spilling through the windows. The kind of morning that pretends it’s softer than it is.

You’re still curled on the couch where you fell asleep.

Blankets half-kicked off. Cheek pressed against your arm. Breathing steady, unaware.

He stares too long.

Lets himself pretend, for a moment, that you’ll stay asleep—that you’ll never know he was standing there.

That maybe if he leaves without the goodbye… it won’t count.

Won’t hurt.

His fingers hover over the door panel.

Ready. Close.

Mark doesn’t mean to linger.

He meant to be gone before you woke up. Quiet. Clean. A clean cut never bleeds as much.

But you shift before he can actually open the door.

It’s soft—barely a sound. Just the faint rustle of blankets against fabric. But it slices through him anyway.

Your eyes flutter open. Groggy. Unarmored.

That makes it worse.

You sit up slowly, couch creaking beneath you. Hair sticking up in the back. One of your sleeves has slipped down your shoulder.

It shouldn’t make his breath catch.

But it does.

He turns before you can speak—like maybe if he just leaves now, you’ll forget he was ever here at all.

But your voice stops him.

Low. Still half-asleep. But steady.

“…You were really gonna leave without saying anything?”

Mark doesn’t answer at first.

The door in front of him hums softly.

Unlocked. Open. Waiting.

His black goggles gaze at it like it might do the leaving for him.

“I thought it’d be easier,” he says eventually.

His voice is flat—hollow. “If you didn’t see.”

You exhale. Slow. Careful.

“Easier for who?”

Silence.

It stretches again, thin and tight, wrapping around the both of you.

He closes his eyes.

“You always look at me like you’re waiting,” he mutters. “Like I’m gonna be something I’m not.”

Your feet hit the floor.

“You mean something you don’t think you are.”

That makes him turn.

Slowly.

You’re standing now, wrapped in the same blanket you fell asleep under. You don’t look angry.

You just look tired.

And soft.

And a little hurt.

Mark hates how much he wants to stay.

His fists clench by his sides. Then release.

“I’m not what you see,” he says. “And I don’t want to watch your face change when you realize that.”

You don’t argue.

You don’t have to.

Because Mark knows the truth.

You already see him.

Somehow—

You’ve always seen him.

You just won’t say the thing he’s not ready to hear.

So instead—you smile.

It’s faint. Barely there. Almost cruel in how kind it is.

But it doesn’t break.

It doesn’t beg.

Just waits.

Mark exhales once. Sharp.

Then—

He turns back to the door.

Hand reaches for the control panel.

And just before the metal peels open, he says it. Not loud. Not soft either.

“Don’t wait up.”

You don’t answer.

Not at first.

You let the door open.

Let the wind rush in, colder than before.

And just before he disappears into it, your voice finds him—light as thread, soft as knives.

“…I will.”

But he’s already gone.

And the door shuts behind him like it always does.

Too loud. Too final.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

˗ˏˋ 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 ˎˊ˗

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌A long time ago, before he knew what leaving felt like.

The living room is too quiet.

Too clean.

Not a single cushion is out of place.

The floor gleams. The air smells like whatever the Graysons use to wipe down glass—chemical and lemony, with an undertone of sterilized order.

But Mark’s standing in the middle of it like it’s a battlefield.

Barefoot on the rug. Chest puffed.

A red bedsheet draped around his shoulders—safety pinned in the front like a real cape.

He tugs it tight with both fists. Stands taller.

He even spiked up his hair a little with water so it would fall the same way his dad’s always does after a mission. Sharp. Heroic.

Omni-man.

Mark grins at his reflection in the mirror near the hallway.

It’s a little crooked because of the missing tooth—leaving a gap. It’s also a little too small, but it does the job.

He flexes once. Poses.

Then rushes back to the couch and grabs the sheet of printer paper he left there—crayon scribbles in red and white and blue.

Their family.

Mom. Dad. Him.

Except—this time, he drew himself with the cape.

Not his dad.

Just him.

He hears the door.

The front lock shifts with that signature mechanical click—the one Omni-man’s key always overrides.

Mark freezes, heartbeat picking up.

The good kind. The kind that means he’s home.

A second later, Nolan steps in.

And he’s not alone.

Blood streaks his arms. His cape is torn, ripped at the edges. His face is shadowed—tired in a way Mark doesn’t quite understand yet.

But he’s here.

Mark lights up. Practically launches across the room with the drawing in hand and cape trailing behind him.

“Dad! Dad—look!”

Nolan doesn’t say anything.

Just closes the door behind him. Slowly. Methodically. Drops his keys on the table without looking up.

Mark rushes forward anyway, breathless. Holding the paper up like it’s gold.

“I made this—I made us! But like—if I was a hero too. Like you.”

The little boy spins once, proud.

“I’ve been practicing my landing pose. You know. For when I can fly.”

Finally—finally—Nolan looks.

His eyes scan the cape. The safety pin.

Then the drawing.

He doesn’t blink.

And something changes.

Something behind his tired eyes shift—something Mark won’t understand until he’s older.

“…Where did you get that cape,” Nolan says, voice low.

Mark startles.

“It’s just a sheet,” he says quickly, adjusting it. “Not a real one. I just thought—”

“You don’t get to wear that.”

The words hit too hard.

Too sharp.

Not loud. But not soft.

Mark’s mouth stays open. Drawing still in his hand.

Nolan steps closer.

“Not yet. Not until you’ve earned it.”

Mark’s arms drop.

He doesn’t ask what earning it means.

He just looks down.

“Oh,” he whispers. “Right. Sorry.”

Nolan doesn’t respond. He doesn’t look angry—not really.

Just… detached.

He walks past Mark without another word.

His boots thud once against the hardwood. Then he disappears down the hallway.

Mark’s left standing there.

Cape slipping from his shoulders. Drawing creased in his fingers.

He looks down at both.

Then lets the paper fall.

The cape slides off. Pools on the floor.

He stares at it for a long time.

Doesn’t cry.

Doesn’t move.

Just breathes.

Then—quietly, like it’s a vow—he bends down, picks the cape up, folds it in half.

Presses it to his chest.

And whispers—

“Then I’ll earn it.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ongoing TAGLIST: @f3r4lfr0gg3r @pumpkin-toffee @aloflapse @helloimamistake @brokeaesthetic @mileskisser @lonely-entity @coquette1core @w-starshine @demonsvessel @feminii @marinefreaakk @moleannan @amidrinksti @irlandajacquelinne-blog @beep-boop-baby @flowerwithnomind

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ᯓ❤︎ requested by: @lycheee-jelly

taglist sign up: 𓊆ྀིhere𓊇ྀི

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[aloflapse]

❝Hearts Don’t Miss❞

Omni!Mark Grayson x Cupid!Reader➶

•♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡˚₊‧ ꒰ა 💗 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡•

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❤︎ summary: you wake up in an unfamiliar place—threadless, wingless, and wildly out of place in a world that forgot how to feel. the man who caught you (or spared you, or maybe neither) offers no comfort. only silence. and rules you don’t understand. but you’re built for love—even stripped of your status, even with your wings torn away—and despite everything, you hum. he watches. you talk. something shifts. and for once, the silence isn’t empty.

❤︎ contains: sfw. soft sci-fi. celestial grief. morally questionable men with capes. lonely mythologies. divine exile. cupid!reader. omni!mark. omni!invincible. slow-burn dynamics. sharp dialogue. soft power plays. emotional tension. thread metaphors. awkward domesticity. a glittery, homesick cupid in a strange house. and one emotionally repressed war criminal trying not to care.

❤︎ warnings: post-exile trauma. references to canonical war/genocide (vague). injury care. survivor’s guilt. isolation. identity confusion. mild body horror (wing loss). emotional withholding. unspoken grief. and the bone-deep ache of trying to be wanted when you were made only to serve.

‪❤︎ wc: 4868

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: i’m honestly so beyond touched by the response to this fic about a wingless cupid and a cosmic war criminal. the love it’s gotten?? unreal. my whole thread-glued heart is just… full. you’ve made this story feel less like a fall and more like a landing. thank you for every comment, like, and reblog—i’m storing them in a pink sparkly jar labeled “emotional fuel.” let’s keep tugging the string—chapter one starts now.

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You wake up face-down in luxury.

Specifically: half-smushed into a couch that feels engineered for spine alignment, interstellar meditation, or a villain’s downtime—not comfort.

Definitely not comfort.

The texture is weirdly sleek—velvet-synthetic.

Expensive.

The kind of couch that exists just to say “I’m expensive”—not to be sat on. Which, of course, you are.

…Badly.

You’re tangled in a heavy blanket that definitely wasn’t there before, limbs twisted like a limp marionette. Every joint aches. Your back screams.

You blink, eyes crusty. Then blink again.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

No ambient hum of threads. No divine frequency. No lace-sky breathing stories into the tips of your wings—

Oh.

Right.

No wings.

Just… nothing.

You inhale shakily, trying not to flinch at the echo of absence where they used to be.

That phantom pull still flickers beneath your skin, like your whole body expects to move differently and can’t understand why it doesn’t.

You sit up slowly, the blanket tangled around your knees slipping off with a whisper-soft sigh.

It’s heavy and warm and smells like something between ozone, steel, and—

Oh.

Him.

“Okay,” you murmur, voice raspy. “Either I survived, or I’m in a very bougie version of limbo.”

Your limbs ache. Everything aches. You’re bruised in places that aren’t even supposed to bruise. Your wings? Still gone. Still phantom. Still wrong.

And the worst part?

The air feels… hollow.

No threads.

No connections.

No one’s longing.

You’re utterly alone—again.

You shuffle upright and glance around, trying not to wobble.

The room is sleek, high-tech in a sterile, vaguely militaristic way. Walls smooth and silver-dark, faintly glowing interface panels here and there.

It’s clean. Cold. Lit with soft panels that glow a sterile blue.

A strange crystalline screen suspended midair flickers with symbols you don’t recognize.

There’s a table that sits low in the center of the room—glass, probably. It looks solid, but you eye it like it might judge you.

You’re not in a prison—not quite.

But you’re not safe either.

Still—your voice comes out bright. Croaky, but bright.

“Well, at least it’s not hell.”

You wobble to your feet and immediately trip over the corner of the blanket.

Stumble, flail, barely catch yourself on what might be a countertop… or a weapons locker. Hard to say.

You don’t recognize a single object in the space.

That doesn’t stop you from touching everything.

A metallic orb hums when you poke it.

Another panel flashes red. You press it again. It turns off.

“Definitely not a prison,” you say, chewing your lip. “Probably. Hopefully. …Possibly a villain’s lair. But like… a tasteful one?”

Your legs push you toward a shelf and there’s an object shaped like a tall, elegant hourglass—except filled with something that glows faintly purple.

Naturally, you poke it.

It purrs.

You yelp.

“H-hello?! Sorry! I didn’t mean—!”

Your voice slowly fades into silence.

You pick up something else. It’s smooth. Cylindrical. Heavy for its size.

“Hmm. Mug? Weapon? Mug and weapon? A murder mug? It feels like a murder mug,” you mumble, turning it over.

“Do they drink blood tea here?”

Then—something beeps. Very softly.

Your whole body tenses.

And then you feel it.

The weight of presence.

Not a string. Not love.

Gravity.

And danger.

You turn—and there he is.

The red-caped man from the field—towering in the doorway like a bad decision carved out of stone and anger.

He’s standing there.

Silent. Immense.

In red and white and black, all sharp lines and steady breath. His cape falls behind him like a curtain of blood. The goggles don’t show his eyes—but you feel the glare through them.

His jaw is set. His arms are crossed. His black goggles glint even in the low light. He doesn’t speak right away. He doesn’t have to.

You go solid, still holding the probable mug-weapon.

Ah right—you can’t forget.

It’s still the guy who caught you. Or… confronted you. Or nearly vaporized you last night in a field of daisies.

You give a sheepish smile.

“Hi. Morning. Or, uh, whatever time it is on this… aggressively minimalist version of Earth!”

He tilts his head once. His voice is flat.

Unreadable.

“Don’t touch that.”

You freeze. “This? Oh, no, I wasn’t—I mean, I did. Technically. But only spiritually.”

He doesn’t respond.

You blink. Look at the object. Look back at him. Grin. “Okay. Cool. I won’t. Totally understand boundaries. Big believer in consent.”

He doesn’t react.

You clear your throat. Set the item down. Slowly.

“Although, in my defense, your whole interior design aesthetic is kinda yelling ‘please investigate me.’ So really, it’s—”

“Don’t touch anything,” he cuts in, firmer.

You offer him a sheepish thumbs-up. “Got it. Loud and scary clear.”

And then—because your instincts are garbage and you were literally created to poke things—you touch something else. A little blinking panel near the door.

His eyes narrow.

You drop your hand like it burned you. “Sorry!! Reflex! Very bad reflex!”

He stares.

You stare back, then give a very small, very awkward wave.

Another long pause.

He sighs—just barely. Turns away without a word and disappears down the hall.

You watch him go, blinking.

“…He seems nice.”

You sit back down with a wince, then mutter, “I should definitely touch more stuff.”

You do.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It starts with silence.

Again.

But this time it’s not lonely silence—it’s awkward. Heavy. The kind that settles between two people who don’t know if they’re enemies, housemates, or a cosmic glitch in each other’s timelines.

You linger in the hallway.

Still sore. Still threadless. Still dressed like someone who got kicked out of Heaven and landed in a tech-noir villain’s den.

And still—despite every instinct screaming don’t—you follow him.

Of course you do.

Like a sparkly little space unwanted houseguest with opinions that has zero survival instincts and a tragic affection for ominous men in capes.

He doesn’t say you can’t follow him.

He just walks briskly through his own home—long hallways, seamless doors, touch-panel everything—while you trail behind, barefoot and blinking like a freshly-kicked cherub.

He ignores you.

You ignore his ignoring.

“That’s a cool cape,” you say conversationally, trying to keep up with his strides. “Is it, like, sentimental? Symbolic? Villain-chic? Oh—wait, are you emotionally attached to it?”

No answer.

You lean forward slightly, squinting. “Do you… wear it to bed?”

Still nothing.

You hum thoughtfully. “Is it fused to your soul? Is it detachable? Do you have different ones for different moods—like, casual cape, angry cape, emotional repression cape?”

He doesn’t respond.

You try again. “Can I touch it?”

He stops.

Just like that—halts mid-stride.

You freeze behind him, nearly bumping into his back. And blink up at him.

He turns his head slightly, the cape flaring just enough to ripple past your fingertips.

“Don’t.”

One word. No bite, no growl—just a warning. Like a storm saying this isn’t rain yet, but it could be.

You raise your hands slowly. “Right. Sorry. Cape off-limits. Got it. You’re very committed to the brand.”

He walks again.

You sigh—more dramatic than necessary—but keep following.

“What about the goggles?” you ask. “Do you sleep in those too? Are they like… mood-activated? They’re very intimidating. Very Darth-Vader-meets-heartbreak. No offense.”

He says nothing.

“Okay, so you’re clearly not a big talker,” you mutter. “That’s fine. I talk enough for two. Or ten.”

So you keep going, babbling just to fill the space.

Another hallway. Another panel. Another stretch of angular, too-clean walls and whisper-quiet footsteps.

It’s like walking through a museum designed by someone who’s never smiled—even once.

And somehow—somehow—you still manage to fill the silence.

“You know, in some dimensions, silence is considered a mating ritual,” you offer cheerfully.

He pauses.

You blink. “Wait, not that I’m saying this is that. I mean—it’s not, right? Unless it is—which, um, please clarify. Because if it is, I should probably brush my hair.”

He keeps walking.

You huff, trailing further behind now. Not because you’re tired—well, okay, maybe a little—but mostly because his energy is doing that don’t-get-close thing again.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

He doesn’t respond. Again.

You glance at one of the panels you pass. It blinks red as you near it.

Curious, you step closer.

He doesn’t stop you this time—but you hear it in his voice. That shift. That thread of something darker.

“You’re not allowed outside.”

You freeze. “What?”

“That panel’s locked. Security override in place.”

You blink, confused. “So I can’t leave?”

A beat.

“No.”

Your stomach twists.

You laugh. Light. Thin. “Oh. So I am in a prison.”

“It’s not a prison,” he says flatly.

You raise an eyebrow. “You just said I can’t leave.”

“It’s for your safety.”

“Isn’t that what all supervillains say?”

He turns around then—just slightly—and for the first time, you think maybe he’s trying not to say something. His jaw tightens. Not with anger. Not exactly.

With thought.

You don’t press. Not this time.

Instead, you look out the nearest window—tinted, probably bulletproof, overlooking a skyline that feels wrong. Choked. Smoky and sharp at the edges.

It’s beautiful in the way a burnt cathedral might be. And it feels lonely.

You press your hand to the glass.

Whisper-soft.

“I don’t belong here,” you murmur. Not to him. Not really to yourself, either.

Just… to the glass.

To the world beyond it.

He doesn’t answer.

But he watches you.

And that’s enough to make your heart thud somewhere in the hollowness of your chest.

You exhale. Curl your fingers into a mock-heart on the window.

“You should really consider getting some plants,” you say softly. “This place is screaming ‘emotionally constipated bachelor pad.’”

His reflection doesn’t flinch.

You sigh and turn away.

“I’m gonna go talk to the weird murder mug again.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Later—hours, maybe—you find yourself planted at the far end of what might be the dining area.

Or the command center. It’s hard to tell.

The table looks like it could initiate a planetary strike if you breathe on it wrong.

He sits across from you.

Still.

Still suited. Still silent.

He hasn’t taken the mask off. You haven’t seen his eyes.

But he gave you a name.

Not a real one, probably. But something.

“Invincible,” he said flatly when you asked, finally cracking under the sheer power of your pestering and your best please I’m charming let me know what to call you face.

You didn’t believe him at first.

“Seriously? That’s what you go by?”

He didn’t answer.

Just turned away and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like you’re worse than the other one.

Still—you took it. Grinned. Clutched it like it meant something.

“Okay, Invincible. Cool name. Bit dramatic. But I can work with that.”

He hasn’t asked for your name in return.

You gave it anyway.

Not your designation. Not the code the Realm used.

Just what you used to call yourself, back when you believed in tenderness.

He didn’t comment on it.

He just sat like he is now—spine too straight, hands steepled on the table, as if pretending not to regret every life choice that led to you invading his vaguely dystopian bachelor pad.

You kick your feet under the table.

He says nothing.

So you talk.

Because of course you do.

“Okay, so—fun story,” you begin brightly, draping your arms across the back of your seat. “Once, I accidentally matched a soulweaver with a carnivorous star-being. Didn’t realize their threads were laced with paradox elements. Their honeymoon destroyed a moon.”

You pause.

Grin.

“But they’re still together! Super toxic. Super cute. Kind of horrifying… I’m rooting for them.”

Nothing.

You glance at him.

He’s not looking at you—but his fingers tap once. Barely audible. A twitch in the rhythm.

You keep going.

“I once worked a case where the connection was so knotted it took seven cycles, two reincarnations, and one cosmic dog to unravel it. Not a metaphor. There was literally a dog. He was a thread guide. Very fluffy.”

Still nothing.

But you notice the shift.

The way his chin angles, almost imperceptibly.

Like he’s listening without wanting to. Like he’s filing away every word and pretending he’s not.

You lean forward. Prop your chin on your hand.

“Have you ever loved anyone?” you ask, soft. Just curious.

Invincible freezes.

Just for a second.

Then moves again—barely. Shrugs one shoulder. “Not relevant.”

“Oh, it’s totally relevant,” you say with a mock gasp. “It’s my entire job.”

“You don’t have a job,” he mutters.

“Excuse you,” you sniff. “I am temporarily unemployed. There’s a difference.”

He sighs—again, just barely. But it’s the kind that says if I fly into the sun right now, will she keep talking?

You smile, a little too brightly.

“It’s just—you’re fascinating,” you say, earnest now.

“You move like someone who’s always preparing for war. But there’s something in your hands. Like… you used to hold gentler things.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react.

But his knuckles tighten—just slightly.

You catch it.

You don’t comment on it.

Instead, you hum softly, off-tune and aimless. Just enough to fill the space between your sentences.

“I used to hum like this when I was scared,” you say, staring at the ceiling. “Back when I thought being good meant being useful.”

A long beat.

Then—

“You’re not scared now?” he asks, voice flat.

You glance at him.

Smile.

“Terrified.”

And you mean it.

But it’s soft.

Like a confession wrapped in pink thread and handed over with shaking fingers.

Invincible doesn’t answer.

But he doesn’t leave.

And that’s something.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You’re sitting on the edge of the couch—the weird one that thinks it’s better than you—biting the inside of your cheek.

“I can do it myself,” you say.

Immediately lie.

“I’m very good at medical stuff. Definitely qualified. Certified in three realms, actually.”

Invincible doesn’t look convinced.

You don’t blame him.

Your last attempt at bandaging involved decorative knotting and something that suspiciously resembled a shoelace.

“You’re going to make it worse,” he says flatly.

You huff. “You say that like it’s a certainty.”

“It is.”

He crosses the room without waiting for permission, gloved hands already unsnapping some hidden compartment in the wall.

A panel folds out.

Inside: a compact but precise set of medical supplies.

Of course he has medical supplies.

Of course they’re alphabetized.

Of course the antiseptic glows ominously.

You fidget.

“I don’t like that bottle,” you murmur. “It’s judging me.”

He doesn’t respond. Just sets it down on the nearby table with quiet precision.

You swallow.

The silence stretches.

It’s heavier now. Less awkward. More… inevitable.

You wrap your arms around your knees, voice quieter.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

And still—he gestures.

“Turn around.”

Your pulse stumbles. You hesitate.

But then—you do.

Slowly.

You turn your back to him.

Pull the too-big shirt they gave you (his? something spare from the war room? it smells faintly of leather and ozone) off one shoulder. Then the other. Then lift the hem just enough for him to see.

It hurts.

Not just the movement—but the exposure.

It’s not romantic.

Because there’s nothing romantic about torn skin or lost wings.

Invincible doesn’t say anything. Not at first.

But you hear the pause.

The smallest catch in his breath.

Then—his gloved fingers at the edge of the old wrapping. Careful. Methodical.

The first touch makes you flinch.

He stops immediately.

Waits.

Doesn’t apologize—he never apologizes—but he doesn’t push either.

You exhale.

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “Keep going.”

The bandages peel away slowly.

You wince.

Not because of the pain—but because you know what it must look like.

The bruising.

The way the skin puckers where the feathers once grew.

The scars trying to form over something that should have never been taken.

Invincible works in silence.

You hum.

It’s soft. Tuneless. The kind of sound you make when you don’t know what else to fill the quiet with.

“I used to help patch people up,” you say absently, voice thin. “Mostly broken hearts, but once I had to reattach a wing to a grief-angel. That was messy. Lots of glitter and wailing.”

Still, he says nothing.

But his hands move gently.

Like he’s trying not to break what’s already broken.

The antiseptic stings. You hiss.

He pauses.

You press your forehead to your knees.

“I’m okay,” you lie again.

A beat passes.

Then another.

Then—

“You’re not.”

You go still.

The words aren’t cruel. Not biting. Just… factual. Like a truth dropped onto the floor and left there.

You don’t reply.

But the humming dies in your throat.

His fingers return. Smoother now. Gliding over the worst of it. Wrapping clean gauze like it means something. Like there’s care in the motion, even if he doesn’t name it.

You close your eyes.

For a moment—you pretend it doesn’t hurt.

You pretend you’re not threadless and wrecked.

You pretend someone is holding you in a way that won’t leave more marks.

And he—this man with no real name, with a face hidden behind silence and sharpness—keeps wrapping your wounds like someone who doesn’t know why he hasn’t stopped yet.

When Invincible finishes, you don’t move right away.

Neither does he.

The air holds the shape of something unsaid.

And for the first time since you fell—

You don’t feel entirely alone.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It starts with guilt.

Not big, thunderous guilt—the kind that screams or scars.

No, this is softer. Quieter.

The kind that curls under your ribs and pokes at you when it gets too silent.

The kind that sounds like: Invincible hasn’t killed me yet. I should… do something?

You’ve been here for… two sunrises now? Three?

Time is slippery here. Threadless days always are.

But one thing’s clear: for all his sharp edges and scowls, your new… roommate? captor? interdimensional roommate with possible emotional constipation?—he’s been letting you stay.

In his space. On his furniture. Breathing his air.

Rent-free.

The least you could do is say thank you.

So you decide to clean.

Which is dumb. Because you have no idea how any of this tech works.

But that doesn’t stop you.

You start small—folding the blanket you’ve been cocooning in. You even add a little flair.

Tug the corners into soft heart-shaped knots. Totally impractical. Definitely aesthetic.

You set it in the middle of the couch like a peace offering. Or a warning.

You hum to yourself as you tidy.

Not that there’s much to tidy—everything here is spotless, sterile, like a military catalog page come to life.

Still, you try.

Straighten a few panels. Dust off some gleaming surface with the edge of your sleeve.

Eventually, you find what might be a kitchen. Or a weapons bay disguised as a kitchen. Hard to say.

It has counters. It has drawers. One of them contains what you think are utensils. One of them contains a small orb that buzzes and tries to eat your finger.

You close that one. Quickly.

Cooking it is.

You find something vaguely bread-adjacent in a sealed container.

Something that might be butter. Something that definitely isn’t sugar but looks suspiciously like cosmic sand.

You try anyway.

You find heat. A panel that flares red when you touch it.

“Perfect,” you whisper. “Totally safe. I am definitely qualified for this.”

You burn the first attempt. Instantly. Black smoke hisses upward like a judgment.

You try again.

You nearly set the panel on fire.

You keep going.

Eventually, you manage to create… something!

Not good. Not edible. But warm and round-ish and not on fire.

You plate it. Add a flower from the weird glowing vase thing on the counter for presentation. Step back. Admire it.

It’s hideous.

But you made it.

So you carry it out carefully—just as the door hisses open.

And there he is.

Cape flowing. Expression unreadable.

Invincible freezes in the doorway, black goggles flicking from your smoke-streaked face to the kitchen behind you—now full of suspicious smells and one still-smoking dish.

You hold out the plate.

“I made a thank-you loaf,” you say brightly. “It’s mostly… not poison!”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just stares.

Then—

“Did you override my weapons lock?”

You blink. “What?”

He steps past you, into the kitchen. Taps a barely-visible panel near the wall. A soft click echoes.

Then a compartment slides open to reveal: missiles.

Actual missiles.

“Oh,” you say. “That explains the ticking.”

Invincible turns around slowly.

You grin, sheepish. “In my defense, your cabinet labeling system is deeply confusing.”

He doesn’t yell.

Which is somehow worse.

He just gives you the look.

That disappointed, stone-jawed, exhausted-by-your-whole-existence look.

Your grin falters.

“…I’ll go sit down.”

You do.

And you sulk.

You curl up in the corner of the couch and re-fold the blanket. Then re-fold it again.

You mutter something about interdimensional roommates being impossible to please.

You don’t even notice when he walks back in.

Not at first.

You only notice the pause.

The soft shift of air.

You glance up.

He’s standing at the edge of the room, holding something.

The blanket.

You must’ve left it in the kitchen, half-heartedly abandoned on a counter.

Invincible doesn’t say anything.

But he doesn’t throw it away either.

He folds it once. Carefully.

Sets it back on the couch.

Exactly where it was.

Knots and all.

You don’t say anything.

But your chest feels warmer.

He leaves again.

You smile to yourself.

Next time, you’ll try the cosmic rice.

(Probably a bad idea. But you’re nothing if not persistent.)

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Mark tells himself you’re just a problem he hasn’t solved yet.

That’s all.

Another anomaly dropped into his territory—another celestial error.

Something to monitor. To contain. Not to engage with.

Definitely not to understand.

He repeats this in his head more than once.

But he still notices things.

You hum when it’s too quiet.

Not on purpose.

Not like you’re trying to fill the space with meaning.

It’s unconscious—barely there. Just a low, tuneless sound you loop under your breath like you’re afraid silence might swallow you if you let it linger too long.

He hears it through the walls sometimes.

Not enough to be irritating. Just enough to be… present.

You clutch your weapon in your sleep.

Not always.

But most nights, when the lights dim and you think he’s stopped watching.

The bow—the one you won’t explain—is usually curled tight against your chest, one hand resting lightly on the grip.

Protective. Familiar.

Like it’s the only thing left that still feels like home.

You move in your sleep too. Restless. Whimpers low, barely audible.

Once, he found you curled into the narrowest corner of the couch like you were trying to disappear inside yourself.

The blanket had fallen. You hadn’t bothered to pick it up.

He hadn’t either.

But he covered you with a new one before leaving.

You never mentioned it.

You walk wrong.

It’s not… bad. Just different.

Like someone still getting used to gravity.

You don’t always trust your footing—sometimes you skip a step, sometimes you hesitate before a turn, like you expect the ground to shift under your feet.

You never ask for help.

But when something startles you—when you nearly drop something, or a panel glitches too loud, or the power flickers just a little too long—your hand twitches toward him before you even realize it.

Like a reflex. Like an instinct you haven’t unlearned.

Like you think he might catch you.

You talk too much.

About nothing. About everything.

Stories that make no sense—about thread-realms and starlight weddings and love gods who punch each other for fun.

Mark doesn’t believe half of it.

But he listens.

Every word.

Worse, he remembers them.

You describe things with your hands—like you can’t just say what you mean, you have to shape it.

Fingers dancing through the air, painting emotion he doesn’t know how to name.

When you laugh, your shoulders always rise first.

When you lie, you bite the inside of your cheek.

You sing off-key. Barely know it.

And you always pause—just for a second—before you smile.

That’s the one that gets him.

The hesitation.

Like you’re weighing whether it’s worth it.

Whether this moment deserves it.

Whether he does.

Mark doesn’t understand you.

And that should be easy.

It’s always been easy, not understanding people. Easier to flatten them. File them into categories: threat, resource, dead.

But you don’t stay in the box.

Don’t follow the rules.

You should be scared of him—he knows you are—but you don’t flinch when he walks past. You make eye contact. You wave. You hum.

You grin.

And he…

He notices.

Even when he doesn’t want to.

Especially then.

So he tells himself it’s strategy.

Just observation.

Just a glitch with glitter in your hair and too many stories in your throat.

That’s all.

That’s all.

But when he walks past the living room, and sees you curled asleep with your bow across your chest and your hands still half-reached toward something that isn’t there—

Mark slows.

Doesn’t stop.

But he slows.

And tells himself again—you’re just a problem.

Not a person.

Not someone.

Not his.

Not yet, not never.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The apartment is unusually quiet.

Ever since you got here—there’s always something humming softly in the air. Mark doesn’t notice the silence at first.

He’s used to that. Prefers it.

But this is different.

It’s a small sound that finally breaks him out of his thoughts.

Soft. Barely there.

At first, Mark thinks the sound is static.

Just another nighttime glitch—a flicker in the power grid, maybe. A disturbance in the perimeter sensors.

Something small. Something easy.

But then he hears it again.

Soft. Fragile. Not mechanical.

Human.

He moves before thinking.

Quiet steps down the hallway. Past the control room. Around the corner where the lights are still dimmed to sleep-mode. His hand hovers over the doorframe.

You’re still asleep.

Sort of.

Your body’s curled inward on the couch—smaller than usual, shoulders tight, hands clenched in the blanket. Not the bow this time. Just the blanket.

But your face—

Your face is wet.

Tears carve tracks down your cheeks in silence.

Your lips move, but there’s no sound. Your breath catches on each inhale like it doesn’t know how to settle in your chest.

You don’t sob. Don’t cry out.

You just tremble.

Mark doesn’t move.

He should. He knows he should. Turn away. Walk off. Let you have your grief like you always have—alone, unspeaking, full of bright little lies and off-key humming.

But you’re not humming now.

You’re breaking.

And he—

He watches.

Not with judgment.

Not even with curiosity.

Just… quietly.

Like something in him knows this is sacred. Or familiar. Or both.

He takes a breath. Slow. Controlled.

Then turns away long enough to return with a glass of water.

He sets it down on the table near you. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t touch you.

Doesn’t ask.

When he glances back—

You’re still asleep.

But your hand moves. Barely.

Reaches toward the glass.

Or maybe toward something else.

Mark doesn’t stay to see if you find it.

But as he walks away, the sound of your breath steadying follows him.

Not whole.

Not healed.

But enough.

And for reasons he doesn’t name—

That’s worse than a scream.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

˗ˏˋ 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 ˎˊ˗

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room.

Surrounded by scraps of thread you found in one of the deep storage drawers Invincible didn’t think you’d find.

(He was wrong.)

One’s gold.

One’s red.

One’s a tangled mess of fraying blue that might actually be a shoelace.

You’re holding them all up like evidence.

Invincible’s standing over you. Arms crossed. Eyebrow raised. Entire posture radiating why are you like this.

You grin up at him.

“Okay,” you begin, voice bright, “so this one represents soul-tied destinies—deep, ancient, violently passionate.” You wiggle the red one.

“This one is light-thread—super soft, fluttery, usually forms during meet-cutes or emotionally charged hand-touching.” The gold.

You hold up the blue.

“This one is chaos. I don’t know where it came from. Possibly cursed. Could be your vibe.”

He squints. “Are you seriously playing with string right now?”

“It’s not playing,” you gasp. “It’s education. I’m trying to teach you how threads work.”

“I don’t care how threads work.”

“You should! Not that you have one—rude—but if you did, yours would definitely be fire-forged, probably double-knotted, tangled six times over, emotionally scorched and fraying at the edges—oh, and extremely defensive.”

He blinks.

Then—“What does that even mean.”

You pause. Smile softly.

“It means you’re very repressed, babe.”

A beat.

He doesn’t respond. Just stares at you like you’ve grown another head. (Honestly, that would explain a lot, probably.)

You shrug. Flick the red string toward him. It hits his chest.

Invincible doesn’t catch it.

“Here. Pretend that’s your thread.”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

“God, you’re no fun.”

He turns to leave.

You call after him, “You’d definitely be a reluctant soulmate.”

He freezes in the doorway.

Very quietly, without turning around, he says.

“There’s no such thing.”

You smile to yourself. Pick up the gold thread again. Loop it gently around your fingers.

“Not yet,” you murmur. “But they don’t always start that way.”

He doesn’t respond.

But he doesn’t walk away either.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

ᯓ❤︎ requested by: @lycheee-jelly

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

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❝Hearts Don’t Miss❞

Omni!Mark Grayson x Cupid!Reader➶

•♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡˚₊‧ ꒰ა 💗 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡•

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❤︎ summary: after defying a divine directive and choosing mercy over order, you—a cupid built not to feel—fall from the realm and crash into a world you don’t belong to. wingless and exiled, you land on a planet bruised by war, grief, and something worse: apathy. but one figure watches your descent. he’s not a hero. not a god. just a man turned monster, carrying the weight of a planet he helped destroy. you were made to spark love. he was made to conquer. so why can’t he walk away?

❤︎ contains: sfw. celestial mythology. lonely immortals. slow-burn dynamics. post-war emotional fallout. deconstruction of love as a weapon/tool. and a wingless cupid with a cracked heart and a crooked smile.

❤︎ warnings: emotional manipulation (brief). themes of exile and identity loss. canon-typical violence references (omni-mark’s past). light blood/injury mentions. quiet existential grief. soft heartbreak. and the inconvenient ache of wanting to be wanted.

‪❤︎ wc: 4454

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: i wanted to write something aching. something soft and sharp and too pink in all the wrong places. this is my love letter to the ones who were built to help others but never expected to be helped. to the hopeless romantics. to the heartsworn. if you’ve ever looked for your own thread and found nothing but empty space—i see you. let’s fall together.

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Before time had a name, there was love.

And before love had rules, there were those who enforced them.

You were one of them.

Cupids were never born in the way humans or any other beings are.

There was no crying, no clutching warmth, no heartbeat against heartbeat. You weren’t given to anyone—because in your world, nothing is ever truly given. It’s assigned.

And you were assigned to love.

Long before your first breath—or what could even be counted as a breath—your existence was stitched together with rose-gold thread and spun into something soft.

Something radiant. Something shaped to serve.

The Realm of Threads didn’t believe in accidents. It believed in connection.

Harmony. Devotion.

These were your first lessons—woven not from stories, but from structure. From a place built not to feel love, but to uphold it.

Cupids, as humans might call them, are not gods. They are not angels. They are not the chubby, winged caricatures drawn on glossy cards each February.

They are constructs.

Beings built from emotion itself, shaped by the pulse of the universe and tasked with one divine, inescapable truth: make them fall in love.

All of them.

Every soul in every world is marked by a thread—red, golden, soft, or shining. Invisible to most. Tangible only to your kind. And where those threads exist, your kind follows.

Weaving. Binding. Mending.

You never asked why. You were taught never to ask why.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

In your realm, the sky is made of lace.

Not literal lace—but that’s what it looks like, with its rippling tapestry of lights and longing.

You drifted through it as a child, surrounded by other Cupids—silent, graceful, unwavering. They didn’t speak unless they had to. Words wasted time. Emotion was observed, not expressed.

You were the odd one out almost immediately.

You giggled when you shouldn’t have. You sang with no rhythm. You watched humans too closely, too curiously. You wondered what it felt like to be kissed—not as a target, not as a mission—but as something wanted.

The Supervisors said your strings were too tight.

They meant your emotions.

You cared too much. Thought too hard. Dreamed in colors that didn’t belong to you.

But you were a prodigy, so they didn’t clip your wings. Not then. They praised your precision, your instincts. You’d never missed a target. Not once.

But love, you would learn, is only beautiful when it behaves.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You were trained before you ever knew what training meant.

In the Realm of Threads, there is no childhood. Not in the way humans define it. There are no lullabies, no scraped knees, no tumbling laughter in the grass. There is structure. There is schooling.

There is silence.

You were given a pod—not a room, not a bed. A pod. Sterile and softly lit, humming faintly with emotional frequency.

It pulsed with the echoes of distant connections: engagements, kisses, heartbreak, soulmates colliding on foreign soil.

It was meant to teach you. Not to feel—but to understand what feeling looks like.

Your first lessons weren’t in numbers or words. They were in observation.

Screens stretched across your wall like windows into other realms. Every second of every day, you watched humans love each other. Fumble and flourish. Make mistakes. Fix them. You learned the cadence of confession, the stillness before a first kiss, the ache of waiting by a phone that wouldn’t ring.

You took notes.

You practiced on simulations. Shadow versions of real people, constructed for training. They were emotion puppets—coded to respond, to mimic the human condition, but never feel it.

You pulled their strings like a composer, conducting the perfect crescendo of a meet-cute or a second chance.

And you were so good at it.

Even the elder Cupids, old as planetary rotations, took notice.

They called you “Silken.”

They called you “True-Handed.”

They said your instincts were woven with clarity few possessed.

But even then—you knew something was wrong.

Because love wasn’t clean. It wasn’t predictable. It wasn’t math.

You saw it in the gaps between the simulations—in the real footage, in the stolen glances and unsent letters.

Love was messy.

And you weren’t allowed to say that.

So instead, you smiled. You bowed your head. You aced your assignments. And when it was finally time to receive your bow—the instrument that would mark you as a field Cupid, ready to enter the human realm—you let them place it in your hands like a crown.

Ceremonial. Divine. Cold.

Your wings fluttered for the first time that day. Not from pride. From something else.

Restlessness.

Because you weren’t sure you wanted to be part of this system.

But you’d been shaped for it. And in the Realm of Threads, shape is everything.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

They say Cupids don’t feel the way humans do. But if that were true—why did it ache?

You never had a red string.

That was the first thing you noticed.

You saw them everywhere—thread-thin, glowing like veins of fire across the fabric of reality. Around wrists, through hearts, tied in impossible loops from continent to continent, galaxy to galaxy. Red. Gold. Silver.

Some pulsed softly. Some burned bright. Some frayed at the ends—doomed to break.

But you?

You had none.

You looked. Every year. Every cycle. Every mirror.

And there was never one waiting for you.

The instructors said it was proof of your purpose.

You were meant to love, not to be loved.

Cupids didn’t need soulmates. You were the threads—not what they tied together.

But still, when you were alone in your pod—your crown-glass screen humming with soft simulations—you sometimes wrapped a ribbon around your own finger and pretended.

Just for a moment. Just to feel what it might be like to belong to someone.

To be chosen.

To be someone’s reason.

You told no one.

Cupids weren’t supposed to pretend.

Not about that.

You always grinned too brightly. Talked too much. Got too close to the humans you helped.

You asked too many questions.

Why this couple? Why that connection? Why did heartbreak sometimes look so much like love?

You weren’t supposed to wonder. You were supposed to execute. Deliver arrows. Create outcomes. Adjust the threads.

But you liked watching after the mission was done.

You stayed longer than you should have. Saw the way people clung to one another. Fought. Forgave. Grieved. Moved on. Sometimes, even when the threads said they wouldn’t.

And worse—you started to feel happy for them.

Genuinely.

Not in the approved, detached sense of “mission accomplished,” but like… something warm bloomed in your chest just watching two people choose each other.

One day you told another Cupid—casually, as if it was no big thing—that it must feel nice to be loved like that.

She looked at you like you were malfunctioning. Reported you. Quietly.

You were summoned for evaluation.

They used soft words. Nothing cruel—just… firm.

“Attachment undermines your clarity.”

“You’ve been too immersed in lower realms.”

“Emotional mimicry is a known side effect. You’ll adjust.”

You didn’t adjust.

You just learned how to lie better.

You laughed louder. You perfected your posture. You earned the nickname Heartsworn, and everyone said it with admiration.

But you felt empty most days.

Like a thread that had never been tied.

And it gnawed at you, that emptiness—because you were built to help others find connection.

So why did it feel like you’d never have your own?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It happened on a world not so different from Earth.

Small. Blue. Quiet in the way only dying stars can make a planet feel.

The threads there were thin. Brittle. Nearly broken.

It needed love desperately. That’s why they sent you.

Because you never missed. Because your aim was perfect. Because you were the shining example—the “Heartsworn,” the favorite, the infallible.

And at first, it was routine.

Two beings. Two threads. One frayed at the end, knotted tight around grief. The other hesitant, flickering. Their paths crossed in a way that felt almost poetic—a shared umbrella. An open bookstore. A laugh like recognition.

You hovered above them, bow pulsing in your palm.

A clean shot. Two arrows. One for each.

But then something shifted.

The woman—your target—she looked up at the man, eyes tired but tender. And the way he looked back… like he was remembering how to breathe.

And you saw it.

She had already loved him.

It hadn’t been forced. It hadn’t been orchestrated. No divine architecture. No thread pulling them forward.

Just… choice.

Human, messy, miraculous choice.

You hesitated.

And that’s all it took.

Your bow trembled in your hands. Not from error—but from resistance.

Because for the first time—you didn’t want to interfere. You didn’t want to force it.

You wanted to let them be.

You lowered your weapon.

And then—because you were soft, and reckless, and maybe stupid in the eyes of the Supervisors—you spoke to her.

She didn’t see you. Not clearly. Just a shimmer in the corner of her eye. But you whispered anyway.

“You don’t need help. You already chose him.”

The words weren’t authorized. Your presence was meant to be undetectable. You were not allowed to alter the script.

But you did.

And for a moment—nothing happened.

Then the red thread between them sparked. Bright. Violent. Uncontrolled.

It burned itself into existence. Without your arrow. Without divine sanction.

And they kissed.

Not because you told them to.

Because they wanted to.

Your lips curled into a soft smile.

You didn’t regret it.

But the moment you returned to the Realm of Threads, you knew something was wrong.

The lights were dimmed.

The supervisors were waiting.

No lectures. No trials.

Just one sentence.

“You interfered.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself—but the guards were already reaching for your wings.

You’d heard what it sounded like.

The sound of ripping. The way it cuts deeper than bone.

But you’d never imagined it would hurt like this.

Your knees hit the lace-floor. Your mouth stayed silent.

You didn’t scream.

Not because it didn’t hurt—but because they wanted you to.

And maybe, just maybe, you wanted to take that from them.

Dignity, you told yourself.

Dignity is all I have left.

You were told you would not be recycled. You were too “contaminated.” Too unstable. A bad example.

So instead—they exiled you.

You didn’t get to ask where.

Just a flash of cold light—

And then the sound of wind.

Falling.

Alone.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You hit the ground hard.

Not like a leaf drifting. Not with grace. Not with poise. Not like the Cupids in the stories.

Like a comet.

A streak of light through an unfamiliar sky, dragging heat and ache in your wake.

You didn’t black out right away—but you almost wished you had.

Because the first thing you felt wasn’t the crash. Wasn’t the way your ribs seized or the way your shoulder twisted beneath your fall.

It was the space between your wings.

The hollow.

The absence.

You gasped.

Air—not laced with threadlight, not humming with frequency, just air—rushed into your lungs like punishment.

You curled onto your side, dirt grinding into the soft parts of you. Wet grass clung to your skin. The sky above was wrong—blue, yes, but so still. No shimmering frequencies. No glowing red filaments. Just clouds, soft and slow.

You were somewhere real.

Somewhere unmarked.

Somewhere alone.

It wasn’t the pain that made you want to cry.

It was the quiet.

Because back home—even when you were alone in your pod, even when no one looked at you—there was always something.

The buzz of love blooming. The echo of longing. The soft, constant pull of other people’s threads, humming just outside your senses.

But now?

Nothing.

It was gone.

You sat up slowly.

And then immediately flopped back down with a tiny, theatrical groan.

“Ouchie,” you mumbled to no one, voice breathy and soft and definitely not pained—because no, you were totally fine. Just a bit… stunned. And mildly bleeding. And definitely wingless.

But you were smiling. Kind of. Maybe.

Okay, so it trembled a little at the edges.

“I’ve had worse landings,” you said aloud—which was a lie. You’d never landed before. You’d always floated.

You tried again, slowly, every nerve screaming. Your knees trembled. Your arms buckled. You caught yourself on the soft slope of a hill, hands sinking into wildflowers and moss.

You blinked down at them.

Yellow, pink, violet. Stubbornly bright.

They looked like something out of a simulation.

They weren’t.

They were real.

Your mouth twisted.

Of course you landed in a field of flowers. Of course.

You laughed.

It came out cracked and hoarse. Almost a sob.

Because everything hurt, and everything was still spinning, and you had no idea where you were, and no one was coming for you, and—

No.

No, you weren’t going to cry. You weren’t.

Cupids didn’t cry.

Even clipped ones.

Even broken ones.

Even ones bleeding into someone else’s sky.

Still, you tried to push yourself up, wobbling on legs that hadn’t had to support you since your designation. It felt wrong. Heavy. Like gravity had teeth and it didn’t trust you. You teetered. Fell to your knees again.

And giggled.

Which also trembled a little.

“I meant to do that.”

You dusted imaginary dirt from your imaginary uniform and gave an exaggerated little curtsy to the empty air.

No one clapped. Rude.

You dragged yourself to your feet.

Shaky. Awkward. Wobbly in a way you hadn’t felt in cycles. The Realm of Threads taught you to float everywhere. Gliding was cleaner. More efficient. Less emotional.

You hadn’t really walked since childhood simulations.

The ground felt weird under your feet. Solid. Gritty.

Your bow was still intact. Miraculously. You hugged it close like a stuffed toy, curling in on yourself for a moment, letting the quiet press into your bones.

You could still feel it.

That place between your shoulders—where your wings had been. Like a ghost limb. Like something sacred had been carved out of you and left a silence behind.

You hated it.

But you kept moving.

Maybe—if you helped someone on this world—someone would come back for you. Maybe if you just kept doing your job, proved you were still useful, still good, they’d rewind the exile.

Reattach what they’d taken.

Please.

You stumbled once. Then again. Then face-planted into a patch of daisies with a grunt so undignified you groaned into the soil.

“Get it together,” you mumbled into the grass.

You pushed yourself back up. Sat on your knees for a second. Took a breath.

You didn’t know how long you wandered after that.

Minutes? Hours? You lost time in the way only the heartbroken can.

It got dark fast.

The sky burned gold, then violet, then black. Stars blinked overhead—foreign constellations, wrong patterns.

You were still limping through the field when the noise came.

A whoosh.

Sharp. Cutting. Like something splitting the air in half.

You froze.

Turned slowly.

And then—saw him.

Not a blur. A shape. Coming toward you like a storm with legs.

You only had a second to register what was coming at you: tall, fast, red and white—a storm in the shape of a man. And a scowl, carved from thunderclouds.

Flying.

He was flying.

You squinted.

Not a Cupid. Definitely not a Cupid.

A human?

No.

No, he felt… too much.

You didn’t have your thread-sight anymore, but you could still feel.

Emotions. Echoes.

He felt like gravity.

Like something that had no business coming closer—and was doing it anyway.

He landed hard. Just a few feet away.

Harder than you had. The ground splintered beneath his feet, shockwaves rippling out in a perfect ring. Dust and wildflowers burst upward like a gasp. He stood there for a beat—motionless.

And you… just stared.

Red suit. White accents. Red cape. Black goggles like midnight slicing across his face. He didn’t glow. He didn’t shine. He loomed.

His presence felt like gravity doubled—like the world bowed to his weight and dared not rise again.

You blinked at him slowly. Then offered a tiny wave.

“Hi.”

Silence.

He didn’t move.

You glanced behind you like maybe he was staring at someone else, but no—those mirrored goggles were fixed on you.

“Hiii,” you tried again, voice cheerier. “Okay, so I know this looks weird. But I promise I’m not here to hurt anyone! Unless, um. You count your planet’s gravitational field. Which did kinda kick my butt—ow.”

No reaction. His posture didn’t shift. You had a sudden, vivid mental image of being vaporized.

“I’m just passing through!” you rushed, hands up. “A… a tourist! On a very involuntary vacation!”

Still nothing.

Well, maybe not nothing—he was breathing.

Barley.

His voice, when it came, was sharp enough to slice open a planet.

“You’re not human.”

Your grin faltered for a second before rebounding, like a rubber band that’s been snapped too many times.

“Nope. Not even a little bit! But I’m very human adjacent in a lot of ways! I’ve watched a lot of rom-coms and I know how to do a proper hug—although full disclosure, I might fall over during it because of the whole… clipped wings situation.”

His jaw tightened. His eyes—hidden though they were—felt like twin drills boring into the softest parts of you.

“Why are you here?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then plastered on a sheepish smile.

“That’s kind of a long story,” you admitted, voice dipping softer now. “The short version is… I got kicked out of my hom—my realm. For caring too much.”

Something flickered across his face. Brief. Gone before you could catch it.

“And now,” you continued, tone brightening again as you gestured to the wildflower field like a very proud but slightly concussed game show host, “I’m here! In… wherever here is. Honestly, it’s pretty. Good flowers. Ten out of ten. Bit of a rough welcome, but I’ve had worse.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Your hand drifted unconsciously to your back, fingertips brushing the jagged place where wings used to rise.

You shrugged. “It’s mostly cosmetic.”

He said nothing. Just stared.

You took a step forward—then immediately lost your balance and fell face-first into a patch of daisies.

There was a beat of silence. Then two. Then three.

And then—so faint you thought you imagined it—you heard the faintest exhale of breath from the man in red and white.

Not a laugh.

But maybe the ghost of one.

You rolled onto your back and grinned up at the stars.

“See?” you said, voice light. “I’m great at making first impressions.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The second he saw you, he didn’t trust you.

Not because you looked dangerous. No—you didn’t. You were crumpled in a bed of wildflowers, wobbling like a broken marionette and smiling like someone had painted joy over grief and hoped no one would notice the cracks.

But that was exactly why he didn’t trust you.

People didn’t fall from the sky and grin. Not here. Not anywhere. Not anymore.

So he hovered, silent, watching you crawl upright like you didn’t know how to use your own legs. Like the planet was something foreign. Like gravity was something new.

That wasn’t normal.

He’d seen a lot of things in a lot of universes—false gods, black holes, men split into fractions of themselves—but this? A girl with stardust on her skin and nothing in her hands but a bow? That was new.

He landed hard. On purpose. Let the ground feel him.

You flinched. Not at the sound—at the silence that followed it.

And then you looked up.

Big eyes. Bare feet. Mouth bleeding at the corner, but curved like you hadn’t noticed. Or didn’t care.

And then—

“Hi.”

Like you hadn’t just fallen from orbit.

He didn’t speak.

“Hiii,” you tried again, softer. “Okay, so I know this looks weird. But I promise I’m not here to hurt anyone! Unless, um. You count your planet’s gravitational field. Which did kinda kick my butt—ow.”

Still he said nothing.

He didn’t move.

He watched.

Measured.

Assessed.

You were glowing at the edges—not visibly—but in some low, stubborn frequency. Like the kind of candle you couldn’t blow out even after you’d shattered the holder.

It irritated him.

He spoke without meaning to.

“You’re not human.”

You beamed, wounded and bright. “Nope! Not even a little bit!”

You kept talking. Rambling. Fumbling your way through some patchwork lie about tourism and rom-coms and wings—clipped, apparently.

He didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t need to.

He was looking for something. A tell. A crack.

“Why are you here?”

That stopped you.

Just a second. Barely.

But it was enough.

Your grin shrank. Eyes dipped. Voice turned soft.

“That’s kind of a long story. The short version is… I got kicked out of my hom—my realm. For caring too much.”

That flickered something inside him.

He crushed it before it could breathe.

He didn’t do soft. He didn’t do “caring.” That was the problem with the others. They hesitated. Thought. He didn’t. That’s why he survived.

So why was he still here?

Why wasn’t he flying away?

Why hadn’t he broken you in half the moment you lied?

You stepped forward. Tripped. Fell face-first into a clump of flowers like a deer learning how to walk for the first time.

He didn’t flinch, but he exhaled—just once. Quiet. Almost amused.

You rolled onto your back and smiled at the stars.

“See? I’m great at making first impressions.”

He hated how you said it.

Like it mattered.

Like someone out here was still capable of being good.

He walked toward you.

You didn’t run. You didn’t crawl away. You sat there, hands splayed out behind you, watching him like you weren’t sure if he was going to help you up or crush your skull.

Smart.

He stopped in front of you.

Tilted his head.

“I should kill you.”

Your eyes widened, but you didn’t move. “You could. You really could. But I’d prefer we didn’t start there?”

“Then give me one reason not to.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked up at him like you were weighing the clouds.

“I don’t have one.”

He stared.

You continued.

“I mean—I don’t know if I’m important. I don’t have a secret code or an army or even a sandwich right now. But…”

You reached up, touching your back—where the blood had dried, sticky and shimmering.

“But I used to be someone. I used to help people fall in love. And maybe that doesn’t matter to you—but it mattered to them.”

There was a silence.

He wasn’t sure what he expected you to say.

But it wasn’t that.

He should leave.

He should fly away and chalk you up to another anomaly.

Instead, he said:

“Can you still do it?”

You blinked. “Do what?”

“Make people love.”

Your lips curled up. Slowly. Sadly. “I don’t know.”

Another pause.

You were watching him too closely now. Like you were trying to read a string that wasn’t there.

“You’re not really from here either,” you said softly. “Are you?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

You already knew.

“Are you gonna hurt me?” you asked.

He looked at you, at the way your voice didn’t tremble, even though your body did.

And for once—he told the truth.

“I don’t know.”

You nodded.

“Fair.”

Then you reached up and offered your hand.

Not in fear. Not in desperation.

Just… like someone who was used to offering something and not getting it taken.

He didn’t take it.

But he didn’t crush it either.

He looked past you—at the dark hills, the useless stars, the broken silence.

After conquering this place and killing his father—he didn’t know what this planet was anymore.

Didn’t care.

But he had nowhere else to be. Not anymore.

He turned.

Walked.

And when he didn’t tell you to stay—

You followed.

Not too close.

Just… close enough.

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˗ˏˋ 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 ˎˊ˗

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Once, you were small. Once, you believed everything they told you.

Your first robe was the color of a peach blossom.

It shimmered when you turned, sleeves brushing the floor, too big for your arms and still perfect in every way. You’d never worn something so soft.

You twirled three times in front of the mirror, arms out like wings, giggling because everything felt light.

“You look very neat,” said one of the elder Cupids, gliding past with a clipboard. “Remember to keep your posture upright when you’re selected for observation.”

“I will!” you promised, standing taller.

The robe swished when you walked. You liked that. It made you feel important. Like you were finally what they said you would be—purposeful.

Part of something big.

You didn’t understand everything yet, but that didn’t matter.

You were going to be a Cupid.

And Cupids were good.

“Today,” said another instructor, voice warm and practiced, “you’ll learn about threads.”

You beamed. Sat up straighter. Listened with all your heart.

“Every being has a thread,” they explained, conjuring a floating hologram that flickered softly through the training chamber. “They wrap around us, tie us to our people. See?”

The threads shimmered—red, gold, silver, glowing like starlight.

You gasped. It was so pretty. It made your chest feel warm.

“You’ll help people find each other,” the instructor went on. “You’ll guide their steps. Fix what’s frayed. Strengthen what’s fragile.”

“I can do that!” you blurted.

A few other young Cupids turned to look at you, but you didn’t care. Your legs were swinging off the floating bench and your hands were already up.

“I wanna do the red ones,” you said proudly. “Those are the soulmate ones, right?”

The instructor smiled. So gently. Like they were talking to someone a little slow, but very sweet.

“Oh, darling,” they said. “You don’t get one.”

You blinked.

“Huh?”

“You won’t have a red thread,” they said again, same caring voice, same soft smile. “Cupids don’t get them.”

You frowned. “But… we’re people too?”

“No,” they said kindly. “You’re not.”

Another Cupid, older, came to kneel beside you. Their hair was smooth. Their smile too perfect.

“You’re something better,” they told you. “You were made for love. You don’t need to be in it.”

“But—” you started.

“We give it,” the first instructor interrupted gently. “That’s your gift.”

You hesitated.

“But doesn’t anyone ever want us back?” you asked in a small voice.

The instructor’s smile didn’t change.

“No one has ever asked that before.”

You blinked. Sat very still.

They stood again.

“Alright, little hearts,” the elder said, clapping once. “Time for simulation prep. Let’s learn how to listen when a thread hums.”

Everyone got up.

You did too.

You smiled. Because they smiled. Because everyone around you looked so sure, so peaceful, so right.

You didn’t want to be the wrong one.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

ᯓ❤︎ requested by: @lycheee-jelly

taglist sign up: 𓊆ྀིhere𓊇ྀི

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[aloflapse]

Breaking Morning Feast

Pairing :Alpha Daemon Targaryen x Omega Targaryen Male reader Tags: Omega verse, Targcest, Masturbation, Part 3 of Home coming Word count :1124 part one part two

Daemon leaned against a sun-drenched pillar in the Queen's garden. The air hung heavy with the scent of roses and honeysuckle, a stark contrast to the metallic tang that always seemed to cling to him after a battle. He tapped his fingers impatiently against the hilt of Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel humming faintly against his skin. He’d been gone for too long, while his own house crumbled under Viserys’s weak hand.

But that was no longer his primary concern. The gossip, the whispers that had reached even his ears in Essos, had brought him back to King’s Landing faster than Caraxes could fly. Viserys had spawned an Omega son. A male Omega, no less. A rarity so profound, the whispers claimed the last Targaryen male to present as Omega had been alive during the reign of Aegon the Conqueror.

And Viserys, the weakling, was squandering the opportunity. Daemon had overheard snippets of the council’s plans. Marrying Y/n off to some non-Valyrian lord to secure an alliance. The very thought made his blood boil. He clenched his fist. Y/n was Targaryen, fire made flesh, a treasure to be cherished, not bartered away like a common mule.

He saw him then, a flicker of silver hair at the edge of the path. Y/n.

He straightened, a predatory gleam entering his eyes. He watched as Y/n hesitated at the edge of the garden, his gaze darting nervously around him.

Daemon pushed himself off the pillar, a slow, deliberate movement designed to command attention. "Nephew," he greeted, his voice a low rumble that startled a flock of small birds from a nearby fountain. "You grace me with your presence."

Y/n visibly stiffened, then offered a hesitant smile. "Uncle Daemon. I…I wasn't sure if you'd remember."

Daemon straightened, his smirk widening into a full-blown grin. "Did you doubt me, nephew? I am a man of my word... mostly." He gestured to the small table laden with an array of breakfast foods. "Come, break your fast with me. I've sent for some pastries I think you might enjoy."

Y/n seemed relieved by Daemon's easy demeanor, settling into the chair opposite him with a grateful nod. He picked at a sweet roll with a delicate grace that Daemon found… captivating, for a moment, Daemon said nothing, simply observing, absorbing.

Daemon poured him a goblet of Arbor, the silence stretching between them. He took a bite of a pastry, observing Y/n carefully. 

 "Tell me, nephew. How fare you? Truly."

Y/n hesitated, his fingers tracing the rim of his goblet. “It has been… different. People… they look at you differently.” He glanced up at Daemon, a flicker of vulnerability in his silver eyes. “There are expectations… limitations I didn’t face before.”

Daemon leaned forward, his predatory gaze unwavering. "Indeed it does. Especially in a court filled with wolves.” He watched in amusement as Y/n's eyes blew wide for a split second, before he masked his surprise.

He took a long sip of his wine, letting the silence hang heavy in the air. He needed to tread carefully. He couldn't scare the boy off. Not yet.

"Tell me, Y/n," Daemon began, his voice softening slightly. "What occupies your days? What brings you joy?"

Y/n looked down at his hands, twisting them in his lap. "I… I like to read. History, mostly. And practice my high valyrian " He paused, "And… well, I used to enjoy training with the sword."

Daemon’s eyebrows rose. "The sword? A Targaryen prince who favors steel. I approve." He paused, seeing the flicker of sadness in Y/n’s eyes. "Used to?"

"Yes," Y/n murmured, avoiding Daemon's gaze. "But...since my presentation, I've been...encouraged to focus on other suitable pursuits."

Daemon's lip curled in a sneer. "Suitable? To hell with what they deem suitable. Those old twats in the Small Council wouldn't know a dragon's egg from a chamber pot. If you enjoy the sword, you should wield it." He reached across the table, his hand covering Y/n's. "I will train you myself, if you wish."

Y/n’s eyes widened, his pulse quickening beneath Daemon’s palm. “You would… really do that?”

"Of course." Daemon squeezed his hand gently, his thumb stroking the soft skin of his wrist subtly stroking his scent gland. "I would take great pleasure in honing your skills. Besides," he added with a sly grin, "it would be good for you to learn to defend yourself. This court is a treacherous place, and an Omega must be able to protect what is his. or who is his."

Y/n’s lip held a slight smile, his gaze dropping to their joined hands. Daemon could smell the barely suppressed scent of confusion and excitement that emanated from his omega scent gland.

Daemon released his hand before he could give into his instincts and do something drastic like scent mark the boy, pulling away. He couldn’t rush things, and needed Y/n to trust him.

"So," Daemon continued, leaning back in his chair, "what else have they discouraged you from doing, now that you've presented” 

Y/n hesitated again, then sighed. "I… I am not allowed to leave the Red Keep without an escort."

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. That was unacceptable. Keeping Y/n caged like a songbird was an insult, both to his dragon blood and his Omega nature.

Daemon’s smile widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "A prisoner in your own home. Outrageous." He paused, a suggestion forming in his mind. "Tell me, nephew, have you flown your dragon recently?"

Y/n’s eyes lit up at the mention of his dragon, a magnificent beast who Daemon hadn’t even met yet. "Not in moons," Y/n breathed, his voice filled with longing. "They say it's too dangerous, too...unseemly."

Daemon scoffed. "Unseemly? Flying on the back of a dragon is in our blood, boy! It is our birthright!" He clapped Y/n on the shoulder, the contact sending a jolt of awareness through him. "Come . Let us take to the skies and remind them that you are a Targaryen. What do you say, nephew? Shall we?"

Y/n’s face was alight with excitement, a genuine smile illuminating his features. "Yes, Uncle. Yes, I would like that very much."

Daemon’s heart quickened, a surge of triumph coursing through him. He had planted the seed, offering Y/n a glimpse of freedom beyond the Red Keep's gilded cages. And soon, very soon, he would nurture that seed, cultivate it into a bond that would bind Y/n to him, body and soul.

"Excellent," Daemon said, his voice low and seductive. "Then let us make preparations After we have eaten. I will meet you at the Dragon pit at midday, now finish your plate”

[aloflapse]

The Russian heartthrob.

Dick Grayson x Russian male reader

summary: everyone wants you. but you want him.

The cameras flashed like lightning, capturing every angle of your face. High cheekbones, a sharp jawline, smoldering eyes that made men and women alike forget how to breathe. You didn’t even have to try. Modeling agencies practically fought each other for the privilege of representing you.

Gotham had never seen anything like you.

In less than a month since stepping off the plane from Moscow, you were on the cover of every fashion magazine from Gotham Vogue to Wayne Style Weekly. Dubbed "The Russian Heartthrob," you were already infamous for unintentionally turning straight men into questioning disasters.

People fall at your feet. They fumbled their words. They sent you drinks, gifts, indecent proposals, and love confessions written in lipstick on luxury cars. You had it all — fame, beauty, money, and attention. And yet… Your heart didn't skip for flashing cameras. It didn't flutter for rich businessmen or sultry models. It only pounded when you saw him.

Dick Grayson.

You met him at a Wayne Gala, dressed in black, hair effortlessly tousled, a soft smile that could melt steel. He wasn’t fazed by your looks — not like everyone else. He shook your hand like a normal person. He laughed at your sarcasm, and when he looked at you, it felt like he saw you, not just the jawline or the smirk. That night, while models whispered about stealing you away, your eyes kept drifting toward Bruce Wayne’s son — the man who’d once been Robin, now Nightwing.

He moved like a dancer. Spoke like a prince. Fought like a storm. And you, the man who had the world at his feet, suddenly couldn’t breathe around him.

You smiled at him in the corner of the ballroom and said, your Russian accent thick but smooth:

“You are the only one in this room not looking at me like I am dessert. I think I like you for that.” Dick chuckled, sipping his champagne, blue eyes sparkling. “Then I guess I’m already ahead of the competition.”

You laughed, heart racing. And just like that, you were gone. The Russian Heartthrob — hopelessly in love with the Gotham golden boy.

Absolutely — here’s the next scene, with the gala moment, that accidental viral camera shot, Bruce’s disapproval, and Dick being completely charmed by the reader’s genuine affection.

You never meant to be obvious. But it’s hard not to stare when the person in question looks like Dick Grayson.

The gala was at Wayne Manor — your first real Gotham social event. Paparazzi circled the gates like wolves, but inside the manor? It was glitter and glass, champagne and secrets.

And Dick?

Dick was wearing a fitted navy suit that might as well have been tailored by angels. He laughed with someone across the room, and you — completely unaware of the camera snapping photos — watched him like he hung the moon.

Soft smile. Eyes full of quiet awe. Your pupils were dilated so wide you looked possessed.

The picture made the front page of Gotham Now the next morning:

“Russian Heartthrob Falls for Wayne Heir? 👀 Fans Speculate on Secret Gala Crush!”

And there it was — a side-by-side shot. You, gazing at Dick like he was art. Dick, sipping champagne and somehow not noticing how hard he was being adored.

Wayne Manor – That Morning

The newspaper slammed down on the long oak breakfast table.

Bruce looked… not amused.

“He’s a model, Dick. Gotham’s latest celebrity toy. You should keep your distance. Last thing we need is more press drama.”

Dick barely glanced at the photo. He sipped his coffee, hiding a small smile.

“He’s not just a model. He’s actually kinda awkward when people flirt with him. Funny, too. And do you see the way he’s looking at me?”

Bruce’s expression hardened.

“Exactly.”

But Dick just leaned back in his chair, staring at the paper again. That look on your face — wide-eyed, lips parted, like he’d accidentally stolen your heart without trying.

It was pure.

Not lust. Not vanity. Just… genuine affection.

Dick tilted his head, a smirk growing slowly.

“You know, it’s kinda cute. Guy’s got the whole world chasing him, and he’s looking at me like that. Like I’m the only person in the room.”

Bruce sighed heavily, muttering something about “media distractions” and “unwanted attention,” but Dick wasn’t listening anymore. His thumb brushed over the printed photo over your soft gaze. Maybe he should talk to you again. See if that look was real. He already had a feeling it was.